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Digitized by the Internet Archive 
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 http://archive.org/details/minongOOhave 
 
THE 
 
 MINISTRY OF SONG. 
 
Morrison & Gibb, Edinburgh, 
 Printers to Her Majesty's Stationery Office 
 
THE 
 
 Ministry of Song. 
 BY / 
 
 FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL. 
 FORTY-EIGHTH THOUSAjtD. 
 
 LONDON: 
 
 JAMES NISBET & CO., 21 Berners Street. 
 
 1SS0. 
 

 
 
 
 la mij ^aifyafs Hgntttiq. 
 
 
 
 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Prelude * 
 
 The Ministry of Song a 
 
 Our Hidden Leaves ...... & 
 
 Threefold Praise * i 
 
 Not Yet 23 
 
 Thanksgiving 2; 
 
 Life-Crystals J 8 
 
 Not your own 3* 
 
 Wounded 33 
 
 Whose I am 36 
 
 Whom I serve 37 
 
 Peace 3S 
 
 God's Message 40 
 
 ' A Great Mystery ' 43 
 
 Be not Weary .46 
 
 The Great Teacher ...... 47 
 
 Auntie's Lessons . . . e • . 51 
 
 Rest 53 
 
 One Question, many Answers 54 
 
 Content 58 
 
Contents, 
 
 PA.GE 
 
 Misunderstood 62 
 
 Sunbeams in the Wood 65 
 
 The Star Shower 67 
 
 Treasure Trove 70 
 
 Coming Summer ,72 
 
 September 1868 75 
 
 Early Faith . ...... 77 
 
 Our Father 80 
 
 Disappointment 86 
 
 The Song Chalice 90 
 
 Silent in Love 91 
 
 Light and Shade 92 
 
 No Thorn without a Rose 95 
 
 Yesterday, To-day, and for Ever ... 98 
 
 Christ's Recall 100 
 
 Faith's Question 102 
 
 ■ I did this for thee ! What hast thou done for Me ?' 105 
 
 Isaiah xxxiii. 17 107 
 
 God the Provider 109 
 
 Wait Patiently for Him in 
 
 This Same Jesus 113 
 
 Mary's Birthday "5 
 
 Daily Strength 118 
 
 The Right Way 119 
 
 Thy Will be Done 122 
 
 * The Things which are Behind* . . .125 
 
 'Now I see' 126 
 
Contents, 
 
 Everlasting Love 
 1 Master, say on ! ' 
 Remote Results . 
 On the Last Leaf 
 How should they know 
 Making Poetry 
 The Cascade 
 
 Constance de V 
 
 Fairy Homes 
 
 More Music 
 
 Travelling Thoughts 
 
 New Year's Wishes 
 
 Bonnie Wee Eric 
 
 My Sweet Woodruff 
 
 Our Gem Wreath 
 
 My Name . 
 
 Faith and Reason 
 
 Lynton 
 
 A Birthday Greeting to my 
 
 A Lull in Life 
 
 Adoration 
 
 Father 
 
 PAGE 
 
 127 
 129 
 131 
 133 
 137 
 140 
 143 
 147 
 163 
 165 
 166 
 17c 
 171 
 174 
 177 
 187 
 192 
 195 
 198 
 199 
 203 
 
THE 
 
 MINISTRY OF SONG. 
 
 PRELUDE. 
 
 AMID the broken waters of our ever-rest- 
 less thought, 
 Oh be my verse an answering gleam from 
 
 higher radiance caught ; 
 That where through dark o'erarching boughs 
 
 of sorrow, doubt, and sin, 
 The glorious Star of Bethlehem upon the flood 
 
 looks in, 
 Its tiny trembling ray may bid some downcast 
 
 vision turn 
 To that enkindling Light, for which all earthly 
 
 shadows yearn. 
 
The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Oh be my verse a hidden stream, which silently 
 may flow 
 
 Where drooping leaf and thirsty flower in 
 lonely valleys grow ; 
 
 And often by its shady course to pilgrim hearts 
 be brought 
 
 The quiet and refreshment of an upward-point- 
 ing thought ; 
 
 Till, blending with the broad bright stream of 
 sanctified endeavour, 
 
 God's glory be its ocean home, the end it 
 seeketh ever. 
 
 THE MINISTRY OF SONG, 
 
 IN God's great field of labour 
 All work is not the same ; 
 He hath a service for each one 
 
 Who loves His holy name. 
 And you, to whom the secrets 
 
 Of all sweet sounds are known, 
 Rise up ! for He hath called you 
 To a mission of your own. 
 
The Ministry of Song, 
 
 And, rightly to fulfil it, 
 
 His grace can make you strong, 
 Who to your charge hath given 
 
 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Sing to the little children, 
 
 And they will listen well ; 
 Sing grand and holy music, 
 
 For they can feel its spelL. 
 Tell them the tale of Jephthah ; 
 
 Then sing them what he said, — 
 1 Deeper and deeper still,' and watch 
 
 How the little cheek grows red, 
 And the little breath comes quicker : 
 
 They will ne'er forget the tale, 
 Winch the song has fastened surely, 
 
 As with a golden nail. 
 
 I remember, late one evening, 
 
 How the music stopped, for, hark] 
 Charlie's nursery door was open, 
 
 He was calling in the dark, — 
 ' Oh no ! I am not frightened, 
 
 And I do not want a light ; 
 Bat I cannot sleep for thinking 
 
 Of the song ycu sang last night. 
 
The Ministry of Song 
 
 Something about a "valley," 
 And "make rough places plain," 
 
 And " Comfort ye ; " so beautiful ! 
 Oh, sing it me again ! ' 
 
 Sing at the cottage bedside ; 
 
 They have no music there, 
 And the voice of praise is silent 
 
 After the voice of prayer. 
 Sing of the gentle Saviour 
 
 In the simplest hymns you know, 
 And the pain-dimmed eye will brighten 
 
 As the soothing verses flow. 
 Better than loudest plaudits 
 
 The murmured thanks of such, 
 For the King will stoop to crown them 
 
 With His gracious * Inasmuch. ' 
 
 Sing, where the full-toned organ 
 
 Resounds through aisle and nave, 
 And the choral praise ascendeth 
 
 In concord sweet and grave. 
 Sing, where the village voices 
 
 Fall harshly on your ear ; 
 And, while more earnestly you join, 
 
 Less discord you will hear. 
 
The Ministry of Song. 
 
 The noblest and the humblest 
 Alike are ■ common praise/ 
 
 And not for human ear alone 
 The psalm and hymn we raise. 
 
 Sing in the deepening twilight, 
 
 When the shadow of eve is nigh, 
 And her purple and golden pinions 
 
 Fold o'er the western sky. 
 Sing in the silver silence, 
 
 While the first moonbeams fall ; 
 So shall your power be greater 
 
 Over the hearts of all. 
 Sing till you bear them with you 
 
 Into a holy calm, 
 And the sacred tones have scattered 
 
 Manna, and myrrh, and balm. 
 
 Sing ! that your song may gladden 5 
 
 Sing like the happy rills, 
 Leaping in sparkling blessing 
 
 Fresh from the breezy hills. 
 Sing ! that your song may silence 
 
 The folly and the jest, 
 And the ' idle word ' be banished 
 
 As an unwelcome guest 
 
The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Sing ! that your song may echo 
 After the strain is past, 
 
 A link of the love- wrought cable 
 That holds some vessel fast. 
 
 Sing to the tired and anxious ; 
 
 It is yours to fling a ray, 
 Passing indeed, but cheering, 
 
 Across the rugged way. 
 Sing to God's holy servants, 
 
 Weary with loving toil, 
 Spent with their' faithful labour 
 
 On oft ungrateful soil. 
 The chalice of your music 
 
 All reverently bear, 
 For with the blessed angels 
 
 Such ministry you share. 
 
 When you long to bear the Message 
 
 Home to some troubled breast, 
 Then sing with loving fervour, 
 
 1 Come unto Him, and rest.' 
 Or would you whisper comfort, 
 
 Where words bring no relief, 
 Sing how ■ He was despised, 
 
 Acquainted with our grief.' 
 
The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And, aided by His blessing, 
 
 The song may win its way 
 Where speech had no admittance^ 
 
 And change the night to day. 
 
 Sing, when His mighty mercies 
 
 And marvellous love you feel, 
 And the deep joy of gratitude 
 
 Springs freshly as you kneel ; 
 When words, like morning starlight, 
 
 Melt powerless, — rise and sing ! 
 And bring your sweetest music 
 
 To Him, your gracious King. 
 Pour out your song before Him 
 
 To whom our best is due ; 
 Remember, He who hears your prayer 
 
 Will hear your praises too. 
 
 Sing on in grateful gladness ! 
 
 Rejoice in this good thing 
 Which the Lord thy God hath given thee, 
 
 The happy power to sing. 
 But yield to Him, the Sovereign, 
 
 To whom all gifts belong, 
 In fullest consecration, 
 
 Your Ministry of Song, 
 
The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Until His mercy grant you 
 That resurrection voice, 
 
 Whose only ministry shall be, 
 To praise Him and rejoice. 
 
 OUR HIDDEN LEA VES. 
 
 OH the hidden leaves of Life I 
 Closely folded in the heart ; 
 Leaves where Memory's golden finger, 
 Slowly pointing, loves to linger ; 
 Leaves that bid the old tears start. 
 
 Leaves where Hope would read the future, 
 
 Sibylline, and charged with fate : 
 Leaves which calm Submission closeth, 
 While her tearless eye reposeth 
 On the legend, ' Trust, and wait ! ' 
 
 Leaves which grave Experience ponders 
 
 Soundings for her pilot-charts; 
 Leaves which God Himself is storing, 
 Records which we read, adoring 
 Him who writes on human hearts. 
 
Our Hidden Leaves. 
 
 All our own, our treasured secrets, 
 
 Indestructible archives ! 
 None can copy, none can steal them, 
 Death itself shall not reveal them, 
 
 Sacred manuscripts of lives. 
 
 Some are filled with fairy pictures, 
 
 Half imagined and half seen ; 
 Radiant faces, fretted towers, 
 Sunset colours, starry flowers, 
 Wondrous arabesques between. 
 
 Some are traced with liquid sunbeams, 
 
 Some with fire, and some with tears ; 
 Some with crimson dyes are glowing, 
 From a smitten life-rock flowing 
 Through the wilderness of years. 
 
 Some are crossed with later writing, 
 
 Palimpsests of earliest days ; 
 Old remembrance faintly gleaming 
 Through the thinking and the dreaming 
 Outlines dim in noontide haze. 
 
 One lies open, all unwritten, 
 To the glance of careless sight ; 
 
io The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Yet it bears a shining story, 
 Traced in phosphorescent glory, 
 Only legible by night. 
 
 One is dark with hieroglyphics 
 
 Of some dynasty of grief : 
 Only God, and just one other, 
 Dearest friend, or truest brother, 
 
 Ever read that hidden leaf. 
 
 Many a leaf is undeciphered, 
 
 Writ in languages unknown ; 
 O'er the strange inscription bending, 
 (Every clue in darkness ending,) 
 Finding no • Rosetta Stone,' 
 
 Still we study, always failing ! 
 
 God can read it, we must wait ; 
 Wait, until He teach the mystery, 
 Then the wisdom-woven history 
 
 Faith shall read, and Love translate. 
 
 Leaflets now unpaged and scattered 
 
 Time's great library receives ; 
 When eternity shall bind them, 
 Golden volumes we shall find them, 
 God's light falling on the leaves. 
 
Threefold Praise. 1 1 
 
 THREEFOLD PRAISE. 
 Haydn — Mendelssohn — Handel. 
 
 1 We bless Thee for our creation, preservation, and all 
 the blessings of this life ; but above all, for Thine 
 inestimable love in the redemption of the world by 
 our Lord Jesus Christ.' 
 
 PART I. 
 
 ' We bless Thee for our creation.' 
 
 Haydris ' Creation? 
 
 HAT is the first and simplest praise, 
 The universal debt, 
 Which yet the thoughtless heart of man 
 
 So quickly may forget? 
 1 We bless Thee for creation ! ' 
 
 So taught the noble band 
 Who left a sound and holy form, 
 
 For ages yet to stand, 
 Rich legacy of praise and prayer, 
 
 Laid up through ages past. 
 Strong witness for the truth of God s 
 
 Oh, may we hold it fast 1 
 
 ' We bless Thee for creation \ * 
 So are we blithely taught 
 
 w 
 
12 The Ministry o/Sojtg. 
 
 By Haydn's joyous spirit; 
 
 Such was the praise he brought. 
 A praise all morning sunshine, 
 
 And sparklets of the spring, 
 O'er which the long life-shadows 
 
 No chastening softness fling. 
 
 A praise of early freshness, 
 
 Of carol and of trill, 
 Re-echoing all the music 
 
 Of valley and of rill. 
 A praise that we are sharing 
 
 With every singing breeze, 
 With nightingales and linnets, 
 
 With waterfalls and trees ; 
 With anthems of the flowers. 
 
 Too delicate and sweet 
 For all their fairy minstrelsy 
 
 Our mortal ears to greet. 
 
 A mighty song of blessing 
 
 Archangels too uplift, 
 For their own bright existence, 
 
 A grand and glorious gift. 
 But such their full life-chalice, 
 
 So sparkling and so pure, 
 
Th reef old Praise, 1 3 
 
 And such their vivid sense of joy, 
 
 Sweet, solid, and secure, 
 We cannot write the harmonies 
 
 To such a song of bliss, 
 We only catch the melody, 
 
 And sing, content with this. 
 
 We are but little children, 
 
 And earth a broken toy ; 
 We do not know the treasures 
 
 In our Father's house of joy. 
 Thanksgivings for creation 
 
 We ignorantly raise ; 
 We know not yet the thousandth part 
 
 Of that for which we praise. 
 
 Vet, praise Him for creation ! 
 
 Nor cease the happy song, 
 But this our Hallelujah 
 
 Through all our life prolong ; 
 'T will mingle with the chorus 
 
 Before the heavenly throne, 
 Where what it truly is TO BR 
 
 Shall first be fully known. 
 
14 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 PART II. 
 
 . . . preservation, and all the blessings of this life.' 
 Mendelssohn's 'Elijah' 
 
 O Felix ! happy in thy varied store 
 Of harmonies undreamt before, 
 
 How different was the gift 
 
 Of praise 'twas thine to pour, 
 Whether in stately calm, or tempest strong and 
 swift ! 
 
 Mark the day, 
 
 In mourning robe of grey, 
 Of shrouded mountain and of storm -swept 
 
 vale, 
 And purple pall spread o'er the distance pale, 
 
 "While thunderous masses wildly drift 
 In lurid gloom and grandeur : then a swift 
 And dazzling ray bursts through a sudden 
 
 rift; 
 The dark waves glitter as the storms subside, 
 And all is light and glory at the eventide. 
 
 O sunlight of thanksgiving ! Who that knows 
 Its bright forth-breaking after dreariest days, 
 
Th reef old Praise* 1 5 
 
 Would change the after-thought of woes 
 For memory's loveliest light that glows, 
 If so he must forego one note of that sweet 
 praise? 
 
 For not the song 
 Which knows no minor cadence, sad and 
 long; 
 
 And not the tide 
 Whose emerald and silver pride 
 Was never dashed in wild and writhing fray, 
 Where grim and giant rocks hurl back the 
 spray; 
 And not the crystal atmosphere, 
 That carves each outline sharp and clear 
 Upon a sapphire sky : not these, not these, 
 Nor aught existing but to charm and please, 
 Without acknowledging life's mystery, 
 And all the mighty reign 
 Of yearning and of pain 
 That fills its half-read history, 
 Fit music can supply 
 To lift the wandering heart on high 
 To that Preserving Love, which rules all 
 change, 
 And gives 'all blessings of this life,' so dream- 
 like and so strange. 
 
1 6 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And his was praise 
 Deeper and truer, such as those may raise 
 Who know both shade and sunlight, and 
 whose life 
 Hath learnt victorious strife 
 Of courage and of trust and hope still dear, 
 With passion and with grief, with danger and 
 with fear. 
 
 Upriseth now a cry, 
 Plaintive and piercing, to the brazen sky : 
 Help, Lord ! the harvest days are gone ; 
 Help, Lord ! for other help is none ; 
 The infant children cry for bread, 
 And no man breaketh it. The suckling's 
 tongue for thirst 
 Now cleaveth to his mouth. Our land is 
 cursed ; 
 Our wasted Zion mourns, in vain her hands 
 are spread. 
 
 A mother's tale of grief, 
 Of sudden blight upon the chief, 
 The only flower of love that cheered har 
 widowed need : 
 O loneliest ! O desolate indeed ! 
 
TJirecf old Praise. 17 
 
 Were it not mockery to whisper here 
 A word of hope and cheer ? 
 
 A mountain brow, an awe-struck crowd, 
 The prayer-sent flame, the prayer-sent 
 cloud, 
 A mighty faith, a more than kingly power, 
 
 Changed for depression's darkest hour, 
 For one lone shadow in the desert sought, 
 A fainting frame, a spirit overwrought, 
 A sense of labour vain, and strength all spent 
 for nought. 
 
 Death hovering near, 
 With visible terror-spear 
 Of famine, or a murder-stained sword, 
 A stricken land forsaken of her Lord ; 
 While bowed with doubled fear, 
 The faithful few appear ; 
 O sorrows manifold outpoured ! 
 Is blessing built upon such dark founda- 
 tion ; 
 And can a temple rising from such woe, 
 Rising upon such mournful crypts below, 
 Be filled with light and joy and sounding 
 adoration ? 
 
 B 
 
1 8 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 O strange mosaic ! wondrously inlaid 
 
 Are all its depths of shade, 
 With beauteous stones of promise, marbles 
 
 fair 
 Of trust and calm, and flashing brightly, 
 
 there 
 The precious gems of praise are set, and 
 
 shine 
 Resplendent with a light that almost seems 
 
 Divine. 
 
 Thanks be to God ! 
 The thirsty land He laveth, 
 The perishing He saveth ; 
 The floods lift up their voices, 
 The answering earth rejoices. 
 Thanks be to Him, and never - ending 
 
 laud, 
 For this new token of His bounteous love, 
 Who reigns in might the waterfloods above : 
 The gathering waters rush along ; 
 And leaps the exultant shout, one cataract of 
 song, 
 
 Thanks be to God ! 
 
 Thus joyously we sing ; 
 Nor is this all the praise we bring. 
 
Threefold Pra ise. 1 9 
 
 Yv T e need not wait for earthquake, storm, 
 and fire 
 To lift our praises higher ; 
 Nor wait for heaven-dawn ere we join the 
 hymn 
 Of throne-surrounding cherubim ; 
 For even on earth their anthem hath begun, 
 To Him, the Mighty and the Holy One. 
 We know the still small Voice in many a 
 
 word 
 Of guidance, and command, and promise 
 
 heard ; 
 And, knowing it, we bow before His feet, 
 With love and awe the seraph-strain repeat, 
 Holy, Holy, Holy ! God the Lord ! 
 His glory fills the earth, His name be all-adored. 
 
 O Lord, our Lord ! how excellent Thy name 
 Throughout this universal frame ! 
 
 Therefore Thy children rest 
 Beneath the shadow of Thy wings, 
 
 A shelter safe and blest ; 
 And tune their often tremulous strings 
 Thy love to praise, Thy glory to proclaim, 
 The Merciful, the Gracious One, eternally The 
 Same. 
 
20 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 PART III. 
 
 * * . . but above all, for Thine inestimable love in the 
 redemption of the world by our Lord Jesus Christ.' 
 
 Handel's ' Messiah* 
 
 Hush ! for a master harp is tuned again, 
 
 In truest unison with choirs above, 
 For prelude to a loftier, sweeter strain, 
 
 The praise of God's inestimable love ; 
 Who sent redemption to a world of woe, 
 That all a Father's heart His banished ones 
 might know. 
 
 Hush 1 while on silvery wing of holiest song 
 Floats forth ihe old, dear story of our peace, 
 His coming, the Desire of Ages long, 
 
 To wear our chains, and win our glad 
 release. 
 Our wondering joy, to hear such tidings blest, 
 Is crowned with ' Come to Him, and He will 
 give you rest.' 
 
 Rest, by His sorrow ! Bruised for our sin, 
 Behold the Lamb of God ! His death our 
 - life. 
 
Threefold Praise. 2 1 
 
 Now lift your heads, ye gates ! He entereth in, 
 Christ risen indeed, and Conqueror in the 
 strife. 
 Thanks, thanks to Him who won, and Him 
 who gave 
 Such victory of love, such triumph o'er the 
 grave. 
 
 Hark 1 * Hallelujah !' O sublimest strain! 
 
 Is it prophetic echo of the day 
 When He, our Saviour and our King, shall 
 reign, 
 And all the earth shall own His righteous 
 sway ? 
 Lift heart and voice, and swell the mighty 
 chords, 
 While hallelujahs peal, to Him, the Lord of 
 lords 1 
 
 1 Worthy of all adoration, 
 
 Is the Lamb that once was slain,' 
 Cry, in raptured exultation, 
 His redeemed from every nation ; 
 
 Angel myriads join the strain, 
 Sounding from their sinless strings 
 Glory to the King of kings : 
 
22 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Harping, with their harps of gold, 
 Praise which never can be told. 
 
 Hallelujahs fall and swelling 
 
 Rise around His throne of might, 
 
 All our highest laud excelling, 
 
 Holy and Immortal, dwelling 
 In the unapproached light, 
 
 He is worthy to receive 
 
 All that heaven and earth can give ; 
 
 Blessing, honour, glory, might, 
 
 All are His by glorious right. 
 
 As the sound of many waters 
 
 Let the full Amen arise ! 
 Hallelujah ! Ceasing never, 
 Sounding through the great FOR EVEK, 
 
 Linking all its harmonies ; 
 Through eternities of bliss, 
 Lord, our rapture shall be this ; 
 And our endless life shall be 
 One Amen of praise to Thee. 
 
Not Vet. 2; 
 
 NOT YET. 
 John xiii. 7. 
 
 NOT yet thou knowest what I do, 
 O feeble child of earth, 
 Whose life is but to angel view 
 
 The morning of thy birth ! 
 The smallest leaf, the simplest flower, 
 
 The wild bee's honey-cell, 
 Have lessons of My love and power 
 Too hard for thee to spell. 
 
 Thou knowest not how I uphold 
 
 The little thou dost scan ; 
 And how much less canst thou unfold 
 
 My universal plan, 
 Where all thy mind can grasp of space 
 
 Is but a grain of sand ; — 
 The time thy boldest thought can trace, 
 
 One ripple on the strand ! 
 
 Not yet thou knowest what I do 
 In this wild, warring world, 
 
24 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Whose prince doth still triumphant view 
 
 Confusion's flag unfurled ; 
 Nor how each proud and daring thought 
 
 Is subject to My will, 
 Each strong and secret purpose brought 
 
 My counsel to fulfil. 
 
 Not yet thou knowest how I bid 
 
 Each passing hour entwine 
 Its grief or joy, its hope or fear, 
 
 In one great love-design ; 
 Nor how I lead thee through the night, 
 
 By many a various way, 
 Still upward to unclouded light, 
 
 And onward to the day. 
 
 Not yet thou knowest what I do 
 
 Within thine own weak breast, 
 To mould thee to My image true, 
 
 And fit thee for My rest. 
 But yield thee to My loving skill ; 
 
 The veiled work of grace, 
 From day to day progressing still, 
 
 It is not thine to trace. 
 
 Yes, walk by faith and not by sight, 
 Fast clinging to My hand ; 
 
Th an Jcs giving, 2 5 
 
 Content to feel My love and might, 
 
 Not yet to understand. 
 A little while thy course pursue, 
 
 Till grace to glory grow ; 
 Then what I am, and what I do, 
 
 Hereafter thou shalt know. 
 
 THANKSGIVING. 
 
 THANKS be to God! to whom earth owes 
 Sunshine and breeze, 
 The heath-clad hill, the vale's*repose, 
 
 Streamlet and seas, 
 The snowdrop and the summer rose, 
 The many-voiced trees. 
 
 Thanks for the darkness that reveals 
 
 Night's starry dower ; 
 And for the sable cloud that heals 
 
 Each fevered flower ; 
 And for the rushing storm that peais 
 Our weakness and Thy power. 
 
26 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Thanks for the sweetly -lingering might 
 
 In music's tone ; 
 For paths of knowledge, whose calm light 
 
 Is all Thine own ; 
 For thoughts that at the Infinite 
 Fold their bright wings alone. 
 
 Yet thanks that silence oft may flow 
 
 In dewlike store ; 
 Thanks for the mysteries that show 
 
 How small our lore ; 
 Thanks that we here so little know, 
 And trust Thee all the more ! 
 
 Thanks for the gladness that entwines 
 
 Our path below ; 
 Each sunrise that incarnadines 
 
 The cold, still snow ; 
 Thanks for the light of love which shines 
 With brightest earthly glow. . 
 
 Thanks for the sickness and the grief 
 
 Which none may flee ; 
 For loved ones standing now around 
 
 The crystal sea ; 
 And for the weariness of heart 
 Which only rests in Thee. 
 
Thanksgiving. 27 
 
 Thanks for Thine own thrice-blessed Word, 
 
 And Sabbath rest ; 
 Thanks for the hope of glory stored 
 
 In mansions blest ; 
 Thanks for the Spirit's comfort poured 
 Into the trembling breast. 
 
 Thanks, more than thanks, to Him ascend, 
 
 Who died to win 
 Our life, and every trophy rend 
 
 From Death and Sin ; 
 Till, when the thanks of Earth shall end, 
 The thanks of Heaven begin. 
 
 Note. — It may be well to say, that these verses were 
 tii print before the writer either saw or heard of the 
 beautiful little poem by Adelaide Procter on the same 
 theme. 
 
28 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 LIFE-CRYSTALS. 
 
 THE world is full of crystals. Swift, or 
 slow, 
 Or dark, or bright their varying formation ; 
 From pure calm heights of fair untrodden 
 
 snow 
 To fire-wrought depths of earliest creation. 
 And life is full of crystals ; forming still 
 In myriad-shaped results from good and seem- 
 ing ill. 
 
 Yes ! forming everywhere ; in busiest street, 
 In noisiest throng. Oh how it would astound 
 
 us, 
 The strange soul-chemistry of some we meet 
 In slight and passing talk ! For all around us, 
 Deep inner silence broods o'er gems to be. 
 Now, in three visioned hearts trace out the work 
 
 with me ! 
 
 A heart that wonderingly received the flow 
 Of marvels and of mysteries of being, 
 Of sympathies and tensions, joy and woe ; 
 Each earnestly from baser substance freeing : 
 
Life-Crystals. 29 
 
 A great life-mixture, full, and deep, and strong : 
 A sudden touch, and lo ! it crystallized in song. 
 
 Then forth it flashed among the souls of men 
 Its own prismatic radiance, brightly sealing 
 A several rainbow for each several ken ; 
 The secrets of the distant stars revealing ; 
 Reflecting many a heart's clear rays unknown, 
 And, freely shedding light, it analysed their 
 own. 
 
 A heart from which all joy had ebbed away, 
 And grief poured in a flood of burning anguish, 
 Then sealed the molten glow ; till, day by day, 
 The fires without, within, begin to languish : 
 Then 'afterward' came coolness; all was well, 
 And from the broken crust a shining crystal fell. 
 
 A mourner found, and fastened on her breast 
 The soft-hued gem, the prized by mourners 
 
 only; 
 With sense of treasure gained she sought her 
 
 rest, 
 No longer wandering in the twilight lonely ; 
 The sorrow-crystal glittering in the dark, 
 While faith and hope shone out to greet its starry 
 
 spark. 
 
30 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 A heart where emptiness seemed emptier made 
 Ly colourless remains of tasteless pleasure ; 
 ONE came, and pitying the hollow shade, 
 Toured in His own strong love in fullest 
 
 measure ; 
 Then shadowed it with silent falling night, 
 And stilled it with the solemn Presence of His 
 
 might. 
 
 A little while, then found the Master there 
 Love-crystals sparkling in the joyous morning; 
 He stooped to gaze, and smiled to own them 
 
 fair, 
 A treasured choice for His own rich adorning ; 
 Then set them in His diadem above, 
 To mingle evermore with His own light and 
 
 love. 
 
Not Your (htm. 31 
 
 NOT YOUR OWN. 
 
 ' "X TOT your own !' but His ye are, 
 1 >l Who hath paid a price untold 
 For your life, exceeding far 
 
 All earth's store of gems and gold. 
 With the precious blood of Christ, 
 Ransom treasure all unpriced, 
 Full redemption is procured, 
 Full salvation is assured. 
 
 'Not your own !' but His by right, 
 His peculiar treasure now, 
 Fair and precious in His sight, 
 
 Purchased jewels for His brow. 
 He will keep what thus He sought, 
 Safely guard the dearly bought, 
 Cherish that which He did choose, 
 Always love and never lose. 
 
 * Not your own ! ' but His, the King, 
 His, the Lord of earth and sky, 
 His, to whom archangels bring 
 Homage deep and praises h 
 
32 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 What can royal birth bestow ? 
 Or the proudest titles show ? 
 Can such dignity be known 
 As the glorious name, ' His own ! ' 
 
 ' Not your own ! ' To Him ye owe 
 All your life and all your love ; 
 
 Live, that ye His praise may show, 
 Who is yet all praise above. 
 
 Every day and every hour, 
 
 Every gift and every power, 
 
 Consecrate to Him alone, 
 
 Who hath claimed you for His own. 
 
 Teach us, Master, how to give 
 
 All we have and are to Thee ; 
 Grant us, Saviour, while we live, 
 
 Wholly, only, Thine to be. 
 Henceforth be our calling high 
 Thee to serve and glorify ; 
 Ours no longer, but Thine own, 
 Thine for ever, Thine alone ! 
 
Wounded. 33 
 
 WOUNDED 
 
 ONLY a look and a motion that nobody 
 saw or heard, 
 Past in a moment and over, with never the 
 
 sound of a word ; 
 Streams of converse around me smoothly and 
 
 cheerily flow, 
 But a terrible stab has been given, a silent and 
 
 Guesses the hand that gave it hardly a tithe of 
 
 the smart, 
 Nothing at all of the anguish that fiercely leapt 
 
 up in my heart, 
 Scorching and scathing its peace, while a 
 
 tremulous nerve to the brain 
 Flashed up a telegram sudden, a message of 
 
 quivering pain. 
 
 They must be merry without me, for how can I 
 sing to-night ? 
 
 They will only think I am tired, and thought- 
 fully shade the light ; 
 
34 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Finger and voice would fail while the wound is 
 
 open and sore ; 
 Bleeding away the strength I had gathered for 
 
 days before. 
 
 Only a look and a motion ! Yes, but we little 
 
 know 
 How from each dwarf- like ' only ' a giant of 
 
 power may grow ; 
 The thundering avalanche crushes, loosened by 
 
 only a breath, 
 And only a colourless drop may be laden with 
 
 sudden death. 
 
 Only a word of command, but it loses or wins 
 
 the field ; 
 Only a stroke of the pen, but a heart is broken 
 
 or healed ; 
 Only a step may sever, pole-wide, future and 
 
 past; 
 Only a touch may rivet links which for life shall 
 
 last. 
 
 Only a look and a motion ! Why was the wound 
 
 so deep ? 
 Were it no echo of sorrow, hushed for a while 
 
 to sleep, 
 
35 
 
 Were it no shadow of fear, far o'er the future 
 
 thrown, 
 Slight were the suffering new, if it bore on the 
 
 present alone. 
 
 Ah ! I would smile it away, but 't is all too 
 
 fresh and too keen ; 
 Perhaps I may some day recall it as if it had 
 
 never been ; 
 Now I can only be still, and endure where I 
 
 cannot cope, 
 Praying for meekness and patience, praying for 
 
 faith and hope. 
 
 Is it an answer already that words to my mind 
 are brought, 
 
 Floating like shining lilies on waters of gloomi- 
 est thought ? 
 
 Simple and short is the sentence, but oh! what 
 it comprehends ! 
 
 ' Those with which I was wounded, in the house 
 of My friends.' 
 
 Floating still on my heart, while I listen again 
 
 and again, 
 Stilling the anxious throbbing, soothing the icy 
 
 pain, 
 
The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Proving its sacred mission healing and balm to 
 
 bring. 
 'Coming?' Yes, if you want me! Yes, I 
 
 am ready to sing. 
 
 WHOSE 1 AM. 
 
 JESUS, Master, whose I am, 
 Purchased Thine alone to be» 
 iiy Thy blood, O spotless Lamb, 
 
 Shed so willingly for me ; 
 Let my heart be all Thine own, 
 Let me live to Thee alone. 
 
 Other lords have long held sway ; 
 
 Now, Thy name alone to bear, 
 Thy dear voice alone obey, 
 
 Is my daily, hourly prayer. 
 Whom have I in heaven but Thee ? 
 Nothing else my joy can be. 
 
 Jesus, Master ! I am Thine ; 
 
 Keep me faithful, keep me near ; 
 
Whom I Serve. 57 
 
 Let Thy presence in me shine 
 
 All my homeward way to cheer. 
 Jesus ! at Thy feet I fall, 
 Oh, be Thou my All-in-all. 
 
 WHOM 1 SERVE. 
 
 T ESUS, Master, whom I serve, 
 I Though so feebly and so ill, 
 Strengthen hand and heart and nerve 
 
 All Thy bidding to fulfil ; 
 Open Thou mine eyes to see 
 All the work Thou hast for me. 
 
 Lord, Thou needest not, I know, 
 Service such as I can bring ; 
 
 Yet I long to prove and show 
 Full allegiance to my King. 
 
 Thou an honour 1 art to me, 
 
 Let me be a praise to Thee. 
 
 1 See marginal reading of i et. il 7. 
 
38 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Jesus, Master ! wilt Thou use 
 
 One who owes Thee more than all ? 
 
 As Thou wilt ! I would not choose, 
 Only let me hear Thy call. 
 
 Jesus ! let me always be 
 
 In Thy service glad and free. 
 
 PEA CE. 
 
 IS this the Peace of God, this strange, sweet 
 calm? 
 The weary day is at its zenith still, 
 Yet 't is as if beside some cool, clear rill, 
 Through shadowy stillness rose an evening 
 psalm, 
 And all the noise of life were hushed away, 
 And tranquil gladness reigned with gently 
 soothing sway. 
 
 It was not so just now. I turned aside 
 With aching head, and heart most sorely bowed ; 
 Around me cares and griefs in crushing crowd, 
 
 While inly rose the sense, in swelling tide, 
 
Peace. 39 
 
 Of weakness, insufficiency, and sin, 
 And fear, and gloom, and doubt, in mighty 
 flood rolled in. 
 
 That rushing flood I had no strength to 
 meet, 
 Nor power to flee : my present, future, past, 
 My self, my sorrow, and my sin I c ist 
 In utter helplessness at Jesu's feet ; 
 Then bent me to the storm, if such His will. 
 He saw the winds and waves, and whispered, 
 * Peace, be still ! ' 
 
 And there was calm ! O Saviour, I have 
 proved 
 That Thou to help and save art really near : 
 How else this quiet rest from grief, and fear, 
 
 And all distress ? The cross is not removed, 
 I must go forth to bear it as before, 
 But, leaning on Thine arm, I dread its weight 
 no more. 
 
 Is it indeed Thy Peace ? I have not tried 
 To analyse my faith, dissect my trust, 
 Or measure if belief be full and just, 
 
 And therefore claim Thy Peace. But Thou 
 hast died, 
 
40 The Ministry o/Sottg. 
 
 I know that this is true, and true for me, 
 And, knowing it, I come, and cast my all oa 
 Thee. 
 
 It is not that I feel less weak, but Thou 
 Wilt be my strength ; it is not that I see 
 Less sin, but more of pardoning love with 
 Thee, 
 And all-sufficient grace. Enough ! And now 
 All fluttering thought is stilled, I only rest, 
 And feel that Thou art near, and know that 
 I am blest. 
 
 GOD'S MESSAGE. 
 TO HIM THAT IS FAR OFF 
 
 PEACE, peace ! 
 To him that is far away. 
 Turn, O wanderer ! why wilt thou die, 
 When the peace is made that shall bring thee 
 nigh? 
 
Cod's Message. 
 
 Listen, O rebel ! the heralds proclaim 
 The King's own peace through a Saviour's 
 name ; 
 Then yield thee to-day. 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 
 The word of the Lord to thee. 
 Feace, for thy passion and restless pride, 
 For thy endless cravings all unsupplied, 
 Peace for thy weary and sin-worn breast , 
 He knows the need who has promised rest, 
 
 And the gift is free. 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 
 Through Him who for all hath died ! 
 Wider the terms than thy deepest guilt, 
 Or in vain were the blood of our Surety spilt : 
 Even because thou art far away 
 To thee is the message of peace to-day, 
 
 Peace through the Crucified. 
 
 AND TO HIM THAT IS NEAR. 
 
 PEACE, peace ! 
 
 Yea, peace to him that is near. 
 
 The crown is set on the Victor's brow, 
 
 For thy warfare is accomplished now ; 
 
Ministry of Song. 
 
 And for thee eternal peace is made 
 By the Lord on whom thy sins were laid : 
 Then why shouldst thou fear ? 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 Wrought by the Spirit of Might. 
 In thy deepest sorrow and sorest strife, 
 1 n the changes and chances of mortal life, 
 It is thine, beloved ! Christ's own bequest, 
 Which vainly tfye Tempter shall strive to wrest j 
 It is now thy right. 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 
 Look for its bright increase ; 
 Deepening, widening, year by year, 
 Like a sunlit river, strong, calm, and clear ; 
 Lean on His love through this earthly vale, 
 For His word and His work shall never fail, 
 
 And ' He is our Peace. ' 
 
43 
 
 • A GREA T M YS TER Y. ' 
 
 THERE is a hush in earth and sky, 
 The ear is free to list aright 
 In darkness m the eye 
 
 The many -coloured spells of light 
 
 heralded by fire ; 
 In s.. 'mly seen, 
 
 om a gloi 
 m, 
 The one. :;e. 
 
 Th: ade, 
 
 _re o'erpaid 
 By one sweet echo of such notes. 
 
 r not, beloved ! thou art Mine, 
 For I have given My life for thee ; 
 By name I call thee, rise and shine, 
 Be praise and glory unto Me. 
 
 1 In Me all spotless and complete, 
 And in My comeliness most fair 
 
44 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Art thou ; to Me thy voice is sweet, 
 Prevailing in thy feeblest prayer. 
 
 * Thy life is hid in God with Me, 
 I stoop to dwell within thy breast \ 
 
 My joy for ever thou shalt be, 
 And in My love for thee I rest. 
 
 1 O Prince's daughter, whom I see 
 In bridal garments, pure as light, 
 
 Betrothed for ever unto Me, 
 
 On thee My own new name I write.' 
 
 Lo ! 'neath the stars' uncertain ray 
 In flowing mantle glistening fair, 
 
 One, lowly bending, turns away 
 
 From that sweet voice in cold despair. 
 
 Is it Humility, who sees 
 
 Herself unworthy of such grace, 
 
 Who dares not hope her Lord to please, 
 Who dares not look upon His face ? 
 
 Nay, where that mantle fleeting gleams, 
 'T is Unbelief who turns aside, 
 
 Who rather rests in self- spun dreams, 
 Than trust the love of Him who died. 
 
% A Great Mystery.' 
 
 Faith casts away the fair disguise, 
 
 She will not doubt her Master's voice, 
 
 And droop when He hath bid her rise, 
 Or mourn when He hath said, * Rejoice! 
 
 .Her stained and soiled robes she leaves, 
 And Christ's own shining raiment takes ; 
 
 What His love gives, her love receives, 
 And meek and trustful answer makes : 
 
 1 Behold the handmaid of the Lord ! 
 Thou callest, and I come to Thee : 
 According to Thy faithful word, 
 
 Master, be it unto me ! 
 
 1 Thy love I cannot comprehend, 
 
 1 only know Thy word is true, 
 And that thou lovest to the end 
 
 Each whom to Thee the Father drew. 
 
 1 Oh ! take the heart I could not give 
 
 Without Thy strength-bestowing call j 
 In Thee, and for Thee, let me live, 
 For I am nothing, Thou art all. 1 
 
46 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 BE NOT WEARY. 
 
 YES ! He knows the way is dreary, 
 Knows the weakness of our frame, 
 Knows that hand and heart are weary ; 
 
 He, 'in all points,' felt the same. 
 He is near to help and bless ; 
 Be not weary, onward press. 
 
 Look to Him who once was willing 
 
 All His glory to resign, 
 That, for thee the law fulfilling, 
 
 All His merit might be thine. 
 Strive to follow day by day 
 Where His footsteps mark the way. 
 
 Look to Him, the Lord of Glory, 
 Tasting death to win thy life ; 
 
 Gazing on ' that wondrous story,' 
 Canst thou falter in the strife ? 
 
 Is it not new life to know 
 
 That the Lord hath loved thee so ? 
 
 Look to Him who ever liveth, 
 Interceding for His own : 
 
The Great Teacher, 47 
 
 Seek, yea, claim the grace He giveth 
 
 Freely from His priestly throne. 
 Will He not thy strength renew 
 "With His Spirit's quickening dew? 
 
 Look to Him, and faith shall brighten, 
 Hope shall soar, and love shall burn ; 
 
 Peace once more thy heart shall lighten ; 
 Rise ! He calleth thee, return ! 
 
 Be not weary on thy way, 
 
 Jesus is thy strength and stay. 
 
 THE GREAT TEACHER. 
 
 I LOVE to feel that I am taught, 
 And, as a little child, 
 To note the lessons I have learnt 
 
 In passing through the wild. 
 For I am sure God teaches me, 
 And His own gracious hand 
 Each varying page before me spreads, 
 Ly love and wisdom planned. 
 
43 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 I often think I cannot spell 
 
 The lesson I must learn, 
 And then, in weariness and doubt, 
 
 I pray the page may turn ; 
 But time goes on, and soon I find 
 
 I was learning all the while ; 
 And words which seemed most dimly 
 traced 
 
 Shine out with rainbow smile. 
 
 Or sometimes strangely I forget, 
 
 And, learning o'er and o'er, 
 A lesson all with tear-drops wet, 
 
 Which I had learnt before. 
 He chides me not, but waits awhile, 
 
 Then wipes my heavy eyes : 
 Oh what a Teacher is our God, 
 
 So patient and so wise ! 
 
 Dark silent hours of study fall, 
 
 And I can scarcely see ; 
 Then one beside me whispers low 
 
 What is so hard to me. 
 'T is easier then ! I am so glad 
 
 I am not taught alone ; 
 It is such help to overhear 
 
 A lesson like my own. 
 
The Great Teache)'. 49 
 
 Sometimes the Master gives to me 
 
 A strange new alphabet ; 
 I wonder what its use will be, 
 
 Or why it need be set. 
 And then I find this tongue alone 
 
 Some stranger ear can reach, 
 One whom He may commission me 
 
 For Him to train or teach. 
 
 If others sadly bring to me 
 
 A lesson hard and new, 
 I often find that helping them 
 
 Has made me learn it too. 
 Or, had I learnt it long before, 
 
 My toil is overpaid, 
 If so one tearful eye may see 
 
 One lesson plainer made. 
 
 We do not see our Teacher's face, 
 
 We do not hear His voice ; 
 And yet we know that He is near, 
 
 We feel it, and rejoice. 
 There is a music round our hearts, 
 
 Set in no mortal key ; 
 There is a Presence with our sou's, 
 
 We know that it is He. 
 
5<d The Ministry of Song, 
 
 His loving teaching cannot fail ; 
 
 And we shall know at last 
 Each task that seemed so hard and strange, 
 
 "When learning time is past. 
 Oh ! may we learn to love Him more, 
 
 By every opening page, 
 By every lesson He shall mark 
 
 With daily ripening age. 
 
 And then, to ' know as we are knOwn ' 
 
 Shall be our glorious prize, 
 To see the Teacher who hath been 
 
 So patient and so wise. 
 O joy untold 1 Yet not alone 
 
 Shall ours the gladness be ; 
 The travail of His soul in us 
 
 Our Saviour- God shall see* 
 
A untie s Lessons, 5 1 
 
 AUNTIE'S LESSONS. 
 
 THEY said their texts, and their hymns 
 they sang, 
 On that sunny Sabbath-day ; 
 And yet there was time ere the church-bell 
 rang, 
 So I bid them trot away, 
 And leave me to rest and read alone, 
 Where the ash-tree's shade o'er the lawn was 
 thrown. 
 
 But oh ! 't was a cry and a pleading sore, 
 1 O Auntie ! we will not tease, 
 
 But tell us one Sunday story more ; 
 
 We will sit so still on the grassy floor ; 
 
 Tell us the one you told before 
 Of little black Mumu, please, 
 
 Whom, deaf and dumb, and sick and lone, 
 
 The good ship brought to Sierra Leone.' 
 
 Willie begged loud, and Francie low, 
 And Alice, who could resist her ? 
 
52 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Certainly not myself, and so 
 
 The story was just beginning, when lo ! 
 
 To the rescue came my sister. 
 1 / will tell you a story to-day ; 
 Aunt Fanny has all her own lessons to say ! ' 
 
 Wonderful notion, and not at all clear ! 
 
 Alfred looked quite astounded. 
 Who in the world my lessons could hear? 
 They guessed at every one far and near, 
 
 *T was a mystery unbounded. 
 They settled at last that it must be 
 Grandpapa Havergal over the sea. 
 
 Then merry eyes grew grave and wise. 
 
 On tiptoe Alice trod ; 
 She had a better thought than they, 
 And whispered low, * Does Auntie say 
 
 Her lessons all to God ? ' 
 How little the import deep she knew 
 Of those baby-words, so sweet and true ! 
 
 Little she knew what they enfold ! — 
 A treasure of happy thought ; 
 
 A tiny casket of virgin gold, 
 
 With jewels of comfort fraught. 
 
Rest. 53 
 
 Great men's wisdom may pass away, 
 Dear Alice's words in my heart will stay. 
 
 REST. 
 
 * Thou hast made us for Thyself, and the heart never 
 resteth till it findeth rest in Thee.' — St. Augustine. 
 
 MADE for Thyself, O God ! 
 Made for Thy love, Thy service, Thy delight ; 
 Made to show forth Thy wisdom, grace, and 
 
 might ; 
 Made for Thy praise, whom veiled archangels 
 
 laud ; 
 Oh strange and glorious thought, that we may be 
 A joy to Thee ! 
 
 Yet the heart turns away 
 From this grand destiny of bliss, and deems 
 ' T was made for its poor self, for passing 
 
 dreams, 
 Chasing illusions melting day by day ; 
 Till/or ourselves we read on this world's best, 
 ' This is not rest ! ' 
 
54 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Nor can the vain toil cease, 
 Till in the shadowy maze of life we meet 
 One who can guide our aching, wayward feet 
 To find Himself, our Way, our Life, our Peace. 
 In Him the long unrest is soothed and stilled ; 
 Our hearts are filled. 
 
 O rest, so true, so sweet ! 
 (Would it were shared by all the weary world !) 
 'Neath shadowing banner of His love unfurled, 
 We bend to kiss the Master's pierced feet ; 
 Then lean our love upon His loving breast, 
 And know God's rest. 
 
 ONE QUESTION, MANY ANSWERS. 
 
 1 WHAT wouldst thou be ? ' 
 The question hath wakened wild thoughts in me, 
 And a thousand responses, like ghosts from their 
 
 graves, 
 Arise from my soul's unexplored deep caves, 
 The echoes of every varying mood 
 Of a wayward spirit all unsubdued ; 
 
One Question, Many Answers. 55 
 
 The voices which thrill through my inmost 
 
 breast 
 May tell me of gladness, but not of rest. 
 
 What wouldst thou be? 
 *T is well that the answer is not for me. 
 
 4 What wouldst thou be?' 
 An eagle soaring rejoicingly. 
 One who may rise on the lightning's wing, 
 Till our wide, wide world seem a tiny thing ; 
 Who may stand on the confines of boundless 
 
 space, 
 And the giant form of the universe trace, 
 While its full grand harmonies swell around, 
 And grasp it all with mind profound. 
 
 Such would I be, 
 Only stayed by infinity. 
 
 * What wouldst thou be ? ' 
 A bright incarnation of melody. 
 One whose soul is a fairy lute, 
 Waking such tones as bid all be mute, 
 Breathing such notes as may silence woe, 
 Pouring such strains as make joy o'erflow, 
 Speaking in music the heart's deep emotion, 
 Soothing and sweet as the shell of the ocean. 
 
56 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Such would I be, 
 Like a fountain of music, all pure and free. 
 
 * What wouldst thou be V 
 A living blossom of poesy. 
 A soul of mingled power and light, 
 Evoking images rare and bright, 
 Fair and pure as an angel's dream ; 
 Touching all with a heavenly gleam ; 
 And royally claiming from poet-throne 
 Earth's treasure of beauty as all mine own. 
 
 Such would I be — 
 My childhood's dream in reality I 
 
 'What wouldst thou be?' 
 A wondrous magnet to all I see. 
 A spirit whose power may touch and bind 
 With unconscious influence every mind ; 
 Whose presence brings, like some fabled wand, 
 The love which a monarch may not command • 
 As the spring awakens from cold repose 
 The bloomless brier, the sweet wild rose. 
 
 Such would I be, 
 With the love of all to encircle me ! 
 
 < What wouldst thou be ? ' 
 A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea. 
 
One Question, Many Answers, 57 
 
 I would I were once again a child, 
 Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild \ 
 In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling, 
 The golden moments for sunbeams selling ; 
 Ever counting on bright to-morrows, 
 And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows. 
 
 Such would I be, 
 A sparkling cascade of untiring glee. 
 
 1 What wouldst thou be ? ' 
 A blessing to each one surrounding me ; 
 A chalice of dew to the weary heart, 
 A sunbeam of joy bidding sorrow depart, 
 To the storm-tossed vessel a beacon light, 
 A nightingale song in the darkest night, 
 A beckoning hand to a far-off goal, 
 An angel of love to each friendless soul : 
 
 Such would I be. 
 Oh that such happiness were for me 1 
 
 1 What wouldst thou be ? ' 
 With these alone were no rest for me. 
 I would be my Saviour's loving child, 
 With a heart set free from its passions wild, 
 Rejoicing in Him and His own sweet ways; 
 An echo of heaven s unseating praise, 
 
58 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 A mirror here of His light and love, 
 And a polished gem in His crown above. 
 
 Such would I be, 
 Thine, O Saviour, and one with Thee ! 
 
 CONTENT. 
 
 ' " WHAT wouldst thou be ? " 
 A wavelet just rising from life's wide sea. 
 1 would I were once again a child, 
 Like a laughing floweret on mountains wild ; 
 In the fairy realms of fancy dwelling, 
 The golden moments for sunbeams selling ; 
 Ever counting on bright to-morrows, 
 And knowing nought of unspoken sorrows : 
 
 Such would I be, 
 A sparkling cascade of untiring glee.' 
 
 i860. 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 For longings change as the full years flow. 
 When I had but taken a step or two 
 From the fairy regions still in view ; 
 
Content. 59 
 
 While their playful breezes fanned me still 
 At every pause on the steeper hill, 
 And the blossoms showered from every shoot, 
 Showered and fell, and yet no fruit, — 
 
 It was grief and pain 
 That I never could be a child again. 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 Back to my life-dawn I would not go. 
 A little is lost, but more is won, 
 As the sterner work of the day is done. 
 We forget that the troubles of childish days 
 Were once gigantic in morning haze. 
 There is less of fancy, but more of truth, 
 For we lose the mists with the dew of youth ; 
 
 And a rose is born 
 On many a spray which seemed only thorn. 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 While the years of childhood glided slow, 
 There was all to receive and nothing to give : 
 Is it not better for others to live? 
 And happier far than merriest games 
 Is the joy of our new and nobler aims : 
 Then fair fresh flowers, now lasting gems ; 
 Then wreaths for a day, but now diadems, 
 
6o The Ministry of Song, 
 
 For ever to shine, 
 Bright in the radiance of Love Divine. 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 I would not again be a child, I know I 
 But were it not pleasant again to stand 
 On the border-line of that fairy land, — 
 Feeling so buoyant and blithe and strong, 
 Fearing no slip as we bound along, 
 Halting at will in the sunshine to bask, 
 Deeming the journey an easy task, 
 
 While Courage and Hope 
 Smooth with ' Come, see, and conquer ' each 
 emerald slope ? 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 Less leaping flame, but a deeper glow ! 
 There is more of sorrow, but more of joy, 
 Less glittering ore, but less alloy ; 
 There is more of pain, but more of balm, 
 And less of pleasure, but more of calm ; 
 Many a hope all spent and dead, 
 But higher and brighter hopes instead ; 
 
 Less risked, more won ; 
 Less planned and dreamed, but perhaps nioro 
 done. 
 
Content. 6 1 
 
 Not so, not so ! 
 Not in stature and learning alone we grow. 
 Though we no more look from year to year 
 For power of mind more strong and clear, 
 Though the table-land of life we tread, 
 No widening view before us spread, 
 No sunlit summits to lure ambition, 
 But only the path of a daily mission, 
 
 We would not turn 
 Where the will-o'-the-wisps of our young dreams 
 burn. 
 
 Then be it so ! 
 For in better things we yet may grow. 
 Onward and upward still our way, 
 With the joy of progress from day to day ; 
 Nearer and nearer every year 
 To the visions and hopes most true and dear ; 
 Children still of a Father's love, 
 Children still of a home above ! 
 
 Thus we look back, 
 Without a sigh, o'er the lengthening track. 
 
 I So 7. 
 
62 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 MIS UNDER S TOOD. 
 
 4 T)EOPLE do not understand me, 
 XT Their ideas are not like mine ; 
 All advances seem to land me 
 Still outside their guarded shrine.' 
 
 So you turn from simple joyance, 
 Losing many a mutual good, 
 
 Weary with the chill annoyance 
 So to be misunderstood. 
 
 Let me try to lift the curtain 
 Hiding other hearts from view ; 
 
 You complain, but are you certain 
 That the fault is not with you ? 
 
 In the sunny summer hours, 
 Sitting in your quiet room, 
 
 Can you wonder if the flowers 
 
 Breathe for you no sweet perfume ? 
 
 True, you see them bright and pearly 
 With the jewelry of morn ; 
 
Mis 21 uder stood. 6 3 
 
 But their fragrance, fresh and early, 
 Is not through your window borne. 
 
 You must go to them, and stooping, 
 Cull the blossoms where they live ; 
 
 On your bosom gently drooping, 
 All their treasure they will give. 
 
 Who would guess what fragrance lingers 
 In verbena's pale green show ! 
 
 Press the leaflet in your fingers, 
 All its sweetnes? you will know. 
 
 Few the harps ^Eolian, sending 
 Unsought music on the wind : 
 
 Else must love and skill be blending 
 Music's full response to find. 
 
 • But my key-note,' are you thinking, 
 ' Will not modulate to theirs ? ' 
 Seek ! and subtle chords enlinking, 
 Soon shall blend the differing airs. 
 
 Fairly sought, some point of contact 
 There must be with every mind ; 
 
 And, perchance, the closest compact 
 Where we least expect we find. 
 
64 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Perhaps the heart you meet so coldly 
 Burns with deepest lava-glow ; 
 
 Wisely pierce the crust, and boldly, 
 And a fervid stream shall flow. 
 
 Dialects of love are many, 
 
 Though the language be but one ; 
 
 Study all you can, or any, 
 
 While life's precious school-hours run. 
 
 Closed the heart-door of thy brother, 
 All its treasure long concealed ? 
 
 One key fails, then try another, 
 Soon the rusty lock shall yield. 
 
 Few have not some hidden trial, 
 And could sympathise with thine ; 
 
 Do not take it as denial 
 
 That you see no outward sign. 
 
 Silence is no certain token 
 That no secret grief is there ; 
 
 Sorrow which is never spoken 
 Is the heaviest load to bear. 
 
 Seldom can the heart be lonely, 
 If it seek a lonelier still. 
 
Sunbeams in the Wood. 
 
 Self-forgetting, seeking only 
 Emptier cups of love to fill. 
 
 'T will not be a fruitless labour, 
 Overcome this ill with good ; 
 
 Try to understand your neighbour , 
 And you will be understood. 
 
 SUNBEAMS IN THE WOOD. 
 
 MARK ye not the sunbeams glancing 
 Through the cool green shade. 
 On the waving fern-leaves dancing, 
 In the quiet glade ? 
 
 See you how they change and quiver 
 
 Where the broad oaks rise, 
 Rippling like a golden river 
 
 From their fountain skies ? 
 
 On the grey old timber resting 
 
 Like a sleeping dove, 
 Like a fairy grandchild nesting 
 
 In an old man's love. 
 
66 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 On the dusty pathway tracing 
 Arabesques with golden style ; 
 
 Light and shadow interlacing, 
 Like a tearful smile. 
 
 Many a hidden leaf revealing. 
 
 Many an unseen flower ; 
 Like a maiden lightly stealing 
 
 Past each secret bower. 
 
 Oh ! how beautiful they make it 
 
 Everywhere they fall ; 
 Sunbeams ! why will ye forsake it 
 
 At pale Evening's call ? 
 
 In the arching thickets linger, 
 
 In the woodland aisle, 
 Gilding them with trembling finger, 
 
 Yet a little while. 
 
 Then, your last calm radiance pouring;, 
 
 Bid the earth good-night ; 
 Like a sainted spirit soaring 
 
 To a home of light 
 
The Star Shower, 6y 
 
 THE STAR SHOWER. 
 
 November 14, 1866. 
 
 OH ! to raise a mighty shout, 
 And bid the sleepers all come out I 
 No dreamer's fancy, fair and high, 
 Could image forth a grander sky. 
 And oh for eyes of swifter power 
 To follow fast the starry shower ! 
 Oh for a sweep of vision clear 
 To grasp at once a hemisphere ! 
 
 The solemn old chorale of Night, 
 
 With fullest chords of awful might, 
 
 Re-echoes still in stately march 
 
 Throughout the glowing heavenly arch 3 
 
 But harmonies all new and rare 
 
 Are intermingling everywhere, 
 
 Fantastic, fitful, fresh, and free ; 
 
 A sparkling wealth of melody, 
 
 A carol of sublimest glee, 
 
 Is bursting from the starry chorus, 
 
 In dazzling exultation o'er us. 
 
68 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 O wondrous sight ! so swift, so bright. 
 
 Like sudden thrills of strange delight ; 
 
 As if the stars were all at play, 
 
 And kept ecstatic holiday ; 
 
 As if it were a jubilee 
 
 Of glad millenniums fully told, 
 
 Or universal sympathy 
 
 With some new-dawning age of gold. 
 
 Flashing from the lordly lion, 
 Flaming under bright Procyon, 
 From the farthest east up-ranging, 
 Past the blessed orb 1 unchanging ; 
 Ursa's brilliance far out-gleaming, 
 From the very zenith streaming ; 
 Rushing, as in joy delirious, 
 To the pure white ray of Sirius ; 
 Past Orion's belted splendour, 
 Past Capeila, clear and tender ; 
 Lightening dusky Polar regions, 
 Brightening pale encircling legions ; 
 Lines of fiery glitter tracing, 
 Parting, meeting, interlacing ; 
 
 1 ■ That admirable Polar Star, which is a blessing to 
 astronomers.' — Professor A try's Popular Lectures on 
 Astronomy. 
 
The Star Shower. 69 
 
 Paling every constellation 
 With their radiant revelation ! 
 All we heard of meteor glory 
 Is a true and sober story ; 
 Who will not for life remember 
 This ni^ht grandeur of November ? 
 
 *T is over now, the once-seen, dream-like sight ! 
 With gradual hand the clear and breezy dawn 
 Hath o'er the marvels of the meteor night 
 A veil of light impenetrable drawn. 
 And earth is sweeping on through starless space, 
 Nor may we once look back, the shining field 
 to trace. 
 
 Ere next the glittering stranger- throng we meet, 
 How many a star of life will seek the west ! 
 Our century's dying pulse will faintly beat ; 
 The toilers of to-day will be at rest ; 
 And little ones, who now but laugh and play, 
 Will weary in the heat and burden of the day. 
 
 Oh, is there nothing beautiful and glad 
 But bears a message of decay and change ? 
 So be it ! Though we call it stern and sad, 
 Viewed by the torch of Love, it is not strange. 
 

 : r: ifl seated things i voice 
 
 7 :: :.. ■ — rs low 
 
 7: ::i lit 
 
 To s'"ir.e :-s r.urs of God :' : i - .- .- — - ■ . 
 
 T TROVE. 
 
 I PL AVI I 
 i riTer of re 
 
 Flo- 
 1 1 : . : 
 
 Till to my feet it brc : 
 
Throve. 
 
 '. yet many another, 
 Leaning over the stream, 
 May have welcomed its sudden shining, 
 And gazed on its gentle gleam. 
 
 ; it must have been lyii 
 it is new to me. 
 Oh the treasures arou: ' 
 If we could only see ! 
 
 I have broken the smooth dark water 
 Into ripples and circles bright, 
 - my pearl from the pebbles, 
 ! ..ring away its light. 
 
 I am so glad to have found it ! 
 
 I shall treasure it safely a while, 
 It will brighten the niche that is darkest 
 
 In my spirit's loneliest aisle. 
 
 And then, it may be, a dear one 
 
 Will wear it, a long, long time, 
 Fastened firm on her bosom, 
 ig of silver rhyme- 
 
The Ministry of Song. 
 
 w 
 
 COMING SUMMER. 
 
 HAT will the summer bring? 
 Sunshine and flowers, 
 Brightness and melody, 
 Golden-voiced hours ; 
 Rose-gleaming mornings 
 
 Vocal with praise ; 
 Crimson-flushed evenings,, 
 Nightingale lays. 
 
 What may the summer bring 1 
 
 Gladness and mirth, 
 Laughter and song, 
 
 For the Children of earth ; 
 Smiles for the old man, 
 
 Joy for the strong, 
 Glee for the little ones 
 
 All the day long. 
 
 What will the summer bring ? 
 
 Coolness and shade, 
 Eloquent stillness 
 
 In thicket and glade ; 
 
Coming Summer. 73 
 
 Whispering breezes, 
 
 Fragrance oppressed ; 
 Lingering twilight 
 
 Soothing to rest. 
 
 What may the summer bring ? 
 
 Freshness and calm 
 To the care-worn and troubled, 
 
 Beauty and balm. 
 O toil-weary spirit, 
 
 Rest thee anew, 
 For the heat of the world-race 
 
 Summer hath dew ! 
 
 What will the summer bring ? 
 
 Sultry noon hours, 
 Lurid horizons, 
 
 Frowning cloud-towers ! 
 Loud-crashing thunders, 
 
 Tempest and hail, 
 Death-bearing lightnings, 
 
 It brings without fail. 
 
 What may the summer bring ? 
 
 Dimness and woe, 
 Blackness of sorrow 
 
 Its bright days may know j 
 
74 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Flowers may be wormwood, 
 
 Verdure a pall, 
 The shadow of death 
 
 On the fairest may fall. 
 
 Is it not ever so ? 
 
 Where shall we find 
 Light that may cast 
 
 No shadow behind ? 
 Calm that no tempest 
 
 May darkly await ? 
 Joy that no sorrow 
 
 May swiftly abate ? 
 
 Will the story of summer 
 
 Be written in light, 
 Or traced in the darkness 
 
 Of storm-cloud and night ? 
 We know not — we would not know; 
 
 Why should we quail ? 
 Summer, we welcome thee I 
 
 Summer, all hail ! 
 
September 1S68. 75 
 
 SEPTEMBER 1868. 
 
 AN April burst of beauty, 
 And a May like the Mays of old, 
 And a glow of summer gladness 
 
 While June her long days told ; 
 And a hush of golden silence 
 
 All through the bright July, 
 Without one peal of thunder, 
 
 Or a storm-wreath in the sky ; 
 And a fiery reign of August, 
 
 Till the moon was on the wane ; 
 And then short clouded evenings, 
 
 And a long and chilling rain. 
 I thought the summer was over, 
 
 And the whole year's glory spent, 
 And that nothing but fog and drizzle 
 
 Could be for Autumn meant ; — 
 Nothing but dead leaves, falling 
 
 Wet on the dark, damp mould, 
 Less and less of the sunshine, 
 
 More and more of the cold. 
 
 But oh ! the golden day-time ; 
 And oh ! the silver nights ; 
 
7 6 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And the scarlet touch on the fir trunks 
 
 Of the calm, grand sunset lights ; 
 And the morning's bright revealings, 
 
 Lifting the pearly mist, 
 Like a bridal veil, from the valley 
 
 That the sun hath claimed and kissed ; 
 And oh ! the noontide shadows 
 
 Longer and longer now, 
 On the river margin resting, 
 
 Like the tress on a thoughtful brow. 
 Rich fruitage bends the branches 
 
 With amber, and rose, and gold, 
 O'er the purple and crimson asters* 
 
 And geraniums gay and bold. 
 The day is warm and glowing, 
 
 But the night is cool and sweet, 
 And we fear no smiting arrows 
 
 Of fierce and fatal heat. 
 The leaves are only dropping, 
 
 Like flakes of a sunset cloud, 
 And the robin's song is clearer 
 
 Than Spring's own minstrel- crowd 
 A soft new robe of greenness 
 
 Decks every sunny mead, 
 And we own that bright September 
 i Is beautiful indeed. 
 
Early Faith. 77 
 
 Is thy life-summer passing? 
 
 Think not thy joys are o'er ! 
 Thou hast not seen what Autumn 
 
 For thee may have in store. 
 Calmer than breezy April, 
 
 Cooler than August blaze, 
 The fairest time of all may be 
 
 September's golden days. 
 Press on, though Summer waneth, 
 
 And falter not, nor fear, 
 For God can make the Autumn 
 
 The glory of the year. 
 
 EARLY FAITH, 
 
 WHOM hear we tell of all the joy which 
 loving Faith can bring, 
 The ever-widening glories reached on her 
 
 strong seraph wing ? 
 Is it not oftenest they who long have wrestled 
 
 with temptation, 
 Or passed through fiery baptisms of mighty 
 tribulation ? 
 
7 8 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Perhaps, in life's great tapestry, the darkest 
 scenes are where 
 
 The golden threads of Faith glance forth most 
 radiant and fair ; 
 
 And gazing on the coming years, which un- 
 known griefs may bring, 
 
 We hail the lamp which o'er them all shall 
 heavenly lustre fling. 
 
 Thank God ! there is at eventide a gleam of 
 
 ruby light, 
 A star of love amid the gloom of sorrow's 
 
 lingering night, 
 An ivy- wreath upon the tomb, a haven in the 
 
 blast, 
 A staff for weary, trembling ones, when youth 
 
 and health are past. 
 
 But shall we seek the diamonds in the lone 
 and dusky mine, 
 
 When 'mid the sunny sands of youth they wait 
 to flash and shine? 
 
 Neglect the fountain of Christ's joy till woe- 
 streams darkly flow, 
 
 Nor seek a Father's smile until the world's 
 cold frown we know ? 
 
Early Faith. 79 
 
 Nay ! be our faith the rosy crown on morn's 
 unwrinkled brow, 
 
 The sparkling dewdrop on the grass, the 
 blossom on the bough ; 
 
 The gleam of pearly light within the snowy- 
 bosomed shell ; 
 
 An added power of loveliness in beauty's every 
 spell. 
 
 Oh, let it be the sunlight of the pleasant 
 summer hours, 
 
 That calls to pure and radiant birth un- 
 numbered fragrant flowers ; 
 
 That bathes in golden joyance every anthem- 
 murmuring tree, 
 
 And spreads a robe of glory o'er the silver- 
 crested sea. 
 
 Oh, let it be the key-note of the symphony of 
 gladness, 
 
 Which wots not of the broken lyre, the re- 
 quiem of sadness : 
 
 For they who melodies of heaven in hours of 
 brightness know, 
 
 "Will modulate sweet harmony from earth's 
 discordant woe- 
 
8o The Ministry of Song, 
 
 OUR FATHER. 
 
 9 jf^VH that I loved the Father 
 K_J With depth of conscious love, 
 As stedfast, bright, and burning, 
 
 As seraphim above ! 
 But how can I be deeming 
 
 Myself a loving child, 
 When here, and there, and everywhere, 
 
 My thoughts are wandering wild ? 
 
 * It is my chief desire 
 
 To know Him more and more, 
 To follow Him more fully 
 
 Than I have done before : 
 My eyes are dim with longing 
 
 To see the Lord above ; 
 But oh ! I fear from year to year, 
 
 I do not truly love. 
 
 ' For when I try to follow 
 
 The mazes of my soul, 
 I find no settled fire of love 
 
 Illumining the whole ; 
 
Our FatTicr. 81 
 
 'T is all uncertain twilight, 
 
 No clear and vivid glow : 
 Would I could bring to God my King 
 
 The perfect love I owe ! ' 
 
 The gift is great and holy, 
 
 'T will not be sought in vain ; 
 Dut look up for a moment 
 
 From present doubt and pain, 
 And calmly tell me how you love 
 
 The dearest ones below ? 
 'This love,' say you, ■ is deep and true!' 
 
 But tell me how you know ? 
 
 How do you love your father? 
 
 1 Oh, in a thousand ways ! 
 I think there's no one like him, 
 
 So worthy of my praise. 
 I tell him all my troubles, 
 
 And ask him what to do ; 
 I know that he will give to me 
 
 His counsel kind and true. 
 
 4 Then every little service 
 
 Of hand, or pen, or voice, 
 becomes, if he has asked it, 
 
 The service of my choice 
 ¥ 
 
82 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And from my own desires 
 'T is not so hard to part, 
 
 If once I know I follow so 
 His wiser will and heart. 
 
 ' I know the flush of pleasure 
 
 That o'er my spirit came, 
 When far from home with strangsrs^ 
 
 They caught my father's name ; 
 And for his sake the greeting 
 
 Was mutual and sweet, 
 For if they knew my father too, 
 
 How glad we were to meet ! 
 
 4 And when I heard them praising 
 
 His music and his skill, 
 His words of holy teaching, 
 
 Life-preaching, holier still, 
 How eagerly I listened 
 
 To every word that fell ! 
 *T was joy to hear that name so dear 
 
 Both known and loved so well. 
 
 1 Once I was ill and suffering 
 
 Upon a foreign shore, 
 And longed to see my father. 
 
 As I never longed before. 
 
Our Father. S3 
 
 He came : his arm around me ; 
 I leant upon his breast ; 
 
 I did not long to feel more strong, 
 
 So sweet that childlike rest. 
 
 ' The thought of home is pleasant, 
 
 Yet I should hardly care 
 To leave my present fair abode, 
 
 Unless I knew him there. 
 All other love and pleasure 
 
 Can never crown the place, 
 A home to me it cannot be 
 
 Without my father's face.' 
 
 This is no fancy drawing, 
 
 But every line is tine, 
 And you have traced as strong a lov2 
 
 As ever daughter knew. 
 Eut though its fond expression 
 
 Is rather lived than told, 
 You do not say from day to day, 
 
 ' I fear my love is cold ! ' 
 
 You do not think about it; 
 'T is never in your thought— 
 
 I I wonder if I love him 
 As deeply as I ought? 
 
84 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 I know his approbation 
 
 Outweighs all other meed, 
 That his employ is always joy, 
 But do I love indeed?' 
 
 Now let your own words teach you 
 
 The higher, holier claim 
 Of Him, who condescends to bear 
 
 A Father's gracious name. 
 No mystic inspiration, 
 
 No throbbings forced and wild 
 He asks, but just the loving trust 
 
 Of a glad and grateful child. 
 
 The rare and precious moments 
 
 Of realizing thrill 
 Are but love's blissful blossom, 
 
 To brighten, not to fill 
 The storehouse and the garner 
 
 With ripe and pleasant fruit ; 
 And not alone by these is shown 
 
 The true and holy root. 
 
 What if your own dear father 
 Were summoned to his rest ! 
 
 One lives, by whom that bitterest grief 
 Could well be soothed and blessed. 
 
Our Father. $$ 
 
 Like balm upon your sharpest woe 
 His still small voice would fall ; 
 
 His touch would heal, you could not feel 
 That you had lost your all. 
 
 But what if He, the Lord of life, 
 
 Could ever pass away ! 
 What if His name were blotted out, 
 
 And you could know to-day 
 There was no heavenly Father, 
 
 No Saviour dear and true, 
 No throne of grace, no resting-place, 
 
 No living God for you ! 
 
 We need not dwell in horror 
 
 On what can never be, 
 Such endless desolation, 
 
 Such undreamt misery. 
 Our reason could not bear it, 
 
 And all the love of earth, 
 In fullest bliss, compared with thif, 
 
 Were nothing, nothing worth. 
 
 Then bring your poor affection, 
 
 And try it by this test ; 
 The hidden depth is fathomed, 
 
 Vou see you love Him best I 
 
li TheM 
 
 Of His great love to yuo. 
 Yet in His ear each matt 
 
 It i= t-^el, 
 
 ■tr .:.-. : ti r.:~\ 
 Zu: He ~_11 rr.il-:t :: r':r::i: ; 
 
 Al i Bd .: ::. Bi brow : 
 T ' 
 
 Lit I :ve, 
 
 1 .: .: 
 
 OUR jet nirfiirffiherl story 
 
 To G*d tit ^fy, 
 
 7 s •_: :?.t iTti.t;: bliss. 
 
 things work together 
 Fox ends so grand and blest. 
 
I 
 
 - 
 
 Or altered as we would, 
 
 To wodc for perfect good, 
 -ted, 
 
 : : - 
 
 ? 
 H 
 
 3 
 
88 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 What only seemed a barrier 
 A stepping-stone shall be ; 
 
 Our God is no long tarrier, 
 A present help is He. 
 
 And when amid our blindness 
 His disappointments fall, 
 
 We trust His loving-kindness 
 Whose wisdom sends them all. 
 
 They are the purple fringes 
 That hide His glorious feet ; 
 
 They are the fire- wrought hinges 
 Where truth and mercy meet $ 
 
 By them the golden portal 
 Of Providence shall ope, 
 
 And lift to praise immortal 
 The songs of faith and hope. 
 
 From broken alabaster 
 
 Was deathless fragrance shed, 
 
 The spikenard flowed the faster 
 Upon the Saviour's head. 
 
 No shattered box of ointment 
 We ever need regret, 
 
Disappoin tmen t. 89 
 
 For out of disappointment 
 Flow sweetest odours yet. 
 
 The discord that involveth 
 Some startling change of key, 
 
 The Master's hand resolveth 
 In richest harmony. 
 
 We hush our children's laughter, 
 When sunset hues grow pale ; 
 
 Then, in the silence after, 
 They hear the nightingale. 
 
 We mourned the lamp declining 
 That glimmered at our side ;— 
 
 The glorious starlight shining 
 Has proved a surer guide. 
 
 Then tremble not and shrink not 
 When Disappointment nears ; 
 
 Be trustful still, and think not 
 To realize all fears. 
 
 While we are meekly kneeling 
 
 We shall behold her rise, 
 Our Father's love revealing, 
 
 An angel in disguise. 
 
9c The Ministry of Song. 
 
 THE SONG CHALICE. 
 
 4 T 70U bear the chalice.' Is it so, my friend ? 
 JL Have I indeed a chalice of sweet song, 
 With underflow of harmony made strong 
 New calm of strength through throbbing veins 
 
 to send ? 
 I did not form or fill, — I do but spend 
 
 That which the Master poured into my 
 
 soul, 
 His dewdrops caught in a poor earthen 
 bowl, 
 That service so with praise might meekly blend. 
 May He who taught the morning stars to sing, 
 Aye keep my chalice cool, and pure, and 
 sweet, 
 And grant me so with loving hand to bring 
 
 Refreshment to His weary ones, — to meet 
 Their thirst with water from God's music - 
 spring ; 
 And, bearing thus, to pour it at His feet. 
 
Silent in Love. 91 
 
 SILENT IN LOVE. 
 ' HE WILL REST 1 IN HIS LOVE.' 
 
 LOVE culminates in bliss when it doth 
 reach 
 A white, unflickering, fear-consuming 
 
 glow ; 
 And, knowing it is known as it doth know, 
 Needs no assuring word or soothing speech. 
 It craves but silent nearness, so to rest, 
 
 No sound, no movement, love not heard 
 
 but felt, 
 Longer and longer still, till time should 
 melt, 
 A snow-flake on the eternal ocean's breast. 
 Have moments of this silence starred thy 
 past, 
 Made memory a glory-haunted place, 
 Taught all the joy that mortal ken can trace ? 
 By greater light 't is but a shadow cast ;— 
 So shall the Lord thy God rejoice o'er 1 
 And in His love will rest, and silent be. 
 
 x Mar-ir.al reading— Vv siUnt." 
 
92 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 LIGHT AND SHADE. 
 
 LIGHT ! emblem of all good and joy ! 
 Shade ! emblem of all ill ! 
 And yet in this strange mingled life, 
 
 We need the shadow still. 
 A lamp with softly shaded light, 
 To soothe and spare the tender sight, 
 Will only throw 
 A brighter glow 
 Upon our books and work below. 
 
 We could not bear unchanging day, 
 
 However fair its light ; 
 Ere long the wearied eye would hail, 
 As boon untold, the evening pale, 
 
 The solace of the night. 
 And who would prize our summer glow 
 If winter gloom we did not know ? 
 Or rightly praise 
 The glad spring rays 
 Who never saw our rainy days ? 
 
 How grateful in Arabian plain 
 Of white and sparkling sand, 
 
Light and Shade. 93 
 
 The shadow of a mighty rock 
 
 Across the weary land ! 
 And where the tropic glories rise, 
 Responsive to the fiery skies, 
 
 We could not dare 
 
 To meet the glare, 
 Or blindness were our bitter share. 
 
 Where is the soul so meek and pure, 
 
 Who through his earthly days 
 Life's fullest sunshine could endure, 
 
 In clear and cloudless blaze ! 
 The sympathetic eye would dim, 
 And others pine unmarked by him, 
 Were no chill shade 
 Around him laid, 
 And light of joy could never fade. 
 
 He, who the light-commanding word 
 
 Ei^t spake, and formed the eye, 
 Knows what that wondrous eye can bear, 
 And tempers with providing care, 
 By cloud and night, all hurtful glare, 
 
 By shadows ever nigh. 
 So in all wise and loving ways 
 lie blends the shadows of our days, 
 
94 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 To win our sight 
 From scenes of night, 
 To seek the * True and Only Light.' 
 
 We need some shadow o'er our bliss, 
 
 Lest we forget the Giver : 
 So, often in our deepest joy 
 
 There comes a solemn quiver ; 
 We could not tell from whence it came, 
 The subtle cause we cannot name ; 
 Its twilight fall 
 May well recall 
 Calm thought of Him who gave us all 
 
 There are who all undazzled tread 
 
 Awhile the sunniest plain ; 
 But they have sought the blessed shade 
 By one great Rock of Ages made, 
 
 A sure, safe rest to gain. 
 
 Unshaded light of earth soon blinds 
 
 To light of heaven sincerest minds : 
 
 O envy not 
 
 A cloudless lot ! 
 
 We ask indeed we know not what 
 
 So is it here, so is it now I 
 Not always will it be ! 
 
A"o Thorn without a Rose. 9 
 
 There is a land that needs no shade, 
 A morn will rise which cannot fade, 
 And we, like flame-robed angels made. 
 
 That glory soon may see. 
 No cloud upon its radiant joy, 
 No shadow o'er its bright employ, 
 No sleep, no night, 
 But perfect sight, 
 The Lord our Everlasting Light. 
 
 NO THORN WITHOUT A ROSE. 
 
 " J M1ERE is no rose without a thorn ! i 
 JL Who has not found this true, 
 And known that griefs of gladness born 
 Our footsteps still pursue? 
 
 That in the grandest harmony 
 The strangest discords rise ; 
 
 The brightest bow we only trace 
 Upon the darkest skies ! 
 
96 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 No thornless rose ! So, more and more, 
 
 Our pleasant hopes are laid 
 Where waves this sable legend o'er 
 
 A still sepulchral shade. 
 
 But Faith and Love, with angel-might, 
 Break up life's dismal tomb, 
 
 Transmuting into golden light 
 The words of leaden gloom. 
 
 Reversing all this funeral pall, 
 White raiment they disclose ; 
 
 Their happy song floats full and Ion (*, 
 1 No thorn without a rose ! ' 
 
 4 No shadow, but its sister light 
 
 Not far away must burn ! 
 No weary night, but morning bright 
 
 Shall follow in its turn. 
 
 1 No chilly snow, but safe below 
 A million buds are sleeping ; 
 
 No wintry days, but fair spring rays 
 Are swiftly onward sweeping. 
 
 ' With fiercest glare of summer air 
 Comes fullest leafy shade ; 
 
No Tho)'7i without a Rose. 97 
 
 And ruddy fruit bends every shoot, 
 Because the blossoms fade. 
 
 'Xo note of sorrow but shall melt 
 In sweetest chord unguessed ; 
 
 Xo labour all too pressing fell, 
 But ends in quiet rest. 
 
 1 Xo sigh, but from the harps above 
 Soft echoing tones shall win ; 
 
 No heart-wound but the Lord of Love 
 Shall pour His comfort in. 
 
 ' Xo withered hope, while loving best 
 
 Thy Father's chosen way ; 
 X'o anxious care, for He will bear 
 
 Thy burdens every day. 
 
 * Thy claim to rest on Jesu's breast 
 
 All weariness shall be, 
 And pain thy portal to His heart 
 
 Of boundless sympathy. 
 
 ' Xo conflict, but the King's own hand 
 
 Shall end the glorious strife ; 
 Xo death, but leads thee to the land 
 
 Of everlasting life.' 
 
 G 
 
9$ The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Sweet seraph voices, Faith and Love ! 
 
 Sing on within our hearts 
 This strain of music from above, 
 
 Till we have learnt our parts : 
 
 Until we see your alchemy 
 On all that years disclose, 
 
 And, taught by you, still find it trufc, 
 ' No thorn without a rose I ' 
 
 YESTERDAY, TO-DAY, AND 
 FOR EVER. 
 
 A GREEK ACROSTIC, THRICE TRIPLE!*, 
 
 A 
 
 H ! the weary cares and fears, 
 E arnest yearnings through the years \ 
 I s it not a vale of tears ? 
 
 A h ! the love we gladly greet 
 E ver now is incomplete ; 
 I f the melody be sweet, 
 
 1 For ever. 
 
Yesterday, To-day, and for Ever. 99 
 
 A nd the harmony be true, 
 
 E arlier loss is more in view, 
 
 I 11 forebodings shadow through. 
 
 \ fter wintry frost and rime, 
 
 E ven now, the heavenly chime 
 
 I s a pledge of summer time. 
 
 A nchorage within the veil, 
 
 E ver stedfast, cannot fail, 
 
 I f the wildest storms assail. 
 
 A ngel songs of love are clearer, 
 
 E arth is brighter, death is dearer, 
 
 I f the heavenly home be nearer. 
 
 .V 11 in perfect union brought, 
 
 E very link which God has wrought 
 
 I n the chains of loving thought : 
 
 A 11 our dear ones, far asunder, 
 
 E ach shall join the anthem-thunder 
 
 I n our future joy and wonder. 
 
 A 11 shall come where nought shall 
 
 sever, 
 
 S ndless meeting, parting never, 
 
 1 n God's house to dwell for ever. 
 
roo The Ministry of Song. 
 
 CHRIST S RECALL. 
 
 RETURN ! 
 wanderer from my side ! 
 
 Soon droops each blossom of the darkening 
 wild, 
 
 Soon melts each meteor which thy steps be- 
 guiled, 
 
 Soon is the cistern dry which thou hast hewn, 
 
 And thou wilt weep in bitterness full soon. 
 
 Return ! ere gathering night shall shroud the 
 way 
 
 Thy footsteps yet may tread, in this accepted 
 day. 
 
 Return ! 
 O erring, yet beloved ! 
 I wait to bind thy bleeding feet, for keen 
 And rankling are the thorns where thou hast 
 
 been ; 
 I wait to give thee pardon, love, and rest ; 
 Is not My joy to see thee- safe and blest? 
 Return ! I wait to hear once more thy voice, 
 To welcome thee anew, and bid thy heart re- 
 joice. 
 
Christ's Recall. 101 
 
 Return ! 
 O fallen, yet not lost ! 
 Canst thou forget the life for thee laid down, 
 The taunts, the scourging, and the thorny 
 
 crown ? 
 When o'er thee first My spotless robe I spread, 
 And poured the oil of joy upon thy head, 
 I low did thy wakening heart within thee burn ! 
 Canst thou remember all, and wilt thou not 
 return ? 
 
 Return ! 
 O chosen of My love ! 
 Fear not to meet thy beckoning Saviour's 
 
 view ; 
 Long ere I called thee by thy name, I knew 
 That very treacherously thou would st deal ; 
 Now I have seen thy ways, yet I will heal. 
 Return ! Wilt thou yet linger far from Me ? 
 My wrath is turned away, I have redeemed 
 
 thee. 
 
io2 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 FAITH'S QUESTION. 
 
 TO whom, O Saviour, shall we go 
 For life, and joy, and light ? 
 No help, no comfort from below, 
 No lasting gladness we may know, 
 No hope may bless our sight. 
 Our souls are weary and athirst, 
 But earth is iron-bound and cursed, 
 And nothing she may yield can stay 
 The restless yearnings day by day ; 
 Yet, without Thee, Redeemer blest, 
 We would not, if we could, find rest. 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? 
 
 We gaze around in vain. 
 Though pleasure's fairy lute be strung, 
 And mirth's enchaining lay be sung, 
 
 We dare not trust the strain. 
 The touch of sorrow or of sin 
 Hath saddened all, without, within ; 
 What here we fondly love and prize, 
 However beauteous be its guise, 
 Has passed, is passing, or may pass, 
 Like frost-fringe on the autumn grass. 
 
Faith's Question. T03 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? 
 
 Our spirits dimly wait 
 In the dungeon of our mortal frame ; 
 And only one of direful name 
 
 Can force its sin -barred gate. 
 Our loved ones can but greet us through 
 The prison grate, from which we view 
 All outward things. They enter not : 
 Thou, Thou alone, canst cheer our lot. 
 O Christ, we long for Thee to dwell 
 Within our solitary cell ! 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go? 
 
 Unless Thy voice we hear, 
 All tuneless falls the sweetest song, 
 And lonely seems the busiest throng 
 
 Unless we feel Thee near. 
 We dare not think what earth would be, 
 Thou Heaven- Creator, but for Thee ; 
 A howling chaos, wild and dark — 
 One flood of horror, while no ark, 
 Upborne above the gloom-piled wave, 
 From one great death-abyss might save. 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go? 
 The Tempter's power is great ; 
 
104 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 E'en in our hearts is evil bound, 
 And, lurking stealthily around, 
 
 Still for our souls doth wait. 
 Thou tempted One, whose suffering heart 
 In all our sorrows bore a part, 
 Whose life-blood only could atone, 
 Too weak are we to stand alone ; 
 And nothing but Thy shield of light 
 Can guard us in the dreaded fight. 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? 
 
 The night of death draws near ; 
 1 ts shadow must be passed alone, 
 No friend can with our souls go down 
 
 The untried way to cheer. 
 Thou hast the words of endless life ; 
 Thou givest victory in the strife ; 
 Thou only art the changeless Friend,, 
 On whom for aye we may depend i 
 In life, in death, alike we flee, 
 O Saviour of the world, to Thef. 
 
/ did th is for TJ: ce. 
 
 105 
 
 * I DID THIS FOR THEE! WHAT HAST 
 
 THOU DONE FOR ME V 
 
 (.' ' '^tto placed under a Picture of our Saviour in the 
 
 study of a German divine.) 
 
 
 T GAVE My life for thee, 
 JL My precious blood I shed, 
 
 GaL ii. 20. 
 
 1 Pet L 19. 
 
 That thou might'st ransomed be, 
 
 Eph. L 7. 
 
 And quickened from the dead. 
 
 Eph. ii. 1. 
 
 I gave My life for thee ; 
 
 Tit. ii. 14. 
 
 What hast thou given for Me ? 
 
 Johnxxi. 15-17 
 
 I spent long years for thee 
 
 1 Tim. i. 15. 
 
 In weariness and woe, 
 
 Iso. liiL 3. 
 
 That an eternity 
 
 John xvii. 24. 
 
 Of joy thou mightest know. 
 
 John xvi 22. 
 
 I spent long years for thee ; 
 
 John i. : 
 
 Hast thou spent one for Me ? 
 
 1 Pet iv. 2. 
 
 My Father's home of lignr, 
 
 JohnxrflLs 
 
 My rainbow-circled throne, 
 
 Rev. iv. 3. 
 
 I left, for earthly night, 
 
 
 For wanderings sad and lone. 
 
 . : SO. 
 
 I left it all for thee ; 
 
 . 
 
 Hast thou left aught for Me? 
 
 
lo6 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 I suffered much for thee, 
 
 Isa. mi. s 
 
 More than thy tongue may tell 
 
 Matt xxvi 3> 
 
 Of bitterest agony, 
 
 Luke xxii. 44. 
 
 To rescue thee from hell. 
 
 Rom. v. 9. 
 
 I suffered much for thee ; 
 
 1 Pet. ii. 21-24. 
 
 What canst thou bear for Me ? 
 
 Rom. viii. 17,1a 
 
 And I have brought to thee, 
 
 John iv. io, 14. 
 
 Down from My home above, 
 
 JohniiL 13. 
 
 Salvation full and free, 
 
 Rev. xxi. 6. 
 
 My pardon and My love. 
 
 Acts v. 31. 
 
 Great gifts I brought to thee ; 
 
 Ps. lxvifi. ia 
 
 What hast thou brought to Me ? 
 
 Rom. xii. 1. 
 
 Oh, let thy life be given, 
 
 Rom. vi 13. 
 
 Thy years for Him be spent, 
 
 2 Cor. v. 15. 
 
 World-fetters all be riven, 
 
 Phil. iiL 8. 
 
 And joy with suffering blent ; 
 
 1 Pet. Iv. 13-16, 
 
 I gave Myself for thee : 
 
 Eph. v. 2. 
 
 Give thou thyself 'to Me ! 
 
 Prov. xxiit. ?£» 
 
Isaiah XXXIII. 17. 107 
 
 ISAIAH XXXIII. 17. 
 
 THINE eyes shall see ! Yes, thine, who, 
 blind erewhile, 
 Now trembling towards the new-found light 
 dost flee, 
 Leave doubting, and look up with trustful 
 smile — 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! Not in some dream 
 Elysian, 
 Not in thy fancy, glowing though it be, 
 Not e'en in faith, but in unveiled vision, 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! Not on thyself depend 
 
 God's promises, the faithful, firm, and free ; 
 Ere they shall fail, earth, heaven itself, must 
 end : 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! Not in a swift glance 
 cast, 
 Gleaning one ray to brighten memory, 
 But while a glad eternity shall last, 
 
 Thine eyes shall see! 
 
108 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Thine eyes shall see the King ! The very same 
 Whose love shone forth upon the curseful 
 tree, 
 Who bore thy guilt, who calleth thee by name ; 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
 Thine eyes shall see the King! the mighty 
 One, 
 The many - crowned, the Light-enrobed ; 
 and He 
 Shall bid thee share the kingdom He hath 
 won, 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
 And in His beauty I Stay thee, mortal song, 
 
 The ' altogether lovely ' One must be 
 Unspeakable in glory, — yet ere long 
 
 Thine eyes shall see I 
 
 Yes ! though the land be ' very far ' away, 
 
 A step, a moment, ends the toil for thee ; 
 Then, changing grief for gladness, night foJ 
 day, 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! 
 
God the Provider. 109 
 
 GOD THE PROVIDER. 
 
 * My God shall supply all your need, according; to His 
 riches in glory by Christ Jesus.' 
 
 W 
 
 HO shall tell our untold need, 
 
 Deeply felt, though scarcely knorrn ! 
 Who the hungering soul can feed, 
 
 Guard, and guide, but God alone ? 
 Elessed promise ! while we see 
 Earthly friends must powerless be, 
 Earthly fountains quickly dry : 
 ' GoJ } shall all your need su] 
 
 lie hath said it ! so we know 
 
 Nothing less can we receive. 
 Oh that thankful love may glow 
 
 While we restfully believe, — 
 Ask not how % but trust Him still ; 
 Ask not when, but wait His will : 
 Simply on His word rely, 
 God ■ shall* all your need supply. 
 
 Through the whole of life's long way, 
 Outward, inward need we trace ; 
 
no The Min is try of Song. 
 
 Need arising day by day, 
 
 Patience, wisdom, strength, and grace. 
 Needing Jesus most of all, 
 Full of need, on Him we call ; 
 Then how gracious His reply, 
 God shall i alV your need supply 8 
 
 Great our need, but greater far 
 Is our Father's loving power ; 
 
 He upholds each mighty star, 
 He unfolds each tiny flower. 
 
 He who numbers every hair, 
 
 Earnest of His faithful care, 
 
 Gave His Son for us to die ; 
 
 God shall all 'your ' need supply. 
 
 Yet we often vainly plead 
 
 For a fancied good denied, 
 What we deemed a pressing need 
 
 Still remaining unsupplied. 
 Yet from dangers all concealed, 
 Thus our wisest Friend doth shield ; 
 No good thing will He deny, 
 God shall all your ' need ' supply. 
 
 Can we count redemption's treasure, 
 Scan the glory of God's love ? 
 
Wait Patiently for Him. i : i 
 
 Such shall be the boundless measure 
 
 Of His blessings from above. 
 All we ask or think, and more, 
 He will give in bounteous store , 
 He can fill and satisfy, 
 God shall all your need 'supply* l 
 
 One the channel, deep and broad, 
 
 From the Fountain of the Throne, 
 Christ the Saviour, Son of God, 
 
 Blessings flow through Him alone. 
 He, the Faithful and the True, 
 Brings us mercies ever new : 
 Till we reach His home on high, 
 ' Co J shall all your need supply.* 
 
 WAIT PATIENTLY FOR IIIM. 
 
 G 
 
 k OD doth not bid thee wait 
 To disappoint at last ; 
 
 1 The Greek word is much stronger than the Enp- 
 -fr^ji. — 'will supply to the full,' 'fill up,' 
 ' satisfy.' 
 
112 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 A golden promise, fair and great, 
 
 In precept-mould is cast. 
 
 Soon shall the morning gild 
 
 The dark horizon-rim, 
 Thy heart's desire shall be fulfilled, 
 
 ' Wait patiently for Him.' 
 
 The weary waiting times 
 Are but the muffled peals 
 
 Low preluding celestial chimes, 
 That hail His chariot-wheels. 
 Trust Him to tune thy voice 
 To blend with seraphim ; 
 
 His * Wait ' shall issue in ' Rejoice J * 
 
 * Wait patiently for Him. ' 
 
 He doth not bid thee wait, 
 Like drift-wood on the wave, 
 
 For fickle chance or fixed fate 
 To ruin or to save. 
 Thine eyes shall surely see, 
 No distant hope or dim, 
 
 The Lord thy God arise for thee t 
 
 * Wait patiently for Him? 
 
This Same Jesus. 113 
 
 THIS SAME JESUS. 
 Acts i. ii. 
 
 THIS same Jesus ! ' Oh ! how sweetly 
 Fall those words upon the ear, 
 Like a swell of far off music, 
 In a nightwatch still and drear ! 
 
 He who healed the hopeless leper, 
 He who dried the widow's tear ; 
 
 He who changed to health and gladness 
 Helpless suffering, trembling fear ; 
 
 He who wandered, poor and homeless, 
 
 By the stormy Galilee ; 
 He who on the night-robed mountain 
 
 Eent in prayer the wearied knee ; 
 
 lie who spake as none had spoken, 
 
 An gel -wisdom far above, 
 All-forgiving, ne'er upbraiding, 
 
 Full of tenderness and love ; 
 
 He who gently called the weary, 
 ' Come and I will give you rest ! ' 
 u 
 
H4 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 He who loved the little children, 
 Took them in His arms and blest j 
 
 He, the lonely Man of Sorrows, 
 'Neath our sin-curse bending low ; 
 
 By His faithless friends forsaken 
 In the darkest hours of woe ; — 
 
 * This same Jesus ! ' When the vision 
 Of that last and awful day 
 
 Bursts upon the prostrate spirit, 
 Like a midnight lightning ray ; 
 
 When, else dimly apprehended, 
 All its terrors seem revealed, 
 
 Trumpet-knell and fiery heavens, 
 And the books of doom unsealed ; 
 
 Then, we lift our hearts adoring 
 
 'This same Jesus/ loved and known, 
 
 Him, our own most gracious Saviour, 
 Seated on the great white Throne ; 
 
 He Himself, and 'not another,' 
 
 He for whom our heart-love yearned 
 
 Through long years of twilight waiting, 
 To His ransomed ones returned ! 
 
Mary's Birthday. 1 1 5 
 
 For this word, O Lord, we bless Thee, 
 Bless our Master's changeless name \ 
 
 Yesterday, to-day, for ever, 
 Jesus Christ is still the Same. 
 
 MA RY'S DIR THDA Y. 
 
 SHE is at rest, 
 In God's own presence blest, 
 Whom, while with us, this day we loved to 
 greet ; 
 Her birthdays o'er, 
 She counts the years no more ; 
 Time's footfall is not heard along the golden 
 street. 
 
 When we would raise 
 A hymn of birthday praise, 
 The music of our hearts is faint and low ; 
 Fear, doubt, and sin 
 Make dissonance within ; 
 And pure soul-melody no child of earth may 
 know. 
 
n6 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 That strange ■ new song,' 
 Amid a white-robed throng, 
 Is gushing from her harp in living tone ; 
 Her seraph voice, 
 Tuned only to rejoice, 
 Floats upward to the emerald-arched throne. l 
 
 No passing cloud 
 Her loveliness may shroud, 
 The beauty of her youth may never fade ; 
 No line of care 
 Her sealed brow may wear, 
 The joy-gleam of her eye no dimness e'er may 
 shade. 
 
 No stain is there 
 Upon the robes they wear, 
 Within the gates of pearl which she hath 
 passed ; 
 Like woven light, 
 All beautiful and bright, 
 Eternity upon those robes no shade may cast. 
 
 No sin-born thought 
 May in that home be wrought, 
 To trouble the clear fountain of her heart ; 
 
 1 Rev. iv. 3. 
 
Marf s Birth day. 1 1 7 
 
 No tear, no sigh, 
 No pain, no death, be nigh 
 Where she hath entered in, no more to * know 
 in part. ' 
 
 Her faith is sight, 
 Her hope is full delight, 
 The shadowy veil of time is rent in twain : 
 Her untold bliss — 
 What thought can follow this ! 
 Tu her to live was Christ, to die indeed is gain. 
 
 Her eyes have seen 
 The King, no veil between, 
 In blood-dipped vesture gloriously arrayed : 
 No earth-breathed haze 
 Can dim that rapturous gaze ; 
 She sees Him face to face on whom her guilt 
 was laid. 
 
 A little while, 
 1 they whose loving smile 
 Had melted 'neath the touch of lonely woe, 
 Shall reach her home, 
 Beyond the star-built dome ; 
 Hex anthem they shall swell, her joy they too 
 shall know. 
 
n8 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 DAILY STRENGTH. 
 
 • A S thy day thy strength shall be ! ■ 
 1~\ This should be enough for thee ; 
 He who knows thy frame will spare 
 Burdens more than thou canst bear. 
 
 When thy days are veiled in night, 
 Christ shall give thee heavenly light ; 
 Seem they wearisome and long, 
 Yet in Him thou shalt be strong. 
 
 Cold and wintry though they prove, 
 Thine the sunshine of His love ; 
 Or, with fervid heat oppressed, 
 In His shadow thou shalt rest. 
 
 When thy days on earth are past, 
 Christ shall call thee home at last, 
 His redeeming love to praise, 
 Who hath strengthened all thy days* 
 
The Right Way. 119 
 
 THE RIGHT WA Y. 
 
 LORD, is it still the right way, though I 
 cannot see Thy face, 
 Though I do not feel Thy presence and Thine 
 
 all-sustaining grace? 
 Can even this be leading through the bleak 
 
 and sunless wild 
 To the City of Thy holy rest, the mansions 
 undefilcd? 
 
 Lord, is it still the right way? A while ago I 
 
 passed 
 Where every step seemed thornier and harder 
 
 than the last ; 
 Where bitterest disappointment and inly aching 
 
 sorrow 
 Carved day by day a weary cross, renewed 
 
 with every morrow. 
 
 The heaviest end of that strange cross I knew 
 
 was laid on Thee ; 
 So I could still press on, secure of Thy deep 
 
 sympathy. 
 
120 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Our upward path may well be steep, else how 
 
 were patience tried ? 
 I knew it was the right way, for it led me to 
 
 Thy side. 
 
 But now I wait alone amid dim shadows dank 
 
 and chill ; 
 All moves and changes round me, but I seem 
 
 standing still ; 
 Or every feeble footstep I urge towards the 
 
 light 
 Seems but to lead me farther into the silent 
 
 night. 
 
 I cannot hear Thy voice, Lord ! dost Thou 
 
 still hear my cry ? 
 I cling to Thine assurance that Thou art ever 
 
 nigh; 
 I know that Thou art faithful; I trust, but 
 
 cannot see 
 ITiat it is still the right way by which Thou 
 
 leadest me. 
 
 I think I could go forward with brave and 
 joyful heart, 
 
 Though every step should pierce me with un- 
 known fiery smart, 
 
The Right I Vay. 1 2 1 
 
 If only I might see Thee, if I might gaze 
 
 above 
 On all the cloudless glory of the sunshine of 
 
 Thy love. 
 
 Is it really leading onwards? When the 
 
 shadows flee away, 
 Shall I find this path has brought me more 
 
 near to perfect day ? 
 Or am I left to wander thus that I may stretch 
 
 my hand 
 To some still wearier traveller in this same 
 
 shadow-land? 
 
 Is this thy chosen training for some future task 
 
 unknown ? 
 Is it that I may learn to rest upon Thy word 
 
 alone ? 
 Whate'er it be, oh ! leave me not, fulfil Thou 
 
 every hour 
 The purpose of Thy goodness, and the work 
 
 of faith with power. 
 
 I lay my prayer before Thee, and, trusting in 
 
 Thy word, 
 Though all is silence in my heart, I know that 
 
 Thou hast heard. 
 
122 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 To that blest City lead me, Lord (still choos- 
 ing all my way), 
 
 Where faith melts into vision as the starlight 
 into day. 
 
 THY WILL BE DONE. 
 
 ' Understanding wJiat the will of the Lord is.'— 
 Eph. v. 17. 
 
 WITH quivering heart and trembling will 
 The word hath passed thy lips, 
 Within the shadow, cold and still, 
 
 Of some fair joy's eclipse. 
 * Thy will be done !' Thy God hath heard, 
 And He will crown that faith-framed word. 
 
 Thy prayer shall be fulfilled : but how ? 
 
 His thoughts are not as thine ; 
 While thou wouldst only weep and bow, 
 
 He saith, ■ Arise and shine !' 
 Thy thoughts were all of grief and night, 
 But His of boundless joy and light. 
 
Thy Will be Dene. 123 
 
 Thy Father reigns supreme above : 
 
 The glory of His name 
 Is Grace and Wisdom, Truth and Love, 
 
 His will must be the same. 
 And thou hast asked all joys in one, 
 In whispering forth, * Thy will be done.' 
 
 His will — each soul to sanctify 
 
 Redeeming might hath won ; l 
 His will — that thou shouldst never die, 
 
 Believing on His Son ; 2 
 I lis will — that thou, through earthly strife, 
 Shouldst rise to everlasting Life. 5 
 
 That one unchanging song of praise 
 Should from our hearts arise ; 4 
 
 That we should know His wondrous ways, 
 Though hidden from the wise ; 3 
 
 That we, so sinful and so base, 
 
 Should know the glory of His grace. 6 
 
 His will — to grant the yearning prayer 
 For dear ones far away, 7 
 
 1 1 Thess. iv. 3. 2 John vi. 40. 3 John vi. 39. 
 
 1 1 Thess. v. 18. 5 Matt. xi. 25, ti . 
 
 6 Eph. i. 5, 6, ir, 12. I 1 John v. 14-16. 
 
124 The Ministry of So7ig. 
 
 That they His grace and love may share, 
 
 And tread His pleasant way ; 
 That in the Father and the Son 
 All perfect we may be in one. x 
 
 His will — the lrttle flock to bring 
 
 Into His royal fold, 
 To reign for ever with their King, 2 
 
 His beauty to behold. 3 
 Sin's fell dominion crushed for aye, 
 Sorrow and sighing fled away. 
 
 This thou hast asked ! And shall the prayer 
 
 Float upward on a sigh ? 
 No song were sweet enough to bear 
 
 Such glad desires on high ! 
 But God thy Father shall fulfil, 
 In thee and for thee, all His will. 
 
 1 John xvii. 23, 24. 2 Luke xii. 32. 3 Isa. xxxiii. z?. 
 
TTie Tilings which are Behind. 125 
 
 • THE THINGS WHICH ARE BEHIND: 
 
 LEAVE behind earth's empty pleasure, 
 Fleeting hope and changeful love ; 
 Leave its soon-corroding treasure : 
 There are better things above. 
 
 Leave, oh, leave thy fond aspirings, 
 Bid thy restless heart be still ; 
 
 Cease, oh cease, thy vain desirings, 
 Only seek thy Father's will. 
 
 Leave behind thy faithless sorrow, 
 And thine every anxious care ; 
 
 lie who only knows the morrow 
 Can for thee its burden bear. 
 
 Leave behind the doubting spirit, 
 And thy crushing load of sin ; 
 
 Ey thy mighty Saviour's merit, 
 Life eternal thou shalt win. 
 
 Leave the darkness gathering o'er thee, 
 Leave the shadow-land behind ; 
 
 Realms of glory lie before thee ; 
 Enter in, and welcome find. 
 
126 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 'N 
 
 'no w i see: 
 
 John ix. 25. 
 
 OW I see ! ' But not the parting 
 
 Of the melting earth and sky, 
 Not a vision dread and startling, 
 Forcing one despairing cry. 
 But I see the solemn saying, 
 
 All have sinned, and all must die ; 
 Holy precepts disobeying, 
 
 Guilty all the world must lie. 
 Bending, silenced, to the dust, 
 Now I see that God is just. 
 
 ' Now I see ! ' But not the glory, 
 
 Not the face of Him I love, 
 Not the full and burning story 
 
 Of the mysteries above. 
 But I see what God hath spoken, 
 
 How His well-beloved Son 
 Kept the laws which man hath broken, 
 
 Died for sins which man hath done ; 
 Dying, rising, throned above ! 
 * Now I see ' that God is Love. 
 
Ez 'erlasting Love. 1 2 7 
 
 EVERLASTING LOVE. 
 
 . I have loved thee with an everlasting love, tfrw 
 ,/<?rtf with loving -kindness have I drawn thee.' 'No 
 man can come to Me except the Father which hath 
 sent Me draw him.' 
 
 1 f~^ OD'S everlasting love ! What wouldst 
 V_J thou more ? ' 
 
 O true and tender friend, well hast thou spoken. 
 My heart was restless, weaiy, sad, and sore, 
 And longed and listened for some heaven-sent 
 
 token : 
 And, like a child that knows not why it cried, 
 'Mid God's full promises it moaned, * Unsatis- 
 
 ::' 
 
 Vet there it stands. O love surpassing though, t, 
 So bright, so grand, so clear, so true, so 
 
 glorious ; 
 Love infinite, love tender, love unsought, 
 Love changeless, love rejoicing, love victorious ! 
 And this great love for us in boundless store : 
 God's everlasting love ! What would we more? 
 
123 The Min is try of Song, 
 
 Yes, one thing more ! To know it ours in- 
 deed, 
 To add the conscious joy of full possession. 
 O tender grace that stoops to every need ! 
 This everlasting love hath found expression 
 In loving-kindness, which hath gently drawn 
 The heart that else astray too willingly had 
 gone. 
 
 From no less fountain such a stream could 
 
 flow, 
 No other root could yield so fair a flower : 
 Had He not loved, He had not drawn us so ; 
 Had He not drawn, we had nor will nor power 
 To rise, to come ; — the Saviour had passed by 
 Where we in blindness sat without one care or 
 
 cry. 
 
 We thirst for God, our treasure is above ; 
 Earth has no gift our one desire to meet, 
 And that desire is pledge of His own love. 
 Sweet question ; with no answer ! oh Jww 
 
 sweet ! 
 My heart in chiming gladness o'er and o'er 
 Sings on; — 'God's everlasting love! What 
 
 wouldst thou more ? ' 
 
M 
 
 1 Master, Say on 1 ' 129 
 
 'MASTER, SAY ON! 1 
 
 ASTER, speak ! Thy servant heareth, 
 Waiting for Thy gracious word, 
 Longing for Thy voice that cheereth ; 
 
 Master ! let it now be heard. 
 I am listening, Lord, for Thee ; 
 What hast Thou to sav to me ? 
 
 Master, speak in love and power : 
 Crown the mercies of the day, 
 
 In this quiet evening hour 
 Of the moonrise o'er the bay, 
 
 With the music of Thy voice ; 
 
 Speak ! and bid Thy child rejoice. 
 
 Often through my heart is pealing 
 Many another voice than Thine, 
 
 Many an unwilled echo stealing 
 From the walls of this Thy shrine : 
 
 Let Thy longed-for accents fall ; 
 ter, speak ! and silence all. 
 
 Ma. ;4 : I do not doubt Thee,, 
 
 Though so tearfully I 
 
 1 
 
130 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Saviour, Shepherd ! Oh, without Thee 
 
 Life would be a blank indeed ! 
 But I long for fuller light, 
 Deeper love, and clearer sight. 
 
 Resting on the ' faithful saying/ 
 Trusting what Thy gospel saith y 
 
 On Thy written promise staying 
 All my hope in life and death, 
 
 Yet I long for something more 
 
 From Thy love's exhaustless store. 
 
 Speak to me by name, O Master, 
 
 Let me know it is to me ; 
 Speak, that I may follow faster, 
 
 With a step more firm and free, 
 Where the Shepherd leads the flock, 
 In the shadow of the Rock. 
 
 Master, speak ! I kneel before Thee, 
 Listening, longing, waiting still ; 
 
 Oh, how long shall I implore Thee 
 This petition to fulfil ! 
 
 Hast Thou not one word for me ? 
 
 Must my prayer unanswered be ? 
 
Remote Results. 
 
 131 
 
 Master, speak ! Though least and lowest, 
 
 Let me not unheard depart ; 
 Master, speak ! for oh, Thou knowest 
 
 All the yearning of my heart, 
 Knowest all its truest need ; 
 Speak ! and make me blest indeed. 
 
 Master, speak ! and make me ready, 
 When Thy voice is truly heard. 
 
 With obedience glad and steady 
 Still to follow every word. 
 
 I am listening, Lord, for Thee ; 
 
 Master, speak, oh, speak to me ! 
 
 REMOTE RESULTS. 
 
 WHERE are the countless ci; 
 So perfect and so b: ; 
 That robed in softest ermine 
 The winter day and night ? 
 Not lost ! for, life to many a root, 
 They rise again in flower ar.d b 
 
The Ministry of Song* 
 
 Where are the mighty forests, 
 
 And giant ferns of old, 
 That in primeval silence 
 
 Strange leaf and frond unrolled ? 
 Not lost ! for now they shine and blaze, 
 The light and warmth of Christmas days* 
 
 Where are our early lessons, 
 
 The teachings of our youth, 
 Trie countless words forgotten 
 Of knowledge and of truth? 
 Not lost ! for they are living still, 
 As power to think, and do, and will. 
 
 Where is the seed we scatter, 
 
 With weak and trembling hand, 
 Beside the gloomy waters, 
 Or on the arid land ? 
 Not lost ! for after many days 
 Our prayer and toil shall turn to praise* 
 
 Where are the days of sorrow, 
 
 And lonely hours of pain, 
 When work is interrupted, 
 
 Or planned and willed in vain ? 
 Not lost ! it is the thorniest shoot 
 That bears the Master's pleasant fruit. 
 
On the Last Leaf. \y L 
 
 Where, where are all God's lessons, 
 
 His teachings dark or bright ? 
 Not lost ! but only hidden, 
 Till, in eternal light, 
 We see, while at His feet we fall, 
 The reasons and results of all. 
 
 ON THE LAST LEAF. 1 
 
 FINISHED at last! 
 
 Yet for five years past 
 "My book on the dusty shelf hath lain, 
 Ami I hardly thought that ever again 
 My thoughts would follow the pleasant chime 
 Of musical measure and ringing rhyme. 
 
 I rememl>er well when I hid it by, 
 Closed with a sort of requiem sigh. 
 
 Dg in her beauty had swept along, 
 And left my spirit all full of song : 
 
 1 "Written at the close of a rr.anuscrpt volume. 
 
134 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 The wakening depths of my heart were stirred, 
 Voices within and without I heard, 
 
 Whispering me 
 
 That I might be 
 A messenger of peace and pleasure ; 
 
 That in my careless minstrelsy 
 Lay something of poetic treasure, 
 Which, wrought with care, I yet some day 
 At all my loved ones' feet might lay. 
 
 Perhaps 't was a vain and foolish dream, 
 
 A fancy-lit, illusive gleam ! 
 
 And yet I cannot quite believe 
 
 That such bright impulse could deceive. 
 
 I felt I had so much to say, 
 
 Such pleasant thoughts from day to day, 
 
 Sang, lark-like, with each morning ray, 
 
 Or murmured low in twilight grey, 
 
 Like distant curfew pealing. 
 And then, for each, fair Fancy brought 
 A robe of language ready wrought, 
 The smile of every winged thought 
 
 Half veiling, half revealing. 
 And I only waited, with longing gaze, 
 For the golden leisure of summer days, 
 Which I thought to crown with happiest lays 
 
On the Last Leaf. 135 
 
 God thought not so ! Ah no, He knew 
 There was other work for me to do, 
 There were other lessons for me to learn : 
 Another voice fell, iow and stern, 
 
 Upon the too reluctant ear. 
 Uefore the solemn voice of Pain 
 My visions fled, nor came again, 
 With all their glad and lovely train, 
 
 My summer-tide to cheer. 
 
 it when, at high command 
 Of wisest Love, she takes her stand 
 
 At the heart's busy portal, 
 And warns away each noisy guest 
 Whose presence chases calm and rest, 
 Our powers, the brightest and the best, 
 
 Proclaiming weak and mortal. 
 I so the way may be more clear 
 
 For Him, the Prince of Peace, to come, 
 That which is left all void and drear 
 
 To make His palace and His home. 
 
 I so the song of my heart was hushed, 
 
 And the chiming thoughts were stilled : 
 
 Summer flew by, but the hope was crushed, 
 
 Swiftly onward my life-tide rushed, 
 maincd unfilled. 
 
136 The Mi7iistry of Song. 
 
 For an aching head and a weary frame* 
 Poetry is but an empty name. 
 Yet I am sure it was better so. 
 I trusted then, and now I know, 
 
 For ever, I think, the gift is fled 
 
 Which once I fancied mine : 
 So be it ! A ' name ' is not for me ;, 
 Loving and loved I would rather be, 
 With power to cheer and sympathize, 
 Bearing new light for tear-dimmed eyes ; 
 But I do not care to shine. 
 
 So if aught I write may tend to this, 
 My fairest hope of earthly bliss, 
 
 Content with humblest rhyme I'll be 
 And, striving less and trusting more, 
 AH simple, earnest thoughts outpour, 
 
 Such as my God may give to me-. 
 
How should they Know Me ? 137 
 
 HO IV SHOULD THE Y KXO IV ME f 
 
 THERE are those who deem they know me 
 well, 
 And smile as I tell them 'nay ! ' 
 Who think they may clearly and carele- 
 Each living drop in my heart's deep well, 
 And lightly enter its inmost cell ; 
 But little <;how little !) know v 
 
 should they know me? My soul is a maze 
 
 \V;.ere I wander alone, alone ; 
 
 : a footfall there was heard, 
 
 : a mortal hand hath stirred 
 The silence-curtain that hangs between 
 Outer and inner, nor eye hath seen 
 it is only and ever my own. 
 
 They have entered indeed the vestibule, 
 For its gate is opened \ 
 . as the roof, and I welcome all 
 
 Who will visit my warm rec._ 
 
 And utter a long and loving 
 To some who EU 
 
138 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 I would lead each guest to a place of rest ; 
 
 All should be calm and bright ; 
 Then a lulling flow of melody, 
 And a crystal draught of sympathy, 
 And odorous blossoms of kindly thought, 
 With golden fruit of deed, be brought 
 
 From the chambers out of sight. 
 
 Some I would take with a cordial hand, 
 And lead them round the walls ; 
 
 Showing them many a storied screen, 
 
 Many a portrait, many a scene, 
 
 Deep-cut carving, and outlined scroll ; 
 
 Passing quickly where shadows roll, 
 Slowly where sunshine falls. 
 
 They do not know and they cannot see 
 
 That strong-hinged, low-arched door, 
 Though I am passing in and out, 
 From gloom within to light without, 
 Or from gloom without to light within ; 
 None can ever an entrance win, 
 None ! for evermore. 
 
 It is a weird and wondrous realm, 
 Where I often hold my breath 
 
How should they Know Me ? 139 
 
 At the unseen things which there I see, 
 At the mighty shapes which beckon to me, 
 At the visions of woe and ecstasy, 
 
 At the greetings of life and death. 
 
 They rise, they pass, they melt away, 
 
 In an ever-changing train ; 
 I cannot hold them or tell their stay, 
 Or measure the time of their fleeting sway ; 
 As grim as night, and as fair as day, 
 
 They vanish and come again. 
 
 I wander on through the strange domain, 
 
 Marvelling ever and aye ; 
 Marvelling how around my feet 
 All the opposites seem to meet, 
 The dark, the light, the chill, the glow, 
 ^ he storm, the calm, the fire, the snow, 
 How can it be ? I do not know. 
 
 Then how, oh how, can they ? 
 
 What am I, and how ? If reply there be, 
 
 In unsearchable chaos 't is cast. 
 Though the soaring spirit of restless man 
 Might the boundary line of the universe scan, 
 And measure and map its measureless plan, 
 The gift of self-knowledge were last ! 
 
140 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 MAKING POETRY. 
 
 LITTLE one, what are you doing, 
 Sitting on the window-seat ? 
 -Laughing to yourself, and writing, 
 Some right merry thought inditing, 
 Balancing with swinging feet. 
 
 * 'T is some poetry I *m making, 
 
 Though I never tried before : 
 Four whole lines ! I '11 read them to yon. 
 Do you think them funny, do you ? 
 
 Shall I try to make some more ? 
 
 * I should like to be a poet, 
 
 Writing verses every day ; 
 Then to you I 'd always bring them, 
 You should make a tune and sing them ; 
 
 'T would be pleasanter than play.' 
 
 Think you, darling, nought is needed 
 
 But the paper and the ink, 
 And a pen to trace so lightly, 
 While the eye is beaming brightly, 
 
 All the pretty things we think ? 
 
Making Poetry. 141 
 
 There's a secret, — can you trust me? 
 
 Do not ask me what it is ! 
 Perhaps some day you too will know it, 
 If you live to be a poet, 
 
 All its agony and bliss. 
 
 Poetry is not a trifle, 
 
 Lightly thought and lightly made 5 
 Not a fair and scentless flower, 
 Gaily cultured for an hour, 
 
 Then as gaily left to fade. 
 
 r T is not stringing rhymes together 
 
 In a pleasant true accord ; 
 Not the music of the metre, 
 Not the happy fancies, sweeter 
 
 Than a flower-bell, honey -stored. 
 
 'T is the essence of existence, 
 
 Rarely rising to the light ; 
 And the songs that echo longest, 
 Deepest, fullest, truest, strongest, 
 
 With your life-blood you will write. 
 
 With your life-blood. None will know it, 
 You will never tell them how. 
 
142 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Smile ! and they will never guess it 5 
 Laugh ! and you will not confess it 
 By your paler cheek and brow. 
 
 There must be the tightest tension 
 
 Ere the tone be full and true ; 
 Shallow lakelets of emotion 
 Are not like the spirit-ocean, 
 Which reflects the purest blue. 
 
 Every lesson you shall utter, 
 
 If the charge indeed be yours, 
 
 First is gained by earnest learning, 
 
 Carved in letters deep and burning 
 
 On a heart that long endures. 
 
 Day by day that wondrous tablet 
 Your life-poem shall receive, 
 
 By the hand of Joy or Sorrow ; 
 
 But the pen can never borrow 
 Half the records that they leave, 
 
 You will only give a transcript 
 Of a life-line here and there, 
 Only just a spray-wreath springing 
 From the hidden depths, and flinging 
 Broken rainbows on the air. 
 
The Cascade. 143 
 
 Still, if you but copy truly, 
 
 'T will be poetry indeed, 
 Echoing many a heart's vibration, 
 Rather love than admiration 
 
 Earning as your priceless meed. 
 
 Will you seek it ? Will you brave it ? 
 
 'T is a strange and solemn thing, 
 Learning long, before your teaching, 
 Listening long, before your preaching, 
 
 Suffering before you sing. 
 
 THE CASCADE. 
 
 WHO saith that Poetry is not in thee, 
 Thou wild cascade, bright, beautiful, 
 and free ? 
 Who saith that thine own sunny gleaming 
 
 waters 
 Are not among * sweet Poesie's ' fair daughters? 
 No Poetry in thee ? then tell, oh tell, 
 Where is the home where she delights to 
 dwell ? 
 
144 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 But what is Poetry? Some aerial sprite, 
 Clothed in a dazzling robe of wavy light, 
 Whose magic touch unlocks the gates of joy 
 In dreamland to some vision-haunted boy ? 
 Or is she but a breath from Eden-bowers, 
 Charged with the fragrance of their shining 
 
 flowers, 
 Which, passing o'er the harp -strings of the 
 
 soul, 
 Awakes new melody, whose echoes roll 
 In waves of spirit -music through the heart, 
 Till tears and smiles in mingling sweetness 
 
 start ? 
 It may be so, but still she seems to me 
 Most like a God-sent sunlight, rich and free, 
 Bathing the tiniest leaf in molten gold, 
 Bidding each flower some secret charm unfold, 
 Weaving a veil of loveliness for earth, 
 Calling all fairy forms to wondrous birth. 
 
 Our sweet soul- Artist ! Many a fair surprise 
 Her colour -treasures bring to waiting eyes ; 
 Her pictures, sudden seen, oft seem to dwell 
 Like pearls within the rugged ocean shell, 
 They tell of something purer and more fair 
 Than earth can boast, and gleam forth every- 
 where, 
 
The Cascade. 145 
 
 Star-glimpses through the trees, or flashes 
 
 bright 
 Of meteor glory in a northern night. 
 
 Our sweet soul-Harpist ! linking winds with 
 
 sighs, 
 And blending both with spirit-melodies, 
 And adding chords that come we know not 
 
 whence, 
 Dream-echoes mingling with the wakeful sense. 
 O strange, O beautiful ! though ail unknown, 
 The music-fount of every lovely tone, 
 The colour-fount of every lovely thought, 
 By this bright ministrant so freely brought, 
 Save that we own their true and soothing 
 
 might 
 One of His perfect gifts, whose names are 
 
 Love and LiMit. 
 
 Oil ! she is often where we least surmise, 
 And scorns the dimness of our heavy eyes ; 
 We catch the ruby spaiikles of her wing, 
 And she is gone like dewdrops of the spring ; 
 Again, to glad us with her smile she stays, 
 And shows her brightness to our loving gaze. 
 K 
 
146 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 No cave so dark but she may gain its porch, 
 And gild the shadows with her quenchless 
 
 torch ; 
 No dell so silent but her pealing voice 
 Can bid a leafy orchestra rejoice ; 
 No waste so lonely but she there may hold 
 Her gorgeous court in splendour all untold. 
 And where those waters murmur as they leap, 
 A song of gentleness, and calm, and sleep, 
 Within the sounding music of their tone 
 I hear a voice, and know it is her own. 
 
 And where the fair, fond sunbeams blithely 
 
 play 
 Amid the hazy wreaths of dancing spray, 
 A form of fairy grace shines forth to me, 
 I hail the vision, for I know 't is she. 
 She loves that changeful, yet unchanging foam, 
 Within its arching bowers she finds a home, 
 And reads beneath its roof of fleeting snow 
 The secrets of the shadowy depth below. 
 Then who shall say that she is not in thee, 
 Thou wild cascade, bright, beautiful, and free I 
 
Constance de V . 147 
 
 CONSTANCE DE V . 
 
 An episode in the early life of Charles Maurice, 
 Prince de Talleyrand. 
 
 YE maidens of Old England ! 
 The joyous and the free, 
 The loving and the loved of all, 
 
 Wherever ye may be ; 
 Who wander through the ferny dell, 
 
 And o'er the breezy hill, 
 And glide along the woodland path 
 
 All at your own sweet will ; 
 Who know the many joys of home, 
 
 The song, the smile, the mirth, 
 The happy things which God has giverc 
 
 To brighten this our earth : 
 Comes there a sigh, a longing thought, 
 
 In lonely musing hours ? 
 Deem ye there is a fairer realm, 
 
 A purer faith than ours ? 
 O cast away the yearning dream, 
 
 And listen, while I tell 
 Of one who knew no other home 
 
 Than her own convent cell. 
 
148 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 The rain comes down relentlessly, 
 
 The sky is robed in grey, 
 Oh, Paris is a dreary place 
 
 On such a dreary day ! 
 But dreariest of the darkening streets, 
 
 Where the loud rain doth fall, 
 Is that where looms the convent tower, 
 
 Where frowns the convent wall. 
 
 ir. 
 
 A boyish step is passing 
 
 Beneath the dripping eaves, 
 With monkish lore beladen, 
 
 With musty Latin leaves. 
 Ah, Charles Maurice, the young abbe, 
 
 Thou art of princely birth ! 
 For thee shall dawn a brighter day, 
 A strange high part be thine to play, 
 With wondrous tact to guide and sway 
 
 The great ones of the earth ! 
 
 in. 
 
 But the still-increasing torrents 
 Will spoil the ancient tomes, 
 
Constance de V . 149 
 
 And woe betide Charles Maurice 
 From the wrath of cowled gnomes \ 
 
 So he seeks a low-bent archway 
 Within the grim old wall, 
 
 Where never the laughing footstep 
 Of a sunbeam dares to fall. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Anon he wraps the volumes 
 
 In the folds of his hooded gown ; 
 Then starts to hear, though he knov. 
 
 fear, 
 A sound which tells him life is near — 
 
 That he is not alone. 
 He turns — the passage is dark as night, 
 
 He listens — but all is still, 
 Save the raindrops in monotonous march, 
 And the ceaseless drip from the mouldering 
 arch, 
 
 On the stone so damp and chill. 
 
 v. 
 
 • Qui vive ? ' he cries right gaily, 
 
 Through the cavernous entry's gloom ; 
 But a low, faint cry is the sole reply, 
 As the voice of one who is come to lie 
 On the brink of a yawning tomb. 
 
The Minhlry of Song. 
 
 Oh, where is the true-hearted lad, 
 
 Who at the call of sorrow 
 But in his thoughtlessness is glad 
 To help the weak and cheer the sad, 
 And promise a brighter morrow ? 
 
 VI. 
 
 The cry was one of weakness — 
 
 Of weariness unblest ; 
 And a pulse of gentle sympathy 
 
 Makes music in his breast. 
 Through the dark way he gropeth 
 
 To the iron-studded door, 
 Behind whose oaken grimness 
 Some dwell in cloistral dimness 
 
 Who may pass out no more. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There, in the glimmering darkness* 
 He deems he can descry 
 
 A small and sable-robed form 
 On the cold doorstep lie. 
 
 The form is that of maidenhood ; 
 And, in that boyish heart, 
 
Constance de V . 1 5 1 
 
 It wakes a helpful tenderness, 
 Like that which, hidden, yet doth bless 
 Through a loved brother's fond caress, 
 Ere childhood's hours depart 
 
 VIII. 
 
 1 What is it?' said Charles Maurice, 
 
 In a softly-pitying tone ; 
 ' What dost thou fear? why art thou here? 
 
 And why that weary moan?' 
 Then, lifting her with gentle arm, 
 
 He bore her where the light 
 Fell on a girlish face so fair, 
 It seemed a seraph light to wear, 
 But for the sorrow mantling there, 
 
 And the glance of wild affright. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Why should I paint her beauty? 
 
 Have ye not often tried 
 To tell of rosy lip and cheek, 
 Of starlit eyes that shine and speak, 
 Of cloudlike locks that vainly seek 
 
 The snowy brow to hide ? 
 
152 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And feel ye not, when all is said 
 
 That words can ever say, 
 The fount of beauty still is sealed— 
 The loveliness is not revealed 
 To those who list the lay. 
 
 x. 
 
 Oh, words can never satisfy — 
 
 They are too hard and real ; 
 The subtle charm they cannot show 
 By which the Beautiful we know, 
 
 The Beautiful we feel. 
 Perchance they speak the form, the mind. 
 
 And draw the likeness well ; 
 But at the closed entrance gate 
 All reverently they bend and wait 
 
 Where, 'neath the marble -arching dome, 
 In crystal-windowed palace-home, 
 
 The soul itself doth dwell. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And who may tell how lovely 
 The gentle Constance seemed, 
 
 When through such clouds of sorrow 
 Her meteor beauty gleamed ! 
 
Constance de V . 153 
 
 What wonder that all speechless, 
 
 As in a trance of gladness, 
 The young abbe stood wonderingly, 
 
 Before such radiant sadness? 
 
 XII. 
 
 For the look of hopeless terror 
 
 Was softened as she raised 
 Those orbs of strange, quick brightness, 
 
 And on Charles Maurice gazed. 
 She saw the pledge of kindness 
 
 Traced on that high fair brow ; 
 1 Oh, no I thou never wilt betray, 
 15 ut aid thou canst not ; say, oh say, 
 Am I not lost? There is no way 
 
 Of safe return, I know.' 
 
 XIII. 
 Then the trembling hands she folded 
 
 Over the burning cheek, 
 A wild and woe-born sobbing 
 
 Forbade the lips to speak ; 
 Till quiet words of sympathy, 
 
 So softly breathed and low, 
 And the touch of that young hand on hers, 
 
 Soon bade her story flow. 
 
154 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 ' I was a very little child, 
 
 Not old enough to know, 
 Perhaps kind looks had on me smiled, 
 But I forget them now, 
 When I was brought to live so coldly here, 
 Where all goes on the same through weary 
 month and year. 
 
 xv. 
 
 * I did not. know how lovely all 
 The world without must be ; 
 The sunbeams on the convent wall 
 Were quite enough for me ; 
 But others came who knew, and then they 
 
 told 
 Of all that I had dreamt, but never might 
 behold. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 e They told me of the mountains tall, 
 Where they might freely roam ; 
 
 They told me of the waterfall, 
 With music in its foam ; 
 
Constance de V . 155 
 
 They told me of wide fields and opening 
 
 flowers, 
 Of sloping mossy banks and glowing autumn 
 
 bowers. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 1 Of other things they told me, too, 
 
 More beautiful to them, 
 Of gleaming halls where sparklets flew 
 From many a radiant gem ; 
 And then they told of mirth, and dance, and 
 
 song. 
 Would I had never heard, that I might never 
 longl 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 * They said the sky was just as blue 
 
 Above the convent towers, 
 As where the arching forests threw 
 A shade o'er summer flowers ; 
 But I grew weary of that dazzling sky, 
 And longed to wander forth, e'en if it were 
 to die. 
 
I $6 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 * I did not want to change my lot, 
 
 I knew it might not be ; 
 I only longed to have one spot 
 All bright with memory. 
 To gaze just once upon the world I tried, 
 And then I would return to be Heaven's lonely 
 bride. 
 
 xx. 
 
 1 But, oh, I heard no sounds of mirth, 
 
 No beauty I could see ; 
 I could not find the lovely earth, 
 It was not made for me. 
 .And now my punishment indeed is sore, 
 My only home hath closed on me its iron 
 door.' 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Yes ! in her fevered restlessness 
 She left her un watched cell, 
 
 %Vhen all around were summoned 
 By the deep-voiced matin-bell. 
 
 And in the damp-stoned cloisters 
 To rest awhile she thought, 
 
Constance de V . 157 
 
 Where cold, fresh air might round her 
 
 play, 
 The burning fever pass away, 
 And coolness of the early day 
 To her hot brow be brought. 
 
 XXII. 
 Strange carelessness ! no massy bar 
 
 Across the gate was thrown ! 
 She deemed that world of beauty 
 
 near; 
 She gazed around in haste and fear, 
 Oh, none were there to see and hear - 
 
 The timid bird has flow 1 
 But the rain came down relentlessly, 
 
 The sky was robed in grey ; 
 All dreary seemed the narrow street, 
 And nothing bright or fair might meet 
 Her of the white and trembling feet ; 
 No loveliness is there to greet 
 
 That wandering star to-day. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Then, bowed with shame and weakness, 
 And disappointed hope, 
 
1 5 8 The Min is try of Song. 
 
 She only reached the heavy door 
 To find it firmly closed once more ; 
 Ah, who shall help, and who restore. 
 
 And who that door shall ope ? 
 The strong young arm of Charles Maurice 
 
 Tries once and yet again, 
 But the weighty portal baffles him : 
 
 Ah ! is it all in vain ? 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 But Constance darts one upward glance 
 
 Of blent despair and trust ; 
 There is no bolt, for daylight gleams 
 Between the scarcely-meeting beams : 
 Some unknown obstacle there seems, 
 
 And conquer it he must. 
 He strains his utmost strength, the sweat 
 
 Is beading on his brow ; 
 It creaks— it yields ! O Constance, smile, 
 
 The door is open now I 
 
 xxv. 
 
 From her cheek the flush hath faded, 
 As fades the evening glow, 
 
Constance de V . 159 
 
 In pristine whiteness leaving 
 
 The rosy Alpine snow. 
 And like a breeze of twilight 
 
 The aspen-leaves among, 
 A whisper falls upon his ear 
 
 From quivering lip and tongue : 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 ' Farewell ! Oh, thou hast saved me ! ' 
 
 And the hand so white and cold, 
 With lingering clasp of gratitude, 
 
 Her wordless thanks hath told. 
 One moment on that small, fair hand 
 
 His youthful lips are pressed ; 
 There is a reverence in his eye, 
 For grief and beauty both are nigh ; 
 She passes like a spirit by, 
 
 To seek her cheerless rest. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 They are parted, like the dewdrops 
 
 That linger in the smile 
 Of a storm-begotten rainbow, 
 
 But for a little while : 
 Then one in lonely dimness 
 
 To earth may soon descend f 
 
s6o The Ministry of Song. 
 
 And one with the bright sky above, 
 Though all unseen, may blend. 
 
 The young abbe hath paused in vain 
 
 To hear her footstep pass ; 
 *T was lighter than the noiseless fall 
 
 Of rose-leaf on the grass. 
 No sound is heard but the pattering rain, 
 
 And he slowly turns away, 
 With the brown old books beneath his gown, 
 To meet his abbots gathering frown, 
 
 For loitering on the way. 
 
 Think you he conned the loveless lore 
 
 Without a thoughtful sigh 
 For the loveliness in sorrow, 
 
 Which passed so trance-like by ? 
 Among the missal borders 
 
 Was no such angel -face ; 
 And such, once seen, fade not away ; 
 Their image shines without decay, 
 When on the canvas of the heart, 
 With untaught skill, yet mystic art, 
 
 Each line of light we trace. 
 
Constance de V . 161 
 
 The wing of Time seems broken now, 
 
 So tardy is his flight ; 
 lie deems by day that she is dead, 
 
 He dreams she lives, by night. 
 Till quick anxiety hath found 
 
 A messenger to bear 
 The tidings that he strove to frame, 
 
 From woven hope and fear. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 What wonder that he heard not 
 
 Her footfall on the stone ! 
 She sank beneath the cloister wall, 
 
 Unheeded and alone ; 
 And ere Charles Maurice stood again 
 
 Beneath the open sky, 
 For ever on the things of earth 
 
 She closed her wearv eve. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Constance, the beautiful, hath left 
 
 Her dismal convent cell ; 
 She hath not known one hope fulfilled, 
 One granted joy, one longing stilled. 
 
1 62 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 For her the melody of life 
 
 Was but one chord of inward strife, 
 
 Was but one ruthless knell. 
 Her heart bedimmed with sameness, 
 
 Her only wish denied, 
 Oh, what a mockery it were 
 Her lot should such a title bear, 
 
 * Heaven's own appointed bride 1 5 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Why should her early spring-time 
 
 Be quenched in wintry gloom ? 
 Was it not merciful and wise 
 To call her spirit to the skies 
 
 From such a living tomb ? 
 How might that gentle maiden 
 
 Have scattered joy around, 
 And made the earth a brighter place* 
 For all her radiance and grace ! 
 But now, unsorrowed and unknown^ 
 Her only memory is a stone 
 
 Within the convent bound. 
 
Fairy Homes. 163 
 
 FAIRY HOMES. 
 
 I'VE found at last the hiding-place 
 Where the fairy people dwell, 
 And to win the secrets of their race 
 I hold the long-sought spell. 
 
 With the woodland fairies I can talk, 
 I can list their silvery lays ; 
 
 Oh ! pleasant in a lonely walk 
 Is the company of fays. 
 
 No fabled fancy 't is to me, 
 For in every floweret's bell 
 
 Is a tiny chamber, where I see 
 A gentle fairy dwell. 
 
 And at my bidding forth they come. 
 To soothe me or to cheer, 
 
 And to tell me tales of fairydom 
 With voices soft and clear. 
 
 Full many a beauteous lesson, too, 
 Their rosy lips can teach ; 
 
164 The Ministry of Soiig. 
 
 Great men would wonder if they knew 
 How well the fairies preach ! 
 
 When thoughts of sorrow sadden me, 
 They seem to sympathize, 
 
 And gaze upon me lovingly, 
 With tender earnest eyes ; 
 
 But when a tide of joyous glee 
 Is bringing song and smile, 
 
 Then brightly they look up to me, 
 And laugh with me awhile. 
 
 Oh ! lovely are the floweret homes 
 Of these sweet summer fays ; 
 
 God's thoughts of beauty taking for in 
 To gladden mortal gaze. 
 
More Mtisic. 165 
 
 MORE MUSIC. 
 
 OH for a burst of song, 
 Exultant, deep, and strong, 
 One gush of music's billowy might, 
 To bear my soul away 
 Into the realms of day, 
 From these dim glacier-caves of Life's cold 
 night ! 
 
 Oh for a sunset strain 
 Wafted o'er slumberous main, 
 To enter, spirit-like, my prisoned heart, 
 And there, with viewless hand, 
 Unloose each mortal band, 
 That in the songs of heaven I too might learn 
 a part. 
 
 The sweetest music here 
 Calls forth the quiet tear, 
 For grief and gladness flow in blended 
 stream ; 
 
 Oh for the joyous day, 
 (Can it be far away ?) 
 When one great Alleluia song shall chase Life's 
 tuneless dream ! 
 
1 66 The Ministry of Song'. 
 
 TRAVELLING THOUGHTS. 
 
 On board the steamer La France, January 26, 186& 
 
 A STILL grey haze around us, 
 Behind, a foreign shore, 
 A still grey deep beneath us, 
 
 And Dover cLflfs before. 
 Not one within a hundred miles 
 
 Whose name I ever heard, 
 None who would care to speak to me 
 
 A passing friendly word : 
 Yet not a shadow crosseth me 
 
 Of loneliness or fear ; 
 I bless the Omnipresent One, 
 
 I know that God is here. 
 
 All whom I love are scattered s 
 
 And many a month and mile 
 Rise, mountain-like, before, behind, 
 
 Between me and their smile. 
 Oh that the love I bear them 
 
 Might blossom into skill 
 To comfort and to brighten, 
 
 And all with gladness fill 2 
 
Travelling Thoughts. 167 
 
 Ah ! helpless love ! Yet 't is a joy 
 
 To turn each wish to prayer, 
 And, where each lovecl one sojourneth, 
 
 To know that God is there. 
 
 The nearest and the dearest 
 
 Are where the rushing Rhine 
 Bends northward from the Drachenfels, 
 
 From castle, rock, and vine ; 
 Where long-lined chestnut shadows 
 
 Make tracery below, 
 And the moss-framed window challenges 
 
 The might of frost and snow. 
 Lit rather by the dawn of heaven 
 
 Than earthly sunset glow, 
 That passing home of faith and prayer ! 
 
 Oh, God is there, I know ! 
 
 From thence the wing of loving thought 
 
 Speeds on where Severn flows, 
 And hovers o'er as fair a scene 
 
 As our fair England knows ; 
 The home of summer roses, 
 
 Of winter mirth and glee, 
 Long may that home unbroken^ 
 
 That mirth unsilenced be 1 
 
1 68 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 The blessings of unbounded grace 
 
 I pray Him to bestow, 
 And trust Him for the coming years, 
 
 For He is there, I know. 
 
 Now westward sweeps the vision 
 
 Across the Irish Sea, 
 And echoes low of sisters' love 
 
 Come back again to me. 
 A beacon bright in stormy night 
 
 Of error, rage, and wrong, 
 That home of love and truth shall cast 
 
 Its radiance pure and strong. 
 They tell of rumours strange and dark ; 
 
 But oh ! no need to fear ! 
 Cod will not leave His own, I know, 
 
 His guardian hand is near. 
 
 Another scene by gentle Ouse 
 
 Must aye be dear to me, 
 Though all are not together now, 
 
 And one is on the sea. 
 And where a grey cathedral tower 
 
 Uprises broad and high, 
 A home is made in cloistral shade* 
 
 Beside the winding Wye. 
 
Travelling Thoughts, 169 
 
 To seek the richest boons for these, 
 Why should the heart be slow ? 
 
 One Shepherd, Chief, and Great, and 
 Good, 
 Is watching there, I know. 
 
 Then, in a busy city, 
 
 A crypt all dark and lone, 
 A name engraven on our hearts 
 
 Is traced upon a stone. 
 Not there the sainted spirit ! 
 
 She dwells in holy light, 
 Within the pearl-raised portals, 
 
 With those who walk in white. 
 May all her children follow 
 
 The path she meekly trod, 
 And reach the home she rests in n^w, 
 
 And dwell, like her, with God, 
 
170 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 NEW YEAR'S WISHES. 
 
 A PEARL-STREWN pathway of untold 
 gladness, 
 Flecked by no gloom, by no weary sadness 
 
 Such be the year to thee ! 
 A crystal rivulet, sunlight flinging, 
 Awakening blossoms, and joyously singing 
 Its own calm melody. 
 
 A symphony soft, and sweet, and low, 
 Like the gentlest music the angels know 
 
 In their moments of deepest joy ; 
 } Mid earth's wild clamour thy spirit telling 
 Of beauty and holiness, upward swelling, 
 
 And mingling with the sky. 
 
 A radiant, fadeless Eden flower, 
 Unfolding in loveliness hour by hour, 
 
 Like a wing-veiled seraph's face 5— 
 Such be the opening year to thee, 
 Shrouded though all its moments be, 
 
 Unknown as the bounds of space. 
 
Bonnie Wee Eric. 171 
 
 Blessings unspoken this year be thine ! 
 Each day in its rainbow flight entwine 
 
 New gems in thy joy- wreathed crown ; 
 May each in the smile of Him be bright, 
 Who is changeless Love and unfading Light, 
 Till the glory seem to thy tranced sight 
 
 As heaven to earth come down. 
 
 BONNIE WEE ERIC. 
 
 BONNIE wee Eric ! I have sat beside the 
 evening fire, 
 And listened to the leaping flame still darting 
 
 keenly higher, 
 And all the while a lisping voice and eyes of 
 
 sunny blue 
 Out-whispered the flame-whisper, and out- 
 shone the flicker too. 
 
 Bonnie wee Eric ! To his home thoughts plea- 
 santly return, 
 
 To long fair evenings in the land of ben and 
 brae and burn ; 
 
172 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Sweet northern words, so tunefully upon our 
 
 Saxon flung. 
 As if a mountain breeze swept by where fairy 
 
 bells are hung. 
 
 But sweeter than all fairy bells of quaint sweet 
 
 minstrel tongue, 
 Rang out wee Eric's gentlest tone when o'er 
 
 his cot I hung, 
 And told him in the sunset glow once more 
 
 the old dear story 
 Of Him who walked the earth that we might 
 
 walk with Him in glory. 
 
 ' He loves the little children so; — does darling 
 Eric love Him?' 
 
 I think the angels must have smiled a rainbow- 
 smile above him, 
 
 Yet hardly brighter than his own, that lit the 
 answer true, 
 
 * jsesus, the kind good Jesus ! Me do, oh yes, 
 me do ! ' 
 
 Bonnie wee Eric ! How the thought of heaven 
 
 is full of joy, 
 And death has not a shadow for the merry 
 
 healthful boy ! 
 
Bonnie Wee Eric. 173 
 
 To hear about the happy home he gladly 
 
 turns away 
 From picture books, or Noah's ark, or any 
 
 game of play. 
 
 * Mamma, some day me die, and then the 
 
 angels take me home 
 To Jesus, and me sing to Him ; — Papa and 
 
 you too come.' 
 So brightly said ! ' But, Eric, would you 
 
 really like to die ? ' 
 She answered him; 'then, darling, tell mamma 
 
 the reason why ? ' 
 
 And then the sunny eyes looked up, and 
 
 seemed at once to be 
 Filled with a happy solemn light, like sunrise 
 
 on the sea ; 
 He said — 'Yes me would like to die, for ma 
 
 know where me going! ' 
 What saint-like longing, baby lips ! and oh ! 
 
 what blessed knowing ! 
 
 The lesson of the 'little child ' is sweetly learnt 
 
 from him ; 
 No questioning, no anxious faith all tremulous 
 
 and dim, 
 
174 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 No drowsy love that hardly knows if it be love 
 
 indeed ; 
 Not * think' or 'hope,' but— 'Oh me <&,'— 
 
 'me know,' — his simple creed. 
 
 Bonnie wee Eric ! Hardly launched on this 
 
 world's troubled sea, 
 We know the little bark is safe what e'er its 
 
 course may be ; 
 And short or long, or fair or rough, our hearts 
 
 are glad in knowing 
 It will be onward, heavenward still, for he 
 
 ' knows where his going. ' 
 
 MY S WEB T WOODR UFF. 
 
 NO more the flowers of spring are seen. 
 And silence fills the summer noon ; 
 The woods have lost the fresh bright greera 
 Of May and June. 
 
My Sweet Woodrtcff. 175 
 
 But yesterday I found a flower, 
 Deep sheltered from the withering rays, 
 Which might have known the sun and shower 
 Of April days. 
 
 I did not think again to find 
 Such tender relic of the spring ; 
 It thrilled such gladness through my mind, 
 I needs must sing. 
 
 My girlhood's spring has passed for aye 3 
 With many a fairy tint and tone ; 
 The heat and burden of the day 
 Are better known. 
 
 But by my summer path has sprung 
 A flower cf happy love, as fair 
 As e'er a subtle fragrance flung 
 
 On spring's clear ate, 
 
 I hardly thought to feel again 
 Such dewy freshness in my heart, 
 And so one little loving strain 
 
 Must upward start, 
 
iy6 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 There was spring-sunshine in my eyes, 
 I had such joy in finding you 
 So full of all I love and prize, 
 
 So dear and true. 
 
 My heart is richer far to-day 
 Than when I came a week ago ; 
 How near to me such treasure lay 
 I did not know ! 
 
 The long parenthesis is o'er, 
 And now, in letters all of light, 
 The story of our love once more 
 
 We both may write. 
 
 I have no words to breathe the praise 
 Which now for this * good gift ' I owe j 
 A. wordless anthem I must raise, 
 
 But HE will know. 
 
Our Gem Wreath, 177 
 
 OUR GEM WREATH. 
 
 HEARD ye the sounds of joyous glee, 
 And the notes of merry minstrelsy, 
 And the purling of low, sweet words which 
 
 start 
 From the silent depths of a loving heart ; 
 And the gushing laugh, and the rippling song, 
 As the summer days sped swift along ? 
 
 Saw ye the gleam of sunny hair, 
 And the glancing of forms yet young and fair, 
 And the dancing light of happy eyes, 
 And smiles like the rosy morning skies ? 
 Saw ye and heard ? and would ye not know 
 What made such mirth and music flow ? 
 
 There were maidens five, as blithe and free 
 As the curbless waves of the open sea : 
 They met ; — ye may liken their early greeting 
 To the dewdrops on a rose-leaf meeting ; 
 Then many a day flew uncounted by, 
 With Love like an angel hovering nigh, 
 While the ruby light of his sparkling wing 
 Flung a tint of joy on everything, 
 M 
 
178 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 * In books, or works, or healthful play,' 
 As the merriest lips would often say, 
 Or in strange attempts to weave a spell 
 Which might bid the Muses among them 
 
 dwell, 
 Or in a stream of mingled song, 
 Some of their hours have passed along ; 
 Bearing the sound of each pleasant lay, 
 And the echo of many a laugh, away. 
 
 When the burning day is on the wane, 
 They wander through some darkening lane, 
 In quieter converse lingering awhile 
 'Neath the arching roof of its shadowy aisle. 
 
 Where the latest sunbeams kiss the brow 
 Of Malvern's Beacon, see them now ; 
 Springing o'er moss-bed, and rock, and stone. 
 As though the green earth were all their own ; 
 And singing forth to the fair wide scene, 
 In a loyal chorus, ' God save the Queen ! * 
 
 Again, from out the busy street, 
 They pass with gladly reverent feet 
 Within the old cathedral's shade ; 
 And feel the sacred silence laid 
 Upon the lips, upon the heart, 
 By time and place thus ' set apart.' 
 Then the anthem fills the glorious fane, 
 Till its solemn tones float back again, 
 
Our Gem Wreath. 179 
 
 Round arch and column the sound enwreathing, 
 Till they seem with holy music breathing, — 
 Music and love ; while the choral praise 
 Images better and holier days. 
 
 Yet once again ; — with low bent head, 
 They are kneeling where the Feast is spread ; 
 Not one is absent, all are there, 
 Its silent blessedness to share. 
 Well may a bond of love be felt, 
 When thus together they have knelt. 
 
 Would ye know the maidens five, oh say ? 
 The meek, the merry, the grave, the gay : 
 Each jewel of all the sunlit cluster 
 Shines with its own unborrowed lustre ; 
 Then listen and gaze, while each shall pass, 
 As a half-seen vision in magic glass. 
 
 A quiet summer evening, when the daybeams' 
 
 heat and glare 
 Have passed away, and coolness comes upon 
 
 the cloudless air, 
 And the soft grey twilight wakes the stars to 
 
 glisten o'er the hill, 
 And the only vesper-chime is rung by one low* 
 
 murmurins: rill : 
 
180 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Like such an evening is the soul of that one 
 
 dark- eyed maid, 
 Amid earth's restless turmoil like a calm and 
 
 pleasant shade ; 
 So soothing and so gently sweet her words of 
 
 deep love fall 
 Upon the wearied spirit, like the ringdove's 
 
 forest call. 
 
 Well hath she learnt to sympathize with every 
 
 hope and fear, 
 Well hath she learnt the sorrowing heart to 
 
 brighten and to cheer ; 
 Long years of weary weakness have not passed 
 
 away in vain, 
 If the holy art of sympathy they taught her to 
 
 attain. 
 
 Her fairy footstep falleth as a noiseless flake 
 
 of snow, 
 So violet-like and still that we her presence 
 
 hardly know ; 
 But like a gleaming vessel-path, far glittering 
 
 through the night, 
 She leaves a memory behind of soft and silvery 
 
 light 
 
Our Gem Wreath. 181 
 
 Within the crystal cavern of retirement ye find 
 That gem of inward radiance, her * meek and 
 
 quiet ' mind ; 
 Not like the flashing topaz, or the ruby's 
 
 gorgeous glow, 
 She is a precious Amethyst, whose value 
 
 well we know. 
 
 II. 
 
 Now turn we to that merry maiden, 
 With azure eye, and smooth bright hair ; 
 A lily blossom, fragrance-laden, 
 Is not more fair. 
 
 A dewdrop to the thirsty flower, 
 A sun-ray gilding every cloud, 
 A rainbow when the thunder-showei 
 Is rushing loud ; 
 
 A spirit full of pleasant brightness, 
 That speaks from lip, and cheek, and bro'/,', 
 To whose glad spell of cheering lightness 
 E'en grief must bow. 
 
1 82 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Her hand hath learnt with wondrous power 
 Scenes of rare loveliness to trace, 
 And picture forms with airy dower 
 Of beauteous grace. 
 
 The breath of flattery hath not tainted 
 Her simple thought with pride's dark stain ; 
 Because her leaves are richly painted, 
 Is the rose vain ? 
 
 Then as an orient Emerald shining, 
 Long may her loveliness be set 
 Among the sister-gems, entwining 
 Our coronet. 
 
 III. 
 
 Say, who shall form the vision-centre now ? 
 She of the large, soft eye, and pensive smile, 
 She of the earnest gaze, and thoughtful brow : 
 Who would not love to read her looks awhile, 
 Or list that often silent voice, whose flow 
 Like distant waterfall is heard, so sweet and 
 low? 
 
Our Gem Wreath. 183 
 
 Not many summers o'er her youth have cast 
 Their varying sun and shade, and we might 
 
 deem 
 No breath of sadness o'er her soul had passed, 
 But for that orb subdued, like some lone 
 
 stream, 
 Where the sad willows rest in shadowy love, 
 While its blue depth reflects the sunlit heaven 
 
 above. 
 
 All calmness, yet deep sorrow she hath known, 
 Dimming the star of hope which shone so clear, 
 The song of life hath changed its joyous tone, 
 The pearl of life hath melted to a tear; 
 Eut star and song shall rise in brighter day, 
 And hers that priceless Pearl which none may 
 take away. 
 
 Her sorrow, all unspoken, doth but twine 
 Our earnest love more changelessly around her ; 
 While we look onward, upward, for the time 
 When Joy's fair garland shall again have 
 
 crowned her, 
 Who as the Pearl of all our wreath is gleam- 
 ing, 
 In mild and moonlit radiance softly 'mid us 
 beaming. 
 
1 84 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Like a flash of meteor light, 
 Strangely gladdening and bright, 
 Is the youngest of the band, 
 Making every heart expand, 
 
 Like a petrel on the wave, 
 What to her though tempests rave/ 
 She will skim each foamy crest, 
 Making all around her blest. 
 
 Like a song-bird of the spring, 
 She is ever on the wing ; 
 Carolling in blithest glee, 
 Like the wild breeze, fresh and fie:?* 
 
 Like a beautiful gazelle 
 Bounding over hill and dell ; 
 Like the scented hawthorn-flowery 
 Ever scattering blossom-showers. 
 
 Can a star of light be found, 
 Shedding aught but light around ? 
 Joy and gladness must be nigh, 
 Where her starry pinions fly. 
 
Our Gein Wreath. 185 
 
 Clear and open as the day, 
 All may trust her glancing ray, 
 All must love its rainbow light ; 
 Is she not a Diamond bright I 
 
 v. 
 
 And the last maiden, — what is she? 
 She sees not herself as others see, 
 
 From an outward point of view ; 
 She only knows the scenes within, 
 The weary conflict, and the sin, 
 The strivings a better life to win, 
 
 And the gleams of gladness too. 
 
 But little she knows of the secret cells, 
 Where in lonely twilight the spirit dwells 
 
 In an ever mysterious home, 
 Where music, and beauty, and sweet perfume., 
 Grim storms, and the blackness of the tomb, 
 In morning brightness, and midnight gloom, 
 
 In an untracked labyrinth roam. 
 
 How many a chamber within is sealed ! 
 How wondrous the little that is revealed 
 In a scarce-caught whispering tone ! 
 
1 86 The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Strange thoughts come forth to her outer gaze, 
 Wild fancies flash with spectral rays, 
 And feelings glow with uncertain blaze ; 
 Bux their fountain is all unknown. 
 
 Ah ! she would long to glean a ray 
 From each lovely gem of this summer lay, 
 
 For her own are faint and few. 
 The tremulous Opal's changeful light 
 May emblem her, now dark, now bright, 
 Yet blending in love with each sister sprite 
 
 In a union fond and true. 
 
 Such are the five, as now they seem 
 In the golden haze of Memory's dream. 
 But the future ! who may lift the veil 
 And read its yet unwritten tale ! 
 The rose, or the thorn, the sun, the cloud, 
 The gleeful heart, or the spirit bowed, 
 The song of joy, or the wail of woe, 
 Which shall be theirs, we may not know. 
 Then sorrow and joy alike we leave 
 
 In the Hand which doeth all things well, 
 And calmly from that Hand receive 
 
 All that each coming year may tell. 
 Our jewel-garland lives by Him ; 
 
 We would not ask of life or death, 
 
My Name. 187 
 
 Who first shall break its shining rim 5 
 
 It shall be as the Master saith : 
 He only shall untwine the bond, 
 So fair and faithful, fresh and fond. 
 But oh that each who glistens now 
 
 In this verse-woven coronet, 
 Upon the Saviour's thorn- wreathed brow 
 
 May as a living gem be set ! 
 Then never shall their light grow dim ; 
 Redeemed and sanctified by Him, 
 Their life and love in blended rays 
 Shall shine in everlasting praise. 
 
 MY NAME.i 
 
 FROM childish days I never heard 
 My own baptismal name ; 
 Too small, too slight, too full of glee 
 Aught else but ' little Fan ' to be, 
 The stately * Frances ' not in me 
 Could any fitness claim. 
 
 1 Suggested by the question, ' What does the lettci 
 R in your initials (F. R. H.) represent?' 
 
1 33 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Now, in the crowded halls of life, 
 
 May it be mine to bring 
 Some gentle stir of the heated air, 
 Some coolness falling fresh and fair, 
 
 Like a passing angel's wing. 
 
 My father's name, — oh how I love 
 
 Its else unwonted look ! 
 For his dear sake right dear I hold 
 Each letter, changed, as he has told, 
 Long since from early Saxon mould* 
 
 1 The rising of the brook.' 1 
 
 Of music, holiness, and love 
 
 That name will always tell, 
 While sacred chant and anthem rise, 
 Or mourners live whose deepest sighs 
 To echoes of a Father's will 
 He tuned, or child, or grandchild still 
 
 On his bright memory dwell. 
 
 But 'what the R doth represent,' 
 
 I value and revere ; 
 A diamond clasp it seems to be 
 On golden chains enlinking me 
 
 x ' Heavergill ' — the heaving or rising of the brook, at 
 gill. 
 
My Name, 189 
 
 In loyal love to England's hope, 
 
 Bulwark 'gainst infidel and Pope, 
 
 The Church I hold so dear. 
 
 Three hundred years ago was one 
 
 Who held with stedfast hand 
 That chalice of the truth of God, 
 And poured its crystal stream abroad 
 Upon the thirsting land. 
 
 The moderate, the wise, the calm, 
 
 The learned, brave and good, 1 
 A guardian of the sacred ark, 
 A burning light in places dark, 
 For cruel, changeless Rome a mark, 
 Our Bishop RIDLEY stood. 
 
 The vengeance of that foe nought else 
 
 But fiery doom could still : 
 Too surely fell the lightning stroke 
 Upon that noble English oak, 
 
 1 ' A man beautified with such excellent qualities, so 
 ghostly inspired and godly learned, and now written 
 doubtless in the book of life with the blessed saints of 
 the Almighty, crowned and throned amongst the 
 glorious company of martyrs. '—Foxes Acts and Monu- 
 
190 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Whose acorn-memory survives 
 
 In forest ranks of earnest lives, 
 
 And martyr-souls in will. 
 
 Rome offered life for faith laid down : 
 
 Such ransom paid not he ! 
 ' As long as breath is in this frame, 
 My Lord and Saviour Christ His name 
 And His known truth I'll not deny : ' 
 He said (and raised his head on high), 
 
 ' God's will be done in me.' l 
 
 He knelt and prayed, and kissed the stake. 
 
 And blessed his Master's name 
 That he was called His cross to take, 
 And counted worthy for His sake 
 To suffer death and shame. 2 ' 
 
 Though fierce the fire and long the pain. 
 
 The martyr's God was nigh ; 
 Till from that awful underglow 
 Of torture terrible and slow, 
 Above the weeping round about, 
 Once more the powerful voice rang out 
 
 His Saviour's own last cry. 
 
 1 See Works of Bishop Ridley.— Parker Society, 
 pp. 295 and 296. 
 
 2 Ibid. 
 
My Name. 191 
 
 Oh faithful unto death ! the crown 
 
 Was shining on thy brow, 
 Before the ruddy embers paling, 
 And sobbing after-gusts of wailing 
 Had died away, and left in silence 
 That truest shrine of British Island 
 
 That spot so sacred now ! 
 
 -? 
 
 In dear old England shineth yet 
 
 The candle lit that day ; 
 Right clear and strong its flames arise, 
 Undimmed, unchanged, toward the skies* 
 By God's good grace it never dies, 
 
 A living torch for aye. 
 
 'T is said that while he calmly stood 
 
 And waited for the flame, 
 He gave each trifle that he had, 
 True relic-treasure, dear and sad, 
 
 To each who cared to claim. 
 I was not there to ask a share* 
 But reverently for ever wear 
 
 That noble martyr's nam*. 
 
192 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 FAITH AND REASON. 
 
 REASON unstrings the harp to see 
 Wherein the music dwells ; 
 Faith pours a Hallelujah song, 
 And heavenly rapture swells. 
 While Reason strives to count the drops 
 
 That lave our narrow strand, 
 Faith launches o'er the mighty deep, 
 To seek a better land. 
 
 One is the foot that slowly treads 
 
 Where darkling mists enshroud ; 
 The other is the wing that cleaves 
 
 Each heaven-obscuring cloud. 
 Reason, the eye which sees but that 
 
 On which its glance is cast ; 
 Faith is the thought that blends in one 
 
 The Future and the Past. 
 
 In hours of darkness, Reason waits, 
 
 Like those in days of yore, 
 Who rose not from their night-bound place, 
 
 On dark Egyptian shore. 
 
Faith and Reason. 193 
 
 But Faith more firmly clasps the hand 
 
 Which led her all the day, 
 And when the wished for morning dawns. 
 
 Is farther on her way. 
 
 By Reason's alchymy in vain 
 
 Is golden treasure planned ; 
 Faith meekly takes a priceless crown, 
 
 Won by no mortal hand. 
 While Reason is the labouring oar 
 
 That smites the wrathful seas, 
 Faith is the snowy sail spread out 
 
 To catch the freshening breeze. 
 
 Reason, the telescope that scans 
 
 A universe of light ; 
 But Faith, the angel who may dwell 
 
 Among those regions bright. 
 Reason, a lonely towering elm, 
 
 May fall before the blast ; 
 Faith, like the ivy on the rock, 
 
 Is safe in clinging fast. 
 
 While Reason, like a Levite, wait? 
 
 Where priest and people meet, 
 Faith, by a * new and living way/ 
 
 Hath gained the mercy-seat. 
 
194 The Ministry 
 
 While Reason but returns to tell 
 
 That this is not our rest, 
 Faith, like a weary dove, hath sought 
 
 A gracious Saviour's breast. 
 
 Yet both are surely precious gifts 
 
 From Him who leads us home ; 
 Though in the wilds Himself hath trod 
 
 A little while we roam. 
 And, linked within the soul that knows 
 
 A living, loving Lord, 
 Faith strikes the key-note, Reason then 
 
 Fills up the full-toned chord. 
 
 Faith is the upward-pointing spire 
 
 O'er life's great temple springing, 
 From which the chimes of love float fc 
 
 Celestially ringing ; 
 While Reason stands below upon 
 
 The consecrated ground, 
 And, like a mighty buttress, clasps 
 
 The wide foundation round. 
 
 Faith is the bride that stands enrobed 
 
 In white and pure array ; 
 Reason, the handmaid who may share 
 
 The gladness of the day. 
 
ton. 195 
 
 Faith leads the way, and Reason learns 
 
 To follow in her train ; 
 Till, step by step, the goal is reached, 
 
 And death is glorious gain. 
 
 LYNTON. 
 
 WHY does it seem familiar ground? 
 I was never here before ; 
 I never saw this fairy dream 
 Of wood and wave, of rock and stream, 
 Nor watched the snowy foam -line g 
 On Devon's bay-loved shore. 
 
 It feels as weird and strange as though 
 
 My spirit had been here ; 
 And in the mists of long ago 
 An outline wavers to and fro, 
 Now colourless, now all aglow, 
 
 Now faint, now wondrous clear. 
 
196 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 I know it now — the tender spell 
 
 On all this pleasant scene ; 
 For memory's first pale flickering light 
 Falls on a long-forgotten night, 
 Though conscious lifetime, dark and bright 
 
 Lies all outstretched between. 
 
 The dearest name I ever spoke 
 
 Was on my lips that eve ; 
 We gave her ' welcome home ' once more, 
 Unknown, the last short absence o'er ; 
 And now, she is but * gone before ' 
 
 The palm-branch to receive. 
 
 I know it now, — she told me all j 
 
 I sat upon her knee, 
 And heard about the cliff so tall, 
 The craggy path, the rocky wall, 
 The ever- chanting waterfall, 
 
 The silver autumn sea : 
 
 The steep and dangerous way above, 
 
 The winding dell beneath ; 
 The rushing L$n, the shadowy trees, 
 The hills that breast the Channel-breeze, 
 Ttoe white ships bound for western seas ; 
 
 One shining marvel- wreath ! 
 
Lynton. 197 
 
 A little picture she had brought 
 
 Of Lynton's lovely vale : 
 I fastened it upon my wall, 
 1 lalf deeming I had seen it all ; 
 While colours came at fancy's call 
 
 To deck those outlines pale. 
 
 Hers then the charm, so strangely sweet, 
 
 Which made me sit and gaze ; 
 T is like a breeze from far-off hills. 
 Or midnight anthem of wild rills, 
 That cools the fever-fire which nils 
 Our hot and hurried days. 
 
 It may be that the parting time 
 
 Has more than half gone by, 
 That ere another twenty years 
 Have mingled all their smiles and tears, 
 We may have passed all griefs and fears, 
 And her dear welcome greet our ears 
 To her blest home on high. 
 
 Oil, might it be ! That far-off land 
 
 Is all unseen as yet : 
 But when we pass its portals fair, 
 It may be that some glory there 
 
igS The Ministry of Song, 
 
 Sweetly familiar shall appear, 
 Because we heard it whispered here 
 By that soft voice, whose accents dear 
 We never can forget. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY GREETING TO MY 
 FA THER. 
 
 1 HP IS fully known to One, by us yet dimly 
 X seen, 
 
 The blessing thou hast been ; 
 Yet speaks the silent love of many a mourning 
 heart 
 The blessing that thou ART ; 
 While traced on coming years, in faith and 
 hope we see, 
 1 A blessing thou SHALT be ; ' 
 Then here in holy labour, there in holier rest, 
 Blessing, thou shalt be blessed. 
 
A Ltd I in Life. 199 
 
 A LULL IN LIFE. 
 
 'And He said unto them, Come yc yourselves apart 
 into a desert place, and rest awhile : for there 
 were many coming and going, and they had no 
 leisure so much as to eat.' — Mark vi. 31. 
 
 OH for 'a desert place' with only the 
 Master's smile ! 
 Oh for the ' coming apart ' with only His ' rest 
 
 awhile ! ' 
 Many are ' coming and going ' with busy and 
 
 restless feet, 
 And the soul is hungering now, with 'no 
 leisure so much as to eat.' 
 
 Dear is my wealth of love from many and 
 
 valued friends, 
 Best of the earthly gifts that a bounteous 
 
 Father sends ; 
 Pleasant the counsel sweet, and the interchange 
 
 of thought, 
 Welcome the twilight hour with musical 
 
 brightness fraught. 
 
2oo The Ministry of Song. 
 
 Dear is the work He gives in many a varied 
 
 way, 
 Little enough in itself, yet something for every 
 
 day,— 
 Something by pen for the distant, by hand ot 
 
 voice for the near, 
 Whether to soothe or teach, whether to aid 
 
 or cheer. 
 
 Not that I lightly prize the treasure of valued 
 
 friends, 
 Not that I turn aside from the work the 
 
 Master sends, 
 Yet I have longed for a pause in the rush and 
 
 whirl of time, 
 Longed for silence to fall instead of its merriest 
 
 chime : 
 
 Longed for a hush to group the harmonies of 
 
 thought 
 Round each melodious strain that the harp of 
 
 life hath caught, 
 And time for the fitful breeze /Eolian chords 
 
 to bring, 
 Waking the music that slept, mute in the ter> 
 
 sionless string : 
 
A Lull in Life. 201 
 
 Longed for a calm to let the circles die away 
 That tremble over the heart, breaking the 
 
 heavenly ray, 
 And to leave its wavering mirror true to the 
 
 Star above, 
 Brightened and stilled to its depths with the 
 
 quiet of * perfect love : ' 
 
 Longed for a sabbath of life, a time of renew- 
 ing of youth, 
 
 For a full-orbed leisure to shine on the foun- 
 tains of holy truth ; 
 
 And to fill my chalice anew with its waters 
 fresh and sweet, 
 
 While resting in silent love at the Master's 
 glorious feet. 
 
 There are songs which only flow in the lone- 
 liest shades of night, 
 
 There are flowers which cannot grow in a blaze 
 of tropical light, 
 
 There are crystals which cannot form till the 
 vessel be cooled and stilled ; 
 
 Crystal, and flower, and song, given as God 
 hath willed. 
 
202 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 There is work which cannot be done in the 
 
 swell of a hurrying tide, 
 But my hand is not on the helm to turn my 
 
 bark aside ; 
 Yet I cast a longing eve on the hidden and 
 
 waveless pool, 
 Under the shadowing rock, currentless, clear, 
 
 and cool. 
 
 Well ! I will wait in the crowd till He shall 
 
 call me apart, 
 Till the silence fall which shall waken the 
 
 music of mind and heart ; 
 Patiently wait till He give the work of my 
 
 secret choice, 
 Blending the song of life with the thrill of thfc 
 
 Master's voice, 
 
Adoration. 203 
 
 ADORA TION. 
 
 MASTER, at Thy feet 
 
 1 bow in rapture sweet ! 
 Before me, as in darkening glass, 
 
 Some glorious outlines pass, 
 Of love, and truth, and holiness, and power ; 
 I own them Thine, O Christ, and bless Thee 
 for this hour. 
 
 O full of truth and grace, 
 
 Smile of Jehovah's face, 
 
 O tenderest heart of love untold ! 
 
 Who may Thy praise unfold ? 
 Thee, Saviour, Lord of lords and King of 
 kings, 
 ^ r ell may adoring seraphs hymn with veiling 
 
 I have no words to bring 
 Worthy of Thee, my King, 
 And yet one anthem in Thy praise 
 
 I long, I long to raise ; 
 The heart is full, the eye entranced above, 
 But words all melt away in silent awe and 
 love. 
 
204 The Ministry of Song. 
 
 How can the lip be dumb, 
 The hand all still and numb, 
 When Thee the heart doth see and own 
 
 Her Lord and God alone ? 
 Tune for Thyself the music of my days, 
 And open Thou my lips that I may show Thy 
 praise. 
 
 Yea, let my whole life be 
 One anthem unto Thee, 
 And let the praise of lip and life 
 
 Outring all sin and strife. 
 O Tesus, Master ! be Thy name supreme 
 For heaven and earth the one, the grand, tb€ 
 eternal theme. 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES. 
 
 A pearl-strewn pathway of untold gladness 
 
 A still grey haze around us 
 
 Ah 1 the weary cares and fears . 
 
 Amid the breken waters of our ever-restless 
 
 thought .... 
 An April burst of beauty 
 ' As thy day thy strength shall be * 
 ' Bonnie Wee Eric' 
 Finished at last 1 ... 
 
 From childish days I never heard 
 God doth not bid thee wait 
 ' God's everlasting love 1 What would'st 
 
 more ? ' 
 
 Heard ye the sounds of joyous glee . 
 
 I gave My life for thee 
 
 I love to feel that I am taught 
 
 I played with the whispering rushes . 
 
 I've found at last the hiding-place 
 
 In God's great field of labour 
 
 Is this the Peace of God, this strange, 
 
 calm? 
 
 Jesus, Master, whose I am 
 205 
 
 thou 
 
 sweet 
 
 170 
 166 
 
 98 
 
 75 
 1*8 
 171 
 
 *33 
 167 
 
 127 
 177 
 
 105 
 47 
 70 
 
 163 
 
 38 
 36 
 
2o6 
 
 Index. 
 
 Jesus, Master, whom I serve 
 
 Leave behind earth's empty pleasure 
 
 Light ! emblem of all good and joy ! . 
 
 little one, what are you doing . 
 
 Lord, is it still the right way, though I cannot 
 
 see Thy face ? ... 
 
 Love culminates in bliss when it doth reach 
 Made for Thyself, O God ! . 
 Mark ye not the sunbeams glancing . 
 Master, speak ! Thy servant heareth 
 No more the flowers of spring are seen 
 Not yet thou knowest what I do 
 * Not your own 1 ' but His ye are 
 ' Now I see 1 * But not the parting 
 O Master, at Thy feet 
 Oh the hidden leaves of Life ! 
 Oh for a burst of song 
 Oh for ' a desert place ' with only the Master': 
 
 smile ! 
 
 Oh that I loved the Father 
 
 Oh 1 to raise a mighty shout 
 
 Only a look and a motion that nobody saw or 
 
 heard 
 
 Our yet unfinished story 
 
 Peace, peace ! 
 
 ; People do not understand me' . 
 Reason unstrings the harp to see 
 
 PAGE 
 
 37 
 
 125 
 
 92 
 140 
 
Index. 
 
 207 
 
 
 PAGB 
 
 Return ! O wanderer from my side ! . . 
 
 IOO 
 
 She is at rest 
 
 ■ 115 
 
 Thanks be to God I to whom earth owes 
 
 25 
 
 The world is full of crystals. Swift, or slow 
 
 28 
 
 There are those who deem they know me well 
 
 • 137 
 
 There is a hush in earth and sky 
 
 43 
 
 ' There is no rose without a thorn ! ' . 
 
 95 
 
 They said their texts, and their hymns they sanj 
 
 I 5i 
 
 Thine eyes shall see ! Yes, thine, who blind ere 
 
 
 while 
 
 107 
 
 * This same Jesus ! ' Oh ! how sweetly 
 
 "3 
 
 T is fully known to One, by us yet dimly seen 
 
 198 
 
 To whom, O Saviour, shall we go ? . 
 
 102 
 
 What is the first and simplest praise . 
 
 11 
 
 What will the summer bring? 
 
 72 
 
 1 What would'st thou be ? ' The question . 
 
 54 
 
 1 What would'st thou be ? ' A wavelet 
 
 53 
 
 Where aro the countless crystals 
 
 131 
 
 Who saith that Poetry is not in thee . 
 
 "43 
 
 Who shall tell our untold need . 
 
 109 
 
 Whom hear we tell of all the joy which loving 
 
 
 Faith can bring .... 
 
 77 
 
 Why does it seem familiar ground ? 
 
 195 
 
 With quivering heart and trembling will 
 
 122 
 
 Ye maidens of Old England ! 
 
 147 
 
 Yes ! He knows the way is dreary . 
 
 46 
 
 * You bear the chalice Is it so, my friend ? 
 
 QC 
 
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