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FROM   THE   LIBRARY   OF 
REV.    LOUIS    FITZGERALD    BENSON.   D.  D. 


BEQUEATHED    BY    HIM   TO 

THE   LIBRARY   OF 

PRINCETON  THEOLOGICAL   SEMINARY 


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C^e  fcrng^t  of  3,ntzmmon 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


Digitized  by  the  Internet  Archive 
in  2013 


http://archive.org/details/intercesOOston 


oN 


JAN  15  1934 


THE 


KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION 

AND    OTHER    POEMS 


//  BV 

S.  J.   STONE,  M.A. 

pembroke  college,  oxford 

(late  vicak  of  st.  Paul's,  haggersto.n) 

rector  of  all  hallows'-on-the-wall,  e.c. 


Nwt  Se  fxeyei 

ttlcttk;,  e\nl<;,  aydmq, 

TO.  Tfiia  Tavro. 

I  COR.  XIII.   13 

O.tti  /caAoY,  4>i\oy  icrri'  to  5*  ov  kolKov,  ov  <f>i\ov  tan 

THEOGNIS 


SEVENTH  EDITION 

LONDON 
LONGMANS,    GREEN,    AND    CO. 

AND  NEW  YORK  :  1;  EAST  i6th  STREET 


^o  tlje  Cf)urcl)> 

These  at  thy  feet  are  laid,  for  Christ,  in  Christ 

Too  little  worthy  of  thy  Lord  and  thee: 

Yet  often  unto  love  hath  love  sufficed 

For  merit  of  its  gift ;  so  may  it  be. 

Thou  lovest:  for  thou  art  of  Him   Whose  grace 

Is  not  by  measure,  and  doth  not  despise: 

And  I — as  one  who  e,e?i  before  His  Face 

And  the  deep  test  of  those  reproachful  eyes 

Could  still  plead  truly — his  own  vision  dim 

Not  less  by  love  tha?i  fear — '  Thou  knowest  this 

Who  knowest  air — so  now,  for  Him,  in  Him, 

Bold  in  true  love}  and  sure  I  shall  not  miss 

A  mother's  grace,  this  birthday  offering 

In  hope  and  memory  to  thy  feet  I  bring, 

St.  Mark's  Day,   1872. 


preface. 

Many  of  the  following  Poems  have  appeared 
separately  at  intervals  during  the  past  ten  years ;  but 
the  rest,  of  which  the  last  written  is  'The  Sea  of 
Galilee/  have  not  been  hitherto  published.  The 
Title  of  the  Book  is  not  intended  to  be  specially 
distinctive  :  the  '  Knight  of  Intercession '  is  only 
thus  put  forward  because  it  happens  to  be  the  longest 
of  the  '  Earlier  Poems.' 

Two  of  the  twelve  Hymns  in  Lyra  Fidelium  are 
reprinted  among  those  contained  in  the  last  section 
of  this  volume.  The  best  known  of  these,  '  The 
Church's  one  Foundation/  is  included,  at  the  in- 
stance of  those  who  wish  it  to  be  seen  as  it  stood 
before  it  was  abridged  (with  the  author's  sanction)  for 
the  Hymnals. 

It  may  be  as  well  to  state  that,  except  in  the  case 
of  the  first  section,  no  chronological  order  of  compo- 
sition has  been  observed  in  the  arrangement  of  the 
Poems. 

The  author  has  only  further  to  say  that,  with  more 
than   one   aim  in  view  in  the  publication   of  these 


PREFACE. 


Poems,  he  has  none  other  in  chief  than  this  :  that 
they  may  be  permitted  to  tend  in  the  Church  to  that 
joyful  service  of  God,  in  courage,  and  with  a  quiet 
mind,  which  should  mark  the  life  of  the  redeemed. 

S.  J.  S. 


St.  Taul's  Vicarage,  Haggerston, 
April  25,   1S72. 


preface  to  tfje  <arf)irti  (Edfttom 

This  Edition  differs  from  the  First  and  Second  by  the 
removal  of  ten  of  the  Poems,  and  by  the  addition  of 
twenty-three.  Two  of  the  '  Earlier  Poems '  have  been 
omitted,  one  of  the  Miscellaneous  Section,  and  seven  of 
the  Hymns. 

The  additions  comprise  a  new  '  Idyll  of  Deare  Childe  ; 
on  page  77,  the  Poems  on  pages  225  and  228,  twelve 
Sonnets  from  page  279  to  287,  and  eight  Hymns  from 
page  325  to  346. 

It  only  remains  for  the  Author  to  thank  both  critics 
and  readers  for  the  kindly  reception  of  the  volume 
hitherto. 

Sept.  30,  1874. 

%%z  jFourtfj  (Edition 

only  differs  from  the  Third  by  the  addition  of  the  Dedi- 
catory Sonnet,  on  the  succeeding  page,  in  memory  of 
the  Author's  father,  the  Rev.  W.  Stone,  M.A.,  Vicar 
of  Alfriston,  Sussex,  who  died  March  4,  1877. 

^Ije  iFtftft  (Edition 

contains,  in  addition  to  the  Dedicatory  Sonnet  of  the 
Fourth,  five  other  Sonnets  in  memory  of  the  Author's 
father  and  mother. 

Oct.  1881. 

%$t  feetientlj  (Edition 

is  unaltered. 


DEDICATORY  SONNETS. 


3|n  20emoriam. 

1  Until  the  day  dawn- ' 

DEAR  father  in  the  flesh  and  in  the  Lord, 
Absent  in  flesh,  in  Him  thou  art  more  near, 
For  thy  translation  from  our  travail  here 
Unto  His  Presence  and  His  Love's  award 
Beckons  a  heart,  which  hath  too  little  soared, 
To  press  more  bravely  Christward, — makes  more  dear 
The  glorious  hope,  and  less  the  craven  fear 
Of  toils  and  troubles, — proves  more  sweet  accord 
'Twixt  that  which  is,  and  that  which  is  to  be, 
The  pain  and  promise  of  the  second  birth, 
This  Home,  and  that  of  the  New  Heavens  and  Earth, 
Jerusalem  the  Imprisoned,  and  the  Free. 
Eastward  thou  beckonest  !   Eastward  then  the  more 
I  look,  long,  press,  believe,  love,  and  adore  ! 

Alfriston  Churchyard, 
May  29,  1877. 


DEDICA  TOR  Y  SONNE  TS. 


^ope  and  jFattlj. 

MOTHER :    thy    name,    trembling    upon   the 
breath, 
Makes  loss  so  near  and  loneliness  so  lone 
That  the  heart  sickens,  and  with  inward  moan 
Droops  from  all  song  in  this  strange  land  of  death 
Twice  trod  by  us  this  year :    till  He  Who  saith 
'Because  I  live  ye  live'  speaks  from  His  Throne, 
Lord  over  Hades  :    and  upon  the  stone, 
Lo,  the  two  Angels  sitting — Hope  and  Faith. 
O  truest,  tenderest-hearted,  yet  withal 
Great-hearted  above  women,  who  may  pine 
Remembering  how  thy  softest  eyes  could  shine 
With  that  immortal  light  no  shades  appal? 
Again  together,  thou  and  he,  more  blest, 
Still  live  to  love  us  where  ye  wait  and  rest. 


BE DIC A  TOR  Y  SONNETS. 


Cfje  (Brafce. 

THE  ancient  church1  o'erlooks  the  older  stream, 
Serenely  flowing  'neath  the  gentle  slope 
Of  eastward-rolling  hills,  which  southward  ope 
To  ocean's  breadth  and  depth.     The  ample  gleam 
Of  the  great  Altar-Window  shrines  the  beam 
Of  earliest  morning  from  those  hills  :  the  hope 
Of  final  Easter,  in  faith's  larger  scope, 
Lives  daily  there  in  eucharistic  dream. 
1  Under  the  Altar,'  lie  the  slain  for  Christ, 
So  'neath  that  eye  of  morn,  above  the  wave 
Flowing  seaward  by  the  ancient  hills,  their  Grave 
Lies  'neath  the  symbol  of  the  Love  unpriced. 
1  Till  the  Day  dawn '  they  sleep  :  till  at  the  Spring 
The  'Prisoners  of  Hope'  shall  wake  and  sing. 

1  Alfriston  Church,  Sussex. 


DEDICATORY  SONNETS. 


IReuniotu 

THEY  rest  together.     Beautiful  in  life, 
By  death  not  long  divided.    They  had  wrought 
Stedfastly  side  by  side  for  Christ :  had  fought 
Twice  twenty  years  together  in  that  stern  strife 
By  the  loud  world  unmarked,  yet  ever  rife 
With  toils  heroic,  martyr-pains ;  they  taught 
One  Faith  ;  sweet  solace  at  one  Siloah  sought ; 
As  Christ — the  Husband;  as  His  Church — the  Wife. 
In  the  dear  Fane1  he  builded  to  their  Lord, 
At  Feast2  we  laid  its  nursing  mother  down  : 
Its  festal  Eucharist  did  her  requiem  crown  : 
Then  to  the  antique  shrine  their  zeal  restored 
To  him  we  bore  her.     There,  as  erst,  set  free 
From  the  drear  town,  they  rest  beside  the  sea. 

The  Church  of  S.  Paul,  Haggerston. 
•  Feast  of  the  Conversion  of  S.  Paul,  Jan.  25,  1878. 


DEDICA  TOR Y  SONNETS. 


ALL  to  the  sea  at  last !     Sweet  is  the  hymn 
And  its  calm  close,  '  the  ocean  of  His  Love,' 
The  exceeding  and  eternal  bliss  above, 
Towards  which,  beyond  the  far  horizon's  rim, 
That  now  is  so  distinct,  and  now  so  dim, 
Through  light  and  dark,  through  calm  and  storm, 

we  move, 
At  eve  that  great  Salvation's  Depth  to  prove 
Whose  Source  was  sung  by  morning  Seraphim. 
All  to  the  sea  at  last ;  so  can  we  smile 
Behind  the  blinding  tears  of  present  pain, 
Remembering,  too,  that  other  singer's  strain 
Of  light  to  come  for  love  but  '  lost  awhile.' 
All  to  the  sea  at  last ;  at  Evening  time 
There  shall  be  light  more  full  than  of  the  Prime. 


DEDIC.  1  TOR  Y  SONXE  TS. 


JESUS,  Thou  art  our  Love,  Thou  art  our  Light ! 
Of  Thee  with  Angels  and  with  Saints  we  sing 
From  Feast  to  Feast — with  Angels  on  the  wing 
Earthward  at  Prime — with  Saints  passed  out  of  sight 
Heavenward  at  Easter  Eve.       O  Infinite 
And  All-sufficing  !  unto  Thee  we  bring 
From  Christmas'  hope  to  Easter's  blossoming 
Heart-peace,  heart-trust,  heart-praise  in   depth    and 

height. 
The  Angels  look  and  learn  ; 1  the  Saints  have  found ; 
We  wait,  believing;  but  the  Angelic  skies, 
And  gardens  'passing  sweet'  of  Paradise, 
And  spaces  of  Thy  Church's  battle-ground, 
In  endless  laud  of  Thy  Love's  ocean  blend 
Whence   the  first   light    was    born,    where    the    last 
gloom  shall  end. 

1  Eph.  iii.  10;   I  Tim.  iii.  16. 


Contents 

PAGE 

IBrtltcatorg  bonnets, — In  Memoriam — Hope  and  Faith — 

The  Grave — Reunion — Love  and  Light — One  Lord,        xi 

Earlier  ^oems. 

The  Knight  of  Intercession, i 

Down  Stream  to  London,  written  in  Temple  Gardens, 

London,  in  memory  of  March  19-23,  1 86 1,    .         .  11 

In  Memoriam.     E.B.Browning.     Obiit  MDCCCLXL,  17 

1  Sublatum  ex  Oculis.'     A  Sonnet,  .         ...  20 

Good-bye  to  Oxford, 21 

€\)t  Efcgils  of  Stare  Cfjiltoe. 

I.  Deare  Childe, 27 

II.  'Morning  Robert,' 36 

III.  The  Quest  of  Love.     A  Parish  Idyll,        .         .  53 

IV.  The  Rectory  Farm.     A  Parish  Idyll,         .         .  77 

Poems  on  pictures. 

Death  as  a  Friend.     On  the  Picture  '  Der  Tod  als 

Freund,' 101 

Tired.     On  a  Picture  of  a  Tired  Child,    .         .         .     109 
/;  xvii 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

Saint  Augustine  and  Monica.  On  the  Picture  by 
Ary  Scheffer, 112 

Setting  Sail.  On  a  Picture  of  Three  Children  on 
the  Shore,    .         . 11S 

Christus  Consolator.  On  the  Picture  by  Ary  Scheffer, 
illustrative  of  the  Saviour's  invitation,  '  Come  unto 
me,  all  ye  that  labour  and  are  heavy-laden,  and  I 
will  give  you  rest,'        .         .         .         .         .         .121 

The  Cradle  on  the  Shore.  On  the  Picture  by 
Eugene  West, 132 

A  Boy's  Reverie  over  an  old  Picture,        .         .         .134 

The  Soliloquy  of  a  Rationalistic  Chicken.  On  the 
Picture  of  a  newly-hatched  Chicken  contemplating 
the  Fragments  of  its  native  Shell,  .         .         .      137 

Country-Born.     On  a  Picture  of  a  Farm-yard,  .         .     140 

A  Sea-side  Reverie,  .         .         .         .         .         .142 


ffltsccllaneous  $oems. 

The  Sea  of  Galilee, .... 
The  Gate  of  Death, 

The  Birdie, 

What  the  Mountain  said  to  the  Maiden, 
The  Maiden's  Reply  to  the  Mountain, 

Trust, 

Lententide.     A  Meditation,     . 

Coming  Holy  Week, 

Easter  Eve, 


149 
165 

173 

1S2 
1S6 
192 
196 
200 
202 


CONTENTS. 


PAGE 

The  Bird  of  Grace, 

207 

The  Answer  of  the  Hills, 

213 

The  Meditation  of  Isaac, 

219 

The  Bishop  of  Winchester.     In  Memoriara, 

225 

A  Sick-Bed  Confirmation,        . 

228 

Songs. 

The  Beautiful  Death.    (Song  of  a  Cavalier's  Mother), 

235 

Christ's  Knight, 

237 

The  Ebb  of  Tide, 

238 

The  Sea's  Amen,     ....... 

241 

Children's  Song  by  the  Sea.     ..... 

243 

The  Harvest  of  Souls,      ...... 

245 

Lullaby  of  Life,       ....... 

247 

Sonnets. 

The  One  Name,       .         ,         ,         ,         .         .         .251 

Trust,      .........  252 

Good  Friday, 253 

The  Same,      ........  254 

Easter  Sonnets — 

1.  Mary  Magdalene  on  Easter  Morning,    .         .  255 

11.  The  Gardener, 256 

in.  The  Greeting, 257 

The  Salutation  of  the  Elders, 258 

The  Same, 259 

The  Small-pox  in  the  East — 

I.    The  Sisters  of  Mercy,          ....  260 


CONTENTS. 


not  seen, 


II.  Church  Ministrations, 

III.  A  Private  Baptism,     . 

IV.  Death  and  Life,  . 
V.   The  Things  seen  and  the  Things 

VI.   Spring  and  Easter, 
vn.   Holy  Communion, 
A  Sunday  Confirmation  in  an  East-End  Church, 
The  Same,       ..... 
A  Morning  Present  of  Spring  Flowers, 

The  Same, 

John  Addington  Symonds,  M.D.     Ceased 
1869,  Died  February  25,  1871,     . 

The  Same, 

Windsor  Parish  Church  Reconstructed, 

In  Charterhouse  Chapel :  on  Founder's  Day, 

The  Same, 

To  Windsor  Cemetery  on  May-day — 
1.  Through  the  Park, 
II.  The  Cemetery,     . 
in.  The  Little  Church, 
Lord  Deri >y.     '  Sans  Changer,' 
Bishop  Gray.     In  Memoriam, 
Evensong  in  Lichfield   Cathedral, 

Epiphany,  Jan.  6,  1873, 

Midnight  in  London  (February  24,  1S75), 
Worcester  Cathedral  (Reopened  Wednesday,  April  8, 
1874). 


to  practise 


:872, 


the  Feast  of 


PACE 

261 
262 

263 
264 
265 
266 
267 
26S 
269 
270 

271 
272 

275 
274 

275 

276 

277 
278 

279 
2S0 

2S3 
2S6 

287 


CONTENTS. 


$2tttttS. 


1 1  believe  in  the  Holy  Catholic  Church,  the  Com 

munion  of  Saints,' 
'  I  believe  in  the  Forgiveness  of  Sins, 
Battle  Hymn  for  the  New  Year, 
The  River  of  God,  . 
Light  at  Eventide,   . 
The  Attraction  of  the  Cross, 
The  Perfect  Day,     . 
Holy  Communion,  . 
The  Travail  of  the  Creation, 
The  Prisoners  of  Hope,  . 
The  Glorious  Three, 
The  '  Athletes  of  the  Universe 
The  Church's  Song, 
Hymn  of  Thanksgiving  for  the  Recovery  of  H.  R.  H 

The  Prince  of  Wales,   . 
The  Transfiguration, 
Hymns  for  the  Day  of  Intercession — 
I.  For  Colonial  Missions, 
II.  For  Missions  to  the  Heathen 
III.   Hymn  of  Thanksgiving, 
Saint  Mark,  Evangelist  and  Martyr, 
Hymn  of  Church  Defence, 
Confirmation  Litany  Hymn,     . 
'  In  Thee. '     A  Hymn  for  Church  Worke 


Carltet:  $oemg. 

1859-1862. 


%\)t  Itnfgftt  of  Jntzctt$$totu 

'  All  things  pass  away  but  the  Love  of  God.  Suffice  it  then 
to  say  that  he  loved  and  feared  God  above  all  things.' — From 
'  The  Character  of  Bayard,'  by  his  '  Loyal  Serviteur' 

IN  ancient  days,  so  saith  an  old  Romaunt,1 
There  lived  a  knight,  brave,  rich,  and  nobly  bom, 
Withal  pure-hearted  as  a  saint,  whose  love 
His  ladye  spurned ;   not  that  she  loved  him  not, 
Although  she  said  so,  but  because  she  saw 
He  put  God  higher  than  all  human  claims 
Of  love  and  reverence.     So  she  bade  him  go, 
And  spurned  him  for  a  wicked  pride :    and  he, 
Not  caring  any  more  to  dwell  with  men 
In  open  converse,  left  his  ancient  halls 
And  things  of  wealth  and  state,  which  men  hold  dear, 
And  rode  through  many  lands  for  many  a  day, 
Doing  true  devoir  as  a  noble  knight. 

1  This  legend,  though  here  materially  altered  in  detail  and  significance, 
owes  its  origin  in  outline  to  a  story  by  Captain  Whyte  Melville,  ftrs: 
published  in  Fraser's  Magazine. 


2  THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION. 

None  knew  him,  for  he  lived  with  visor  clown  j 

His  harness  of  plain  steel  revealed  no  sign 

Of  rank  or  name ;   nor  bore  he  in  his  helm 

Token  or  favour;   only  on  his  shield 

A  dark  cross,  as  of  mourning.     On  he  rode  ; 

And  ever  as  he  wrought  a  gallant  deed, 

And  man  or  maiden  asked  him,  '  How  may  I 

Repay  thy  service?'  never  aught  said  he 

Save,  'Pray  for  Her!'  and  parted,  still  in  quest 

Of  fresh  occasion,  and  for  guerdon  still 

Took  nothing  ;   only  came  the  self-same  voice 

From  the  closed  helm  in  answer  :  '  Pray  for  Her !' 

And  so  the  captive  freed  did  pray  for  Her  ; 
The  rescued  maiden  prayed ;   the  widow  prayed, 
With  all  her  wrongs  avenged ;   the  poor  and  rich, 
Each  for  the  service  they  received  from  him, 
Did  pray  for  Her.     The  little  children  lost 
In  the  wild  wood,  and  found  by  him,  and  saved 
From  wolf  or  robber,  lifting  trustful  eyes 
Prayed  also  :   and  the  angels  went  and  came, 
Bearing  those  prayers,  and  bringing  blessings  down. 
And  so  she  prospered  much  in  all  her  pride. 

The  days  passed  on  ;  and  on  the  warrior  rode — 
The  Knight  of  Intercession  :   and  his  deeds 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION.  3 

Made  the  plain  harness  famous  in  the  lands; 
And  neither  ceased  those  grateful  hearts  to  pray, 
Nor  she  to  prosper. 

Came  a  day  at  last, 
Whereon  a  certain  prince,  with  all  his  host, 
Did  battle  for  his  kingdom  ;   and  the  foe 
Had  well-nigh  driven  back  his  last  essay, 
And  won  the  city.     Mothers,  sisters,  wives, 
Wringing  their  frantic  hands  upon  the  towers, 
Wept  for  the  coming  issue,  death  or  shame. 
Then  on  a  sudden  rode  into  the  fray 
The  nameless  knight :   the  foremost  foe  drew  back 
Before  his  onset ;   then  with  terrible  blows 
He  clave  a  bloody  pathway  to  their  chief, 
And  bore  him  down,  and  slew  him,  and  pressed  on 
To  win  the  standard.     So  the  battle  changed ; 
The  prince  and  all  his  warriors  took  fresh  heart, 
And  drove  their  foemen  backward  toward  the  sea, 
And  overthrew  them.     When  the  fight  was  done, 
The  prince  with  all  his  nobles  came  to  thank 
The  saviour  of  his  kingdom.     But  he  lay 
Wounded  upon  the  standard  he  had  won  ; 
A  lance  was  in  his  breast,  and  through  the  helm 
He  was  sore  smitten  ;  and  at  last  was  seen 


4  THE   KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESS10X. 

Through  the  raised  visor  the  long-hidden  face, 
Sad,  pale,  and  noble.     Then  the  prince  burst  forth  : 
1  Sir  Knight,  what  guerdon  wilt  thou  for  thine  aid  ? 
Certes,  whatever  thou  shalt  ask  is  thine, 
E'en  to  the  one  half  of  my  realm  ! '     And  so 
The  nobles  prayed  him  j   and  their  ladies  came 
And  wept  their  thanks  j  and  all  in  that  great  town — 
The  rich  and  poor,  the  old  and  young — came  there, 
Beseeching  him  with  tears  of  joy,  that  he 
Would  name  some  guerdon.     And  the  knight  looked 

round  ; 
O'er  his  pale  visage  moved  a  moment's  smile — 
Like  the  last  tinge  of  sunset  on  a  height — 
Tender  and  holy,  moving  men  to  tears ; 
And  smiling  thus,  he  murmured,   'Pray  for  Her!' 
Then  with  closed  eyes  he  lay  a  little  space, 
And  the  pale  face  grew  paler,  and  his  head 
Grew  heavier  on  the  knees  of  him  whose  hands 
Had  caught  him  falling.     Yet  once  more  the  eyes 
Were  opened,  and  the  noble  head  was  raised, 
And  once  more,  while  his  upward  wistful  gaze 
Sought  the  far  heav'n,  he  murmured,  '  Pray  for  Her !' 
And  in  the  look  and  in  the  prayer  he  died. 
And  in  that  kingdom  never  passed  a  day, 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION.  5 

But  prince,  knights,  nobles,  ladies,  young  and  old. 
And  rich  and  poor,  at  morn  and  evensong, 
Did  evermore  henceforward  pray  for  Her. 

Ere  long  there  came  unto  the  ladye's  bower 
A  nameless  messenger.     *  I  come,'  said  he, 
'Ladye,  I  come  from  one  who  loved  thee  well, 
And  whom  thou  lovest  !'     Then  the  ladye  flushed, 
And  but  he  said  '  who  loved,1  and  not  '  who  loves? 
And  so  awoke  a  terror  in  her  breast, 
Which  still  was  mindful  of  the  love  it  spurned, 
She  would  have  straight   dismissed  him.     Still  she 

feigned, 
And  dallying  with  her  fear  she  answered  him 
Lightly  and  falsely  :    '  Comest  thou  from  him, 
The  stately  earl  of  yonder  proud  domain, 
Who  bids  me  make  him  and  his  fair  broad  lands 
Mine  own?'     He  answered  sternly,  '  Not  from  him  ; 
His  heart  is  narrow,  though  his  lands  are  broad  !' 
'Perchance  thou  comest  from  the  courtly  knight 
Who  wears  my  glove  for  crest,  my  woven  scarf 
Across  his  gilded  harness?'     'Not  from  him; 
His  sword  is  rusty,  though  he  rides  in  gold  !' 
'  Thou  comest  then,  I  wot,  from  him  who  rules 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION. 


In  yonder  city,  treads  his  palace  floors, 

And  sighs  for  me  ?'     He  answered,  '  Not  from  him  ■ 

His  name  is  noble,  but  his  soul  is  mean  !' 

So  thrice  she  questioned,  hovering  round  her  fear. 
As  one  who  stays  and  lingers  at  a  door 
Wistful,  yet  dreads  to  enter.     So  she  paused : 
Then  with  changed  voice  demanded,  'Comest  thou — ?' 
But  here  she  sickened,  for  she  felt  his  eyes 
Looked  sadly  on  her,  seeing  through  her  soul, 
Right  to  the  inner  trouble,  undeceived 
By  outward  seeming.     Then  she  summoned  strength, 
And  asked  in  accents  tremulous  and  low, 
Which  grew  in  force  and  passion — as  a  stone, 
Loosed  from  a  hill-side,  rolls  towards  the  vale, 
Slowly  at  first,  but  gathering  power  and  speed 
Falls  wildly — '  Comest  thou  from  him,  my  knight. 
Nameless  but  famous,  unknown  but  renowned, 
In  plain  steel  armour,  with  his  visor  down, 
Vet  winning  noblest  praise  in  all  the  lands  j 
Who  knew  not  that  I  loved  him  even  then 
When  I  was  scornfullest,  whom  yet  I  love, 
Whom  I  love  on  for  ever  ?     If  from  him 
Thou  comest,  get  thee  back  and  tell  him  all ! 
Go  tell  him  I  repent  me  of  my  pride  ; 


THE   KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION.  7 

Tell  him  I  wait  for  him,  and  spend  my  heart 
In  waiting ;  tell  him  that  I  never  loved 
And  never  shall  love  other  till  I  die  ! 
Speak  !  comest  thou  from  him  ? ' 

He  said,  '  From  him.' 
And  more  the  trembling  passion  of  her  frame, 
The  close-clasped  hands,  the  cheek  now  red,  now  pale, 
And  more  the  pleading  hunger  of  her  eyes, 
Than  her  quick  asking,  moved  him  to  reply 
Softly,  and  not  in  wrath,  '  I  come  from  him, 
Ladye — from  him  who  cannot  come  to  thee  ; 
For  now  that  visor  closed  is  closed  no  more, 
For  men  have  looked  beneath  it;   and  he  sleeps 
In  that  plain  harness,  never  more  to  rise 
Till  God  shall  wake  him.     In  a  prayer  he  died, 
That  all  he  saved  and  served  should  pray  for  thee. 
So  until  death,  at  mom  and  evensong, 
True  hearts  and  hands  are  lifted  up  for  thee, 
That  all  things  of  the  earth,  and  all  of  heaven, 
In  all  thy  goings  out  and  comings  in, 
May  bless  thee  always,  even  to  the  end. 
Farewell !  so  pray  a  thousand  hearts  for  thee  ; 
So  shall  I  pray  for  ever  unto  death  : 
Farewell  V 


8  THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION. 

She  heard  him  speechless  to  the  close, 
And  speechless  still  she  saw  him  pass  away  : 
'  Death,'  and  '  Farewell,'  the  last  words  on  his  lips, 
And  in  her  ears.     Oh,  how  they  rose  and  fell 
Alternate,  like  a  cadence  of  despair ! 
Death  and  Farewell !   Farewell  and  Death  !  in  each 
A  hopeless  issue,  speaking  not  of  him 
Who  said  them,  but  of  him  from  whom  he  came — 
Her  own  true  knight,  her  noble,  peerless  knight : 
Death  and  Farewell !  and  then  it  seemed  to  her 
As  though  she  too  must  die. 

Her  maidens  came 
And  found  her  swooning. 

But  she  did  not  die  : 
She  woke  again  to  hate  the  thought  of  life, 
Yet  fearing  death.     She  stood  as  one  might  stand, 
A  pilgrim  for  whose  steps  is  no  return, 
With  choice  for  two  ways :   one  across  a  wild 
Gloomy  and  drear,  the  other  through  a  vale 
With  unknown  terrors  lurking  in  its  depths, 
More  drear  because  unknown.     E'en  so  she  looked 
On  life  and  death  :    the  one  a  darkened  path, 
Reft  of  the  sun  which  might  have  shone  on  her  ; 
So  darkened  now,  that  ever  and  anon 


THE  KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION.  9 

Stretching  her  hopeless  hands  out  in  the  dark 
Towards  that  other,  '  Oh,  that  I  might  die ! ' 
She  cried — still  conscious  that  she  dared  not  die. 

Then  was  it  well  for  her  that  late  and  soon, 
From  great  and  noble,  from  the  small  and  mean — 
The  sad  and  needy,  and  the  rich  and  glad — 
From  little  children  and  hoar-headed  men — 
The  voice  of  intercession  ever  rose, 
Like  incense,  unto  Him  'Who  heareth  prayer.' 
For  even  while  He  smote  her  with  a  sense 
Of  hopelessness  and  anguish — even  then 
He  wrought  within  her  unto  final  good. 
Crushing  her  pride,  He  bade  her  stoop  and  raise 
That  Cross  she  had  refused  of  lowly  fear, 
And  love  unselfish. 

Then  He  gave  her  peace — 
Because  her  heart  had  learned  to  rest  on  Him — 
His  perfect  peace :  and  with  rejoicing  flight, 
The  great  good  angels  of  a  thousand  prayers — 
The  prayers  still  rising  morn  and  eve  for  her — 
Sped  downwards  at  commandment  of  their  King, 
And  tended  her  with  constant  service ;  filled 
Her  mind  with  holy  thoughts  and  pure  desires 
And  glorious  hopes.     And  so  it  was  that  she, 


io  THE   KNIGHT  OF  INTERCESSION. 

Who  looked  on  life  and  death  with  hate  and  fear, 
Saw  in  her  life  a  happy  pilgrimage 
On  toward  a  better  country,  which  she  sought 
With  longing;  and  in  death  that  blessed  stream, 
Ordained  to  bear  the  children  of  the  Lord 
Beyond  the  shadowy  twilight  of  this  world, 
Into  the  glory  of  the  perfect  day. 


2Doton  Stream  to  lonHon* 

Written  in  Temple  Gardens,  London,  in  memory  of  March  19-23,  1861. 

THE  din  of  the  great  town  is  on  my  ears 
And  not  the  voices  of  the  wood  and  wave, 
And  the  lark's  warbling  :  the  pure  air  and  sky, 
With  its  cloud  isles  and  mountains,  is  all  past; 
Above  me  stretches  the  thick  smoke  and  mist 
That  shuts  heaven  from  the  city ;  and  no  more 
Beneath  me  glides  the  king  of  silver  streams, 
The  river  of  all  rivers — yon  black  flood 
That  surges  past  me  now  and  bears  its  name 
Is  not  the  Thames  I  know,  the  Thames  I  love. 

Oh  for  the  gleaming  river  once  again, 
That  seemed  to  bear  us  through  a  golden  age 
In  those  four  days :  woods,  meadows,  hamlets,  farms, 
Spires  in  the  vale,  and  towers  upon  the  hill, 
The  great  chalk  quarries  glaring  thro'  the  shade, 
The  pleasant  lanes  and  hedgerows,  and  those  homes 
Which  seemed  the  very  dwellings  of  content 
And  peace  and  sunshine — oh  for  the  fresh  lawns 


DOWN  STREAM   TO  LONDON. 


That  ran  down  brightly  to  the  water's  edge 

To  drink  the  waves — with  freshness  never  known 

In  all  the  glow  and  glare  of  other  lands. 

Oh  for  the  music  of  the  livelong  day, 

The  songs  of  woods  and  waters,  and  the  lark 

Cleaving  his  way  through  the  thin  air  to  heaven, 

With  that  loud  carol  like  a  spirit  freed 

From   chains   and   darkness.      How  we    sometimes 

paused 
And  let  the  boat  glide  at  the  river's  will, 
And  how,  in  the  short  pause,  upon  our  ears, 
Far  in  the  distance  downwards,  there  would  come 
A  murmur  from  the  cataract  that  flowed 
Off  from  the  side-stream — first  a  low  deep  hum, 
A  very  dream  of  waters  ;  louder  then, 
And  still  more  loud  as  the  swift  boat  sped  on 
Nearer  and  nearer  ;  now  the  full-toned  flood 
Drowns  with  majestic  thunder  voice  and  oar 
Till  the  boat  bears  us  past  it  j  and  the  sound 
Throws  after  us  its  harmony,  and  then 
Subsides  again  into  the  dream  and  dies. 

The  spirit  of  the  Spring  was  in  the  woods, 
And  woke  within  them  murmurs  that  expressed 


DOWN  STREAM  TO  LONDON, 


A  joy  of  expectation,  very  low, 

A  musing  gladness  like  the  voice  of  one 

Who  whispers  doubts  because  he  is  so  sure : 

A  prelude  to  the  burst  of  happy  song 

That  hails  fruition  of  the  promised  joy, 

The  march  of  coming  Summer  through  the  land. 

Never  without  our  music  !     When  the  woods, 
Left  far  behind,  were  lost  to  ear  and  eye, 
Or  yet  below  unreached  for  sight  and  sound  ; 
When  trees  were  rare,  or  seen  far  off  unheard 
Along  the  level ;  when  the  waterfalls — 
Melodious  visitations  far  between — 
Were  no  more  with  us  ;  when  the  lark  was  down 
Among  the  furrows,  and  the  rise  and  fall 
Of  that  aerial  fountain  of  sweet  sound 
Was  silent  for  a  season — then  perchance 
Would  float  the  chime  of  bells  upon  the  breeze 
From  some  old  tower,  or  sound  of  happy  life 
From  some  bright  village,  or  with  distant  hum, 
And  deepening  roll,  and  palpitating  roar, 
Charged  down  the  great  fire  chariot  of  the  train, 
And  passed  us  like  a  whirlwind  and  went  by. 
Nor  seldom  too  the  boat  and  we  sped  on 


f4  DOWN  STREAM    TO   LONDON. 

With  silence  on  the  banks  and  on  the  stream 
Save  the  long  swish  of  oars,  the  dip,  the  stroke 
That  hurled  the  troubled  water  far  astern 
In  little  battling  whirlpools,  soon  at  peace ; 
And  that  was  real  music  in  our  ears. 
As  men  that  wander  upon  alien  shores 
Hear  some  loved  song  of  their  own  land  again, 
And  feel  their  blood  run  quicker :  so  that  sound 
Kept  ever  stirring  pleasant  memories 
Of  many  a  bright  laborious  afternoon 
On  the  old  Isis ;  grim  experiences 
Of  training  pulls  in  eight  oars — down  the  course 
To  Iffley,  past  the  lasher,  through  the  lock, 
Then  on  to  Sandford,  turn,  and  home  again 
From  Iffley  racing-pace— '  lift,  lift,'  and  in 
From  Saunders'  bridge  'at  40!'     Oh  the  grind 
We  grumbled  at,  and  loved  so  for  its  worth, 
So  far  above  all  else  for  growth  of  strength 
And  moral  muscle  :  then  those  mighty  days 
That  brought  the  Races  j   oh  the  toil,  the  strife — 
Upon  the  stream,  the  rushing  regular  oars, 
'The  music  of  the  many  as  of  one,' 
The  forward  shoot  of  straightened  backs  and  arms. 
Then  the  strong  lift  together  ;  on  the  shore 


DOWN  STREAM  TO  LONDON.  15 

A  shouting  frantic  crowd — a  victory  here, 
There  a  defeat  as  glorious  ! — those  were  days 
Which  memory  fostered  in  her  safest  hold 
And  needed  little  spur  to  wake  again. 

So  passed  the  time — a  time  that  fled  on  wings 
Too  eager  for  our  liking :  and  at  last 
We  lost  the  green  fields  and  the  pleasant  woods, 
With  all  their  happy  voices  and  glad  scenes 
Of  beauty  and  repose.     The  stream  grew  dark, 
The  light  shone  fainter  through  a  sky  less  clear, 
The  approaching  city  tainted  wave  and  air. 
But  still  we  failed  not  of  a  fitting  close 
To  such  a  voyage.     Came  a  day,  our  last, 
Which  saw  us  waiting,  watching  on  the  shore, 
Among  ten  thousand  eager  too  as  we 
To  see  the  issue — which  should  bear  the  palm, 
Our  Isis  or  the  Cam,  for  stalwart  sons, 
Broad  backs  and  chests  and  iron-sinewed  arms 
Knit  with  a  resolute  courage  and  strong  will 
That  shunned  not  stormy  weeks  of  toil  and  pains 
To  weld  their  strength  with  hard-lcarnt  skill,  and  win 
The  mastery  of  the  waters — aye,  and  prove 
In  whose  veins  flowed  the  truest  purest  stream 
Of  Viking  blood  and  spirit.     On  they  came — 


16  DOWX  STREAM   TO   LONDOX. 

The  throbbing  expectation  where  we  stood. 
Far  up  the  course  turned  every  straining  eye 
To  see  who  led  the  way — The  dark  blue  oars  ! 
'Tis  Oxford  wins ! — and  Cambridge  far  behind 
Rallied  in  vain,  and  the  great  race  was  won. 
Be  no  more  said,  but  that  the  victor's  fame, 
Which  pales  not  set  beside  the  brightest  years, 
Sheds  lustre  on  the  vanquished,  with  a  grace 
For  such  a  fruitless  struggle.     But  for  us 
More  than  for  others  'twas  a  day  indeed 
To  be  remembered,  crowning  such  a  time 
With  such  a  sequel.     Now  it  is  all  past, 
And  all  that  bright  experience  of  the  Thames 
Is  but  a  memory  : — but  although  my  eyes, 
In  this  broad  water  flowing  darkly  past, 
See  little  to  recall  the  clear  bright  flood 
That  bore  us  down  so  blithely  those  four  days, 
Yet  still  it  bears  thy  name,  and  even  here, 
Thou  true  Pactolus  !  heart  and  voice  are  fain, 
Despite  thy  smoky  shores  and  clouded  waves, 
To  give  thee  all  their  little,  and  heap  up 
Full  phrase  and  epithet  to  speak  my  love 
And  swell  thy  praise — thou  paragon  of  streams 
Thou  lovely,  lordly,  mild,  majestic  Thames  ! 


gin  apnnorfanu— €♦  ©♦  Browning;* 

OBIIT   MDCCCLXI. 

NOT,  Florence,  for  the  glory  of  thy  skies, 
For  those  grand  mountains,  for  the  golden  flow 
Of  sweet-voiced  Arno  through  the  vale  below, 
Not  for  the  Eden  land  that  round  thee  lies 
With  claim  for  fairest  in  a  land  most  fair, 
Do  men  award  thee  such  a  crown  to  wear 

Among  the  nations.    In  thee  lived  and  loved 
That  Dante  whom  men  call  '  The  Florentine ' 
(And  spite  thine  old  contempt  his  fame  is  thine) ; 
In  thee  Savonarola  died  and  proved 
His  indignation  righteous  ;  and  in  thee 
Giotto  built  an  immortality : 

These  names,  nor  these  alone,  do  give  thy  name 
A  greater  glory  e'en  than  Nature's  hand 
In  all  her  large  grace  to  thy  Tuscan  land, 
Seen  through  the  dark  of  ages  like  a  flame : 
b 


TN  MEMO Rl AM. 


And  now,  behold,  another  Memory  throws 
A  fair  fresh  leaf  upon  thy  crowned  brows. 

Now  doubly  is  our  English  homage  won, 
That  thou  hast  nursed  with  such  a  tender  care 
An  English  flower  too  frail  for  English  air, 
With  thy  sweet  breezes,  and  thy  radiant  sun  • 
And  doubly  art  thou  dear  that  in  thee  lies 
All  of  our  greatest  poetess  that  dies. 

Ah !  songless  now  the  full-toned  utterance 
That  spake  the  language  of  such  lofty  thought 
And  passionate  feeling  to  such  music  wrought, 
What  time  from  Casa  Guidi  o'er  th' expanse 
Of  men  and  minds  she  gazed  on  Italy, 
Vexed  and  upheaving  like  a  troubled  sea. 

Lost  is  the  singer  that  so  nobly  sang 

God's  Truth  and  Beauty  : — closed  the  wondrous  eyes 

That  saw  so  much  of  heaven  beneath  the  skies  : 

Silent  the  clarion  that  so  sweetly  rang: 

And  passed  the  poet  from  us  to  that  throng 

Where  all  are  poets  of  diviner  song. 


E.   B.   BROWNING. 


The  'Wine  of  Cyprus'  flows  for  her  no  more 
Who  drinks  of  better  fountains :  mysteries, 
Of  which  she  sang  in  vision,  now  she  sees 
Revealed  behind  the  veil  on  the  far  shore, 
In  the  clear  light  of  that  eternal  day 
Which  after  dawning  fadeth  not  away. 

The  '  Drama  of  her  Exile '  is  all  done, 

And  now  with  earthly  mists  no  longer  dim 

Her  eyes  are  rapt  upon  those  '  Seraphim ' 

To  see  whose  '  wondrous  faces '  round  the  throne, 

And  hear  whose  'most  sweet  music,'  in  past  lay 

Our  hearts  grew  solemn  as  we  heard  her  pray. 

And  we  who  read,  '  No  more  vain  words  be  said;' 
Seem  too  to  hear  the  'near  Hosannas'  roll; 
And  in  the  bliss  that  crowns  the  living  soul 
Forget  the  sorrow  brooding  o'er  the  dead : 
Exultant,  that  the  spiritual  breath 
Triumphs  for  ever  over  pain  and  death. 


E 


'feublatum  tx  4Dculi0/ 

A  SONNET. 
'O  selfless  man  and  stainless  gentleman!' 

CHRISTMAS,   1861. 
VEN  so,  'God  giveth  His  beloved  sleep  !' 


And  grief  o'erwhelms  us  on  this  holy  morn, 
And  grief  will  wait  and  see  the  New  Year  born. 
What  can  we  else  but  bow  our  heads  and  weep? 
The  fountains  of  our  love,  new-found,  are  deep. 
For  one  who  lived — and  lived  in  spite  of  scorn — 
A  selfless  life  of  use,  'tis  meet  we  mourn : 
Since  having  sown  he  goes  elsewhere  to  reap. 
O  True  and  Pure  and  Royal !  round  thy  brow 
We,  the  once  blind,  now  seeing,  sadly  weave 
Garlands  of  praise  for  duty  nobly  done  : 
*  Great  Prince,  and  man  of  men,'  we  know  thee  now 
Too  late,  save  that  revering  we  believe 
Thy  works  shall  foL'ow  though  thy  rest  is  won. 


(Booti-.bpe  to  £D;ctortu 

1  Eheu  !  fugaces,  Postume,  Postume, 
Labuntur  annL' 

GOOD-BYE  at  last  to  Oxford  !  with  full  eyes 
I  watch  the  autumn  day  grow  dark  and  die. 
And  see  the  year  put  on  its  saddest  guise, 
To  sadden  this  Good-bye. 

This  sorrowing  rain  seems  but  the  tearful  grief 

That  pride  forbids  although  the  heart  be  fain, 
And  that  regretful  wind  seems  the  relief, 
In  utterance,  of  pain. 

Dim,  as  I  thread  the  twilight,  on  my  gaze 

The  '  glorious  street '  lies  wrapt  in  misty  gloom. 
And  in  grieved  sort  like  statues  of  past  days 
The  old  towers  darkly  loom. 

I  hear  'Old  Tom'  announce  the  dying  light, 

The  deep  hoarse  voice  that  I  shall  hear  no  more  . 
Hoarser  and  deeper  seems  the  note  this  night 
Than  in  the  days  of  yore. 


GOOD-BYE    TO    OXFORD. 


Good-bye  to  walls  and  towers  I  know  so  well. 

And  love  as  dearly — most  of  all  to  thine1 
Wherein  my  lot  'in  pleasant  places'  fell, 
Kind  Nurse  and  Mother  mine  ! 

May  Heaven  thee  prosper !   and  good-bye  to  thee, 

My  noble  Isis,  loved  so  all  these  years  ; 
Echoes  of  gallant  strife  right  gloriously 
E'en  now  ring   in  mine  ears : 

And  mingling  with  them  comes  a  measured  strain, 

The  tramp  and  music  of  a  marching  band ; 
I  fight  my  bloodless  '  battles  o'er  again,' 
Jn  arms  for  father-land. 

'  These  'twill  be  joy  to  recollect,'  'tis  said, 

Though  with  a  tinge  of  sorrow,  being  gone  : 
Oxford,  with  me  the  dead  past  is  not  dead, 
Though  I  must  needs  pass  on. 

Should  I  not  love  thee  ?   and  for  more  than  these. 
By  feasts  (ah,  sought  too  waywardly  !)  of  thine, 
Where  sat  the  Stagyrite,  and  Socrates, 
And  '  Poets  poured  us  wine.' 

1  Pembroke  College. 


GOOD-BYE    TO   OXFORD.  23 

Aye,  and  for  more  !    by  all  the  eager  search 

The  wisdom-quest  of  vague  perplexed  youth : 

By  the  One  Word  made  sure ;  by  the  One  Church 

Known  as  the  Ground  of  Truth. 

Good-bye  is  'God  be  with  thee!'     Even  so 

May  God  thee  keep — above  all  fears  I  pray — 
Truth's  changeless  champion,  Error's  strongest  foe, 
Till  His  own  day. 


€^e  giu^lljs  of  J®zavt  C&iloe. 


I. 

SDeare  Cljtltie* 

A  PARISH  IDYLL. 

'Who  is  the  greatest  in  the  Kingdom  of  Heaven?' 

A  SIMPLE  cross,  let  in  the  outer  wall 
Under  the  chancel  window,  and  beneath 
A  little  slab,  of  marble  also,  graved 
With  these  two  words,  spelt  anciently,  deare  childe. 
These  and  no  more,  and  yet  he  lingered  here  ; 
He  who  had  wandered  with  me,  and  had  scanned, 
With  heedless  eyes  that  cared  to  rest  on  none, 
The  carven  annals  on  a  score  of  tombs. 
He  who  had  laughed  at  this,  and  sneered  at  that. 
Nor  gave  elsewhere  a  reverent  word  for  one, 
Yet  lingered  here,  and  lingered  on,  until 
I  moved  away  to  test  him ;  still  he  stayed 
And  kept  his  eyes  upon  the  simple  cross 
And  those  two  words ;  and  when  I  spoke  to  him 


28  DEARE   CIIILDE. 

He  moved  not.     Coming  back  and  touching  him, 

I  said,  'What  keeps  you?'     As  he  turned,  I  saw 

The  face  was  wholly  changed,  the  open  brow 

Thrid  as  with  pain  or  thought,  the  careless  eyes 

Filmed  with  a  mist  of  tears,  and  the  strong  lips 

Set  closer,  as  prepared  against  a  sense 

Of  quivering  weakness.     Facing  round  again 

Upon  the  little  monument,  he  said, 

1  Tell  me  of  him,  or  her.'     I  thereupon, 

In  sudden  memory  of  a  bygone  day 

And  a  great  loss  which  dimmed  his  life  awhile, 

Knew  why  the  simple  words  on  one  unknown 

Had  power  to  move  him  by  the  touch  of  that 

Which,  says  the  great  Bard,  '  makes  the  whole  world 

kin.' 
So  without  word  of  wonder  I  replied : 
'Of  her,  who  underneath  the  Holy  Sign 
Sleeps  there,  the  record  is  but  that  of  all 
Who  die  ere  yet  the  pure  baptismal  robe 
Is  soiled,  or  stained,  or  torn  in  this  bad  world. 
Yet  there  are  words  of  hers  I  know  and  keep, 
Said  in  her  last  hours,  little  childish  words, 
Yet  all  divine  in  their  simplicity, 
Pure  gold,  with  no  touch  of  the  base  alloy 


DEARE   CHILDE.  29 

That  mars  all  earthly  treasure  ;  you  shall  hear, 

I  am  no  miser  though  it  is  pure  gold; 

Share  it,  it  shall  enrich  your  soul  as  mine. 

She  was  the  daughter  of  a  shepherd  here, 

And  born  hard  by,  there,  where  you  see  the  smoke 

Rise  from  the  cottage  underneath  the  eaves 

Of  that  grove-covered  hill.     He  who  begot 

And  she  who  bare  her  were  and  are  to  me, 

Of  all  the  flock  on  whom  I  tend  for  God, 

Worthiest  of  love  and  honour  :  poor  in  truth, 

Save  in  that  wealth  which  passeth  not  away  ; 

Humble,  save  in  that  greatness  which  alone 

Is  lord  of  death  j  not  known  within  the  world, 

But  written  amid  God's  chosen  saints ;  and  she, 

This  quiet  sleeper,  was  their  only  child. 

Seven  years,  that  fled  like  Eden  hours,  was  she 

The  sunshine  and  the  music  of  their  home. 

Such  blessed  sunshine  !  in  the  holy  blue 

Of  innocent  eyes,  in  the  fair,  guileless  face, 

And  myriad  glimmers  of  her  golden  hair : 

Such  music !  in  the  run  of  little  feet 

That  beat  the  merry  pulse  of  laughing  hours, 

And  in  the  loving  prattle  of  the  lips 

That  framed  the  simple  tale  of  daily  needs, 


30  DRAKE   CHILDE. 

Of  daily  hopes  and  pleasures,  aims  and  ends, 

So  sweetly,  or  that  spake  on  holy  themes 

With  all  the  intuition  marvellous, 

The  fearless,  reverent  confidence  of  those 

Whose  angels  see  the  Father's  face  in  Heaven. 

Ah  me !   perchance  that  sunshine  was  too  bright 

For  this  all-darkening  world,  too  sweet  perchance 

That  music  for  the  jarring  dissonance 

Of  sin  and  sorrow.     He  who  loved  her  best 

Did  what  was  best,  and  we  that  wept  His  will 

Yet  praise  Him  ;  praise  Him  for  the  treasure  lent, 

For  that  sweet  angel-visit  which  unawares 

We  entertained  j  for  that  dear  memory 

Which  makes  the  past  of  those  seven  winged  years 

An  Eden  of  remembrance  j  more  than  all 

We  now  have  learned  to  praise  Him  that  again 

Into  His  blessed  keeping,  undefiled, 

He  took  her  back,  to  meet  us  at  "that  day." 

You  wonder  at  my  speech  of  "us"  and  "we," 

As  though  she  had  two  fathers.     She  had  two — 

Him  the  true,  faithful  man  of  whom  I  spake, 

The  shepherd  of  the  flocks  on  yonder  wold, 

And  me,  the  pastor  of  the  sheep  of  God 

Folded  within  this  vale  and  on  those  hills  ; 


DEARE    CHILDE. 


His  child  according  to  the  flesh,  and  mine  . 

According  to  the  Spirit — mine  the  arms 

In  which  she  died  to  sin  and  lived  to  God  ; 

Mine  the  priest's  hand  that  traced  upon  her  brow 

The  token  of  her  new  inheritance, 

Yon  sacred  sign  ;  mine,  too,  the  lips  that  sware 

Her  vows  of  fealty.     And  from  that  hour, 

As  by  an  instinct,  I,  who  had  no  child, 

Gave  all  the  father's  heart  within  my  breast 

To  her,  and  she  to  me  a  daughter's  love  ; 

Such  love  as  to  the  others  of  her  home, 

And  reverence  withal  as  unto  one 

Nearest,  she  held  it,  unto  God  and  Heaven, 

Which  coming  all  so  full  from  one  so  pure, 

Not  seldom  smote  and  pricked  a  heart  that  knew 

Its  own  defilement. 

So  it  was,  that  when 
God's  message  came  that  we  must  render  up 
The  treasure  lent  awhile,  to  me  they  gave — 
In  the  wild  grief  that  shook  them  more  than  mine, 
Marking  the  severance  of  the  fleshly  bond — 
The  task  to  tell  her  that  the  end  was  nigh. 
I  went  alone  into  the  little  room, 
And  using  the  familiar  name  she  knew, 


DEARE   CHILDE. 


"  Dear  child,"  I  said,  "  God  wants  you  very  soon 
To  go  to  Him.     He  has  a  better  home 
Above,  you  know,  with  angels  in  His  Heaven, 
Where  there  is  perfect  peace  and  no  more  pain." 
"  Oh,  that  is  good,"  she  answered,  "  no  more  pain  ! 
It  hurts  me  so,  and  mother  cries  to  see  it ; 
But,  sir,  will  she  come  there,  and  father  too, 
And  you?" 

I  answered,  "  But  a  little  while 
And  we  will  come ;  God  has  not  sent  for  us, 
He  calls  you  first,  soon  He  will  send  for  us, 
And  we  will  come,  and  you  will  meet  us  there, 
And  we  shall  never  part,  nor  grieve,  nor  die." 

"Am  I  to  die,  sir?"  tremulously  she  said; 
And  when  I  could  not  speak  for  sudden  tears, 
Went  on,  "  Oh,  now  I  know  I  am  to  die, 
Like  little  Alice  at  the  farm  last  year, 
Who  used  to  gather  flowers  and  play  with  me  : 
But  she  fell  ill,  and  angels  came  from  God 
And  took  her  up,  you  said,  beyond  the  stars. 
But  oh  !  they  cried  so  when  she  went  away  I 
Will  mother  cry,  and  father  if  I  go, 
And  you,  sir  ?     Oh,  'tis  sad  for  you  to  cry  ! 
May  I  not  stay  awhile?" 


DEARE   CHILDE.  33 

I  answered  her, 
"  Your  father,  mother,  and  I  love  you,  dear  ; 
You  know  it  !" 

"Oh,  I  love  you  so  !"  she  said. 
"  But  there  is  One  who  loves  you  more  than  all : 
Who  loves  you  best?"  I  asked  her.     Then  a  smile 
Childlike  and  holy,  as  I  never  saw 
On  other  lips,  so  human  and  divine, 
Flowed  over  all  the  tender  little  face, 
And  broke  in  utterance,  "Jesus  loves  me  best, 
Jesus,  Who  died  upon  the  cross  for  me  !" 

And  much  it  moved  me,  watching  her,  to  see 
How  the  sweet  head  before  the  Holy  Name, 
Despite  the  languor  of  its  feebleness, 
Essayed  the  wonted  reverence  where  it  lay. 
"  Tis  Jesus,"  I  replied,  "  Who  loves  you  best, 
That  calls  you.     Will  you  wait  awhile,  or  go 
Now  when  He  calls  you?" 

"  Now,  oh  now,"  she  said, 
And  smiled  again,  and  clasped  her  little  hands ; 
"  And  I  shall  see  His  face,  and  hear  His  voice, 
And  He  will  come  and  take  me  in  His  arms 
And  say  your  words,  '  dear  child,'  and  bid  me  rest, 
Making  me  love  Him  ever  more  and  more. 
c 


34  DEARE   CII1LDE. 

And  I  shall  wait  for  you,  and  you  will  come, 
And  mother  dear,  and  father  when  He  sends, 
And  He  will  make  us  glad  and  good  for  ever." 

'That  noon — for  it  was  morning  when  I  spoke- 
There  came  upon  her  bitter  throes  of  pain  ; 
But  nought  save  sudden  spasms  of  the  brow, 
And  the  shook  lips  and  quicker  breath  betrayed 
The  tribulation  of  the  passing  life. 
No  wailing  or  complaint  to  vex  our  ears, 
But  ever  and  anon  we  heard  her  say, 
In  whispers  softly,  "  There  is  no  more  pain  ;M 
Or  she  would  murmur,  "Jesus  loves  me  best," 
And  then  again  would  whisper,  "  No  more  pain." 

'  But  when  the  sun  was  low  at  eventide, 
The  bitter  pain  had  passed,  and  she  lay  still, 
Too  weak  for  words,  but  smiling  peacefully 
With  eyes  that  looked  upon  us  with  such  love. 
Our  hearts  in  battle  with  the  struggling  tears 
Were  nigh  to  bursting.     Then  we  knelt  and  prayed, 
And  as  we  rose  the  parting  sunlight  streamed 
With  its  last  glory  through  the  window  panes, 
And  o'er  the  dying  child.     She  could  not  speak. 
But  first  at  us,  and  after  toward  the  west. 


DEARE   CHILDE.  35 

Looked  wistfully.     And  then  the  mother  said 
Divining,  "  She  would  have  you  sing  the  hymn 
You  taught  her  for  the  sunset  every  day." 

'And  so  we  sang  the  hymn  of  eventide, 
"Abide  with  me;"  and  while  we  sang,  her  soul 
Sang  with  us  in  that  marvellous  sweet  smile, 
That  was  like  music  too  divine  for  sound. 
We  sang  and  darkness  deepened,  but  that  smile 
Grew  brighter  yet,  and  brighter,  till  the  close, 
"In  life,  in  death,  O  Lord,  abide  with  me!" 
Then,  with  "  Amen,"  was  breathed  one  little  sigh, 
And  song,  and  smile,  and  soul  fled  up  to  heaven. 

'  Deare  Childe !  I  think  that  we  thus  are  more  blest 
Than  by  thy  life — we  are  more  near  to  God  : 
That  holy  sleep  in  Jesus  which  thou  sleepest 
Has  power  to  lull  us  also  into  dreams 
More  bright  of  waters  still  and  pastures  green, 
Where  thou  art  waiting  till  He  bid  us  come  : 
He,  the  Good  Shepherd,  Who  doth  feed  His  flock, 
Gather  the  little  lambs  within  His  arm, 
And  gently  lead  the  heavy  laden  home.' 


II. 

A   PARISH    IDYLL. 

4  So  ere  that  day  and  hour  begun 
In  which  Thyself  will  be  the  sun  ; 
Thou'lt  find  me  drest,  and  on  my  way, 
Watching  the  break  of  Thy  Great  Day.' 

The  Dawnutg.— H.  Valghan 

'  Until  the  day  dawn.' 

THERE  stands  a  little  cottage  near  the  wood 
That  lies  one  side  thevillage  church,  and  crowns 
The  long  but  gentle  slope  above  the  vale. 
Wide  on  the  left,  descending  from  the  wood, 
Fringed  with  a  low  grey  wall  of  ancient  stone, 
A  grassy  park  extends,  with,  here  and  there, 
Great  trees,  alone  or  clustered,  till  it  joins 
The  hamlet  and  the  river. 

Many  years 
A  pensioner  of  the  Hall,  an  old  man,  lived 
Alone  in  the  lone  cottage.     Dear  to  him 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  37 

Its  narrow  walls  and  weather-beaten  thatch, 
And  windows  quaint  and  dim.     There  he  was  born  ; 
There  had  his  mother  loved  him  ;   there  she  died, 
Her  hand  in  his ;   there  had  his  father  prayed 
His  latest  prayer  of  blessing  on  his  head; 
There,  one  fair  summer  morning,  he  had  brought 
From  the  near  church,  his  pretty  sweetheart  home ; 
There  she  had  loved  him  well  a  happy  year; 
There,  with  her  little  babe,  he  saw  her  die. 

Awhile  the  old  dear  home  seemed  changed  to  him, 
Desolate  and  unlovely,  but  ere  long 
The  sense  of  darkness  and  of  loneliness 
Left  it,  for  it  was  peopled  from  the  Past, 
And  brightened  with  the  Future.     There  he  saw, 
As  with  shut  eyes  he  sat  beside  his  hearth, 
The  old  familiar  faces  come  and  go, 
And  heard  their  voices  at  his  will;   and  there, 
Far  better  thus  alone,  in  simple  prayer 
And  study  of  the  Holy  Word,  he  held 
Communion  with  those  dear  saints  gone  before, 
Not  lost — and  in  that  quiet  commune  drew 
His  vision  of  the  glory  that  should  be. 

But  when  his  years  were  many,  and  his  limbs 
Failed  at  their  wonted  toil,  the  good  old  Squire — 


38  ' MORNING  ROBERT: 

Knowing  himself  the  weight  of  many  years — 
Gave  him  the  cottage  for  his  life,  and  all 
The  little  needs  his  thrift  could  not  supply, 
Supplied  with  willing  hand. 

But  though  his  limbs 
Were  feeble,  yet  his  heart  had  kept  its  youth, 
And  something  of  its  childhood  :   in  his  eyes 
It  shone  so  bright,  and  over  all  his  face — 
Despite  the  wintry  pallor  of  his  age, 
And  the  deep  wrinkles  which  the  tide  of  life, 
Receding,  had  left  marked  on  cheek  and  brow  — 
Glowed  yet  so  fresh  and  cheerly,  it  belied 
His  fourscore  years.     A  simple  heart  it  was, 
Not  learn'd  in  any  lore  save  that  of  Heaven  ; 
Yet,  in  its  order,  rare,  for  he  was  one 
Whom  God  had  made  a  poet  to  Himself; 
Poet,  indeed,  who  'never  wrote  a  verse,' 
Yet  none  the  less  a  poet.     He  could  hear 
Music  that  did  not  come  to  common  ears, 
And  see,  what  eyes  around  him  seldom  saw, 
An  inner  life  beneath  the  outer  form 
Of  Nature :    so  that,  knowing  not  his  gilt, 
He  marvelled  that  his  fellows  gave  no  heed 
To  that  which  made  his  life  so  sweet  to  him, 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  39 

And  earth  so  dear  that  naught  could  come  amiss. 
Spring,  Summer,  Autumn,  Winter,  day  and  night, 
The  shade  and  shine,  the  light  of  moon  and  stars. 
The  clouds  of  rain,  or  storm,  or  rolling  mist, 
The  whirlwind  and  the  zephyr — each  and  all 
Were  ministers  of  pleasure  :   every  one 
Taught  him  of  God. 

Those  years  of  solitude 
Fed  his  poetic  heart  from  morn  till  eve, 
From  eve  till  morn  ;   and  each  repeated  change 
Made  new  delight. 

Often,  in  simple  words, 
Glad  of  an  ear  that  seemed  to  understand, 
He  told  me  how  the  Months  were  all  his  friends, 
And  had  their  mission  to  his  heart  and  soul 
With  sight  or  sound;  how,  not  in  Spring  alone, 
Or  Summer,  was  their  visitation  loved, 
But  how,  not  seldom,  he  would  lie  awake 
Communing  on  his  bed  in  peace,  and  hear 
The  tears  of  dying  Summer  dash  their  drops 
Against  the  thatch,  the  window,  and  the  door; 
While  from  the  drench'd  woods  came  the  Autumn 

throes, 
Wild  shrieks,  and  hollow  moaninefs  of  the  winds, 


40  'MORNING  ROBERT: 

That  rose  with  power  and  died  away  in  pain, 
That  died  in  pain  and  rose  again  with  power, 
The  long  night  through.     Or  in  the  Winter  days, 
1 1  love,  sir,'  he  would  say,  '  to  hear  the  storm 
Go  roaring  through  the  glen  and  down  the  vale 
So  strong  and  terrible  ;   for,  as  I  watch, 
It  minds  me  of  the  Psalm  you  preached  about 
A  while  ago — David  on  Lebanon, 
Hearing  the  Lord's  voice  in  the  thunder-roll 
O'er  many  waters  :   how  it  shook  above 
The  old,  eternal  mountains,  and  below 
The  still,  waste  land,  dividing,  as  it  sped, 
The  flames  of  fire ;   and  how  the  cedar-trees 
Brake  as  it  smote  them,  and  the  forest  depths 
Unclosed  before  it ;   but,  saith  he,  the  Lord 
Sitteth  above  the  thunder  and  the  flood, 
A  King  for  ever !   and  will  give  His  own 
Strength  for  the  storms  of  life,  and  afterward 
The  blessing  of  His  peace.     And  so  it  is 
The  end  is  always  peace;   and  therefore,  sir. 
I  love  the  storm,  because  the  calm  at  last 
Is  sure,  and  sweeter  for  it.' 

There  were  none 
in  all  the  scattered  hamlet  did  not  know 


'  MOR WING  ROBERT:  41 

Old  Robert ;  and  though  there  were  some  to  sneer — 
Poor  souls  !  they  only  sneered  to  hide  the  shame 
Stirred  by  the  pricking  judgment  in  their  breasts — 
Because  his  kindly  face  changed  utterly, 
Stern,  sorrowful,  before  a  godless  deed 
Or  an  unholy  word ;   yet  he  was  loved 
By  most,  and  honoured  ;  chief  of  all  by  those 
The  furthest  from  him  in  the  scale  of  years ; 
For  the  child's  heart  within  the  aged  man 
Yearned  upon  little  children,  like  his  Lord's. 
No  hard  disciple  he  to  thrust  away 
Their  clambering  feet  and  clinging  hands,  or  hush 
Their  eager  voices  !     ;Twas  a  goodly  sight 
To  see  and  hear  them  on  a  summer  day 
Around  him,  like  some  old-world  patriarch 
With  half  a  hundred  children  j   or  to  watch 
How  in  God's  house,  on  every  Holy-day, 
He,  from  his  wonted  station  in  the  aisle, 
Beside  a  grey  stone  pillar  near  to  them, 
Joined,  in  the  holy  words  of  prayer  and  praise, 
His  deeper  tones  with  their  less  tremulous 
Sweet  voices,  and  to  note  how  with  a  look — 
The  old  saint,  with  the  little  ones  of  Christ, 
Like  some  good  shepherd  whom  the  young  lambs 
know — 


42  'MORNING  ROBERT: 

He  would  win  back  into  the  ways  of  prayer 
Wandering  eyes  and  hearts. 

An  arbiter 
In  many  a  village  difference  was  he, 
And  oracle  of  counsel  in  their  need 
To  all  the  hamlet ;  and,  as  in  the  days 
Of  oracles  each  had  its  wonted  shrine 
And  station,  so  old  Robert  did  not  lack 
His  proper  tryst.     A  mighty  old  oak-tree 
Within  the  park,  fronting  the  far-off  hills 
That  lay  beyond  the  river,  made  for  him, 
Deep-hoilowed  close  above  its  mossy  roots, 
A  seat  he  loved.     Here  any  one  who  sought 
Would  seek  him  when  the  sun  was  high  at  noon 
Or  low  at  eve ;  but  always  he  was  there 
At  the  first  break  of  dawn,  and  hence  it  was 
That,  with  a  mingled  reverence  and  jest, 
They  called  him  '  Morning  Robert,'  though  his  day 
Was  now  far  spent  towards  the  eventide  ; 
For  a  strange  fancy  took  him  in  his  age 
Never  to  miss  the  sunrise  any  morn 
The  long  year  round.     So,  though  at  noon  or  eve 
Perchance  he  wandered  elsewhere,  never  came 
The  dawn  in  summer,  autumn,  winter,  spring; 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  43 

But  found  him  underneath  the  old  oak-tree 
In  vigil :   there  he  saw  the  new  day  born 
Above  the  hills,  in  clamour  of  the  winds, 
Or  brooding  mist,  or  rushing  clouds  of  rain, 
As  in  the  still  sweet  air  and  silver  sky. 

I  held  it  dear  to  see  and  speak  with  him 
Not  seldom  there.     The  picture  as  I  came 
Was  worthy  of  remembrance — the  great  tree, 
Knotted  and  gnarled  with  nigh  a  thousand  years, 
Yet  wearing  the  new  life  of  the  last  spring 
Upon  its  summit  greenly — underneath, 
The  old  man  seated,  calm  in  that  repose 
Which  is  not  of  the  world,  with  that  child's  look, 
Most  happy,  blending  with  the  dignity 
Of  many  years  and  natural  nobleness ; 
His  long  staff,  reaching  from  him  to  the  ground, 
And  on  its  end  close  clasped  his  wrinkled  hands, 
And  over  them  the  reverend  reverent  face ; 
The  chin  just  laid  upon  the  hand,  the  head 
Leant  back  against  the  tree,  and  looking  up, 
Like  hers,  the  saint  of  many  tears  and  prayers- - 
Whom  Scheffer  drew — what  time  at  Ostia 
She  sits  with  him,  her  son  new  born  to  God, 
And  communes  with  him  of  those  future  joys 


44  'moxxixg  Robert: 


Unseen,  unknown,  undreamed  of,  yet  so  near 
They  brighten  o'er  her  ! 

If  he  saw  me  come, 
With  honour  for  my  office,  and  some  love 
(I  love  to  think  it)  for  me,  he  would  rise, 
And  underneath  his  lifted  hat  reveal 
The  old  man's  '  crown  of  glory.'     We  would  hold 
That  converse  then  which  only  they  can  hold 
Who  love  one  Lord ;  and,  most  of  all,  we  dwelt 
On  the  near  glory  of  that  heavenly  day 
For  which,  in  night-time  of  the  evil  world, 
God's  people  keep  their  vigil  evermore. 

And  yet,  withal,  there  came  to  him  no  sign 
That  soon  he  should  go  hence,  nor  did  he  deem, 
Despite  his  failing  limbs  and  fourscore  years, 
His  time  was  near,  until,  on  one  sad  eve, 
A  little  maiden  whom  he  called  '  Deare  Chihle,' 
Making  short  sojourn  in  this  pilgrim  land, 
Went  home — went  home,  but  left  the  world  so  dark 
To  us  who  loved  her,  and,  not  least,  to  him 
To  whose  hoar  winter  she  was  like  the  spring, 
So  often  that  old  tree  was  trysting-place 
Where  she  would  meet  him  after  hours  of  school, 
With  sunbeams  in  her  eyes  and  on   her  hair, 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  45 

And  merry  prattle  like  the  morning  wind, 
Or  low  sweet  talk,  like  evening's  softer  breeze, 
Of  God,  and  heaven,  and  angels,  and  that  Love 
Which  loved  us  unto  death  in  Holy  Land 
Long  years  ago,  and  lives  to  love  us  still 
Beyond  the  worlds. — Not  till  she  passed  away 
He  seemed  to  lose  his  vigorous  hold  on  life ; 
But  on  that  eve  when,  as  the  sun  sank  down, 
Her  soul  arose  and  spread  its  wings  for  flight, 
And  left  us  to  the  darkness,  as  I  went 
Homeward,  grief-stricken, — for  I  loved  the  child, 
God  knoweth  ! — leaning  on  the  garden  gate 
I  found  him  watching.     With  a  single  look 
He  read  my  wordless  answer  all  too  plain. 
Perhaps  a  man's  tears  leave  a  deeper  trace — 
Perhaps  some  strange  reflection,  lingering  still, 
Caught  from  the  deathly  presence,  told  the  tale — 
Howbeit,  he  read  it  all,  and  turned  away; 
But  such  a  groan  broke  from  him,  I  was  fain 
To  stay  him  with  a  hand  upon  his  arm, 
And  force  one  word,  'The  maiden  is  not  dead, 
But  sleepeth.' 

Then  he  turned  again  and  stood 
Before  me,  silent.     Neither  spoke  awhile, 


46  'MORNING  ROBERT: 

And,  though  my  grief  was  selfish,  and  I  longed 

To  be  alone  with  that  remembered  face, 

That  little  form  of  saintly  sweet  repose, 

And  those  last  words,  I  might  not  leave  him  there, 

So  strangely  grieved  beyond  the  wont  of  age, 

The    whole    frame    rocked   like   some   grey   tower 

that  feels 
The  earth-wave  roll  beneath  it.     So  we  stood  j 
The  summer  even  darkening  towards  the  night, 
The  breeze  that  rose  at  sunset  from  the  west 
Now  dying  wearily  in  sighs  that  shook 
Faintly  the  leaves  above  us.     Then  again, 
Touching  his  hand,  I  spoke.     '  Is  it  too  long 
To  tarry  for  the  morning,  when  they  meet 
Who  parted  in  the  night?     That  morning  comes 
In  God's  good  time ;  when  He  shall  will  it  comes. 
It  will  not  tarry.'     Then  he  raised  his  head 
Quickly  as  one  who  hears,  or  thinks  he  hears, 
A  summons  far  away.     A  little  while 
He  seemed  as  one  who  listened ;  then  as  though 
He  heard  the  voice  that  called  him,  'Ah,'  he  said— 
Musingly,  not  to  me,  within  himself — 
'The  youngest,  now  the  oldest.'     Then  a  change 
Revived  the  shaken  frame,  and  lit  the  face. 


'morning  Robert:  47 

Which  had  been  dark,  with  light  so  strange  and  new, 
I  marvelled.     But  my  own  heart  calling  me 
Back  to  myself,  I  left  him  with  one  word 
Of  benediction. 

But,  from  that  day  forth, 
There  was  not  one  that  might  not  mark  a  change 
In  Robert;  not  of  weariness,  or  pain, 
Or  that  which  is  the  strength  of  many  years, 
'  Labour  and  sorrow ;'  rather  might  be  seen 
A  brightness,  added  to  the  wonted  look 
Of  peace  he  wore.     He  did  not  seem  like  one 
Waiting,  however,  patiently,  for  that 
Which  might  be  yet  far  off;  but  like  a  man 
Who  knows  with  joy  one  more  swift  hour  will  end 
The  long  delay.     It  was,  indeed,  as  though 
Patience  with  him  had  had  her  perfect  work, 
And  in  his  soul  already  had  begun 
The  full  joy  of  fruition.     Yet  to  none 
He  bade  Farewell.     And  some  there  were  who  said, 
Noting  that  change  which  brightened  in  his  face, 
But  seeing  nought  beneath  it,  'Sure  it  was 
Robert  had  got  another  lease  of  life, 
And  would  outlive  them  all.'     And  others  said. 
'They  marvelled  Robert  had  so  soon  forgot 


48  MORNING  ROBERT: 

The  little  maid  he  seemed  to  dote  upon.' 
But  those  who  knew  him  better  saw  the  change, 
And  only  wondered  with  a  kind  of  awe. 
But  me  he  told  in  secret  he  believed 
The  time  was  very  near  when  for  his  soul 
The  blessed  dawn  should  break  behind  the  hills, 
And  bring  the  eternal  day.     '  And  yet,'  he  said, 
'  I  do  not  know,  sir,  why  I  am  so  sure ; 
No  angel  told  me ;  no,  nor  in  a  dream 
Have  I  been  warned ;  and  so  I  do  not  say 
Openly,  I  am  sure,  lest,  if  it  be 
I  am  mistaken,  I  should  live  to  hear 
My  dear  hope  jested  on — but,  sir,  I  think 
I  cannot  be  mistaken,  though  no  dream 
Or  angel  has  revealed  it;  for  that  night 
On  which  the  little  maiden  went  to  God, 
And  you,  sir,  told  me,  when  my  heart  was  sick, 
That  when  the  Lord  shall  will  the  morning  comes 
And  will  not  tarry,  then,  I  know  not  how, 
But  suddenly  my  breast  was  filled  with  joy, 
As  though  I  heard  the  footsteps  of  the  Lord 
Coming  upon  the  mountains.      "  He  will  come, 
He  will  not  tarry,"  sounded  in  my  soul ; 
Not  faintly,  as  in  whispers,  but  as  though 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  49 

A  hundred  voices  said  it.     Then  I  thought. 

Surely  it  is  a  message  sent  from  God, 

And  by  His  priest  He  bids  me  stand  prepared 

For  His  quick  coming.     Therefore,  sir,  I  wait, 

Believing  He  is  near.     Yea,  even  so, 

Lord  Jesus,  come  !    Amen/ 

I  looked  at  him, 
His  head  bent  low  in  utterance  of  the  prayer, 
The  ancient,  holy  prayer,  wherewith  is  closed 
The  great  Apocalypse.     And  'such/  I  thought, 
'Was  he  who  prayed  it  on  that  latest  page 
Of  inspiration,  he,  the  most  beloved 
Where  all  were  loved,  yet  last  to  pass  away ; 
The  old  disciple,  full  of  years,  and  worn 
With  many  toils,  but  like  a  little  child 
In  confidence  and  gentleness  and  love.' 

Summer  was  young  when  our  'deare  childe'  was 
laid 
Under  the  chancel  window,  and  her  grave 
Was  still  made  bright,  beneath  the  little  cross, 
With  summer  blossoms,  when,  one  early  morn, 
I  passed  it  by.     No  purpose  led  me  forth, 
Only  a  vague  desire  that  I  might  feel 

D 


50  'MORNING  ROBERT. 


The  first  fresh  breathing  of  the  infant  morn 
And  see  its  earliest  smiling  down  the  hills 
And  o'er  the  stream.     I  wandered  by  the  wood, 
And  passed  the  lonely  cottage.     Then,  I  thought, 
'Robert  not  yet  has  left  his  morning  watch, 
And  he  shall  tell  me  with  what  joy  he  saw. 
An  hour  ago,  the  sun  rise.' 

From  the  wood 
I  came  behind  the  tree  to  where  he  sat 
Beneath  it.     Then  I  thought  he  was  asleep, 
Because  he  moved  not,  and  his  eyes,  half-closed, 
Seemed  overcast  and  dim,  and  when  I  spoke 
He  did  not  hear  me. 

'  Robert !  do  you  sleep  ? 
I  said,  and  bent  to  touch  him. — Then  I  saw- 
Indeed  he  slept.     It  was  the  sleep  of  him 
Who  slept  within  the  cave  of  Bethany, 
Whom  none  could  wake  but  Jesus. 

He  was  dead 
Dead  underneath  the  dying  old  oak  tree — 
(Its  last  leaf  died  that  autumn).     '  O  my  friend,' 
I   cried,  with  tearless  bitterness  at  heart, 
( I  came  to  hear  thee  speak  of  light  and  joy, 
And   thou  art  dend  !' 


'MORNING  ROBERT:  51 

Shivering  with  grief,  I  turned, 
And — lo  !   before  me  glowed  the  living  Morn — 
The  great  unclouded  Sun  above  the  hills 
Made  hills  and  woods  and  river  beautiful ; 
And  overhead,  unseen,  I  just  might  hear 
A  lark  that  sang  to  God  his  matin  song 
Of  praise  for  light  and  joy. 

Again  I  turned, 
Fronting  the  sleeping  saint,  and  as  my  tears 
Fell  part  in  sorrow,  part  in  penitence, 
I  knelt  beside  him  with  that  ancient  prayer, 
As  I  had  heard  him  pray  it,  '  Even  so, 
Lord  Jesus,  come  !    Amen.' 

Thus  did  he  die, 
That  good  old  man.     And  for  ourselves,  indeed, 
It  could  not  be  but  we  must  mourn  for  him. 
We  miss  him  at  the  solitary  tree ; 
We  miss  his  reverent  greeting  by  the  way; 
We  miss  him  in  the  Church's  holy  hours 
From  that  grey  pillar,  and  the  Altar-rail. 
How  many  mourn  that  childless,  poor  old  man  ! 
That  lonely,  unimportant,  poor  old  man  ! 
Oh,  nay ! — that  heir  of  heaven,  that  royal  saint, 
That  brother  of  the  Lord,  that  king  and  priest 


52  l  MORNIXG  ROBERT: 


To  God  Almighty !    Yes,  and  we  who  mourn 
With  love's  true  sorrow,  yet  will  never  say 
'Alas!'  but  'Hallelujah!' — lost  to  us, 
But  found  in  heavenly  places  !     He  has  left 
A  vacant  niche  in  eartrTs  cathedral  front, 
But  in  God's  Eden,  by  the  crystal  stream, 
Under  the  tree  of  life,  a  glorious  form, 
He  fills  a  glorious  place ;   his  eyes  behold 
The  Great  King  in  His  beauty ;   in  the  glow 
And  splendour  of  that  Day,  for  which  he  looked 
And  longed  and  waited,  now  at  last  he  hears 
The  chantings  of  the  myriad  morning  stars 
Of  which  he  caught  the  echoes,  though  so  far 
Not  faintly,  here. 

For  us,  who  still  are  here, 
We  follow :    if  so  be,  by  grace  of  Christ, 
We  also  may  attain,  and  hear,  like  him, 
The  Voice  of  the  Beloved,  beyond  the  hiils, 
Calling  our  souls  to  gather  to  His  light, 
When  the  day  breaks,  and  shadows  flee  away. 


III. 
^ije  flBtujst  of  %o\)£, 

A  PARISH   IDYLL. 


The  love  of  things  created  endureth  not ;  the  love  of  Jesus  is  faithful. 

Thomas  A  Ke.mpis. 


HIS  was  a  tale  of  twenty  years  ago  : 
Never  forgotten,  told  and  told  again 
To  his  indignant  heart,  in  every  pause 
Between  the  changes  of  a  restless  life 
Self-exiled  to  the  East ;   a  memory 
Of  man's  ill-will  and  woman's  broken  faith 
Like  a  perpetual  discord,  never  mute, 
But  marring  all  the  music  in  the  world, 
A  ghostly  dismal  shriek,  for  ever  heard 
Amid  its  kindliest  laughter. 

Time  had  been 
When  the  pure  waters  of  his  heart,  which  now 
Were  bitter  as  the  sea  of  death,  had  flowed 
Fresh  as  a  river  of  Eden,  overshone 


54  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

By  every  gracious  light,  and  breathed  upon 
By  all  the  winds  of  hope. 

An  only  son 
Left  motherless  so  young,  he  scarcely  knew, 
As  days  sped  on,  whether  the  gentle  face 
He  summoned  up  so  often  was  the  work 
Of  memory  or  fancy — till  his  years 
Had  reached  a  double  decade  Leonard  lived 
With  stern  Sir  Hugh,  his  father,  in  the  house. 
Half  house,  half  ruin,  on  a  wooded  hill 
Behind  the  Squire's  great  hall.     Its  ancient  name 
Clung  to  it,  and  although  the  spacious  lands, 
Its  heritage  for  twice  three  hundred  years, 
All  save  a  few  poor  fields  had  passed  away, 
Now  for  a  generation,  to  the  hands 
Of  that  new  lord  the  Squire,  the  country  folk 
Still  named  '  The  Castle  '  with  a  tender  pride, 
And  gave  a  readier  reverence  to  Sir  Hugh 
Despite  his  broken  fortunes  than  to  him 
Who  built  the  new  great  palace  in  the  park; 
*  Although/  said  they,   '  he  is  a  kindly  man, 
And  you'll  not  find  in  all  the  country  round 
A  better  master ;   but  the  good  old  blood 
Flows  where  it  flowed  and  is  not  bought  with  gold; 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  55 

And  we  had  liefer  serve  the  ancient  race 
Our  fathers  loved  and  served  a  thousand  years.' 
Fain  would  the  Squire  have  joined  good  heart  and 
hand 
With  Leonard's  father,  had  he  willed,  but  he, 
Wrathfully  brooding  on  the  wrongs  of  fate — 
So  did  he  phrase  his  own  sire's  thriftlessness — 
Swore  never  to  set  foot  within  the  hall 
Of  this  usurper  of  his  heritage, 
And  met  the  other's  readiest  courtesies 
With  nothing  save  a  gesture  or  a  word 
Of  coldest  salutation. 

But  his  son, 
Just  as  the  breezy  morning  of  his  youth 
Was  merging  into  noon,  and  in  his  heart 
The  first  soft  breathing  of  a  warmer  wind 
Prefaced  the  way  for  love,  and  heralded 
With  inarticulate  sweet  whisperings 
Some  near  mysterious  advent,  by  a  chance — 
By  both  kept  secret  in  a  mutual  fear — 
Met  the  one  daughter  of  the  Squire.     No  need 
To  say  how  this  befel,  and  how  his  hand 
Saved  her  from  peril :   how  they  met  again, 
And  yet  again  a  hundred  times,  till  Love 


56  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

Revealed  himself,  and  solved  the  mystery, 

The  sweet  vague  expectation  of  the  noon, 

And  in  the  power  of  his  apocalypse 

Swallowed  up  life  and  changed  the  world  to  him  : 

All  things  were  made  for  Love,  so  truly  Love's 

That  Love  was  all,  the  world  had  nothing  else 

But  Love. 

And  so  one  summer  day  (alas  ! 
How  black  is  tempest  on  a  summer  day), 
Subduing  all  mistrust,  writh  happy  tears 
Of  blissful  triumph  in  his  earnest  eyes, 
He  told  Sir  Hugh  his  secret.     His  were  met 
With  eyes  to  which  the  bitter  brooding  fiend, 
That  in  his  heart  like  levin  in  the  cloud 
Had  lain  so  long,  sprang  with  a  fire  of  wrath 
Deadlier  to  hope  that  e'en  the  furious  words 
Which  followed  like  quick  thunder. 

'Boy,'  he  cried, 
'But  dare  to  see  this  upstart  once  again 
And  I  will  curse  you  every  wretched  hour 
Until  I  die.' 

Through  all  the  bygone  years, 
Leonard  remembered  howT  Sir  Hugh,  so  stern 
And  sad  to  others,  had  been  good  to  him 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  57 


And  gracious,  watching  him  with  silent  pride 
As  if  he  verily  loved  him.     And  so  then, 
When  horror  and  amazement  spared  him  words. 
He  prayed  his  father,  by  the  memory 
Of  what  he  deemed  had  been  his  love  for  him, 
To  give  him  were  it  but  one  word  of  hope 
And  pity ;   or,  indeed,  if  he  had  sinned, 
Of  pardon  ;   then,  unheeded,  passionately 
Sinking  upon  his  knees,  he  cried,  'Oh,  sir, 
By  my  dead  mother ! '     But  the  fierce  old  man, 
Stung  to  yet  fiercer  wrath,  ere  he  could  end 
His  prayer,  broke  in,  thrust  back  his  clinging  hands, 
And  spurned  him,  vowing  by  the  eternal  God 
Of  dead  and  living  that  it  should  not  be, 
Were  it  to  save  his  own  life  or  bring  back 
That  mother  from  the  dead ! 

Then  Leonard  rose 
Without  another  word,  and,  with  a  heart 
In  which  new  anguish  battled  with  old  love 
And  tore  his  father's  image  from  its  shrine 
And  trampled  on  it,  down  the  park  he  raged, 
And  burst  upon  the  astonished  Squire,  and  cried 
1  Oh,  sir,  I  have  no  father  and  no  home  ! 
Give  me  your  daughter,  and  be  this  my  home, 


58  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

And  you  my  father  ! ' 

But  the  kindly  man, 
When  Leonard  gathered  breath  and  told  him  all, 
Grew  wroth  in  turn,  and  sware  no  child  of  his 
Should  wed  with  one  whose  father  came  not  there 
To  sue  for  her  right  humbly. 

Late  that  night 
Sir  Hugh's  old  servant,  sent  to  seek  for  him, 
Found  him  beneath  a  cypress  in  the  dell 
Stretched  out,  and  still  as  death,  and  thought  him  dead, 
But  his  great  cry  of  fear  awoke  the  lad, 
On  whom,  worn  out  with  passion,  God  had  sent 
Only  day's  death  of  sleep. 

A  month  at  home 
He  watched  his  father's  altered  countenance, 
Who  only  spoke  to  ask  him,  '  Have  you  yet 
Forgot  your  folly?'  and  was  answered  'No.' 
Then  thought  Sir  Hugh,  '  Here  will  he  pine,  for 
here 
There  is  no  stir  nor  change  to  break  the  spell : 
He  shall  go  hence,  to  find  in  busier  scenes 
Some  better  food  for  fancy.'     Thereupon 
He  sent  him  wandering  over  half  the  world 
Two  years — but  ere  the  second  year  was  dead 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  59 

Came  Death  to  him,  and  on  that  stern  sad  heart 
Suddenly  laid  his  hand.     And  Leonard  came, 
Summoned  in  haste  a  thousand  leagues  away; 
Two  passions,  diverse  fruits  of  love,  at  war 
Within  his  breast, — true  grief  for  him  whom  death 
Absolved  from  that  past  bitterness,  and  hope, 
Bright  Hope,  that  waved  back  sorrow  at  the  bier, 
And  said,  '  Give  place,  the  barrier  falls,  and  Love — 
Love  that  was  let  so  long — is  come  again 
At  last  to  have  his  will  and  claim  his  own.' 
Alas  !  how  false  was  hope  !     He  came  to  find 
That  there  was  deeper  anguish  in  the  world 
Than  he  had  known ;  a  bitterer  draught  of  pain 
Set  for  his  lips;  a  cruel  hand  to  smite 
Deeper  into  his  life  than  that  dead  man's. 

It  is  soon  said.     Her  whom  his  hand  had  saved, 
Her  for  whose  sake  he  would  have  given  his  soul 
Surrendering  heaven  as  he  surrendered  home, 
Her  whom  his  arms  had  held  the  while  in  tears 
Her  low  voice  sware  beneath  the  linden  tree, 
Between  his  kisses  that  fair  summer  eve, 
That  she  was  his  for  ever— her  he  found 
A  wife,  another's,  aye,  a  willing  wife  ! — 
No  forced  possession  but  a  willing  wife, 


60  THE   QUEST  OE  LOVE. 

Who,  when,  refusing  to  believe,  he  came 

Before  her,  lifting  up  her  languid  eyes 

Smiled  slowly  on  him,  ■  hoped  they  might  be  friends 

Despite  that  youthful  folly  which  no  doubt 

He  almost  had  forgotten  ! ' 

Not  one  word 
He  gave  her,  only  from  a  ghastly  face 
One  look — but  one — and  yet  her  smile  fell  dead. 
And  she  grew  white  with  fear. 

Back  to  the  shore 
From  which  so  late  the  wings  of  love  and  hope 
Had  borne  him,  he  returned — despair  and  hate, 
His  sole  familiar  friends — an  infidel 
Of  love  and  so  of  heaven.     So  sped  his  life, 
Most  desolate  and  forlorn,  a  living  death, 
For  eighteen  years ;  and  then  he  wandered  back 
Slowly,  like  one  obedient  to  a  power 
He  wots  not  of,  back  to  the  home  where  once 
He  had  believed  in  love,  and,  as  he  deemed, 
In  heaven. 

Awhile  he  kept  himself  apart 
Within  the  ancient  castle,  now  still  more 
A  ruin,   like  his  life  ;  but  afterwards 
He  wandered  to  and  fro  among  the  scenes. 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  61 


Of  those  first  innocent  years. 

That  year  was  young  ; 
Not  many  weeks  had  her  Evangelist 
Of  resurrection,  Spring,  whose  angel  feet 
Are  beautiful  in  Winter's  wilderness, 
Been  whispering  glad  tidings  of  new  life 
To  wood  and  field  and  hedgerow, — yet  they  wore 
The  robes  of  their  redemption  from  the  doom 
And  death  of  winter.     '  Singing  robes '  wrere  they, 
Clothing  the  grandest  bard,  the  poet  of  God, 
Nature,  who  sang  the  song  of  her  deep  heart, 
The  song  of  never-dying  life  and  love, 
In  every  branch  and  flower. 

Was  this  the  spell 
That  drew  him  forth  one  noon  a  longer  way  ? 
Howbeit,  that  noon  his  lonely,  listless  feet 
Beyond  the  wonted  limit  wandered  on, 
Until  he  reached  the  old  grey  churchyard  wall, 
And  leaned  upon  the  little  gate  and  mused. 
"Tis  here/  he  said,  'in  yonder  church  she  sleeps, 
My  mother;  on  her  tomb  her  own  last  words 
Said,  so  they  tell,  o'er  my  unconscious  head 
In  dying  benediction,  "  God  is  love." 
And  here  I  stand,  her  son.  so  near  her  tomb, 


62  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 


To  doubt  of  God  as  I  do  doubt  of  love. 
And  yet,  none  doubted  of  her  love,  they  say, 
And  me,  too  young  for  doubt  or  for  belief, 
Better  than  life  she  loved.     I  have  disproved 
All  else  but  that.     God  !  if  there  be  a  God, 
Reveal  Thyself!     O  Love,  if  Thou  art  Love, 
Send  me  some  sign,  some  messenger !  this  doubt. 
Most  hateful  as  it  is  the  fruit  of  hate, 
Is  hell.' 

So  passionately  in  thought  he  cried 
Then  on  a  sudden  marvelling  at  himself, 
He  mocked  his  aspiration  with  a  laugh 
Of  helpless,  hopeless,  melancholy  scorn 
At  his  own  soul  in  prayer. 

And  then  again, 
His  bitter  musings,  in  their  wonted  tide, 
One  after  one  rolled  in  upon  his  mind, 
Like  salt  waves  plunging  on  a  frozen  shore, 
With  not  one  raindrop  of  a  softer  sorrow 
To  mingle  with  the  brine,  nor  yet  a  sigh 
Of  that  low  wind  whose  breathing  is  as  sweet 
With  tender  memories  and  with  trustful  hopes 
As  it  is  sad  with  loss  :  no  wind  like  this, 
Only  the  wrathful  east,   that  never  thaws 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  63 


The  frozen  depth  of  tears. 

And  all  the  while, 
Leaning  upon  the  gate  and  motionless, 
He  did  not  mark  a  little  maiden's  form 
Behind  him,  still,  and  waiting  patiently — 
With  wistful  eyes  as  sunny  sweet  as  morn, 
And  coloured  like  the  violets  in  her  hand,— 
A  little  maiden  hardly  seven  years  old, 
But  with  a  face  so  pure  and  fair,  you  thought 
That  her  own  angel  which  in  heaven  beheld 
The  Father's  face  could  scarcely  be  more  fair. 

At  last  he  heard  her  plaintive  '  Oh  sir,  please — ' 
And  turning  listlessly  as  one  in  sleep 
Upon  whose  ears  an  unfamiliar  voice 
Falls,  and  he  does  not  heed,  yet  opens  wide 
His  slumber-laden  eyes,  and  gazes  round 
On  him  who  speaks,  but  does  not  say  one  word 
Nor  truly  seem  to  see  :    so  now  he  turned 
An  unregarding  look  upon  the  child, 
Whose  wide-eyed  wonder  would  have  grown  to  fear 
At  this  great  barrier  which  still  kept  the  way 
Despite  her  pleading,  and  gazed  down  on  her 
So  strangely — save  that  fear  of  any  man 
In  all  her  bright  young  life  had  never  come 


64  THE    QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

To  fling  on  her  one  shadow  of  mistrust. 

And  so  she  did  not  doubt  or  shrink,  although 

She  very  greatly  wondered.     Then,  again, 

She  said,  beseeching,  '  Please,  sir,  may  I  pass  ?' 

Whereat  he  rose,  and,  like  a  man  whose  dream 

Suddenly  melts  away,  he  saw  the  child 

How  fair  she  was — and  thinking  in  his  heart 

'Is  this  my  messenger?'  put  out  his  arm 

And  stayed  her  as  she  passed  him,  saying,  '  Child, 

Tell  me  whence  came  you  with  your  flowers?'  And 

she, 
Lifting  her  sunny  eyes,  replied,  '  From  home.' 
Then  added,  when  she  saw  he  waited  still, 
'Where  father  lives,  the  shepherd;   every  one 
Knows  father.' 

'And  the  violets,  little  maid?' 
'For  him,'  she  said,  and  pointed  past  the  church 
To  where  the  rectory  lay  amid  the  trees. 
'  Why  do  you  take  them  ?'  said  he. 

'  Sir,  because 
He  loves  me  and  he  loves  the  flowers.' 

He  asked, 
'And  you,  you  love  him?' 

'  I  ;  Oh  yes,'  she  cried, 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 


'Of  course  I  love  him — father  loves  him  too, 
And  mother.' 

'Why?'  he  said;   and  she,  {0h  sir, 
Because  he  loves  us,  and  he  talks  to  us 
Of  things  we  love.' 

'  What  things,  my  maid  ?'     '  Oh  sir, 
Numbers  of  happy  things.' 

'But  tell  me  them, 
These  happy  things.' 

'They  are  so  many,  sir; 
For  some  of  them  he  tells  to  us  at  home, 
And  some  at  school,  and  some — ' 

And  here  her  voice 
Grew  lower,  not  less  happy,  though  more  grave — 
'And  some,  sir,  there/ — turning  her  look  away, 
Where,  old  indeed  but  beautiful  in  age, — 
In  earthly  place,  yet  pointing  heavenward, — 
Lay  in  the  clear  noonlight  the  village  Fane. 
A  lowly  shrine,  yet  no  mean  type  of  Her, 
The  great  Church-Mother,  blessing  the  whole  world, 
While  looking  for  that  Other  and  her  Lord. 

'  And  what,'  he  asked  her,  'does  he  tell  you  there 
You  love  to  hear  ?' 

'  He  tells  us  most  of  all, 


66  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

For  that  is  best  of  all — we  love  it  best — 
Of  Jesus.' 

Here  she  bowed  her  little  head, 
And  the  great  Name  went  whispered  through  her  lips 
Spoken  as  if  she  stood  on  holy  ground, 
And  in  a  sacred  Presence  :    yet  as  if 
Holy  was  happy,  Sacred  sweet  to  her. 

He  stood  a  moment  silent;   then  he  said, 
1  Child,  tell  me  why  that  is  the  best  of  all 
Those  happy  things  you  hear?  what  has  He  done 
That  you  should  think  it  best?' 

'  Oh  sir,  you  know 
He  loved  us,  and  He  died  upon  the  Cross, 
Because  He  loved  us  so.' 

'  What  made  you  sure 
This  tale  is  true?' 

1  Oh  sir,  it  must  be  true. 
The  Bible  says  it ;  and  how  else  could  we 
Love  Him  so  dearly?' 

'And  can  I,  too,  learn 
Such  Love  as  this?'  he  said. 

Up  in  his  face 
She  looked  with  timid  eyes  he  could  not  meet, 
And  said,   'He  loved  you  and  lie  died  for  you. 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  67 

Oh,  don't  you  love  Him!' 

'Teach  me,  little  child, 
To  love  Him.' 

While  he  spoke  his  eyes  were  dim, 
So  dim  he  could  not  see  her  as  she  stood 
And  took  his  hand  to  draw  him  and  replied, 
'  Oh  sir,  I  am  so  little  :    only  come 
Over  the  churchyard  there  and  speak  to  him, 
And  he  will  teach  you.' 

But  he  started  back, 
Like  one  who  breaks  a  spell;  and  as  ashamed 
Of  weakness  which  had  caught  him  unawares, 
He  dropped  her  hand,  and  muttering  scornfully, 
'No  priests  for  me,'  he  turned  as  if  to  go, 
Saying,  '  I  will  not.' 

But  she  said  again, 
Most  wistfully,  'Oh  come,  sir,  please  to  come!' 
And  so  he  turned,  and  met  the  pleading  eyes. 
Ah,  blessed  Spirit  of  love  !   the  pitiful  God — 
Who  would  not  lose  his  soul,  so  sad  and  blind, 
So  longing  and  forlorn — was  in  her  face, 
And  moved  a  will  which  had  been  stubborn  still, 
Though  all  the  banded  strength  of  all  the  world 
Had  wrestled  with  it.     For  that  golden  age, 


68  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

Whose  grace  far  off  the  Son  of  Amoz  saw 
And  sang,  flings  even  now  from  time  to  time, 
Aye,  day  by  day,  some  sign  upon  the  world 
That  it  is  surely  coming  :   and  the  wolf, 
The  leopard,  and  the  lion  in  the  wilds, 
Forego  their  nature,  quit  their  kind, — and  lo  ! 
A  little  child  doth  lead  them.     Even  so 
She  won  him  from  the  waste  wherein  so  long 
His  heart  had  wandered  in  its  hate  and  scorn  : 
Won  him  with  simple  words  and  tender  trust, 
And  littleness  of  guile, — so  weak,  so  strong: 
So  strong  in  weakness ;  he  so  weak  in  strength  ; 
She  knew  so  little,  he  so  much,  of  life  j 
Truly  she  knew  so  little ;  but  she  knew 
Of  Love,  and  Love  is  all ;  and  with  the  cords 
Of  Love  she  drew  him. 

'Come,  sir!  please  to  come!' 
He  stooped,  and  took  her  in  his  arms,  and  said, 
1  This  is  my  messenger,  and  I  will  go.' 
Then  said  no  more,  but  as  a  man  who  knows 
His  purpose  may  not  hold,  pressed  quickly  on. 
And  she,  Deare  Childe,  well  pleased  that  he  should  go. 
And  pleased  to  find  herself  perched  up  so  high 
Upon  his  shoulder,  prattled  as  they  went, 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  69 

Nor  knew  she  was  an  angel  sent  from  God, — 

An  angel  sent  to  win  a  soul  from  death, 

And  baffle  the  proud  fiend  that  rules  the  world, — 

Prattled  about  the  violets,  and  said, 

She  had  been  up  that  day  at  early  dawn, 

And  gone  with  '  Morning  Robert '  to  the  dell 

That  hides  itself  behind  the  little  lake, 

And  there  had  found  the  flowers ; 

'And,  sir,'  she  said, — 
'If  once  you  come  within  the  dell,  you  know 
The  flowers  are  there,  although  you  never  look 
To  find  them,  for  they  fill  the  air  with  scent; 
They  grow  so  thick  and  smell  so  sweet.' 

But  now. 
Ere  he  had  said  another  word,  they  stood 
Before  the  garden  gate;  and  from  the  porch, 
Beneath  whose  honeysuckle  eaves  I  sat, 
I  saw  them.     From  my  book  I  rose,  and  came 
To  meet  them,  wondering  where  my  little  maid 
Had  found  this  strange  companion  on  her  way 
To  bring  her  wonted  offering  of  the  flowers : 
Herself  the  rarest  and  least  earthly  flower 
Of  that  dear  garden  of  the  Church  of  God, — 
The  desert  world's  oasis — where  my  Lord 


70  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

To  work  for  Him  awhile,  to  train  and  tend, 
Hath  set  me. 

Seeing  me  he  lifted  down 
His  burden  :  but  he  w-ould  not  let  her  go, 
But  kept  her  by  the  hand,  as  one  who  holds 
By  some  last  hope,  not  surely,  yet  full  well 
Knowing  it  is  the  last.     Then,  as  I  came, 
Said,  '  Wherefore  I  am  come,  sir,  scarce  I  know ; 
Perchance  for  nothing;  yet,  if  there  be  Love, 
For  more  than  I  have  found  in  all  the  world  : 
Yet  whether  this  or  that,  for  nought  or  all, 
I  surely  had  not  troubled  you,  except 
This  little  child  had  led  me.' 

While  he  spake 
I  saw  his  face  was  noble ;  somewhat  hard, 
Yet  not  as  if  it  had  been  always  hard  : 
A  high,  broad  forehead  over  hazel  eyes 
Clear,  keen,  and  cold  ;  the  mouth  was  beautiful, 
Save  for  a  touch  of  scorn  or  hopelessness 
As  sad  as  death  :  yet,  as  with  his  last  words, 
He  glanced  a  moment  at  the  child,  there  came 
Over  the  eyes  and  mouth  a  sudden  gleam 
That  seemed  to  show  his  mother  in  the  man, 
Which  faded  as  he  drew  his  glance  away 


THE   QUEST  OE  LOVE. 


And  fronted  mine,  and  left  him,  as  at  first, 
Half  scornfully,  half  diffidently,  cold, 
And  listlessly  expectant. 

But  the  child, 
Ere  I  could  answer,  ran  to  me  and  said — 
Whispering  as  I  bent  to  take  the  flowers, — 
1  He  wants  to  hear  of  Him  Who  loved  us  so 
And  died  for  us.' 

I  kissed  her,  with  a  prayer. 
Deep  in  my  startled  soul,  for  such  a  power 
As  hers  of  love  to  speak  on  such  a  theme. 
And  then  she  turned  to  him  and  raised  her  face- 
Sweet,  purely  child-like,  peaceful,  confident, 
And  yet  so  meekly  wistful — up  to  him, 
And  waited  till  he  kissed  her — then  she  went. 

I  said,  '  She  is  so  little  and  so  young, 
And  only  just  so  learned  that  she  can  read ; 
And  I  have  faced  the  world  for  fifty  years, 
And  studied  in  the  books  and  hearts  of  men, 
And  fought  the  battle  of  life  with  foes  without 
And  dreader  foes  within  :  yet,  well  I  know 
She  is  more  learn'd  than  I ;  and  her  white  soul 
Reflects  the  truth  and  light  and  love  of  God 
For  better  teaching  to  your  need;  and  I — 


72  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

I  falter  now  that  you  should  come  from  her 

To  me.     Can  I  not  see  that  even  now 

Your  eyes  are  colder  and  your  face  more  hard 

Since  she  is  here  no  longer?     I  avow 

That  were  it  not  my  pledge  to  Him  Who  gave 

This  office  holds  me,  and  my  trust  is  large 

That  He  will  speak  by  one  whom  He  hath  sent 

And  will  not  fail  me,  I  would  say,  Go  back  ; 

Sit  at  her  feet,  and  from  her  baby  lips 

Shall  the  great  Lord  of  wisdom  and  of  love 

Perfect  His  praise. 

Yet  doubt  not  of  my  faith  : 
For,  oh,  my  friend,  I  do  believe  in  Love, 
And  Him  Who  is  the  whole  of  Love  to  me : 
And  I  whose  life,  despite  this  peaceful  eve, 
Has  been  no  summer  day,  but  wild  and  dark,— 
After  the  blithest  morn  and  brightest  noon, — 
Am  not  less  sure  of  such  a  grace  for  you  ; 
That  you,  who  found  no  love  in  all  the  world, 
May  find  in  Him  what  shall  suffice  for  all 
Past  loss  and  future  need  ;  aye,  more,  and  give 
A  beauty,  such  as  only  comes  from  Heaven, 
To  all  things  earthly  j  not  a  mere  content 
And  patience,  but  a  beauty  and  a  joy, 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  73 

Making  you  glad  to  live.' 

Deep  was  the  night 
Before  we  parted ;  and  he  went  his  way 
Under  a  still  dark  sky  that  watched  for  morn, 
And  through  the  woods  wherein  the  new  spring  life 
Seemed  yearning  in  the  silence  as  in  prayer. 

He  left  me  with  few  words,  yet  these,  the  best, 
That  he  would  come  again. 

Again  he  came, 
And  often ;    and  at  first,  almost  like  one 
Unmoved,  he  listened,  for  he  gave  no  sign ; 
Yet  had  I  hope,  because  he  seemed  to  hear 
And  sought  to  stay.     Then,  after  many  days, 
There  came  a  change,  as  if  the  spirit  of  ill 
Suddenly  rose  within  him  in  great  wrath, 
Knowing  his  time  was  short.     He  set  his  soul 
Fiercely  in  battle  array,  and  hurled  his  darts, 
Tipped  with  fine  scorn,  at  every  point,  and  watched 
With  eager,  desperate  eyes,  as  if  the  hour 
Now  were  supreme  for  some  full  end.     Anon 
The  fiend  departed,  leaving  him  half  dead. 
Not  doubt  now  held  him,  but  despair;  and  Love 
Seemed  but  too  real,  too  high  a  heavenly  flower 
For  him  to  reach  and  gather,  and  to  wear 


74  THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

On  such  a  heart  alien  so  long.     I  said, 

1  The  love  of  Christ  is  depth  as  well  as  height  \ 

It  leaneth  down  so  low  to  raise  so  high. 

None  lie  so  low,  save  those  who  will  not  heed, 

But  in  the  darkness  they  may  find  His  hand, 

And  hear  the  calm,  profound,  pathetic  Voice, 

"Come  unto  Me.     Deep  was  Gethsemane, 

And  Calvary  dark, — did  I  not  love  thee?     Come.'" 

But  he  would  lay  his  head  upon  his  hand, 
With  only  this:  'Too  late!  it  is  too  late.' 

So  the  days  sped.     Spring  passed,  and  in  her  place 
Stood  the  imperial  summer  thrice  as  fair; 
Yet  was  there,  ere  she  came,  one  awful  hour, 
Brief  but  tremendous  ;    such  a  storm  it  seemed, 
As  if  the  wintry  spirits  that  yet  lurked 
In  nature  gathered  in  their  parting  hour 
To  tear  the  world. 

That  night  he  stood  and  watched 
At  the  wide  window  of  his  ancient  house 
The  writhing  woods  and  rushing  broken  heaven. 

Then,  as  the  darkness  and  the  conflict  grew 
Deeper  and  wilder,  on  his  soul  there  fell 
A  light  and  calm. 


THE   QUEST  OF  LOVE.  75 

At  first  he  did  not  dare 
To  trust  it;  but  it  grew— the  light  more  clear, 
The  calm  more  deep :   no  sudden  ecstacy 
Or  rapture  was  it,  but  a  still  repose, 
The  strength  of  quietness  and  confidence 
Stronger  than  passion. 

Louder  roared  the  storm, 
And  thicker  fell  the  darkness.     Then  he  knelt, 
And  with  full  eyes,  that  saw  not  the  near  storm, 
But  far  away  the  perfect  peace,  he  prayed, 
'  So  late,  so  late,  yet  bless  me  !    I  believe, 
Lord  Jesus,  I  believe  in  Love  and  Thee!' 

And  so — while  thus  in  legion  from  the  woods 
The  winds,  like  evil  angels  mad  with  loss, 
Rushed  with  ten  thousand  shrieks  and  beat  themselves, 
As  in  a  vain  despair,  against  the  walls — 
Past  that  black  night,  up  to  the  awful  Throne, 
Through  all  the  pealing  praise  of  myriad  worlds, 
Sped  that  low  prayer ;  and  round  about  the  throne 
And  through  all  infinite  spaces  of  the  heavens, 
The  holy  angels  heard  it  and  looked  down; 
And  lo  !  the  rapture  of  their  endless  song 
Caught  a  new  note — joy  for  another  soul 


76  THE  QUEST  OF  LOVE. 

Won  to  the  blest  obedience  of  Love, 
The  kingdom  and  the  glory  of  the  Lamb. 

But  ah,  my  little  maid,  my  little  maid ! 
I  end,  who  tell  this  tale,  with  other  tears 
Than  those  of  joy — the  joy  before  my  God 
Of  those  who  bring  the  golden  harvest  home — 
With  other  tears  for  thee.     That  night  came  down 
A  messenger  to  warn  us  that  the  King 
Had  need  of  her  whom  He  had  given  awhile  , 
And  ere  a  week  He  called  her. 

Do  I  sin 
In  sorrow  for  her  gain?    Pardon  me  this, 
Lord,  if  I  sin.     I  know  it  is  her  gain. 
Her  single  hour  of  labour  light  was  done, 
And  now — like  one  at  even  after  school 
Beside  a  Father's  feet — she  sits  at  Home, 
Deare  Childe,  beholding  Him,  Whom,  seeing  not. 
She  loved  so  well,  believing.     'Tis  her  gain. 
But  ah,  my  desolate  garden  !    there  are  flow 
Yet  many,  that  I  love  ;    but  none  like  thee, 
Not  one,  my  little  maid,  my  little  maid. 


LV. 

Clje  l&ectorp  jfarm, 

A    PARISH    IDYLL. 

IN   TWO   PARTS. 

PART    I. 

THE  little  hamlet  lies  within  the  vale 
One  side  the  winding  river,  yet  it  seems 
To  hanker  for  the  uplands.     Here  and  there 
A  cottage  flings  its  shade  upon  the  stream : 
And  on  the  level  narrow  length,  that  makes 
A  sandless  emerald  shore  by  saltless  waves, 
Thatched  roofs  in  clusters  at  wide  intervals 
Break  up  a  mile  of  greensward :   but  behind 
Begins  the  slope  that  finds  its  wooded  crown 
On  lowly  hills  some  half  a  league  away  • 
And  on  this  slope,  in  groups  of  three  or  four, 
Or  single,  half  a  hundred  cottages, 
White  walled,  dark  roofed,  and  mostly  bowered  in 
green, 


78  THE  RECTOR  V  FARM. 

Seem  creeping  upwards,  higher  still  and  higher, 

But  in  a  lessening  order,  till  at  last, 

Highest  of  all  but  yet  below  the  wood, 

An  ancient  church,  square-towered  and  ivy-clad, 

Stands  in  God's  Acre.     On  its  western  side, 

And  near  the  border  wall  of  mossy  stone, 

A  yew  tree  planted  when  the  church  was  young, 

Nor  now  less  fair  for  its  five  hundred  years 

Than  the  old  reverend  fane,  across  the  wall 

Thrusts  out  one  mighty  arm  which  casts  a  shade 

Upon  the  pathway,  by  a  garden  lawn 

That  runs  all  edged  with  barricades  of  bloom, 

And  sentinelled  with  lindens  all  its  length 

In  broken  order,  over  a  broad  wall 

Of  laurels  and  arbutes. 

Beyond  the  lawn 
The  Rectory,  shaded  by  a  group  of  elms, 
Lies  like  a  bower  of  rest,  though  not  of  art 
Or  splendour.     Quaint  and  old,  its  gabled  front, 
Behind  a  porch  with  honey-suckle  eaves, 
Looks  out  of  depths  of  ancient  ivy  here, 
And  there  of  jasmine.     Through  the  elms  behind 
The  higher  casements  eastward  overlook 
Far  off  the  parted  river's  silver  sheen 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  79 


Below  the  weir,  and,  past  the  stream,  the  hills 
Against  the  morning  heavens.     But  toward  the  west 
Is  meadow-land  'twixt  leafy  lanes  ;  and  last 
A  Farm,  beneath  a  sloping  wood  that  moves 
Still  further  westward  till  it  lies  a  gloom 
Against  the  autumn  sunsets. 

Chief  of  all 
That  lay  dispread  at  spacious  intervals 
About  the  church,  and  nearest,  this  was  hight 
The  Rectory  Farm. 

A  goodly  home  was  this 
Of  a  long  line  of  yeomen  :   old  and  new ; 
Old — for  the  mighty  timbers  and  strong  walls 
Cried  shame  on  the  frail  work  of  later  thrift; 
New — for  an  ever  watchful  eye,  and  hands 
That  ever  wrought  amain,  had  checked  decay  ; 
Nor  was  there  lack  within  of  modern  art 
For  grace  or  comfort,  apt  appliances 
To  meet  all  daily  needs  of  hand  or  head 
For  work  or  leisure.     Not  the  Squire's  great  Hall — 
For  all  its  costlier  splendours  and  new  stores 
Of  ever-added  over-crowded  means 
Of  luxury  and  ornament — nor  yet 
The  Castle — yonder  on  the  wooded  height, 


80  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 

All  bare  of  splendour,  but  a  reverend  place 
With  ancient  chambers  tapestried  and  dim, 
Half  house,  half  ruin,  once  the  stern  Sir  Hugh's, 
Now  '  sad  Sir  Leonard's/  (so  they  called  his  son, 
A  lonely  man) — nor  this  nor  that  could  boast 
More  prosperous  aspect  or  securer  weal, 
A  brighter  comfort,  a  more  genial  board, 
Or  more  of  all  that  serves  a  ready  will 
To  give  good  welcome  to  as  many  friends 
As  might  deserve  to  claim  it. 

Farmer  Leigh 
Looked  down  upon  the  Squire,  despite  his  lands 
And  all  that  wealth  which  fame  made  ever  more  ; 
Was  not  his  house  by  these  three  hundred  years 
More  ancient  than  the  Hall  ?  and  though  he  looked 
Still  with  the  wonted  reverence  of  his  race 
Up  to  the  Castle,  yet  withal  he  knew 
Himself  was  wealthier  than  had  been  Sir  Hugh 
Or  was  Sir  Leonard. 

But  there  came  a  day 
So  dark — made  all  the  home  he  loved  so  well 
So  desolate — he  sat  within  a  broken  man, 
Nor  could  for  woe  look  elsewhere  up  or  down. 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  81 

A  strange  intruder  at  the  Rectory  Farm 
Was  trouble  :   and  because  he  was  so  strange 
The  more  unwelcome.     Those  who  know  him  best 
Look  at  him  with  less  fear,  if  they  have  learnt 
Aught  of  his  office,  trusting  once  again 
That  they  may  find  some  love  within  his  eyes, 
Which  seem  at  first  to  wither  all  the  bloom 
They  rest  on — still  may  find  him  as  of  old, 
Ever  no  tyrant  though  so  stern  and  sad  : 
A  Teacher  rather,  in  whose  sombre  school 
Is  surely  taught,  to  hearts  that  will  to  learn, 
The  way  of  peace  but  seldom  known  or  found 
By  Pleasure's  pupils. 

Farmer  Leigh  was  ricli  : 
With  many  a  treasure  in  his  house  and  field 
He  held  right  dear  :   whereon  he  fed  his  pride, 
Till  it  waxed  fat  and  grew  beyond  control 
To  an  imperious  fullness  that  would  brook 
Let  of  his  will  from  none. 

But  one  there  was 
Of  all  his  treasures — house,  and  lands,  and  stores. 
Laid  up  for  many  years,  his  friends  and  kin 
Who  gave  him  worship,  or  his  five  strong  sons, 
Worthy  their  name — one  was  there  of  them  all 


82  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 

A  hundred  times  the  dearest.     Had  he  been 
Without  another  treasure  in  the  world, 
Saving  this  one,  forlorn — no  whit  the  more 
Would  she  have  been  within  his  heart  of  hearts 
His  one  ewe  lamb. 

His  daughter  :    not  alone 
A  present  joy,  and  dear  to  his  proud  hope, 
But  for  one  memory  dearer  ;   to  his  eyes 
Restoring  her  dead  mother. 

Ten  years  back 
She  was  the  prettiest  child  in  all  the  shire, 
And  now  the  fairest  woman.     Form  and  face, 
If  ever  such  a  word  befits  this  world, 
Were  faultless.     Dark-eyed,  like  the  moonless  night 
The  stars  make  softly  splendid  :    with  such  hair 
As  would  itself  have  made  a  woman's  fame  : 
Quick-brained,  large-hearted,  with  a  poet's  soul 
Of  passionate  force  :    withal  being  pure  and  true, 
She  lacked  no  pearl  of  loveliness  and  grace, 
Save  one — but  'tis  the  one  white  pearl  of  all, 
Drawn  from  the  deep,  and  therefore  of  the  height, 
Priceless,  because  it  is  of  price  in  Heaven 
Saith  the  Apostle  :   Mary's  ornament, 
'A  meek  and  quiet  spirit.' 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  83 


'Twas  not  Kate's  j 
Nor  was  her  father's  that  which  makes  a  man 
Greatest :   in  lack  of  which,  however  strong, 
No  man,  when  need  is  sorest,  overcomes  : 
The  wisdom  that  controls  the  manly  will, 
The  calm  and  earnest  heart  that  knows  itself, 
And  owns  a  law,  not  seeking  what  it  can, 
But  what  it  may,  and,  patient  in  its  strength, 
Still  in  its  strong  persistence  can  forbear. 

So  was  it  that  between  these  loving  hearts 
And  noble  natures  ebbed  and  flowed  a  tide 
Of  discord :  he,  exacting  all  his  will  ; 
She,  unsubmissive,  or  beneath  the  yoke 
Vexed  and  impatient. 

But  there  came  a  day 
When  discord  grew  to  ruin  in  an  hour ; 
Then  died  between  them  in  the  shadow  of  death. 

Long  had  the  village  marvelled  such  a  maid — 
Proud  as  she  was,  '  she  had  a  heart,'  they  said — 
Was  yet  unwon  :   for  many  a  wooer  came 
From  near  and  far,  of  good  report,  but  all 
Upon  a  fruitless  quest.     For  there  was  one 
Whom  she  had  slowly  learned  from  childish  years— 
Slowly,  but  surely,  to  the  height  and  depth 


84  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 

Of  her  large  nature — learned  to  love.     But  he — 
Though  else  all  worthy,  for  the  grace  and  strength 
Of  more  than  all  his  manly  comeliness 
Broadened  his  brow  and  deepened  in  his  smile — 
Was  poorer,  though  of  distant  kin  to  them, 
And  knew  himself  to  be  her  father's  fear, 
Who  wished  a  wealthier  lover  for  his  maid, 
And  set  his  will  against  him  watchfully. 

And  so  long  while  he  did  not  tell  his  love, 
So  vexing  her,  whose  pride  was  all  aglow. 
And  when  at  length  he  spoke,  she  put  him  off 
With  such  a  seeming  ease,  his  earnest  heart 
Made  sure  she  did  not  love  him. 

But  at  last, 
Because  she  had  been  kinder  than  her  wont, 
(Fain  and  more  fain  her  heart  to  smile  on  him,) 
And  since  his  love  was  such,  his  lonely  home 
Were  he  unloved,  could  be  his  home  no  more, 
He  spoke  again — meeting  her  as  he  rode 
One  even  by  the  orchard  wall,  and  there 
Dismounting — spoke,  and  as  a  man  should  speak. 
With  tender  grave  devotion,  honouring  her 
E'en  as  he  loved  her,  wholly,  but  not  less 
Honouring  his  word,  and  speaking  once  for  all. 


THE  RECTORY  FARM. 


Then  rose  that  lurking  devil  of  her  pride, 
And  said  within  her,  '  Test  him,  let  him  sue 
And  serve  yet  longer,  till  you  give  him  all.' 
And  so  she  checked  the  angel  of  her  joy 
That  sang  within,  and  let  that  imp  of  hell 
Speak  falsely  for  her,  with  uncertain  words 
Of  trifling.     But  he  stayed  her,  and  replied : 
1  Kate,  it  is  once  for  all  :   there  is  my  horse ; 
If  you  can  ever  love  me,  bid  me  stay  ; 
If  not,  and  you  would  have  me  dead  to  you, 
Say  "  Go,"  and  you  shall  never  see  me  more.' 

She  in  her  sin  made  answer,  'You  may  go;' 
And  in  the  moment's  madness  laughed  at  him  : 
Then,  the  next  instant,  glancing  at  his  face, 
She  saw  it  wan  like  death,  and  grew  herself 
So  sick  at  heart  with  love  and  some  strange  fear, 
She  could  have  knelt  to  stay  him,  but  his  woe 
Blinded  him,  and  he  turned  and  rode  away. 

Blindly  he  rode — for  this  was  bitter  woe, 
More  than  love's  loss  ;   'twas  hard  indeed  to  lose, 
But  not  to  honour  her  whom  he  had  lost  ! 
There  was  a  woe  in  this  that  wrung  his  soul, 
And  dazed  him,  that  he  knew  not  how  he  rode, 
And,  ere  he  reached  his  home,  his  headlong  horse 


86  THE  RECTOR  J '  FA RM. 


Stumbled,  and  fell,  and  rolled  ;  then  rose  again 
Without  his  master. 

She,  when  he  was  gone, 
Heart-sick  at  first,  remembering  that  last  look, 
Went  slowly  home,  but  rallied  from  her  fear  j 
And  then,  poor  fool !    began  to  soothe  her  soul 
With  happy  visions — Soon  would  he  return, 
And  nevermore  would  she  be  cold  again, 
But  give  him  tenderest  homage,  heart  and  will ; 
Sweet  would  it  be  to  tell  him  all  her  love 
With  joy  and  reverence — that  she  only  lived 
To  love  and  serve  him  ! 

So  she  mused,  and  night 
Fell :   and  her  musings  passed  into  her  dreams  ; 
And  he  lay  dying. 


PART    II. 

At  his  side  I  watched, 
For  he  had  been  in  Christ  a  son  to  me, 
Revered  as  well  as  loved  through  many  a  year 
Of  steadfast  life  in  Cod. 

The  long  night   passed 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  87 

In  stupor:  but  at  morning  he  awoke, 
Painless  but  near  to  death.     In  peaceful  awe 
He  lay  and  waited,  while  I  spoke  or  prayed  ; 
Then  came  the  mystic  Feast  of  Life  in  Death — 
Then  his  soul  passed  at  noon. 

But  ere  the  end 
He  told  me  all — the  hopes  of  all  his  youth, 
And  how  they  closed;   then,  when  I  asked  of  him 
If  he  forgave — '  Forgive  ? '  he  said  \   l  O  Sir, 
I  love,  I  love  her !    Oh,  that  she  would  come 
And  hear  me  say  I  love  her :    and  perchance — 
Even  if  she  love  me  not — because  I  go 
She  will  forgive  my  love,  and  as  I  go 
Will  pray  God  bless  me.' 

Hearing  him,  I  sent 
One  who  might  bring  her,  would  she  come  :  but  he 
Returning  said,  her  father,  whom  he  saw, 
Brought  answer  from  his  daughter  from  within — 
1  The  tidings  grieved  her,  but  she  could  not  come.' 
And  so  he  died :   nor  knew  her  love,  nor  knew 
The  answer  was  not  hers,  but  falsely  sent 
By  that  infatuate  slave  of  his  own  will, 
In  fear  that,  h  the  sick  man  did  not  die, 
Such  piteous  meeting  at  the  gates  of  death 


88  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 


Would  make  her  his  for  life. 

O  fool  !   he  lied, 
Nor  thought  he  lied,  but  only  held  his  will. 

And  her  no  tidings  reached  long  past  the  noon  : 
And  all  her  thoughts  were  his,  and  all  were  sweet, 
Save  that  vague  fear  and  that  remembered  look. 
And  thus  in  tender  musing,  as  the  day 
Drew  softly  on  to  even,  down  the  path 
Beside  the  orchard  wall  she  wandered  on 
Alone,  and  longing  for  his  face  again. 

Tis  writ,  'At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light;' 
So  shall  it  be,  so  is  it,  to  the  just, 
The  meek  in  spirit  and  the  true  of  soul, 
Strong  against  trouble  in  the  quietness 
Of  holy  trust ;   but  to  the  froward  heart, 
Whose  peace  is  the  idolatrous  repose 
Of  sated  pride — Self  set  on  high  and  crowned, 
And  fed  with  worship — at  the  evening  time 
Rather  God's  blasting  levin  than  the  light 
And  glory  of  His  grace,  and  afterward 
Blackness  of  darkness.     Holy  is  His  Name, 
God  of  all  mercies,  yet  the  Jealous  God. 

There,  as  she  mused  and  longed,  broke  on  her 
dream 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  89 


The  voice  of  one  who,  passing,  told  her  all — 
One  of  his  kin  who  loved  him,  hating  her 
For  what  she  deemed  had  been  her  scorn  of  him — 
Told  her  of  that  blind  ride  away  from  her, 
And  of  his  hurt  to  death ;   then  cried  at  last 
With  passionate  speech,  which  shook  as  a  dart  shakes 
That  through  the  hissing  air  goes  quivering  home  :— 
'  Yes,  he  is  dead  !   you  beautiful  bad  girl  ! 
I  tell  you  he  is  dead,  and  you  have  done  it : 
And — oh,  your  hard  heart  ! — as  he  lay  a-dying 
He  cried  for  you,  just  for  one  look,  one  word  ; 
Might  he  but  see  you  once  before  he  died, 
Might  he  but  say  once  more,  "  I  love  you,  Kate ; 
Will  you  not  say  l  God  bless  you  !'  since  I  go 
And  shall  not  vex  you  longer?"     So  he  cried: 
And  you,  you,  you — you  send  to  him  and  say 
You  will  not !     Oh  !   I  looked  upon  his  face, 
And  saw  it  change  and  ashen  as  he  heard, 
And  turned  him  to  the  wall,  and  sighed,  "  My  God. 
Bless  her  I  love,  who  loves  me  not."     I  looked, 
And  thought,  for  all  it  is  his  dying  prayer, 
And  he  a  godly  man,  God  will  not  hear  it: 
What !  God  send  blessing  down  on  you  from  Heaven  \ 
God  let  you  see  him  in  mat  other  world  ! 


9Q  THE  REC TOR  Y  EA RM. 


To  make  perchance  a  mock  again  of  love 
So  wasted  on  your  hard  hard  heart  !    Oh,  you  ! 
Remorseless — you  may  laugh  beside  his  grave, 
If  so  you  will,  one  day,  but  that  is  all ! 
For  you  shall  never  never  see  him  more.' 

More  had  she  said,  but  something  made  her  pause 
That  came  upon  her  from  the  awful  face 
Before  her — not  of  words,  for  it  was  still 
And  set,  as  some  grey  marble  agony — 
Something  of  passion  greater  than  her  own 
Which  paled  before  it  like  a  lifted  torch 
Under  a  burning  mountain.     So  she  turned 
And  went  her  way — but  afterward  she  said 
That,  looking  back  a  moment  on  the  girl, 
She  saw  her  lift  her  arms  and  make  a  cry — 
A  sob,  or  cry — and  turning  suddenly 
Speed  homewards. 

Home  she  went,  all  wildly  crazed 
With  love's  despair,  and  hatred  worse  than  death 
Against  her  father.     With  low  shuddering  sighs, 
As  one  half  conscious,  of  those  bitter  words 
The  first  and  last  repeating,  '  He  is  dead, 
And  you  shall  never  never  sec  him  more,' 
She  went  from  room  to  room  in  the  still  house, 


7  HE  RE  C  7  'OR  Y  EA  RM.  9 1 

Nor  found  him  or  her  brethren ;  then  awhile 
Sat,  while  the  evening  fell,  nor  ever  ceased 
The  woeful  iteration;  till  at  last, 
As  one  who,  hopeless  on  a  hateful  way, 
Suddenly  sees  an  end  and  welcomes  it, 
Nor  knows  nor  cares  save  that  it  is  an  end, 
She  started,  rose,  and,  where  her  father's  eye 
Would  surely  find  them,  left  these  written  words, 
'  /  have  killed  him :  I  have  lost  him :  he  is  dead, 
And  I  shall  never  never  see  him  more. 
Aud  you  have  killed  us  both,  for  I  must  die. 
Since  I  have  killed  him,  I  will  kill  myself: 
I  have  lost  him  and  my  soul— for  he  is  dead, 
And  I  shall  never  never  see  him  more.' 

Then  from  the  house  she  passed,  and  took  her  way, 
All  slowly  now,  now  madly  in  all  haste, 
Through  the  ]ong  meadows  that  beneath  the  woods 
Slope  toward  the  vale.     Not  yet  she  sought  the  vale, 
Shunning  the  scattered  hamlet,  but  pressed  on 
Where,  past  the  Park,  there  lies  an  open  wold, 
Of  every  dwelling  save  a  sheep-fold  bare, 
Whence,  seen  of  none,  she  thought  to  reach  the  vale. 
But  ere  she  touched  the  wold  she  came  on  one — 
Hard  by  a  single  cottage  'neath  the  eaves 


92  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 


Of  the  last  wood  below  the  furthest  hill — 
No  spirit,  yet  an  angel.     God  the  Lord 
Not  only  once  hath  set  a  little  child 
In  midst  of  His  disciples,  saying,   '  Lo, 
The  greatest  in  My  kingdom.' 

In  the  lane, 
Returning  from  the  shepherd  on  the  wold, 
Home  ere  the  night  should  fall,  there  met  the  girl 
This  heavenly  messenger  in  lowly  form, 
A  little  maiden.     Known  and  loved  was  she — 
'Deare  Childe'  of  our  election  over  all 
To  the  wide  hamlet :  such  a  grace  was  in  her, 
It  needed  not  her  loveliness  to  win 
Our  tender  homage;  and  to  Kate  more  dear 
For  six  years  memory  of  a  sister  dead, 
Whose  name  she  bore. 

Yet  now  she  had  not  stayed 
For  even  a  word  or  glance,  save  that  the  child 
Ran  to  her  gladly,  looking  in  her  face 
For  the  familiar  greeting,  and  saw  there 
So  wild  a  horror,  that  she  hid  her  own 
In  the  girl's  dress,  and  clasped  her  with  her  arms, 
And  cried,  'O  Kate,  O  Kate!'— but  she,  all  dazed. 
Still  to  herself  repeating,   'lie  is  dead, 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  93 


And  I  shall  never  never  see  him  more/ 
Gave  her  no  heed,  till  once  again  the  child 
Lifting  her  face,  but  clinging  closer,  cried — 
Scarce  knowing  what  she  said,  but  saying  that 
The  childly  instinct  taught  her — 'Kate,  O  Kate, 
I  love  you  !' 

At  the  words,  since  they  had  been 
His  words,  the  girl,  starting  as  one  who  hears 
Or  seems  to  hear  an  utterance  of  the  dead, 
Tore  herself  from  the  child,  and  thrust  her  back. 
Then  turned  as  if  for  flight ;  but  turned  again, 
And  took  her  in  her  arms  all  terrified, 
Kissing  her  wildly ;  then  without  a  word, 
Loosing  her  strange  embrace  and  leaving  her, 
Fled  down  the  wold. 

A  mile,  like  one  pursued, 
She  swiftly  sped  :  then  at  the  borders  fell, 
And  lay  upon  her  face  among  the  ferns, 
Scarce  conscious,  but  not  ceasing  still  to  cry, 
'Dead,  dead:  and  I  shall  never  see  him  more:" 
But  now  upon  the  cry — as  on  a  curse 
Follows  remission — in  her  ears  the  words, 
By  grace  of  God  remembered,  '  Kate,  O  Kate, 
I  love  you  V  followed.     Then  she  rose  again 


94  THE  RECTOR  Y  FA  RM. 


And  staggered  through  the  vale  beside  the  stream, 
And  reached  the  house  where  her  dead  lover  lay. 

0  then  the  curse  revived !  and  since  she  knew 
He  lay  within,  and  could  not  speak  to  her, 
And  could  not  say  he  loved  her,  or  forgave, 
But  lay  there  dead — for  ever  dead  to  her — 
She  straight  had  died — beat  out  her  hateful  life 
Against  those  funeral  walls,  or  cast  herself 
Into  the  still  deep  stream — save  that  again, 
Upon  that  iteration,  *  Nevermore,' 

Fell,  charm-like  still,  the  blessing,  '  Kate,   O  Kate, 

1  love  you — love  you ;'  and  she  paused  to  hear. 
So  did  she  stand,  as  one  beside  a  tomb : 

Near,  and  so  far:   near,  not  a  rood  from  her, 
Lay  all  her  world  ;   so  far,  between  them  spread 
Eternal  distance  !    Then  once  more  her  heart, 
Heaving  in  throes  of  tearless  agony, 
Drove  her  to  flight.     'Away  from  him,'  she  thought, 
1  And  I  may  die.'     And  down  the  darkling  stream 
She  sped,  nor  paused  till  on  the  bridge  she  heard 
The  ceaseless  ominous  murmur  of  the  fall 
Plunging  in  the  abysmal  pool. 

She  stood 
Over  the  middle  arch  :   listened  and  stood  ; 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  95 


The  night  wind  moaning  round  her,  and  the  weir 
Calling  before  her  'neath  its  ghostly  veil : 
Listened,  as  one  who  listens  for  a  sign. 

Terrible  night — it  wore  a  look  more  fell 
Because  it  was  not  wild  :   there  were  no  shrieks 
Of  wrathful  or  tormented  winds  to  seem 
In  sympathy  with  her  despairing  soul, 
And  so  to  soothe  her;   no  impetuous  floods, 
Like  the  great  deep  of  passion  broken  up, 
Forcing  relief;   not  even  a  few  still  tears 
Of  rain,  to  whisper  her  poor  heart  that  heaven 
Was  weeping  for  her.     No,  the  face  of  night 
Was  coldly  scornful,  like  the  face  of  one 
Who  neither  loves  nor  hates  ;  who  sees  and  knows, 
But  cares  not :  the  wide  gulphs  between  the  clouds, 
That  moved  in  rugged  masses  o'er  the  sky, 
Were  sprinkled  thick  with  stars  that  stared  on  her 
Lifelessly,  pitilessly  clear  and  cold  ; 
And  deep  beneath,  the  rolling  river  sped 
Under  the  arches,  past  the  gloomy  piles, 
Toward  the  sullen  weir,  cruel  and  strong, 
Bright-black  like  liquid  steel,  and  its  low  sound 
Seemed  to  her  morbid  ear  the  utterance 
Of  a  disdainful  fate,  that,  passing  on. 


96  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 

All  careless  yet  relentless  called  to  her, 

'  Come,  for  the  time  is  come,  and  thou  canst  die.' 

Then  on  a  sudden  shrieking,   '  I  can  die : 
I  have  lost  him  and  my  soul,  for  he  is  dead, 
And  I  shall  never  never  see  him  more ; 
But  I  can  die — '  she  raised  her  arms  and  ran 
Down  the  dim  path,  and  came  upon  the  weir. 
Then  had  she  surely  cast  her  life  away, 
Upon  the  seething  hissing  shroud  that  spread 
Over  that  grave  of  waters — but  again 
Upon  her  ear,  imperiously  sweet, 
Pathetic,  more  than  human  out  of  Heaven, 
And  yet  with  all  the  nearness  of  the  world, 
Fell  the  child's  cry,  his  utterance,  i  Kate,  O  Kate, 
I  love  you — love  you  !} 

And  beside  the  shore 
She  stayed  her  steps,  and  turned,  and  swooned,  and 

fell, 
And  lay  all  night  'twixt  swoon  and  sleep  :  and  there 
Her  father,  a  despairing  broken  man, 
Aged  in  a  night,  found  her  at  early  dawn. 

****** 
That  summer  died  :    and  soon  the  year  was  dead  : 
And  round  the  Rectory  Farm,  from  out  the  snows 


THE  RECTORY  FARM.  97 

That  like  a  mantle  of  atonement  lay 

Over  the  penitent  earth,  a  fair  new  year 

Rose  with  the  crocus  j   then  the  violet 

Smiled  here  and  there  :   a  sign,  a  touch  of  heaven 

In  lowly  earthly  places — like  a  hope 

Lovely  in  meekness,  yet  so  purely  strong 

It  made  the  live  air  fragrant  all  around. 

Then  one  and  one,  like  stars  at  early  night 

In  the  wide  heav'n,  o'er  the  wide  earth  the  flowers 

Glimmered  and  beamed  and  broadened  into  bloom  ; 

And  the  year  grew  beneath  the  light  and  warmth 

And  benison  of  summer.     Summer  came, 

And  on  its  earliest  loveliest  day  there  stood, 

Within  God's  Acre  by  the  ancient  church, 

Nigh  all  the  hamlet.     'Twas  a  funeral  day : 

But  spring  and  summer,  joining  hand  in  hand, 

Sang,  shone,  about  us  and  the  open  grave — 

And  there  we  laid  '  Deare  Childe.' 

And  round  the  grave 
We  sang  that  (  Jesus  lives,'  and  from  His  Love 
Henceforth  'nor  life,  nor  death,  nor  powers  of  hell, 
Can  tear  us  ever.' 

And  of  those  who  sang 
Were  two  :   a  man,  on  whom  might  all  men  see 

G 


98  THE  RECTORY  FARM. 

Written  in  reverent  peace  the  fear  of  God — 
In  peace,  yet  as  it  had  been  taught  by  pain. 
And  at  his  side,  and  close  as  love  to  him, 
A  beautiful  sad  woman  :   sad  the  face, 
For  it  was  grave  and  set  beyond  her  years, 
And  '  as  by  fire '  was  writ  upon  its  calm, 
But  sweet  and  steadfast  was  the  calm  ;   and  Hope 
Through  all  its  sacred  sadness  smiled  and  sang. 
And  my  heart  sang  too,  though  it  wept  the  while. 


p>oemjs  on  pictures. 


2DeatI)  a#  a  frienD* 

ON   THE   PICTURE    '  DER   TOD   ALS    FREUND.' 

PICTURES  have  voices  that  the  soul  can  hear 
As  upon  form  and  feature  looks  the  mind : 
Yet  are  they  heard  too  seldom ;   for  as  sound 
To  the  outward  sense  moves  slowly  after  light, 
So,  and  how  often  (for  we  rather  love 
To  look  than  listen),  ere  the  soul  can  hear 
The  mind's  eye  sees  and  passes  on  in  haste, 
Self-satisfied,  unwilling  to  await 
The  sweet  slow  sound.     And  great  the  loss  :  for  Art 
In  such  discourse  fulfils  her  perfect  work. 

*  Death  as  a  Friend  :'  how  good  and  sweet  the  truth 
Here  taught  so  quaintly  !    Many  a  time  for  me, 
As  it  may  chance  that  my  inconstant  eyes 
Forego  their  wonted  haste  and  needfully 
Linger  upon  it  till  my  soul  can  hear, 
This  picture,  like  a  prophet,  on  my  wall 


102  DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND. 

Takes  up  its  parable.     As  soft  as  dew, 
Gentle  as  summer  rain  on  fainting  fields, 
The  sound  descends,  to  quicken,  not  by  fear, 
But  by  refreshment.     Many  a  time  when  faith, 
Tired  of  her  toilsome  pilgrim-path  too  soon, 
Was  drooping  in  me,  has  the  voice  come  down 
Persuading  her  to  vigorous  life  again 
And  patience,  not  by  terrors  of  the  Lord, 
But  by  the  calm  constraint  of  love,  Christ's  love, 
Seen  in  the  dead  face  of  a  Christian  man. 
The  gracious  influence  is  upon  me  now 
In  sight  and  sound.     Look  with  me  on  the  scene 
With  eyes  that  see  j   and  who  hath  ears  to  hear 
Then  let  him  hear. 

It  is  the  heavenly  hour 
Of  earthly  life  j  the  one  pathetic  hour 
P  the  day  of  this  hard  world  :   when  Passion  dies, 
And  Faith  and  Hope  and  Charity  rule  all  j 
When  Peace  is  nearest,  when  the  light  that  glows 
Is  deepest  and  most  tender  :   when  the  airs 
Breathe  Heaven  in  sighs  of  joy,  as  if  they  blew 
Across  the  border  land  of  Paradise 
Into  the  wild  :    when  there  is  all  the  rest 
Without  the  gloom  of  night,  and  all  the  calm 


DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND. 


Without  the  silence  and  the  weight  of  sleep  : — 
The  sunset  hour. 

Far  o'er  the  landscape  looks 
A  belfry  chamber  high  within  the  spire 
Of  some  antique  cathedral :  wTide  and  low 
The  window,  a  broad  arch  of  stone  unbarred, 
Unshaded,  opens  full  upon  the  west  : 
And  there,  beyond  the  gathered  homes  of  men, 
Beyond  the  fields,  the  woodland,  and  the  streams, 
And  last,  a  long  low  line  of  distant  hills, 
The  summer  sun  is  setting.     The  great  orb 
Half  sunk,  half  seen,  at  the  far  limit  glows, 
Like  the  arched  summit  of  a  heavenly  gate 
Opened  for  some  new  soul,  and  for  his  sake 
Flooding  with  radiance  all  the  outer  world 
Wherein  had  passed  erewhile  his  pilgrim  days. 

But  seems  the  tender  glory  most  to  fall 
Over  the  great  cathedral,  and  there  most 
Within  that  belfry  chamber,  and  most  there 
On  one  who  by  the  window  seems  asleep. 
The  minster's  sacristan  :  and  in  his  home 
In  that  old  room,  where  half  his  fourscore  years 
Have  known  him  night  and  day. 

Upon  the  board 


104  DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND. 

Set,  like  an  Altar,  'neath  the  Holy  Sign 
Which  overhangs  it  from  the  grey  stone  wall, 
Remain,  in  cup  and  platter  placed  aside, 
The  fragments  of  a  simple  meal  :  his  chair, 
Huge,  of  rude  oak,  but  darkly  bright  with  age, 
Wherein  the  old  man  sits  as  if  in  sleep, 
So  near  the  board  the  Holy  Book  thereon 
Lies  at  his  hand  and  open.     But  his  hands, 
Together  laid  and  pointed  as  for  prayer 
Upon  his  knees,  are  still  :  and  still  his  form, 
Stiller  than  slumber,  for  no  pulse  of  breath 
Heaves  the  rough  robe  upon  his  breast  or  stirs 
The  white  growth  on  his  lip  ;  the  reverend  face, 
Still  also  as  a  monument  of  stone, 
Nor  sees  nor  feels  the  flood  of  roseate  light 
That  hides  its  pallor,  shedding  o'er  the  place, 
That  ancient  chamber  !  hues  of  love  and  life 
As  if  it  were  a  bridegroom's  on  the  day 
Of  his  rejoicing ! 

True  indeed  the  word  ! 
This  is  the  day  that  old  man  weds  with  joy, 
With  joy  and  beauty  and  eternal  youth  : 
This  eve  is  morn  to  him  of  that  fair  day, 
That  new  fair  day  begun  in    Paradise, 


DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND.  105 

Not  doomed  to  die !  for  there  what  God  had  joined 
No  time  shall  put  asunder. 

He  is  dead 
To  man,  he  lives  to  God.     Asleep  indeed, 
Fallen  on  sleep  from  poverty  and  toil 
To  wake  in  crowned  repose. 

But  came  there  none 
To  bid  him  rise — Angel  of  Peace  to  him 
Bringing  good  tidings,  saying,  '  Enter  in 
Thou  good  and  faithful '  ? 

See,  another  form 
In  the  old  belfry  chamber  stands  erect 
Hard  by.     One  rope  is  grasped  within  its  hand, 
And  overhead  the  mighty  Tenor  tolls, 
Obedient,  tolls  :    Oh  hear  it !  solemn-sweet, 
How  awfully  yet  tenderly  it  tolls  ! 
It  deepens  all  the  peace  it  breaks  upon 
So  tolling. 

Listen  still !  for  other  sound 
Fills  every  pause  :  a  singer  of  the  woods 
Has  left  the  woods  for  earliest  evensong ; 
There  on  the  window  parapet  she  sings  : 
Oh  never  nightingale  beneath  the  moon 
So  sang  as  she  is  singing  in  this  glow 


fo6  DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND. 

Of  love  and  life  !  before  a  dead  man's  face 
And  Death. 

For  he  is  Death  who  standeth  there. 
The  head  is  bent  with  reverence,  for  he  stands 
On  holy  ground  :  but,  by  the  withered  hand 
That  tolls,  and  by  the  ghastly  face  and  form 
Scarce  shrouded  by  the  hooded  serge,  'tis  Death. 
'  O  king  of  terrors,  is  it  thou  ?' 

'  Tis  I  :— 
But  not  the  king  of  terrors,  the  abhorred, 
The  minister  of  ill.     This  am  I  not, 
Not  thus  I  come,  to  such  as  him  thou  seest 
Beloved  of  God  :  and  if  thou  namest  me, 
This  am  I,  Death  the  Friend.' 

'  O  Death,  O  friend. 
Grant  me  such  grace  that  when  thou  callest  me 
It  shall  be  thus,  in  peace  ! ' 

1  Thou  may'st  not  choose. 
Nor  is  it  mine  to  give,  for  I  am  sent  : 
This  be  content  to  know — if  thou  art  His, 
Thy  summons  shall  be  surely  unto  peace 
If  not  in  peace.     Ever  to  each  true  soul 
Patient  in  love,  the  end  shall  be  the  same 
Though  be  the  calling  not  as  this.     To  some 


DEATH  AS  A   FRIEND.  107 

It  comes  abruptly,  like  a  trumpet  blast 

Pealing  at  midnight  when  the  streets  are  still : 

To  some  as  out  of  seeming  wasted  toil 

And  purpose  unfulfilled,  like  that  which  called 

Up  Nebo's  height  the  prophet  from  the  tribes  : 

Or  there  it  comes  to  close  a  long  hard  strife, 

The  war  with  will  and  pride,  a  still  small  voice 

After  the  wind,  the  earthquake,  and  the  fire  : 

Or  there  to  end  the  body's  agonies, 

The  pangs  of  want,  or  torture,  or  disease, 

An  "It  is  finished"  whispered  down  from  Heaven 

In  pain's  supreme  remission.     But  not  thus 

It  came  to  him  before  thee,  but  in  peace 

As  unto  peace.     Behold,  his  eyes  are  closed ; 

I  called  his  spirit,  and  it  passed,  in  sleep; 

And  brighter  angels — for  I  cannot  rise 

In  that  pure  air — bore  it  to  final  rest, 

To  larger  knowledge  of  the  Lord  he  loved, 

And  gladder  service.' 

Such,  the  while  I  gaze, 
The  seeming  utterance  in  my  spirit's  ear 
Of  Death  the  Friend.     Still  listen,  O  my  soul ! 
Out  of  the  calm  as  of  the  happier  land, 
'Mid  hues  of  glory  daylight  never  knows, 


io8  DEATH  AS  A    FRIEXD. 


In  reverend  presence  of  the  saint  asleep, 

Still  hear  descending  out  of  the  unseen 

The  sweet  deep  tolling ;  hear  the  rapt  bird  sing 

The  evensong  of  life  ;  hear  Death  the  Friend 

Utter  his  oracle  of  peace  assured 

To  those  who  love  and  wait.     Then  go  thy  way 

Waiting  in  love  till  he  is  sent  to  thee. 


ON  A  PICTURE  OF  A  TIRED  CHILD. 

ONLY  the  noon  of  day  : 
And  yet,  tired  out  with  too  long  play 
The  little  hands  sink  slowly  down, 
The  little  face  is  weary  grown, 
As  if  the  sun  had  set  and  slipped  away, — 
And  yet  'tis  noon  of  day. 

How  blithe  she  was  this  morn  : 
With  such  a  smile  of  merry  scorn, 
As  gaily  from  her  sunny  brow 
She  swept  the  truant  hair — and  now 
So  wearily,  so  wistfully,  forlorn : 

Blithe  as  she  was  this  morn ! 

As  one  whom  vague  surprise 
Has  seized  unwittingly,  she  lies  j 
And  looks  out  on  the  world  of  change, 
So  drear  and  dim,  so  still  and  strange, 


io  TIRED. 

With  wordless  questions  in  her  wide  blue  eyes, 
Lost  in  a  vague  surprise. 

Where  are  those  morning  joys, 
Those  dear  delights  of  games  and  toys? 
The  toys  survive,  the  joys  are  dead, 
The  form  remains,  but  life  has  fled  : 
Why  should  dull  silence  drown  your  happy  noise, 
Ye  merry  morning  joys? 

So  tired — yet  sleep  delays : 
No  spell  has  curtained  yet  her  gaze  : 
'Tis  more  than  weary  limb  reveals 
That  aspect  grave.     The  spirit  feels 
A  mystic  shadow  stealing  o'er  her  days ; 

And  sleep  the  while  delays. 

O  child  Ecclesiast, 
Who  know'st  the  pain  of  pleasures  past ! 
Unconscious  questioner !  thine  eyes 
Ask,  'Is  there  nought  that  satisfies? 
Has  earth  no  joy  that  will  for  ever  last?' 
Thou  true  Ecclesiast ! 

Ah,  soon  for  thee  the  shade 
Shall  vanish,  when  thy  head  is  laid 


TIRED. 


Sweetly  upon  thy  mother's  breast, 
And  eyes  shall  close,  and  heart  shall  rest : 
There  lying  down  thou  shalt  not  be  afraid ! 
So  passing  through  the  shade. 

Perchance,  too,  in  thy  sleep — 
That  short  sweet  death,  so  still  and  deep — 
An  answer  shalt  thou  find  in  dreams 
Of  fields  and  flowers,  and  woods  and  streams, 
Where  one  good  Shepherd  folds  His  happy  sheep  ; 

So  blest  shall  be  thy  sleep. 

Tired  too,  there  are  who  know, 
Alas,  more  consciously  than  thou, 
This  emptiness  of  emptinesses, 
The  world's  delights,  the  world's  caresses, 
Those  morning  pleasures  that  so  quickly  go — 

This  wearily  they  know. 

And  they,  like  thee,  ere  long, 
Shall  fall  on  sleep,  where  grief  and  wrong 
Shall  vex  no  more  ;  and,  as  they  rest, 
Childlike  upon  their  Father's  breast, 
Shall  hear  not  this  world's  plaint,  but  that  world's 
song; 

So  shall  it  be  ere  long ! 


feafrtt  £ttgu0tftu  ant)  ^onica. 

ON  THE  PICTURE  BY  ARY  SCHEFFER. 

'  Colloquebamur  erg&  valde  dulciter,  et  prseterita  obliviscentes  in 
ea  quae  ante  sunt  extenti  quaerebamus  inter  nos  apud  praesentcm 
veritatem  quod  Tu  es,  qualis  futura  esset  vita  aiterna  sanctorum, 
quam  nee  oculus  vidit,  nee  auris  audivit,  nee  in  cor  hominis  ascen- 
dit.'—  S.  Augustini  Confess.  :  Lib.  be.  cap.  10. 

'Now  they  desire  a  better  country,  that  is,  an  heavenly.'— 
Hebrews  xi.  16. 

THE  son  of  many  tears  and  many  prayers, 
And  she,  the  mother  who  had  wept  and  prayed 
Sit  side  by  side,  and  with  expectant  eyes 
Look  for  the  coming  of  the  day  of  God. 

O  Picture,  worthy  of  a  saint  in  art ! 
O  painted  Poem  !  eloquent  of  truth 
Which  our  vain  hearts  are  slow  to  learn  and  love. 
That  here  is  not  our  rest,  that  never  here 
Find  we  our  home — here,  where  our  summers  die  : 
Summers  of  pleasure,  all  too  fiercely  bright, 
Summers  of  our  ambition,  vexed  with  storms, — 
Scarcely  enjoyed,  albeit  so  wildly  sought, 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE  AND  MONICA.  113 

And  then  soon  ended — here,  where  winter  comes 
Cheered  with  no  promise  of  a  future  spring : 
Winter  of  buried  joys  and  dead  desires, 
Winter  of  failing  hand  and  feeble  brain, 
Winter  so  cold  with  frozen  streams  of  hope, 
Winter,  so  dark  with  growing  clouds  of  pain, 
Winter  that  comes  and  stays  till  all  is  night. 

This  is  the  truth  writ  sternly  in  his  face — 
A  face  sharp-lined  and  hollowed  as  by  fire, 
The  former  burning  of  a  passionate  heart 
Which  spent  so  long  its  fruitless  force  on  sin, 
Seeking  but  finding  not  perfection  here. 
Yet  more  we  read  than  this  !    O  steadfast  eyes, 
Lifted  in  gaze  that  reaches  past  the  world  ; 
O  calm  still  mien  of  confidence  and  strength, 
O  features  settled  in  sublime  repose, 
O  clasping  hand  that  speaks  communion  here 
In  perfect  peace,  foretaste  of  perfect  joy  : 
How  is  your  silence  eloquent  with  sound, 
Soul-piercing,  even  as  the  trumpet  tones 
Of  that  great  angel  bearing  thro'  mid   Heav'n 
The  everlasting  gospel  ! 

As  I  gaze 
n 


ii4         SAIXT  AUGUSTINE  AND   MONICA. 

The  world  fades  off,  and  all  my  meaner  self, 
Abashed  as  in  a  presence  all  too  strong 
To  be  withstood,  too  holy  to  be  scorned, 
Shrinks  from  me  for  a  season ;   and  my  soul, 
Its  new  life  freed  awhile  of  that  dull  weight, 
The  'body  of  this  death,'  finds  wings  to  rise 
More  near  to  God  and  heav'n — finds  clearer  ken 
For  those  deep  things,  except  by  faith,  unseen. 
Finds  hearing  ears  for  blessed  harmonies 
Which  mix  not  with  the  echoes  of  our  life 
Its  music  or  its  laughter. — Far  away 
Their  vision  reaches  onward,  and  with  theirs 
Mine  also,  and  I  catch  the  same  glad  sounds, 
Voices  that  herald  in  a  coming  joy, 
Which  fall  upon  their  ears,   and  in  their  lips 
Beget  alternate  utterance. 

Thus  he  speaks  : 
'  Lo,  in  the  stormy  west  the  day  lies  dead — 
The  bleak  drear  day — the  sun  which  was  its  life 
Is  hid  in  boundless  depth  behind  the  hills, 
And  keeps  its  orient  for  a  fairer  morn. 
E'en  so  has  died  my  wild  day  of  this  world, 
And  so  my  life  is  hid  with  Christ  in  God, 
So  waitcth  on,  (ill  He,  my  life  shall  come, 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE  AND   MONICA.  115 

And  give  His  glory  as  he  gave  His  life, 
According  to  His  word.     I  wait  for  Him.' 

She  taketh  up  his  speech  : 

'  I  wait  for  Him, 
E'en  as  I  waited  for  His  grace  to  thee  : 
In  strength  of  trust  I  waited  till  it  came. 
I  served  Him  day  and  night  with  tears  and  prayers, 
Yea  many  heavy  days  and  weary  nights, 
And  yet  no  sign,  and  still  I  prayed  and  wept ; 
Then  the  great  gift  came  brooding  o'er  the  deep 
Of  thy  dark  soul,  and  then  the  voice  of  power 
Commanding  light  to  break  across  the  gloom, 
Then  the  full  day  !    He  hath  fulfilled  His  word 
For  me  in  thee, — He  will  for  all  His  saints  ; 
And  so,  in  strength  of  trust  I  wait  for  Him.' 

'Glory  to  Him!'  he  saith,  'I  wait  for  Him; 
I,  who  was  alien  in  the  sinful  past 
But  now  am  near,  would  fain  be  nearer  still, — 
Nearer  for  love  and  service — and  that  past 
I  cast  behind  me,  stretching  forth  my  hands 
Unto  that  future,  when  mine  eyes  shall  see 
The  Master  face  to  face,  when  I  shall  know 


n6  SAINT  AUGUSTINE   AND  MONICA. 

E'en  as  I  am  known.     How  will  come  that  hour  ! 
With  what  great  visions  such  as  man's  dim  eye 
Hath  never  seen  :    with  sounds  that  his  dull  ear 
Hath  never  heard,  with  unimagined  bliss 
Flooding  the  soul  with  joys  that  cannot  die  ; 
With  what  sweet  peace,  closing  the  strife  of  sin, 
The  war  of  Time !     O  Lord,  I  wait  for  Thee  !' 

'  Yea,  though  tis  peace,'  she  answers,  '  for  mine  eyes 
Have  seen  His  great  salvation,  I  would  go, 
As  from  the  twilight  to  the  perfect  day, 
From  peace  to  fuller  peace.     Oh  come,  sweet  hour, 
Bright  with  the  golden  promise  !  come  and  bring 
All  heavenly  harmonies  unheard  before, 
All  sights  unseen  :    Oh,  come,  with  all  things  new  ! 
Sin  ended,  sorrow  closed,  His  reign  begun  ! 
O  Master,  Prince  of  Peace,  I  wait  for  Thee!' 

And  now,  as  though  it  may  no  longer  be 
That  they,  made  one  for  evermore  in  Him, 
Should  have  divided  utterance,  in  accord, 
While  with  hands  closer  clasped  they  sit  and  gaze 
With  quiet  faithful  eyes  more  keenly  fixed 
As  if  with  nearer  vision  of  that  day. 
Rises  from  twain  one  voice, 


SAINT  AUGUSTINE  AND  MONICA.  117 

'We  wait  for  Thee, 
Oh  long-expected,  long-desired,  for  Thee  ! 
Hast  Thou  not  said,  and  shalt  Thou  not  make  good  ? 
"  Quick  is  My  coming  ! "  therefore  all  our  cry 
Is  his  to  whom  Thou  gavest  of  Thine  hour 
Apocalyptic  vision  :    "  Even  so, 
Lord  Jesus,  come ;"  roll  back  Thy  heavens  and  come, 
O  Saviour,  unto  Whom  are  all  things  given, 
Come  with  Thy  voice  of  love  and  claim  Thine  own  ! 
Good  Shepherd, — knowing  all  and  known  of  all, — 
O  come,  and  call  Thy  sheep  from  off  the  wild  ! 
Monarch,  in  mercy  and  in  power  supreme, 
Take  for  Thine  own  the  kingdoms  of  the  world  ! 
God  !  Whose  high  thoughts  and  ways  are  over  ours, 
As  yonder  heaven  sublime  above  the  earth, 
Come  in  Thine  own  good  time  :  we  wait  for  Thee !' 


Anting  feat'L 

ON   A   PICTURE  OF   THREE   CHILDREN  ON    THE   SHORE 

THE  Spring-tide  air  was  breathing  balm 
Upon  the  waters  all  the  night, 
And  scarce  they  moved  when  morning  calm 

Gave  waking  soft  to  slumber  light, 
And  down  the  shore  came  children  three 
To  launch  a  mimic  argosy. 

Said  one — he  was  a  noble  boy, 
And  at  their  gallant  mock  emprise 

Looked  keenly,  with  the  glittering  joy 
Of  dawning  purpose  in  his  eyes — 

'Thus  will  I  sail  from  strand  to  strand, 

And  fight  for  God  and  fatherland!' 

Said  one — she  was  the  elder  child, 

And  older  yet  in  all  her  ways, 
She  was  so  motherly  and  mild. 

So  meekly  wise  beyond  her  days — 


SETTING  SAIL.  119 

1  O'er  sea  or  land  I  '11  never  roam, 
While  father  wants  his  maid  at  home.' 


Then  lisped  a  third — in  whose  sweet  face 
Awoke  a  wistful  dreamy  smile, 

Reflection  of  the  loving  grace 

Of  one  whom  she  had  lost  awhile — 

'  I  '11  sail  away  from  year  to  year, 

Until  I  find  my  mother  dear.' 

Full  fifty  years  brought  evenfall 
Upon  that  morning  of  their  life, 

And,  scarred  with  wounds,  a  seaman  tall 
Came  slowly  homeward  from  the  strife ; 

Long  had  he  served  from  strand  to  strand 

The  cause  of  God  and  fatherland. 

He  found  a  man  of  ninety  years, 

Whose  dying  eyes  were  turned  to  bless 

A  maiden  old,  whose  gentle  tears 
Fell  quicker  at  that  mute  caress : 

In  death  that  loving  hand  and  eye 

For  him,  as  ever,  still  were  nigh. 


120  SETTING  SAIL. 


The  third  ?     She  sailed,  ah  !  long  ago, 
And  found  her  mother  dear  at  rest 

And  where?     It  is  enough  to  know 
'Twas  in  an  Eden  of  the  blest — 

'Twas  far  away,  beyond  the  foam, 

She  found  her  mother  dear  at  home. 


Cfjrtettts  Condolatory 

ON  THE  PICTURE  BY  ARY  SCHEFFER,  ILLUSTRATIVE 
OF  THE  SAVIOUR'S  INVITATION,  'COME  UNTO 
ME,  ALL  YE  THAT  LABOUR  AND  ARE  HEAVY- 
LADEN,    AND    I    WILL    GIVE   YOU    REST.' 

ONE  over  all  supreme,  the  King  of  kings, 
The  '  very  God/  behold  Him  throned  on  cloud  ■ 
Yet  now  not  such  as  no  man  hath  beheld, 
Or  can  behold ;  not  unapproachable — 
Upon  whose  face  no  man  can  look  and  live — 
Not  dreadful  with  the  ensigns  of  such  power, 
Darkness  of  rolling  thunders  rent  with  flame, 
The  voice  exceeding  loud,  the  quivering  rocks, 
As  on  that  day,  in  utterance  of  the  law, 
Kept  far  away  from  Sinai's  awful  mount 
The  quaking  tribes  ;  not  now  the  terrible  Judge, 
Before  whose  just  wrath  cowers  a  guilty  world ; 
Not  such  behold  Him  ! — but  the  Prince  of  Peace. 


CIIRISTl'S   COXSOLATOR. 


Giving  the  bounty  of  His  great  goodwill, 

Not  as  the  world  gives  to  the  rich  and  strong, 

But  to  the  poor  and  weak  :  the  Lord  of  Love. 

Who  standeth  not  apart,  nor  passeth  by 

Saying,  'Be  warmed  and  filled,'  to  those  that  need. 

But  sitteth  in  their  midst,  with  gracious  hands 

Outstretched  for  instant  aid — a  present  help 

For  every  trouble ;  yea,  the  '  very  Man/ 

Acquaint  with  pain  by  His  own  suffering, 

Inviting  men  by  His  humanity, 

Saying,  'Come  unto  me,  ye  weary  ones! 

I  will  refresh  you ;  I  will  give  you  rest. 

Ye  heavy-laden.' 

Round  about  His  form 
They  gather,  gazing  on  Him.     In  His  face, 
Oh  what  pathetic  meanings !  eloquent 
Of  far-off  days  of  suffering  and  of  toil, 
Far-off,  but  un forgotten  ;  yet  not  less 
Of  present  calm,  in  consciousness  of  power, 
The  peace  of  God,  that  cannot  fail  or  fear  j 
A  calm  that  breathes  compassion,  in  its  strength 
Divine,  but  in  its  pain-taught  tenderness 
Most  human — yea,  a  calm  that  tells  of  rest 
Won  for  the  weary  in  most  weary  hours 


CHRISTUS   CONSOLATOR.  123 


Of  earthly  woe  ;  deep,  like  an  infinite  sea 
Of  tears,  formed  when  the  fountains  of  all  pain 
Were  broken  up,  and  gathered  in  one  flood, 
Then  smoothed  and  stilled  to  this  serene  repose, 
A  calm  that  none  may  vex  for  evermore, 
Whereto  all  hearts  may  come  :  a  calm  of  love, 
Infinite  love,  breadth,  length,  and  depth,  and  height. 
Omnipotent,  yet  passionless,  so  full 
Of  radiance  that  it  makes  eternal  noon, 
Fairer  than  all  the  suns  of  all  the  worlds, 
Yet  such  that  meekest  eyes  may  gaze  thereon 
Undrooping. 

So  they  gaze  who  round  His  form 
Are  gathered — gaze  upon  the  face  of  GOD 
Unsmitten,  for  it  is  the  face  of  Him 
Who  was  the  MAN  of  sorrows.     Sorrowful 
They  came,  and  in  that  presence  straightway  fell 
The  long  life-burden ;  in  that  light  of  love 
The  old  perplexing  shadows  fled  away, 
And  from  their  souls  a  song  goes  up  to  greet 
The  spiritual  morning ;  in  that  calm 
Dies  all  the  tumult  of  the  strife  with  sin — 
The  voices  of  unrest  and  of  despair 
Are  hushed  for  ever. 


I24  CHRISTUS   CONSOLATOR. 

Young  and  old  are  there, 
The  matron  and  the  maiden  side  by  side, 
The  young  man  and  the  sage  of  many  years, 
The  unlearned  and  the  wise. 

And  unto  all 
Flows  the  same  utterance — serene  with  power, 
And  soft  with  love,  and  deep  with  tenderness — 
Saying,  '  Come  unto  me,  ye  weary  souls  ! 
I  will  refresh  you ;  I  will  give  you  rest, 
Ye  heavy-laden.' 

Kneeling  at  His  side, 
With  her  wan  face  low  bowed  upon  His  arm, 
Behold  a  form  thick-shrouded  from  the  gaze 
Of  a  most  scornful  world,  which  hath  despoiled, 
Then  marked  her  outcast  with  the  brand  of  shame  ; 
And  she  is  closest  there  of  all  the  throng. 
How  shall  so  great  a  sinner  come  so  near? 
May  lips  so  guilty  touch  that  sacred  robe, 
And  not  defile?     Oh,  not  the  less  to  her 
Because  she  was  a  sinner  more  than  all, 
But  most  to  her  whose  need  was  more  than  all, 
Was  access  given,  invitation  said, 
'Come  unto  me!'  and  she  hath  heard  the  words. 
The  wonderful  sweet  words,  with  hungry  cars, 


CHRISTUS  CONSOLATOR.  125 

And  on  the  dry  waste  of  her  penitent  soul 
'  Thy  sins  are  all  forgiven '  hath  fall'n  like  rain 
On  thirsty  lands.     To  whom  is  much  forgiven, 
Loveth  the  more,  and  her  exceeding  love 
Hath  drawn  her  nearest. 

See,  the  outstretched  Arm 
O'er  which  she  bows  her  low  adoring  head 
For  yet  another  captive  of  despair 
Worketh  deliverance.     Waken  as  from  death, 
Thou  prisoner  of  sin  !   for  lo  !   thy  chains, 
Touched  by  that  pitiful,  resistless  Hand, 
Slip  from  thee.     Open  to  the  glorious  light 
Thy  long-closed  eyes,  whereon  the  dungeon  gloom 
May  weigh  no  more ;  and  greet,  for  it  is  thine, 
The  liberty  wherewith  He  maketh  free 
The  tied  and  bound,  who  out  of  prison  depths 
To  Him  lift  up  their  cry. 

One  kneeleth  there 
Upon  whose  face  the  tale  of  many  years, 
Deep  written,  tells  of  sad  humanity — 
Of  the  life  mortal  with  its  pains  and  cares. 
Like  channels  left  upon  the  barren  side 
Of  some  grey  mountain  where  on  days  of  storm 
The  ancient  torrents  held  their  way,  so  here, 


126  CHRISTUS  CONSOLATOK. 

Plain  are  the  hollowed  traces  of  past  tears ; 

But  as  upon  the  scathed  and  furrowed  rock, 

When  winter  lies  asleep,  and  winds  are  still, 

The  benediction  of  the  morning  throws 

Its  most  pathetic  beauty — more  sublime 

In  beauty  for  the  solemn  evidence 

Of  sternest  visitation — so,  behold, 

Upon  this  worn  face,  gazing  at  the  Christ — 

For  souls  the  orient  light  of  heavenly  day — 

The  marks  of  woe  that  mar  it  for  the  world 

Take  rare  and  reverend  beauty  in  the  glow 

Of  the  eternal  brightness.     Evermore 

That  heart,  world-weary,  shall  be  satisfied 

In  peace,  the  dim  eyes  glad,  for  on  them  shines 

His  Face  of  light,  whose  Voice  of  love  declares, 

'I  give  thee  rest.' 

Ah  !  fair  and  young  in  years. 
But  old  with  one  great  sorrow,  she  who  kneels 
Hard  by  :   the  sapling  by  the  aged  pine, 
Both  scathed,  but  that  one  by  a  hundred  storms, 
This  by  a  single  stroke,  with  grievous  power, 
To  do  the  work  of  a  tempestuous  age 
As  in  a  moment.     Suddenly  her  life, 
So  full  of  present  pleasure  and  glad  hope. 


CHRISTUS   COXSOLATOR.  127 

Seemed  far  away,  unreal  and  remote 

As  some  evanished  dream  of  long  ago. 

The  world  seemed  strange,  so  dark  it  was  and  drear. 

And  alien  voices  filled  it,  harsh  and  hard, 

And  all  experience  seemed  a  bounded  land 

Between  two  graves — the  grave  of  that  lost  dream. 

And  that  for  which  she  long'd  of  this  changed  life. 

O  broken  heart !   there  is  but  One  may  bring 

Balm  for  thy  pain ;   but  lo  !    He  passeth  by : 

'  Arise  ! '  He  calleth,  ■  I  will  give  thee  rest  ■ 

Come  unto  me.'     And  she  arose  and  came ; 

And  now  she  gazes  ever  in  His  face, 

Her  great  Physician,  who  hath  poured  the  balm 

Of  precious  healing  in  the  grievous  wound ; 

And  evermore  her  life  shall  glide  away, 

Like  some  still  stream  at  holy  eventide, 

To  find,  when  He  shall  will,  more  perfect  peace,. 

In  heaven's  eternal  sea. 

A  mother  there 
Lays  down  her  silent  burden  at  His  feet — 
Her  little  one,  her  lost  one,  her  beloved, 
The  darling  of  a  life  so  bare  of  joys  ; 
How  can  she  lose  it?     Oh,  it  is  not  lost. 
She  comes  and  lays  it  there,  and  He,  she  knows — 


12$  CHRISTUS   CO.XSOLATOR. 


The  great  good  Shepherd  of  the  heavenly  fold — 
Will  stoop  and  take  it  up  within  His  arms, 
And  keep  it  there  from  all  that  might  befall, 
Safe — safe  for  ever.     Let  His  will  be  done, 
Whose  perfect  knowledge  works  with  perfect  love, 
And  orders  well.     '  It  is  well  with  the  child  ' 
Amidst  her  tears  she  murmurs,  at  the  feet 
Of  Him  Who  wept  for  Lazarus,  till  they  said, 
1  Lo,  how  He  loved  him  ! '  Who  will  comfort  her, 
Despising  not  her  tears,  because  of  love. 

As  some  tired  pilgrim  from  the  pitiless  glare 
Beneath  'a  great  rock  in  a  weary  land' 
Finds  shelter  and  repose,  a  Poet  sits 
Low  at  the  Saviour's  side.     The  leaves  of  bay 
(As  though  to  her  apostle  nature  gave, 
Like  Pentecostal  gift,  her  sylvan  tongues) 
Meet  o'er  his  brow.     But  lowly  sits  he  there ; 
O'er  the  crossed  arms  inclines  the  reverent  head. 
And  from  the  grave  still  face  the  deep-set  eyes 
Look  in  as  on  the  tablets  of  a  heart 
Whereon  the  story  of  a  fruitful  past 
Is  writ  in  many  sorrows,  read  with  pain. 
Oh,  bitter-sweet  has  been  the  world's  applause  ! 
For  Fame,  whom  far  away  he  saw  so  fair, 


CHRIS TUS  CONSOLATOR.  129 

So  passing  fair,  crown'd  with  immortal  light, 
And  girt  with  rolling  music  out  of  heaven, 
When  he  drew  near  to  claim  her,  slipp'd  away, 
And  yet  away;  and  when  at  length  she  stood 
And  crown'd  him,  lo  !   the  glory  round  her  form 
Grew  pale  and  earthly,  and  the  heavenly  swell 
Of  that  high  music  took  a  lower  tone, 
And  died  ere  long,  or  else  it  seemed  to  die. 
Then  in  a  scornful  mood,  '  In  mine  own  soul, 
Ever,'  he  said,  '  henceforth  my  quest  is  made  ; 
There  will  I  find  the  comfort  that  remains, 
The  peace  that  fills,  the  joy  that  satisfies.' 
Then  he  did  rise  and  dwell  apart  from  men ; 
But  not  alone :  voices  of  other  souls 
Spoke  from  the  silent  pages  in  his  ears 
Of  truth  and  beauty,  and  he  sought  and  found, 
In  all  fair  arts  and  deep  philosophies, 
Food  for  his  meditations  and  his  dreams. 
But  most  with  Nature  he  was  wont  to  take 
Sweet  converse  as  of  old,  who,  loving  him, 
Spread  out  before  him  all  the  mysteries 
She  veils  from  common  eyes.     But,  ah  !    not  yet 
The  end  was  found,  the  comfort  that  remain'd, 
The  peace  that  fill'd,  the  joy  that  satisfied; 


ijo  CHRIST  US   CONSOLATOR. 

For  there  was  that  which  vex'd  him  day  by  day  : 
Sometimes  a  quick  wild  cry  that  smote  like  fear, 
Sometimes  from  far  a  hollow  voice  of  scorn, 
Sometimes  a  sigh  within  him  like  the  moan 
Of  some  lost  sea  that  rolls  without  a  shore, 
But  ever  with  one  burden,  c  It  is  vain  ! 
Thou  hast  not  found  j  doubtless  thou  shalt  not  find. 
Then,  lo !  when  now  his  soul  was  sad  indeed 
And  humble,  dawn'd  on  him  with  growing  light 
This  vision  of  The  Christ — a  Form  of  power, 
A  Face  of  love,  his  dreams  had  never  known ; 
And.  crowning  all  the  vague  desire  of  years, 
Which  arts,  and  nature,  and  philosophies, 
The  lore  of  every  age  and  all  the  world, 
Had  left  unanswered,  fell  upon  his  heart, 
That  voice  of  the  God-Man,  'Come  unto  me, 
And  I  will  give  thee  comfort  that  remains, 
And  peace  that  fills,  and  joy  that  satisfies.' 

And  now,  behold,  he  sits  beneath  his  Lord 
As  one  whose  quest  is  over :  unto  whom 
The  end  has  come  like  calm  at  eventide 
After  the  restless  day ;    a  humble  soul, 
Mindful  of  all  its  past,  but  by  that  love, 


ClIRISTUS  COXSOLATOR. 


Despite  the  past,  fulfilled  with  present  peace, 
And  some  sure  hope  of  bliss  that  is  to  be. 

O  Christ  !  O  Rest  of  heaven  1  O  Peace  of  Go< 
O  Life  of  souls  !  O  Light  in  sorrow's  depth  ! 
0  Hope  in  sin's  despair  !  Thou  only  Strength 
That  ever  overcomes,  Thou  only  Joy 
That  cannot  droop  or  die,  Thou  only  Love 
That  faileth  not !     O  Jesus,  God  and  Man, 
Be  ours  as  theirs,  to  pardon,  to  set  free, 
To  pity,  to  console,  to  satisfy, 
To  crown  with  love  for  ever  and  lor  ever ! 


%^z  Cradle  on  ttje  fefjote, 

ON  THE  PICTURE  BY  EUGENE  WEST. 

WITH  scarce  a  murmur,  scarce  a  ripple's  motion, 
E'en  where  his  tidal  waters  shoreward  creep, 
Careless  of  coming  tempests,  Father  Ocean 
Lies  in  the  glowing  sunshine  fast  asleep. 

Like  some  great  giant  of  our  childhood's  stories, 
Charm'd  by  the  glamour  of  a  fairy  queen, 

Beneath  this  overflow  of  noonday  glories 
We  see  no  more  the  fury  which  has  been. 

The  children's  feet  fall  trustfully  upon  him, 
And  by  the  soft  swell  of  his  dreamy  tide 

It  seems  as  if  the  sleeper  felt  them  on  him, 
And  in  a  fond  contentment  moved  and  sigh'd 

In  the  cliff  cottage  lies  their  tiny  sister — 
Not  safer  she  than  they  from  every  harm, 

Where  haply  half  an  hour  ago  they  kiss'd  her, 
Leaping  and  smiling  on  their  mother's  arm. 


THE   CRADLE  ON  THE  SHORE.  133 

See,  they  have  brought  her  cradle  to  his  waters, 
To  cleanse  it  in  a  bath  of  odours  there — 

Dearest  and  best  to  all  his  sons  and  daughters — 
The  fresh  salt  fragrance  of  the  wave  and  air. 

Child  of  the  ocean,  like  a  fond  caressing, 
Let  the  sweet  odour  compass  thee  around, 

Like  an  unspoken  and  an  unseen  blessing, 
Like  wordless  song  and  music  without  sound : 

Type  of  a  holier  influence  hovering  o'er  thee 
From  the  far  ocean  of  a  fuller  Grace. 

E'en  as  this  noon  reflects  the  brighter  glory 
Of  the  deep  heaven  beyond  this  azure  space. 


OVER  AN  OLD  PICTURE. 

XT  THAT  shall  I  be? 

*  *        I'd  like  to  be  a  soldier,  strong  and  tall, 
Like  Grandpapa,  drawn  in  the  picture  here  ; 
And  be  the  first  to  hear  the  trumpet's  call, 
And  be  the  first  to  scale  the  castle  wall. 

But  then,  you  see, 
The  worst  of  it  is  this,  Mamma,  poor  dear — 
Just  because  these  brave  fighters  sometimes  fall,- 
Won't  hear  about  this  soldiering  at  all ! 

Papa's  a  clergyman, 
And  nobody's  one-half  as  good  as  he, 
Nor  ever  was,  /  think,  since  time  began  j 
No,  and  I  don't  believe  will  ever  be : 

I  know  Mamma  thinks  so  ; 
And  that's  the  reason  partly,  I  dare  say, 
She  hopes  with  all  her  heart  her  boy  some  day 
Will  lead  good  people  in  his  father's  way. 


A   BOY'S  REVERIE.  135 

And  when  I  tell  her  'No, 
I  want  to  be  a  soldier  of  the  Queen/ 
She  says  (and  dear  old  Auntie  just  the  same) 
'That  there's  a  soldier's  service  nobler  far, 
With  surer  triumph  and  a  grander  fame, 
Than  any  fighting  in  an  earthly  war ; 
Great  battles  that  no  eye  has  ever  seen 
'  Gainst  foes  more  fierce  than  ever  men  have  been ; 
And  that  a  clergyman  does  wear  a  sword 
As  captain  in  the  armies  of  the  Lord.' 

I  think  I  know  what  she  and  Auntie  mean, 
And  like  to  hear  them  tell  of  it ;  but  still 
I  should  so  like  a  sword  that  I  can  see, 
Like  Grandpapa's,  and  wield  it  in  my  hand, 
Just  as  he's  painted  here  upon  the  hill, 
While  all  the  soldiers  charge  at  his  command  ; 
That 's  just  how  I  should  like  to  look,  so  grand  ! 

Oh,  dear,  oh,  dear,  I  don't  know  what  to  do ! 
I  shouldn't  worry,  if  I  only  knew  \ 
But  now  it's  quite  a  burden  on  my  mind, 
Because  in  both  directions  I'm  inclined. 
I'd  like  to  be  a  good  man,  like  Papa, 


A   BOY'S  REVERIE. 


And,  best  of  all,  it  would  so  please  Mamma, 
But  then,  I  want  to  fight  like  Grandpapa. 

I'm  in  a  regular  fix : 
Nurse  says  that  I  must  wait,  I  'm  only  six, 
And  this  time  ten  years  will  be  time  enough 
To  make  a  fuss  about  what  I  shall  be. 
I  don't  care  what  she  says,  because,  you  see, 
Every  one  knows  old  women  talk  such  stuff. 

There  !  I  declare  she 's  calling  me  again. 
The  cross  old  thing ! — hark  at  her  overhead  : 
'  Come,  Master  Johnnie,  time  you  were  asleep  ! ' 

One  thing  is  very  plain, 
When  I  'm  a  man  (oh,  how  the  time  does  creep 
I  wish  it  could  be  done  as  soon  as  said  !) 
Unless  I  choose,  I  Ti  ?ievcr  <^o  to  bed  ! 


W$z  feoliloqup  of  a  IRattonaltetic  CJfcfren. 

ON  THE  PICTURE  OF  A  NEWLY  HATCHED  CHICKEN  CON- 
TEMPLATING THE  FRAGMENTS  OF  ITS  NATIVE  SHELL. 


M 


OST  strange! 
Most  queer, — although  most  excellent  a  change  ! 
Shades  of  the  prison-house,  ye  disappear  ! 
My  fettered  thoughts  have  won  a  wider  range, 

And,  like  my  legs,  are  free  ; 
No  longer  huddled  up  so  pitiably  : 
Free  now  to  pry  and  probe,  and  peep  and  peer, 

And  make  these  mysteries  out. 
Shall  a  free-thinking  chicken  live  in  doubt? 
For  now  in  doubt  undoubtedly  I  am : 

This  problem's  very  heavy  on  my  mind, 
And  I'm  not  one  to  either  shirk  or  sham  : 
T  won't  be  blinded,  and  I  won't  be  blind  ! 


f38  THE  SOLILOQUY  OE 

Now,  let  me  see  ; 
Firsts  I  would  know  how  did  I  get  in  there 1 

Then,  where  was  I  of  yore? 
Besides,  why  didn't  I  get  out  before  ? 

Bless  me  ! 
Here  are  three  puzzles  (out  of  plenty  more) 
Enough  to  give  me  pip  upon  the  brain  1 

But  let  me  think  again. 
How  do  I  know  I  ever  was  inside? 
Now  I  reflect,  it  is,  I  do  maintain, 
Less  than  my  reason,  and  beneath  my  pride 

To  think  that  I  could  dwell 
In  such  a  paltry  miserable  cell 

As  that  old  shell. 
Of  course  I  couldn't !     How  could  /  have  lain, 
Body  and  beak  and  feathers,  legs  and  wings, 
And  my  deep  heart's  sublime  imaginings, 

In  there  ? 

I  meet  the  notion  with  profound  disdain  ; 
It 's  quite  incredible  ;   since  I  declare 
(And  I'm  a  chicken  that  you  can't  deceive) 
What  I  can't  understand  I  worit  believe. 


4    RATIONALISTIC   CHICKEN.  139 


Where  did  I  come  from,  then  ?    Ah  !  where,  indeed  ? 
This  is  a  riddle  monstrous  hard  to  read. 

I  have  it !    Why,  of  course, 
All  things  are  moulded  by  some  plastic  force 
Out  of  some  atoms  somewhere  up  in  space, 
Fortuitously  concurrent  anyhow  : — 

There,  now ! 
That's  plain  as  is  the  beak  upon  my  face. 

What's  that  I  hear? 
My  mother  cackling  at  me  !     Just  her  way, 
So  prejudiced  and  ignorant  /  say; 
So  far  behind  the  wisdom  of  the  day  ! 

What's  old  I  can't  revere. 
Hark  at  her.     'You're  a  little  fool,  my  dear. 

That 's  quite  as  plain,  alack  ! 
As  is  the  piece  of  shell  upon  your  back  !' 
How  bigoted  !   upon  my  back,  indeed  ! 

I  don't  believe  it 's  there  ; 
For  I  can't  see  it;   and  I  do  declare, 

For  all  her  fond  deceivin', 
What  I  can't  see  I  never  will  believe  in  J 


Countrp-.lBorru 

ON    A    PICTURE    OF    A    FARM-YARD. 

OH  me — my  country-life  that 's  gone  ! 
The  fields,  the  woods,  the  flowers, 
The  dear  old  farm,  the  lane  of  limes 

We  ran  to  in  the  showers, 
And  each  beloved  nook  that  knew 

Those  old  delicious  hours : — 
To  dream  of  these  and  wake  up  here, 
Makes  the  drear  town  grow  doubly  drear. 

There  's  not  a  place  that  I  forget, 

Nor  thing  I  cannot  see  : 
At  morning  Dobbin's  in  his  stall, 

Just  as  he  used  to  be  : 
At  evening  Nancy  in  the  yard 

Still  feeds  the  brood  with  me  : 
Mother  at  night  when  I  'in  abed 
Comes  back  to  kiss  me  from  the  dead. 


CO  UNTR  Y-B  ORN.  1 4 1 

I  see  the  nook  where  father  sat, 

With  mother  near  his  side  : 
I  see  the  room  above  the  porch, 

Where  little  Alice  died — 
Ah,  she  went  first,  but  nothing  now 

Can  her  and  them  divide : 
Their  names,  all  three,  are  on  one  stone, 
And  only  I  am  left  alone. 

How  doleful  is  this  town  to  me  ! 

The  sun  shines  all  in  vain  : 
With  all  his  beams  he  '11  never  make 

The  street  a  linden  lane : 
I  often  think  I  'd  rather  see, 

Instead,  the  sighing  rain 
Fall,  like  innumerable  tears, 
In  sorrow  for  those  happy  years  ! 


ON    THE   PICTURE    OF    A   STILL    SEA. 

f^ALM  sea: 

^— '     One  water  broad  and  bright  beneath  the  sun, 
Near  and  afar,  in  peace  and  silence,  one  j 
The  long  shore-shallow  with  the  distant  deep, 
One  still  immensity : 

Infinitude  fallen  on  sleep. 

How  bright  and  beautiful  a  peace  ! 
One  fain  would  listen  for  the  sleeper's  breath — 
The  giant  sleeper,  sleeping  like  a  child 
By  some  sweet  mother  into  rest  beguiled — 
For  this  is  calm  of  slumber,  not  of  death  ; 
The  mighty  pulses  only  seem  to  cease  ; 
The  great  heart  of  the  sea, 
Throbbing  unheard,  invisibly, 
Beats  not  the  less  with  the  resistless  power 
Of  his  fierce  anger's  most  tremendous  hour. 


A   SEA-SIDE  REVERIE.  143 

His  passions  only  hide — how  soon, 
And  whence  we  know  not,  there  may  come 
A  cloud  across  the  splendid  noon, 
And  winds  to  wake  him  from  this  summer  swoon ; 

And  then,  no  longer  dumb, 
Shall  his  loud  tongue  tell  fearfully  and  far 
Again  the  giant  girds  himself  for  war ! 

Yet,  though  this  quiet  marks  no  dearth 
Of  strength  and  life — repose  but  not  decay — 
Here  lurketh  Death  ;  O  great,  and  strong,  and  free, 
Death  waits  to  lay  his  palsying  hand  on  thee ! 
Is  it  not  writ  that,  on  a  day 
When  sweeter  heavens  shall  smile  on  purer  earth, 
There  shall  be  no  more  sea? 
Yea,  thou  shalt  die: 
What  matter  if  thine  hour  be  far  or  nigh? 
Lo,  not  less  surely  ebbs  thy  life  away 
Than  yonder  splendour  fails  from  off  the  land, 
Or  thine  own  dreamy  tide  is  slipping  from  the  strand  ! 

Calm  Sea : 
Repose  how  rare,  and,  as  the  moments  fleet, 
Ever  to  seem  more  wonderful  and  sweet! 


144  A    SEA-SIDE   REVERIE. 

The  little  children  do  not  shrink 
To  trust  their  tender  steps  beyond  his  brink, 
So  faint  a  ripple  rolls  he  to  their  feet, 

Only  a  kiss  it  seems 
Of  one  who  loves  them  in  the  land  of  dreams. 
Sunny  and  placid  are  their  childish  years  : 
Pure  pleasure's  light,  not  passion's,  in  their  eyes. 
Calm  on  the  wide  depths  of  their  sleeping  souls. 
They  reck  not  of  such  possibilities 
As  lie,  within  my  vision,  there, 
And  make  my  heart  already  sick  with  fears. 

Because  already  in  mine  ears 

The  wind  grows  wild,  the  storm-wave  rolls. 
And  cries  go  up  in  pain,  and  vows  in  prayer, 
Mid  silences,  more  dreadful,  of  despair. 

Uncertain  Sea,  uncertain  Life, 
Of  both  how  fair  the  calm,  how  quick  the  strife! 

Yet,  this  side  heaven,  shall  both  be  dear : 
The  'Sea  is  His'  whose  are  yon  depths  above, 
And  Life  is  His  whose  gifts  are  all  of  love. 

Away  !  thou  poor  pale  Fear, 
O  Sea,  O  Life,  for  storm  or  calm  we  stand 
'Neath  the  safe  keeping  of  our  Father's  hand. 


A   SEA -SIDE  REVERIE.  145 

Yet  if,  O  Sea,  thou  art  so  dear, 
So  dear  as  this,  we  cannot  spare  thee  here, 
Shall  we  not  miss  thee  in  the  glorious  Land? — 

Nay,  for  thou  pleasest  eye  and  ear, 
Sole  image  of  that  longed-for  Infinite  : 
O  image  faint  and  far ! 

So  love  we  as  our  all  of  light — 
While  here  we  sojourn — day's  majestic  star, 
There  never  to  be  seen,  too  dimly  bright, 
Nor  missed  where,  born  of  God,  those  jasper  glories 

are. 

O  Life,  despite  thine  ills,  so  fair, 
Is  this  unworthy  that  we  love  thee  here? 
O  nay,  because  we  hold  thee  dear 
More  gladly  will  we  let  thee  go, 
For  love  of  thee  makes  longing  to  be  there, 

Beyond  thy  bounds  above, 
Where  in  immortal  fulness  we  shall  know 
The  grandeur  and  the  beauty  and  the  love, 
Whereof  we  had  by  thee  faint  foretaste  here  below 

O  Sea,  0  Life, 
The  pilgrim  lingers  where  he  may  not  dwell, 


146  A    SEASIDE   REVERIE. 

Lingers  with  hopeful  heart  and  loving  eyes, 

And  with  a  voice  of  praise 
For  such  a  grace  shed  on  the  weary  ways 

That  lie  between  him  and  the  skies ; 
Such  grace  of  calm  or  grandeur  as  can  tell 
Prophetic  stories  of  that  far-off  home 
Whereto  at  last  his  happy  feet  shall  come. 

So,  till  his  pilgrimage  is  o'er, 
And  till  his  steps  shall  cease  upon  the  shore, 
No  craven  fears  his  loyal  faith  shall  quell : 
In  peace  or  passion,  in  repose  or  strife, 
He  loves  thee  well,  O  Sea,  O  Life,  he  loves  thee  well ! 


aptjscellaneoujs  pozmz. 


%$z  »>ea  of  (Balilee* 


'Though  inland  far  we  be, 
Our  souls  have  sight  of  that  immortal  Sea.' 

Wordsworth's  Ode. 


THERE  is  a  river  in  the  Holiest  Land 
Beyond  the  evil  world,  whose  streams  make  glad 
The  spiritual  city;  overswept 
By  the  still  breathing  of  one  equal  wind 
From  the  celestial  hills,  the  crystal  waves 
For  ever  flowing,  yet  for  ever  calm, 
Made  music  in  their  course,  the  undersong 
Of  that  great  strain  of  Moses  and  the  Lamb 
The  angels  longed  for  once,  and  love  to  hear 
From  saints  who  sing  upon  the  jasper  sea. 

There  is  a  river  in  a  holy  land 
Yet  in  the  evil  world,  whose  streams  make  glad 
The  hearts  of  pilgrims  journeying  far  away 
On  to  that  Golden  City:  memories 
Of  many  forms  and  voices,  and  of  One, 


150  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

The  'chief  among  ten  thousand/  over  it 
Breathe  like  a  mystic  wind :  its  lowly  waves, 
Less  lovely  to  the  vision  of  the  world 
Than  Abana  and  Pharpar,  are  to  these 
More  beautiful  than  all  the  brighter  floods 
Of  fairer  lands  :  and  all  of  sound  and  scene 
They  furnish  of  delight  for  ever  find 
Centre  and  fulness  in  one  silver  sea. 

A  still  small  Sea.     No  majesty  of  earth 
Makes  its  renown  :  no  boundless  multitude 
Of  league-long  waters  roll  from  land  to  land, 
From  winter  unto  summer  shores  :  no  wealth 
Or  might  of  argosy  or  armament 
Rides  or  reposes  on  its  breast.     By  day, 
Save  when  in  wrath  the  sudden  winds  descend, 
Or  wild  birds  cry  above  the  darkening  shoals, 
Sits  Silence  there,  imperial  gentleness 
Upon  an  argent  throne  :  and  reigns  by  night, 
All  the  celestial  jewels  on  her  robe, 
None  vexing  her  dominion,  save  perchance 
Some  solitary  fisher,1  sad  at  heart, 
In  cheerless  labour  wears  the  hours  away. 

1  The  heavy  prohibitive  tax  on  boats  is  SO  ruinous  that  from  An.  1738  to 
iSG)  no  one  has  noted  more  than  one  boat  on  the  lake.     See  M 
On  the  Jordan,  p.  38. 


THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 


A  still  small  sea.     The  mountains  gird  it  in ; 
There  in  the  orient  gathered  stern  and  strong 
From  northern  Bashan  unto  Gadara, 
Like  warders,  clad  in  sombre  hues,  updrawn 
In  even  line  :  a  silent  guard  of  hills 
Bareheaded,  gaunt :  with  many  a  riven  rock 
Grey  or  dark  red,  and  many  a  grassy  slope 
Flowing  in  waves  of  green  toward  the  plain. 
There  at  the  sunset  keep  they  watch  and  ward 
In  stranger  mood,  height  answering  not  to  height 
But  broken  in  array,1  and  mingling  far 
With  Safed's  craggy  summits  and  the  horns 
Of  Hattin's2  holy  hill,  and  where  the  glow 
Streams  through  the  groves  of  oak  and  terebinth, 
With  the  long  curve  of  Tabor  throwing  down 
Softly  its  purple  shadow.     Still  they  rise, 
Fair  terraces,  wild  gorges,  pressing  on 
In  lowlier  line,  on  to  the  northern  throne 
Where  far  away  ascends  the  nearest  heaven 
Imperial  Hermon.     Sovereign  lord  he  seems 
Amid  the  kneeling  hills ;  or  when  the  sun 
At  even  crowns  his  everlasting  snows 


1  See  Stanley,  Sinai  and  Palestine,  p.  370. 

2  The  traditional  scene  of  the  Sermon  on  the  Mount 


152  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

Like  the  perpetual  altar  of  their  praise 
Where  overhangs  the  golden  incense-cloud 
Of  their  pure  worship.     So  he  stood  of  old, 
When  the  Incarnate  Son  in  Galilee, 
A  man  of  sorrows,  was  despised  of  men  : 
So  shall  he  stand  when  as  the  King  of  kings 
The  Christ  returns  to  reign. 

A  still  small  Sea 
Now  like  a  smile  of  God  amid  the  frowns 
Of  treeless  hills,  but  once  a  lower  deep 
Of  that  dark  hollow  wrought  of  old  by  shock 
Of  fires  infernal,  from  the  mountain  base 
Of  Lebanon  to  Moab.1     But  the  dews 
That  fall  on  Hermon,  and  the  springs  that  run 
Among  the  valleys,  swelled  the  river  of  God 
To  fill  ere  long  with  living  waters  pure 
Death's  drear  abyss. 

It  is  the  Sea  of  Life  : 
Among  God's  seven  seas2  His  sole  elect: 
Not  as  that  other  in  the  stricken  south, 
Wherein  its  river  finds  mysterious  grave, 


1  See  Stanley.  Sitiai  and  Palestittf,  p.  370. 

-  In  I.ightfoot  (i.  6),  the  following  Rabbinical  belief  is  quoted  :— '  I  have 
created  seven  sc;is,  saith  the  Lord,  but  out  of  them  I  have  chosen  none  but 
the  sea  of  Uuincsarcth.' 


THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 


The  Sea  of  Death,  wherein  is  naught  that  lives, 
Whereby  no  blossom  blows,  or  singing  bird 
Makes  happy  morning  music ;  but  it  lies 
Gehenna  of  the  seas,  and  o'er  it  reigns 
Another  sadder  silence  evermore. 

Not  such  Gennesaret !  on  its  silver  strand 
Here  gently  sloping,  broken  there  by  rocks, 
Whence  trail  in  the  sweet  wave  or  woo  the  air 
Green  mosses  and  the  tresses  of  the  fern, 
Fails  not  the  oleander,  night  and  day, 
'The  tree  the  Lord  hath  planted  by  the  streams/ 
Dark-leaved,   bright-blossomed.     Follows  flower   on 

flower 
And  fruit  on  fruit,  these  shores  along,  as  snow 
Succeeds  to  snow  on  Hermon.     Sang  of  old, 
What  time  a  thousand  fishers  thronged  the  waves, 
These  toilers  to  their  fellows  mid  the  flocks, 
Keeping  cold  vigil  high  on  Gadara, 
Or  wandering  long  through  many  a  parched  ravine, 
1  Come  down  and  drink  the  freshness  of  the  Nile 
And  share  the  wealth  of  Egypt.'     All  around 
From  fair  Bataiha's  plain,  where  Jordan  finds, 
Hard  by  the  lonely  palms,1  a  gate  of  flowers 

1  See  Stanley,  p.  372. 


154  THE   SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

And  darkly  speeds  him  to  the  pure  embrace 
Of  clearer  waters — on  to  steep  Kerak, 
Whence  he  must  wind  to  the  sepulchral  sea, 
Fresh  life  shows  greenly;  high  in  tangled  brakes, 
In  thorn  and  willow,  and  in  rarer  palm, 
Low  in  the  drooping  ferns  and  feathery  reeds, 
And  grassy  banks  that  underlie  or  scale 
The  bases  of  the  hills. 

But  loveliest, 
Edged  by  Bethsaida's  fairest  fringe  of  pearl. 
And  closed  by  gentler  heights,  the  crescent  plain 
Of  Gennesar1  the  blest !     O  Naphtali, 
Here  found  thy  princes,  as  in  Paradise, 
The  fulness  of  Jehovah's  grace,  at  rest 
Within  His  boundless  favour ! 

Tis  a  land 
Of  halcyon  seasons  :  Beulah  of  the  north  : 
Here  nature's  sweet  ambition2  reconciles 
Her  leafy  sons  of  alien  climes  j  grow  here 
The  northern  walnut  and  the  southern  palm, 
The  fig,  the  olive,  and  the  vine,  and  all 


1  Gennesar  is  the  name  of  the  plain  given  Ly  Josephus  {Bell  J.  iii.  10.  8.) 
The  first  part  of  the  word  is  no  doubt  tiani  '  Gardens  ; '  the  latter.  '  Sar,'  is 
perhaps  Prince,  referring  to  the  Princes  of  Naphtali  (cf.  Deut.  xxxiii.  23). 

1  Sec  Josephus,  B.  J.  iii.  10.  8. 


THE   SEA    OF  GALILEE.  155 

Vie  only  in  a  happy  strife  to  crown 

Each  golden  month  with  fruits.     Upon  the  lawns, 

By  the  soft  ripple  of  melodious  rills, 

Or  by  the  prouder  fountain-flow,  that  swell 

The  four  bright  rivers  of  this  Eden  land, 

Bloom  myriad  flowers:  the  'lilies  of  the  field,' 

More  lustrous  than  the  pomp  of  Solomon, 

Smiling  above  the  hollows,  or  below, 

Fire-like  amid  the  shade :  so  gleams  the  air, 

Cleft  by  the  glancing  wings  of  beauteous  birds : 

So  the  sweet  gloom  of  garden  and  of  glen 

Is  quickened  with  their  song. 

Yes,  fair  thou  art. 
Plain  of  the  chosen  Sea — but  fairer  still 
For  that  in  thee  awhile  did  bloom  for  souls 
The  Rose  of  Sharon.     On  this  wave  and  shore 
The  divine  fragrance  of  immortal  deeds 
And  words  that  shall  not  perish  in  the  wreck 
Of  earth  and  heaven,  was  breathed,  and  lingers  still 
As  that  day  draws  more  near  when  He  shall  come, 
Who  from  His  waiting  children  is  but  gone 
A  little  while  away. 

Stood  here,1  perchance, 

1  The  opinion  of  some,  that  the  shore  of  the  Lake  was  the  scene  of  the 
incident  recorded  in  St.  John  i.  36,  is  at  least  possible. 


156  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

Strange  presence  from  the  southern  wilderness, 
Amid  this  grace  and  plenty,  gaunt  and  stern, 
The  last  of  all  the  prophets,  as  he  cried, 
With  reverent  gesture  at  one  silent  Form, 
Tranced  into  vision  of  the  Precious  Blood, 
The  cry  that  carries  on  from  age  to  age, 
The  evangel  everlasting,  and  for  all, 
'  Behold  the  Lamb  of  God !' 

His  home  was  here. 
And  'His  own  city;'  for  Whom  heaven  is  home,. 
Whose  City  is  the  great  Jerusalem, 
Clad  in  God's  glory  by  the  hyaline 
Eternal  Sea. 

Yet,  O  Capernaum  ! 
Where  art  thou  ?     O  '  exalted  unto  heaven  ! ' 
That  wast  the  home  and  city  of  thy  God, 
Where  art  thou?     Phosphor  of  the  cities  nine, 
The  white-robed  princes  of  the  silver  sea, 
How  art  thou  fallen?     Chorazin  is  no  more, 
Bethsaida,  Magdala,  Tiberias, 

They  are  not ;  save  a  few  poor  walls  and  towers. 
That  stare  half  hidden  in  their  place  of  doom, 
Like  'bones  beside  the  pit'  of  death.     But  thou — 
Thou  in  whose  streets  the  living  tide,  that  ilowcil 


THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE.  157 

From  fair  Damascus  Zionwards,1  made  one 

Gentile  and  Jew,  children  of  every  land — 

Thou  art  not  found  !  Gennesaret  knows  thee  not : 

She  lies  in  all  her  loveliness  forlorn, 

And  has  nor  voice  nor  sign  from  hill  to  sea 

To  mark  thy  tomb  and  say  'Twas  here  she  reigned, 

City  of  waters.' 

Yet  most  bright  in  thee 
The  '  Great  Light'  shone  which  sprang  in  Nephthalim, 
Galilee  of  the  nations,2  unto  souls 
Wrapt  in  the  shades  of  death.     Within  thy  gates, 
Or  on  thy  shore,  the  blind  beheld  His  face 
WTho  is  more  fair  than  all  the  sons  of  men ; 
The  lame  man  leaped  in  praise;  the  leper's  voice 
Forgot  in  happy  song  his  old  sad  cry; 
The  sick  man's  moan  of  weariness  or  pain 
Was  heard  no  more ;  this  father  for  a  son 
At  point  to  die,  that  for  a  daughter  dead, — 
Weeping  and  praying — heard  one  word  of  power, 
And  ceased  to  weep,  or  wept  again  for  joy ! 
Here,  in  that  Place  of  Prayer  the  Roman  gave, 
The  baffled  fiend  before  'The  Holy  One' 


1  The  highway  between  Damascus  and  Jerusalem  ran  through  Capernaum 

2  St.  Matthew  iv.  14-16. 


158  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

Fled  shrieking.     Sons  of  thine  they  were  who  heard 
On  Hattin's  Mount  the  Blessings  that  have  flowed 
Thence  to  a  longing  world,  and  ever  flow. 
On  thine  He  had  compassion  in  the  wild; 
Good  Shepherd  of  the  homeless  sheep.     They  saw 
Within  thy  walls  and  courts,  or  by  the  wave, 
His  marvels  many  and  great,  and  heard  the  words 
Which  never  man  so  spake.     Wisdom  of  God, 
And  Power  of  God,  Light  of  the  World,  the  CHRIS']', 
Was  manifest  to  none  as  unto  thee  ! 

Lost  City  !  memory's  phantom  by  the  sea, 
How  cries  thy  silence,  with  a  bitter  cry, 
To  yonder  waters :  *  Go  in  Jordan's  stream, 
Utter  a  dirge  in  Siddim's  awful  vale : 
Say  to  the  relics  there,  that  are  not  hid1 
E'en  on  death's  plain,  A  dreader  curse  is  mine, 
Who  seeing  saw  not,  hearing  would  not  hear.' 

Such  cry  is  on  thy  wave,  O  Galilee  ! 
Nor  there  alone,  where  on  thy  western  plain 
The  sower  went  to  sow,  and  the  seed  fell 
In  stony  places,  and  among  the  thorns, 
But  far  and  wide  it  wails  from  shore  to  shore, 

1  'The  name,  perhaps  even  the  remains,  of  Sodom,  are  still  to  be  found 
OQ  the  shores  of  the  Dead  Sea,  while  that  of  Capernaum  has,  on  the  Like 
ofGennesaret,  been  utterly  lost.'— Stanley,  p.  384. 


THE   SEA    OF  GALILEE.  159 

From  solitude  to  solitude  of  mount 
And  vale  and  waters. 

1  Beautiful  in  death,' 
Men  call  thee :  and  I  know  a  silence  lies 
Shroudlike  around. 

Yet  they  do  err.     O  be 
For  ever  to  my  soul  a  sea  of  life ! 
Harp 1  of  the  Holy  Land,  from  whose  sweet  strings, 
Touched  by  God's  finger,  living  music  thrilled 
His  Holy  Church,  to  me  be  never  dumb ! 
Oh  nay,  thy  numbers  do  not  sleep  or  die ! 
Immortal  must  thou  be,  Gennesaret! 
Still  are  the  gifts  and  calling  of  thy  God 
Without  repentance  !     Live  as  thou  hast  lived 
Elect  and  loved  by  Him,  Who  was  the  Life, 
And  is,  and  is  to  be.     He  loved  thee  well 
And  His  is  love  for  ever. 

I  will  stand 
Upon  thy  shores  and  see,  for  all  the  thorns, 
The  goodly  ground  wherefrom  there  sprang  life's  fruit 
An  hundredfold:  there  were  who  heard  and  saw, 
Nor  found  the  saying  hard,  the  vision  dim, 


1  '  The  real  shape  of  the  sea  is  not  so  much  oval  as  harplike. '—See  Mac- 
gregor,  p.  326. 


160  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

And  lo  !  their  sound  is  now  in  all  the  earth, 
Their  words  in  all  the  world. 

Him  I  behold 
Who  here  forsook  his  gain  and  set  his  lip 
First  to  the  Gospel  clarion  :  at  whose  call1 
The  Morians'  land  stretched  out  her  hands  to  God 
I  see  thy  fishermen  that  evermore 
Should  win  a  nobler  prey.     Here  Andrew  brings 
His  brother  to  the  Lord;  here  Philip  calls 
The  guileless  Cananite ;  and  they  are  here 
The  Sons  of  Thunder.     Warriors,  princes,  priests, 
These  are  thy  children,  and  their  glory  throws 
Rays  of  its  life  on  thee. 

The  winds  that  blow 
About  thy  borders,  as  I  stand  and  gaze, 
Shall  whisper  other  than  the  sounds  of  doom  ; 
And  I  shall  hear  the  words  that  cannot  die — 
Wiser  than  sage's  wisdom,  poet's  song, — 
The  words  of  that  most  sweet  philosophy 
That  spake  o'er  all  the  melancholy  waste 
Of  this  world's  sins  and  woes,   'Come  unto  ME. 
All  ye  that  travail :  I  will  give  you  rest, 
Ye  heavy  laden.' 

*  Africa  is  the  traditionary^scene  of  the  missionary  labour*  of  St.  Matthew. 


THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE.  161 

Then  I  will  go  up, 
And  get  me  to  the  stronghold  of  thy  hills, 
A  prisoner  of  hope.     On  solemn  height, 
In  still  ravine — the  midnight  oratories, 
Or  ere  His  glory,  of  my  great  High  Priest — 
I  too  will  pray  that  He  will  plead  for  me 
That  my  faith  fail  not ;  that  I  too  at  last 
Through    Him    may   rise    further    than    faith    and 

hope 
To  see  the  blessed  vision  of  His  face 
Within  the  gates  of  praise. 

Or  on  thy  waves 
Sometime  my  soul  shall  wander : 

First  at  dawn 
After  the  night's  vain  toil,  I  shall  behold, 
On  the  white  shore,  in  His  'meek  majesty,' 
My  Lord  draw  nigh :  and  my  poor  ship  shall  be 
His  high  cathedral  throne.     Then  at  His  word 
I  will  thrust  out  and  find  in  the  glad  morn 
Exceeding  great  reward. 

Or  I  will  dare 
At  His  constraint  the  peril  of  the  storm — 
When  behind  Tabor  dies  the  light  away, 
And  from  some  gorge  of  Bashan  rush  the  winds, 

L 


1 62  THE   SEA    OF  GALILEE. 


Or  floodlike1  on  the  floods  from  heights  of  air 
Shall  in  great  wrath  come  down — then  at  my  cry 
Out  of  His  tranquil  sleep  He  will  arise 
And  '  Peace,  be  still !'  shall  bring  the  calm  of  Heaven 
Instant  on  wind  and  wave. 

Or  it  may  chance 
In  the  deep  night  I  toil  in  middle  sea. 
Tis  wild  and  chill :  no  balm  comes  off  the  shore 
Beneath  the  moon  from  far  Gennesaret, 
No  nightingale  is  heard  from  garth  or  glade, 
No  sound  in  pauses  of  the  baffling  wind 
Falls  faint  or  full,  save  the  hyaena's  scream, 
Or  some  demoniac's  howl  in  Gergesa 
Among  the  tombs;  and  my  heart  droops  in  me: 
Then,  lo  !  an  awful  Presence  breaks  the  gloom, 
Walking  the  waves,  and  a  voice,  solemn,  sweet, 
Stills  my  heart's  sudden  terror,   'It  is  I: 
Be  of  good  cheer ! '  and  lo  !  it  is  the  Lord, 
The  Very  '  God  Whose  way  is  in  the  sea, 
Whose  footsteps  are  not  known,'  Whose  love  shall 

bring 
My  weary  soul  at  last  where  it  would  be. 
Once   more  thy  waters  bear  me,  and  again 

1    '  1  here  came  down  a  storm  of  wind.'— St.  Luke  viii.  23  ;  and  CI    Mac 
pregor,  p.  42 1. 


THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE.  163 


After  a  barren  night  a  cheerless  morn. 
Heavy  my  heart ;  for  though  my  Master  lives 
He  is  not  here:  and  my  remorseful  soul 
Cries,  'Thou  hast  lost  thy  Saviour  by  thy  sin.' 
Low  lies  my  boastful  pride:  and  as  I  hear 
Through  the  dim  dawn,  '  There  cast  and  thou  shalt 

find,' 
I  will  obey,  not  question. 

I,o  again 
The  morning  miracle.     It  is  the  Lord  ! 
I  get  me  to  Him,  for  I  needs  must  go  ! 
Though  I  have  sinned,  and  I  have  lost  His  love, 
I  love  Him  and  must  go.     He  bids  me  come, 
He  hath  a  feast  prepared;  He  bids  me  eat, 
And  all  amazed,  and  torn  by  hope  and  fear 
I  take  the  mystic  food. 

O  then  His  eyes 
Look  on  me ;  O  divine,  pathetic  eyes  ! 
All  pity  and  the  tender  sweet  reproach 
Of  love  that  never  fails,  and  pardons  all, 
Gaze  on  me  there — and  for  the  memory 
Of  each  dark  sin,  He  has  but  this  one  word, 
'Lovest  thou  me?' 

Yea,  Lord,  Thou  knowest  all  . 


1 64  THE  SEA    OF  GALILEE. 

Thou  knowest  that  I  love  Thee. 

Yet  there  comes 
One  other  word — last  legacy  of  love 
Which  I  will  keep  for  ever  to  that  end 
Of  which  He  spake,1  the  happy  awful  end — 
'  Follow.' 

Yea,  Master,  Saviour,  Lord  and  God, 
Thee  will  I  love  and  follow  to  the  end. 

l  'This  spake  He,  signifying  by  what  death  he  should  glorify  God.'— 
St.  John  xxi.  19, 


C&e  (Bate  of  SDeatfc. 

'  Grant,  O  Lord,   that  through  the  grave,  and  gate  of  death,  we  may 
pass  to  our  ioyful  resurrection. '—  Collect  for  Easter  Eve. 

I^HE  watching  Church  was  near  her  Easter  hope  \ 
The  waiting  earth  was  close  upon  her  spring, 
Soft  breezes  wooed  the  woodland  buds  to  ope 
And  woodland  choirs  to  sing. 

Yet  was  not  Lententide  nor  winter  past, 

Still  were  the  lands  of  leaf  and  flower  forlorn  \ 
And  Christian  souls  kept  one  more  quiet  Fast 
Or  ere  their  Festal  Morn. 

It  was  Death's  hour :  but  close  are  Death  and  Life : 
The  long   loud  storms   had  breathed  their  latest 
breath ; 
In  dying  is  the  agony  and  strife, 

But  solemn  peace  in  Death. 


1 66  THE   GATE   OF  DEATH. 

So  had  the  awful  Friday  passed  in  pain, 

And  souls  were  calm  that  had  not  ceased  to  grieve, 
Since  in  their  sorrow  Hope  drew  close  again, 
Again  with  Easter  Eve. 

One  lay  and  waited  as  the  hours  went  on, 

Watching  the  shadows  deepen  round  his  bed  : 
One  whose  long  Lent  of  life  was  almost  gone, 
And  winter  well-nigh  sped. 

Spring  was  so  near  him,  and  the  glorious  Feast  ; 

And  his  believing  soul  in  calm  foretaste 
E'en  in  that  death-hour  from  all  trouble  ceased, 
Nor  needed  to  make  haste. 

And  one  was  watching  with  him,  young  and  fair. 

But  fairer  than  in  beauty  of  her  youth, 
By  that  sweet  patience  which  meets  earth's  despair, 
Secure  of  Love  and  Truth : 

His  Love,  His  Truth,  Who  cannot  change  or  lie, 
Lover  of  souls  and  Lord  o'er  Death  and  Hell  ; 
Who  saith,  '  In  Me  all  things  below,  on  high, 
For  you  are  always  well.' 


THE   GATE   OF  DEATH.  167 

Her  heart  was  full  of  tears,  and  almost  rent, 

Well-nigh  too  full  for  life,  yet  her  child's  will— 
A  will  not  lost  but  with  her  Father's  blent — 
Lay  satisfied  and  still. 

Husband  and  wife :    so  dear,  so  near,  that  earth 
Had  naught  for  each  without  the  other  good, 
Yet  son  and  daughter  by  one  heavenly  Birth, 
Beneath  one  Fatherhood. 

And  heaven  is  more  than  earth,  and  so  their  love 

Was  more  than  earthly,  even  as  their  life — 
In  souls  so  sure  of  hidden  bliss  above 
No  sorrow  grows  to  strife. 

'  My  children  do  not  part,  and  cannot  die  :' 

Yesterday  taught  them  by  the  Cross  in  sight, 
To-day  by  that  dark  Sepulchre  hard  by, 
Morn  by  its  promised  light. 

She  sat  beside  him  till  the  night  grew  deep, 

Her  eyes  on  his,  his  hand  within  her  hand, 
The  perfect  peace  she  saw  had  power  to  keep 
Her  own  heart  in  command. 


i6S  THE    GATE    OF  DEATH. 

Not  much  they  said  :   Love  unto  love  can  tell 
Its  inmost  feeling,  though  of  words  be  none, 
By  look,  by  touch,  in  thought  they  commune  well, 
Whose  heart  and  soul  are  one. 

Yet,  twice  he  spoke  :  once,  when  as  day  grew  dim, 

And  a  bell  ceased  upon  the  still  March  air, 
She  sang  the  Church's  Psalms  and  one  sweet  hymn,1 
And  prayed  the  Vigil  Prayer. 

Then  first  he  said,  '  "The  Grave  and  Gate  of  Death" 
Are  near  this  Eve  :  Lord  !  let  my  soul  be  borne 
Through  them  to  Thee  with  the  first  light  and  breath 
Of  Thy  victorious  Morn. 

'  I  will  "  remain  in  patient  watch  ''  till  day — 

This  gloom  is  holy,  for  it  once  was  Thine — 
Then,  O  my  Righteousness  !    with  Thy  first  ray 
Bid  me  arise  and  shine.' 

Again  was  heartfelt  silence  for  an  hour; 

Then  one  came  in,  whose  voice  well-known  and  dear 
Brought  prayer  and  counsel  and  the  Word  of  power 
The  contrite  love  to  hear. 

1  Sec  Hymns  Ancient  a$td  Modtm^  No.  105. 


THE   GATE   OF  DEATH.  169 

Beautiful  were  his  feet.     When  he  was  gone 

Light  seemed  to  linger  and  the  calm  increase, 
Flowing  from  those  last  words,  the  benison 
Of  the  eternal  peace. 

The  hours  crept  on  :   till  dawn  was  close,  and  still 
She  watched  beside  him.  Once  she  thought  he  slept. 
Nor  knew  but  it  was  death,  and  then  her  will 
Failed  in  her,  and  she  wept. 

No  sound,  but  tears  upon  his  hand  could  tell 

Her  anguish  ;  and,  with  love  that  could  not  chide, 
He  whispered,  '  Dearest,  even  this  is  well, 
He  wept  when  Lazarus  died ; 

'  He  knows  His  sheep;  God-Man  ;  and  in  His  ears 

Your  cry  is  holy ;   even  Hope  can  weep  : 
"I  go,"  He  said,  and  went,  amidst  His  tears, 
"  To  wake  him  out  of  sleep." 

'  Like  Him  you  weep — and  I — O  love,  my  wife, 

I  weep  too  ! — but  our  tears  do  Faith  no  wrong, 
The  heirs  together  of  the  grace  of  life, 
Our  parting  is  not  long  ■ 


THE    GATE    OE  DEATH. 


'  Yet  now  we  part ;  and  e'en  the  "  little  while 

Seems  long  to  love :   but  oh  !   if  life  is  sweet, 
Sweeter  it  is  to  lay  it  with  a  smile 

At  our  dear  Master's  feet. 

'  My  darling,  this  is  all ;  speech  fails ;  stoop  low, 

Tenderest  face  I  love  so  ! — now,  before 
Sight,  sense,  fail  also,  and  I  cannot  know 
Even  you — kiss  me  once  more.' 

She  kissed  him.     O  how  piteously  her  soul 

Longed  to  go  with  him,  even  while  its  cry 
Lay  hushed  in  reverence,  for  its  trust  was  whole 
In  its  great  agony. 

She  kneeled,  her  arms  about  him,  by  the  bed, 
And  watching  the  dim  eye  and  fitful  breath, 
Seemed  with  her  still  white  face  beside  his  head 
A  very  Bride  of  Death. 

Slowly  the  darkness  shrouded  all  the  room, 

As  the  spent  fire  and  watch-light  died  away  : 
Slowly  again  came  creeping  o'er  the  gloom 
The  sense  of  the  new  day. 


THE    GATE    OF  DEATH.  171 

A  low  broad  window  looked  toward  the  East ; 

And  as  a  hand  before  a  taper's  gleam 
Glows  red,  its  curtain  folds,  as  dawn  increased, 
Veined  with  rich  life  did  seem. 

His  face  was  from  it :   but  in  fear  anon 

She  saw  his  spirit  saw,  by  the  set  eyes. 
The  loosened  clasp,  the  gesture  as  of  one 
Preparing  to  arise  j 

Then  one  faint  sign;   whereat — as  if  she  knew 

Behind  it  all  the  Beatific  Sight 
Lay  veiled — with  awful  hand  she  backward  drew 
The  curtain  from  the  light. 

Blest  Light,  blest  Morning !   beautiful  it  shone 

Just  over  the  dark  hills  with  orient  rays, 
Which,  like  the  summons  from  a  trumpet  blown, 
Poured  full  upon  her  gaze. 

He  slowly  turned  to  look  from  where  he  lay : 

Then  once  or  twice,  like  one  most  blest,  he  sighed, 
Then  laid  his  pale  hands  close  as  if  to  pray, 
And,  gazing  still,  he  died. 


172  THE   GATE   OF  DEATH. 

Christ's  Morning !   ceased  before  it  the  old  law 
That  bound  in  prison-house  the  yearning  soul, 
Which  fled  to  taste  the  glory  that  it  saw, 
Freed  from  its  long  control. 

'  Dimittis,  Domine  !' — was  that  the  prayer? — 

1  Here  have  I  seen  Thy  Promise,  Risen  Lord  ; 
Now  I  depart  to  find  Thy  Fulness  there, 
According  to  Thy  Word  !' 

And  she  ? — she  waits  ;   alone  but  not  forlorn, 

And  learning  more  to  long  as  less  to  grieve, 
Keeps,  with  an  ever  brighter  hope  of  morn, 
Her  quiet  Easter  Lve. 


P^ROM  his  short  slumber  in  the  early  morn 
-■-        The  sick  man  woke.    Beneath  the  window  sill, 
Caged  in  this  alien  land,  an  English  lark, 
Making  melodious  prelude  to  the  light 
Ere  the  dark  shades  were  driven  all  away, 
Lightened  its  exile  with  the  songs  of  home. 
Strange  in  that  land,1  alone  of  all  its  kind, 
Well  was  '  the  Birdie '  known  for  leagues  around  ; 
Rough  men,  uncouth  in  look  and  speech,  would  come, 
As  those  who  keep  a  Sabbath  after  toil, 
And  hush  their  ribald  blasphemies,  as  though 
They  stood  in  holy  presence  while  it  sang ; 
And  their  wild  faces  would  take  back  again 
Some  looks  of  childhood  and  those  purer  days 
Far  off,  or  ere  the  branding  lust  of  gold 
Had  marred  them. 

1  Elihu  Burritt  tells  a  story  of  the  intense  interest  excited  among  the 
colonists  of  an  Australian  settlement  by  the  singing  of  a  lark — a  bird  not 
indigenous  to  Australia — kept  in  a  cage  outside  her  window  by  a  widow. 
She  had  brought  it  over  from  England  to  share  her  exile,  and  refused  all 
the  many  offers  of  purchase  made  to  her. 


174  THE  BIRDIE. 


On  this  morn  the  Birdie's  note 
Woke  from  his  fevered  sleep  the  dying  man. 
He  knew  the  time  was  near  that  he  must  die : 
And,  smiling  as  the  broken-hearted  smile, 
He  said  in  thought,  '  This  wide  Australian  land. 
That  never  gave  me  welcome  to  her  arms 
Or  bade  me  find  a  home  upon  her  breast, 
Will  open  soon  her  heart  and  lay  me  there, 
And  suffering  none  to  break  my  quiet  sleep, 
There  she  will  clasp  me  closely  till  the  end.' 

Was  it  not  hard  to  die  so  far  away 
From  all  of  place  and  person  that  he  loved  ? 
To  die  alone,  not  one  of  all  his  kin 
To  minister  the  last  necessities, 
To  fan  the  burning  fever  from  his  brow, 
To  cool  his  hot  dry  lips,  and,  more  than  all, 
To  give  him  tender  words  and  loving  looks, 
And  make  death  calm  and  holy — as  a  wind 
At  even,  breathing  softly  from  the  west, 
Gladdens  the  dying  sunlight,  or  as  when 
It  breathes  like  pity  through  the  autumn  woods. 
And  the  sere  leaves  like  dying  hopes  float  down 
Gently  to  their  decay,  not  torn  by  gusts 
Nor  whirled  away   in  tempest — even  so 


THE  BIRDIE.  175 


To  breathe  upon  him  all  the  gracious  air 
Of  reconciling  sympathies,  and  then 
To  close  at  last  the  sightless  eyes,  and  then 
To  shroud  the  still  cold  form,  and  reverently, 
As  one  who  sows  immortal  seed  for  God, 
To  lay  it  in  the  furrow  of  a  grave, 
Waiting  His  golden  harvest,  over  it 
Dropping  the  precious  rain  of  holy  tears. 
Not  one — and  yet  how  might  he  call  it  hard? 
No  other  hand  than  his  had  cut  the  bonds 
That  bound  him  to  his  kin  and  to  his  home. 
Nor  might  he  rail  against  the  land  he  loved 
And  longed  for  far  away;   nor  stern  nor  cold 
Had  been  its  motherhood  to  him  her  son, 
But  kindly,  as  a  mother,  she  had  given 
All  liberal  gifts  to  meet  a  modest  need, 
And  yet,  as  one  too  wise  in  love  to  spoil, 
Withheld  her  treasure  from  his  grasp.     But  he 
Had  heard  a  siren-call  come  o'er  the  waves 
From  the  great  Golden  Isle,  had  seen  in  dreams 
A  glorious  Spectre  clothed  in  sheen  of  gold 
That  motioned  him  to  follow;   unto  whom 
He  said,  '  I  follow,'  and  arose  and  went. 
Went — careless  of  the  dear  familiar  land. 


176  THE   BIRDIE. 


Heedless  of  loving  eyes  that  wept  for  him, 
Deaf  to  the  tender  voices  praying  him, 
Scornful  of  Duty  with  her  stern  reproach, 
'Stay,  for  thy  place  is  here/ — and  more  than  all 
Striving  to  cover  what  he  could  not  hide, 
A  Form  with  Arms  outstretched  to  draw  him  near. 
To  deaden  that  within  which  would  not  die, 
Another,  'Follow  Me,  for  thou  art  Mine.' 

O'er  the  long  leagues  of  that  sea  waste  between, 
Cursing  the  tardy  hours  that  would  not  fly 
And  bring  him  face  to  face  with  all  his  hope 
Quick  as  his  eager  longing,  on  and  on 
The  gleaming  Spectre  lured  him  ;  till  it  stood 
In  that  far  land  which  seemed  another  world, 
And  bade  him  come  and  thrust  his  greedy  hands 
Into  that  treasure-heap.     It  is  a  tale 
Oft  told,  yet  not  too  often.     While  he  grasped 
There  came  against  him  surely  one  by  one 
Avenging  powers  to  hinder :  pains  of  toil 
Unwonted,  hateful  scenes  of  sin  and  strife, 
The  savage  life  beneath  the  burning  sun, 
The  broken  sleep  of  fear  beneath  the  stars, 
The  want  of  better  things  than  gold,  and  then 
The  robber's  cruel  hand  that  made  in  vain 
Long  weary  months  o(  labour,   then  disease. 


THE  BIRDIE.  177 


And  with  it  none  to  heal  and  none  to  cheer  ■ 
And  so  it  was  that  ere  a  year  was  gone 
He  saw  that  golden  phantom,  as  a  cloud 
Tinted  by  sunset  lapses  into  gloom, 
Slow  darken  into  grisly  hues  of  death. 

And  now  it  was  that  memories  of  home 
And  those  fond  hearts  that  waited  wearily 
Beyond  the  evermore-dividing  seas, 
Came  thronging  in  sweet  sadness  over  him, 
With  holy  influence  from  the  Source  of  love 
Moving  his  soul  to  prayer.     And  so  the  Form 
Which  he  had  sought  in  vain  to  see  no  more 
Looked  also  down  upon  his  heart  in  love, 
Not  in  reproach :  he  thought  those  gracious  Arms 
Leaned  to  him  from  their  Cross  of  pain  as  though 
To  draw  him  near  for  blessing ;  and  a  Voice, 
Rich  with  the  eloquence  of  mercy,  seemed 
Ever  to  fall  more  clearly  on  his  soul 
'  Ere  long  thou  shalt  be  with  Me — thou  art  Mine.5 

And  on  this  early  morning  as  he  lay, 
Yet  clearer,  nearer  seemed  to  fall  that  Voice, 
'This  day  thou  shalt  be  with  Me,'  and  his  soul 
Made  answer,  'Yea,  since  Thou  forgavest  him 
Who  died  that  day,  I,  though  more  vile  than  he, 
Will  hope  for  mercy  greater  than  my  sin.' 

M 


178  THE   BIRDIE. 


And  as  he  lay  and  brighter  grew  the  morn, 
And  sweeter  sang  the  Birdie — while  a  sense 
Of  pardon  calmed  the  waters  of  his  soul 
Into  a  perfect  stillness — on  their  breast 
Came  mirrored  from  the  old  beloved  land 
Scene  after  scene  of  other  days  long  dead : 
Came  not  to  trouble  but  to  soothe,  and  all 
Seemed  wrought  to  real  life  as  by  a  spell, 
And  the  spell-worker  seemed  the  Birdie's  song. 

O  sweetly,  sweetly  rang  the  joyous  note  ! 
He  thought  he  was  a  child  again,  and  stood 
With  others,  children  also,  by  a  stream 
Which,  as  it  were  the  type  of  their  glad  lives, 
Ran,  making  merry  music  through  the  fields, 
Ran,  with  a  rippling  welcome  and  farewell 
To  every  blossom  met  and  left  behind, 
Ran,  careless  of  the  solemn  mystery 
Of  ocean  ever  nearer  day  by  day. 
So  sped  he  with  his  fellows  by  the  banks 
And  through  the  meadows,  greeting  hastily 
All  bonny  things  and  bright,  and  stayed  for  none. 
Heeding  no  future  save  the  next  hour's  play — 
And  round  and  o'er  him  laughed  the  frolic  wind. 

O  sweetly,  sweetly  rang  the  Birdie's  note. 
And  now  he  was  a   boy  whose  eager  hc.irl 


THE  BIRDIE.  179 


Would  fain  in  this  the  glimmering  dawn  attain 

Manhood's  full  day :  with  visionary  eyes 

Blending  his  future  with  the  glorious  past 

He  saw  no  present :  all  the  quiet  hills 

About  his  home  were  castled  heights  of  war, 

And  down  their  placid  sides  his  fancy  scanned 

Descending  squadrons  sweeping  to  the  fray. 

The  keen  fresh  morning  breezes  woke  his  soul 

Like  battle  clarions ;  peaceful  woodland  scenes, 

Through  which  the  simple  cotter  wound  his  way, 

He  peopled  from  the  noble  names  of  Eld 

With  warrior  forms :   Great  Arthur,  flower  of  kings, 

True  friend  and  terrible  foe,  rode  there ;  and  there 

Sir  Galahad,  who  sought  the  Holy  Grail, 

With  earnest  face  and  pure ;  and  here  was  heard 

Sir  Roland's  horn  :  and  ever  there  and  here 

Some  immemorial  deed  was  wrought  again. 

These  faces  and  a  thousand  else  he  saw, 

He  saw  them  all  and  loved  them,  and  he  longed 

To  follow  and  be  like  them  ;  and  the  sun 

Shone  brightly  o'er  him,  and  the  blackbird's  call 

Came  to  him  like  a  bugle  from  the  dell, 

And  all  things  seemed  so  beautiful  and  true, 

He  cried  aloud  until  the  echoes  rang — 

And  round  and  o'er  him  swept  the  rolling  wind. 


I  So  THE   BIRDIE. 


0  sweetly,  sweetly  rang  the  Birdie's  note. 
And  now  the  scene  was  changed,  and  still  alone, 
Yet  not  alone,  for  there  is  life  in  death, 
He  stood  beside  a  grave.     Not  many  years 
Had  made  him  older  since  that  day,  and  yet 
Not  one  expectant  glance  in  those  dim  eyes, 
Not  one  bright  gleam  upon  the  stricken  face, 
Alas  !  not  e'en  toward  Heav'n  ;    he  stands  and  looks 
A  stony  look  beneath,  and  bitter  words 
Low-voiced  with  sullen  passion  made  their  way : 
'I  loved  her  with  a  love  that  made  me  pure, 
And  she  is  gone ;   the  truth  was  in  her  eyes, 
And  they  are  closed  for  ever;   her  bright  hair 
Made  chains  to  bind  me  to  the  hope  she  held 
Of  God  and  angels;   they  are  loosened  chains 
There  in  the  dust.     She  was  my  all  in  all, 
Truth,  Honour,  Beauty,  Purpose,  Purity, 
Hope,  Joy,  Faith,  Comfort — all — and  she  forsooth 
Was  needed  elsewhere  and  not  left  to  me. 
And  I  go  forth  and  care  not  where  I  go ! ' — 
And  round  and  o'er  him  sighed  the  ghostly  wind. 

Yet  sweetly,  sweetly  rang  the  Birdie's  note. 
Cloud-like  the  sin  of  those  remembered  words 
Troubled  the  vision  of  the  dying  man. 
A  moment — and  it  sped,  for  now  no  more 


THE  BIRDIE.  1S1 


Came  memories  of  the  past ;   a  marvellous  light 
Such  as  he  knew  not,  drowning  all  the  morn. 
Flooded  his  soul,  and  music  wonderful, 
In  which  the  Birdie's  warble  blent  and  died, 
Began,  rose,  swelled  and  deepened  into  Heaven 
Louder  than  loudest  thunders,  yet  more  soft 
Than  all  earth's  sweetest  silence.     Then  a  form, 
Bright    from    God's    presence,    hovered    down   and 

smiled — 
And  yet  he  knew  it — and  a  voice  he  knew, 
Attuned  to  that  strange  music,  flowed  to  him, 
1  Arise,  come  hence,  beloved  !     I  am  sent 
To  bring  thee,  for  He  calleth  thee,  and  now 
Thine  eyes  shall  see  Him — Come.' 

Before  the  day 
Shed  its  full  lustre,  one  who  slept  beneath 
Woke  with  a  sudden  start,  and  knew  not  why, 
But  rising  quick,  and  coming  half  in  fear 
Within  that  chamber,  he  beheld  his  face 
Shine  with  a  light  which  was  not  of  the  sun, 
Nor  yet  of  inner  life,  for  he  was  dead ; 
Dead — yet  without,  as  though  there  were  no  death, 
And  as  its  music  had  been  learnt  in  Heaven, 
Sweeter  and  sweeter  sang  the  Birdie  still. 


(Lillljat  tlje  fountain  £ai&  to  tlje  9£af&en. 

AND  must  the  mountain  speak  to  thee,  O  Maiden. 
To  thee  among  the  lowlands  far  away? 
I  with  the  weight  of  solemn  ages  laden, 
Thou  in  the  freshness  of  a  first  spring  day. 

Full  many  they  whose  gazings  fall  upon  me, 
Curious  or  careless,  and  no  word  say  I ; 

No  power  have  they  to  cast  a  glamour  on  me, 
And,  dull  of  head  and  slow  of  heart,  go  by. 

Most  rare  the  spell,  and  yet  from  thee  I  know  it, 
So  must  mine  ancient  silence  cease  for  thee  ; 

For  thou  hast  cast  thy  glamour  on  my  poet, 
And  he,  my  master,  casts  his  spell  on  me. 

And  I  rejoice ;   my  poet  is  my  prophet, 

The  power  I  bend  to  doth  my  head  upraise  : 

I  know  the  sweetness  as  the  sternness  of  it  ! 
The  priest  of  nature  wakes  the  world  to  praise. 


THE  MOUNTAIN  TO    THE  MAIDEN.         183 

He  said,  '  O  mountain,  shall  my  lips  adjure  thee, 
By  thine  allegiance  to  the  kings  of  men? 

Or  by  a  promised  guerdon  shall  I  lure  thee, 
Thy  name  writ  grandly  by  a  poet's  pen? 

1  Howbeit,  open  out  thy  heart's  deep  treasure, 
There  dwells  a  little  maiden  in  the  south  : 

I  bid  thee,  for  her  profit  or  her  pleasure, 

Drop  some  rich  word  of  wisdom  from  thy  mouth.' 

But  what  have  I  to  suit  thine  ear,  O  maiden? 

Wouldst  thou  some  wild  apocalyptic  word? 
Wouldst  learn  the  secrets  of  my  mystic  Aidenn, 

And  hear  the  sternest  music  ever  heard? 

Nay,  child,  not  for  thy  gentle  eyes  such  vision, 
Weird  faces,  flame-like  hair,  and  dismal  forms, 

Not  for  thine  ears  the  wrath  and  the  derision 
That  meet  and  mingle  in  the  voice  of  storms. 

Not  this  my  tale  to  thee  ;   no  vision  mystic, 
No  sounds  of  war  to  vex  thy  spirit's  calm, 

Yet  wilt  thou  lose  no  majesty — majestic 
Beyond  all  paeans  is  the  Church's  psalm. 


i84  WHAT   THE  MOUNTAIN  SAW 

The  Church's  psalm  of  peace  ;  the  joy,  the  beauty, 
Of  lowly  lives  ;   the  loftiness  of  love, 

The  deep  light  glowing  on  the  ways  of  duty  ; 
The  voice  and  presence  of  the  holy  Dove. 

Thereof  I  commune  when  the  priestly  morning 
Lays  first  on  me  the  great  day's  crown  of  light, 

Or  when  I  robe  in  even's  rich  adorning, 

Or  reign  sole  monarch  of  the  realm  of  night. 

Thereof  I  commune,  and  I  know  the  splendour. 

Earliest  and  latest,  which  I  thus  have  worn, 
Exalts  me  not ;   my  rocks  are  not  more  tender, 

And  my  lone  grandeur  is  not  less  forlorn. 

Low  lie  the  valleys,  and  I  tower  above  them, 
My  bended  head  is  close  beneath  the  sky, 

Yet  with  meek  reverence  am  I  fain  to  love  them, 
For  they  are  dearer  to  my  God  than  I. 

Dearer  to  God — to  them  His  grace  is  given  ; 

Mine  the  storm-torrents  and  the  warring  gales. 
And  wild  birds,  songless  ;  theirs  the  breath  of  heaven, 

Flower-fostering  fountains  and  the  nightingales. 


TO   THE  MAIDEN.  185 

And  if  my  word  be  of  mine  exaltation, 
Take  up  thy  parable  and  say,   'He  stands, 

This  Pharisee  of  hills,  with  vain  elation, 

In  that  great  Church  which  is  not  made  with  hands.' 

Nay,  rather  be  it,  '  See  the  mountain  hoary, 
Showing  the  track  which  children's  feet  have  trod, 

Saith,  in  the  valley  is  the  path  of  glory, 

For  this  world's  lowliest  are  the  great  with  God.' 

Yea,  none  but  valley  pilgrims  find  the  fountain, 
Whence  with  absolving  waves  life's  river  rolls, 

And  only  they  shall  climb  at  last  that  mountain. 
Where  God  hath  set  the  Eden-land  of  souls. 

Leave  then  the  summits  to  the  storms,  sweet  maiden  ; 

On  !   through  the  quiet  valleys  of  the  earth, 
Till  thou  inherit  in  the  heavenly  Aidenn 

The  mountain  glories  of  thy  second  birth. 


tCtje  fl^afoen'g  replp  to  tf)e  fountain* 

/~A     LORDLY  mountain,  to  thy  salutation, 
^-^     Greeting  so  tender  from  a  throne  so  high, 
The  maiden  meekly  from  her  lowly  station 
Far  in  the  southern  valley  makes  reply. 

As  thou  didst  speak  I  answer  by  my  poet : 
My  heart  as  thine  be  open  to  the  seer ! 

Truly  I  feel  thy  glory,  he  will  show  it  : 

My  wordless  musings  let  his  song  make  clear. 

Thy  glory?  yea,   I  know  it  sets  me  higher 
To  hear  of  thee  or  see  thee  in  my  mind : 

God's  grandest  creature — grander  than  His  fire, 
Ay,  than  His  ocean  or  His  ocean  wind. 

Grander — for  though  to  thee  no  beauty  vernal, 
Or  bloom  of  summer  give  a  single  flower, 

Vet  the  Lord  God  hath  written  thee  '  eternal,' 
And  stamped  thee  with  the  signet  of  His  power. 


THE  MAIDEN'S  REPLY  TO  THE  MOUNTAIN.  187 

Who  knows  but  in  the  great  regeneration, 

When  He  shall  make  the  whole  world  new,  that  thou 

Shalt  only  change,  erect  in  thine  old  static. 

By  bloom  and  beauty  which  thou  hast  not  now? 

Thou  and  thy  brethren  (as  round  Zion  olden 
The  hills  were  marshalled,  frowning  back  her  foes,) 

Standing  about  Jerusalem  the  golden, 
Majestic  columns  of  her  sure  repose. 

Then  beautiful  unspeakably — not  hoary 

With  barren  snows  or  dark  with  giant  glooms, 

But  robed  in  splendours  of  unfading  glory, 
Enwrapt  in  music,  incensed  with  perfumes. 

Yet  dearer  now,  more  awful  and  less  splendid, 
Art  thou  to  us  in  these  dim  years  of  time, 

For  till  the  mysteries  of  life  be  ended 

That  is  most  precious  which  is  most  sublime. 

Oh,  thou  dost  teach  me :   ere  the  consummation, 
The  highest  is  the  hardest,  the  most  bare : 

Here  a  sad  Hill  beheld  His  tribulation, 

For  Whom  the  gates  of  glory  opened  there. 


188  THE  MAIDEN'S  REPLY 

And  we  go  after :    up  the  height  of  sorrow  : 
We  are  but  strangers,  and  we  seek  our  rest, 

And  soonest  on  that  height  shall  break  the  morrow, 
And  nearest  there  the  kingdom  of  the  blest. 

Ye  hills,  ye  seem  the  great  earth's  aspirations, 
The  heavings  of  her  full  heart  toward  the  skies  ! 

And  so,  sublimer  are  the  soul's  sensations 
That  lifts  to  you  her  meditative  eyes. 

And  as  she  muses,  how  with  rolling  thunder 
And  sweet  harp-music  on  her  memory  throng 

Undying  names,  and  poet-words  of  wonder 
From  holy  annals  and  prophetic  song  ! 

Now  she  beholds  with  awe  th' uplifted  token, 
Ensign  of  wrath  or  love,  the  sovereign  rod  \ 

Now  hears  with  joy  what  glorious  things  are  spoken 
Of  Zion,  mountain-city  of  her  God. 

Borne  on  the  eagle's  wings  of  spirit  vision. 

And  rapt  into  the  past  she  takes  her  stand 
In  the  dim  twilight  of  the  old  religion, 

Amid  the  mountains  of  the  ancient  land. 


TO    THE  MOUNTAIN.  189 

And  here  she  bows,  in  lowliest  adoration, 
'Neath  one  great  height  hid  in  a  fiery  cloud, 

What  time  outpeals,  above  a  prostrate  nation, 
The  archangelic  trump  exceeding  loud. 

And  there,  where  Nebo,  like  an  old  stern  warder, 
Towers  o'er  the  plains,  by  one  still  form  she  stands, 

And  gazes  with  him  to  the  ocean  border, 

And  marks  him  stretch  in  vain  his  longing  hands. 

But  she  may  pass ;   and  o'er  the  sacred  river, 
Whose  streams  make  glad  the  valleys  of  the  blest, 

She  wings  her  way  where  God  has  willed  for  ever 
The  crown  supreme  of  all  His  hills  should  rest. 

There  most  she  lingers  where  the  great  salvation, 
God's  blessing  in  His  Blood,  fell  like  the  dew: 

Where  found  the  holy  Church  her  strong  foundation  : 
And  the  whole  earth  her  peace  and  plenty  drew. 

Yet  are  there  many  mansions  of  His  glory  1 
Both  North  and  South  rejoicing  in  His  name ; 

Tabor  and  Hermon,  each  with  his  own  story, — 
All  are  as  pillars  of  th'  eternal  fame. 


190  THE  MAIDEN'S  REPLY 

From  peak  to  peak,  from  altar  unto  altar, 
Height  calling  unto  height,  she  speedeth  on  ; 

Nor  do  the  fleet  wings  of  her  rapture  falter, 
Up  to  the  cedar  crowns  of  Lebanon. 

So  is  my  spirit  ever  rapt  and  lowly, 

In  visioned  presence  of  the  ancient  hills, 

As  though  the  sacred  words  and  footsteps  holy 
Abode  upon  them  yet  in  awful  thrills. 

Oh,  Friend  far  off,  for  them  do  I  revere  thee, 
As  for  thyself,  thou  Teacher  true  and  strong ; 

So  with  a  grateful  gladness  do  I  hear  thee 
Drop  words  of  wisdom  in  my  poet's  song. 

Sweet  is  the  vale,  thou  sayest,  O  my  mountain, 
And  graces  manifold  its  bosom  fill ; 

But  know  I  not  that  fulness  hath  its  fountain 
In  the  deep  heart  of  some  eternal  hill  ? 

Vales  of  the  wide  earth  all  are  Zion's  debtors  ; 

Life's  river  sprang  not  from  a  lowly  sod, 
But,  freed  in  season  from  its  old-world  fetters, 

Rolled  to  the  valleys  from  the  hill  of  God. 


TO    THE  MOUNTAIN.  191 

There  we  are  come — not  to  the  mount  of  thunders, 
And  dreadful  darkness,  and  more  dreadful  light, 

But  to  the  loftier  hill  of  holier  wonders, — 

Of  Love,  the  breadth,  the  length,  the  depth,  the 
height. 

Thither  we  go;   not  yet  our  last  endeavour, 
Not  yet  the  helping  hand  of  His  last  grace, 

Have  set  our  happy  feet  at  rest  for  ever, 
There  by  the  King  our  Father,  face  to  face. 

But  soon  1  and  though  this  hope  soars  far  above  thee. 

Yet  does  thy  vision  with  its  rapture  thrill ; 
So  must  my  spirit  reverence  and  love  thee, 

So  with  this  song  flies,  bird-like,  to  the  hill  ! 


IIDrudt* 


'As  thy  days,  so  shall  thy  strength  be.'— Deut.  xxxiii.  25. 
'Trust  ye  in  the  Lord  for  ever:  for  in  the  Lord  Jehovah 
everlasting  strength.' — Isa.  XXVI.  4. 


O  FELLOW-CHRISTIAN  !  whosoe'er  thou  art 
This  is  for  thee  and  me — 
This  wine  of  Trust,  that  maketh  glad  the  heart 

In  its  adversity  : 
Drink,  therefore,  and  so  bear  a  braver  part  ; 
For  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

'Thy  days'  may  be  a  life-long  battle-field, 

A  warrior's  history, 
Where  every  weapon  Satan's  arm  can  wield 

Shall  each  be  aimed  at  thee  : 
But  strive  in  Trust,  and  thou  shalt  never  yield  ; 

For  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 


TRUST.  193 


'Thy  days'  may  be  a  weary  pilgrimage 

Through  wastes  of  poverty ; 
The  vulture's  hunger  and  the  lean  wolf's  rage 

Be  ever  threatening  thee  : 
Thy  childhood  joyless,  and  thy  youth  like  age ; 

Yet  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

'Thy  days'  may  be  a  voyage  full  of  fear 

Over  a  stormy  sea, 
And  thou  the  sleepless  helmsman  sworn  to  steer 

The  good  ship  warily — 
The  sharp  rocks  there — the  roaring  whirlpool  here — 

Yet  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

;  Thy  days '  may  be  a  dull  and  vacant  range, 

A  long  captivity, 
Nought  brightly  wonderful  or  sweetly  strange 

To  quicken  time  for  thee  : 
Less  pain  or  more  the  only  interchange ; 

Yet  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

'Thy  days'  may  be  a  long  experience 

Of  much  perplexity ; 
The  light  it  longs  for,  amid  clouds  so  dense, 

Thy  mind  may  scarcely  see  : 

N 


194  TRUST. 


Then  on  thy  Father  cast  thy  confidence ; 
And  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

O  burdened  sufferer  in  a  world  of  woe, 

Thy  sorrow's  mystery 
Shall  pass  :   believe,  and  one  day  thou  shalt  know 

Above  thine  eyes  shall  see, 
Be  not  impatient  of  the  veil  below ; 

And  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

O  wakeful  toiler  in  a  world  of  pain, 

A  long  rest  waiteth  thee : 
Seek  it  not  here,  but  bravely  lift  again 

Tired  hand  and  feeble  knee  : 
\{  thou  wilt  trusty  thy  Master  will  sustain. 

And  as  thy  days,  thy  strength  shall  be. 

Yea,  fellow-Christian  !   whosoe'er  thou  art. 

It  is  for  thee  and  me, — 
This  wine  of  Trust,  that  maketh  glad  the  heart 

In  all  adversity: 
Drink,  therefore,  and  so  bear  a  braver  part; 

For  as  thy  days,   thy  strength  shall  be. 


TRUST.  195 


Amen  !   until  there  shall  be  no  more  '  days,' 

Until  the  shadows  flee, 
Until  the  cloud  be  lifted  from  our  gaze, 

Until  in  Certainty 
Trust  die,  and  Faith  in  Sight,  and  Prayer  in  Praise, 

In  God's  Eternity  ! 


%tnttntlbt* 

A     MEDITATION. 
'Out  of  the  Deep.' 

FAIN  is  the  wakened  soul  to  try 
Her  pinions  in  the  golden  sky 
Of  peace  and  pardon  instantly : 

But  they  are  clogged  by  thoughts  that  till 
Her  mind  with  memories  of  ill, 
A  worldly  love,  a  carnal  will, 

And  she  is  forced  to  sit  and  weep, 
And  watch  alone  in  valleys  deep 
The  darker  shadows  onward  creep, 

As  though  to  whelm  her  in  a  tomt 
Of  utter  spiritual  gloom, 
Foretaste  of  the  eternal  doom. 


LENTENTIDE.  197 


1  My  sin  ! '  the  low  despairing  sigh  ; 
1  My  sin  I'  the  exceeding  bitter  cry, 
Out  of  those  depths  is  heard  on  high  : 

Glad  angels  hear  it  where  they  stand, 

And  wait — a  ministering  band — 

Their  Lord's  permission  and  command ; 

It  comes — and  swiftly,  down  from  heaven 
A  light  whereby  that  gloom  is  riven  ! 
A  voice  of  power  and  peace,  :  Forgiven!' 

O  blessed  voice  !   O  living  light ! 

To  wake  those  silent  depths,  and  smite 

With  beams  of  day  the  vale  of  night. 

But,  ah !   not  yet  is  peace  complete, 
The  foemen,  fiercer  for  defeat, 
Strive  to  regain  their  ancient  seat. 

The  world,  forsaken,  brings  again 

Its  joys  and  cares  :   the  Will  would  fain 

Its  realm  recover  and  retain. 


198  LENTENTIDE. 


And  though  that  Light  still  shineth  clear 
Through  those  new  shades,  and  though  the  ear 
Hears  still  that  Voice  it  loves  to  hear 

Speak,  as  of  old,  on  Galilee, 

'  Peace : '  yet,  withal,  the  heart  must  see, 

And  hate  its  own  infirmity : 

And  cries,  as  one  who  cries  for  breath, 
Worn  and  oppressed,  '  I  faint  beneath 
The  alien  body  of  this  death  !' 

'Tis  well,  for,  otherwise  than  so, 

The  soul,  disdaining  to  lie  low, 

A  deeper  depth  of  ill  might  know — 

A  darker  gloom,  a  gulf  more  wide, 

Because  a  self-exalting  pride 

Would  thrust  her  further  from  His  side. 

Therefore,  the  Church,  that  she  may  lead 
Her  children   Homewards,   hath  decreed 
This  Holy  Season  to  their  need  ; 


LENTENTWE.  199 


Heavenwards,  Homewards  !   through  the  dense 
Dark  clouds  of  sorrow,  and  the  sense 
Of  present  frailty,  past  offence ; 

Heavenwards,  Homewards  !   by  the  road 
The  poor  in  spirit  ever  trod, 
And  tread,  in  pilgrimage  to  God. 

Heavenwards,  Homewards  !   till  they  win 
That  blest  inheritance,  wherein 
Is  no  more  sorrow,  no  more  sin. 


Coming:  Ikolp  ftLleefu 


The  Master  saith,  My  time  is  at  hand  ' — St.  Matt.  xxvi.  18. 
:  The  spirit  indeed  is  willing,  but  the  flesh  is  weak.' — St.  Matt,  xxvi    41, 


QOON  will  the  Holy  Week  be  here 
^-J     It  is  as  if  my  Lord  were  near, 
And,  half  in  hope  and  half  in  fear, 

I  went  to  meet  Him,  so  to  be 

A  witness  of  the  agony 

And  bitter  passion  borne  for  me. 

1  In  hope '  thai  so  my  soui  may  gain 
Harvest  of  joy  from  seeds  of  pain  ; 
That,  flooding  over  heart  and  brain, 

A  deeper  sense  of  sinful  night 
May  drive  toe  closer  to  the  Light 
To  read  His   Love  with  clearer  sight. 

soo 


COMING  HOLY  WEEK.  201 

'In  fear'  lest  even  while  I  weep, 
As  once  of  old,  forgetful  sleep 
Should  o'er  'the  willing  spirit'  creep, 

And  I  should  hear,  as  heard  the  Three, 

Those  words  of  chiding  sympathy, 

'Could'st  thou  not  watch  one  nour  with  Me?' 

Be  Hope  the  stronger!  O  be  Thou, 
Dear  Lord,  the  Guardian  of  my  vow 
To  keep  my  vigil  near  Thee  now : 

Aid  my  '  weak  flesh '  this  holy  tide, 

That  J,  despite  or  sloth  or  pride, 

May  watch  and  pray  as  at  Thy  side.     Amen. 


(Eastrr  (tbt. 

ANIGHT  of  silence  and  of  gloom 
My  Master  lieth  in  the  tomb — 
Mine  was  the  sin  and  His  the  doom  ! 


So  on  this  awful  eventide, 

My  self-trust  gone,  my  wealth  of  pride 

All  spent  and  lost,  I  fain  would  hide. 

And  where? — Lo,  on  this  Eve  alone 
I  come  with  contrite  prayer  and  moan 
And  lay  me  down  before  the  Stone. 

All  is  so  still,  so  deadly  still — 

E'en  that  dread  scene  upon  the   Hill 

Scarce  shook  me  with  so  strong  a  thril 


EASTER  EVE. 


For  Calvary  had  its  jeering  crowd, 

My  tears  were  check'd,  my  love  was  cow'd 

My  pride  took  courage  'mid  the  proud. 

The  soldiers  sleeping  heed  me  not, 

Their  vigil  is  perforce  forgot : 

The  world  is  banish'd  from  the  spot. 

So  here  I  weep — for  none  are  near 
To  fill  my  craven  heart  with  fear 
Of  some  sharp  gibe  for  every  tear. 

And  the  deep  stillness  hath  a  cry 
Reaching  my  soul,  and  none  are  by 
To  drown  it  with  their  blasphemy. 

It  saith,  '  O  ingrate  heart,  for  thee 

The  passion  in  Gethsemane, 

For  thee  the  scourge,  the  mockery, 

*  The  scarlet  robe,  the  thorny  wreath, 
For  thee  the  load  He  sank  beneath, 
For  thee  the  Cross,  the  Cry,  the  Death  ! 


:04  EASTER  EVE. 


'  Yea,  all  for  thee  !   and  having  learn'd 
How  great  that  love  was,  hast  thou  spurn'd 
The  due  of  gratitude  it  earn'd? 

4  Thankless  and  cold  !   thy  broken  vow 
Of  love  and  service  asks  thee  now, 
Here  at  His  tomb,  what  doest  thou?' — 

'Tis  true — yet  am  I  fain  to  come: 

In  grief  I  have  no  other  home 

But  near  Him,  though  'tis  near  His  tomb. 

And  as  in  self-convicted  mood 
On  mine  ingratitude  I  brood, 
A  Voice  upon  the  solitude 

Breaks,  like  a  benediction  near, 

And  through  the  darkness  in  mine  ear 

Whispers  of  hope,  and  not  of  fear: 

1  Yea,  all  for  thee  !   and  all  to  save  ! 

Forgives  He  not  as  He  forgave  ? 

Died   His  Love  with   Him  in  the  grave?' 


EASTER  EVE.  205 


So  on  this  holy  eventide 

I  lay  me  down  as  at  His  side, 

And  pray  to  die  as  He  has  died : 

That  I  may  rise  to  meet  the  strife 
With  this  dead  heart  renew'd,  and  rife 
With  impulses  of  love  and  life. 

But  can  it  be  with  one  so  vain, 
So  weak,  so  fearful  of  disdain? — 
*  It  can  be  !   by  the  right  of  pain, 

'And  curse,  and  cross,  and  this  dark  night! 
Thou  shalt  endure  through  all  the  fight, 
And  as  thy  days  shall  be  thy  might. 

'  So  shalt  thou  bear  His  flag  unfurl'd, 

'Mid  ghostly  foemen  overhurl'd, 

In  fearless  love  before  the  world  ! ' — 

Then,  blessed  Master !   only  Friend  ! 
Be  near,  inspire,  sustain,  defend ; 
In  prayer  I  battle  till  the  end. 


206  EASTER  EVE. 


Till  on  this  Lenten  night  forlorn 
There  breaks  the  final  Easter  morn, 
And  the  unsetting  sun  is  born. 

So  on  this  blessed  eventide, 

Here  at  Thy  tomb,  here  at  Thy  side, 

I  lift  one  prayer,  Abide,  abide  ! 

The  old  sweet  prayer  so  earnestly 
Pray'd  one  sad  eve,  and  heard  of  Thee- 
Abide  with  me,  abide  with  me  ! 


%^z  BirtJ  ot  (Brace. 

'  And  the  dove  came  in  to  him  in  the  evening  ;  and,  lo,  in  her 
mouth  was  an  olive  leaf  pluckt  off;  so  Noah  knew  that  the  waters 
were  ahated  from  off  the  earth.' — Gen.  vhi.  h. 

SOBBING  against  the  mountain  walls — 
Like  some  long  dirge  that  flows  and  falls 
And  fails  not  from  the  night 
On  to  the  night — a  whole  world's  grave, 
Slow  ebbed  the  vast  sepulchral  wave, 
Beneath  the  lonely  height 

Fell  now  upon  the  patriarch's  ear 
No  cry  without  of  prayer  or  fear, 

And  on  the  wastes  beneath 
Thick  mists  profounder  silence  flung: 
Dim  ghostly  veils  that  overhung 

A  solitude  of  death. 


208  THE  BIRD    OF  GRACE. 

'Twixt  peak  and  peak  the  great  Ark  lay, 
Pregnant  with  life  for  that  new  day 

Swift  dawning  over  earth : 
Womb  of  the  world  that  was  to  be, 
In  hope's  still  travail  patiently 

Waiting  the  hour  of  birth. 

But  long  it  lingered :    more  forlorn 
Morn  followed  night  and  night  the  morn 

As  each  no  token  gave ; 
This  calm  upon  the  mountain's  crest 
Was  wearier  deemed  than  the  unrest 

Of  the  tremendous  wave. 

Sealed  were  the  fountains  of  the  deep, 
The  flood-gates  barred,  the  storms  asleep. 

Yet  word  or  sign  was  none 
That  said  '  Baptized  from  sin  and  woe, 
The  buried  earth  re-lives,  and  lo  ! 

Its  new  day  hath  begun.' 

No  .sign  :    across  the  waters'  face, 
From  its  vain  quest  the  Bird  of  Grace 


THE  BIRD   OF  GRACE.  209 

Resought  the  sheltering  ark  : 
Only  the  carrion  fowl  flew  on, 
Or  ghastly  floating  forms  upon 

Folded  its  pinions  dark. 

No  word :   save  one  in  every  ear— 
'Trust  thou  thy  God' — as  each  could  hear, 

The  unseen  wastes  along, 
Leaving  not  storm  but  calm  behind, 
The  passing  of  that  mystic  wind  ■ 

In  equal  stillness  strong. 

Yet  six  days  more  of  watch  and  prayer, 
And  still  no  summons  thrilled  the  air, 

No  sign  the  vigil  blest; 
Then  morning  saw  the  Bird  of  Grace 
Once  more  into  the  shrouded  space 

Speed  on  its  lonely  quest. 

Slow  passed  the  morn,  the  noon,  away, 
And  evening  came  to  crown  the  day, 

Seal  of  the  perfect  seven, 
And  with  it  light  that  waxed  anon 
So  full,  so  rich,  the  window  shone 

As  it  were  set  in  heaven. 

1  Gen.  viii.  i. 
O 


210  THE  BIRD   OF  GRACE. 

Glad  grew  the  hearts  that  watched  within 
Twas  more  than  light  that  entered  in  ! 

Pledge  of  a  world  redeemed — 
Of  life  celestial  poured  beneath 
Through  mists  of  spiritual  death — 

The  blood-red  glory  streamed  ! 

Nor  only  this  the  sign :   behold 
The  tide  of  splendour  as  it  roll'd, 

As  from  the  heavenly  shore, 
In  through  the  window-gate  o'erhead, 
The  questing  bird — her  mission  sped — 

Upon  its  bosom  bore. 

Her  mission  sped — for  not  in  vain 
Her  wings  had  swept  the  wastes  again, 

And,  lo !    the  token  green. 
Proclaiming  from  her  mouth  new  life. 
And  peace  new  risen  out  of  strife, 

By  happy  eyes  was  seen. 

O  blessed  Bird  !     O  blessed  Tree ! 
That  sang  aloud  all  silently 


THE  BIRD   OF  GRACE. 


Christ's  carol  on  that  eve: 
O  holy  Olive,  holy  Dove  ! 
Ye  messengers  of  Life  and  Love, 

We  hear  and  we  believe ! 

Sin  was  and  is,  and  death  by  sin, 
And  like  a  flood  hath  wrath  come  in, 

To  make  an  end  of  earth, 
But  still  One  great  Ark  rides  the  wave ; 
The  Church  above  the  wide  world's  grave 

Awaits  its  second  birth. 

Tossed  on  the  raging  waters'  breast, 
Or  on  the  barren  rocks  at  rest 

She  sighs  in  vigil  long, 
But  through  dark  mists  and  skies  o'ercast 
Heaven's  light  prevailing  wakes  at  last 

Her  eucharistic  song. 

Her  song  of  joy  for  life  and  love : 
For  in  her  midst  the  holy  Dove 

The  mystic  Branch  displays, 
And  fain  her  heart — though  still  it  wait 
Its  supreme  bliss — to  antedate 

Its  everlasting  praise. 


212  THE   BIRD    OF  GRACE. 


Abba  !    my  Father,  reconciled  ! 

For  all  Thy  Church,  for  me  Thy  child, 

So  evermore  provide 
The  Bird  of  Grace  on  happy  wing 
The  Branch  of  life  and  peace  to  bring. 

With  light  at  eventide  ! 


%%z  £ngtoer  of  tje  tyillfr 

With  2  St  Peter  iii.  10,  compare  Rom.  viii.  19-21. 

DEAR  friends  among  the  hills,  I  sit  at  home, 
Spending  a  leisure  hour  'twixt  toil  and  toil 
Here  in  the  east  of  Babylon,  and  think 
How  fair  the  mornings  were  a  week  ago. 
It  is,  forsooth,  September  still,  but  not 
The  same  September  to  my  eyes  and  ears; 
It  is  not  bright,  it  does  not  blow;   the  eye, 
Dismally  peering  towards  the  chimney-tops, 
Sees  nothing  but  a  small  and  sickly  sun, 
Fog-stricken ;   for  so  soon  the  month  of  mists 
Has  sent  his  haggard  herald  from  the  swamps, 
Though  he  be  yet  a  five  weeks'  march  away, 
To  bid  us  surely  look  for  him  ;   the  ear, 
Amid  a  medley  of  suburban  sounds, 
Catches  not  one  of  nature ;  joyfully 
Would  it  exchange  for  such  a  calm  as  this — 
Doleful  and  chill  as  if  the  air  were  dead — 


214  THE  ANSWER  OE  THE   HILLS. 

The  rush  of  autumn  rains,  or  that  wild  roar 
You  wot  of,  such  a  madness  of  the  winds 
As  made  one  night  tremendous,  and,  alas  ! 
Ruined  far  off1  a  wonder  of  the  world. 

Yet  memory  holds  most  dear  of  all  those  days 
The  calmest ;   'twas  a  day  she  will  not  lose 
Till  heart  and  mind  have  need  no  more  to  search 
The  stores  of  old  delight  for  pleasant  food 
Or  pastime.     Such  a  day  begins  below, 
In  no  faint  foretaste,  that  eternal  rest 
Remaining  for  God's  people.     Far  away 
Seemed  the  sad  world,  behind  the  hills  that  stood 
Shoulder  by  shoulder  shining  in  their  strength, 
Gigantic  warders  of  a  quiet  land  ; 
Parted  for  pasture  all  the  vales  beneath — 
The  long  drought  over  and  forgotten — smiled 
With  faces  fresh  and  fair,  being  full  at  heart 
With  gracious  rains :    the  woodland  on  the  slopes 
Looked  up  with  life  renewed,  rejoicingly, 
As  if  it  stood  for  praise.     For  here  was  peace 
That  was  not  idle  sleep :    too  real  a  life, 
Too  great  a  gladness,  mingled  with  the  calm 

1  H.M.S.   'Captain'  was   lost  off  Cape  Kinistene  00  the  night  of  Sept. 
7th,    1870. 


THE  ANSWER    OF  THE   HILLS.  215 

For  slumber ;   and  the  brightness  was  like  song, 
Wide,  full,  but  all  too  fine  for  common  sound. 
A  reverence  seemed  to  temper  all  the  joy, 
And  make  it  worship  worthy  of  that  Fane 
Not  wrought  with  hands,  whose  dome  of  infinite  blue 
O'erarched  it  all,  as  peaceful  as  profound, 
Soothing  the  soul  with  vastness ;   as  it  were 
God  manifest  in  awful  tenderness 
Over  His  world. 

It  was  the  week's  first  day : 
And  'twixt  the  hours  of  morn  and  evensong 
I  lay  before  those  hills,  beneath  that  heaven, 
Among  the  grasses  by  the  church,  and  watched 
And  felt  in  all  my  soul  that  awfulness 
And  beauty  of  repose. 

One  only  thought, 
A  darkness  and  a  discord,  thrust  itself 
Into  m)/  musing,  of  that  doom  of  fire 
Which  one  day  shall  destroy  all  earth  and  heaven. 
But  oh,  your  green  hills  would  not  suffer  it  ! 
There  was  nor  speech  nor  language,  yet  my  heart, 
As  God  did  give  them  utteiance,  could  hear 
Their  voice  interpreting  His  word. 

But  read, 


216  THE  ANSWER   OF   THE   HILLS. 

Thus  have  I  fashioned  faintly  for  your  ken 
The  form  of  my  complaint  and  their  reply :  — 

The  shining  hills  before  me  lay, 
My  musing  heart  was  fain  to  say, 
'  I  mourn,  ye  hills,  the  stern  decret 
That  saith,  "  Ye  shall  no  longer  be 

On  that  dread  day 
When  heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  a\vay."; 

The  shining  hills  made  calm  reply, 
That  fell  upon  my  foolish  cry 
Like  words  that  silence,  gravely  mild, 
The  fretful  accents  of  a  child  : 

1  Beneath,  on  high, 
God's  work  is  good,  and  shall  not  die. 

*  Though  heaven  above  and  earth  below 
Shall  share  the  universal  woe, 
That  doom  of  fire  shall  but  destroy 
All  that  not  ministers  to  joy; 

Yea,  even  so 
Full  life  and  beauty  shall  we  know. 


THE  ANSWER   OF  THE  HILLS.  217 

'That  end  true  glory  shall  begin, 
That  doom  is  but  the  death  of  sin, 
That  night  is  mother  of  the  morn, 
In  travail  ere  the  light  is  born. 

That  woe  shall  win 
A  world  that  life  can  reign  within. 

'  Eternal  life !   no  bounded  lease 
Of  hours  of  pleasure  and  of  peace, 
But  joys  of  service  and  of  rest, 
Of  blessing  and  of  being  blest, 

That  never  cease, 
And  only  change  by  sweet  increase. 

'  For,  thinkest  thou,  shall  then  be  dearth 
Of  aught  of  grandeur,  beauty,  mirth, 
That  now  makes  glad  the  sons  of  men  ? 
Shall  they  not  see  their  joys  again 

At  that  dread  birth 
Which  shall  renew  the  heaven  and  earth? 

'Yea,  trust  that  He  Who  all  began 
Hath  for  the  end  His  perfect  plan  ; 


218  THE  ANSWER   OF  THE   HILLS. 

His  good  gifts  are  for  evermore  ! 
Creation  that  in  common  bore 

The  woful  ban, 
Shall  fail  not  of  the  bliss,  of  man. 

'  God's  pity  left  her  to  the  race 
He  would  win  back  into  His  grace, 
His  poet  sweet,  His  prophet  true  ! 
He  shall  her  youth  with  man's  renew. 

And  each  tear's  trace 
Wipe  ever  from  her  glorious  face  ! 

'Then  shall  ye  see  the  field,  the  flood, 

The  restful  vale,  the  placid  wood, 

All  that  ye  loved  in  all  the  land  ! 

And  we,  whose  "strength  is  His,"  shall  stand 

As  erst  we  stood, 
As  when  of  old  he  called  us  good. 

'Then  come!   for  supreme  joy  in  woe, 
Last  triumph  in  last  overthrow  ! 
In  all  thy  grace,  in  all  thy  power, 
Come  !    O  thou  sweet  tremendous  hour, 

Come  even  so, 
For  heaven  above  and  earth  below.' 


%%z  ^etiitation  of  i^aat. 

Genesis  xxiv.  62-67. 

THE  first  sad  hour  that  darkens  life, 
The  first  sense  of  decay, 
The  heart's  first  weariness  or  strife — 
This  doom  may  long  delay, 
But  comes  at  length — th'  inevitable  sign 
Of  what  in  us  alone  is  deathless  and  Divine. 


Or  soon  or  slow,  th' apocalypse 

Of  needs  than  earth  more  wide ; 
Or  soon  or  slow,  in  some  eclipse 
Of  pleasure,  passion,  pride  : 
Or  soon  or  slow,  it  cometh  sad  and  sure 
To  say,  '  Naught   can   below   suffice    thee,    naught 
endure.' 

219 


THE  MEDITATION   OE  ISAAC. 


Our  life's  experience  hath  its  birth 

In  travail  very  sore ; 
We  groan  to  find  the  fruits  of  earth 
So  stricken  at  the  core. 
'Tis  hard  to  waken  from  that  childly  dream 
That  made  life's  lovely  flowers  all  amaranthine  seem. 

Yet  it  is  well  that  out  of  youth, 

Though  in  amaze  and  fear, 
We  thus  should  waken  to  the  truth — 
That  secret  sad — and  hear 
The  voice  that  cries,  *  O  blind  of  soul  and  fond. 
Thou  dost  but  sojourn  here,  thy  true  life  is  beyond  ! 

'  Lo,  thou  art  of  eternity ! 

What  canst  thou  find  in  time 
Wide  as  thy  soul's  immensity, 
Or,  as  its  hope,  sublime? 
Grope  not  amid  these  wrecks,  but  on  them  rise  ; 
Know  thyself  what  thou  art,  an  heir  of  yonder  skies  !' 

Yes,  it  is  well ;   for  joy  abides 

More  steadfast  if  more  grave ; 
The  sparkling  rivulet  subsides 

Within  the  deeper  wave ; 


THE  MEDITATION  OF  ISAAC. 


In  ways  of  prayer  and  larger  thought  we  find 
What  bliss  in  strength  of  trust  o'erflows  a  quiet  mind ! 

So  doth  a  second  life  begin 

For  him  who  doth  not  quail ; 
New  streams  of  comfort  flow  within, 
Though  the  old  fountains  fail : 
And  in  the  seeming  waste  new  flowers  upspring, 
New  trees  their  calm  cool  shade  beside  the  waters  fling. 

Fell  upon  Isaac's  heart  of  old 
The  sickening  sense  of  pain 
That  saw  earth  darken  and  grow  cold, 
And  knew  that  not  again 
Could  time  give  back  the  summer  sunny-warm, 
Its  thousand  sparkling  joys,  its  one  beloved  form. 

His  heritage,1  the  solemn  field 

By  Hebron's  altar  stone, 
A  treasure  in  its  breast  conceal'd 
Which  had  been  all  his  own — 
Death's  now,  for  ever;   in  that  lonely  cave 
Seemed  it  with  that  dear  form   his   heart   too   had 
its  grave. 

1  The  field  of  Machpelah,  before  Mamre  or  Hebron,  was  the  first,  and 
at  that  time  the  only,  possession  of  Abraham  in  Canaan. 


222  THE  MEDITATION  OF  ISAAC. 


O  mother's  hand  and  voice  and  eye  ! 

Cold,  silent,  dimmed  away  ! 
With  them  the  glory  seemed  to  die 
Out  of  the  golden  day. 
Drear  looked  the  world,  so  beautiful  before. 
Wrapt  in  the  mists  of  death  and  sorrow  evermore. 

Then  was  it  well  that  other  light, 

Which  is  not  of  this  sun, 
Brought  other  knowledge  into  sight, 
And  that  new  life  begun ; 
And  in  his  father's  Hope  he  learned  to  stand, 
With  eyes  that  looked  in  peace  far  o'er  this  border- 
land. 

Then  all  was  well :    less  lovely  now 

Than  in  the  gleam  of  youth, 
Life  set  a  crown  upon  his  brow 
More  noble  with  the  truth, 
The  strength  of  trust  in  one  exalted  aim, 
A  crown  more  sure  than  joy,  more   excellent   than 
fame. 

Yet  but  a  space  did  God  withhold 
That  proven  heart  from  joy, 


THE  MEDITATION  OF  ISAAC. 


And,  where  sad  Hagar  saw  of  old 
His  grace  by  Lahai-roi  r — 
The  well  of  Life  and  Vision — sent  ere  long 
On  that  lone,  silent  tent  new  love  in  light  and  song. 


So  fell  it  in  an  evening  hour : 

Slowly  he  passed  aside, 
And  sought  in  peace  the  gracious  power 
That  falls  with  eventide  : 
Blest  is  the  hour — than  all  the  day  more  blest- 
Breathing  on  weary  hearts  the  ben i son  of  rest. 


Rich  lay  the  sunlight  far  and  near; 

Through  the  great  palms  it  shone; 
Whispered  the  breeze  upon  his  ear 
Its  tender  monotone, 
As,  the  fair  fields  the  Lord  had  blest  among, 
Rose  through  the   calm,  sweet   air  the   lone   man's 
even-song. 


1  Beer-lahai-roi  (the  Well  of  Life  and  Vision)  was  the  scene  of  the  revela- 
tion made  to  Hagar  (Gen.  xvi.  14),  and  it  was  beside  it  that  Isaac  after 
wards  dwelt  with  Rebekah. 


224  77//-;   MF.DITATIOX  OF  ISAAC. 


Then  lo !    the  answer  of  the  Lord— 

What  vision  meets  him  there? 
He  knows  it  for  the  sweet  reward 
Of  sorrow,  trust,   and  prayer; — 
O  maid,  as  thou  didst  leave,1   forget  thine  own 
Lo  1  'tis  thy  lord — be  his,  for  ever  and  alone ! 

O  glowing  eve  !   O  light  of  love, 

Deep,  tender,  and  serene  ! 
O  Lahai-roi !    O  life  above  ! 
O  light  of  the  unseen  ! 
Lord  !  from  the  alien  lands  so  call  Thy  Bride— 
So  lead  her,  bring  her  home  at  blessed  eventide.' 

1  L'f,  P.-.  xlv.  io.  -  Zech.  \i- 


%%z  Bfeftop  of  ftfomcljegter* 

IN    MEMORIAM. 
{FROM  '  THE  GUARDIAN;  JULY  30,  1873.} 

ANOTHER  beacon-light  blown  out  above  us  ; 
Another  buoy-bell  stilled  upon  the  sea ; 
Another  pilot  of  the  hearts  that  love  us 
Passed  from  our  company. 

Blown  out,  above  the  coast  line  frowning  grimly: 

Stilled,  o'er  the  fatal  silence  of  the  shoals; 
Passed,  from  the  few  who  watch  for  us  undimly 
The  Cynosure  of  souls. 

An  hour  ago,  and  how  the  light  was  beaming 

O'er  iron  rocks  in  smile  of  tender  cheer, 
Or,  bravely  at  our  need,  a  pharos  streaming 
O'er  surging  shocks  of  fear, 
p 


226  THE  BISHOP  OF  WINCHESTER. 

An  hour  ago,  and  as  the  tide  flowed  faster, 

And  we  by  dim  dread  shallows  swept  along, 
How  in  our  ears  full-toned  against  disaster 
Pealed  out  the  stern  sweet  song. 

An  hour  ago,  and  at  the  helm  serenely, 

His  steadfast  eye  upon  the  steadfast  Star, 
We  saw  him  stand  and,  lovingly  as  keenly, 
Steer  for  the  Haven  far. 

And  now,  and  in  a  moment,  is  all  ended? 

Gloom  for  the  light,  and  silence  for  the  sound? 
And  by  that  faithful  presence  undefended 
Sails  on  the  Homeward-bound  ? 

We  see,  hear,  hold  him  yet !     To  our  emotion 

Only  a  change  of  deeper  awe  is  given  ; 
Naught  dies  upon  the  spiritual  ocean 
That  had  its  life  from  Heaven. 

Still  do  we  see — not  now  the  changeful  splendour 
Lambent  or  sparkling,  leaping  through  the  night — 
But  the  abiding  glow,  most  deep,  most  tender, 
A  great  life's  lasting  light 


IN  MEMORIAM.  227 

Still  do  we  hear — not  now  the  silvern  laughter 

We  loved  to  catch  'mid  many  a  mightier  tone — 
But  this — the  golden  cadence  that  hereafter 
All  memory  shall  own. 

Still  do  we  hold — not  now  the  presence  human, 

Kind,  fearless  eye,  frank  hand,  and  vigorous  form — 
But,  closer  yet,  the  inner  and  the  true  man 
That  steered  us  through  the  storm ; 

To  guide  us  still  who  loved  him  !  cheering,  warning, 
Past  rock  and  shoal,  and  through  the  blinding  foam, 
Until  the  Homeward-bound  at  the  clear  morning 
Shall  be  at  last  at  home. 

Ah,  Saint,  there  are  who  in  the  heavenly  places, 

After  the  Vision  of  the  Form  Divine, 
Shall  greet  not  one  among  the  blissful  faces 
More  wistfully  than  thine ! 


2L  fefc^BetJ  Confirmations 

PAIN  is  her  portion  :  each  day's  work  and  leisure 
Is  pain  in  sterner  or  in  softer  stress; 
This  is  her  only  business,  only  pleasure, 
The  greater  pain  or  less. 

Yet  speak  I  as  a  fool  :  This  straitened  'only' 

Forgets  the  new  life  and  the  nobler  birth, 
Leaves  her  outside  the  re-creation  lonely, 
A  stricken  child  of  earth. 

Nay,  she  hath  other  portion  besides  pain 

Through  these  unlovely  days  of  less  and  more, 
She  follows  after,  for  exceeding  gain, 
One  Who  has  gone  before. 

1  This  is  a  parochial  sketch  from  real  life,  and  the  incident  especially  re- 
ferred to  is  authentic.     The  sufferer,  a  young  girl  in  the  East  End,  was 
confirmed  on  her  sick-bed  by  Bishop  Claughton,  Archdeacon  of  London, 
in  April  1873. 
Ill 


A   SICK-BED   CONFIRMATION.  229 

A  Sufferer  too,  named  then  '  The  Man  of  Sorrows,' 

But  '  King  of  Glory '  now  beyond  the  strife, 
And  from  His  Agony  and  Death  she  borrows 
Her  hope  of  blissful  life. 

In  gentle  ward  of  this  sweet  Hope's  enthralling, 

In  pain  abiding,  she  abides  in  peace, 
Its  patient  prisoner,  she  awaits  the  calling 
Of  final  full  release, 

A  child  of  God,  an  heir  with  Christ,  she  knows 
She  shares  with  Him  the  travail  of  her  days, 
Sure  in  His  Glory  that  the  greater  woes 
Shall  be  to  greater  praise. 

Nor  was  The  Son  Who  bore  the  great  Temptation 

By  Angels  of  his  Father  left  alone ; 
Nor  to  this  daughter  in  her  long  probation, 
Less  loving  grace  is  shown. 

The  Satan-haunted  wilderness  can  enter 

With  wants  and  fears  within  this  little  room ; 
So  for  her  need  such  help  from  Heaven  is  sent  her 
Can  make  the  desert  bloom. 


230  A   SICK-BED    CONFIRMATIOX. 

So  came  there  one  commissioned  by  this  place — 
Commissioned  from  the  Lord's  Ascension  hour 
By  the  unbroken  lineage  of  grace 
And  heritage  of  power — 


An  Angel  ministrant ;   no  wealth  or  station 

Made  claim  upon  him  from  this  door ;  within 
Was  needing  him  an  Heir  of  Christ's  salvation, 
And  so  he  entered  in. 

'  Peace  to  this  house,'  he  heard  the  brief  confessing 
The  great  '  I  do  ' :  made  for  the  Seven  his  prayer  : 
And  leaning  o'er  this  child  of  pain  with  Blessing 
The  Lord  of  Peace  was  there. 

O  patient  eyes,  now  filled  with  happy  tears ! 

Ye  saw  the  great  Rock's  shadow  in  that  hand 
Shading  the  soul  with  peace  from  all  the  fears 
Of  this  the  weary  land. 

Peace  !  for  the  past  the  Precious  Blood's  Remission  : 
Peace  !  in  the  drought  the  Spirit's  gracious  rain  : 


A   SICK-BED   CONFIRMATION.  231 

Peace  !   fairer  henceforth  that  far  Country's  vision 
Where  shall  be  no  more  pain. 

'My  happiest  day/  she  saith;   by  prone  affliction 
Being  thus  more  blest ;  ay,  and  more  blest  is  hc 
Who,  blessing  her,  hath  won  that  benediction 
'Thou  didst  it  unto  Me.' 


^ong0. 


%^t  ^Beautiful  3Deat!j. 

(song  of  a  cavalier's  mother.) 

HE  died  the  beautiful  death, 
For  the  Church  and  the  King  : 
Shall  his  mother  shed  a  single  tear, 
While  yet  so  proudly  she  can  hear 

His  war-cry  ring — 
So  fiercely  strong,  so  sweetly  clear — 
*  For  Church  and  King  ! ' 

He  died  the  beautiful  death, 

My  own  brave  boy : 
And — break  though  it  may  in  its  desolate  ruth — 
Thy  mother's  heart  for  thy  loyal  truth 

Hath  passionate  joy  ! 
Dead  though  thou  art  in  thy  strengtli  and  youth, 

My  glorious  boy  ! 

2:35 


236  THE  BEAUTIFUL  DEATH. 

He  died  the  beautiful  death, 

Last  of  his  race  : 
I  saw  him  slain  from  the  castle  wall, 
The  last  and  the  dearest  one  left  to  recall 

His  father's  face  : 
The  last  and  the  noblest  and  fairest  of  all 

Of  the  ancient  race. 

But  he  died  the  beautiful  death, 
For  the  Church  and  the  King  ! 

And  none  shall  see  me  shed  one  tear, 

While  yet  o'er  sorrow  my  soul  can  hear 
The  war-cry  ring — 

So  fiercely  strong,  so  sweetly  clear — 
1  For  Church  and  King  1 ' 


€$vW8  Itnffffjt* 

'  The  Sword  of  the  Spirit.' 
'  For  an  Helmet,  the  Hope  of  Salvation.' 
'  God  forbid  that  I  should  glory  save  in  the  Cross.' 

A  HELM  upon  my  brow  I  wear, 
I  wield  in  my  right  hand  a  Sword, 
A  Banner  with  device  I  bear — 
For  Christ  my  Lord. 

Armed  with  the  Spirit,  helmed  with  Hope, 
My  great  Cross  standard  wide  unfurled, 
I  fail  not,  fear  not,  though  I  cope 
With  all  the  world. 

I  battle  to  my  latest  breath, 

Then  not  my  joys  but  labours  cease, 
And  I  am  borne  to  life  through  death, 
Through  war  to  peace. 

The  guerdon,  then  ! — O  hour  most  sweet, 

When  I  shall  kneel  for  my  reward 
Before  the  Face,  beside  the  Feet, 
Of  Christ  my  Lord ! 

237 


tCSe  (Ebb  of  ^Titie* 

THE  little  maid  lay  moaning, 
Late  at  the  set  of  sun ; 
They  told  him  'She  is  dying 

Now  that  the  day  is  done  !' 
But,  listening  by  the  window, 

He  heard  the  full-toned  roar 
Of  great  waves  plunging,  plunging, 

All  down  the  silent  shore. 
And  to  tne  watchers  weeping 

'She  cannot  go!'  he  cried, 
'  The  soul-call  never  cometh 

At  flowing  of  the  tide.' 

The  little  maid  ceased  moaning. 

And  darker  grew  the  night; 
They  cried,  'She  is  not  dying, 

She'll  see  the  morning  li^ht  !' 


THE  EBB   OF  TIDE.  m        239 

But  he  heard  there  by  the  window 

The  plunging  waves  no  more, 
But  the  waters  washing,  washing, 

Like  a  lake  upon  the  shore. 
And  he  heeded  not  the  watchers, 

As  hopefully  they  cried, 
But  said,  with  lips  all  trembling, 

•  It  is  the  Flood  of  tide.' 

The  little  maid  lay  sleeping, 

Or  ere  the  night  was  done, 
They  said,  -She  will  awaken 

To  new  life  with  the  sun  •/ 
But  he  listened  the  deep  murmur 

The  sighing  night-wind  bore 
Of  the  waters  sobbing,  sobbing, 

As  they  forsook  the  shore. 
'Now  pray  the  Lord  Almighty 

Upon  your  knees/  he  cried, 
1  Oh,  pray  Him  by  His  mercy, 

For  'tis  the  Ebb  of  tide  ! ' 

Ah  me  !   the  world  is  evil, 
And  sick  with  care  and  sim 


24o        s  THE   EBB    OE  TIDE. 

And,  sure,  the  Lord  had  mercy. 

Who  left  her  not  therein  j 
For  with  one  cry,  '  O  Father  ! ' 

She  woke  ere  it  was  day, 
And  sighed  and  smiled  ;   and,  sighing 

And  smiling,  passed  away. 
And,  sure,  in  life  more  blessed 

Her  sweet  soul  doth  abide, 
Where  on  the  Sea  of  Jasper 

Is  never  Ebb  of  tide. 


' r  I  ^HE  morn  is  best' — his  eager  tongue 

J-       Interpreted  his  happy  eyes  : 
And  o'er  the  waves  his  triumph  rung 

To  where  he  saw  the  splendour  rise, 
As  light's  blue  tide  'gan  roll  among 

The  floating  islands  of  the  skies. 
'  The  morn  is  best,'  he  cried  agen, 

And  the  glad  waters  sang  'Amen.' 

'  The  noon  is  best ' — he  said  the  while 

He  watched  the  tenderer  deeper  glow 
From  wave  to  wave,  from  isle  to  isle, 

Below,  above,  to  fulness  grow ; — 
The  love-born  beauty  of  his  smile 

A  darling  secret  seemed  to  know. 
'  The  noon  is  best/  he  said  agen, 

And  ocean  rolled  profound  'Amen/ 
Q 


242  THE  SEA'S  AMEN. 

'Even  is  best' — he  said,  and  sighed, 

What  time  there  breathed  an  odorous  balm 

On  airs  that  ever  lived  and  died, 
A  silence  now,  and  now  a  psalm  ; 

And  prayer-like  shoreward  moved  the  tide, 
As  shrineward,  in  the  holy  calm. 

'Even  is  best,'  he  sighed  agen, 

And  one  long  wave  intoned  'Amen.' 

'The  night  is  best' — he  said,  when  deep 
And  dark  upon  the  ocean's  breast 

A  mystic  spell  of  awful  sleep, 
A  death  in  hope,  divinely  blest, 

Fell — and  he  could  not  smile  or  weep 
But  only  wait  and  be  at  rest. 

1  The  night  is  best,'  he  said  agen. 

And  dreary  murmurs  breathed  'Amen.' 

'  Amen  :'  it  is  the  matin  cry, 

Noon's  anthem,  and  the  evensong, 

And  night's  refrain  :   afar  and  nigh, 
Through  all  the  mystery  of  wrong— 

'  Amen,'  '  All 's  well,'  perpetually 

The  grand  response  is  borne  along— 

For  life  and  death  and  life  agen 

'Amen,  All's  well:'  'All's  well,'  'Amen. 


Cfjtltireii'g  »>ong;  bj  tf)e  feea* 

WE  who  sing  beside  the  shore, 
By  our  grand  orchestral  ocean, 
Tune  our  singing  to  his  roar, 

Murmurous  rest  or  loud  emotion  : 
Fresh  as  in  our  fathers'  ears, 

Rings  his  olden  endless  story  : 
Ancient  monarch  of  the  years, 
Young  as  in  his  primal  glory  ! 

Double  lessons  doth  he  give — 

Alternated  for  our  learning — 
Lessons  how  to  love  and  live, 

Never  trite,  though  still  returning  : 
None  as  he  so  free  and  strong — 

So  by  strength  our  mighty  Master 
Teaches  us  to  war  with  wrong, 

And  to  bravely  bear  disaster; 


244  CHILD  REN'- S  SEA-SONG. 

So  he  teaches  at  the  noon 

In  his  loud  majestic  splendour; 
Then  in  whispers  'neath  the  moon, 

'Be  ye  lowly,  loving,  tender.' 
That  he  sounds  in  notes  of  war, 

Waves  magnificently  rolling  ! 
This  in  murmurs  on  the  shore, 

Like  the  holy  church  bells  tolling 

For  the  heart  and  head  of  life, 

These  are  lessons  not  for  scorning  ; 
For  the  rest  and  for  the  strife, 

For  the  evening  and  the  morning : 
He  is  worthy  of  our  song, 

And  our  loyal  hearts'  devotion — 
He,  the  tender  and  the  strong, 

Brave  and  loving-hearted  ocean  ! 


C&t  J£art>e0t  of  £>oul& 

GATHER  the  Harvest  in: 
The  fields  are  white,  and  long  ago  ye  heard 
Ringing  across  the  world  the  Master's  word — 
Leave  not  such  fruitage  to  the  lord  of  Sin, 
Gather  the  Harvest  in. 

Gather  the  Harvest  in  : 
Souls  dying  and  yet  deathless,  o'er  the  lands, 
East,  West,  North,  South,  lie  ready  to  your  hands  ; 
Long  since  that  other  did  his  work  begin  ; 

Gather  the  Harvest  in. 

Gather  the  Harvest  in  : 
Rise  early  and  reap  late.     Is  this  a  time 
For  ease?    Shall  he,  by  every  curse  and  crime, 
Out  of  your  giasp  the  golden  treasure  win? 

Gather  the  Harvest  in. 


246  THE  HARVEST  OF  SOULS. 

Gather  the  Harvest  in  : 
Ye  know  ye  live  not  to  yourselves,  nor  die, 
Then  let  not  this  bright  hour  of  work  go  by  : 
To  all  who  know,  and  do  not,  there  is  sin : 

Gather  the  Harvest  in. 

Gather  the  Harvest  in: 
Soon  shall  the  mighty  Master  summon  home 
For  feast  His  reapers.     Think  ye  they  shall  come 
Whose  sickles  gleam  not,  and  whose  sheaves  are 
thin? 

Gather  the  Harvest  in!? 


JLulUbv  of  %\Zz. 

SLEEP,  little  flower,  whose  petals  fade  and  fall 
Over  the  sunless  ground; 
Ring  no  more  peals  of  perfume  on  the  air — 
Sleep  long  and  sound. 

Sleep — sleep. 

Sleep,  summer  wind,  whose  breathing  grows  more  faint 

As  night  draws  slowly  nigh ; 
Cease  thy  sweet  chanting  in  the  cloistral  woods 

And  seem  to  die. 

Sleep — sleep. 

Sleep,  thou  great  Ocean,  whose  wild  waters  sink 

Under  the  setting  sun ; 
Hush  the  loud  music  of  thy  warring  waves 

Till  night  is  done. 

Sleep — sleep. 


248  LULLABY  OF  LIFE. 

Sleep,  thou  tired  heart,  whose  mountain  pulses  droop 

Within  the  valley  cold  : 
On  pains  and  pleasures,  fears  and  hopes  of  life, 

Let  go  thine  hold. 

Sleep — sleep. 

Sleep,  for  'tis  only  sleep,  and  there  shall  be 

New  life  for  ali,  at  day ; 

So  sleep,  sleep  all,  until  the  restful  night 

Has  passed  away. 

Sleep— sleep. 


^ottnetjs. 


Cfje  £Dne  jfUme* 


'  Who  is  among  you  that  walketh  in  darkness,  and  hath  no 
ight?  Let  him  trust  in  the  Name  of  the  Lord.' — Isaiah  l.  10. 


IN  One  Name  I  have  found  the  all  in  all. 
It  is  enough,  and  It  will  never  fail. 

Here  on  the  height,  or  there  within  the  vale, 
In  this  my  strength  I  shall  not  greatly  fall. 
If  on  the  dark  hills  here  thy  fears  appal, 

O  thou  mine  Enemy !  or  there  assail 

My  fainting  heart,  yet  shall  they  not  prevail, 
For  on  the  Name  thou  dreadest  I  will  call. 

Oh  then  rejoice  not !  for  I  shall  arise, 
And  heavenly  light  shall  stream  across  the  gloom, 
And  heavenly  music  drown  the  voice  of  doom, 

And  a  most  blissful  prospect  cheer  mine  eyes : 
All  from  that  Name  beloved  and  adored, 
Thy  sweet  great  Name,  O  Jesus  Christ,  my  Lord. 


SONNETS. 


tlTrugt. 

*  He  that  believeth  shall  not  make  haste. 

TRUST  is  both  sweet  and  holy,  good  and  great : 
Holy  and  great  by  the  Divine  control 
Of  Self  and  Will,  the  strength  of  those  who  wait 

When  '  Make  thou  haste '  is  urged  within  the  soul. 
And  sweet  and  good  by  beauty  of  that  peace 

Won  in  the  press  of  battle  :  their  heart-rest 
Whose  many  sorrows  though  they  do  not  cease 

Are  yet  breathed  out  upon  a  Father's  breast. 
So  too  'tis  deep  and  high  ;  deep  lie  the  springs 

That  through  the  drought  sustain  the  river's  flow  ; 
High,  sunward,  heavenward,  mount  the  eagle's  wings 

What  time  the  sullen  clouds  are  spread  below. 
Deep  are  the  calm  seas 'neath  their  stricken    face: 
High  o'er  the  world  of   storm  the  stormless  space. 


SONNETS.  253 


1. 

OH  !  that  this  day  on  which  my  Surety  died 
May  humble  me,  and  out  of  Self  and  Sin 
So  draw  me  upward,  that  I  may  begin — 

Low  at  His  cross,  exalted  at  His  side, 

Beneath  my  burden  and  above  my  pride — 
Henceforth  a  lowlier,  loftier  life,  and  win 
The  '  Go  up  higher,'  and  the  '  Enter  in ' 

Said  only  to  the  meek.     O  Crucified  ! 

Whom  only  thus  I  know  as  afterward 
Risen  also  and  Ascended :  let  Thy  pains 
In  Passion  and  in  Death— while  need  remains — 

With  all  my  life,  borne  for  my  sake,  accord, 
That  I  may  rise  o'er  my  dead  self  and  be 
In  heart,  though  here  on  earth,  in  Heaven  with  Thee. 


254  SONNETS. 


II. 

REDEEMED  !'  What  voices  mingle  low  and  high 
Within  the  compass  of  the  one  word's  sound ; 
Justice  and  grace,  God's  wrath,  God's  love,  profound 
Beyond  all  searching,  in  its  utterance  lie. 

O  hear  therein,  my  soul,  the  Victim's  cry ! 
What  time  the  precious  Blood  from  every  wound, 
From  breadth,  length,  depth  and  height,  drops  to  the 
ground. 
Yet  hear  therewith  the  anthems  ]  of  the  sky — 
Song  of  the  Elders  and  die  mystic  Four — 

Song  of  the  many  Angels  round  the  Throne — 
Song  of  Creation  !  trinal  song  as  one, 
Loves  Blessing  evermore  and  evermore! 

'Redeemed !'  how  Earth  and  Heaven  are  in  the  word, 
Thy  Cross,  O  Dying  Lamb!  Thy  Crown,  (J  Living 
Lord  ! 

i  See  Rev.  v.  8  14. 


SONNETS.  255 


(Easter  £>onnet& 

I.    MARY   MAGDALENE   ON    EASTER    MORNING. 

*  T     AST  at  the  Cross  and  first  beside  the  Tomb  : ' 
-■ — '    Love  ere  the  dawn  had  been  her  guiding  ray, 

And  now  the  twain  had  come  and  gone  their  way 
Love  still  shone  out  amid  the  deeper  gloom 
Of  that  new  loss  which  seemed  a  second  doom. 

There  last  He  lay  :  Love  whispered,  '  Linger  there/ 

And  e'en  in  Hope's  eclipse  forbade  despair, 
And  could  the  dismal  vacant  depth  illume. 

Then  lo,  the  gleaming  angels  !   and  the  word 
'Why  weepest  thou?'     Yet  was  she  all  unmoved. 
Angels  sufficed  not  for  the  Form  she  loved, 

Nor  all  their  glory  for  the  stricken  Lord. 
Herein  was  love ;   not  Heaven  itself  can  bring 
Requital  for  the  vision  of  its  King. 


2^6  SONNETS. 


II.    THE   GARDENER. 

SHE  turned,  and  knew  Him  not.    So  dim  her  eyes 
With  their  long  weeping  ;  or  not  all  withdrawn 

Yet  hung  the  veil  before  the  face  of  dawn  ; 
Or  was  she  holden  from  the  blest  surprise? 
Howbeit,  she  knew  Him  not,  and  in  surmise 

Saw  but  the  Gardener  j   for  around  the  tomb 

The  garden-plots  were  breaking  into  bloom, 
As  Spring  o'er  prostrate  Winter  'gan  arise. 
'With  Spring  he  comes,'  she  thought, 'to  train  and  tend, 

And  to  subdue.'     Erring  she  did  not  err;1 
The  spiritual  winter  here  had  end, 

And  Spring  was  come  for  all  the  world  and  her. 
And   He,  the  Gardener  of  the  quick  and  dead. 
In  this  new  Eden  bruised  the  Serpent's  head. 

»  '  PtofectO,  cmuido  non  crr.ivit. ' — St.  Augu 


SONNETS.  257 


III.    THE   GREETING. 

HE  said  unto  her,  '  Mary.'     With  one  cry, 
And  in  one  moment,  she  was  at  His  feet. 

Oh  to  her  desolate  thirsting  soul  how  sweet 
The  calling !    as  to  those  in  days  gone  by 
His  voice  on  the  dark  waters,  '  It  is  I.' 

O  great  good  Shepherd  !   so  He  came  to  meet 

The  sheep  that  cried  to  find  Him — so  to  greet 
Her  for  whose  need  he  was  unseen  so  nigh. 

He  knows  His  sheep  and  calls  them  all  by  name  ) 
They  hear  not  others  but  His  voice  they  know : 
She  heard  and  knew  the  calling  sweet  and  low, 

And  to  His  feet  in  reverent  rapture  came. 
O  my  great  master  !   thus  and  evermore 
Thee  would  I  seek  and  find,  love  and  adore. 


258  SONNETS. 


%^z  Salutation  of  ttje  (ElDerg. 
I. 

'These  all  died  in  faith,  not  having  received  the  promises,  but 
having  seen  them  afar  off,  and  were  persuaded  of  them,  and  em- 
braced1 them  ' — Heb.  XI.  n- 

WITH   lifted    eyes,  with  longing   hearts,   with 
hands 

Stretched  out,  as  men  who  greet  their  friends  afar, 

Or  pilgrims  of  the  night  their  morning  star — 
Amid  the  bloom  and  glory  of  the  lands, 
Or  in  the  flowerless  solitude  of  sands, 

On  the  rich  plains,  or  by  the  barren  foam, 

'Mid  woes  of  exile,  'mid  delights  of  home. 
In  pastoral  companies  or  warring  bands — 

So  stood  the  Elders :    strangers  everywhere 
This  side  that  Fatherland  they  could  not  see : 

Pilgrims,  for  ever  constant  to  declare 
They  sought  a  place  of  immortality, 

A  spiritual  city  beyond  ken 

God  built,  prepared,  and   kept,  for  waiting  men. 

1  More  literally  and  significantly,  'saluted  them'  ,ao-ira<ranii-oi'.. 


SONNETS.  259 


11. 

'These  all,  having  obtained  a  good  report  through  faith,  received  not 
the  promise,  God  having  provided  some  better  thing  for  us.'— Heb. 
xi.  39. 

SO  stood  the  Elders  :   yet  their  wistful  eyes 
Saw  not  the  vision  here :   they  never  heard 
Our  revelation  of  the  Living  Word 

In  His  Epiphany  beneath  the  skies  : 

They  saw  not  Jesus  die,  nor  live,  nor  rise 
Back  to  the  many  mansions :   that  Return 
Left  not  to  them  the  promises  that  burn 

Within  our  hearts  in  earnest  of  the  Prize. 

Burn  !   is  it  so  ?     O  that  this  larger  grace 
Of  fuller  oracles  and  clearer  light 
To  us,  so  slow  to  hear,  so  dull  of  sight, 

Be  not  our  shame  before  the  Master's  face  ! 
O  that  our  hope,  more  blest,  may  closer  cling 
About  that  coming  City  and  our  King  ! 


26o  SONNETS. 


%\)z  femall-.poj;  in  tijc  (Eatft* 

I.    THE    SISTERS   OF    MERCY. 

THOU  through  this  city-world  late  roaming  wide — 
Thy  presence  ever  ruin,  often  death  — 
Who  here  i'  the  East  now  choosing  to  abide, 

Wouldst  poison  all  the  breezes  with  thy  breath  : 
Not  all  unchallenged  dost  thou  work  thy  will : 

There  have  gone  forth  against  thee  many  a  hand 
And  many  a  heart,  that  in  this  hour  of  ill, 

When  most  men  fly  or  falter,  still  withstand  : 
The  Healer  here,  the  soul's  Physician  there, 

And  others,  rank  and  file  :    and,  if  it  be 
That  more  for  duty's  sake  these  do  and  dare, 

Yet  are  there  who  most  meekly,  mightily, 
Work  but  in  love.  Angels  of  this  sad  city, 
Ye  Sisters  of  St.  Saviour's  tender  pity  ! 


SONNETS.  261 


Cfie  &ame* 

II.    CHURCH   MINISTRATIONS. 

r  I  ^HE  powers  of  evil  work  unwittingly, 

-*■       Unwillingly,  for  good;   that  word's  control, 
1  Thus  far,  no  further/  holds  them,  like  the  sea. 

How  often  are  they  made  to  bless  the  soul, 
While  they  beset  the  body  with  the  woes 

Of  some  disease  that  warns  the  world  away, 
And  opens  doors  and  hearts  long  sealed  to  those 

Who  watch  for  all  whom  earthly  hopes  betray, 
The  heavy-laden  and  forlorn,  to  aid 

And  lead  them,  pointing  upward.     Many  a  home, 
Brought  by  these  powers  into  the  darkest  shade, 

Has  seen  a  new  and  better  sunshine  come, 
And  learnt  ere  long  this  word  of  heavenly  cheer, 
'  The  world  forsakes  us,  but  the  Church  is  here/ 


262  SONNETS, 


III.    A    PRIVATE    BAPTISM. 

ONE  room  and  small,  and  yet  the  home  of  four  ; 
Of  these,    three    stricken :  there  the  young 
wife  dead, 

The  babe,  which  but  a  week  ago  she  bore, 
Here  dying  by  its  father  j  on  the  bed 

Now  and  again  weakly  he  strives  to  raise 

His  marred  frame,  and  bleared  eyes  that  lie  may  see 

His  motherless  boy,  and  hear  the  words  of  praise, 
1  We  thank  Thee  for  this  child  new-born  to  Thee,' 

Said  by  the  kneeling  priest.     The  chrismal  dew- 
Shines,  as  the  tears  shine  on  the  father's  face, 

Diamond-like  'mid  dark  disease.     O  true 

And  precious  tokens  of  the  streams  of  grace  ! 

As  'Jesus  wept/  he  weeps  for  child  and  wife: 

And  from   His  Side  sees  flow  their  second  life. 


SOXiVETS.  263 


IV.    DEATH    AND    LIFE. 

HE  '  groans  in  spirit,'  for  his  wife  and  son — 
Sore  troubled,  like  his  Lord :  he  weeps  and 
cries, 
'  I  have  lost  her :  yet,  O  Lord,  Thy  Will  be  done  ! 

And  he — oh  now  within  Thine  Arms  he  lies, 
Our  Father,  and  I  thank  Thee  ;   yet,  I  pray, 

Oh  spare  him  !  for  my  sight  is  sore  and  dim, 
I  scarce  have  seen  my  son. — What  do  I  say? 

It  may  be,  Lord,  that  Thou  hast  need  of  him, 
That  Thou  wouldst  have  him  for  his  mother's  joy; 

Thou  knowest,  Lord,  and  doest  always  best; 
She  is  with  Thee  ;   and  if  she  wants  her  boy, 

Lord,  take  him  !    I  will  think  of  them  at  rest 
Together  :   is  he  not  more  hers  than  mine, 
Now  that  her  home  is  this  no  more,  but  Thine?' 


264  SONNETS. 


V.    THE  THINGS  SEEN  AND  THE  THINGS  NOT  SEEN. 

IN  womanhood's  first  freshness  blithe  and  fair 
At  last  week's  Feast  together.     Now  they  lie 
Together  doomed.     As  he  who  marked  them  there 

Here  looks  upon  the  leprous  change,  a  cry, 
'O  for  one  moment  of  my  Master's  power!' 

Breaks  forth  within  him  :    '  O  to  say,  "  Be  clean," 
And  see  them  rise  within  the  self-same  hour 

As  if  this  hideous  woe  had  never  been  !' — 
Hush,  faithless  servant,  are  the  things  not  seen 

Hid  from  thy  soul  by  honor  on   thine  eyes? 
Dost  suffer  any  cloud  to  come  between 

Thee  and  the  everlasting  verities? 
Against  a  deeper  woe,   for  higher  weal 
Thou  hast  His  power  :  speak  in  The  Name,  and  heal: 


SONNETS.  265 


VI.    SPRING  AND   EASTER. 

r  I  '•HE  room  is  dark,  and  at  the  door  is  death  , 
-■-       Sightless,  and  marred  beyond  all  knowledge, 
there 
His  victims  waiting  lie  :   their  labouring  breath 

Makes  the  sole  sound,  and  taints  the  heavy  air. 
What  comfort  ? — Ah,  my  God  !  who  doubt  Thy  truth, 

And  mock  our  Easter  hope,  should  enter  here, 
And  see  Thy  Word  in  its  immortal  youth, 

Serene  and  strong  in  mastery  of  fear. 
Without,  the  changed  season  smiles  and  sings, 

For  winter's  tyranny  is  overpast : 
Within,  is  risen  with  healing  in  His  wings 

The  Sun,  whose  sky  no  death-clouds  overcast : 
There,  Spring-tide's  promise  of  regenerate  earth  ; 
Here,  Easter  sunshine  of  the  second  birth. 


266  SONNETS. 


%%z  fe>ame* 

VII.    HOLY   COMMUNION. 

A  LITTLE  while,  O  Death,  a  little  while, 
Then  may'st  thou  enter  in  and  make  an  end — 
An  end  of  sorrows — enter  with  the  smile 

Thou  usest  when  thou  comcst  as  a  friend. 
A  little  while  :   for  meet  it  is  and  right 

That  first  we  feast  together — we  who  stay 
They  that  be  passing — so  to  part  at  night 

Foretasting  union  in  the  new  near  day. 
The  woful  scene,  the  sickening  air,  the  gloom, 

Mar  not  this  Feast :  round  this  poor  Altar-board 
Good  angels  gather,  and  account  this  room 

A  Gate  of  Heaven   by    Presence  of  the   Lord. 
A   little  while,   C)   Death  !    then  set  them  free 
To  find  His  Face  beyond  this  veil  and  thee. 


SONNETS.  267 


Si  Suntoap  Confirmation  in  an  (EagfcCEnti 
Ctjurtlj. 


T  J  7 1  THIN,  the  sounds  were  all  of  praise  and 
prayer, 
The  old  alternate  music  of  the  soul, 
Triumphant,  tender:  now  the  lofty  roll 

Of  glad  thanksgiving  shook  the  sacred  air : 

Now  the  pathetic  voice  of  need  and  care 
Wherewith  in  reverent  trust  the  children  cry 
Unto  a  loving  Father  here  most  nigh, 

Albeit  not  far  from  each  one  everywhere. 

Without,  the  sounds  were  all  of  shame  and  sin : 
The  pleasure-seeker's  laugh,  the  drunkard's  song, 
The  vendor's  shout  amid  a  careless  throng, 

By  turns  broke  softly  on  the  ears  within ; 

And  they  who  heard  did  more  devoutly  pray, 
'Lord,  arm  Thy  children  for  the  evil  day.' 


26S  SOXiVETS. 


ii. 

SO  must  it  be  without,  while  Time  shall  be. 
The  evil  world  of  revelry  and  strife, 
Alluring  or  assailing  every  life 
Hidden  with  Christ  in  God,  perpetually 
Shall  rave  around  it  like  a  troubled  sea. 
So  may  it  be  within  I  till  Time  shall  end, 
The  holy  Church  till  her  dear  Lord  descend 
Drowning  that  discord  in  her  harmony : 
Blest  harmony  of  souls  that  love  and  long  ! 
The  deep  sweet  minor  of  her  lowly  prayer 
Rising  beyond  the  world  and  mingling  there 
With  the  full  swell  of  her  majestic  song. — 

Child  !  let  thy  heart  through  all  the  blatant  days 
Keep  such  an   inner  shrine  of  prayer  and  praise. 


SONNETS.  269 


&  ^ornfng;  }9regent  o£  Spring  jfiotoersu 
1. 

THE  East  wind  slept  last  night  (O  be  its  rest 
As  deep  as  death  and  long  I)  and  with  the 
morn 
The  soft  fresh  breath  of  April  from  the  West 

Came  blithely  whispering,  '  Spring  at  last  is  born.' 
I  woke  and  heard  it :  longing  to  rejoice 

Yet  did  I  listen  with  a  faithless  ear  : 
'  Often  the  breezes  have  a  mocking  voice, 

Too  glad  the  sound  for  truth,'  said  Doubt  and  Fear. 
When,  Ida,  in  there  came  so  sweet  a  breath, 

And  then  so  fair  a  vision,  of  your  flowers, 
I  cried,  '  O  Doubt,  I  doom  thee  now  to  Death  : 

These  must  be  heralds  of  the  happier  hours  : 
Such  sound  and  scent  and  sight  do  surely  bring 
Authentic  proof  of  veritable  Spring.' 


270  SONNETS. 


ii. 

AND  after  Spring,  the  Summer  !     Fair  the  scope 
For  fancy  now  elate  o'er  Doubt  and  Fear. 
'Flowers  !'  (I  invoked  them)  'of  all  love  and  hope 

The  poet-prophets,  sing  the  Summer  near  !' 
O  then  no  vague  foretelling  on  my  ear 

Sang  the  sweet  season  !  by  no  faltering  hand 

Was  drawn  the  picture  of  the  radiant  land. 
The  bridal  beauty  of  the  golden  year  ! 
The  richer  glow ;  the  deeper  blooms  ;  the  fall 

Of  shaded  waters  in  the  burning  noon  ; 

The  dreams  of  seas  intoned  beneath  the  moon  ; 
The  adoring  night  ; — I  saw  and  heard  them  all. 

And  true  or  vain  the  vision  and  the  word, 

Yet   I  thank  God   that  I   have  seen  and   heard  '. 


SONNETS.  271 


3]oljn  #&tmi£ton  SpmontJ^  90JJD* 

CEASED  TO  PRACTISE,   1869,  DIED  FEBRUARY  25,   1871. 

'They  also  serve  who  only  stand  and  wait.' — Milton. 
I. 

TWO  lives  of  service  lived  he — both  to  God  ; 
The  first  of  many  toils,  through  many  years, 
As,  on  the  path  the  Master- Healer  trod, 

He  wrought  for  others'  weal — dried  others'  tears  : 
The  last,  the  shorter,  but  the  harder  one, 

In  pain  of  patient  waiting,  a  stilled  life 
Wherein  his  wistful  eyes  looked  back  upon 

That  old  beloved  path  of  splendid  strife. 
Both  in  one  Wise  Sweet  Will  accorded  well ! 

Now  shall  they  strive  who  serve,  now  shall  they  wait. 
Which  was  the  noblest,  who  can  surely  tell? 

This  only  we  know  surely,  both  were  great. 
This  life. was  grand  in  storm,  and  that  in  calm. 
The  first  a  Paean,  and  the  last  a  Psalm. 


272  SONNETS. 


%\\t  &ame« 
n. 

THE  first,  a  Paean  of  triumphant  breath, 
Which  sounded,  like  a  clarion,  jubilant, 
A  conqueror's  march  against  disease  and  death. 

A  self-renouncing  true  Crusader's  chant : 
The  last,  a  Psalm,  the  song  of  skill  and  strength 

Sadly  surrendered,  of  a  will  resigned, 
That  found  its  own  pathetic  close  at  length 

T  the  '  I  am  happy '  of  a  quiet  mind  ; — 
Such  were  his  lives  of  service  :  such  shall  be. 

In  interchange,  a  Paean  and  a  Psalm, 
The  twofold  utterance  of  our  memory. 

So  proud  and  peaceful,  so  elate  and  calm  ; 
And  ever  both  to  Thee,  O  God,  shall  raise, 
Giver  of  Power  and  Peace,  one  song  of  praise. 


SONNETS.  27; 


&ftlfnt)0or  Cartel)  Cljutclj  IfteconstructetL 

1  Cor.  xv.  49. — Phil.  iii.   21. 

SO  dull  and  drear  and  cold  but  yesterday, 
With  raiment  all  unlovely  round  thy  form  ; 
Now  fitly  clad  in  beautiful  array — 

True  symbol  of  heart-worship  bright  and  warm; 
Then  like  an  alien  that  had  waited  long 

And  in  a  lonely  darkness  sadly  sighed  \ 
Now  with  an  aspect  eloquent  as  song, 

A  type  of  the  elect  and  glorious  Bride  ! 
Dear  Church  !  'tis  passing  sweet  and  passing  strange 

To  know  the  Then  and  Now — what  was  and  is — 
Praise  to  our  Lord  \   for  such  shall  be  the  change 

When  our  '  vile  bodies '  shall  be  like  to  His. 
For  thou  art  yet  thyself,  purged  of  thy  shame 
Our  own  Church  still ;  the  same,  though  not  the  same. 


274  SOXXETS. 


gin  Cljarterljouge  CljapeL 

on  founder's  day,  1872. 


SINCE  I  knelt  here  ten  years  have  slipt  away 
And  four  :   and  only  this  to  me  is  strange, 

That  only  in  myself  appears  a  change  : 
All  else  that  then  was  seems  the  same  to-day. 
Here  are  the  antique  gownsmen,  worn  and  gray, 

1  Codd  Colonel '  and  '  Codd  Captain,'  each  old  face, 

Long  passed,  seems  still  to  fill  its  wonted  place ; 
And  there  behind  me  all  the  young  array 

Stands  as  it  stood  on  that  last  Lenten  morn, 
When  here  with  eyes  all  dim  I  sighed  farewell, 
And  heard  each  old  prayer  like  a  passing  bell ! 

Well — of  those  half-shed  tears  I  think  no  scorn  : 
Unchanged  in  this  at  least,  from  boy  to  man, 
That  I  am  heart  and  soul  Carthusian. 


SONNETS.  275 


11. 

I    LOVE  the  Domus.     Floreatl  though  no  more 
Shall  be  beheld  again  on  Founder's  day 

Those  ancient  faces  and  that  young  array 
In  most  pathetic  union  as  of  yore, 
Meeting  together  where  they  both  adore  : 

Yet  shall  it  flourish  :   'tis  a  green  old  tree 

Deep-rooted  in  dark  earth,  yet  vigorously 
Bidding  its  young  leaves  and  new  branches  soar 

And  find  a  rich  fresh  life  and  freer  course 
Above  these  misty  depths  in  purer  air  : 
So  to  be  not  less  reverend  but  more  fair 

By  a  departure  which  is  not  divorce. 
ALternum  floreas,  Domus  !  there  and  here ; 
Be  greater  there — here  evermore  as  dear. 


276  SONNhTS. 


%o  Mlin&sfor  Cemetery   on  £Bav^av. 

I.    THROUGH    THE    PARK. 

WE  five  went  blithely  gravewards  on  May-day. 
Gravewards  :  but  over  us  all  Heaven  in  smile? 

Broke  through  the  tracery  of  woodland  aisles 
And  gothic  cloisters  green  :  For  all  our  way, 
As  through  a  Church  of  Resurrection,  lay, 

Under  one  dome,  through  pillars,  arches,  spires  : 

Nor  did  we  miss  the  chant  of  Easter  choirs  j 
High  in  the  dome  the  lark,  upon  the  spray 

Linnet,  merle,  mavis  ;  last,  one  nightingale 
Sang  his  first  anthem  purely  without  fear — 
As  sure  of  welcome  in  a  poet's  car — 

Sang  in  the  sunshine  o'er  the  sylvan  pale. 
Then,  passing,  we  fulfilled  our  quest,  and  stood 
By  the  green  graves  above  the  choral  wood. 


SONNETS.  277 


II.    THE   CEMETERY. 

AMONG  the  graves  :  but  round  us  the  sweet  air, 
Sun-warmed  and  laden  from  the  lilac's  breath 

With  living  odours  kissed  the  mounds  of  death  ; 
Flowers,  diamonding  the  grasses  here  and  there, 
Stirred  to  the  soft  caress,  and  everywhere 

Was  life,  and  warmth,  and  beauty,  and  repose  ; 

While  in  the  midst  the  slender  steeple  rose, 
A  Mother's  hand  toward  home,  serenely  fair. 

Now  what  thy  victory,  Grave,  or,   Death,  thy  sting 
Unto  her  children? — One  we  met,  well  known, 
Worn  with  long  winter  and  aweary  grown  ; 

Summer  was  mine,  and  four  were  in  their  spring  ; 
But  all  were  blithe  :    and  in  one  shadowy  spot 
Smiled  to  our  smiling  the  Forget-me-not. 


78  SOXNETS. 


%%t  »>ame* 

III.    THE    LITTLE   CHURCH. 

IF  I  forget  thee,  0  thou  lowly  Shrine, 
Prefer  thee  not  in  Israel,  let  my  voice 

Forget  the  power  of  song,  no  more  rejoice 
With  reverence  in  the  faculty  divine. 
Thine  am  I  by  first  love,  for  ever  thine. 

Thine  by  a  new-sent  Deacon's  hopes  and  fears, 

A  Priest's  first  consecration  :  by  prayers,  tears. 
And  travail  known  to  God.     And  thou  art  mine 

By  the  true  love  of  souls  that  cannot  die : 
Of  some  yet  on  their  journey,  as  of  those 
Whose  tired  forms  round  thee  here  awhile  repose, 

And  wait  the  last  Spring  and  the  open  sky. 
Whose  welcome,  if  I  fail  not  by  the  way, 
1  shall  not  miss  on  the  new  earth's  May-day. 


SONNETS.  279 


Eorti  2Derbp* 

'sans  changer.' 

HE  said,  {  I  see  I  am  not  wanted  here  ;'x 
And,  with  a  gesture  that  spake  more  than 
words, 
Half  grief,  half  scorn,  this  Peer,  without  a  peer, 
Passed  from  the  midst  of  those  half-hearted  Lords, 
Or  foes,  or  friends ;   these  were  as  those  to  him, 
Together  faithless  to  the  Church  of  God. 
No  man  drew  Stanley  from  the  path  he  trod 
In  truth  and  honour  !     Though  his  eyes  were  dim, 
His  soul  was  strong ;  and  though  his  step  was  slow, 
His  hero-heart  was  still  what  it  had  been, 
The  knightly  champion  of  his  Church  and  Queen. 
Ah,  me,  ( the  last  great  Englishman  is  low  V 
But  true  to  man,  since  loyal  to  his  Lord, 
Dear  is  his  memory,  rich  is  his  reward. 

1  Lord  Derby's  words  as  he  rose  and  left  the  House  the  moment  the 
compromise  on  the  Irish  Church  Bill  was  announced.  This  significant  act 
was  his  last  in  the  House,  for  he  did  not  enter  it  again. 


28o  SOXNETS. 


Btgljop  05rap. 

IN  MEMORIAM. 


'  As  we  dr?w  near  to  the  village  the  sun  sank  beneath  Table  .''.fountain 
amidst  the  most  gorgeous  clouds,  shading  gradually  from  dark  purple  to 
the  most  rich  gold.  I  have  never  seen  so  fine  a  sunset  in  Africa.  A  still 
finer  sunrise  I  once  did  witness  in  the  Karroo.  This  evening  seemed  to  me 
almost  a  prophecy  of  work  done  in  that  dark  land,  and  the  sun  of  my  life 
setting.  Would  that  it  had  been  done  better  !  God  grant  that  when  my 
sun  goes  down  it  may  be  amongst  such  radiant  glories  as  that  which  the 
eye  has  this  day  beheld.'— Extract  from  Bishop  of  Capetown's  Journal, 
see  Letter  by  K.  H.  F.  in  'Standard,'  Oct.  8. 

I. 

THERE,  in  the  solemn  glory  of  the  west, 
He  read  God's  oracle  of  love  and  death: 
Heard  in  the  calm  this  voice,   'The  master  saith, 
Now  is  the  time  at  hand,  and  thou  shalt  rest;' 
Then  fell  on  sleep.     0  happy  warrior,  blest 
By  all  the  toil  and   tumult  of  a  life 
Spent  in  the  very  fore-front  of  the  strife  ! 
Confessor,  soon  to  hear  thy  name  confessed, 


SONNETS.  281 


Among  the  white-arrayed  before  the  throne, 
By  the  dear  Lord,  for  Whom,  betrayed  again, 
'Mid  friends'  defection  and  the  world's  disdain, 
How  greatly  didst  thou  dare  to  stand  alone  ! 
Most  bless'd  !  for  Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away, 
But  not  His  Word,  nor  thy  reward,  O  Gray. 


II. 

And  now,  or  ere  that  sunrise  of  the  End, 
How  sweet  the  glowing  eve  of  thy  repose 
F  the  spiritual  land  whose  hills  enclose 
God's  garden  !  through  what  valleys  dost  thou  wend 
With  many  a  new  and  many  an  ancient  friend, 
Those  other  martyr-heroes  of  the  past ! 
If  there  thou  seest  thine  archetype  at  last, 
Him  of  the  North,  how  do  your  spirits  blend  ! 
Remembering  how  hard  it  was  to  dare 
'Against  the  world,'  and  now  before  the  Lord 
Reckoning  the  sweetness  of  His  love's  award. 
Have  Cyprian,  too,  and  Austin  met  thee  there, 
And  given  thee  their  great  welcome,  with  one  mouth 
Hailing  thee  'Athanasius  of  the  South'? 


282  SONNETS. 


III. 

O  rapt  Elijah,  might  thy  mantle  fall 

On  other  prophets  of  this  silken  time  ! 

When  few  dare  call  a  heresy  a  crime, 

Though  it  impugn  the  very  All  in  All ; 

When  more  ignoble  fears  our  hearts  appal 

Than  any  perils  of  a  brother's  soul  j 

When  all  too  seldom  falls  the  thunder-roll 

Of  James  and  John,  or  that  clear  trumpet-call 

Which,  amid  counsels  soft  or  cynic  sneers, 

Ever  with  no  uncertain  sound  alarms 

The  sleeping  Church,  and  wakes  her  sons  '  To  arms ' 

Where  the  One  Faith  the  Holy  Sign  uprears. 

O  that  our  cautious  hearts  from  thee  may  learn 

There  is  a  time  when  true  love  must  be  stern  ! 


SONNETS.  283 


E 


(Etiengone;, 

IN   LICHFIELD   CATHEDRAL,    ON   THE    FEAST   OF 
EPIPHANY,   JAN.    6,    1 87 3. 

{FROM  '  77/ie  GUARDIAN,'  JAN.  15  ^iVZ>  22,  1873.) 
I. 

PIPHANY  had  rung  to  Evensong, 


As  with  its  inner  glory,  old  and  new, 
The  Minster  filled  awhile  a  stranger's  view : 
A  little  while,  and  yet,  as  life  is  long, 
Will  be  its  memory  in  its  sweetness  strong. 
Here  soared  the  nave  in  dim  mysterious  space 
Of  over-arching,  never-ending,  grace  : 
And  there,  within,  beyond  the  white-robed  throng, 
Above  the  solemn  Altar's  double  flame, 
Crowning  the  carven  wonder  of  the  shrine, 
Stood  out  against  the  dark  the  uplifted  Sign 
Of  life  and  glory  won  by  loss  and  shame. 
Lord  Christ !   by  merit  of  that  shame  and  loss 
For  ever  front  our  darkness  with  Thy  Cross. 


:84  SONNETS. 


II. 

And  one,1  no  stranger  but  its  child,  was  there, 

Looking  his  last  with  love's  peculiar  pain 

On  the  dear  beauty  of  the  antique  fane, 

The  old  beloved  home  of  praise  and  prayer. 

Sweet  be  its  memory  to  him  !   sweet  and  fair : 

Sweeter  for  pain,  fairer  because  of  loss  ! 

O  Selwyn,  soldier  of  the  Cross,  that  Cross, 

Towards  whatever  dark  thou  needs  must  fare, 

Shall  surely  front  it  with  perpetual  light. 

And  thus  upon  thee,  in  what  alien  isle, 

On  what  far  seas,  thy  Mother's  holy  smile 

Shall  look  from   Home  serenely  through  the  night. 

Till  on  thy  day  of  labour,  brief  or  long, 

Rings  the  Epiphany  to  Evensong. 

111. 
These  are  thy  journey's    bounds!      From    Fane    to 

Fane, 
From  sacred   Feast  to  Feast,  from  Home  to  I  Ionic. 
Between  them  lie  the  wastes  of  land  and  foam. 
With  many  an  hour  of  labour,   loi  in, 

But  still   the  memory  and  the  hope  rem 

Rev.    I     R    S<  Iwyn,  son  of  the  B  shop,  w.i<  present  for  the  last 
tunc  before  setting  out  lor  his  Mission  work  in  the  South  Seas. 


SONNETS.  285 


So  shalt  thou  see  behind  thee  and  before  : 
Behind,  this  scene  :    in  front,  the  Eternal  door 
Which  opens  to  the  '  more  exceeding '  gain 
For  which  thou  losest  this.     How  fair  and  dear 
In  sight  and  sound  is  this,  thou  know'st,  I  ween ! 
But  unto  that,  excelling  though  unseen, 
Thy  faithful  soul  devoteth  eye  and  ear. 
For  they,  who  say  and  do  as  thou,  declare     „ 
They  seek  a  fatherland  exceeding  fair. 

IV. 
1  From  Fane  to  Fane '  :   from  this — a  Holy  Place 
Where  in  symbolic  miracles  of  stone 
Beauty  and  Righteousness  each  other  own 
Dear,  near,  and  chosen,  in  Divine  embrace — 
To  That — Most  Holy,  where  in  boundless  space 
Is  the  One  Temple  of  the  Great  Reward, 
The  Vision  of  the  Blessed— God  the  Lord 
To  His  elect  revealed  face  to  face ; — 
'  From  Feast  to  Feast '  :   from  this  Epiphany, 
Promise  and  foretaste  of  the  good  to  come 
In  That  Apocalypse ;  '  from  Home  to  Home,' 
From  this,  where  sweetest  praises  still  must  die, 
To  that,  whose  age  of  ages  shall  prolong 
The  undrooping  rapture  of  its  Evensong. 


286  SONNETS. 


^tdnfffljt  in  HontJOtu 

(FEBRUARY    24,     1 873.) 

'  From  many  a  nook  unthought  of  there 
Rises  for  that  proud  world  the  saints'  prevailing  prayer.' 

Keble.) 

1  T    WILL  not  spare  :  within  its  circling  wall 

J-      Are  not  ten  righteous.'     So  descending  Hell 
In  flakes  of  fire  on  shrieking  Sodom  fell. 
I  see  descending  Heaven  on  London  fall 
To-night,  in  flakes  of  snow.     Xo  fears  appal 
Or  eye  or  ear.     Most  fairly  on  the  sight 
Lies  the  great  seamless  garment  of  pure  white. 
A  robe,  like  Christ's,  on  London  robes  it  all. 
And  all  is  still,  save  for  the  watchman's  tread  ; 
And,  at  the  day's  first  hour,   the  voice  of  time 
Tenderly  solemn  in  a  steeple  chime. 
Like  life's  calm  promise  uttered  o'er  the  dead. 
Such  is  the  scene  ;  sure,  for  this  wicked  city 
Christ's  Church  hath  pleaded  well   the   Eternal  pity. 


SONNETS.  287 


ffllnvtz&tzv  CattjetiraU 

(Reopened  Wednesday,  April  8,  1874.) 
{from  'the  guardian,'  april  15,  1874.) 

psalm  xlvi.  4. 

God's  River  !    The  One  Spirit, 

Grace  of  the  mystic  Seven  ! 
From  Seaward  mountain  Seaward, 

From  Heaven,  it  flows,  to  Heaven. 

I.  As  it  Was. 

FROM  far  Plinlimmon  to  the  western  sea, 
On  to  the  western  sea  through  many  a  mile 
Of  sound  and  silence — sound  of  many  an  isle 
Shut  in  for  toil  amid  the  circling  lea — 
Silence  of  many  a  wold's  tranquillity — 
Flows  Severn;  and  the  cities  proudlier  smile, 
And  the  still  pastures  softlier,  the  while 
They  hear  him  roll  by  watching  tower  and  tree. 


288  SOA\Y£TS. 


And  men  writ  poems  by  his  side  :  and  one, 

In  days  when  hearts  were  simple  and  were  strong, 

Was  writ  in  tuneful  words  of  wood  and  stone, 

And  stood  through  reverent  ages,  a  great  Song 

That  sang  in  visible  sacramental  rhyme 

Of  Things  Eternal  in  the  years  of  Time. 


II.  As  it  Became. 

And  still  through  sound  and  silence  flowed  the  stream. 

But  silence  soon  was  rarer  than  the  sound, 

And  men  waxed  dull  of  hearing,  though  it  wound 

Amongst  them  :  and  grew  careless  of  the  gleam 

Which,  night  and  day,  from  moon  and  sun,  did  seem 

To  bear  Heaven's  light  along  this  lower  ground  : 

And  few  in  all  that  sordid  time  were  found 

That  looked  or  listened  save  to  doubt  or  dream. 

So  that  imperial  poem  that  had  graced 

The  generations  with  authentic  power. 

Letter  and  word,  grew  dimmed,  disowned,  defaced. 

And  only  waited  the  all-ruining  hour. 

Vet  still,  as  from  and  toward   Eternity, 

The  River  flowed  from  Sea  ward  hill  to  Sea. 


SONNETS.  289 


III.  As  it  Is. 

Then  o'er  the  lands  there  moved  a  ghostly  wind, 
Breathed  from  the  Mystic  Sea  and  Holy  Hill, 
With  healing  on  its  wings  :  and,  with  a  thrill, 
As  of  the  Spring,  they  woke ;  and,  lo,  the  blind 
Received  their  sight,  and  deaf  men  turned  to  find 
There  was  such  music  in  this  world  of  ill 
Of  visible  beauty,  and  gave  heart  and  will 
To  glorify  the  Fane  where  it  was  shrined. 
Then,  one  day  of  sweet  Spring  i'  the  Easter  gleam, 
More  lovely,  and  with  yet  a  lordlier  strain, 
That  Poem,  writ  of  old  beside  the  Stream 
Which  maketh  glad  God's  City,  soared  again — 
Again,  as  from  the  Eternal  Sea  to  Sea, 
It  sang  the  Oracle  of  the  Things  to  be. 


^t?mtT0. 


HYMNS.  29: 


4 31  beltetie  in  tlje  3£olp  Catholic  Cljurclj, 
tljc  Communion  of  &atnt&' 

1  The  Church  of  God,  which  He  hath  purchased  with  His  own  Blood.' 

Acts  xx.  2? 

THE  Church's  one  Foundation 
Is  Jesus  Christ  her  Lord : 
She  is  His  new  creation 

By  water  and  the  Word ; 
From  heaven  He  came  and  sought  her 

To  be  His  holy  Bride, 
With  His  own  Blood  He  bought  her, 
And  for  her  life  He  died. 

Elect  from  every  nation, 

Yet  one  o'er  all  the  earth, 
Her  charter  of  salvation 

One  Lord,  one  Faith,  one  Birth  ; 
One  Holy  Name  she  blesses, 

Partakes  one  Holy  Food, 
And  to  one  Hope  she  presses, 

With  every  grace  endued. 


294  HYMNS. 


The  Church  shall  never  perish  ! 

Her  dear  Lord  to  defend, 
To  guide,  sustain,  and  cherish, 

Is  with  her  to  the  end  : 
Though  there  be  those  who  hate  her, 

And  false  sons  in  her  pale, 
Against  or  foe  or  traitor 

She  ever  shall  prevail. 

Though  with  a  scornful  wonder 

Men  see  her  sore  opprest, 
By  schisms  rent  asunder, 

By  heresies  dkitrest; 
Yet  saints  their  watch  are  keeping, 

Their  cry  goes  up,  'How  long?' 
And  soon  the  night  of  weeping 

Shall  be  the  morn  of  song. 

Mid  toil  and  tribulation, 

And  tumult  of  her  war. 
She  waits  the  consummation 

Of  peace  for  evermore ; 
Till  with  the  vision  glorious 

Her  longing  eyes  are  blest, 
And  the  great  Church  victorious 

Shall  be  the  Church  at  rest. 


HYMNS.  295 


Yet  she  on  earth  hath  union 

With  Father,  Spirit,  Son, 
And  mystic  sweet  communion 

With  those  whose  rest  is  won  : 
With  all  her  sons  and  daughters, 

Who,  by  the  Master's  Hand 
Led  through  the  deathly  waters, 

Repose  in  Eden-land. 

Oh,  happy  ones  and  holy  ! 

Lord,  give  us  grace  that  we 
Like  them,  the  meeK  and  lowly, 

On  high  may  dwell  with  Thee ! 
There  past  the  border  mountains, 

Where  in  sweet  vales  the  Bride 
With  Thee  by  living  fountains 

For  ever  shall  abide. 

Amen. 


296  HYMNS. 


'31  belfebe  m  tlje  jforgfoeneete  of  jams.' 

'Her  sins,  which  are  many,  are  forgiven,  for  she  loved  much.' 

St.  Luke  vii.  47. 

WEARY  of  earth  and  laden  with  my  sin. 
I  look  at  heaven  and  long  to  enter  in, 
But  there  no  evil  thing  may  find  a  home — 
And  yet  I  hear  a  Voice  that  bids  me  '  Come.' 

So  vile  I  am,  how  dare  I  hope  to  stand 

In  the  pure  glory  of  that  holy  land? 

Before  the  whiteness  of  that  Throne  appear? — 

Yet  there  are  Hands  stretched  out  to  draw  me  near. 

The  while  I  fain  would  tread  the  heavenly  way, 

Evil  is  ever  with  me  day  by  day — 

Yet  on  mine  ears  the  gracious  tidings  fall, 

1  Repent,  confess,  thou  shalt  be  loosed  from  all.' 

It  is  the  voice  of  Jesus  that  I  hear, 

His  are  the  Hands  stretched  out  to  draw  me  near, 


HYMNS.  297 


And  His  the  Blood  that  can  for  all  atone, 
And  set  me  faultless  there  before  the  Throne. 

'Twas  He  Who  found  me  on  the  deathly  wild, 
And  made  me  heir  of  heaven,  the  Father's  child, 
And  day  by  day,  whereby  my  soul  may  live, 
Gives  me  His  grace  of  pardon,  and  will  give. 

O  great  Absolver,  grant  my  soul  may  wear 
The  lowliest  garb  of  penitence  and  prayer, 
That  in  the  Father's  courts  my  glorious  dress 
May  be  the  garment  of  Thy  righteousness. 

Yea,  Thou  wilt  answer  for  me,  Righteous  Lord  : 
Thine  all  the  merits,  mine  the  great  reward; 
Thine  the  sharp  thorns,  so  mine  the  golden  crown, 
Mine  the  life  won,  through  Thine  the  life  laid  down. 

Naught  can  I  bring,  dear  Lord,  for  all  I  owe, 
Yet  let  my  full  heart  what  it  can  bestow; 
Like  Mary's  gift  let  my  devotion  prove, 
Forgiven  greatly,  how  I  greatly  love. 

Amen. 


298  HYMNS. 


Battle  %nm  for  tlje  jRcto  gear. 


'But  let  us,  who  are  of  the  day,  be  sober,  putting  on  the  breastplate  of 
faith  and  love  ;  and  for  an  helmet,  the  hope  of  salvation.' — i  Thess.  v.  8. 


THE  old  year's  long  campaign  is  o'er  : 
Behold  a  new  begun ; 
Not  yet  is  closed  the  Holy  War 

Not  yet  the  triumph  won  : 
Out  of  his  still  and  deep  repose 
We  hear  the  old  year  say  : — 
4  Go  forth  again  to  meet  your  foes, 
Ye  children  of  the  day ! ' 

'  Go  forth  !   Firm  Faith  on  every  heart, 

Bright  Hope  on  every  helm, 
Through  that  shall  pierce  no  fiery  dart, 

And  this  no  fear  o'erwhelm  ! 
Go  in  the  Spirit  and  the  might 

Of  Him  Who  led  the  way; 
Close  with  the  legions  of  the  night, 

Ye  children  of  the  day  I' 


HYMNS.  299 


So  forth  we  go  to  meet  the  strife, 

We  will  not  fear  nor  fly ! 
Love  we  the  holy  warrior's  life, 

His  death  we  hope  to  die ! 
We  slumber  not,  that  charge  in  view, 

'Toil  on  while  toil  ye  may, 
Then  night  shall  be  no  night  to  you, 

Ye  children  of  the  day!' 

Lord  God,  our  Glory,  Three  in  One, 

Thine  own  sustain,  defend  ! 
And  give,  though  dim  this  earthly  sun, 

Thy  true  light  to  the  end  \ 
Till  morning  tread  the  darkness  down, 

And  night  be  swept  away, 
And  infinite  sweet  triumph  crown 

Thy  children  of  the  day  ! 

Amen. 


3oo 


IIYMXS. 


<H\)t  Kitocr  of  (Pod* 


'J'hcie  is  a  River,  the   streams  whereof  shall  make  glad  the  City   i  f 
God.'— Psalm  xlvi.  4. 


THERE  is  an  ancient  River, 
Whose  streams  descend  in  light 
From  never-failing  fountains 
Beyond  all  earthly  sight; 
It  ran  through  all  the  ages, 

And,  wheresoe'er  it  flowed, 
Up  rose  the  Holy  City, 
The  Lord's  elect  abode. 


The  River  still  is  flowing, 
But  now  with  fuller  stream  ; 

And  still  the  light  is  falling, 
But  now  with  brighter  beam  : 


HYMNS.  301 


Of  old  the  Song  of  Moses 

Soared  as  it  swept  along, 
But  now  the  name  of  Jesus 

Is  made  its  sweeter  Song. 

Its  radiance  lights  us  onward, 

Its  chanting  waters  cheer; 
Blest  is  the  eye  beholding, 

Blest  is  the  hearing  ear; 
For  as  the  earth-clouds  darken 

The  glory  clearer  grows, 
And  gladder  for  life's  tumult 

The  stream  of  music  flows. 

God's  River !    The  One  Spirit, 

Grace  of  the  mystic  Seven  I1 
From  Seaward  mountain  Seaward, 

From  Heaven,  it  flows,  to  Heaven ; 
Fair  City  of  these  Waters ! 

Cheered  with  their  light  and  song, 
So  are  thy  children  joyful, 

So  are  thy  servants  strong. 

1  Rev.  i.  4.— 'Grace  be  unto  you  .  .  .  from  the  Seven  Spirits  which  are 
before  His  Throne.'  The  Seven  Spirits  represent  the  Holy  Spirit  in  His 
Sevenfold  fulness. — [Wordsworth.)  So  £.  Augustine:  'The  septenary 
number  is  consecrated  to  the  Holy  Ghost  in  Scripture  ' 


3Q2  HYMNS. 


O  Beautiful,  the  River ! 

The  Church  upon  thy  shore, 
In  bliss  of  expectation 

Abideth  evermore, 
Till  at  some  holy  even 

Her  children  on  thy  breast 
From  foretaste  pass  to  fulness. 

From  waiting  into  rest. 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  303 


Efflftt  at  (Kentitie* 

'  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.'— Zechariah  xiv.  7. 

NEED  hath  the  Golden  City  none 
Of  nightly  moon  or  noon-day  sun  ; 
And  every  pilgrim  waiting  here 
Till  down  from  Heaven  the  Bride  appear, 
With  this  sure  word  may  meet  the  night — 
'  At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.' 

With  dull  despairing  gaze  beyond, 
The  world  would  have  my  heart  despond, 
And  cries,  'Life  endeth  with  the  tomb, 
And  after  glory  comes  the  gloom  ; ' — 
My  soul,  heed  not  the  world's  affright ! 
'At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.' 

The  deep  dark  shades  may  whelm  the  day, 
And  all  the  splendours  melt  away, 


304  HYMNS. 


The  night  may  lower — but  not  for  one 
Whose  life  is  hid  beyond  the  sun  ; 
My  God  shall  make  the  darkness  bright, 
'At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.' 

It  shall  be  light;   and  all  below 
My  soul  believed  in,  it  shall  know  ; 
Unclouded  then  mine  eyes  shall  see 
The  heart  of  every  mystery  : 
In  all  Creation's  depth  and  height 
'At  evening  time  it  shall  be  light.' 

It  shall  be  light ;   when  I  behold 
The  Blessed  Vision  long  foretold ! 
The  dearest  hope,  the  sweetest  grace— 
My  soul's  Beloved  face  to  face. 
Dear  Lord,  upon  my  longing  sight 
O  bring  the  evening  and  the  light ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  305 


%\z  Attraction  of  tfje  Crogg* 

[,  if  I  be  lifted  up  from  the  earth,  will  draw  all  men  unto  Me.' 

St.  John  xii.  32. 

IS  there  no  hope  for  those  who  lie 
Among  the  dead  about  to  die? 
Writhing  upon  the  great  world's  plain, 
Martyrs  of  sin,  in  mortal  pain ; 
The  fiery  taint  upon  them  all 
Of  that  Old  Serpent  of  the  Fall? 

Yea,  hearken  !    Israel,  lift  thine  head, 
O  lie  no  longer  with  the  dead ! 
For  every  care,  for  every  crime, 
There  yet  is  hope,  there  yet  is  time : 
Lift  eye  and  heart :   from  yonder  Tree 
Release  and  Life  look  down  on  thee. 

O  look  and  listen !   see  thy  Lord, 
And  hear  His  calm,  absolving  word ; 
u 


;o6  HYMNS. 


O  see,  the  balm  of  all  thy  woe, 
Those  precious  drops  of  healing  flow, 
O  hear,  the  word  that  sets  thee  free, 
'Thou  art  redeemed — I  die  for  thee.' 

O  see,  the  boundlessness  of  grace, 
Those  Arms  of  Love  o'er-reaching  space  ! 
O  hear,  in  final  triumph  hurled 
His  '  It  is  finished '  o'er  the  world  ! 
In  that  embrace,  in  that  last  breath, 
Is  seen,  is  said,  the  doom  of  death. 

Death  doomed,  sin  purged,  the  Serpent  slain. 

O  dying  soul,  thou  liv'st  again  ! 

Hold  fast  that  life,  and  evermore 

Look  and  believe,  love  and  adore  ; 

By  all  this  gain  and  all  that  loss, 

Lose  never  sight  of  yonder  Cross  ! 

Anicn!    for  whither  should   I  go? 
Whom  shall  I  find  on  earth  below, 
Whom  shall  I  seek  in  Heav'n  above. 
For  Hope  and  Healing,   Life  and   Love, 
Save  Him  Who  hangs  on  yonder  Tree  ? 
Uplifted   Lord!    save  only  Thee?     Amen 


HYMNS.  307 


%\)t  perfect  3Dap* 

'Until  the  Day  break  and  the  shadows  flee  away.'— Canticles  ii.  17. 

T~\ARK  is  the  sky  that  overhangs  my  soul, 
-1—^     The  mists  are  thick  that  through  the  valley 

roll, 
But  as  I  tread  I  cheer  my  heart  and  say, 
When  the  Day  breaks  the  shadows  flee  away. 

Unholy  phantoms  from  the  deep  arise, 
And  gather  through  the  gloom  before  mine  eyes ; 
But  all  shall  vanish  at  the  dawning  ray — 
When  the  Day  breaks  the  shadows  flee  away. 

I  bear  the  lamp  my  Master  gave  to  me, 
Burning  and  shining  must  it  ever  be, 
And  I  must  tend  it  till  the  night  decay — 
Till  the  Day  break  and  shadows  flee  away. 


308  HYMNS. 


He  maketh  all  things  good  unto  His  own, 
For  them  in  every  darkness  light  is  sown  ; 
He  will  make  good  the  gloom  of  this  my  day — 
Till  that  Day  break  and  shadows  flee  away. 

He  will  be  near  me  in  the  awful  hour 
When  the  last  Foe  shall  come  in  blackest  power ; 
And  He  will  hear  me  when  at  last  I  pray, 
Let  the  Day  break,  the  shadows  flee  away ! 

In  Him,  my  God,  my  Glory,  I  will  trust : 
Awake  and  sing,  O  dweller  in  the  dust ! 
Who  shall  come,  will  come,  and  will  not  delay — 
His  Day  will  break,  those  shadows  flee  away  ! 

Amen, 


HYMNS.  309 


3£olp  Communion. 

Who  loved  me,  and  gave  Himself  for  me.'— Galatiaks  II.  20. 

*  T3  EMEMBER  Me  :  show  forth  My  Death 

-■- V     untii  Mine  Advent  be  :' 
So  of  His  Altar-Feast  He  saith 
Who  gave  Himself  for  me. 

I  will  not  tremble  nor  delay, 

Unworthy  though  I  be : 
He  will  not  send  my  soul  away 

Who  gave  Himself  for  me. 

For  there,  when  sorrows  come  to  prove 

Where  my  true  joy  should  be, 
Most  sweet  the  comfort  of  His  Love 

Who  gave  Himself  for  me. 


3io  HYMNS. 


There,  too,  in  calm  of  holy  rest, 
My  weary  head  shall  be, 

As  if  it  lay  upon  His  breast 
Who  gave  Himself  for  me. 

There  seem  I  ever  nearest  Home, 

Most  sure  of  bliss  to  be 
When  in  His  glory  He  shall  come 

Who  gave  Himself  for  me. 

O  that  I  ever  may  abide 

Where  only  life  can  be, 
Still  close  and  closer  to  His  side 

Who  gave  Himself  for  me  ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  311 


%\i  Cratiatl  of  tlje  Creation. 

'The  whole  creation    groaneth  and   travaileth  in  pain  together  until 
now.'— Romans  viii.  22. 

THE  whole  creation  groans  and  cries 
In  travail  of  a  second  birth  : 
All  living  things,  their  covering  skies, 

And  circling  floods,  and  parent  earth, 
Cry  in  an  agonizing  throng, 

How  long,  O  Lord  our  God,  how  long? 

How  long?   the  living  creatures  cry, 

Subject  to  vanity  with  man; 
Condemned  to  suffer  and  to  die, 

Partakers  of  his  righteous  ban, 
Yet  doomed  in  hope  that  they  may  see 

And  share  the  Church's  liberty. 

How  long?  the  ruined  skies  complain, 
In  prayer  for  the  eternal  calm  ; 

With  sighs  of  storm  and  tears  of  rain, 
They  chant  their  lamentable  psalm  ■ 


312  HYMNS. 


When  shall  the  blissful  light  be  born, 
The  beauty  of  Adoption's  morn? 

How  long?   the  troubled  waters  moan; 

O  visioned  hope  in  hours  of  strife, 
The  jasper  sea  before  the  throne, 

Fed  by  the  crystal  stream  of  life  ! 
O  Israel's  waters,  stream  and  sea, 
Fulness  of  peace  and  purity ! 

How  long?   all  earth  beneath  the  rod 
Of  one  wide  curse  lifts  up  her  cry, 

And  waits,  with  all  the  sons  of  God, 
For  their  supreme  Epiphany, 

For  their  Redemption's  glorious  day, 

When  former  things  shall  pass  away. 

How  long,  O  Lord  our  God,  how  long? 

In  this  our  earthly  house  of  thrall, 
With  all  creation's  mighty  throng, 

We  too,  Thine  own,  upon  Thee  call  ! 
Patient  in  hope  we  long  for  home  : — 
Our  Father,  let  Thy  kingdom  come. 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  313 


%\t  prisoners  of  ^ope> 

'Turn  you  to  the  Stronghold,  ye  prisoners  of  Hope.' — Zechariah  ix.  21. 

YE  faithful  few  of  Israel's  captive  days, 
Who  homeward  ever  fixed  your  faithful  gaze, 
Though  far  from  home,  your  life  was  hidden  there, 
Prisoners  of  Hope,  but  victors  of  despair. 

Ye  of  old  time  who  waited  for  the  Lord, 
And  turned  you  to  the  Stronghold  of  His  Word, 
Prisoners  of  Hope,  ye  could  not  be  forlorn, 
In  depth  of  night  so  certain  of  the  morn. 

Ye  of  the  good  report  in  every  age, 
Who  in  that  refuge  met  the  tempest's  rage, 
Prisoners  of  Hope,  ye  knew  the  strife  would  cease, 
And  in  its  wildest  hour  foretasted  peace. 


314  HYMNS. 


O  turn  ye  thither,  ye  who  lie  so  low, 

With  sin  beset  or  desolate  in  woe  j 

Up,  from  the  dust  where  ye  so  long  have  lain  ! 

The  Rock  of  Ages  was  not  cleft  in  vain  ! 

Prisoners  of  Hope,  there  shall  ye  rest  awhile, 
Watching  in  peace  the  starry  promise  smile, 
Willing  to  keep  your  vigil  till  at  last 
Hope's  gentle  tyranny  be  overpast. 

O  word  of  Christ,  that  cannot  pass  away, 
The  Church's  Stronghold  in  her  evil  day, 
Turn  we  to  thee,  whatever  foe  prevail, 
On  the  wild  hill,  or  in  the  solemn  vale ! 

To  thee  we  turn,  until  our  souls  shall  hear 
The  King  we  serve,  the  Lord  we  love,  draw  near ; 
And  we  shall  change,  when  His  command  is  given. 
Hope's  happy  prison-house  for  happier  Heaven. 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  315 


%$z  (Glorious  %%xtt. 

'  Now  abideth  Faith,  Hope,  Charity,  these  three ;  but  the  greatest  of  these 
is  Charity.'— 1  Corinthians  xiii.  13. 

FAITH,  who  sees  beyond  the  portal 
Of  far  Heaven  with  eagle  eyes ; 
Hope  foretasting  life  immortal; 
Charity,  in  meekest  guise — 
Now  abide  the  glorious  three, 
But  the  first  is  Charity. 

Faith  abideth,  there  are  mountains 
She  must  day  by  day  remove; 

By  the  fair  refreshing  fountains 
Hope  abideth;   and  sweet  Love 

Standeth  crowned,  the  twain  between, 

Very  lowly,  yet  the  queen. 

So,  in  view  of  things  eternal, 
Rocks  of  time  are  over-hurl'd ; 

So,  behold,  a  beauty  vernal 

Robes  the  winter  of  the  world ;; 


316  HYMNS. 


But  where  Charity  hath  trod 
Is  the  path  of  Very  God. 

Those  shall  vanish  :   she  remaineth 
When  their  work  and  life  are  o'er ; 

As  below,  above,  she  reigneth, 
So  she  shall  reign  evermore; 

Heaven  and  earth  shall  pass  away — 

Love  goes  ruling  on  for  aye. 

Faith  and  Preaching  find  an  ending, 
Hope  and  Prayer  together  cease  j 

Love  and  Praise,  together  blending, 
Know  no  changing  save  increase ; 

When  that  cry  is  past — '  How  long?' 


Love  takes  up  an  endless  son 


Now  the  old  world  is  a-dying, 

'Soon,'  cries  Faith,  'will  Christ  appear 
Hope  with  rapture  is  replying, 

'Then  the  reign  of  Love  is  near;' 
Willing  both  to  fade  away, 
Star-like,  at  her  perfect  day. 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  317 


Destitute,  afflicted,  tormented  :  of  whom  the  world  was  not  worthy.' 

Hebrews  xi.  37,  38. 

THEIR  names  are  names  of  kings 
Of  heavenly  line, 
The  bliss  of  earthly  things 
Who  did  resign. 

Chieftains  they  were,  who  warr'd 

With  sword  and  shield ; 
Victors  for  God  the  Lord 

On  foughten  field. 

Sad  were  their  days  on  earth, 

Mid  hate  and  scorn; 
A  life  of  pleasure's  dearth, 

A  death  forlorn. 

1  An  expression  used  by  S.  Chrysostom. 


318  HYMNS. 


Yet  blest  that  end  in  woe, 

And  those  sad  days  ; 
Only  man's  blame  below — 

Above,  God's  praise ! 

A  city  of  great  name 

Was  built  for  them, 
Of  glorious  golden  fame — 

Jerusalem. 

Redeemed  with  precious  Blood 

From  death  and  sin, 
Sons  of  the  Triune  God, 

They  entered  in. 

So  did  the  life  of  pain 

In  glory  close  j 
Lord  God,  may  we  attain 

Their  grand  repose  ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  319 


My  Beloved  is  mine,  and  I  am  His.' — Canticles  ii.  16. 

T    AM  Thine  :    I  stand  before  Thee, 
-*-      Jesu,  evermore  Thine  own : 
Not  by  merit,  but  by  glory 
Of  Thy  grace,  elect  alone, 

Thy  beloved, 
Unto  men  and  angels  shown. 

Thou  art  mine :    I  did  not  choose  Thee, 
Only  came  when  Thou  didst  call; 

Now,  oh  never  let  me  lose  Thee, 
From  Thy  favour  never  fall ! 

My  Beloved, 
First  and  last,  and  all  in  all. 

I  am  Thine  :   Thy  word  remaineth, 
That  no  creature  far  or  nigh, 


HYMNS. 


Where  the  lord  of  evil  reigneth 
In  deep  hell  or  haunted  sky, 

Shall  for  ever 
Part  of  love  the  mystic  tie. 

Thou  art  mine  : — although  Thy  Vision 
Fills  not  yet  my  longing  sight. 

Though  the  doubting  world's  derision 
Holds  my  honour  in  despite, — 

Mine  in  darkness, 
Surely  as  at  last  in  light ! 

I  am  Thine  :    in  tribulation 

From  Thy  parted  Heavens  above 

Comes  divinest  consolation, 
Lighting  as  the  Holy  Dove 

With  the  message 
Of  thine  everlasting  love. 

Thou  art  mine  :   in  bliss  and  sorrow, 

In  the  shade  as  in  the  shine  : 
Yesterday,  to-day,  to-morrow, 
To  the  age  of  ages, — mine  ; 

Yea,  my  Master, 
Mine  Thou  art,  for  I  am  Thine. 

Amen 


HYMNS.  32i 


^pmu  of  ^t)anfe0£ftmg;  for  t\z  Eecotierp 

of  l^EJ?-  ^Elje  Prince  of  Mlale& 

SUNG    IN    ST.    PAULS  CATHEDRAL1    ON    FEB.    2j,    1 87 2. 


'  Turn  our  captivity,  O  Lord,  as  the  streams  in  the  south. 
They  that  sow  in  tears  shall  reap  in  joy.  He  that  goeth  forth 
and  weepeth,  bearing  precious  seed,  shall  doubtless  come  again 
with  rejoicing,  bringing  his  sheaves  with  him.' — Ps.  cxxvi.  4-6. 


LORD  of  our  souls'  salvation  ! 
Lord  of  our  earthly  weal ! 
We  who  in  tribulation 

Did  for  Thy  mercy  kneel, 
Lift  up  glad  hearts  before  Thee, 

And  eyes  no  longer  dim, 
And  for  Thy  grace  adore  Thee 
In  eucharistic  hymn. 

1  The  Hymn  is  here  given  in  full  form  as  it  was  generally  sung  through- 
out the  country  ;  but,  owing  to  the  necessary  restriction  as  to  time  in  the 
Cathedral  service,  a  selection  of  four  verses  only — the  1st,  a  combination 
of  the  2d  and  4th,  the  6th,  and  the  7th,— was  adapted  by  the  Author  for 
use  in  St.  Paul's. 


HYMNS. 


When  vine  and  fig-tree  languish. 

And  every  fount  is  dry. 
When  hearts  in  supreme  anguish 

To  Thee  lift  up  their  cry : 
Then  doth  Thy  love  deliver  ! 

From  Thine  unshortened  hand 
Joy,  like  the  southern  river, 

O'erflows  the  weary  land. 


Lay  dark  o'er  field  and  city 

Death's  shadow,  and  in  fear 
To  thee,  O  Lord  of  Pity, 

God  of  the  hearing  ear  ! 
By  the  dear  Grace  that  bought  us 

We  cried  as  in  the  night, 
And  lo  !    the  morning  brought  us 

From  Thee  the  living  light 


Went  forth  the  nation  weeping, 

With  precious  seed  of  prayer, 
Hope's  awful  vigil  keeping 
'Mid  rumours  of  despair 


HYMNS.  323 


Now,  to  Thy  glory  bringing 
Its  sheaves  of  praise  along, 

Again  it  cometh  singing 
A  happy  harvest  song. 


O  sweet  and  divine  fashion 

Of  Grace  sublime  in  power! 
That  meteth  out  compassion 

By  sorrow's  direst  hour  : 
O  Love,  most  high,  most  holy  ! 

The  merciful  in  might, 
That  unto  hearts  most  lowly 

Is  ever  Depth  and  Height. 


Bless  Thou  our  adoration  ! 

Our  gladness  sanctify  ! 
Be  this  rejoicing  nation 

To  Thee  by  joy  more  nigh : 
Oh  be  this  great  Thanksgiving, 

That  with  one  voice  we  raise, 
Wrought  into  holier  living 

Through  all  our  after  days. 


324  HYMNS. 


Bless,  Father,  him  Thou  gavest 

Back  to  the  loyal  land  ; 
O  Saviour,  him  Thou  savest 

Still  cover  with  Thine  Hand  ; 
O  Spirit,  the  Defender, 

Be  his  to  guard  and  guide, 
Now  in  life's  mid-day  splendour. 

On  to  the  eventide ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  325 


C&e  transfiguration. 


And  when  the  Voice  was  past,  Jesus  was  found  alone.' 

St.  Luke  ix.  3d 

DEEPLY  dark  and  deeply  still 
Midnight  wraps  the  lonely  hill, 
And  the  Three  are  keeping  there, 
By  the  Master  in  His  prayer, 
Drooping  watch  to  slumber  prone, 
Till  the  Master  prays  alone. 


Lo  !   in  sudden  awe  they  rise : 
Sudden  splendour  fills  their  eyes  : 
Sorrow-marred  the  Master's  Face 
Lightens  with  unearthly  grace, 
Excellence  of  glory  !  now 
Robes  His  form  from  foot  to  brow ! 

1  See  2  St.  Peter  i.  17. 


;2G  IIYMXS. 


And  beside  Him  there  are  seen 
Other  Two  in  heavenly  sheen  ; 
Prophecy  and  Law  are  there  : 
Quick  and  Dead  l  the  glory  share  : 
Twain,  who  found  the  morning  light 
At  the  noon  and  through  the  night. 

These  in  solemn  sweet  accord 
Hold  high  converse  with  the  Lord  : 
Till  is  heard  the  Voice  profound 
Through  the  lightning  shade2  around: 
Till  it  passes — and  anon 
Gaze  they  on  The  Christ  alone. 

So  the  Church,  in  vigil  still 
On  the  dark  world's  lonely  hill, 
Slumber-laden  hardly  heeds 
While  the  God-man  intercedes, 
Till  upon  her  eyes  He  shine 
With  a  glory  all-divine. 


1  Moses  who  had  died  .  Eli. is  who  had  never  seen  death.  So  Chi  ist  was 
shown  to  be  '  Lord  both  of  the  dead  and  of  the  living.1 — See  S.  Chrysottom, 

2'A  bright  cl  ml  ovcrsli.nl  iwed  them.1  If  we  may  ^<>  say,  Light  is 
God's  shade.     He  'dwells  in  a  privacy  of  glorious  licht  '    See  Wordsworth, 

St.  Matt.  xvii.  5. 


HYMNS.  327 


So  the  sacred  types  of  old 
Their  last  witness  shall  unfold  ; 
So  like  stars  before  the  day 
In  His  light  shall  pass  away ; 
So  the  quick  and  dead  shall  own 
Christ  is  Lord  and  Christ  alone. 

Father,  by  that  oracle 
From  the  gleaming  cloud  that  fell, 
Spirit,  by  th'  attesting  word 
From  the  Law  and  Prophets  heard, 
Grant  that  all  Thy  Church  be  one 
In  the  Glory  of  the  Son. 

Amen. 


32 b  HYMNS. 


%mns  for  tlje  2Dap  of  ^Intercession. 

I. — FOR    COLONIAL    MISSIONS. 
'Now  are  they  many  members,  yet  but  one  body.' — i  Cor.  xn.  ;o. 

FAR  off  our  brethren's  voices 
Are  borne  from  alien  lands, 
Far  off  our  Father's  children 

Reach  out  their  waiting  hands. 
'  Give  us/  they  cry,   '  our  portion  : 

Co-heirs  of  grace  divine  ! 
Give  us  the  Word  of  promise, 
Give  us  the  Three-fold  line.' 

Yea,  though  the  world  of  waters 

Between  us  ever  rolls, 
No  ocean  wastes  may  sever 

The  brotherhood  of  souls; 


HYMNS.  329 


Far  from  us,  they  are  of  us; 

No  bound  of  all  the  earth 
May  part  the  sons  and  daughters 

Who  share  the  second  birth. 


In  happiest  homely  commune, 

When  sweetest  songs  are  sung 
Awakes  those  alien  echoes 

One  sacred  mother-tongue. 
Then  let  us  praise  together! 

Together  let  us  pray, 
And  go  together  Homeward 

Upon  the  ancient  way. 


Together  Heavenward,  Homeward; 

For  ever  in  our  view 
One  spiritual  City — 

Jerusalem  the  New ; 
For  ever  drawing  nearer 

To  One  belov'd,  adored, 
The  Crucified  Who  bought  us, 

The  Crown'd  Incarnate  Lord. 


33o  HYMNS. 


Lord  God  !  Eternal  Father ! 

Send  down  the  Holy  Dove, 
For  His  dear  sake  Who  loved  us, 

To  quicken  us  in  love. 
Bless  us  with  His  compassion, 

That  we,  or  ere  we  rest, 
May  work  to  bless  our  brethren, 

And,  blessing,  be  more  blest  ! 

And  lo,  we  pray,  rejoicing  ! 

We  praise  Thee  in  our  prayer  i 
Lo,  o'er  the  wide  world  mingles 

Our  incense  on  the  air  : 
So  pleading  we  adore  Thee, 

God  of  the  hearing  ear ! 
Thou  Who  so  late  hast  heard  us 

Vouchsafe  again  to  hear  ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  331 


II. FOR    MISSIONS    TO    THE   HEATHEN. 

'  Come  over  into  Macedonia  and  help  us  !'  —  Acts  xvi.  9. 

THROUGH  midnight  gloom  from  Macedon 
The  cry  of  myriads  as  of  one, 
The  voiceful  silence  of  despair, 
Is  eloquent  in  awful  prayer; 
The  soul's  exceeding  bitter  cry, 
'Come  o'er  and  help  us  or  we  die.' 

How  mournfully  it  echoes  on, 
For  half  the  world  is  Macedon ! 
These  brethren  to  their  brethren  call, 
And  by  the  Love  which  loved  them  all, 


332  HYMXS. 


And  by  the  whole  world's  Life  they  cry, 
'O  ye  that  live,  behold  we  die!' 

By  other  sounds  our  ears  are  won 
Than  that  which  wails  from  Macedon  ; 
The  roar  of  gain  is  round  us  rolled, 
Or  we  unto  ourselves  are  sold, 
And  cannot  list  the  alien  cry 
*0  hear  and  help  us  lest  we  die!' 

Yet  with  that  cry  from  Macedon 
The  very  car  of  Christ  rolls  on ! 
1 1  come  :    who  would  abide  My  day, 
In  yonder  wilds  prepare  My  way  ! 
My  voice  is  crying  in  their  cry 
Help  ye  the  dying  lest  ye  die  !' 

O  once,  for  men,  of  man  the  Son. 
Yea,  Thine  the  cry  from  Macedon  ! 
O  by  the  Kingdom  and  the  Power 
And  Glory  of  Thine  advent  hour, 
Wake  heart  and  will  to  hear  their  cry, 
Help  us  to  help  them  lest  we  die  1 


HYMN'S.  333 


Yet  fair  the  hope  that  speeds  us  on 
With  psalms  of  praise  for  Macedon  ! 
Thy  blessing  given,  Thy  promise  bright, 
Are  earnest  sweet  of  morning  light, 
Till  'Alleluia'  be  the  cry 
Of  souls  that  live  and  shall  not  die  ! 

Amen. 


334  HYMXS. 


%\)z  »>aine. 


III. HYMN    OF    THANKSGIVING. 


'  {Messed  be  the  Lord  God,  the  God  of  Israel,  Who  only  doeth  wondrous 
things  ;  and  blessed  be  His  glorious  name  for  ever  :  and  let  the  whole  earth 
be  filled  with  His  glory.     Amen  and  Amen.' — Ps.  lxxii.  18-19. 


L 


ORD  of  the  harvest !  it  is  right  and  meet 
'     That  we  should  lay  our  first  fruits  at  Thy  feet 
With  joyful  Alleluia. 


Sweet  is  the  soul's  thanksgiving  after  prayer; 
Sweet  is  the  worship  that  with  Heaven  we  share 
Who  sing  the  Alleluia  ! 

Lowly  we  prayed,  and  Thou  didst  hear  on  high — 
Didst  lift  our  hearts  and  change  our  suppliant  cry 

To  festal   Alleluia. 


HYMNS.  335 


So  sing  we  now  in  tune  with  that  great  song 
That  all  the  age  of  ages  shall  prolong, 

The  endless  Alleluia. 

To  Thee,  O  Lord  of  Harvest,  Who  hast  heard, 
And  to  Thy  white-robed  reapers  given  the  word, 
We  sing  our  Alleluia. 

0  Christ,  Who  in  the  wide  world's  ghostly  sea 
Hast  bid  the  net  be  cast  anew,  to  Thee 

We  sing  our  Alleluia. 

To  Thee,  Eternal  Spirit,  WTho  again 
Hast  moved  with  life  upon  the  slumbrous  main, 
We  sing  our  Alleluia. 

Yea,  West  and  East  the  companies  go  forth  : 

1  We  come  ¥  is  sounding  to  the  South  and  North  ; 

To  God  sing  Alleluia  ! 

The  fishermen  of  Jesus  far  away 
Seek  in  new  waters  an  immortal  prey; 

To  Christ  sing  Alleluia  ! 

The  Holy  Dove  is  brooding  o'er  the  deep, 
And  careless  hearts  are  waking  out  of  sleep ; 

To  Him  sing  Alleluia ! 


336  HYMNS. 


Yea,  for  sweet  hope  new-born — blest  work  begun- 
Sing  Alleluia  to  the  Three  in  One, 
Adoring  Alleluia  ! 

Glory  to  God  !  the  Church  in  patience  cries  ; 
Glory  to  God  !    the  Church  at  rest  replies. 
With  endless  Alleluia  ! 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  337 


feafnt  St£ark, 

EVANGELIST   AND    MARTYR. 


'Mark  departed  from  them  from  Pamphylia,  and  went  not  with  them  to 
the  work.' — Acts  xv.  38. 
'  Take  Mark    .     .     .     profitable  to  me  for  the  ministry.' — 2  Tim.  iv.  ii. 


BY  Paul  at  war  in  Gentile  lands 
The  Son  of  Consolation1  stands; 
Together,  in  the  evil  day. 
They  set  Christ's  battle  in  array  : 
Yet  mourn  for  one,  in  darker  hour, 
By  fear  o'erthrown  from  faith  and  power. 

Rejoice  not,2  O  thou  ghostly  foe, 
Albeit  thy  wiles  have  laid  him  low  ! 


Barnabas,  the  Son  of  Consolation,  a  Levite. — Acts  iv.  36 
Micah  vii.  8. 


338  HYMNS. 


For,  rising  from  the  battle-plain, 
Cast  down,  but  not  destroyed,  again 
He  shall  fulfil,  with  lowlier  heart, 
The  contrite  Christian's  braver  part. 

The  voice  that,  in  his  bitter  need, 
Did  for  the  father1  intercede, 
Shall  for  the  fallen  son  prevail : 
In  meeker  faith  he  shall  not  fail  ! 
But  with  remorseful  memory  rife 
Shall  wage  a  surer,  sterner  strife. 

Now  tremble  !  for,  behold,   he  stands 
And  lifts  in  power  the  hanging  hands, 
The  feeble  knees  are  braced  and  strong, 
And — hushed  awhile — his  battle-song 
Is  breathed  once  more  in  holy  shame, 
Thy  challenge  in  the  awful  Xame. 

Lo,  spoils  for  Christ  in  Babylon  !2 
For  Christ  the  Morian's  land3  is  won: 


1  Early  Church  history  attributes  to  St.  Mark  an  intimate  connexion 

with  St  Peter,  asserting  that  lie  wrote  his  Gospel  under  St.  Peter's  eve 
Cf  i  St.  Peter  v.  13,  '  Marcus,  my  son.' 

•j  See  1  St.  Peter  v.  13. 

3  Wc  have  St.  Jerome's  authority  For  asserting,  that  St.  Mark  «  isap 
pointed  by  St  Peter  first  Bishop  of  Alexandria,  in  1 


HYMNS.  339 


Till  now,  the  long  campaign  complete, 
He  offers  at  his  Captain's  feet — 
So  gained  by  loss — with  latest  breath 
The  life  he  loved  not  to  the  death. 

Lord  God,  the  Father,  grant  us  here 
The  fearless  courage  of  Thy  fear ; 
Lord  God,  the  Christ,  so  in  our  need. 
When  faith  is  failing,  intercede ; 
Lord  God,  the  Spirit,  thus  amend, 
And  keep  us  constant  to  the  end. 

Amen. 


34Q  HYMNS. 


Battle  |pmn  of  CJurclj  ^Defence. 

DEDICATED  TO  THE  'CHURCH  SOCIETY'  OF  ST.  PAUL'S, 
HAGGERSTOX. 

"  Her  foundations  are  upon  the  holy  hills  :  the  Lord  loveth  the  gates  of 
Zion  more  than  all  the  dwellings  of  Jacob."— Ps.  lxxxvii.  i,  2. 

"  God  is  in  the  midst  of  her,  therefore  shall  she  not  be  removed  :  God 
shall  help  her,  and  that  right  early."— Ps.  xlvi.  5. 

"  If  I  forget  thee,  O  Jerusalem,  let  my  right  hand  forget  her  cunning."— 
Ps.  cxxxvn.  5. 

ROUND  the  Sacred  City  gather 
Egypt,  Edom,  Babylon ; 
All  the  warring  hosts  of  error, 

Sworn  against  her,  are  as  one : 
Vain  the  leaguer !   her  foundations 

Are  upon  the  holy  hills, 
And  the  love  of  the  Eternal 
All  her  stately  temple  fills. 

Get  thee,  watchman,  to  the  rampart! 

Gird  thee,  warrior,  with  thy  sword  1 
And  be  strong  as  ye  remember 

In  your  midst  is  God  the  Lord: 


HYMNS.  341 


Like  the  night-mists  from  the  valley, 
These  shall  vanish,  one  by  one, 

Egypt's  malice,  Edom's  envy, 
And  the  hate  of  Babylon. 

But  be  true,  ye  sons  and  daughters, 

Lest  the  peril  be  within; 
Watch  to  prayer,  lest  in  your  slumber 

Stealthy  foemen  enter  in ; 
Safe  the  mother  and  the  children 

If  their  will  and  love  be  strong, 
While  their  loyal  hearts  go  singing 

Prayer  and  praise  for  battle-song. 

Church  of  God  !  if  we  forget  thee, 

Let  His  blessing  fail  our  hand ; 
When  our  love  shall  not  prefer  thee, 

Let  His  love  forget  our  land — 
Nay !  our  memory  shall  be  steadfast 

Though  in  storm  the  mountains  shake, 
And  our  love  is  love  for  ever, 

For  it  is  for  Jesus'  sake. 

Church  of  Jesus  !  His  thy  Banner 
And  thy  Banner's  awful  Sign : 

Y  2 


342  HYMNS. 


By  His  passion  and  His  glory 
Thou  art  His  and  He  is  thine  : 

From  the  Hill  of  His  Redemption 
Flows  thy  sacramental  tide  : 

From  the  Hill  of  His  Ascension 
Flows  the  grace  of  God  thy  Guide. 

Yea  :  thou  Church  of  God  the  Spirit  ! 

His  Society  Divine, 
His  the  living  Word  thou  keepest, 

His  thy  Apostolic  line, 
Ancient  prayer  and  song  liturgic, 

Creeds  that  change  not  to  the  end, 
As  His  gift  we  have  received  them, 

As  His  charge  we  will  defend. 

Alleluia,  Alleluia, 

To  the  Father,  Spirit,  Son, 
In  Whose  will  the  Church  at  warfare 

With  the  Church  at  rest  is  one  : 
So  to  Thee  we  sing  in  union, 

God  in  earth  and  Heav'n  adored, 
Alleluia,  Alleluia, 

Holy,  Holy,  Holy  Lord. 

Amen. 


HYMNS.  343 


Confirmation  3lftanp  i?gmn* 


Greater  is  He  that  is  in  you,  than  he  that  is  in  the  world." 

i  St.  John  iv. 


OTHOU,  by  Whom  the  saints  abide, 
Whatever  fears  or  foes  betide, 
Safe  in  the  Bridegroom  and  the  Bride  : 
God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

O  Thou,  Who  art  the  Gift  unpriced 
That  for  the  poorest  hath  sufficed, 
With  grace  and  peace  from  Jesus  Christ; 
God  the.  Spirit,  hear  us. 

O  Thou,  Who  for  the  awful  fight 
With  more  than  mortal  will  and  might 
Hast  ever  armed  the  sons  of  light : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

1  May  be  used  also  at  Adult  Baptisms. 


344  HYMNS. 


Arm  those  who  kneel  before  Thee  now  — 
Let  the  dear  Sign  upon  their  brow 
In  every  heart  seal  every  vow  : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

Dread  is  the  war  they  now  begin, 
But  stronger  Thou  their  souls  within 
Than  all  the  power  of  Adam's  sin ! 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

O  by  their  death  in  Him  Who  died  1 
Their  life  in  Him,  the  Glorified  ! 
Keep  them  for  ever  at  His  side : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

So  may  they  through  the  hosts  of  ill 
Go  on  from  strength  to  strength,  until 
They  win  the  peaceful  Holy  Hill  : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

So,  by  Thy  grace  in  Him  to-day, 
In  Him  be  every  soul  for  aye 
When  Heaven  and  Earth  have  passed  away 
God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 


HYMNS.  345 


Through  vigils  late  and  labours  long, 
Through  all  world-weariness  and  wrong, 
So  guide  them  to  Thine  evensong : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us 

The  song  of  work  in  weakness  done, 
The  song  of  rest  by  mercy  won, 
The  song  of  endless  life  begun  : 

God  the  Spirit,  hear  us. 

Amen. 


346  HYMNS. 


43!n  ^L\)tt: 


A    HYMN    FOR    CHURCH-WORKERS. 


DEDICATED  TO  TH E  '  CHURCH SOCIETY'  OF  ST.  PAUL'S, 
HAGGERSTOX. 


'Christ  the  Power  of  God,  and  the  Wisdom  of  God.  .  .  .   Of  Him  are  ye 
in  Christ  Jesus.'— i  Cor.  i.  24  and  30. 


CHRIST,  the  Wisdom  and  the  Power  ! 
From  our  labour's  fleeting  hour 
To  that  timeless  age  of  bliss 
Which  shall  crown  the  toil  of  this. 
Grant  that  all  our  life  may  be 
Hidden  and  revealed  '  in  Thee.' 

That  our  work  may  be  divine 
Seek  we  not  our  own  but  Thine  ; 
Lost  to  self  and  found  'in  Thee.' 
Find  we  sweet   Humility. 


HYMNS.  347 


Zeal  by  reverent  Love  refined, 
True  Devotion's  single  mind. 

So  'in  Thee'  we  shall  be  strong, 
Seem  the  labour  light  or  long; 
And,  though  clouds  of  self  and  sin 
Darken  round  us  and  within, 
So  not  dimly  shall  we  see 
Light  to  lighten  all  'in  Thee.' 

Thus,  '  in  Thee,'  O  Wisdom,  wise, 
May  we  touch  the  blinded  eyes, 
Turn  the  steps  that  vainly  roam 
Back  to  happiness  and  home, 
And  in  sacred  waters  sweet 
Wash  Thy  young  disciples'  feet. 

Thus  '  in  Thee,'  O  Power,  we  go 
Through  Thy  Church's  war  below, 
In  Thy  panoply  alway 
Steadfast  through  the  evil  day; 
Troubled  ever,  not  distrest, 
Moving  to  Thy  Church  at  rest. 


34«  //  YMNS. 


'  In  Thee  '  now,  and  '  in  Thee '  then  ! 
Now,  and  when  Thou  com'st  again  ; 
Now  at  war  among  Thy  foes, 
Then  at  peace  in  Thy  repose, 
Brother-man  and  Sovran-Lord 
Thine  our  Work  and  our  Reward ! 

Amen. 


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Devotional  System  of  the  Church  of  England.     Crown  8r<?.     \os.  6d. 

DICTIONARY  OF  DOCTRINAL  AND  HISTORICAL  THEOLOGY. 
By  various  Writers.     Imperial  8vo.     21s. 

DICTIONARY  OF  SECTS,  HERESIES,  ECCLESIASTICAL  PAR- 
TIES AND  SCHOOLS  OF  RELIGIOUS  THOUGHT.  By  various 
Writers.     Imperial  8vo.     21s. 

THE  BOOK  OF  CHURCH  LAW.  Being  an  Exposition  of  the  Legal 
Rights  and  Duties  of  the  Parochial  Clergy  and  the  Laity  of  the  Church 
of  England.  Revised  by  Sir  Walter' G.  F.  Phillimore,  Bart., 
D.C.L.     Crown  Bvo.     ys.  6d. 

A  COMPANION  TO  THE  BIBLE:  Being  a  Plain  Commentary  on 
Scripture  History,  to  the  end  of  the  Apostolic  Age.  Two  vols,  small 
Zvo.     Sold  separately. 

The  Old  Testament,    y.  6d.         The  New  Testament.    3*.  6d. 

HOUSEHOLD  THEOLOGY  :  a  Handbook  of  Religious  Information 
respecting  the  Holy  Bible,  the  Prayer  Book,  the  Church,  etc.  etc. 
Paper  cover,  i6mo.     is.     Also  the  Larger  Edition,  y.  6d. 

Body.— Works  by  the    Rev.    George    Body,    D.D.,    Canon   of 
Durham. 

THE  SCHOOL  OF  CALVARY  ;  or,  Laws  of  Christian  Life  revealed 
from  the  Cross.     Small  Bvo.     y.  6d. 

THE  LIFE  OF  JUSTIFICATION.     i6mo.     2s.  6d. 
THE  LIFE  OF  TEMPTATION.     i6mo.     2s.  6d. 

Bonney.-  CHRISTIAN  DOCTRINES  AND  MODERN 
THOUGHT:  being  the  Boyle  l  ecturesfor  1891.  By  the  Rev.  T.  G. 
Bonney,  i  >.Sc    Hon  Canoi     f  Ma     hestei 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE, 


Boultbee.— A    COMMENTARY    ON    THE    THIRTY-NINE 

ARTICLES  OF  THE  CHURCH  OF  ENGLAND.  By  the  Rev. 
T.  P.  Boultbee,  formerly  Principal  of  the  London  College  of  Divinity, 
St.  John's  Hall,  Highbury.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

Bright.— Works  by  William   Bright,  D.D.,  Canon  of  Christ 
Church,  Oxford. 

LESSONS   FROM   THE   LIVES   OF   THREE  GREAT  FATHERS  : 

St.  Athanasius,  St.  Chrysostom,  and  St.  Augustine.      Crown  8vo.     6s. 
THE  INCARNATION  AS  A  MOTIVE  POWER.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

FAITH  AND  LIFE:  Readings  for  the  greater  Holy  Days,  and  the 
Sundays  from  Advent  to  Trinity.  Compiled  from  Ancient  Writers. 
S?nall  8vo.     55. 

IONA  AND  OTHER  VERSES.     Small  8vo.     4s.  6d. 

HYMNS  AND   OTHER  VERSES.     Small  8vo.     5*. 

Bright  and  Medd. -LIBER  PRECUM   PUBLICARUM  EC- 

CLESLE  ANGLICAN^E.  A  Gulielmo  Bright,  S.T.P.,  et  Petro 
Goldsmith  Medd,  A.M.,  Latine  redditus.  [In  hac  Editione  con- 
tinentur  Versiones  Latinse — 1.  Libri  Precum  Publicarum  Ecclesiae 
Anglicanas  ;  2.  Liturgias  Primae  Reformatae  ;  3.  Liturgise  Scoticanse  ; 
4.  Liturgiae  Americana?.]     Small  8vo.     js.  6d. 

Browne.— AN  EXPOSITION  OF  THE  THIRTY-NINE 
ARTICLES,  Historical  and  Doctrinal.  By  E.  H.  Browne,  D.D., 
formerly  Bishop  of  Winchester,     8vo.     16s. 

Campion  and  Beamont.— THE  PRAYER  BOOK  INTER- 
LEAVED. With  Historical  Illustrations  and  Explanatory  Notes 
arranged  parallel  to  the  Text.  By  W.  M.  Campion,  D.D.,  and  W.  J. 
Beamont,  M. A.     Small  8vo.     js.  6.1. 

Carter.— Works  edited  by  the  Rev.  T.  T.  Carter,  M.A.,  Hon. 
Canon  of  Christ  Church,  Oxford. 

THE  TREASURY  OF  DEVOTION  :  a  Manual  of  Prayer  for  General 
and  Daily  Use.  Compiled  by  a  Priest.  i8mo.  2s.  6d.  ;  cloth  limp, 
2s.  ;  or  bound  with  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer,  35.  6d.  Large-  Type 
Edition.     Crown  8vo.     3s.  6d. 

THE  WAY  OF  LIFE  :  A  Book  of  Prayers  and  Instruction  for  the  Young 
at  School,  with  a  Preparation  for  Confirmation.  Compiled  by  a  Priest. 
i8mo.     is.  6d. 

THE  PATH  OF  HOLINESS  :  a  First  Bolt;  of  Prayers,  with  the 
Service  of  the  Holy  Communion,  for  the  Young.  Compiled  by  a 
Priest.     With  Illustrations.     z6mo.     is.  6d.  ;  cloth  limp,  is. 

THE  GUIDE  TO  HEAVEN  :  a  Book  of  Prayers  for  every  Want.  (For 

the   Working    Classes.)      Compiled   by   a    Priest.      i8mo.      is.  6d.  ; 

cloth  limp,  is.  Large-Type  Edition.  Crown  8vo.  is.  6d.  ;  cloth 
limp,  is. 

I  continued. 


A  CATALOGUE  OF  WORKS 


Carter— Works  edited  by  the  Rev   T.  T.  Carter,  M.A.,  Hon. 
Canon  of  Christ  Church,  0\iox&—conti?uied. 
SELF-RENUNCIATION.     \6mo.     zs.  64. 

THE  STAR  OF  CHILDHOOD;  a  First  Book  of  Prayers  and  Instruc 
tioo  for  Children.  Compiled  by  a  Priest.  With  Lustrations.  i6r;:o. 
2s.  6d . 

Carter.— MAXIMS  AND  CLEANINGS  FROM  THE 
WRITINGS  OF  T.  T.  CARTER,  M.A.  Selected  and  arranged  for 
Daily  Use.     Crown  i6mo.     is. 

Chandler— THE  SPIRIT  OF  MAN  :  An  Essay  in  Christian 
Phi  osophy.  By  the  R<  ..  A.  (  handler,  M.A.,  Rector  of  Poplar,  E. 
Crown  8vo.     $s. 

Church's  Seasons  (The),  and   other  Verses.      By  Yolande. 

C  rt  wn  c:    .      .; 

Conyheare  and  Howson.— THE  LIFE  AND  EPISTLES  OF 
ST.  PAUL.  By  the  Rev.  W.  J.  CONYBEARE,  M.A..  and  the  Very 
Rev.  J.  S.  Howson,  D.D.     With  numerous  Maps  and  Illustrations. 

Library  Edition.     Two  Vols.     8vo.     zis. 

Student's  Edition.     One  Vol.  \     6s. 

Crake.— HISTORY  OF  THE  CHURCH  UNDER  THE 
ROMAN  EMPIRE,  a.d.  30-476.  By  the  Rev.  A.  D.  Crake,  B.A. 
Crown  8vo.     js.  6d. 

Devotional  Series,  16mo,  Red  Borders.    Each  2s.  6a\ 

BICKERSTETH'S  YESTERDAY,   TO-DAY,  AND  FOR  EVER. 

CHILCOT'S  TREATISE  ON  EVIL  THOUGHTS. 

THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR. 

FRANCIS  DE  SALES'  (ST.)  THE  DEVOUT  LIFE. 

HERBERT'S  POEMS  AND  PROVERBS. 

KEMPIS'  (A)  OF  THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST. 

WILSON'S  THE  LORDS  SUPPER.     / 

♦TAYLOR'S  (JEREMY)  HOLY  LIVING. 

* HOLY  DYING. 

*  These  two  in  one  Volume.     5s. 

Devotional  Series,  18mo,  without  Red  Borders.     E  xck  1  r. 
BICKERSTETH'S  YESTERDAY,  TO-DAY,  ANT)  FOR  EVER. 
THE  CHRISTIAN  YEAR, 

FRANCIS  DE  SA  THE  DEVOUT  LIFI 

HERBERTS  POEMS  AND  PROVERBS. 
KEMPIS'  (A)  OF  THE  IMITATION  OF  CHRIST. 
WILSON'S  THE  LORD'S  SUPPER,     Large  tyf*. 
"TAYLOR'S  (JEREMY)  HOLY  LIVING. 

* HOLY  DYING. 

*Thfrr  tw  •  in  one  1 '  6d. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 


Edersheim. — Works  by  Alfred  Edersheim,  M.A.,  D.D.,  Ph.D., 
sometime  Grinfield  Lecturer  on  the  Septuagint,  Oxford. 

THE  LIFE  AND  TIMES  OF  JESUS  THE  MESSIAH.  Two  Vols. 
Svo.     24s. 

JESUS  THE  MESSIAH  :  being  an  Abridged  Edition  of  '  The  Life  and 
Times  of  Jesus  the  Messiah.'     Crown  Svo.     js.  6d. 

PROPHECY  AND  HISTORY  IN  RELATION  TO  THE  MESSIAH  : 
The  Warburton  Lectures,  1880-1884.     8vo.     12s. 

TOHU-VA-VOHU  ('Without  Form  and  Void')  :  being  a  collection  of 
Fragmentary  Thoughts  and  Criticism.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

Ellicott.— Works  by  C.  J.  Ellicott,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Gloucester 
and  Bristol. 

A  CRITICAL  AND  GRAMMATICAL  COMMENTARY  ON  ST. 
PAUL'S  EPISTLES.  Greek  Text,  with  a  Critical  and  Grammatical 
Commentary,  and  a  Revised  English  Translation.     Svo. 


1  Corinthians.     i6j. 
Galatians.    85.  6d. 
Ephesians.     8s.  6d. 
Pastoral  Epistles,     10s.  6d. 


Philippians,   Colossians,  and 

Philemon,     10s.  6d. 
Thessalonians.    7s.  6d. 


HISTORICAL     LECTURES     ON    THE    LIFE    OF     OUR     LORD 
JESUS    CHRIST.     Svo.     12s. 


Epochs  of  Church  History.     Edited  by  Mandell  Creighton, 
D.D.,  LL.D.,  Bishop  of  Peterborough.  Fcap.  Zvo.   is.  6d.  each. 

THE  ENGLISH  CHURCH  IN 
OTHER  LANDS.  By  the  Rev.  H.  W. 
Tucker,  M.A. 


THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  RE- 
FORMATION IN  ENGLAND.  By 
the  Rev.  Geo.  G.  Perry,  M.A. 

THE  CHURCH  OF  THE  EARLY 
FATHERS.  By  the  Rev.  Alfred 
Plummer,  D.D. 

THE  EVANGELICAL  REVIVAL  IN 
THE  EIGHTEENTH  CENTURY. 
By  the  Rev.  J.  H.  Overton,  M.A. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  OXFORD. 
By  the  Hon.  G.  C.  Brodrick,  D.C.L. 

THE  UNIVERSITY  OF  CAM- 
BRIDGE. By  J.  Bass  Mullinger, 
M.A. 

THE  ENGLISH  CHURCH  IN  THE 
MIDDLE  AGES.  By  the  Rev.  W. 
Hunt,  M.A. 


THE  CHURCH  AND  THE 
EASTERN  EMPIRE.  By  the  Rev. 
H.  F.  Tozer,  M.A. 

THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  ROMAN 
EMPIRE.     By  the  Rev.  A.  Carr. 

THE  CHURCH  AND  THE  PURI- 
TANS, 1570-1660.  By  Henry  Offley 
Wakeman,  M.A. 

HILDEBRAND  AND  HIS  TIMES. 
By  the  Rev.  W.  R.  W.  Stephens,  M.A. 

THE  POPES  AND  THE  HOHEN- 
STAUFEN.     By  Ugo  Balzam. 

THE  COUNTER-REFORMATION. 
By  Adolphus  William  Ward,  Litt.  D. 

WYCLIFFE  AND  MOVEMENTS 
FOR  REFORM.  By  Reginald  L. 
Poole,  M.A. 


THE   ARIAN  CONTROVERSY. 
H.  M.  Gwatkin,  M.A. 


By 


A  CATALOGUE  OF  WORKS 


Fosbery.— Works  edited  by  the  Rev.  Thomas  Vincent Fosbery, 
M.A.,  sometime  Vicar  of  St.  Giles's,  Reading. 

VOICES  OF  COMFORT.     Cheap  Edition.     Small  SvO.     y.  6d. 
The  Larger  Edition  (js.  6d.)  may  still  be  had. 

HYMNS  AND  POEMS  FOR  THE  SICK  AND    SUFFERING.      In 

connection  with  the  Service  for  the  Visitation  of  the  Sick.  Selected 
from  Various  Authors.     Small  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

Garland.— THE   PRACTICAL  TEACHING   OF  THE  APO- 
CALYPSE.    By  the  Rev.  G.  V.  Garland,  M.  A.     Svo.     16c 

Gore.— Works  by  the  Rev.  CHARLES  GORE,  M.A..  Principal  of  the 
Pusey  House  ;  Fellow  of  Trinity  College,  Oxford. 
THE  MINISTRY  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN  CHURCH.     Svo.     10s.  6d. 
ROMAN  CATHOLIC  CLAIMS.     Crown  Svo.     y.  6d. 

Goulburn.— Works   by   Edward    Meyrick   Goulburn,   D.D., 
D.C.L.,  sometime  Dean  of  Norwich. 

THOUGHTS  ON  PERSONAL  RELIGION.  Small  Svo,  6s.  6d.  ; 
Cheap  Edition,  y.  6d. ;  Presentation  Edition,  2  vols,  small  810,  10s.  6d. 

THE  PURSUIT  OF  HOLINESS  :  a  Sequel  to  'Thoughts  on  Personal 
Religion.'     Small  Svo.     y.     Cheap  Edition,  y.  6d. 

THE  CHILD  SAMUEL  :  a  Practical  and  Devotional  Commentary  on 
the  Birth  and  Childhood  of  the  Prophet  Samuel,  as  recorded  in 
1  Sam.  i. ,  ii.  1-27,  iii.     Small  Svo.     is.  6d. 

THE  GOSPEL  OF  THE  CHILDHOOD  :  a  Practical  and  Devotional 
Commentary  on  the  Single  Incident  of  our  Blessed  Lord's  Childhood 
(St.  Luke  ii.  41  to  the  end).     Crown  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

THE  COLLECTS  OF  THE  DAY:  an  Exposition,  Critical  and  Devo- 
tional, of  the  Collects  appointed  at  the  Communion.  With  Preliminary 
Essays  on  their  Structure,  Sources,  etc.     2  1  wn  Svo.     Ss.  each. 

THOUGHTS  UPON  THE  LITURGICAL  GOSPELS  for  the  Sundays, 

one  for  each  dav  in  the  year.  With  an  Introduction  on  their  Origin, 
History,  the  Modifications  made  in  them  by  the  Reformers  and  by  the 
Revisers  of  the  Prayer  Book.     2  vols.     Crown  Svo.     16s. 

MEDITATIONS  UPON  THE  LITURGICAL  GOSPELS  for  the 
Minor  Festivals  of  Christ,  the  two  first  Week  days  ol  r  and 

Whitsun  Festivals,  and  the  Red-letter  Saints'  Days.    C/o;cn  Szo.    B 

FAMILY  PRAYERS  compiled  from  various  sources  (chiefly  from  Bishop 
Hamilton's  Manual),  and  arranged  on  the  Liturgical  Principle,    t 
Svo.     y.  6d.      Cheap  Edition.      \6mo.      is. 

Harrison.— PROBLEMS  OF  CHRISTIANITY  AND  SCEPTI- 

( "ISM  ;  1  .(•  .son    ii  i  >m  T\wnt\  Years'  Experience  in  the  Field  oi  1  hi 
Evidence.      l'y   the  Rev,    \ii\\\ni,<  J.    HARRISON,   B.D.,   Lecturer 
of  the  Christian  Evidence  Society.     CrovmSvo.     7.-.  od. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 


Hernaman.— LYRA  CONSOLATIONIS.      From  the  Poets  of 

the  Seventeenth,  Eighteenth,  and  Nineteenth  Centuries.     Selected  and 
arranged  by  Claudia  Frances  Hernaman.     Stnall  Svo.    6s. 

Holland.— Works  by  the  Rev.  Henry  Scott  Holland,  M.A., 
Canon  and  Precentor  of  St.  Paul's. 

CREED  AND  CHARACTER  :  Sermons.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

ON  BEHALF  OF  BELIEF.  Sermons  preached  in  St.  Paul's  Cathedral. 
Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

CHRIST  OR  ECCLESIASTES.  Sermons  preached  in  St.  Paul's 
Cathedral.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

LOGIC  AND  LIFE,  with  other  Sermons.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

Hopkins.— CHRIST  THE  CONSOLER.  A  Book  of  Comfort 
for  the  Sick.     By  Ellice  Hopkins.     Small  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

Ingram.— ENGLAND  AND  ROME  :  a  History  of  the  Rela- 
tions between  the  Papacy  and  the  English  State  and  Church,  from  the 
Norman  Conquest  to  the  Revolution  of  1688.  By  T.  Dunbar 
Ingram,  LL.D.,  Barrister-at-Law.     Svo.     14*. 

Ingram.— HAPPINESS  :  In  the  Spiritual  Life;  or,  'The  Secret 
of  the  Lord.'  A  Series  of  Practical  Considerations.  By  the  Rev.  W. 
Clavell  Ingram,  M.A.,  Vicar  of  St.  Matthew's,  Leicester.  Crown 
Svo.     js.  6d. 

INHERITANCE,  THE,  OF  THE  SAINTS  ;  or,  Thoughts  on 
the  Communion  of  Saints  and  the  Life  of  the  World  to  come.  Col- 
lected chiefly  from  English  Writers  by  L.  P.  With  a  Preface  by  the 
Rev.  Henry  Scott  Holland,  M.A.     Crown  Svo.     7s.  6d. 

Jameson. — Works  by  Mrs.  Jameson. 

SACRED  AND  LEGENDARY  ART,  containing  Legends  of  the  Angels 
and  Archangels,  the  Evangelists,  the  Apostles.  With  19  etchings  and 
187  Woodcuts.      Two  Vols.     Cloth,  gilt  top,  20s.  net. 

LEGENDS  OF  THE  MONASTIC  ORDERS,  as  represented  in  the 
Fine  Arts.  With  11  etchings  and  88  Woodcuts.  One  Vol.  Cloth, 
gilt  top,  10s.  net. 

LEGENDS  OF  THE  MADONNA,  OR  BLESSED  VIRGIN  MARY. 
With  27  Etchings  and  165  Woodcuts.     One  Vol.    Cloth,  gilt  top,  \os.  net. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  OUR  LORD,  as  exemplified  in  Works  of  Art. 
Commenced  by  the  late  Mrs.  Jameson  ;  continued  and  completed  by 
Lady  Eastlake.  With  31  Etchings  and  281  Woodcuts.  Two  Vols. 
Svo.     20s.  net. 

Jennings— EC  CLESI A  ANGLICAN  A.  A  History  of  the 
Church  of  Christ  in  England  from  the  Earliest  to  the  Present  Times. 
By  the  Rev.  Arthur  Charles  Jennings,  M.A.    Crown  Svo.    7s.  6d. 


8  A  CATALOGUE  OF  WOK.: 

Jukes.—  Works  by  Andrew  Juki.-. 

THE  NEW  MAN  AND  THE  ETERNAL  LIFE.  Notes  on  the 
Reiterated  Aniens  of  the  Son  of  God.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

THE  NAMES  OF  GOD  IN  HOLY  SCRIPTURE:  a  Revelation  of 
His  Nature  and  Relationships.     Crown  Svo.     4.5.  6d. 

THE  TYPES  OF  GENESIS.     Crown  Svo.     7s.  6d. 

THE  SECOND  DEATH  AND  THE  RESTITUTION  OF  ALL 
THINGS.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  KINGDOM.     Crtmm  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

Keble.— MAXIMS  AND  GLEANINGS  FROM  THE  WRIT- 
INGS OF  JOHN  KEBLE,  M.A.  Selected  and  Arranged  for  Daily 
Use.     By  C.  M.  S.     Crown  i6?no.     is. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF  JOHN  KEBLE,  M.A. 
Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

King.— DR.  LIDDON'S  TOUR  IN  EGYPT  AND  PALES- 
TINE IN  1886.  Being  Letters  descriptive  of  the  Tour,  written  by  his 
Sister,  Mrs.  King.     Crown  Svo.     55. 

Knowling.-THE  WITNESS  OF  THE  EPISTLES  :  a  Study 
in  Modern  Criticism.  By  the  Rev.  R.  J.  KNOWLING,  M.A.,  Vice- 
Principal  of  King's  College,  London.     Svo.     15*. 

Knox   Little.— Works   by   W.   J.   Kxox    Little,   M.A.,  Canon 
Residentiary  of  Worcester,  and  Vicar  of  Hoar  Cross. 

SKETCHES  IN  SUNSHINE  AND  STORM:  a  Collection  of  Mis- 
cellaneous Essays  and  Notes  of  Travel.     Crown  Svo.     7s.  6d. 

THE  CHRISTIAN    HOME.     Crown  Bvo.     6s.  6d. 

THE  HOPES  AND  DECISIONS  OF  THE  PASSION  OF  OUR 
MOST  HOLY  REDEEMER.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

CHARACTERISTICS  AND  MOTIVES  OF  THE  CHRISTIAN- 
LIFE.  Ten  Se:mons  preached  in  Manchester  Cathedral,  in  Lent 
and  Advent.     Crown  Svo.     y  ^- 

SERMONS  PREACHED  FOR  THE  MOST  PART  IN  MANCHES- 
TER.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6 J. 

THE  MYSTERY  OF  THE  PASSION  OF  OUR  MOST  HOLY 
REDEEMER.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

Tin:  WITNESS  OF  Till-:  PASSION  OK  OUR  MOST  HOLY 
REDEEMER.     Crow*  Bvo.     3s.  6d. 

THE  LIGHT  OV  LIFE  Sermons  preached  on  Various  Occasions. 
Crown  Svo.     35.  6c/. 

SUNLIGHT    AND    SHADOW     IN     THE     CHRISTIAN     LIFE 

Sermons  preach-'d  for  the  most  pari  in  America. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 


Lear.— Works  by,  and  Edited  by,  H.  L.  Sidney  Lear. 

FOR  DAYS  AND  YEARS.  A  Book  containing  a  Text,  Short  Reading, 
and  Hymn  for  Every  Day  in  the  Church's  Year.  i6tno.  2s.6d.  Also  a 
Cheap  Edition,  32;/^.     is. ;  or  cloth  gilt,  is.  6d. 


FIVE  MINUTES. 
Cheap  Edition. 


Daily  Readings  of  Poetry.     i6mo. 
2,2mo.     is.  ;  or  cloth  gilt,  is.  6d. 


3 s.  6d.     Also  a 


WEARINESS. 

Small  8vo. 


A  Book  for   the  Languid  and  Lonely.      Large    Type. 


i6mo.     2s.  6d.     321710.     is. 


THE  LIGHT  OF  THE  CONSCIENCE. 
cloth  limp,  6d. 

CHRISTIAN  BIOGRAPHIES.      Nine  Vols.     Crown  8vo 


Madame  Louise  de  France, 
Daughter  of  Louis  XV.,  known 
also  as  the  Mother  Terese  de 
St.  Augustin. 

A  Dominican  Artist  :  a  Sketch  of 
the  Life  of  the  Rev.  Pere  Besson, 
of  the  Order  of  St.  Dominic. 

Henri  Perreyve.  By  A.  Gratry. 

St.  Francis  de  Sales,  Bishop  and 
Prince  of  Geneva. 


3s.  6d.  each. 

The  Revival  of  Priestly  Life 
in  the  Seventeenth  Century 
in  France. 

A  Christian  Painter  of  the 
Nineteenth  Century. 

bossuet  and  his  contempora- 
RIES. 

Fenelon,  Archbishop  of  Cam- 

BRAI. 

Henri  Dominique  Lacordaire. 


DEVOTIONAL  WORKS.      Edited  by  H.  L.  Sidney  Lear.      New  and 


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Fenelon's  Spiritual  Letters 
to  Men. 

Fenelon's  Spiritual  Letters 
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The  Spirit  of  St.  Francis  de 
Sales. 


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OF     THE     IMITATION     OF 
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OF  THE   LOVE  OF  GOD.      By 
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io  A   CATALOGUE  OF  WORKS 

Liddon.— Works  by  Henry  Parry  Liddon,  D.D.,  D.C.L.,  LL.D., 
late  Canon  Residentiary  and  Chancellor  of  St.  Paul's. 

SERMONS  OX  OLD  TESTAMENT  SUBJECTS.     Crown  8vo.     51. 

SERMONS  ON  SOME  WORDS  OF  CHRIST.     Crown  tow.     5s. 

THE  DIVINITY  OF  OUR  LORD  AND  SAVIOUR  JESUS  CHRIST. 
Being  the  Bampton  Lectures  for  1866.     Crown  8vo.     5J. 

ADVENT  IN  ST.  PAUL'S.  Sermons  bearing  chiefly  on  the  Two 
Comings  of  our  Lord.  Two  Vols.  Crown  8vo.  3s.  6d.  each.  Cheap 
Edition  in  one  Volume.      Crown  8vo.     51. 

CHRISTMASTIDE  IN  ST.  PAUL'S.  Sermons  bearing  chiefly  on  the 
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PASSIONTIDE  SERMONS.     Crown  8vo.     5s. 

EASTER  IN  ST.  PAUL'S.  Sermons  bearing  chiefly  on  the  Resurrec- 
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Edition  in  one  Volume.     Crown  8vo.     5s. 

SERMONS  PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
OXFORD.  Two  Vols.  Crown  8vo.  y.  6d.  each.  Cheap  Edition  in 
one  Volume.     Crown  8vo.     $s. 

THE  MAGNIFICAT.     Sermons  in  St.  Paul's.     Crown  8vo.     2s.  6d. 

SOME  ELEMENTS  OF  RELIGION.  Lent  Lectures.  Small  810. 
2 j.  6d.  ;  or  in  Paper  Cover,  is.  6d. 

The  Crown  Zvo  Edition  (5s.)  may  still  be  had. 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF  H.  P.  LIDDON,  D.D. 
Crown  8vo.     3s.  6d. 

MAXIMS  AND  GLEANINGS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF  H.  P. 
LIDDON,  D.D.    Selected  and  arranged  by  C.  M.  S.     Crown  \6mo.    is. 


DR.  LIDDON'S  TOUR  IN  EGYPT  AND  PALESTINE  IN  1886. 
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Crown  8vo.     $s. 

Luckock.— Works    by    HERBERT    MORTIMER    LUCKOCK,    D.D., 
Canon  of  Ely. 

AFTER  DEATH.  An  Examination  of  the  Testimony  of  Primitive 
Times  respecting  the  State  of  the  Faithful  Dead,  and  their  Relationship 
to  the  Living.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

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FOOTPRIN  is  OF  THE  SON  OF  MAN.  as  traced  by  St  Mark.  Being 

Eighty   Portions   for    Private  Study,   Family  Readii  itruc- 

lions  in  Church.     Two  Vols.     Crown  Bvo,     1  in  one 

Vol.  Crown  8vo.     $s. 

[continued. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE.  n 

IiUCkOCk. — Works    by    HERBERT     MORTIMER     LUCKOCK,    D.D. 

Canon  of  Ely — continued. 

THE  DIVINE  LITURGY.  Being  the  Order  for  Holy  Communion. 
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STUDIES  IN  THE  HISTORY  OF  THE  BOOK  OF  COMMON 
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Elizabethan  Reaction — The  Caroline  Settlement.  With  Appendices. 
Crown  8vo.     6s. 

THE  BISHOPS  IN  THE  TOWER.  A  Record  of  Stirring  Events 
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Revolution.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

LYRA  GERMANIC  A.  Hymns  translated  from  the  German  by 
Catherine  Winkworth.     Small  8vo.     $s. 

MacColL— CHRISTIANITY  IN  RELATION  TO  SCIENCE 
AND  MORALS.  By  the  Rev.  Malcolm  MacColl,  M.A.,  Canon 
Residentiary  of  Ripon.     Crown  8vo.     6s. 

Mason— Works  by  A.  J.  Mason,  D.D.,  formerly  Fellow  of  Trinity 
College,  Cambridge. 

THE  FAITH  OF  THE  GOSPEL.  A  Manual  of  Christian  Doctrine. 
Crown  8vo.  ys.  6d.  Also  a  Lar^e-Paper  Edition  for  Marginal  Notes, 
tfo.     I2J.  6d. 

THE  RELATION  OF  CONFIRMATION  TO  BAPTISM.  As  taught 
in  Holy  Scripture  and  the  Fathers.     Crown  8vo.     js.  6d. 

Mercier.— OUR  MOTHER  CHURCH  :  Being  Simple  Talk 
on  High  Topics.     By  Mrs.  Jerome  Mercier.     Small  8vo.     $s.  6d. 

Moberly— Works  by  George  Moberly,  D.C.L.,  late  Bishop  of 
Salisbury. 

PLAIN   SERMONS.     Preached  at  Brighstone.     Crown  8vo.     $s. 

THE  SAYINGS  OF  THE  GREAT  FORTY  DAYS,  between  the 
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of  God.     In  Five  Discourses.     Crown  8vo.     $s. 

PAROCHIAL  SERMONS.  Mostly  preached  at  Brighstone.  Crown  8vo. 
js.  6d. 

SERMONS  PREACHED  AT  WINCHESTER  COLLEGE.     Two  Vols. 

Small  8vo.     6s.  6d.  each.     Sold  separately. 

Molesworth—  STORIES  OF  THE  SAINTS  FOR  CHIL- 
DREN :  the  Black  Letter  Saints.  By  Mrs.  Moleswokth,  Author 
of  'The  Palace  in  the  Garden,' etc.  etc.  With  Illustrations.  Royal 
\6mo.     55. 


12  A  CATALOGUE  OF  WORK'S 


Mozley.— Works  by  J.  B.  Mozley,  D.D.,  late  Canon  of  Christ 
Church,  and  Regius  Professor  of  Divinity  at  Oxford. 

ESSAYS,  HISTORICAL  AND  THEOLOGICAL.     Two  Vols.    Zvo.    245. 

EIGHT  LECTURES  ON  MIRACLES.  Being  the  Bampton  Lectures 
for  1865.     Crown  Zvo.     7s.  6d. 

RULING  IDEAS  IN  EARLY  AGES  AND  THEIR  RELATION  TO 
OLD  TESTAMENT  FAITH.  Lectures  delivered  to  Graduates  of 
the  University  of  Oxford.     Zvo.     10s.  6d. 

SERMONS  PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  UNIVERSITY  OF 
OXFORD,  and  on  Various  Occasions.     Crown  Zvo.     7s.  6d. 

SERMONS,  PAROCHIAL  AND  OCCASIONAL.     Crown  Zvo.     7s.  6d. 

Mozley.— Works  by  the  Rev.  T.  MOZLEY,  M.A.,  Author 
of  '  Reminiscences  of  Oriel  College  and  the  Oxford 
Movement.' 

THE  WORD.     Crown  Zvo.     7s.  6d. 

THE  SON.     Crown  Zvo.     7s.  6d. 

LETTERS  FROM  ROME  ON  THE  OCCASION  OF  THE 
(ECUMENICAL  COUNCIL  1869-1870.     Two  Vols.     Cr.  Zvo.     iZs. 

Newbolt.— Works  by  the  Rev.  W.  C.  E.  Newbolt,  M.A.,  Canon 
and  Chancellor  of  St.  Paul's. 

THE  FRUIT  OF  THE  SPIRIT.  Being  Ten  Addresses  bearing  op 
the  Spiritual  Life.     Crown  Zvo.     2s.  6d. 

THE  MAN  OF   GOD.      Being  Six   Addn  red   during   Lent 

at  the  Primary  Ordination  of  the  Right  Rev.  the  Lord  Ahvyne  Compton, 
D.D.,  Bishop  of  Ely.     Small  Zvo.     is.  6d. 

THE  VOICE  OF  THE  PRAYER  BOOK.  Being  Spiritual  Addresses 
bearing  on  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer.     Crown  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

Newnham.— THE  ALL-FATHER:  Sermons  preached  in  a 
Village  Church.  By  the  Rev.  II.  1'.  Newnham.  With  Preface  by 
Edna  Lyall.     Crown  Bvo.    4*-.  6./. 

Newnham.     ALRESFORD  ESSAYS  FOR  THE  TIMES.     By 
Rev.  W.O.  Newnham,  M. A.,  late  Rector  of  Alresford.    Contents 
Bible  Story   of  Creation     Bible  story  of  Eden  -Bible  Story  of  th^ 
Delii';.-    After  Death     Miracles     A  Conversation— Eternal  Punishment 
The  Resurrection  of  the  Body.    <  >,  ton  Bvo,    6s. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 


Newman.— Works  by  John  Henry  Newman,  B.D.,  sometime 
Vicar  of  St.  Mary's,  Oxford. 

PAROCHIAL  AND  PLAIN  SERMONS.  Eight  Vols.  Cabinet  Edition . 
Crown  Svo.     $s.  each.     Popular  Edition.     y.  6d.  each. 

SELECTION,  ADAPTED  TO  THE  SEASONS  OF  THE  ECCLE- 
SIASTICAL YEAR,  from  the  'Parochial  and  Plain  Sermons.' 
Cabinet  Edition.     Crown  8vo.     $s.     Popular  Edition.     31.  6d. 

FIFTEEN  SERMONS  PREACHED  BEFORE  THE  UNIVERSITY 
OF  OXFORD.      Crown  Svo.     $s- 

SERMONS  BEARING  UPON  SUBJECTS  OF  THE  DAY.  Cabinet 
Edition.     Crown  Svo.     $s.     Popular  Edition.     Crown  Svo.     3s.  6d. 

LECTURES  ON  THE  DOCTRINE  OF  JUSTIFICATION.  Crown 
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THE  LETTERS  AND    CORRESPONDENCE   OF  JOHN    HENRY 
NEWMAN  DURING  HIS  LIFE  IN  THE  ENGLISH  CHURCH. 
With  a  Brief  Autobiographical    Memoir.      Arranged  and  Edited  by 
ANNE  Mozley.      Two  Vols.  Svo.     30s.  net. 
***  For  other  Works  by  Cardinal  Newman,  see  Messrs.  Longmans  &  Co.'s  Catalogue 
of  Works  in  General  Literature. 

Osborne.— Works  by  Edward  Osborne,  Mission  Priest  of  the 
Society  of  St.  John  the  Evangelist,  Cowley,  Oxford. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  SAVIOUR.  Instructions  to  Children  on  the  Life 
of  our  Lord  and  Saviour  Jesus  Christ.     Illustrated.     i6mo.     2s.  6d. 

THE  SAVIOUR-KING.  Instructions  to  Children  on  Old  Testament 
Types  and  Illustrations  of  the  Life  of  Christ.    Illustrated.    i6mo.   2s.  6d. 

THE  CHILDREN'S  FAITH.  Instructions  to  Children  on  the  Apostles' 
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Oxenden.— Works  by  the  Right  Rev.  Ashton  Oxenden,  for- 
merly Bishop  of  Montreal. 

THE  HISTORY  OF  MY  LIFE  :  An  Autobiography.     Crown  Svo.     $s. 

PEACE  AND  ITS  HINDRANCES.     Crown  Svo.     is.  ;  sewed,  2s.,  cloth. 

THE  PATHWAY  OF  SAFETY  ;  or,  Counsel  to  the  Awakened.  Fcap. 
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THE  EARNEST  COMMUNICANT.  New  Red  Rubric  Edition,  yzmo, 
cloth.     2s.     Common  Edition,     32/7*0,  is. 

OUR  CHURCH  AND  HER  SERVICES.     Fcap.  Svo.     2s.  6d. 

{continued. 


M  A  CATALOGUE  OF  WORKS 


Oxenden.— Works    by    the    Right     Rev.    Ashton    Oxenden, 

formerly  Bishop  of  Montreal — continued. 

FAMILY  PRAYERS  FOR  FOUR  WEEKS.  First  Series.  Fcap.  8vo. 
2f.  6d.     Second  Series.     Fcap.  8vo.     is.  6d. 

Large  Type  Edition.    Two  Series  in  one  Volume.    Crown  Biw    6s. 

COTTAGE  SERMONS  ;  or,  Plain  Words  to  the  Poor.    Fcap.  Bvo.    2s.  6d. 

THOUGHTS  FOR  HOLY  WEEK.     167/10,  cloth,     is.  6J. 

DECISION.     iBmo.     is.  6d. 

THE  HOME  BEYOND  ;  or,  A  Happy  Old  Age.     Fcap.  Bvo.     is.  6d. 

THE  LABOURING  MAN'S  BOOK.     iBmo,  large  type,  cloth,     is.  6d. 

Paget.— Works  by  Francis  Paget,  D.D.,  Dean  of  Christ  Church, 
Oxford. 

THE  SPIRIT  OF  DISCIPLINE:  Sermons.     Crown  Bvo.     6s.  6d. 

FACULTIES  AND  DIFFICULTIES  FOR  BELIEF  AND  DIS- 
BELIEF.    Crown  Bvo.     6s.  6d. 

THE  HALLOWING  OF  WORK.  Addresses  given  at  Eton,  January 
16-18,  1888.      Small  Bvo.     zs. 

PRACTICAL  REFLECTIONS.  By  a  Clergyman.  With 
Prefaces  by  H.  P.  Liddon,  D.D.,  D.C.L.     Crown  Bvo. 

Vol.  I.— The  Holy  Gospels.  The  Psalms,    jr. 

45.  6d.  The  Book  of  Genesis. 

Vol.  II.— Acts  to  Revelation.  6s.  [In  the  press. 

PRIEST  (THE)  TO  THE  ALTAR  ;  Or,  Aids  to  the  Devout 
Celebration  of  Holy  Communion,  chiefly  alter  the  Ancient  English 
Use  of  Sarum.     Royal  8vo.     12.,. 

Pusey.— Works  by  K.  B.  PUSEY,  D.D. 

PRIVATE  PRAYERS.    With  Preface  by  H.  P.  LiDDON,  D.D.    3? 

PRAYERS  FOR  A  YOUNG  SCHOOLBOY.  With  a  Preface  by 
II.  P.  Liddon,  D.D.     24m*.     1* 

SELECTIONS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF  EDWARD  BOUVERIE 
PUSEY,  D.D.     Crown  Bvo.     y.  6J. 

MAXIMS  AND  GLEANINGS  FROM  THE  WRITINGS  OF 
EDWARD  BOUVERIE  PUSEY,  D.D.  Selected  and  Arranged  for 
Daily  Use.     By  C.  M.  S.     Crown  i6mo.     is. 

Reynolds. -T11 1.  NATURAL  HISTORY  OF  IMMORTALITY. 
the   Rev.   J.    W.    Reynolds,    M.A..    Prebendary  o\  St    Paul's. 

Cr,  Sd. 


IN  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 


Richmond.— CHRISTIAN  ECONOMICS.  By  the  Rev. 
Wilfrid  Richmond,  M.A.,  sometime  Warden  of  Trinity  College 
Glenalmond.     Crown  Svo.     6s. 

Sanday.—  THE  ORACLES  OF  GOD  :  Nine  Lectures  on  the 
Nature  and  Extent  of  Biblical  Inspiration  and  the  Special  Significance 
of  the  Old  Testament  Scriptures  at  the  Present  Time.  By  W. 
Sanday,  M.A.,  D.D.,  LL.D.,  Dean  Ireland's  Professor  of  Exegesis 
and  Fellow  of  Exeter  College.     Crown  8vo.     4s. 

Seebohm.— THE  OXFORD  REFORMERS— JOHN  COLET, 
ERASMUS,  AND  THOMAS  MORE:  A  History  of  their  Fellow- 
Work.     By  Frederic  Seebohm.     810.     14J. 

Stanton.— THE  PLACE  OF  AUTHORITY  IN  MATTERS 
OF  RELIGIOUS  BELIEF.  By  Vincent  Henry  Stanton,  D.D., 
Fellow  of  Trinity  Coll. ,  E  y  Prof,  of  Divinity,  Cambridge.     Cr.  8vo.    6c 

Stephen.— ESSAYS    IN    ECCLESIASTICAL    BIOGRAPHY. 

By  the  Right  Hon.  Sir  J.  Stephen.     Crown  8vo.     ys.  6d. 

Swayne.— THE  BLESSED  DEAD  IN  PARADISE.  Four 
All  Saints'  Day  Sermons,  preached  in  Salisbury  Cathedral.  By  R.  G. 
Swayne,  M.A.     Croze n  8vo.     3^.  6d. 

TweddelL— THE  SOUL  IN  CONFLICT.  A  Practical  Exami- 
nation  of  some  Difficulties  and  Duties  of  the  Spiritual  Life.  By 
Marshall  Tweddell,  M.A.,  Vicar  of  St.  Saviour,  Paddington. 
Cr  ivn  8vo.     6s. 

Twells.— COLLOQUIES  ON  PREACHING.  By  Henry 
Twells,  M. A.,  Honorary  Canon  of  Peterborough.    Crown  8vo.    2s.  6d. 

Welldon.  —  THE    FUTURE    AND    THE    PAST.     Sermons 

preached  to  Harrow  Boys.     By  the  Rev.  J.  E.  C.  WELLDON,  M.A., 
Head  Master  of  Harrow  School.     Crown  8vo.     js.  6d. 

Williams.— Works  by  the  Rev.  Isaac  Williams,  B.D. 

A  DEVOTIONAL  COMMENTARY  ON  THE  GOSPEL  NARRA- 
TIVE.    Eight  Vols.     Crown  8vo.     5J.  each.     Sold  separately. 

Thoughts  on  the  Study  of  the    Our  Lord's  Ministry  (Third  Year). 
Holy  Gospels.  ! 

The  Holy  \\  eek. 
A  Harmony  of  the  Four  Gospels. 
Our  Lord's  Nativity.  °ur  Lord's  Passion. 

Our  Lord's  MiNisTRY(Second  Year).  |  Our  Lord's  Resurrection. 

FEMALE  CHARACTERS  OF  HOLY  SCRIPTURE.  A  Series  of 
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THE  CHARACTERS  OF  THE  OLD  TESTAMENT.     Crown  8vo.    5*. 

THE  APOCALYPSE.     With  Notes  and  Reflections.     Crown  8vo.     5*. 

SERMONS  OX  THE  EPISTLES  AND  GOSPELS  FOR  THE  SUN- 
DAYS AND  HOLY  DAYS.      Two  Vols.     Crown  8vo.     55.  each. 

\ continued. 


i6         WORKS  W  THEOLOGICAL  LITERATURE. 

Williams.—  Works  by  the  Rev.  ISA  \C  WILLIAMS,  H.D.— continued. 
PLAIN  SERMONS  ON  CATECHISM.  Two  Vols.  Cr.Zvo.  $s.each. 
SELECTIONS    FROM   IS.YAC    WILLIAMS'    WRITINGS.       Cr.  Zvo. 

3^.  6d. 
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several  of  the  '  Tracts  for  the  Times.'     Edited  by  the  Yen.  Sir  GE(  IRGE 

Prevost,  as   throwing   further  light   on    the  history   of  t 

Movement.     Crown  Zvo.     $s. 

Woodford.— Works  by  J.  R.  Woodford,  D.D.,  Bishop  of  Ely. 
THE  GREAT   COMMISSION.      Addresses   on  the  Ordinal.     Edited, 

with  an  Introduction,  by  H.  M.  LuCKOCK,  D.D.     Crou 
SERMONS     ON     OLD   'AND    NEW    TESTAMENT     SUBJECTS. 
Edited  by  H.  M.  LUCKOCK,  D.D.     Crown  Zvo.     $s. 

Woodruff.  — THE     CHILDREN'S      YEAR.     Verses    for   the 

Sundays  and  Holy  Days  throughout  the  Year.  By  C.  H.  WOODRUFF, 
B.C. L.  With  an  Introduction  by  the  Lord  Bishop  of  South wkli.. 
Fcap.  8vo.     3?.  6d. 

Wordsworth. 

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Lincoln,  see  Messrs.  Longmans  &  Co.'s  Catalogue  of  Theological  Works 
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Wordsworth.— Works  by  Elizabeth  Wordsworth,  Principal 
of  Lady  Margaret  Hall,  Oxford. 
ILLUSTRATIONS  OF  THE  CREED.     Crown  Zvo.     y. 
ST.  CHRISTOPHER  AND  OTHER  POEMS.     Crown  Zvo.     6s. 

Wordsworth.— Works  by  Charles  Wordsworth,  D.D.,  D.C.L., 
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ANNALS'OF  MY  EARLY  LIFE,   1806-46.     Bvo.     i$s. 
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Younghusband.— Works  by  Frances  Youn  -.husband. 

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