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•
Z'e,
A
Sacred Song
H IDoIume of "Religious Derse
SELECTED AND ARRANGED WITH NOTES
SAMUEL WADDINGTOX
»*»
NEW YORK AND LONDON
WHITE AND ALLEN
to
THE MEMORY
OF
Slrfljuc ^cnrijpit Stanley.
PREFACE.
A QUARTER of a century has now elapsed since Lord
Selborne (then Sir Roundell Palmer) published his
selection of hymns and sacred song, entitled, " The Book
of Praise." During the intervening years many and great
changes have occurred, and especially noticeable are the
alterations which have taken place in the spiritual utterances
and religious tone of the age, tempered by the growing
intelligence, and wider knowledge and sympathies, of all
classes. A new eirenikon has breathed a holier influence
over diverse worshippers, and has sanctified whatever is
purifying and ennobling, whatever opens to us the gates of
righteousness. In accord with this change in our religious
atmosphere and moral environment, an endeavour has
been made in the present selection to render it as catholic
and comprehensive as possible, so that the holy singers
of all sects might be represented therein. Not Paul, nor
Apollos, nor Cephas, has been chosen as the master, but
rather has the example of David been followed, who set
over the service of song in the house of the Eternal those
who ministered before the dwelling-place of the tabernacle.
" There is somewhat of Heaven," writes Richard Baxter,
14 in Holy Poetry : it charmeth souls into loving harmony
vi PREFACE.
and concord : " and there is little reason to doubt that this
is true, with but few exceptions, of the sacred lyrics of all
ages, whatever may have been the special religious tenets of
the poets who composed them. We say, "with but few
exceptions," because, much as it is to be regretted, there are
always to be found those who (to use Dr. George Mac
Donald's words) "creep from the sunshine into every ruined
archway, attracted by the brilliance with which the light
from its loophole glows in its caverned gloom, and the hope
of discovering within it the first steps of a stair winding up
into the blue heaven." Yet what, as Baxter himself pro-
ceeds to observe, " what is Heaven to us, if there be no
love and joy ? "
As in music and painting, so also in poetry, it is to the
portrayal, or expression, of religious thought and emotion
that we are indebted for many of our highest works of art.
Neither Raffaelle nor Leonardo, neither Handel nor Beet-
hoven, can exclusively claim our gratitude and reverence,
but Dante and Milton, Heber, Keble, and George Herbert
must also share our admiration, our love and thanksgiving.
And with these follow the innumerable throng of bards who
have ministered, and who still minister, with their service of
song among the devout worshippers and holy choristers, in
the conventicle or in the cathedral. Nor is it in the con-
venticle, nor in the cathedral, alone that we hear their
voices ; but in the green meadows, and among the mountain
solitudes, singers such as Wordsworth and Spenser, Coleridge
and Vaughan, have mingled their chant of praise with that
of poets of the temple, such as were Wither and Isaac Watts,
Sandys, Crashaw, Faber, and Wesley. In his paper on
"Sacred Poetry," which appeared in the Quarterly Review
for June, 1825, Keble observes that " it is to Spenser that
the English reader must revert as being pre-eminently the
PREFACE. vii
sacred poet of his country : " — but we suspect that there are
many readers who, in search of divine sustenance on their
way through the world, have found a greater spiritual power,
and a closer intercourse with the solemn verities of religion,
in the poems of Wordsworth than in those of Spenser, or,
indeed, of any other English poet. And, for our own part,
we would willingly concur with those who affirm that they
know of no bard who more truly deserves to be classed
with the great sacred writers of all ages, than the transatlantic
poet, William Cullen Bryant, who might well be designated
the Wordsworth of America. His poems are full of holiness
and spiritual sublimity. Listen for a moment to his words :
'; So live, that when thy summons comes to join
The innumerable caravan that moves
To the pale realms of shade, where each shall take
His chamber in the silent halls of death,
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night,
Scourged to his dungeon, — but, sustained and soothed
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams."
Lines such as these are inspired by the quickening spirit
of truth and sanctity, of that holy peace that fills the air
of the calm solitudes the poet loved so well. If it is poetry
of the highest order that we seek, lines such as these should
not be disregarded. "The best poetry," writes Mr. Matthew
Arnold in his introduction to Mr. Humphry Ward's English
Poets, "is what we want; the best poetry will be found to
have a power of forming, sustaining, and delighting us, as
nothing else can : a clearer, deeper sense of the best in
poetry, and of the strength and joy to be drawn from it, is
viii PREFACE.
the most precious benefit which we can gather from a
poetical collection such as the present." And what is the best
of poetry, we would ask, but that which, deriving its inspira-
tion from heaven, most fully illuminates with its "sweetness
and light " the dark shadowy regions of the earth ?
It will be noticed that many well-known sacred lyrics of
great beauty have been omitted from the present selection,
and it is for the reason that they are so well known that they
have been omitted. Thus the editor has deemed it un-
necessary to include such popular hymns as the Rev. H. F.
Lyte's " Abide with Me!" Cardinal Newman's "Lead,
kindly Light," Mrs. S. F. Adams's, " Nearer, my God, to
Thee," Bishop Heber's " Trinity Hymn," and many other
similarly well-known compositions. For this reason, too, he
has omitted the Rev. Augustus Toplady's " Rock of Ages,"
of which the following is a Latin translation by Mr. Glad-
stone, written some years ago : —
Jesus, pro me perforatum
Condar intra Tuum latus,
Tu, per lympham profluentem,
Tu, per sanguinem tepentem,
In peecata mi redunda,
Tolle culpam, sordes munda.
Coram Te, ncc Justus forem,
Quamvis tota vi laborem ;
Nee si fide nunquam cesso,
Fletu stillans, indefesso :
Tibi soli tantum munus,
Salva Tu, Salvator unus.
Nil in maim mecum f< . .
Sed me versus crucem w ro :
PREFACE. ix
Vestimenta nudu
( )pem debilis imploro :
Fontem Christ] quaero immundus
Nisi laves, moribundus.
Dum hos artus Vila regit,
Quando nox sepulchro tegit
Mortuos cum stare jubes,
Sedens Judex inter nubes,
Jesus, pro me perforatus,
Condar intra Tuum latus.
The above is an interesting translation, and the editor has to
thank Mr. Gladstone for kindly forwarding him an autograph
copy of it.
With a view to secure freshness and variety, any chrono-
logical, or alphabetical, arrangement of the authors has been
avoided, nor have poems by the same author been printed
together. This is a matter respecting which tastes and
judgments will differ, but if it be admitted that monotony
in a selection of poems is to be deprecated, it would appear
to be manifest that that arrangement is the best of which
the method is not apparent. It is, however, desirable that
the reader should know the respective dates at which the
poems quoted were written, and a list of the authors showing
the period during which they lived will be found at the end
of the volume. In the case of poets who are still living
the dates have, of course, been omitted.
It only remains for the editor to express his thanks to
those authors who have given him permission to include
various copyright poems of which the number is consider-
able, and especially to thank Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench,
& Co., for allowing him to print the poems by Mr. Lewis
Morris and the late Archbishop Trench ; and Messrs.
Macmillan & Co., those by Charles Kingsley. He also begs
x PREFACE.
to thank Messrs. Smith, Elder,&Co., for permission to include
the poem by George Eliot entitled " O may I join the Choir
Invisible;" and Messrs. Nisbct & Co., those by Dr. Horatius
Bonar. lie trusts that if in any case he has inadvertently
omitted to obtain permission to include a poem of which the
copyright has not expired, the proprietor will pardon the
oversight.
SAMUEL WADDINGTON.
47, CONNAUGHT STREET,
Hvde Park, W.
April, i SSS.
CONTEXTS.
PAGE
PREFACE ... . . . V
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW —
Proem ...... . xxiv
WILLIAM BLAKE —
I. " Hear the Voice of the Bard " i
HENRY ALFORD —
II. Not War, nor hurrying Troops from Plain to Plain . 2
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH —
III. Ode to Duty ...... 3
REGINALD HEBER —
IV. " Forth from the dark and stormy sky " . .6
JEREMY TAYLOR —
V. The Prayer ...... 7
SIR WALTER RALEIGH —
VI. Hymn. ...... S
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER —
VII. The Eternity of God .... 9
xii CONTENTS.
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN—
VIII. From "The Dream of Gerontius" . . . 12
[SAAC WA1 I
IX. Psalm XC- • • • • • T3
GEORGE HERBERT —
X. " Sweet Day, so cool, so calm, so bright" . . 15
EDMUND SPENSER —
XI. Easter Morning . . • • . U
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT —
XII. Mary Magdalen . . ■ • r."
JOHN DONNE
XIII. A Hymn to God the Father . . 19
ROBERT HERRICK —
XIV. Eternity ...••• -°
CHARLES KINGSLEV
XV. The Day of the Lord . • . .21
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH —
XVI. The Holy Eucharist . . . . 23
HENRY FRANCIS LYTE —
XVII. " Far from my Heavenly Home " . . • -4
ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY —
XVIII* " O Master, it is good to be " ■ 25
FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE —
XIX. The Daystar 27
CONTENTS. xiii
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI —
XX. Weary in Well-doing . . . .29
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH —
XXI. Qui Laborat, Orat ..... 30
JOSEPH ADDISON —
XXII. A Pastoral Ode ..... 32
GEORGE HERBERT — ■
XXIII. The Quip ...... 33
REX JOXSOX —
XXIV. Hymn to God the Father . . . -35
FREDERICK WILLIAM FARRAR —
XXV. Hymn . . . . • • 37
JOHN KEELE —
XXVI. Mountain Scenery . . . . .38
JOHN MILTON
XXVII. At a Solemn Music . . . .40
MATTHEW ARNOLD
XXVIII. Monica's Last Prayer . . . .41
HENRY VAUGHAN —
XXIX. '; They are all gone into the world of light n . 42
EDWARD DOWDEN
XXX. Communion ...... 44
RICHARD CRASHAW —
XXXI. Christ's Victory ..... 45
xiv CONTENTS.
ALEXANDER POPE —
XXXII. The Dying Christian to his Soul • . .47
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH —
XXXIII. Rejoice Evermore . . . .48
SIR WALTER SCOTT
XXXIV. In Exitu Israel ..... 50
ROBERT HERRICK —
XXXV. His Litany to the Holy Spirit ... 52
FREDERICK \V. H. MYERS —
XXXVI. From " Saint Paul" .... 54
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW —
XXXVII. " My Redeemer and my Lord " . -57
THOMAS TOKE LYNCH —
XXXVIII. "Spirit! whose Various Energies :' . . 5S
MATTHEW ARNOLD —
XXXIX. The Divinity ..... 60
HENRY ALFORD —
XL. " Little Children, dwell in Love " . .61
JOHN BYROM —
XLI. " My spirit longeth for thee" . . .62
HORATIUS BONAR —
XLII. " He liveth long who liveth well 63
WILLIAM COWPER —
XLIII. " Lovest Thou Me " .... 65
CONTENTS. xv
PAGE
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE —
XLIV. My Baptismal Birthday . . . .67
RICHARD WILTON
XLV. The Garden of the Soul . . . .63
GEORGE HERBERT —
XLYI. The Search. . . . . .70
SIR THOMAS BROWNE —
XLVII. From " Religio Medici " . . 73
WILLIAM HABINGTON
XLVIII. Nox Nocti Indicat Scientiam . . -75
GEORGE MACDONALD —
XLIX. Marriage Song . . . . * 77
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
L. After Communion . . . . .79
JOSEPH GRIGG —
LI. " Behold ! a Stranger's at the Door " 80
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT
LIE Hymn to the North Star . . . .82
CHARLES KINGSLEY
LIII. Linger no more, my beloved . . .84
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI —
LIV. Dost thou not Care ..... 85
JOHN EMMET —
LV. A Litany ...... S6
xviii CONTEXTS.
I'AGE
RICHARD W. GILDER
LXXX. A Madonna of Fra Lippo Lippi . • .143
LEWIS MORRIS —
LXXXI. Behind the Veil . . , . 144
FREDERICK W. II. MYER2
LXXXII. Saint John the Bap;: . . .146
JOHN KEBLE —
LXXXIII. Christ in the Garden . . . 151
WILLIAM COWPER —
LXXXI V. The Waiting Soul . . , .154
EDMUND GOSSE —
LXXXV. The Heavenward Pilgrimage . . -155
SAMUEL WADDINGTON —
LXXXVI. "Christ is not Dead ;? . . • 157
RICHARD W. GILDER
LXXXVII. Morning and Night . . . 158
JOHN AUSTIN —
LXXXVIII. Blest be thy love, dear Lord . . 159
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER —
LXXXIX. The Silent Tower of Bottreau . . .160
ISAAC WILLIAMS
XC. The Child lean- on its Parent's Breast . . 163
THOMAS TOK.E LYNCH —
XCI. Gracious Spirit, dwell with me . . .164
CONTENTS. xix
PAGE
WILLIAM DRUMMOND —
XCII. The Nativity of our Lord .... 166
ISAAC WILLIAMS —
XCIII. St. Wenceslaus . . : . .168
HENRY HART MILMAN —
XCIV. The Love of God . . . . .170
JOSEPH ADDISON —
XCV. An Ode on the Creation . . . .172
SABINE BARING-GOULD —
XCVL Cedron's Well . . . . 173
HENRY ALFORD
XCVII. " I have found Peace " . . . 175
EDWARD DOWDEN
XCVIII. Emmausward . . . . .176
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH —
XCIX. " O thou whose Image in the Shrine " .177
HORATIUS BONAR —
C. " Calm me, my God, and keep me calm " . 179
ANDREW MARYELL
CI. The Coronet . . . . . .181
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING —
CII. Chorus of Eden. Spirits . . . .182
HENRY VAUGHAN —
L, CIII. The Night . . - . . .184
xx CONTENTS.
PAGE
GEORGE WITHER —
CIV. A Rocking Hymn . . . . .187
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT
CV. The Epiphany. . . . . .190
JOHN KEBLE —
CVI. St. Matthew ...... 192
HARTLEY COLERIDGE —
CVII. Elijah 194
JAMES MONTGOMERY —
CVIII. For ever with the Lord . . . -195
FRANCIS QUARLES —
CIX. " Whom have I in Heaven but Thee ? " . 197
RICHARD MANX —
CX. Te Deum Laudamus . . . . -199
WILLIAM BLAKE
CXI. On Another's Sorrow .... 200
JOHN MASON NEALE —
CXII. The Guide, from " St. Stephen the Sabaite " . 202
CHARLES KINGSLEY —
CXIII. A Farewell 204
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW —
CXIV. Vesper Song . . . . .205
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER —
CXV. " The Night Cometh "
206
CONTENTS. xxi
I'AGE
LEWIS MORRIS —
CXVI. A Hymn in Time of Idols . . . .207
SIR HENRY WOTTON —
CXVII. The Character of a Happy Life . . .210
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER —
CXVIII. The Two Angels . . . .212
JOHN AUSTIN —
CXIX. A Hymn 214
WILLIAM DRUMMOND —
CXX. From " Flowers of Sion " . . . .216
JOHN KEBLE —
CXXI. Forest Leaves in Autumn . . . .218
GEORGE HERBERT —
CXXII. Aaron ...... 221
LORD BYRON —
CXXIII. " A Spirit passed before me" . . .223
ISAAC WILLIAMS —
CXXIV. Basil 224
SAMUEL WADDINGTON —
CXXV. S. Francis, of Assisi .... 225
REGINALD HEBER —
CXXVI. Hymn 226
RICHARD WILTON —
CXXVII. The Shepherd's Reed . . . .228
xxii CONTENTS.
PAGE
HARTLEY COLERIDGE
CXXVIII. Sunday ..... 230
ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER —
CXXIX. IVr Pacem ad Lucem .... 232
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING —
CXXX. The Two Sayings . . . .233
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH —
CXXXI. The Trodigal . . . . .234
ALEXANDER POPE —
CXXXII. The Universal Prayer . . . .235
HENRY VAUGHAN —
CXXXIII. The Retreat . . . . .238
CHARLES KINGSLEY —
CXXXIV. Hymn ...... 240
REGINALD HEBER —
CXXXV. " By cool Siloam's shady rill " . . . 242
W. R. NEALE
CXXXVI. The Widow of Nain . . . .244
FREDERICK \V. H. MYERS —
CXXXVII. From " Saint Paul " . . . .247
RICHARD BAXTER —
CXXXVIIL The Exit 253
THOMAS TORE LYNCH —
CXXXIX. The Heart of Christ . . . .260
CONTENTS. xxiii
PAGE
THOMAS MOORE —
CXL. Angel of Charity . . . . .262
HORATIUS BONAR —
CXLI. Marah and Elim . . . . .263
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER
CXLII. The Thought of God . . . .265
FRANCIS QUARLES —
CXLIII. " My Beloved is Mine " . . .268
ROBERT HERRICK —
CXLIV. To keep a True Lent . . . .270
EEIGH HUNT —
CXLV. Abou Ben Adhem and the Angel . . .271
SABINE BARING-GOULD —
CXLVI. The Sultan's Daughter . . . .272
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH —
CXLVII. Retribution . . . . -275
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT —
CXLVIII. Hymn of the Waldenses . . .276
ROBERT OF FRANCE —
CXLIX. " Come, Holy One, in Love " . . . 277
RICHARD WILTON —
CL. At His Feet ...... 279-
HARTLEY COLERIDGE —
CLI. A Grace . . . . . .281
xxiv CONTENTS.
PAGE
LORD BYRON —
CLII. The Destruction of Sennacherib . . . 282
HENRY HART MILMAN —
CLIII. " When our heads are bowed with woe " . . 284
JOHN KEBLE —
CLIV. The Visitation and Communion of the Sick . 286
GEORGE MORINE —
CLV. Dirge (In mem. C. D. F.) . . . . 289
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE —
CLVI. Hymn before Sunrise, in the Vale of Chamouni . 291
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER —
CLVIL The River Path . . . . .295
THOMAS DEKKER —
CLVIII. A Song of Labour . . . .297
SIR WALTER SCOTT —
CLIX. Hymn to the Virgin . . . .298
FREDERICK WILLIAM FARRAR —
CLX. In the Field with their Flocks Abiding . . 299
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI —
CLXI. Advent ...... 301
THOMAS CAMPBELL —
CLXII. The Nativity . . . . • 3°4
THOMAS CARLYLE —
CLXIII. To-day 306
CONTENTS. xxv
PAGE
JOHN WESLEY —
CLXIV. The Presence of God . . . .307
GEORGE HERBERT —
CLXV. Easter Day . . . . .309
GEORGE SANDYS —
CLXVL From the " Paraphrase upon Luke i." . . 310
JOSEPH ADDISON —
CLXVII. How are thy servants blest, O Lord . . 312
JAMES MONTGOMERY —
CLXVIII. "A Poor Wayfaring Man of Grief" . . 314
SIR WALTER SCOTT —
CLXIX. " Dies iras, dies ilia " . . . -317
ISAAC WATTS —
CLXX. The Character of Christ . . . .318
WILLIAM COWPER —
CLXXI. Retirement . . . . .322
JOHN MILTON —
CLXXII. Morning Hymn . . . . .324
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING —
CLXXIII. " He giveth His beloved, sleep " . . 326
Notes ........ 329
List of Authors ...... 339
Index of First Lines ..... 342
Oft have I seen at some cathedral door
A labourer, pausing in the dust and heat,
Lay down his burden, and with reverent feet
Enter, and cross himself and on the floor
Kneel to repeat his paternoster o'er;
Far off the noises of the world retreat ;
The loud vociferations of the street
Become an undistinguiskabU roar.
So, as I e?iter herefrom day to day,
And leave my burden at this minster gate,
Kneeling i?i prayer, and not ashamed to pray,
T/u3 htmult of the time disconsolate
To inarticulate imirmurs dies away,
While the eternal ages watch and wait.
Henry Wadsivorth Longfellow.
SACRED SONG.
WILLIAM BLAKE.
HEAR THE VOICE OF THE BARD.;
Hear the voice of the bard,
Who present, past, and future sees ;
Whose ears have heard
The Holy Word
That walked among the ancient trees,
Calling the lapsed soul,
And weeping in the evening dew —
That might control
The starry pole,
And fallen, fallen light renew !
O Earth, O Earth, return !
Arise from out the dewy grass;
Night is worn ;
And the morn
Rises from the slumbrous mass.
Turn away no more :
Why wilt thou turn away ?
The starry floor,
The watery shore,
Are given thee till the break of day.
HENRY ALFORD
II.
NOT WAR, NOR HURRYING TROOPS FROM
PLAIN TO PLAIN.
Not war, nor hurrying troops from plain to plain,
Nor deed of high resolve, nor stern command,
Sing I ; the brow that carries trace of pain
Long and enough the sons of song have scanned :
Nor lady's love in honeysuckle bower,
With helmet hanging by, in stolen ease :
Poets enough I deemed of heavenly power
Ere now had lavished upon themes like these.
My harp and I have sought a holier meed ;
The fragments of God's image to restore,
The earnest longings of the soul to feed,
And balm into the spirit's wounds to pour.
One gentle voice hath bid our task God-speed,
And now we search the world to hear of more.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
III.
ODE TO DUTY.
4 'Jam non consilio bonus, sed more eo perductus, ut non tantum recte
facere possim, sed nisi recte facere non possim.;'
Stern Daughter of the Voice of God 1
O Duty ! if that name thou love
Who art a light to guide, a rod
To check the erring, and reprove ;
Thou, who art victory and law
"When empty terrors overawe ;
From vain temptations dost set free ;
And calm'st the weary strife of frail humanity !
There are who ask not if thine eye
Be on them ; wrho, in love and truth,
Where no misgiving is, rely
Upon the genial sense of youth :
Glad hearts ! without reproach or blot,
Who do thy work and know it not ;
May joy be theirs while life shall last !
And thou, if they should totter, teach them to stand fast !
Serene will be our days and bright,
And happy will our nature be,
When love is an unerring light,
And joy its own security.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH.
And blest are they svho in the main
This faith, even now, do entertain :
Live in the spirit of this creed j
Yet find that other strength, according to their need.
I, loving freedom, and untried ;
No sport of every random gust,
Yet being to myself a guide,
Too blindly have reposed my trust ;
Full oft, when in my heart was heard
Thy timely mandate, I deferred
The task imposed, from day to day ;
But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may.
Through no disturbance of my soul,
Or strong compunction in me wrought,
I supplicate for thy control ;
But in the quietness of thought,
Me this unchartered freedom tires ;
I feel the weight of chance-desires :
My hopes no more must change their name,
I long for a repose which ever is the same.
Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear
The Godhead's most benignant grace ;
Nor know we anything so fair
As is the smile upon thy face ;
Flowers laugh before thee on their beds,
And fragrance in thy footing treads \
Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong,
And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh
and strong.
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH
To humbler functions, awful Power,
I call thee : I myself commend
Unto thy guidance from this hour ;
Oh ! let my weakness have an end !
Give unto me, made lowly wise,
The spirit of self-sacrifice ;
The confidence of reason give ;
And, in the light of truth, thy bondman let me live !
REGINALD IIEBER.
IV.
"FORTH FROM THE DARK AND STORMY SKY."
Forth from the dark and stormy sky,
Lord, to thine altar's shade we fly ;
Forth from the world, its hope and fear,
Saviour, we seek thy shelter here ;
Weary and weak thy grace we pray :
Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away !
Long have we roamed in want and pain,
Long have we sought thy rest in vain ;
Wildered in doubt, in darkness lost,
Long have our souls been tempest-tossed :
Low at thy feet our sins wre lay ;
Turn not, O Lord, thy guests away !
JEREMY TA YLOR.
V.
THE PRAYER.
My soul doth pant towards thee,
My God, source of eternal life ;
Flesh fights with me :
Oh, end the strife,
And part us that in peace I may
Unclay
My wearied spirit, and take
My flight to thy eternal spring,
Where, for his sake
Who is my king,
I may wash all my tears away,
That day.
Thou conqueror of death,
Glorious triumpher o'er the grave,
Whose holy breath
Was spent to save
Lost mankind, make me to be styled
Thy child,
And take me when I die,
And go unto my dust ; my soul
Above the sky
With saints enroll,
That in thine arms for ever I
May lie.
SIR WALTER RALEIGH.
VI.
HYMN.
Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to heaven ;
And with divinest contemplation use
Thy time, where time's eternity is given,
And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse,
But down in darkness let them lie ;
So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die !
And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame,
View and review, with most regardful eye,
That holy cross, whence thy salvation came,
On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die !
For in that sacred object is much pleasure,
And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure.
To thee, O Jesu ! I direct mine eyes ;
To thee my hands, to thee my humble knees,
To thee my heart shall offer sacrifice ;
To thee my thoughts, who my thoughts only sees :
To thee myself,— myself and all I give ;
To thee I die ; to thee I only live !
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
VII.
THE ETERNITY OF GOD,
O Lord ! my heart is sick.
Sick of this everlasting change ;
And life runs tediously quick
Through its unresting race and varied range :
Change finds no likeness to itself in thee,
And wakes no echo in thy mute eternity.
Dear Lord ! my heart is sick
Of this perpetual lapsing time,
So slow in grief, in joy so quick,
Yet ever casting shadows so sublime :
Time of all creatures is least like to thee,
And yet it is our share of thine eternity.
Oh, change and time are storms
For lives so thin and frail as ours ;
For change the work of grace deforms
With love that soils, and help that overpowers ;
And time is strong, and, like some chafing sea,
It seems to fret the shores of thine eternity.
Weak, weak, for ever weak !
We cannot hold what we possess;
Youth cannot find, age will not seek —
Oh, weakness is the heart's worst weariness :
io FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
But weakest hearts can lift their thoughts to thee;
It makes us strong to think of thine eternity.
Thou hadst no youth, great God !
An Unbeginning End thou art ;
Thy glory in itself abode,
And still abides in its own tranquil heart :
No age can heap its outward years on thee ;
Dear God ! Thou art thyself thine own eternity.
Without an end or bound
Thy life lies all outspread in light ;
Our lives feel thy life all around,
Making our weakness strong, our darkness bright ;
Yet it is neither wilderness nor sea,
But the calm gladness of a full eternity.
Oh, thou art very great
To set thyself so far above !
But we partake of thine estate,
Established in thy strength and in thy love :
That love hath made eternal room for me
In the sweet vastness of its own eternity.
Oh, thou art very meek
To overshade thy creatures thus !
Thy grandeur is the shade we seek ;
To be eternal is thy use to us :
Ah, blessed God ! what joy it is to me
To lose all thought of self in thine eternity.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER. n
Self-wearied, Lord ! I come ;
For I have lived my life too fast ;
Now that years bring me nearer home,
Grace must be slowly used to make it last ;
When my heart beats too quick I think of thee,
And of the leisure of thy long eternity.
Farewell, vain joys of earth !
Farewell, all love that is not His !
Dear God ! be thou my only mirth,
Thy majesty my single timid bliss !
Oh, in the bosom of eternity
Thou dost not weary of thyself, nor we of thee !
i 2 CARDINAL N£ WMAtf.
VIII.
FROM "THE DREAM OF GER0XTIU3."
(choir of angelicals.)
Praise to the Holiest in the height,
And in the depth be praise ; —
In all his words most wonderful ;
Most sure in all his ways !
To us, his elder race, he gave
To battle and to win,
Without the chastisement of pain,
Without the soil of sin.
The younger son he willed to be
A marvel in his birth :
Spirit and flesh his parents were \
His home was heaven and earth.
The Eternal blessed his child, and armed,
And sent him hence afar,
To serve as champion in the field
Of elemental war.
To be his Viceroy in the world
Of matter and of sense ;
Upon the frontier, towards the foe,
A resolute defence.
ISAAC WATTS, 13
IX.
PSALM XC.
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come ;
Our shelter from the stormy blast,
And our eternal home :
Under the shadow of thy throne
Thy saints have dwelt secure \
Sufficient is thine arm alone,
And our defence is sure.
Before the hills in order stood,
Or earth received her frame ;
From everlasting thou art God,
To endless years the same.
Thy word commands our flesh to dust,
" Return, ye sons of men : "
All nations rose from earth at first,
And turn to earth again.
A thousand ages in thy sight,
Are like an evening gone ;
Short as the watch that ends the night
Before the rising sun.
14 ISAAC WATTS.
The busy tribes of flesh and blood,
With all their lives and cares,
Are carried downwards by thy flood,
And lost in following years.
Time, like an ever-rolling stream,
Bears all its sons away ;
They fly, forgotten, as a dream
Dies at the opening day.
Like flowery fields the nations stand,
Pleased with the morning light :
The flowers beneath the mower's hand,
Lie withering ere 'tis night.
Our God, our help in ages past,
Our hope for years to come,
Be thou our guard while troubles last,
And our eternal home.
GEORGE HERBERT. 15
X.
"SWEET DAY, SO COOL, SO CALM, SO BRIGHT,
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright,
The bridal of the earth and sky,
Sweet dews shall weep thy fall to-night,
For thou must die.
Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave,
Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye,
Thy root is ever in its grave ;
And thou must die.
Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses,
A box where sweets compacted lie,
My music shows you have your closes ;
And all must die.
Only a sweet and virtuous soul,
Like seasoned timber, never gives ;
But, though the whole world turn to coal,
Then chiefly lives.
X6 EDMUND SPENSER.
XL
EASTER MORNING.
Most glorious Lord of life ! that, on this clay,
Didst make thy triumph over death and sin,
And having harrowed hell, didst bring away
Captivity thence captive, us to win :
This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin ;
And grant that we, for whom thou diddest die,
Being with thy dear blood clean washed from sin,
May live for ever in felicity !
And that thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love thee for the same again ;
And for thy sake, that all like dear didst buy,
With love may one another entertain !
So let us love, dear love, like as we ought :
Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.
WILLIAM CULLEN BR YANT. 1 7
XII.
MARY MAGDALEN.
(From the Spanish of Leonardo de Argensola).
Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken hearted !
The crowd are pointing at the thing forlorn,
In wonder and in scorn !
Thou weepest days of innocence departed ;
Thou weepest, and thy tears have power to move
The Lord to pity and love.
The greatest of thy follies is forgiven,
Even for the least of all the tears that shine
On that pale cheek of thine.
Thou didst kneel down to Him who came from heaven,
Evil and ignorant, and thou shalt rise,
Holy, and pure, and wise.
It is not much that to the fragrant blossom
The ragged brier should change ; the bitter fir
Distil Arabian myrrh !
Nor that, upon the wintry desert's bosom,
The harvest should rise plenteous, and the swain
Bear home the abundant grain ;
3
18 WILLIAM CVLLEN BR YANT.
Dut come and see the bleak and barren mountains
Thick to their tops with roses ; come and see
Leaves on the dry dead tree ;
The perished plant, set out by living fountains,
Grows fruitful, and its beauteous branches rise,
For ever, towards the skies.
JOHN DONNE. 19
XIII.
A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
Wilt thou forgive that sin when I begun,
Which was my sin, though it was done before ?
Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run,
And do run still, though still I do deplore ? —
When thou hast done, thou hast not done ;
For I have more.
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I have won
Others to sin, and made my sins their door ?
Wilt thou forgive that sin which I did shun
A year or two, but wallowed in a score ? —
When thou hast done, thou hast not done :
For I have more.
I have a sin of fear, that when I've spun
My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ;
But swear by thyself, that at my death thy Son
Shall shine, as he shines now and heretofore ;
And having done that, thou hast done :
I fear no more.
20 ROBERT HERRICK.
XIV.
ETERNITY.
0 years and age, farewell !
Behold I go
Where I do know
Infinity to dwell.
And these mine eyes shall see
All times, how they
Are lost i' th' sea
Of vast eternity.
AVhere never moon shall sway
The stars; but she
And night shall be
Drowned in one endless day
CHARLES K1NGSLE Y. 2 1
XV.
THE DAY OF THE LORD.
The day of the Lord is at hand, at hand :
Its storms roll up the sky :
The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold ;
All dreamers toss and sigh ;
The night is darkest before the morn ;
When the pain is sorest the child is bom,
And the day of the Lord at hand.
Gather you, gather you, angels of God —
Freedom, and Mercy, and Truth ;
Come ! for the earth is grown coward and old,
Come down, and renew us her youth,
"Wisdom, Self-sacrifice, Daring, and Love,
Haste to the battle-field, stoop from above,
To the day of the Lord at hand.
Gather you, gather you, hounds of hell —
Famine, and Plague, and War ;
Idleness, Bigotry, Cant, and Misrule,
Gather, and fall in the snare !
Hireling and Mammonite, Bigot and Knave,
Crawl to the battle-field, sneak to your grave,
In the day of the Lord at hand.
22
CHARLES KING SLEW
Who would sit down and sigh for a lost age of gold,
While the Lord of all ages is here?
True hearts will leap up at the trumpet of God,
And those who can suffer, can dare.
Each old age of gold was an iron age too,
And the meekest of saints may find stern work to do
In the day of the Lord at hand.
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRRXCI1.
XVI.
THE HOLY EUCHARIST.
(From the Spanish pf Calderon.)
Honey in the lion's mouth,
Emblem mystical, divine,
How the sweet and strong combine ;
Cloven rock from Israel's drouth ;
Treasure-house of golden grain,
By our Joseph laid in store,
In his brethren's famine sore,
Freely to dispense again ;
Dew on Gideon's snowy fleece ;
Well from bitter changed to sweet ;
Shew-bread laid in order meet,
Bread whose cost doth not increase,
Though no rain in April fall •
Horeb's manna, freely given,
Showered in white dew from heaven,
Marvellous, angelical ;
Weightiest bunch of Canaan's vine ;
Cake to strengthen and sustain
Through long days of desert pain ;
Salem's monarch's bread and wine —
Thou the antidote shalt be
Of my sickness and my sin.
Consolation, medicine,
Life and Sacrament to me.
24 HENRY FRANCIS L YTE.
XVII.
FAR FROM MY HEAVENLY HOME."
Far from my heavenly home,
Far from my Father's breast,
Fainting I cry, " Blest Spirit ! come
And speed me to my rest ! "
Upon the willows long
My harp has silent hung :
How should I sing a cheerful song
Till thou inspire my tongue ?
My spirit homeward turns,
And fain would thither flee \
My heart, O Zion, droops and yearns,
When I remember thee.
To thee, to thee 1 press,
A dark and toilsome road ;
When shall I pass the wilderness,
And reach the saints' abode ?
God of my life, be near !
On thee my hopes I cast ;
O guide me through the desert here,
And bring me home at last.
ARTHUR PEXRI1YN STANLEY.
XVIII.
" 0 MASTER, IT IS GOOD TO BE."
O Master, it is good to be
High on the mountain here with thee ;
Where stand revealed to mortal gaze,
Those glorious saints of other days ;
Who once received on Horeb's height,
The eternal laws of truth and right ;
Or caught the still small whisper, higher
Than storm, than earthquake, or than fire.
O Master, it is good to be
With thee, and with thy faithful three ;
Here where the apostle's heart of rock,
Is nerved against temptation's shock ;
Here, where the son of thunder learns
The thought that breathes, and word that burns ;
Here, where on eagles' wings we move,
With Him whose last best creed is love.
O Master, it is good to be,
Entranced, enwrapt, alone with thee ;
And watch thy glistening raiment glow,
Whiter than Hermon's whitest snow \
The human lineaments that shine,
Irradiant with a light divine ;
Till we too change from grace to grace
Gazing on that transfigured face.
I of
FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. 27
XIX.
THE DAYSTAR.
atj'iov atpotyoiTCiv
'Affrspa ixii}'ajj.ev 'AeXiov \svK07CTtpvya irpodpopc
Star of morn and even,
Sun of Heaven's heaven,
Saviour high and dear,
Toward us turn thine ear ;
Through whate'er may come.
Thou canst lead us home.
Though the gloom be grievous,
Those we leant on leave us,
Though the coward heart
Quit its proper part,
Though the tempter come,
Thou wilt lead us home.
Saviour pure and holy,
Lover of the lowly,
Sign us with thy sign,
Take our hands in thine,
Take our hands and come,
Lead thy children home.
23 FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Star of morn and even,
Shine on us from Heaven ;
From thy glory-throne
Hear thy very own !
Lord and Saviour, come,
Lead us to our home !
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 29
XX.
WEARY IN WELL-DOING.
I would have gone ; God bade me stay :
I would have worked ; God bade me rest.
He broke my will from day to day,
He read my yearnings unexpressed
And said them nay.
Now I would stay ; God bids me go :
Now I would rest ; God bids me work.
He breaks my heart, tossed to and fro,
My soul is wrung with doubts that lurk
And vex it so.
I go, Lord, where thou sendest me ;
Day after day I plod and moil :
But, Christ my God, when will it be
That I may let alone my toil
And rest with thee.
jo
>m as our
old
In v
kc that work \
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGIL
Nor times shall lack, when while the work it plies,
Unsummoned powers the blinding film shall part,
And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyes
In recognition start.
But, as thou wiliest, give or e'en forbear
The beatific supersensual sight,
So with thy blessing blest, that humble prayer
Approach thee morn and night.
32 JOSEPH ADDIS OX.
XXII.
A PASTORAL ODE.
The Lord my pasture shall prepare,
And feed me with a shepherd's care ;
His presence shall my wants supply,
And guard me with a watchful eye ;
My noon-day walks he shall attend,
And all my midnight hours defend.
When in the sultry glebe I faint,
Or on the thirsty mountain pant ;
To fertile vales and dewy meads,
My weary, wandering steps he leads ;
Where peaceful rivers, soft and slow,
Amid the verdant landscape flow.
Though in the paths of death I tread,
With gloomy horrors overspread,
My steadfast heart shall fear no ill,
For thou, O Lord, art with me still ;
Thy friendly crook shall give me aid,
And guide me through the dreadful shade
Though in a bare and rugged way,
Through devious lonely wilds I stray,
Thy bounty shall my pains beguile ;
The barren wilderness shall smile.
With sudden greens and herbage crowned,
And streams shall murmur all around.
GEORGE HERBERT. 33
XXIII.
THE QUIP.
The merry world did on a day
With his train-bands and mates agree
To meet together where I lay,
And all in sport to jeer at me.
First Beauty crept into a rose ;
Which when I plucked not — "Sir," said she,
"Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? "
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then Money came, and, chinking still — —
" WThat tune is this, poor man?" said he :
11 1 heard in music you had skill."
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me,
Then came brave Glory puffing by
In silks that whistled — who but he ?
He scarce allowed me half an eye ;
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
Then came quick Wit-and-Conversation,
And he would needs a comfort be,
And, to be short, make an oration :
But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me.
4
GEORGE HERBERT.
Yet when the hour of thy design
To answer these fine things shall come,
Speak not at large— say I am thine ;
And then they have their answer home.
BEN fONSON. 35
XXIV.
HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER.
Hear me, O God !
A broken heart
Is my best part :
Use still thy rod,
That I may prove
Therein thy love.
If thou hadst not
Been stern to mc,
But left me free,
I had forgot
Mysdf and thee.
For sin's so sweet,
As minds ill bent
Rarely repent,
Until they meet
Their punishment.
Who more can crave
Than thou hast done ?
Thou gavest a Son
To free a slave ;
First made of nought,
With all since bought.
36 BEN JONSOAK
Sin, death, and hell
His glorious name
Quite overcame ;
Yet I rebel,
And slight the same.
But I'll come in
Before my loss
Me further toss,
As sure to win
Under his Cross.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FARRAR. 37
XXV.
HYMN.
God and Father, great and holy,
Fearing nought we come to thee ;
Fearing nought, though weak and lowly,
For thy love has made us free ;
By the blue sky bending o'er us,
By the green earth's flowery zone,
Teach us, Lord, the angel-chorus,
Thou art Love and Love alone.
Father, Lord of bright creation,
Holy, blest, eternal Son,
Spirit, source of inspiration,
Glorious Godhead, three in one,
With the notes that, high-ascending,
Breathe around the sapphire throne,
May thy sons the song be blending,
Thou art Love and Love alone.
Though the world in flames should perish
Suns and stars in ruin fall,
Love of thee our heart should cherish ;
Thou to us be all in all :
And though heavens thy name are praising,
Seraphs hymn no sweeter tone
Than the strain our hearts are raising,
Thou art Love and Love alone.
38 JOHN KEBLE.
XXVI.
MOUNTAIN SCENERY.
Where is thy favoured haunt, eternal Voice,
The region of thy choice,
Where, undisturbed by sin and earth, the soul
Owns thine entire control ? —
Tis on the mountain's summit dark and high,
When storms are hurrying by :
Tis 'mid the strong foundations of the earth,
Where torrents have their birth.
No sounds of worldly toil ascending there,
Mar the full burst of prayer ;
Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe,
And round us and beneath
Are heard her sacred tones ; the fitful sweep
Of winds across the steep,
Through withered bents — romantic note and clear,
Meet for a hermit's ear ;
The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry,
And, scarcely heard so high,
The dashing waters when the air is still,
From many a torrent rill
That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell,
Tracked by the blue mist well :
Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart
For Thought to do her part.
JOHN KEBLE. ;
Tis then we hear the voice of God within,
Heading with care and sin :
11 Child of my love ! how have I wearied thee?
Why wilt thou err from me?
Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves,
Parted the drowning waves,
And set my saints before thee in the way,
I. est thou shouldst faint or stray?
11 What ! was the promise made to thee alone ?
Art thou the excepted one ?
An heir of glory without grief or pain ?
O vision false and vain !
There lies thy cross ; beneath it meekly bow,
It fits thy stature now :
Who scornful pass it with averted eye,
Twill crush them by and by.
" Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure
Of thine eternal treasure ;
The Father of thy Lord can grudge thee nought,
The world for thee was bought,
And as this landscape broad — earth, sea, and sky,
All centres in thine eye ;
So all God does, if rightly understood,
Shall work thy final good."
40 JOHN MILTON.
XXVII.
AT A SOLEMN MUSIC.
Blest pair of sirens, pledges of heaven's joy,
Sphere-born harmonious sisters, voice and verse,
Wed your divine sounds, and mixed power employ,
Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce \
And to our high-raised phantasy present
That undisturbed song of pure concent,
Aye sung before the sapphire-coloured throne
To him that sits thereon,
With saintly shout and solemn jubilee \
Where the bright seraphim in burning row
Their loud, uplifted angel-trumpets blow ;
And the cherubic host, in thousand choirs,
Touch their immortal harps of golden wires,
With those just spirits that wear victorious palms,
Hymns devout and holy psalms
Singing everlastingly :
That we on earth, with undiscording voice,
May lightly answer that melodious noise ;
x\s once we did, till disproportioned sin
Jarred against Nature's chime, and with harsh din
Broke the fair music that all creatures made
To their great Lord, whose love their motion swayed
In perfect diapason, whilst they stood
In first obedience, and their state of good.
O ! may we soon again renew that song,
And keep in tune with heaven, till God ere long
To his celestial consort us unite
To live with him, and sing in endless morn of light
MATTHE W ARNOLD. 41
XXVIII.
MONICA'S LAST PRAYER.
M Oh, could thy grave at home, at Carthage, be ! " —
Care not for that, and lay me where I fall !
Everywhere heard will be the judgment- call.
But at God's altar, oh I remember me.
Thus Monica, and died in Italy.
Yet fervent had her longing been, through all
Her course, for home at last, and burial
With her own husband, by the Libyan sea.
Had been ! but at the end, to her pure soul
All tie with all beside seemed vain and cheap,
And union before God the only care.
Creeds pass, rites change, no altar standeth whole !
Yet we her memory, as she prayed, will keep,
Keep by this : Life i?i God, and union there !
42 HENRY VAUGIIAN.
XXIX.
THEY ARE ALL GONE INTO THE WORLD OF
LIGHT."
They are all gone into the world of light !
And I alone sit lingering here ;
Their very memory is fair and bright,
And my sad thoughts doth clear.
It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast,
Like stars upon some gloomy grove,
Or those faint beams in which this hill is dressed,
After the sun's remove.
I see them walking in an air of glory,
Whose light doth trample on my days —
My days, which are at best but dull and hoary,
Mere glimmering and decays.
0 holy Hope ! and high Humility !
High as the heavens above !
These are your walks, and you have showed them me,
To kindle my cold love.
Dear beauteous death ! the jewel of the just,
Shining nowhere but in the dark ;
What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust !
Gould men outlook that mark !
HENRY V AUG If AX.
He that bath found some fledged bir I
At first sight if the bird be flown ;
But what fair well or grove he sings in now,
That is to him unknown.
And yet as angels in some brighter dreams
Call to the soul when man doth sleep,
So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes,
And into glory peep.
If a star were confined into a tomb,
Her captive flames must needs burn there;
But when the hand that locked her up gives room,
She'll shine through all the sphere.
O ! Father of eternal life, and all
Created glories under thee,
Resume thy Spirit from this world of thrall
Into true liberty.
Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill
My perspective, still, as they pass;
Or else remove me hence unto that hill
Where I shall need no glass.
4 1 ED WARD DO WDEN,
XXX.
COMMUNION.
Lord, I have knelt and tried to pray to-irght,
But thy love came upon me like a sleep,
And all desire died out ; upon the deep
Of thy mere love I lay, each thought in light
Dissolving like the sunset clouds, at rest
Each tremulous wish, and my strength weakness, sweet
As a sick boy with soon overwearied feet
Finds, yielding him unto his mother's breast
To weep for weakness there. I could not pray,
But with closed eyes I felt thy bosom's love
Beating toward mine, and then I would not move
Till of itself the joy should pass away ;
At last my heart found voice — "Take me, O Lord,
And do_with me according to thy word."
HARD CRAS1IA\}\ 45
XXXI.
CHRIST'S VICTORY.
(From "The Office of the Holy Cross.")
I.
Now is the noon of sorrow's night
High in his patience as their spite;
Lo, the faint Lamb, with weary limb,
Bears that huge tree which must bear him
That fatal plant, so great of fame
For fruit of sorrow and of shame,
Shall swell with both for him, and mix
All woes into one crucifix.
II.
Christ, when he died,
Deceived the cross,
And on death's side
Threw all the loss ;
The captive world awoke and found
The prisoner loose, the jailor bound.
in.
O dear and sweet dispute
Twixt death's and love's far different fruit
Different as far
As antidotes and poisons are ;
46 RICHARD CRASH A IV.
By that first fatal tree
Both life and liberty
Were sold and slain ;
By this they both look up and live again,
IV.
O strange, mysterious strife
Of open death and hidden life !
When on the cross my King did bleed,
Life seemed to die, Death died indeed.
ALEXANDER POPE.
XXXII.
THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL
Vital spark of heavenly flame,
Quit, O quit this mortal frame ;
Trembling, hoping, lingering, flying,
O the pain, the bliss of dying.
Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife,
And let me languish into life.
Hark ! they whisper ; angels say,
Sister spirit, come away.
What is this absorbs me quite ?
Steals my senses, shuts my sight,
Drowns my spirits, draws my breath ?
Tell me, my soul, can this be death ?
The world recedes ; it disappears !
Heaven opens on my eyes ! my ears
With sounds seraphic ring :
Lend, lend your wings ! I mount ! I fly !
O grave ! where is thy victory ?
O death ! where is thy sting ?
43 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH
XXXIII.
REJOICE EVERMORE.
But how shall we be glad ?
We that are journeying through a vale of tears,
Encompassed with a thousand woes and fears,
How should we not be sad ?
Angels, that ever stand
Within the presence-chamber, and there raise
The never-interrupted hymn of praise,
May welcome this command :
Or they whose strife is o'er,
Who all their weary length of life have trod,
As pillars now within the temple of God,
That shall go out no more.
But we who wander here,
We who are exiled in this gloomy place,
Still doomed to water earth's unthankful face
With many a bitter tear —
Bid us lament and mourn,
Bid us that we go mourning all the day,
And we will find it easy to obey,
Of our best things forlorn ;
RICHARD CHE CII. 4o
Lut nut that we be glad ;
It" it be true the mourners are the bk
Oli leave us in a world of sin, unrest,
And trouble, to be sad.
I spake, and thought to weep, —
For sin and sorrow, suffering and crime,
That fill the world, all mine appointed time
A settled grief to keep.
When, lo ! as day from night,
As day from out the womb of night forlorn,
So from that sorrow was that gladness born,
Even in mine own despite.
Yet was not that by this
Excluded ; at the coming of that joy
Fled not that grief, nor did that grief destroy
The newly-risen bliss :
But side by side they flow,
Two fountains flowing from one smitten heart
And ofttimes scarcely to be known apart —
That gladness and that woe ;
Two fountains from one source,
Or which from two such neighbouring sources run,
That aye for him who shall unseal the one,
The other flows perforce.
And both are sweet and calm,
Fair flowers upon the banks of either blow,
Both fertilize the soil, and where they flow
Shed round them holy balm.
5
So SIX WALTER SCOTT.
XXXIV.
IN EX1TU ISRAEL.
When Israel, of the Lord beloved,
Out from the land of bondage came,
Her fathers' God before her moved,
An awful guide in smoke and flame :
By day, along the astonished lands
The cloudy pillar glided slow ;
By night, Arabia's crimsoned sands
Returned the fiery column's glow.
Then rose the choral hymn of praise,
And trump and timbrel answered keen :
And Zion's daughters poured their lays,
With priest's and warrior's voice between ;
No portents now our foes amaze ;
Forsaken Israel wanders lone ;
Our fathers would not know thy ways,
And thou hast left them to their own.
But present still, though now unseen !
When brightly shines the prosperous day,
Be thoughts of thee a cloudy screen
To temper the deceitful ray.
And O ! when stoops on Judah's path,
In shade and storm the frequent night,
Be thou, longsuffering, slow to wrath,
A burning and shining light.
SIR WALTER SCOTT.
Our harps we left by Babel's streams,
The tyrant's jest, the Gentile's scorn ;
No censer round our altar beams,
And mute are timbrel, harp, and horn.
But thou hast said, The blood of goat,
The flesh of rams I will not prize ;
A contrite heart, a humble thought^
Are mine accepted sacrtj
5 2 R OBERT IIERRICK.
XXXV.
HIS LITANY TO THE HOLY SPIRIT.
In the hour of my distress,
When temptations me oppress,
And when I my sins confess,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When I lie within my bed,
Sick in heart and sick in head,
And with doubts discomforted,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the house doth sigh and weep,
And the world is drowned in sleep,
Yet mine eyes the watch do keep,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the artless doctor sees
No one hope, but of his fees,
And his skill runs on the lees,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me,
When his potion and his pillj
Has, or none, or little skill,
Meet for nothing, but to kill,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
ROBERT HERRICK.
When the passing-bell doth toll,
And the furies in a shoal
Come to fright a parting soul,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the tapers now burn blue,
And the comforters are few,
And that number more than true,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the priest his last hath prayed,
And I nod to what is said,
'Cause my speech is now decayed,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When God knows I'm tossed about,
Either with despair or doubt,
Yet, before the glass be out,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the Tempter me pursueth
With the sins of all my youth,
And half damns me with untruth,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the flames and hellish cries
Fright mine ears, and fright mine eyes,
And all terrors me surprise,
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
When the Judgment is revealed,
And that opened which was sealed,
When to thee I have appealed :
Sweet Spirit, comfort me.
54 FREDERICK IV. IT. MYERS.
XXXVI.
FROM "SAINT PAUL."
" There is neither Jew nor Greek, there is neither bond nor free, there
is neither male nor female ; for ye are all one in Christ Jesus."
I.
Christ ! I am Christ's ! and let the name suffice you,
Ay, for me too he greatly hath sufficed ;
Lo ! with no winning words I would entice you,
Paul has no honour and no friend but Christ.
Yes, without cheer of sister or of daughter,
Yes, without stay of father or of son,
Lone on the land and homeless on the water,
Pass I in patience till the work be done.
Yet not in solitude if Christ anear me,
Waketh him workers for the great employ ;
Oh, not in solitude if souls that hear me
Catch from my joyaunce the surprise of joy.
Hearts I have won of sister or of brother,
Quick on the earth or hidden in the sod ;
Lo ! every heart awaiteth me, another
Friend in the blameless family of God.
What was their sweet desire and subtle yearning,
Lovers, and ladies whom their song enrols ?
Faint to the flame which in my breast is burning,
Less than the love with which I ache for souls.
EDERICK W. If. MYEl
Oh, ye are kind, I shall abide and teach you,
Ye will not foil as men have failed before,
me and leave, ashamed when I besee< h you
Ever less loving as I love the more.
IT.
Yet it was well, and thou hast said in season,
is the master shall the servant be; "
Let me not subtly slide into the treason,
Seeking an honour which they gave not thee \
Never at even, pillowed on a pleasure,
Sleep with the wings of aspiration furled,
Hide the last mite of the forbidden treasure,
Keep for my joys a world within the world.
Nay ! but much rather let me late returning,
Bruised of my brethren, wounded from within,
Stoop with sad countenance and blushes burning,
Bitter with weariness and sick with sin : —
So to thy presence get me and reveal it,
Nothing ashamed of tears upon thy feet,
Show the sore wound and beg thine hand to heal i*
Pour thee the bitter, pray thee for the sweet.
Then with a ripple and a radiance thro' me,
Rise and be manifest, O Morning Star !
Flow on my soul, thou Spirit, and renew me,
Fill with thyself, and let the rest be far.
56 FREDERICK IV. II. MYERS.
Safe to the hidden house of thine abiding,
Carry the weak knees and the heart that faints ;
Shield from the scorn and cover from the chiding,
Give the world joy, but patience to the saints.
in.
Saint, did I say ? with your remembered faces,
Dear men and women, whom I sought and slew !
i\h, when we mingle in the heavenly places, .
How will I weep to Stephen and to you !
Oh for the strain that rang to our reviling
Still, when the bruised limbs sank upon the sod,
Oh for the eyes that looked their last in smiling,
Last on the world here, but their first on God !
HENRY WADSW0RTI1 LONGFELLOW.
XXXVII.
"MY REDEEMER AXi) MY LOR])/'
My Redeemer and my Lord,
I beseech thee, I entreat thee,
Guide me in each act and word,
That hereafter I may meet thee,
Watching, waiting, hoping, yearning,
With my lamp well-trimmed and burning !
Interceding
With those bleeding
Wounds upon thy hands and side,
For all who have lived and erred
Thou hast suffered, thou hast died,
Scourged, and mocked, and crucified,
And in the grave hast thou been buried !
If my feeble prayer can reach thee,
O my Saviour, I beseech thee,
Even as thou hast died for me,
More sincerely
Let me follow where thou leadest ;
Let me, bleeding as thou bleedest,
Die, if dying I may give
Life to one who asks to live,
xAnd more nearly,
Dying thus, resemble thee !
5S THOMAS TORE LYNCH.
XXXVIII.
:SPIRIT! WHOSE VARIOUS ENERGIES."
Spirit ! whose various energies
By dew and flame denoted are,
By rain from the world-covering skies,
By rushing and by whispering air •
Be thou to us, O gentlest one,
The brimful river of sweet peace,
Sunshine of the celestial sun,
Restoring air of sacred ease.
Life of our life, since life of him
By whom we live eternally,
Our heart is faint, our eye is dim,
Till thou our spirit purify.
The purest airs are strongest too,
Strong to enliven and to heal :
O Spirit, purer than the dew,
Thine holiness in strength reveal.
Felt art thou, and the heavy heart
Grows cheerful and makes bright the eyes :
Up from the dust the enfeebled start,
Armed and re-nerved for victories :
THOMAS TORE LYNCH.
Felt art thou, and relieving tears
Fall, nourishing our young r
Felt art thou, and our icy fears
The sunny smile of love dissolves.
O Spirit, when thy mighty wind
The entombing rocks of sin hath rent,
Lead shuddering forth the awakened mind,
In still voice whispering thine intent.
As to the sacred light of day
The stranger soul shall trembling come,
Say, "These thy friends," and "This thy way,"
And " Yonder thy celestial home."
6o MA TTHE W ARNOLD,
XXXIX.
THE DIVINITY.
" Yes, write it in the rock," Saint Bernard said,
" Grave it on brass with adamantine pen !
'Tis God himself becomes apparent, when
God's wisdom and God's goodness are displayed,
For God of these his attributes is made " —
Well spake the impetuous Saint, and bore of men
The suffrage captive \ now, not one in ten
Recalls the obscure opposer he outweigh'd.
GooVs wisdom and God's goodness ! — Ay, but fools
Mis-define these till God knows them no more.
Wisdom and goodness, they are God ! — what schools
Have yet so much as heard this simpler lore ?
This no Saint preaches, and this no Church rules ;
Tis in the desert, now and heretofore.
HENRY ALFORJK
XL.
"LITTLE CHILDREN, DWELL IN LOVE."
Little children, dwell in love ; —
New begotten from above,
Ye by this your birth may know
That ye dwell in love below.
God your Lather reigns on high,
Unbeheld by mortal eye ;
Him ye see not ; love him, then,
In his types, your fellow-men.
Not in semblance nor in word,
But in holy thoughts unheard,
But in very truth and deed
Share their joy, and help their need.
Thus the saint whom Jesus loved
Spoke in word, in action proved \
Lord, may thy disciples be
Like to him and like to thee.
JOHN BY ROM,
XLI.
"MY SPIRIT LOXGETH FOR THEE."
My spirit longeth for thee
Within my troubled breast,
Although I be unworthy
Of so Divine a Guest.
Of so Divine a Guest
Unworthy though I be,
Yet hath my heart no rest
Unless it come from thee.
Unless it come from thee,
In vain I look around ;
In all that I can see
No rest is to be found.
Xo rest is to be found
But in thy blessed love :
O let my wish be crowned,
And send it from above.
HORATIUS BONAR.
XLII.
HE LIVETH LONG WHO LIVETH WELL.5
He liveth long who liveth well !
All other life is short and vain ;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of living most for heavenly gain.
He liveth long who liveth well !
All else is being flung away ;
He liveth longest who can tell
Of true things truly done each day.
Waste not thy being \ back to him,
Who freely gave it, freely give,
Else is that being but a dream,
Tis but to be, and not to live.
Be wise, and use thy wisdom well ;
Who wisdom speaks must live it too ;
He is the wisest who can tell
How first he lived, then spoke, the True.
Be what thou seemest \ live thy creed ;
Hold up to earth the torch Divine ;
Be what thou prayest to be made ;
Let the great Master's steps be thine.
64 HORATIUS BONAR.
Fill up each hour with what will last \
Buy up the moments as they go ;
The life above, when this is past,
Is the ripe fruit of life below.
Sow Truth if thou the True wouldst reap;
Who sows the false shall reap the vain ;
Erect and sound thy conscience keep ;
From hollow words and deeds refrain.
Sow love, and taste its fruitage pure ;
Sow peace, and reap its harvest bright ;
Sow sunbeams on the rock and moor,
And find a harvest-home of light.
WILLIAM COWPER.
XLIIL
OLNEY HYMNS. XVIII.
"LovestThou Me?"
Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord;
Tis thy Saviour, hear his word ;
Jesus speaks, and speaks to thee,
" Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me?
" I delivered thee when bound,
And, when bleeding, healed thy wound ;
Sought thee wandering, set thee right ;
Turned thy darkness into light.
11 Can a woman's tender care
Cease towards the child she bare ?
Yes, she may forgetful be,
Vet will I remember thee.
" Mine is an unchanging love,
Higher than the heights above,
Deeper than the depths beneath,
Free and faithful, strong as death.
6
66 WILLIAM CO WPER.
" Thou shalt see my glory soon,
When the work of grace is done ;
Partner of my throne shall be \ —
Say, poor sinner, lovest thou me ? !
Lord, it is my chief complaint,
That my love is weak and faint
Yet I love thee, and adore;
O for grace to love thee more !
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE, 6j
XLIV.
MY BAPTISMAL BIRTHDAY.
God's child in Christ adopted, — Christ my all, —
What that earth boasts were not lost cheaply, rather
Than forfeit that blest name, by which I call
The Holy One, the Almighty God, my Father?—
Father ! in Christ we live, and Christ in thee —
Eternal thou, and everlasting we.
The heir of heaven, henceforth I fear not death :
In Christ I live ! in Christ I draw the breath
Of the true life ! — Let, then, earth, sea, and sky
Make war against me ! On my front I show
Their mighty Master's seal. In vain they try
To end my life, that can but end its woe, —
Is that a death-bed where a Christian lies ? —
Yes ! but not his — 'tis Death itself there dies.
68 RICHARD JVILTOy
XLV.
THE GARDEN OF THE SOUL.
Nigh to the place where he was crucified
A sheltered garden lay,
Where roses hung their heads, with crimson dyed,
And blushed their lives away,
And lilies of the valley, blanched with fear,
Shook from their silver bells the trembling tear.
And there on terraced rock the vine was seen
Wandering with quaint festoon,
Or trained with care into an arbour green
To cool the rays of noon :
Not yet its clusters wooed the ripening sun,
Though the sharp pruning-knife its work had done.
And many a fragrant plant and freckled flower
Bordered the paths below,
And proffered to the gardeners hand the dower
Of scent or vernal glow ;
While in the shady corners mint and rue
And bitter herbs for humbler uses grew.
Here, where he sat or walked, the rich man made
A flower-encircled tomb ;
And here by loving hands the Lord was laid
To rest in the green gloom ;
And here he woke and threw a charm around
The dewy stillness of that garden-ground.
ICHARD WILTON.
I have a garden, Lord, to share with thee —
Nay, let it all be thine ;
And very near to it is seen the True
Of Sacrifice Divine,
In whose fair shadow thou canst show thy face,
And turn to holy ground the lowliest place.
Let my Beloved to his garden come
And eat his pleasant fruits.
The ripest clusters with the richest bloom
From off the goodliest shoots ;
If any such can grow in this poor soil,
On which my Lord has spent such teais and toil.
But if the fruits of holiness are scant,
And few its blossoms sweet,
Yet would I find some herb or creeping plant
To lay at thy pierced feet —
The hyssop small, or penitential rue,
Wet with the tear-drops of the early dew.
Only, O Lord, as in that garden-ground
Beside the Cross of shame,
May thy dear presence in my heart be found,
And its glad homage claim ;
Nor ever break the soul which Love would place
Upon the secret home of dying Grace !
;o GEORGE HERBERT.
XLVI.
THE SEARCH.
Whither, 0 whither art thou fled,
My Lord, my Love ?
My searches are my daily bread,
Yet never prove.
My knees pierce earth, mine eyes the sky ;
And yet the sphere
And centre both to me deny
That thou art there.
Yet can I mark how herbs below
Grow green and gay,
As if to meet thee they did know,
While I decay.
Yet can I mark how stars above
Simper and shine,
As having keys unto thy love,
While poor I pine.
I sent a sigh to seek thee out,
Deep drawn in pain,
Winged like an arrow, but my scout
Returns in vain.
)RGE HERBERT.
I tuned another, — having store, —
Into a groan,
Because the search was dumb before;
But all was one.
Lord, dost thou some new fabric mould
Which favour wins,
And keeps the present \ leaving the old
Unto their sins.
Where is my God ? What hidden place
Conceals thee still?
What covert dare eclipse thy face?
Is it thy will?
O let not that of anything j
Let rather brass,
Or steel, or mountains be thy ring,
And I will pass.
Thy will such an intrenching is
As passeth thought ;
To it all strength, all subtleties
Are things of nought.
Thy will such a strange distance is
As that to it
East and West touch, the poles do kiss,
And parallels meet.
Since then my grief must be as large
As is thy space,
Thy distance from me ; see my charge,
Lord, see my case.
72 GEORGE HERBERT,
O take these bars, these lengths away \
Turn, and restore me,
" Be not Almighty," let me say,
" Against, but for me."
When thou dost turn, and wilt be near,
What edge so keen,
What point so piercing can appear
To come between ?
For as thine absence doth excel
All distance known,
So doth thy nearness bear the bell,
Making two one.
SfA THOMAS BROWN.
XI All.
FROM "RELIGIO MEDICI."
The night is come. Like to the day
Depart not thou, great God, away :
Let not my sins, black as the night,
Eclipse the lustre of thy light :
Keep still in my horizon, for to me
The sun makes not the day, but thee
Thou, whose nature cannot sleep,
On my temples sentry keep ;
Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes
Whose eyes are open while mine close
Let no dreams my head infest
But such as Jacob's temples blest :
While I do rest, my soul advance \
Make my sleep a holy trance,
That I may, my rest being wrought,
Awake into some holy thought,
And with as active vigour run
My course as doth the nimble sun.
Sleep is a death \ O make me try
By sleeping what it is to die ;
And as gently lay my head
On my grave, as now my bed.
Howe'er I rest, great God, let me
Awake again at last with thee ;
And thus assured, behold I lie
Securely, or to wake or die.
SIX THOMAS BROWNE.
These are my drowsy days ; in vain
I do now wake to sleep again ;
O come that hour, when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever.
WILLIAM HABINGTON.
XLVIIL
NOX NOCTI IXDICAT SCIENTIAM
When I survey the bright
Celestial sphere
So rich with jewels Lung, that night
Doth like an .Kthiop bride appear ;
My soul her wings doth spread,
And heavenward lues,
The Almighty's mysteries to read
In the large volumes of the skies.
For the bright firmament
Shoots forth no flame
So silent but is eloquent
In speaking the Creator's name.
No unregarded star
Contracts its light
Into so small a character,
Removed far from our human sight,
But if we steadfast look,
We shall discern
In it, as in some holy book,
How man may heavenly knowledge learn.
7 6 WILLIAM I1ABING TON.
It tells the conqueror
That far stretched power
Which his proud dangers traffic for
Is but the triumph of an hour :
That from the furthest north
Some nation may
Yet undiscovered issue forth
And o'er his new-got conquest sway ;
Some nation yet shut in
With hills of ice
May be let out to scourge his sin,
Till they shall equal him in vice.
And then they likewise shall
Their ruin have,
For as yourselves your empires fall,
And every kingdom hath a grave.
Thus those celestial fires,
Though seeming mute,
The fallacy of our desires
And all the pride of life confute.
For they have watched since first
The world had birth ;
And found sin in itself accursed,
And nothing permanent on earth.
GEORGE MACl ONALl . 77
XL1X.
MARRIAGE SONG.
"They have no more wine," she said.
But they had enough of bread ;
And the well beside the door
Held for thirst a plenteous store \
Yes, enough ; but Love divine
Made the water into vune.
When should wine in plenty flow
But when wanderers homeward go?
And when soul in soul hath found
Rest, in bonds of freedom bound,
He hath said, by act divine,
Water well may turn to wine.
Good is all the feasting then ;
Good the merry words of men ;
Good the laughter and the smiles •
Good the wine that grief beguiles —
Crowning good, the Word divine :
Jesus made the water wine.
73 GEORGE MACDONALD.
He beside you, call the years,
Into laughter turn your tears ;
In the earthly tones around
Make you hear the heavenly sound -
At your table Love divine
Often make the water wine.
Earth is heaven in homelier dress :
Hope is unseen joyfulness :
Walking in the heavenly light,
Soon, with eyes of heavenly sight,
You shall know, by vision fine,
Earthly water — heavenly wine !
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
1,
AFTER COMMUNION.
Why should I call thee Lord, who art my God ?
Why should I call thee Friend, who art my Love ?
Or King, who art my very Spouse above ?
Or call thy sceptre on my heart thy rod ?
I,o, now thy banner over me is love,
All heaven flies open to me at thy nod ;
For thou hast lit thy flame in me a clod,
Made me a nest for dwelling of thy Dove.
What wilt thou call me in our home above,
Who now hast called me friend ? how will it be
When thou for good wine settest forth the best ?
Now thou dost bid me come and sup with thee,
Now thou dost make me lean upon thy breast :
HowVill it be with me in time of love?
8o JOSEPH GRIGG.
LI.
"BEHOLD! A STRANGER'S AT THE DOOR!"
Behold ! a Stranger's at the door !
He gently knocks, has knocked before ;
Has waited long, is waiting still ;
You treat no other friend so ill.
But will he prove a friend indeed ?
He will \ the very friend you need.
The Man of Nazareth, 'tis he !
With garments dyed at Calvary.
Oh, lovely attitude ! He stands
With melting heart and laden hands :
Oh, matchless kindness ! and he shows
This matchless kindness to his foes.
Rise ! touched with gratitude divine,
Turn out his enemy and thine —
That hateful, hell-born monster, sin,
And let the heavenly Stranger in.
If thou art poor, and poor thou art,
Lo ! he has riches to impart ;
Not wealth, in which mean avarice rolls :
Oh, better far, the wealth of souls !
JOSEPH GR1GG.
;'rt blind, he'll take the scales away,
And let in everlasting day :
Xaked thou art, but he shall drc
Thy blushing soul in righteousness.
Art thou a weeper? Grief shall fly,
For who can weep with Jesus by ?
No terror shall thy hopes annoy,
No tear — except the tear of joy.
Admit him ; for the human breast
Ne'er entertained so kind a guest.
Admit him ; for you can't expel ;
Where'er he comes, he comes to dwell.
Admit him, ere his anger burn,
His feet depart, ne'er to return ;
Admit him, or the hour's at hand,
When at his door denied you'll stand.
Yet know, nor of the terms complain,
If Jesus comes, he comes to reign —
To reign, and with no partial sway ;
Thoughts must be slain that disobey.
Sovereign of souls ! Thou Prince of peace !
Oh, may thy gentle reign increase !
Throw wide the door, each willing mind,
And be his empire all mankind.
S2 WILLIAM CULLEN BR YANT.
LII.
HYMN TO THE NORTH STAR.
The sad and solemn night
Has yet her multitude of cheerful fires \
The glorious host of light
Walk the dark hemisphere till she retires ;
All through her silent watchings, gliding slow,
Her constellations come, and climb the heavens, and go.
Day, too, hath many a star
To grace his gorgeous reign, as bright as they :
Through the blue fields afar,
Unseen, they follow in his flaming way :
Many a bright lingerer, as the eve grows dim,
Tells what a radiant troop arose and set with him.
And thou dost see them rise,
Star of the Pole ! and thou dost see them set.
Alone in thy cold skies
Thou keepest thy old unmoving station yet,
Nor join'st the dances of that glittering train,
Nor dip'st thy virgin orb in the blue western main.
There, at morn's rosy birth,
Thou lookest meekly through the kindling air ;
And eve, that round the earth
Chases the day, beholds thee watching there ;
There noontide finds thee, and the hour that calls
The shapes of polar flame to scale heaven's azure walls.
WILLIAM CULLEN BRYANT. 83
Alike, beneath thine eye,
The deeds of darkness and of light are done :
High towards the star-lit sky
Towns blaze — the smoke of battle blots the sun —
The night-storm on a thousand hills is loud —
And the strong wind of day doth mingle sea and cloud.
On thy unaltering blaze
The half-wrecked mariner, his compass lost,
Fixes his steady gaze,
And steers, undoubting, to the friendly coast ;
And they who stray in perilous wastes, by night,
Are glad when thou dost shine, to guide their footsteps right.
And, therefore, bards of old,
Sages, and hermits of the solemn wood,
Did in thy beams behold
A beauteous type of that unchanging good,
That bright eternal beacon, by whose ray
The voyager of time should shape his heedful way.
84 CHARLES KINGSLE Y.
LIII.
LINGER NO MORE, MY BELOVED.
Linger no more, my beloved, by Abbey, and cell, and
Cathedral,
Mourn not for holy ones mourning of old them who knew
not the Father,
Weeping with fast and scourge, when the Bridegroom was
taken from them.
Drop back awhile through the years, to the warm rich youth
of the nations,
Child-like in virtue and faith, though child-like in passion
and pleasure,
Child-like still, and still near to their God, while the day-
spring of Eden
Lingered in rose-red rays on the peaks of Ionian mountains.
Down to the Mothers, as Faust went, I go to the roots of
our manhood,
Mothers of us in our cradles ; of us once more in our glory,
New-born body and soul, in the great pure world wrhich
shall be,
In the renewing of all things, when man shall return to his
Eden.
Down to the Mothers I go — yet with thee still ! be with me
thou purest,
Lead me, thy hand in my hand : and the day-spring of God
go before us.
CHRISTINA ROSSBTTL
LIV.
DOST THOU NOT CARE?
I love and love not : Lord, it breaks my heart
To love and not to love.
Thou veiled within thy glory, gone apart
Into thy shrine, which is above,
Dost thou not love me, Lord, or care
For this mine ill ? —
/ love thee here or there,
I will accept thy broken heart, lie still.
Lord, it was well with me in time gone by
That cometh not again,
When I was fresh and cheerful, who but I ?
I fresh, I cheerful : worn with pain
Now, out of sight and out of heart ;
0 Lord, how long ? —
I watch thee as thou art,
1 will accept thy fainting heart, be strong,
" Lie still, be strong," to-day ; but, Lord, to-morrow,
What of to-morrow, Lord ?
Shall there be rest from toil, be truce from sorrow,
Be living green upon the sward,
Now but a barren grave to me,
Be joy for sorrow ?
Did I not die for thee ?
Do I not live for thee 1 leave Me to- morrow.
S6 JOHN EMMET.
LV.
A LITANY.
Lord, leave us not to wander lonely
Through this dark world unloved by thee :
All other friends are helpless only,
Though full of love as friends may be.
Drear are the fondest homes around us,
Sad like our hearts when thou art far ;
When thou hast sought us, heard us, found us,
How sweet thy consolations are !
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
Leave us not when pride and anger
In the heart would dare rebel :
Claim us in our utmost danger,
Calm us at the mouth of hell,
Leave us not till we inherit
Charity that works no ill,
And we hear thy gentle spirit
Inly whisper, " Peace, be still ! "
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
JOHN EMMET.
Leave US not in days of trial,
Let us act at duty's call,
Though it lead to self-denial,
Though we have to give up all.
Raised on high, or humbled lowly,
Praised or scorned from land to land,
Bear us up, our Father holy,
Dear our burdens in thy hand.
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
Leave us not when all have left us,
Health and vision, strength and voice ;
When of friends death hath bereft us,
Let us still in thee rejoice :
Near us when in doubt, to guide us ;
Near us when we faint, to cheer •
Near in battle's hour, to hide us :
Nearer ever, and more dear.
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
Leave us not when foes come nigher,
Cheer us when the grave looks cold,
Lead us onward, upward, higher,
Forward to the gates of gold.
Leave us not when ailing, failing,
Sore depressed, and bending low ;
Be thy love then most availing,
Then to aid us be not slow.
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
83 JOHN EMMET.
Leave us not till thou hast brought us
To the holy, wealthy place,
There to see thee who hast bought us,
Fought our fight, and won our race :
There to hear no more the shouting
And the thunder of our foes ;
Dangers past, and past all doubting,
And the grave's austere repose.
Hear us, cheer us,
Lord, and leave us not !
JOHN HENRY NEWM
LVI.
FROM "THE DREAM OF GERONTIUS."
ANGEL.
Softly and gently, dearly-ransomed soul,
In my most loving arms I now enfold thee,
And, o'er the penal waters, as they roll,
I poise thee, and I lower thee, and hold thee.
And carefully I dip thee in the lake,
And thou, without a sob or a resistance,
Dost through the flood thy rapid passage take,
Sinking deep, deeper, into the dim distance.
Angels, to whom the willing task is given,
Shall tend, and nurse, and lull thee, as thou liest ;
And Masses on the earth, and prayers in heaven,
Shall aid thee at the Throne of the Most Highest.
Farewell, but not for ever ! brother dear,
Be brave and patient on thy bed of sorrow ;
Swiftly shall pass the night of trial here,
And I will come and wake thee on the morrow.
9o REGINALD HEBER.
LVII.
FUNERAL HYMN.
Thou art gone to the grave ! but we will not deplore thee,
Though sorrows and darkness encompass the tomb :
Thy Saviour has passed through its portal before thee,
And the lamp of his love is thy guide through the gloom !
Thou art gone to the grave ! we no longer behold thee,
Nor tread the rough path of the world by thy side ;
But the wide arms of Mercy are spread to enfold thee,
And sinners may die, for the Sinless has died !
Thou art gone to the grave ! and, its mansion forsaking,
Perchance thy weak spirit in fear lingered long ;
But the mild rays of Paradise beam'd on thy waking,
And the sound which thou heardst was the Seraphim's
song !
Thou art gone to the grave ! but we will not deplore thee,
Whose God was thy ransom, thy guardian and guide;
He gave thee, he took thee, and he w;ll restore thee,
And Death has no sting, for the Saviour has died !
PATRICK CARRY.
LVIII.
A TRIOLET.
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farewell !
Farewell all earthly joys and car.
On nobler thoughts my soul shall dwell,
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farewell !
At quiet, in my peaceful cell,
I'll think on God, free from your snares ;
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, farewell ;
Farewell all earthly joys and cares.
I'll seek my God's law to fulfil,
Riches and power I'll set at nought ;
Let others strive for them that will,
111 seek my God's law to fulfil :
Lest sinful pleasures my soul kill,
By folly's vain delights first caught,
I'll seek my God's law to fulfil,
Riches and power I'll set at nought.
Yes, my dear Lord ! I've found it so ;
No joys but thine are purely sweet ;
Other delights come mixed with woe,
Yes, my dear Lord ! I've found it so.
Pleasure at courts is but in show,
With true content in cells we meet ;
Yes, my dear Lord ! I've found it so,
No joys but thine are purely sweet.
92 ROBERT SOUTHWELL.
LIX.
A CHILD MY CHOICE.
Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that
Child
Whose heart no thought, whose tongue no word, whose hand
no deed defiled.
I praise him most, I love him best, all praise and love is
his ;
While him I love, in him I live, and cannot live amiss.
Love's sweetest mark, laud's highest theme, man's most
desired light,
To love him life, to leave him death, to live in him delight.
He mine by gift, I his by debt, thus each to other due,
First friend he was, best friend he is, all times will try him
true.
Though young, yet wise ; though small, yet strong ; though
man, yet God he is ;
As wise he knows, as strong he can, as God he loves to
bless.
His knowledge rules, his strength defends, his love doth
cherish all ;
His birth our joy, his life our light, his death our end of
thrall.
ROBERT SOUTHWELL. 93
Alas : he weeps, he sighs, he pants, yet do his angels sing ;
Out of his tears, his sighs and throbs, doth bud a joyful
spring.
Almighty Babe, whose tender arms can force all foes to
fly,
Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I die !
94 ELIZABETH BARRETT BRO WNING
LX.
COMFORT.
Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet
From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low,
Lest I should fear and fall, and miss thee so
Who art not missed by any that entreat.
Speak to me as to Mary at thy feet !
And if no precious gums my hands bestow, \
Let my tears drop like amber while I go
In reach of thy divinest voice complete
In humanest affection — thus, in sooth,
To lose the sense of losing. As a child,
Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore,
Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth,
Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled,
He sleeps the faster that he wept before.
JOHN DRYDEN. 95
LXI.
"VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS."
Creator Spirit ! by whose aid
The world's foundations first were laid,
Come visit every pious mind ;
Come pour thy joys on human kind ;
From sin and sorrow set us free
And make thy temples worthy thee.
O source of uncreated light,
The Father's promised Paraclete !
Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire,
Our hearts with heavenly love inspire ;
Come, and thy sacred unction bring
To sanctify us, while we sing.
Plenteous of grace, descend from high,
Rich in thy sevenfold energy !
Thou strength of his almighty hand,
Whose powrer does heaven and earth command.
Proceeding Spirit, our defence,
Who dost the gift of tongues dispense,
And crown'st thy gift with eloquence !
9 6 JOHN DR \ 'DEN.
Refine and purge our earthly parts ;
But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts !
Our frailties help, our vice control,
Submit the senses to the soul ;
And when rebellious they are grown,
Then lay thy hand, and hold them down.
Chase from our minds the infernal foe,
And peace, the fruit of Love, bestow ;
And, lest our feet should step astray,
Protect, and guide us in the way.
Make us eternal truths receive,
And practise all that we believe :
Give us thyself, that we may see
The Father and the Son by thee.
Immortal honour, endless fame,
Attend the almighty Fathers name :
The Saviour Son be glorified,
Who for lost man's redemption died :
And equal adoration be,
Eternal Paraclete, to thee.
JOHN MILTON. c,7
LXIL
OX THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY.
This is the month, and this the happy morn,
Wherein the Son of heaven's eternal King,
Of wedded maid and virgin mother born,
Our great redemption from above did bring ;
For so the holy sages once did sing,
That he our deadly forfeit should release,
And with his Father work us a perpetual peace.
That glorious form, that light insufferable,
And that far-beaming blaze of majesty,
Wherewith he wont at heaven's high council-table
To sit the midst of trinal unity,
He laid aside ; and here with us to be,
Forsook the courts of everlasting day,
And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay.
Say, heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein
Afford a present to the infant God ?
Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain
To welcome him to this his new abode,
Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod,
Hath took no print of the approaching light,
And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright
98 JOHN MILTON.
See how, from far upon the eastern road,
The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet
O run, prevent them with thy humble ode,
And lay it lowly at his blessed feet ;
Have thou the honour first thy Lord to greet ;
And join thy voice unto the angel choir,
From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire.
HYMN.
It was the winter wild,
While the heaven-born child
All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies ;
Nature, in awe to him,
Had doffed her gaudy trim,
With her great Master so to sympathize :
It was no season then for her
To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour.
Only with speeches fair
She woos the gentle air
To hide her guilty front with innocent snow
And on her naked shame,
Pollute with sinful blame,
The saintly veil of maiden white to throw •
Confounded, that her Maker's eyes
Should look so near upon her foul deformities.
But he, her fears to cease,
Sent down the meek-eyed Peace ;
JOHN MILTON. 99
She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding
Down through the turning sphere,
1 [is ready harbinger,
With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing ;
And waving wide her myrtle wand,
She strikes a universal peace through sea and land.
No war, or battle's sound,
Was heard the world around :
The idle spear and shield were high up-hung \
The hooked chariot stood
Unstained with hostile blood ;
The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ;
And kings sat still with awful eye,
As if they surely knew their sovereign Lord was by.
But peaceful was the night
Wherein the Prince of Light
His reign of peace upon the earth began ;
The winds, with wonder whist,
Smoothly the water kissed,
Whispering new joys to the mild ocean,
Who now hath quite forgot to rave,
While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave.
The stars with deep amaze
Stand fixed in stedfast gaze,
Bending one way their precious influence j
And will not take their flight
For all the morning light,
Or Lucifer, that often warned them thence ;
But in their glimmering orbs did glow
Until their Lord himself bespake, and bid them go.
ioo JOHN MILTON.
And though the shady gloom
Had given day her room,
The sun himself withheld his wonted speed,
And hid his head for shame,
As his inferior flame
The new enlightened world no more should need :
He saw a greater sun appear
Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear.
The shepherds on the lawn,
Or e'er the point of dawn,
Sat simply chatting in a rustic row :
Full little thought they then
That the mighty Pan
Was kindly come to live with them below ;
Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep,
Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep.
When such music sweet
Their hearts and ears did greet,
As never was by mortal finger strook —
Divinely warbled voice
Answering the stringed noise,
As all their souls in blissful rapture took :
The air, such pleasure loth to lose,
With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close.
Nature, that heard such sound,
Beneath the hollow round
JOHN MILTON. i i
Of Cynthia's scat the airy region thrilling,
Now was almost won
To think her part was done,
And that her reign had here its last fulfilling ;
She knew such harmony alone
Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union.
At last surrounds their sight
A globe of circular light,
That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed ;
The helmed cherubim
And sworded seraphim
Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed,
Harping in loud and solemn choir,
With unexpressive notes to heaven's new-born heir.
Such music, as 'tis said,
Before was never made,
But when of old the sons of morning sung,
While the Creator great
His constellations set,
And the well-balanced world on hinges hung,
And cast the dark foundations deep,
And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep.
Ring out, ye crystal spheres ;
Once bless our human ears —
If ye have power to touch our senses so ;
And let your silver chime
Move in melodious time ;
And let the bass of heaven's deep organ blow ;
And, with your ninefold harmony,
Make up full consort to the angelic symphony.
102 JOHN MILTON.
For if such holy song
Enwrap our fancy long,
Time will run back and fetch the age of gold ;
And speckled vanity
Will sicken soon and die \
And leprous sin will melt from earthly mould,
And hell itself will pass away,
And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day.
Yea, truth and justice then
Will down return to men,
Orbed in a rainbow ; and, like glories wearing,
Mercy will sit between,
Throned in celestial sheen,
With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering
And heaven, as at some festival,
Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall.
But wisest Fate says, No ;
This must not yet be so, —
The babe lies yet in smiling infancy,
That on the bitter cross
Must redeem our loss,
So both himself and us to glorify :
Yet first, to those enchained in sleep,
The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep,
With such a horrid clang
As on Mount Sinai rang,
JOHN MILTON.
While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbroke :
The aged earth aghast
With terror of that blast,
Shall from the surface to the centre shake ;
When, at the world's last session,
The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne.
And then at last our bliss
Full and perfect is :
But now begins : for from this happy day
The old dragon under ground
In straiter limits bound,
Not half so far casts his usurped sway ;
And, wroth to see his kingdom fail,
Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail.
The oracles are dumb ;
No voice or hideous hum
Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving :
Apollo from his shrine
Can no more divine,
With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving ;
No nightly trance, or breathed spell,
Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell.
The lonely mountains o'er,
And the resounding shore,
A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ;
From haunted spring and dale,
Edged with poplar pale,
The parting ge?iius is with sighing sent ;
With flower-inwoven tresses torn,
The nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn.
1 04 JOHN MILTON.
In consecrated earth,
And on the holy hearth,
The Lars, and Lemures moan with midnight plaint ;
In urns and altars round,
A drear and dying sound
Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint ;
And the chill marble seems to sweat,
While each peculiar power foregoes his wonted seat.
Peor and Baalim
Forsake their temples dim,
With that twice-battered god of Palestine ;
And mooned Ashtaroth,
Heaven's queen and mother both,
Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine ;
The Lybic Hammon shrinks his horn :
In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn.
And sullen Moloch, fled,
Hath left in shadows dread
His burning idol, all of blackest hue ;
In vain with cymbals' ring
They call the grisly king,
In dismal dance about the furnace blue.
The brutish gods of Nile as fast,
Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste.
Nor is Osiris seen
In Memphian grove or green,
J01LX MILTON. i
Trampling the unshowered grass with lowiogs loud ;
Nor can he be at rest
Within his sacred chest ;
Nought but profoundest hell can be his shroud :
In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark,
The sable-Stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark.
He feels, from Judah's land,
The dreaded infant's hand ;
The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyne :
Nor all the gods beside
Longer dare abide —
Nor Typhon huge, ending in snaky twine ;
Our babe, to show his Godhead true,
Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew.
So, when the sun in bed,
Curtained with cloudy red,
Pillows his chin upon an orient wave,
The flocking shadows pale
Troop to the infernal jail —
Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave ;
And the yellow- skirted fays
Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze.
But see, the Virgin blest
Hath laid her babe to rest :
Time is our tedious song should here have ending ;
Heaven's youngest-teemed star
Hath fixed her polished car,
Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending ;
And all about the courtly stable
Bright-harnessed angels sit, in order serviceable.
1 06 HENR Y HART MILMAN.
LXIII.
HYMN, FROM "BELSHAZZAR."
God of the thunder ! from whose cloudy seat
The fury winds of desolation flow :
Father of vengeance ! that with purple feet,
Like a full wine-press, tread'st the world below ;
The embattled armies wait thy sign to slay,
Nor springs the beast of havoc on his prey,
Nor withering Famine walks his blasted way,
Till thou the guilty land hast sealed for woe.
God of the rainbow ! at whose gracious sign
The billows of the proud their rage suppress :
Father of mercies ! at one word of thine
An Eden blooms in the waste wilderness !
And fountains sparkle in the arid sands,
And timbrels ring in maidens' glancing hands,
And marble cities crown the laughing lands,
And pillared temples rise thy name to bless.
O'er Judah's land thy thunders broke — oh, Lord !
The chariots rattled o'er her sunken gate,
Her sons were wasted by the Assyrian sword,
Even her foes wept to see her fallen state ;
And heaps her ivory palaces became,
Her princes wore the captive's garb of shame,
Her temple sank amid the smouldering flame,
For thou didst ride the tempest-cloud of fate.
HENR V HART MILMAN, 107
O'er Judah's land thy rainbow, Lord, shall beam,
And the sad city lift her crownless head ;
And songs shall wake, and dancing footsteps gleam,
Where broods o'er fallen streets the silence of the dead :
The sun shall shine on Salem's gilded towers,
On Carmel's side our maidens cull the flowers,
To deck, at blushing eve, their bridal bowers ;
And angel feet the glittering Sion tread.
Thy vengeance gave us to the stranger's hand,
And Abraham's children were led forth for slaves ;
With fettered steps we left our pleasant land,
Envying our fathers in their peaceful graves :
The stranger's bread with bitter tears we steep,
And when our weary eyes should sink to sleep,
'Neath the mute midnight we steal forth to weep,
Where the pale willows shade Euphrates' waves.
The born in sorrow shall bring forth in joy ;
Thy mercy, Lord, shall lead thy children home ;
He that went forth a tender yearling boy,
Yet, ere he die, to Salem's streets shall come :
And Canaan's vines for us their fruits shall bear,
And Hermon's bees their honied stores prepare ;
And we shall kneel again in thankful prayer,
Where, o'er the cherub-seated God, full blazed the
irradiate dome.
io8 ED WARD DO WD EN,
LXIV.
NEW HYMNS FOR SOLITUDE.
I come to thee not asking aught \ I crave
No gift of thine, no grace ;
Yet where the suppliants enter let me have
Within thy courts a place.
My hands, my heart contain no offering ;
Thy name I would not bless
With lips untouched by altar-fire \ I bring
Only my weariness.
These are the children, frequent in thy home \
Grant, Lord, to each his share ;
Then turn, and merely gaze on me, who come
To lay my spirit bare.
Yet one more step — no flight
The weary soul can bear —
Into a whiter light,
Into a hush more rare.
EDWARD DOWDEN.
Take me, I am all thine,
Thine now, not seeking thee, —
Hid in the secret shrine,
Lost in the shoreless sea.
Grant to the prostrate soul
Prostration new and sweet,
Make weak the weak, control
Thy creature at thy feet.
Passive I lie : shine down,
Pierce through the will with straight
Swift beams, one after one,
Divide, disintegrate,
Free me from self, — resume
My place, and be thou there ;
Yet also keep me. Come
Thou Saviour and thou Slayer !
in.
Nothing remains to say to thee, O Lord,
I am confessed,
x\ll my lips' empty crying thou hast heard,
My unrest, my rest.
Why wait I any longer ? Thou dost stay,
And therefore, Lord, I would not go away.
i io ED WARD DO WD EN.
Let me be at thy feet a little space,
Forget me here ;
I will not touch thy hand, nor seek thy face,
Only be near,
And this hour let thy nearness feed the heart,
And when thou goest I also will depart.
Then when thou seekest thy way, and I mine,
Let the World be
Not wide and cold after this cherishing shrine
Illum'd by thee,
Nay, but worth worship, fair, a radiant star,
Tender and strong as thy chief angels are.
Yet bid me not go forth : I cannot now
Take hold on joy,
Nor sing the swift, glad song, nor bind my brow \
Her wise employ
Be mine, the silent woman at thy knee
In the low room in little Bethany.
IV.
Ah, that sharp thrill through all my frame !
And yet once more ! Withstand
I can no longer ; in thy name
I yield me to thy hand.
Such pangs were in the soul unborn,
The fear, the joy were such,
When first it felt in that keen morn
A dread, creating touch.
EDWARD D01VDEX. in
Maker of man, thy pressure sure
This grosser stuff must quell ;
The spirit faints, yet will endure,
Subdue, control, compel.
The Potter's finger shaping me. . . .
Praise, praise ! the clay curves up
Not for dishonour, though it be
God's least adorned cup.
Sins grew a heavy load and cold,
And pressed me to the dust ;
" Whither," I cried, " can this be rolled
Ere I behold the Just ? "
But now I claim them for my own ;
Thy face I needs must find ;
Lo ! thus I wrought, yea, I alone,
Not weak, beguiled, or blind.
See my full arms, my heaped-up shame,
An evil load I bring :
Thou, God, art a consuming flame,
Accept the hateful thing.
Pronounce the dread condemning word,
I stand in blessed fear ;
Dear is thy cleansing wrath, O Lord,
The fire that burns is dear.
U2 EDWARD DOWDEN.
VI.
I found thee in my heart, O Lord,
As in some secret shrine ;
I knelt, I waited for thy word,
I joyed to name thee mine.
I feared to give myself away
To that or this ; beside
Thy altar on my face I lay,
And in strong need I cried.
Those hours are past. Thou art not mine,
And therefore I rejoice,
I wait within no holy shrine,
I faint not for the voice.
In thee we live ; and every wind
Of heaven is thine ; blown free
To west, to east, the God enshrined
Is still discovering me.
CHARLES WESLEY. 113
LXV.
WRESTLING JACOB.
Come, O thou Traveller unknown,
Whom still I hold, but cannot see !
My company before is gone,
And I am left alone with thee ;
With thee all night I mean to stay,
x\nd wrestle till the break of day.
I need not tell thee who I am,
My misery or sin declare ;
Thyself hast called me by my name \
Look on thy hands, and read it there.
But who, I ask thee, who art thou?
Tell me thy name, and tell me now.
In vain thou strugglest to get free \
I never will unloose my hold,
Art thou the Man that died for me ?
The secret of thy love unfold :
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
Wilt thou not yet to me reveal
Thy new, unutterable name ?
Tell me, I still beseech thee, tell ;
9
ri4 CHARLES WESLEY.
To know it now resolved I am :
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
'Tis all in vain to hold thy tongue,
Or touch the hollow of my thigh ;
Though every sinew be unstrung,
Out of my arms thou shalt not fly ;
Wrestling, I will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
What though my shrinking flesh complain,
And murmur to contend so long !
I rise superior to my pain ;
When I am weak, then I am strong ;
And when my all of strength shall fail,
I shall with the God-man prevail.
My strength is gone, my nature dies ;
I sink beneath thy weighty hand :
Faint to revive, and fall to rise ;
I fall, and yet by faith I stand :
I stand, and will not let thee go
Till I thy name, thy nature know.
Yield to me now, for I am weak,
But confident in self-despair ;
Speak to my heart, in blessings speak ;
Be conquered by my instant prayer :
Speak, or thou never hence shalt move,
And tell me if thy name is Love.
CHARLES WESLEY.
Tis Love ! 'tis Love ! Thou diedst for me !
I hear thy whisper in my heart :
The morning breaks, the shadows fk
Pure, universal Love thou art !
To me, to all, thy bowels move ;
Thy nature, and thy name is Love.
My prayer hath power with God ; the
Unspeakable I now receive ;
Through faith I see thee face to face —
I see thee face to face, and live :
In vain I have not wept and strove ;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
I know thee, Saviour — who thou art —
Jesus, the feeble sinner's friend ;
Xor wilt thou with the night depart,
Tut stay and love me to the end :
Thy mercies never shall remove ;
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
The Sun of Righteousness on me
Hath rose, with healing in his wings ;
Withered my nature's strength ; from th
My soul its life and succour brings.
My help is all laid up above :
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Contented now, upon my thigh,
I halt till life's short journey end :
All helplessness, all weakness, I
u6 CHARLES WESLEY.
On thee alone for strength depend.
Nor have I power from thee to move :
. Thy nature and thy name is Love.
Lame as I am, I take the prey ;
Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome ;
I leap for joy, pursue my way,
And as a bounding hart fly home ;
Through all eternity to prove
Thy nature and thy name is Love.
ROBERT LOUIS STE I rENSON. i 1 7
LXVL
THE CELESTIAL SURGEON.
If I have faltered more or less
In my great task of happiness ;
If I have moved among my race
And shown no glorious morning face ;
If beams from happy human eyes
Have moved me not ; if morning skies,
Books, and my food, and summer rain
Knocked on my sullen heart in vain :—
Lord, thy most pointed pleasure take,
And stab my spirit broad awake ;
Or, Lord, if too obdurate I,
Choose thou, before that spirit die,
A piercing pain, a killing sin,
And to my dead heart run them in !
t 1 3 E MIL Y BR ONTE.
LXVII.
"NO COWARD SOUL IS MINE."
No coward soul is mine,
No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere :
I see heaven's glories shine,
And faith shines equal, arming me from fear.
O God, within my breast,
Almighty, ever-present Deity !
Life — that in me has rest,
As I — undying Life — have power in thee !
Vain are the thousand creeds
That move men's hearts : unutterably vain ;
Worthless as withered weeds,
Or idlest froth amid the boundless main,
To waken doubt in one
Holding so fast by thine infinity ;
So surely anchored on
The stedfast rock of immortality.
With wide-embracing love
Thy Spirit animates eternal years,
Pervades and broods above,
Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears.
EMILY £H07\ n
Though earth and man were gone,
And suns and universes ceased to be,
And thou wert left alone,
;tence would exist in thee
There is not room for Death,
Nor atom that his might could render void :
Thou — thou art Being and Breath,
And what th .u art may never be destroyed.
120 THOMAS MOORE
LXVIIL
"THE BIRD LET LOOSE IN EASTERN SKIES."
The bird let loose in eastern skies,
When hastening fondly home,
Ne'er stoops to earth her wing, nor flies
Where idle warblers roam ;
But high she shoots thro' air and light,
Above all low delay,
Where nothing earthly bounds her flight,
Nor shadow dims her way.
So grant me, God, from every care
And stain of passion free,
Aloft, thro' virtue's purer air,
To hold my course to thee !
Xo sin to cloud, no lure to stay
My soul, as home she springs ; —
Thy sunshine on her joyful way,
Thy freedom in her wings !
GEORGE ELIOT. 121
LXIX.
" O MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE."
11 Longum Iliad tempus, quum non ero, magis me movet, quam hoc
exiguum." — Cicero, ad Att., xii. 18.
O may I join the choir invisible
Of those immortal dead who live again
In minds made better by their presence \ live
In pulses stirred to generosity,
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn
For miserable aims that end with self,
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars,
And with their mild persistence urge man's search
To vaster issues.
So to live is heaven :
To make undying music in the world,
Breathing as beauteous order that controls
With growing sway the growing life of man.
So we inherit that sweet purity
For which we struggled, failed, and agonized
With widening retrospect that bred despair.
Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued,
A vicious parent shaming still its child,
Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved ;
Its discords, quenched by meeting harmonies,
Die in the large and charitable air.
And all our rarer, better, truer self,
122 GEORGE ELIOT.
That sobbed religiously in yearning song,
That watched to ease the burthen of the world,
Laboriously tracing what must be,
And what may yet be better — saw within
A worthier image for the sanctuary,
And shaped it forth before the multitude
Divinely human, raising worship so
To higher reverence more mixed with love —
That better self shall live till human Time
Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky
Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb
Unread for ever.
This is life to come,
Which martyred men have made more glorious
For us who strive to follow. May I reach
That purest heaven, be to other souls
The cup of strength in some great agony,
Enkindle generous ardour, feed pure love,
Beget the smiles that have no cruelty —
Be the sweet presence of a good diffused,
And in diffusion ever more intense.
So shall I join the choir invisible
Whose music is the gladness of the world.
ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGII.
LXX.
"THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY."
What we, when face to face we see
The Father of our souls, shall be,
John tells us, doth not yet appear \
Ah ! did he tell what we are here !
A mind for thoughts to pass into,
A heart for loves to travel through,
Five senses to detect things near,
Is this the whole that we are here ?
Rules baffle instincts — instincts rules,
Wise men are bad — and good are fools,
Facts evil — wishes vain appear,
We cannot go, why are we here ?
O may we for assurance sake,
Some arbitrary judgment take,
And wilfully pronounce it clear,
For this or that 'tis we are here.
Or is it right, and will it do,
To pace the sad confusion through,
And say : It doth not yet appear,
What we shall be, what we are here ?
i24 ARTHUR HUGH CLOUGH
Ah yet, when all is thought and said,
The heart still overrules the head ;
Still what we hope we must believe,
And what is given us receive ;
Must still believe, for still we hope
That in a world of larger scope,
What here is faithfully begun
Will be completed, not undone.
My child, we still must think, when we
That ampler life together see,
Some true result will yet appear
Of what we are, together, here.
SAMUEL WADDlNGTi
LXXI.
WHAT GOSPEL?
What gospel, still, what gospel ? Christ, yea, Christ !
Back to the shores of Galilee once more,
To the old lesson of love, the simple lore
Of peace and wisdom that the world sufficed.
Christ ! for he spake with pity, nor enticed
The broken-hearted to an empty store ; —
Christ ! for his words true balm and healing pour
In the world's wounds, the holy words of Christ !
What gospel, still, what gospel? Love, yea, Love !
There is no heaven, and no hope but this, —
No heritage of joy, no hallowed bliss
To wing the spirit to the realm above ;
Oh, vain glad tidings, and oh, little worth, —
Unless our charity make glad the earth.
126 IIARTLE Y COLERIDGE.
LXXIL
THE WORD OF GOD.
In holy books we read how God hath spoken
To holy men in many different ways ;
But hath the Present worked no sign or token, —
Is God quite silent in these latter days ?
And hath our heavenly Sire departed quite,
And left his poor babes in this world alone,
And only left for blind belief — not sight —
Some quaint old riddles in a tongue unknown ?
Oh ! think it not, sweet maid ! God comes to us
With every day, with every star that rises ;
In every moment dwells the Righteous,
And starts upon the soul with sweet surprises.
The word were but a blank, a hollow sound,
If he that spoke it were not speaking still, —
If all the light and all the shade around
Were aught but issues of Almighty will,
Sweet girl, believe that every bird that sings,
And every flower that stars the elastic sod,
And every thought the happy summer brings
To thy pure spirit, is a word of God.
WILLIAM BLAKE.
LXXIII.
THE DIVINE IMAGE.
To mercy, pity, peace, and love,
All pray in their distress ;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.
For mercy, pity, peace, and love,
Is God, our Father dear ;
And mercy, pity, peace, and love
Is man, his child and care.
For mercy has a human heart,
Pity, a human face ;
And love, the human form divine,
And peace, the human dress.
Then every man of every clime,
That prays in his distress,
Prays to the human form divine,
Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace.
And all must love the human form
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where mercy, love, and pity dwell,
There God is dwelling too.
128 MA TTHE W ARNOLD.
LXXIV.
MORALITY.
We cannot kindle when we will
The fire which in the heart resides,
The spirit bloweth and is still,
In mystery our soul abides ;
But tasks in hours of insight will'd
Can be through hours of gloom fulfill'd.
With aching hands and bleeding feet
We dig and heap, lay stone on stone ;
We bear the burden and the heat
Of the long day, and wish 'twere done.
Not till the hours of light return
All we have built do we discern.
Then, when the clouds are off the soul,
When thou dost bask in Nature's eye.
Ask, how she viewed thy self-control,
Thy struggling, tasked morality —
Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air,
Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.
And she, whose censure thou dost dread,
Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek,
MA TTIIE W ARNOLD. 1 2 j
See, on lier face a glow is spread,
A strong emotion on her cheek !
11 Ah, child ! " she cries, u that strife divine,
Whence was it, for it is not mine ?
" There is no effort on my brow —
I do not strive, I do not weep \
I rush with the swift spheres and glow
In joy, and, when I will, I sleep !
Yet that severe, that earnest air,
I saw, I felt it once — but where ?
11 1 knew not yet the gauge of time,
Nor wore the manacles of space \
I felt it in some other clime !
I saw it in some other place !
*Twas when the heavenly house I trod,
And lay upon the breast of God.'J
10
CHRISTINA ROSSETTL
LXXV.
DESPISED AND REJECTED.
My sun has set, I dwell
In darkness as a dead man out of sight ;
And none remains, not one, that I should tell
To him mine evil plight
This bitter night.
I will make fast my door
That hollow friends may trouble me no more.
" Friend, open to Me." — Who is this that calls ?
Nay, I am deaf as are my walls :
Cease crying, for I will not hear
Thy cry of hope or fear.
Others were dear,
Others forsook me : what art thou indeed
That I should heed
Thy lamentable need ?
Hungry should feed,
Or stranger lodge thee here ?
" Friend, my Feet bleed :
Open thy door to Me and comfort Me."
I will not open, trouble me no more.
Go on thy way footsore,
I will not rise and open unto thee.
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
" Then is it nothing to thee ? Open, sec
Who stands to plead with thee.
Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou
One day entreat My Face
And howl for grace,
And I be deaf as thou art now.
Open to Me."'
Then I cried out upon him : Cease,
Leave me in peace :
Fear not that I should crave
Aught thou mayst have.
Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more,
Lest I arise and chase thee from my door.
What, shall I not be let
Alone, that thou dost vex me yet ?
But all night long that voice spake urgently :
11 Open to Me."
Still harping in mine cars :
« Rise, let Me in."
Pleading with tears :
" Open to Me that I may come to thee."
While the dew dropped, while the dark hours were
cold :
" My Feet bleed, see My Face,
See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace,
My Heart doth bleed for thee,
Open to Me."
So till the break of day :
Then died away
That voice, in silence as of sorrow :
132 CHRISTINA ROSSETTI
Then footsteps echoing like a sigh
Passed me by,
Lingering footsteps slow to pass.
On the morrow
I saw upon the grass
Each footprint marked in blood, and on my door
The mark of blood for evermore.
ROBERT STEM EX HA WKER.
I.XXVI.
THE SIGNALS OF LEVI.
he Rabbins ruled that the daily oblation was never to begin until the
Signal of Levi was heard ; and a Levite, placed on the roof of
the Temple to watch the sky, blew with his trumpet when the day
had so far dawned that he could see Hebron, a city on the heights
where John the Baptist was afterwards born.
SIGNAL THE FIRST.
There is light on Hebron now :
Hark to the trumpet din !
Day dawns on Hebron's brow,
Let the sacrifice begin.
Hear ye the gathering sound ?
How the lute and harp rejoice,
'Mid the roar of oxen bound,
And the lamb's beseeching voice.
This day both prince and priest
Will hold at Salem's shrine
A high and haughty feast .
Of flesh and the ruddy wine.
I j 4 R OBER T STEPHEN HA WKER.
For a perilous hour is fled,
And the fear is vain at last,
Though foretold by sages dead,
And sworn by the Prophets past.
They said that a mortal birth
E'en now would a name unfold
That should rule the wide, wide earth,
And quench the thrones of old.
But no sound, nor voice, nor word,
The tale of travail brings ;
Xot an infant cry is heard
In the palaces of kings.
Blossom and branch are bare
On Jesse's stately stem :
So they bid swart Edom wear
Fallen Israel's diadem.
Flow they throng the cloistered ground
'Mid Judah's shame and sin :
Hark to the trumpet sound
Let the sacrifice begin.
SIGNAL THE SECOND.
There is light on Hebron's towers,
Day dawns o'er Jordan's stream,
And it floats where Bethlehem's bowers
Of the blessed morning dream.
ROBERT STEPHEN HAWKER.
Yet it wakes no kingly halls,
It cleaves no purple room ;
The soft calm, radiance falls
On a cavern's vaulted gloom.
But there, where the oxen rest
When the weary day is done,
How the maiden-mother's breast
Thrills with her awful Son !
A cave where the fatlings roam,
By the ruddy heifer trod,
Yea ! the mountain's rifted home
Is the birthplace of a God !
This is he ! the mystic birth
By the sign and voice foretold ;
He shall rule the wide, wide earth,
And quench the thrones of old.
The child of Judah's line,
The son of Abraham's fame :
Arise, ye lands ! and shine
With the blessed Jesu's name.
This is the promised dawn :
So fades the night of sin \
Lo ! the gloom of death is gone,
Let the sacrifice begin.
1 JD
1 36 ROBERT STEPHEN HA 1VKER.
SIGNAL THE THIRD.
" Ho ! watchman ! what of the night ?
Tell, Christian soldier, tell ;
Are Hebron's towers in sight ?
Hast thou watched and warded well ? "
14 Yea ; we have paced the wall
Till the day-star's glimmering birth ;
And we breathed our trumpet-call
When the sunlight walked the earth."
"What sawest thou with the dawn?
Say, Christian warder, say ;
When the mists of night were gone,
And the hills grew soft with day ? n
" We beheld the morning swell
Bright o'er the eastern sea;
Till the rushing sunbeams fell
Where the westward waters be.
11 City and bulwark lay
Rich with the orient blaze,
And rocks, at the touch of day,
Gave out a sound of praise.
" No hill remained in cloud,
There lurked no darkling glen ;
And the voice of God was loud
Upon every tongue of men.
ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER. 157
There shall never more be night
With this eternal sun ;
There be Hebrons many in sight,
And the sacrifice is done."
1 3S JEREMY TA YL OR.
LXXVIL
CHRIST'S COMING TO JERUSALEM IN TRIUMPH.
Lord, come away :
Why dost thou stay ?
Thy road is ready ; and thy paths, made straight,
With longing expectation wait
The consecration of thy beauteous feet.
Ride on triumphantly : behold we lay
Our lusts and proud wills in thy way.
Hosanna ! welcome to our hearts ! Lord, here
Thou hast a temple too, and full as dear
As that of Sion, and as full of sin :
Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein.
Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor;
Crucify them, that they may never more
Profane that holy place
Where thou hast chose to set thy face ;
And then if our stiff tongues shall be
Mute in the praises of thy deity,
The stones out of the temple-wall
Shall cry aloud and call
Hosanna ! and thy glorious footsteps greet.
:
FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE. 139
LXXVIIL
FAITH AND SIGHT.
IN THE LATTER DAYS.
" I prae : sequar."
Thou say'st, " Take up thy cross,
O Man, and follow me : "
The night is black, the feet are slack,
Yet we would follow thee.
But O, dear Lord, we cry,
That we thy face could see !
Thy blessed face one moment's space —
Then might we follow thee !
Dim tracts of time divide
Those golden days from me ;
Thy voice comes strange o'er years of change
How can I follow thee ?
Comes faint and far thy voice
From vales of Galilee ;
Thy vision fades in ancient shades ;
How should we follow thee ?
i4o FRANCIS TURNER PALGRAVE.
Unchanging law binds all,
And Nature all we see :
Thou art a star, far off, too far,
Too far to follow thee !
— Ah, sense-bound heart and blind !
Is nought but what we see ?
Can time undo what once was true \
Can we not follow thee ?
Is what we trace of law
The whole of God's decree ?
Does our brief span grasp Nature's plan,
And bid not follow thee ?
O heavy cross — of faith
In what we cannot see !
As once of yore, thyself restore
And help to follow thee !
If not as once thou cam'st
In true humanity,
Come yet as guest within the breast
That burns to follow thee.
Within our heart of hearts
In nearest nearness be :
Set up thy throne within thine own : —
Go, Lord : we follow thee.
ROBER T HER RICK. 1 4 ,
LXXIX
A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE.
Lord, Thou hast given me a cell
Wherein to dwell ;
A little house, whose humble roof
Is weather-proof,
Under the spars of which I lie
Both soft and dry ;
Where Thou, my chamber for to ward,
Hast set a guard
Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep
Me while I sleep.
Low is my porch, as is my fate,
Both void of state :
And yet the threshold of my door
Is worn by th' poor,
Who thither come and freely get
Good words or meat.
Like as my parlour, so my hall
And kitchen's small :
A little buttery, and therein
A litde bin,
Which keeps my little loaf of bread
Unchipped, unQead ;
Some little sticks of thorn or brier
Make me a fire,
Close by whose living coal I sit,
And glow like it.
1 4 2 ROBERT HERRICK.
Lord, I confess too, when I dine,
The pulse is thine,
And all those other bits that be
There placed by thee ;
The worts, the purslane, and the mess
Of water-cress,
Which of thy kindness Thou has sent ;
And my content
Makes those, and my beloved beet,
To be more sweet.
Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering hearth
With guiltless mirth,
And giv'st me wassail bowls to drink,
Spiced to the brink.
Lord, 'tis thy plenty-dropping hand
That soils my land,
And giv'st me, for my bushel sown,
Twice ten for one :
Thou mak'st my teeming hen to lay
Her egg each day ;
Besides my healthful ewes to bear
Me twins each year ;
The while the conduits of my kine
Run cream, for wine.
All these, and better Thou dost send
Me, to this end,
That I should render, for my part,
A thankful heart,
Which, fired with incense, I resign
As wholly thine ;
But the acceptance, that must be,
My Christ, by thee.
KlCII.ua) WATSON GILL
LXXX.
A MADONNA OF FRA LIPPO LI PPL
No heavenly maid we here behold,
Though round her brow a ring of gold ;
This Baby, solemn-eyed and sweet,
Is human all from head to feet.
Together close her palms are prest
In worship of that Godly Guest :
But glad her heart and unafraid
While on her neck His hand is laid.
Two children, happy, laughing, gay,
Uphold the little Child in play :
Not flying angels these, what though
Four wings from their four shoulders grow.
Fra Lippo, we have learned from thee
A lesson of Humanity :
To every mother's heart forlorn,
In every house the Christ is born.
144 LEWIS MORRIS.
LXXXI.
BEHIND THE VEIL.
I paced along
The dim cathedral wrapped in reverend gloom ;
I heard the sweet child's song
Spring upwards like a fountain ; and the boom
Of the tempestuous organ-music swell ;
The hushed low voices, and the silvery bell ;
The incense-laden air ; the kneeling throng :
I knew them all, and seemed to hear the cry
Of countless myriads, rising deep and strong, —
Help us ! we faint, we die.
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ;
We seek what we shall never find.
Show but Thy face, and we are thine,
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine !
I heard the loud
Muezzin from the slender minaret call
To prayer, to prayer ; and lo ! the busy crowd,
Merchant and prince and water-carrier, all
Turned from the world, and, rapt in worship, knelt,
Facing the holy city ; and I felt
That from those myriads kneeling, prostrate, bowed,
A low moan rises to the throne on high, —
Not shut out quite by error's thickest cloud, —
Help us ! we faint, we die.
LEWIS MORRIS, 145
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind;
We seek what we shall never find.
Show but Thy face, and we arc thine,
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine.
I stood before
The glaring temples on the burning plain ;
I heard the hideous roar
Rise to the stars to drown the shrieks of pain,
What time the murderous idol swept along.
I listened to the innocent, mystic song,
Breathed to the jewelled Lotus evermore,
In the elder lands, through the ages, like a sigh,
And heard in low, sweet chant, and hateful roar, —
Help us ! we faint, we die.
Our knees are weak, our eyes are blind ,
We seek what we shall never find.
Show but Thy face, and we are thine,
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine !
Ay; everywhere
Echoes the same exceeding bitter cry.
Yet can the Father bear
To hide his presence from the children's eye ;
Lets loose on good and bad the plague and sword;
And though wrong triumph answers not a word ?
Only deep down in the heart doth he declare
His constant presence; there, though the outward sky
Be darkened, shines a little speck of fair, —
A light which cannot die.
Though knees be weak, and eyes be blind ;
Though we may seek, and never find ;
Here doth his hidden glory shine,
Unknown, Ineffable, Divine.
n
146 FREDERICK W. IE MYERS.
LXXXII.
SAINT JOHN THE BAPTIST.
<s And blessed is he, whosoever shall not be offended in me."
0 Jesus, if one minute, if one hour
Thou wouldst come hitherward and speak with John !
Nay, but be present only, nay, but come :
And I shall look, and as I look on Thee
Find in thine eyes the answer and the end.
And I am he who once in Nazareth,
A child, nor knowing yet the prophet's woe,
In childly fashion sought thee, and even then
Perceived a mute withdrawal, open eyes
That drooped not for caressing, brows that knew
Dominion, and the babe already king.
Ah, Mary, but thou also, thou as I,
With eager tremulous humilities,
With dumb appeal and tears that dared not flow,
Hast laid thy loving arms about the boy,
And clasped him wistfully and felt him far.
And ever as I grew his loveliness
Grew with me, and the yearning turned to pain.
Then said I, — " Nay, my friends, no need is now
For John to tarry with you ; I have seen,
1 have known him ; I go hence, and all alone
I carry Jesus with me till I die."
And that same day, being past the Passover,
I gat me to the desert, and stayed to see
FREDERICK 11'. If. MVER& 147
Joseph and Mary holding each a hand
Of one that followed meekly ; and I was gone,
And with strange beasts in the great wilderness
I laid me, fearing nothing, and hardly knew
On what rough meat in what unwonted ways
I throve, or how endured the frost and fire ;
But moaned and carried in my heart for him
A first and holy passion, boy for boy,
And loved the hills that looked on Nazareth,
And every fount that pours upon the plain.
Then once with trembling knees and heart afire
I ran, I sought him : but my Lord at home
Bright in the full face of the dawning day,
Stood at his carpentry, and azure air
Inarched him, scattered with the glittering green :
I saw him standing, I saw his face, I saw
His even eyebrows over eyes grey-blue,
From whence with smiling there looked out on me
A welcome and a wonder, — " Mine so soon? " —
Ah me, how sweet and unendurable
Was that confronting beauty of the boy !
Jesus, thou knowest I had no answer then,
But leapt without a word, and flung away,
And dared not think thereof, and looked no more.
And after that with wonder rose in me
Strange speech of early prophets, and a tale
First learnt and last forgotten, song that fell
With worship from the lonely Israelites,
Simeon and Anna, for these twain as one
Fast by the altar and in the courts of God
Led a long age in fair expectancy.
1^3 FREDERICK IV. II. MYERS.
For all about them swept the heedless folk,
Unholy folk and market merchandise,
They each from each took courage, and with prayer
Made ready for the coming of a King.
So, when the waves of Xoe on forest and hill
Ran ruinous, and all herbs had lost the life
Of greenness and the memory of air,
The cedar-trees alone on Lebanon
Spread steadfastly invulnerable arms.
That was no sleep when clear the vision came,
Bright in the night and truer than the day : —
For there with brows newborn and locks that flew
Was Adam, and his eyes remembered God ;
And Eve, already fallen, already in woe,
Knowing a lovelier promise for the pain ;
And after these, unknown, unknowable,
The grave gigantic visage of dead men,
With looks that are not ours, with speech to say
That no man dares interpret ; then I saw
A maiden such as countrymen afield
Greet reverently, and love her as they see ;
And after that a boy with face so fair,
With such a glory and a wonder in it,
I grieved to find him born upon the earth
To man's life and the heritage of sin ;
And last of all that Mary whom I knew
Stood with such parted lips and face aglow,
As long-since when the angel came to her •
And all these pointed forward, and I knew
That each was prophet and singer and sire and seer,
That each was priest and mother and maid and king,
J'REDl'RfCK IT. H. MYERS.
With longing for the babe of Nazareth,
For that man-child who should be born and reign.
And once again I saw him, in latter days,
Fraught with a deeper meaning, for he came
To my baptizing, and the infinite air
Blushed on his coming, and all the earth was still ;
Gently he spake; I answered; God from heaven
Called, and I hardly heard him, such a love
Streamed in that orison from man to man.
Then shining from his shoulders either-way
Fell the flood Jordan, and his kingly eyes
Looked in the east, and star-like met the sun.
Once in no manner of similitude,
And twice in thunderings and thrice in flame,
The Highest ere now hath shown him secretly ;
But when from heaven the visible Spirit in air
Came verily, lighted on him, was alone,
Then knew I, then I said it, then I saw
God in the voice and glory of a man.
And one will say, " And wilt thou not forget
The unkindly king that hath forgotten thee?"
Nay, I remember ; like my sires who sat
Faithful and stubborn by Euphrates' stream,
Nor in their age forgot Jerusalem,
Nor reared their children for another joy.
O Jesus, if thou knewest, if thou couldst know,
How in my heart through sleep and pain and prayer
Thy royalty remaineth ; how thy name
Falls from my lips unbidden, and the dark
Is thick with lying shades that are not thou, —
Couldst thou imagine it, O tender soul !
i50
FREDERICK IF. II MYERS.
At least in vision thou wouldst come to me \
I should not only hear of dumb that sing
And lame that leap around thee, and all thy ways
Joyful, and on thy breast another John.
How should I not remember? Is dusk of day
Forgetful, or the winter of the sun ?
Have these another glory ? or whom have I
In all the .world but Jesus for my love?
Whereinsoever breath may rise and die
Their generations follow on, and earth
Each in their kind replenisheth anew,
Only like him she bears not nor hath borne
One in her endless multitude of men.
JOHN KEBLE. 151
LXXXIIL
CHRIST IN THE GARDEN.
0 Lord my God, do thou thy holy will —
I will lie still —
1 will not stir, lest I forsake thine arm,
And break the charm
Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast,
In perfect rest.
Wild Fancy, peace ! thou must not me beguile
With thy false smile :
I know thy flatteries and thy cheating ways ;
Be silent, Praise,
Blind guide with siren voice, and blinding all
That hear thy call.
Come, Self-devotion, high and pure,
Thoughts that in thankfulness endure,
Though dearest hopes are faithless found,
And dearest hearts are bursting round.
Come, Resignation, spirit meek,
And let me kiss thy placid cheek,
And read in thy pale eye serene
Their blessing, who by faith can wean
Their hearts from sense, and learn to love
God only, and the joys above.
JOHN KEBLE.
They say, who know the life divine,
And upward gaze with eagle eyne,
That by each golden crown on high,
Rich with celestial jewelry,
Which for our Lord's redeemed is set,
There hangs a radiant coronet,
All gemmed with pure and living light,
Too dazzling for a sinner's sight,
Prepared for virgin souls, and them
Who seek the martyr's diadem.
Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire,
Must win their way through blood and fire.
The writhings of a wounded heart
Are fiercer than a foeman's dart.
Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining,
In desolation unrepining,
Without a hope on earth to find
A mirror in an answering mind,
Meek souls there are, who little dream
Their daily strife an Angel's theme,
Or that the rod they take so calm
Shall prove in heaven a martyr's palm.
And there are souls that seem to dwell
Above this earth — so rich a spell
Floats round their steps, where'er they move,
From hopes fulfilled and mutual love.
Such, if on high their thoughts are set,
Nor in the stream the source forget,
If prompt to quit the bliss they know,
Following the Lamb where'er he go,
JOHN KEBLE.
By purest pleasures unbeguiled
To idolize or wife or child j
Such wedded souls our God shall own
lor faultless virgins round his throne.
Thus everywhere we find our suffering God,
And where he trod
May set our steps : the Cross on Calvary
Uplifted high
Learns on the martyr host, a beacon light
In open fight.
To the still wrestlings of the lonely heait
He doth impart
The virtue of his midnight agony,
When none was nigh,
Save God and one good angel, to assuage
The tempest's rage.
Mortal ; if life smile on thee, and thou find
All to thy mind,
Think, who did once from heaven to hell descend,
Thee to befriend :
So shalt thou dare forego, at his dear call,
Thy best, thine all.
" 0 Father ! not my will, but thine be done " —
So spake the Son.
Be this our charm, mellowing Earth's ruder noise
Of griefs and joys ;
That we may cling for ever to thy breast
In perfect rest !
T54 IVILLIAM C011TER.
LXXXIV.
THE WAITING SOUL.
Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord,
And cheer me from the north ;
Blow on the treasures of thy word,
And call the spices forth !
I wish, thou knowest, to be resigned,
And wait with patient hope ;
But hope delayed fatigues the mind,
And drinks the spirits up.
Help me to reach the distant goal ;
Confirm my feeble knee ;
Pity the sickness of a soul
That faints for love of thee !
I seem forsaken and alone,
I hear the lion roar ;
And every door is shut but one,
And that is Mercy's door.
There, till the dear Deliverer come,
1 11 wait with humble prayer ;
And when he calls his exile home,
The Lord shall find him there.
EDMUND GOSSF.. 155
LXXXV.
HIE HEAVENWARD PILGRIMAGE.
X* >T with a choir of Angels without number,
And noise of lutes and lyres,
But gently, with the woven veil of slumber
Across thine awful fires,
We long to see thy face serene and tender,
Smile on us, fair and sweet,
Where round the print of thorns, in thornlike splendour,
Transcendent glories meet !
We have no hopes if Thou art near beside us,
And no profane despairs,
For all we need is thy great hand to guide us,
And lightly take our cares ;
For us is no to-day. to-night, to-morrow,
No past time nor to be,
We have no joy but thee, than sin no sorrow,
No life to live but thee !
The Cross, like pilgrim-warriors, we follow,
Led by the Eastern star ;
The wild crane knows us, and the wandering swallow,
Fled southward to Shinar \
All night the single star is bright above us,
We go with weary feet ;
For in the end we know are they who love us,
And their embrace is sweet.
156 EDMUND GOSSti.
Most sweet of all, when dark the way and moonless,
To feel a touch, a breath,
And know our fainting spirits are not tuneless,
Our unseen goal not Death \
To know that Thou, in all the old, sweet fashion,
Art near us to sustain !
We thank thee, Lord, by all thy tears and passion,
By all thy cross and pain !
And when the night, with all its pain, is over,
Across the hills of spice
Thyself, will m2et us, glowing like a lover,
Before love's Paradise ;
There are the Saints, with palms, and songs, and roses,
And better still than all,
The long, long day of Love that never closes,
Thy marriage festival !
SAMUEL WADJDINGTi 1 57
LXXXVI
"CHRIST IS NOT DEAD."
''Christ is not dead," — So spake, in accents low,
He whom we loved, the master, aged and sere :
He spake not loud, yet firm his voice and clear,
To speak whate'er he would that we should know.
11 Christ is not dead," — He spake, then paused as though
His words were mightier than such words appear
To him that hears them with a casual ear,
Nor stays to heed, but hastes where he would go.
" Christ is not dead," — and yet he paused once more,
While on his face a holy rapture shone,
As shines the sunlight on the peaceful shore
When ah the storm of life is past and gone ;
" Christ is not dead, while in your hearts," he cried,
" The lesson of his love doth still abide."
158 RICHARD WATSON GILDER,
LXXXVII.
MORNING AND NIGHT.
The mountain that the morn doth kiss
Glad greets its shining neighbour :
Lord ! heed the homage of our bliss, —
The incense of our labour.
Now the long shadows eastward creep,
The golden sun is setting :
Take, Lord ! the worship of our sleep,—
The praise of our forgetting.
JOHN AUSTIN. 159
LXXXVI1L
BLEST BE THY LOVE, DEAR LORD.
Blest be thy love, dear Lord,
That taught us this sweet way,
Only to love thee for thyself,
And for that love obey.
O thou, our souls' chief hope !
We to thy mercy fly ;
Where'er we are, thou canst protect,
Whate'er we need, supply.
Whether we sleep or wake,
To thee we both resign ;
By night we see, as well as day,
If thy light on us shine.
Whether we live or die,
Both we submit to thee ;
In death we live, as well as life,
If thine in death we be.
1 60 A' ODER T STEPHEN II A WKER.
LXXXIX.
THE SILENT TOWER OF BOTTREALV
(The rugged heights that line the seashore in the neighbourhood of
Tintagel Castle and church are crested with towers. Among these
that of Bottreau is without bells, and the silence of this wild and
lonely churchyard on festive or solemn occasions is not a little
striking. The bells were once shipped for this church, but when
the vessel was within sight of the tower the blasphemy of her cap-
tain was punished in the manner recited.)
Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide ;
The boy leans on his vessel's side,
He hears that sound, and dreams of home
Soothe the wild orphan of the foam.
" Come to thy God in time ! n
Thus saith their pealing chime :
Youth, manhood, old age past,
11 Come to thy God at last ! M
But why are Bottreau's echoes still ?
Her tower stands proudly on the hill;
Vet the strange chough that home hath found,
The lamb lies sleeping on the ground.
" Come to thy God in time ! ;'
Should be her answering chime :
" Come to thy God at last ! "
Should echo on the blast.
1 Boscastle.
ttOBER T STEPHEN HA WEEK. 1 6 1
The ship rode down with courses free,
The daughter of a distant sea :
Her sheet was loose, her anchor stored,
The merry Bottreau bells on board.
" Come to thy God in time ! n
Rang out Tintagel chime ;
Youth, manhood, old age past,
11 Come to thy God at last ! "
The pilot heard his native bells
Hang on the breeze in fitful swells ;
" Thank God," with reverent brow he cried,
"We make the shore with evening's tide."
11 Come to thy God in time ! "
It was his marriage chime :
Youth, manhood, old age past,
His bell must ring at last.
" Thank God, thou whining knave, on land,
But thank, at sea, the steersman's hand,"
The captain's voice above the gale —
" Thank the good ship and ready sail."
" Come to thy God in time ! "
Sad grew the boding chime :
" Come to thy God at last ! "
Boomed heavy on the blast.
Uprose that sea ! as if it heard
The mighty Master's signal-word :
What thrills the captain's whitening lip ?
The death-groans of his sinking ship.
12
1 62 ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER,
" Come to thy God in time ! ;J
Swung deep the funeral chime :
Grace, mercy, kindness past,
" Come to thy God at last ! "
Long did the rescued pilot tell —
When grey hairs o'er his forehead fell,
While those around would hear and weep-
That fearful judgment of the deep.
" Come to thy God in time ! "
He read his native chime :
Youth, manhood, old age past,
His bell rang out at last.
Still when the storm of Bottreaus waves
Is wakening in his weedy caves :
Those bells, that sullen surges hide,
Peal their deep notes beneath the tide :
" Come to thy God in time ! "
Thus saith the ocean chime :
Storm, billow, whirlwind past,
" Come to thy God at last ! "
AC WILL/A
xc.
THE CHILD LEANS OX ITS PARENT'S BREAST
The child leans on its parent's breast,
Leaves there its cares, and is at rest ;
The bird sits singing by his nest,
And tells aloud
His trust in God, and so is blest
'Neath every cloud.
He has no store, he sows no seed ;
Yet sings aloud, and doth not heed ;
By flowing stream or grassy mead
He sings to shame
Men who forget in fear of need
A Father's name.
The heart that trusts for ever sings,
And feels as light as it had wings ;
A well of peace within it springs :
Come good or ill,
Whate'er to-day, to-morrow brings,
It is His will !
1 64 THOMAS TORE LYNCH.
XCI.
GRACIOUS SPIRIT, DWELL WITH ME.
Gracious Spirit, dwell with me ;
I myself would gracious be,
And with words that help and heal
Would thy life in mine reveal,
And with actions bold and meek
Would for Christ my Saviour speak.
Truthful Spirit, dwell with me,
I myself would truthful be,
And with wisdom kind and clear
Let thy life in mine appear,
And with actions brotherly
Speak my Lord's sincerity.
Tender Spirit, dwell with me ;
I myself would tender be,
Shut my heart up like a flower
At temptation's darksome hour,
Open it when shines the sun,
And His love by fragrance own.
Silent Spirit, dwell with me ;
I myself would quiet be,
THOMAS TORE LYNCH. 165
Quiet as the growing blade
Which through earth its way has made.
Silently, like morning light,
Putting mists and chills to flight.
Mighty Spirit, dwell with me;
I myself would mighty be,
Mighty so as to prevail
Where unaided man must fail,
Ever by a mighty hope
Pressing on and bearing up.
Holy Spirit, dwell with me ;
I myself would holy be ;
Separate from sin, I would
Choose and cherish all things good,
And whatever I can be
Give to Him who gave me thee.
1 66 WILLIAM DR U3LM0XD.
XCIL
THE NATIVITY OF OUR LORD.
i.
THE ANGELS.
Run, shepherds, run where Bethlehem blest appears,
We bring the best of news ; be not dismayed :
A Saviour there is born more old than years,
Amidst heaven's rolling heights this earth who stayed.
In a poor cottage inn'd, a virgin maid
A weakling did him bear, who all upbears ;
There is he poorly swaddled, in manger laid,
To whom too narrow swaddlings are our spheres :
Run, shepherds, run, and solemnize his birth ;
This is that night — no, day, grown great with bliss,
In which the power of Satan broken is :
In heaven be glory, peace unto the earth !
Thus singing, through the air the angels swam,
And cope of stars re-echoed the same.
WILLIAM DRUMMOXLK
II
THE SHEPHERDS.
O than the fairest day, thrice fairer night !
Night to best days, in which a sun doth rise,
Of which that golden eye which clears the skies
Is but a sparkling ray, a shadow-light !
And blessed ye, in silly pastors' sight,
Mild creatures, in whose warm crib now lies
That heaven-sent youngling, holy maid-born wight,
Midst, end, beginning of our prophecies :
Blest cottage that hath flowers in winter spread,
Though withered ! blessed grass, that hath the grace
To deck and be a carpet to that place !
Thus sang, unto the sounds of oaten reed,
Before the babe, the shepherds bowed on knees ;
And springs ran nectar, honey dropped from tree-.
i68 ISAAC WILLIAMS.
XCIII.
ST. WENCESLAUS.
The snow lies deep throughout the n»ght
O'er hill, and grove, and town,
And on its silvery mantle bright
The cold clear moon looks down.
Heap up the 7c-oed, the rich man cries —
The fire burns bright and warm ;
Inward to Heaven the poor man sighs,
And trembles at the storm.
There gently steals a form of good,
Like one from Bethlehem's shed,
His shoulders bear a pile of wood,
A kingly crown his head.
King Wenceslaus, monarch mild —
He seeks a cottage-door ;
" Friend of the friendless " is he styled,
And " father of the poor."
Help me, my honoured king and lord,
Then cried his servant old \
Unless thou timely aid afford,
I sink benumbed with eold.
ISAAC WILLIAMS.
r faithful servant ^ said the Sai
Come on, and follow me;
Lift up thy heart without complaint,
And I will pray for Hue.
Then in his master's footsteps bold,
He followed 'mid the snow, —
His master's footsteps 'mid the cold
Seemed with a fire to glow.
His heart so chilled then waxed warm,
The ice and snow among,
And all throughout his aged form
A kindly warmth hath sprung.
So burned within that kingly heart
With holy love of God,
That there was found a fire to start
From footsteps where he trod.
And to that heart such power was given
In winter's cold and storm,
Thereat, as by a fire from Heaven,
The sick and poor were warm.
i : o IJENR Y II A R T 3IILMAN.
XCIV.
THE LOVE OF GOD.
i.
Love thee ! — oh, Thou, the world's eternal sire !
Whose palace is the vast infinity,
Time, space, height, depth, oh God ! are full of thee,
And sun-eyed seraphs tremble and admire.
Love thee ; — but Thou art girt with vengeful fire,
And mountains quake, and banded nations flee,
And terror shakes the wide unfathomed sea,
When the heavens rock with thy tempestuous ire.
Oh, Thou ! too vast for thought to comprehend,
That wast ere time, — shall be when time is o'er ;
Ages and worlds begin — grow old — and end,
Systems and suns thy changeless throne before,
Commence and close their cycles : lost, I bend
To earth my prostrate soul, and shudder, and adore !
HENRY HART MILMAK
ii.
Love thee ! — oh, clad in human lowliness,
In whom each heart its mortal kindred knows —
Our flesh, our form, our tears, our pains, our woes, —
A fellow-wanderer o'er earth's wilderness !
Love thee ! — whose every word but breathes to bless !
Through thee, from long-sealed lips glad language flows \
The blind their eyes, that laugh with light, unclose ;
And babes, unchid, thy garment's hem caress :
I see thee, doomed by bitterest pangs to die,
Up the sad hill, with willing footsteps, move,
With scourge, and taunt, and wanton agony,
While the cross nods, in hideous gloom, above,
Though all— even there— be radiant Deity !
Speechless I gaze, and my whole soul is Love !
1 7 2 JOSEPH ADD I SOX,
XCV.
AN ODE ON THE CREATION.
The spacious firmament on high,
With all the blue ethereal sky,
And spangled heavens, a shining frame,
Their great Original proclaim.
The unwearied sun from day to day,
Does his Creator's power display;
And publishes, to ever}7 land,
The work of an Almighty hand.
Soon as the evening shades prevail,
The moon takes up the wondrous tale •
And nightly, to the listening earth,
Repeats the story of her birth •
Whilst all the stars that round her burn,
And all the planets, in their turn,
Confirm the tidings as they roll,
And spread the truth from pole to pole.
What though, in solemn silence, all
Move round the dark terrestrial ball ;
What though no real voice, nor sound
Amidst their radiant orbs be found.
In reason's ear they all rejoice,
And utter forth a glorious voice \
For ever singing as they shine —
" The hand that made us is divine ! "
SABINE BARING-GOULD.
VI.
CEDRON'S WELL.
The moon was bright, that Paschal night,
O'er Cedron's dark and rocky dell ;
And Cedron's torrent glancing bright,
As silver flashed and fell.
The Saviour stood, and prayed, " I would
That those whom thou hast given me
Should ever stand, a constant band,
In steadfast Unity.
" That from the fold wherein I hold
The sheep I love, should wander none ;
As thou in me, and I in thee,
They all may be as one."
As Cedron flows from whence it rose
One stream throughout from source to sea,
The Church in time and every clime
Is one, and one will be.
Though many a rill falls in to fill
The shining river as it glides,
Yet none will think to o'erleap the brink,
Each in the bed abides.
[74
SABINE BARIXG-GOULD.
And all, the same, with common aim
And common impulse onward flow;
And none rebel, but join to swell,
One stream as on they go.
O keep us, Lord, the sole Adored,
In unity assured with thee,
All one in Faith, all one in Hope,
And one in Charity.
.
. RY alio:
XCYII.
"I HAVE FOUND PEACE."
I have found Peace in the bright earth,
.And in the sunny sky : —
By the low voice of summer seas,
And where streams murmur by.
I 6nd it in the quiet tone
Of voices that I love :
Ly the flickering of a twilight fire,
And in a leafless grove !
I find it in the silent flow
Of solitary thought :
In calm half-meditated dreams,
And reasonings self-taught j
But seldom have I found such peace,
As in the soul's deep joy
Of passing onward free from harm
Through every day's employ.
If gems we seek, we only tire,
And lift our hopes too high ;
The constant flowers that line our way
Alone can satisfy.
EDWARD DO WD EM
XCVIII.
EMMAUSWARD.
Lord Christ, if thou art with us and the?j eyes
Are holden, while we go sadly and say,
" We hoped it had been he, and now t)-day
Is the third day, and hope within us dies/'
Bear with us, oh, our Master, thou art wise
And knowest our foolishness ; we do not pray,
" Declare thyself, since weary grows the way,
And faith's new burden hard upon us lies."
Nay, choose thy time ; but ah ! whoe'er thou art,
Leave us not ; where have we heard any voice
Like thine ? Our hearts burn in us as we go ;
Stay with us ; break our bread ; so, for our part,
Ere darkness falls haply we may rejoice,
Haply when day has been far spent may know.
' CLOUGII. 177
IX.
"0 THOU WHOSE IMAGE IN THE SHRIN
O Thou whose image in the shrine
Of human spirits dwells divine ;
Which from that precinct once conveyed,
To be to outer day displayed,
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again !
0 Thou that in our bosom's shrine
Dost dwell, unknown because divine !
1 thought to speak, I thought to say,
'; The light is here," " behold the way,"
" The voice was thus/' and " thus the word,"
And " thus I saw," and "that I heard,"—
Eut from the lips that half essayed
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.
0 Thou, in that mysterious shrine
Enthroned, as I must say, divine !
1 will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.
I will not prate of " thus " and " so,"
And be profane with " yes " and " no,"
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatsoe'er Thou may'st be, art,
13
178 ARTHUR HUGH C LOUGH.
Unseen, secure in that high shrine,
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day to place Thee there ;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women saw Thee thus and then :
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her Thou didst appear.
Do only Thou in that dim shrine,
Unknown or known, remain, divine ;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies,
The hand to sway, the judgment guide,
In sight and sense Thyself divide :
Be Thou but there, — in soul and heart,
I will not ask to feel Thou art.
HORATIVS BONAR. 179
C.
LM ME, MY GOD, AND KEEP ME CALM."
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
While these hot breezes blow ;
Be like the night-dew's cooling balm
Upon earth's fevered brow !
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
Soft resting on thy breast ;
Soothe me with holy hymn and psalm,
And bid my spirit rest.
Calm me, my God, and keep me calm,
Let thine outstretched wing
Be like the shade of Elim's palm
Beside her desert-spring.
Yes ; keep me calm, though loud and rude
The sounds my ear that greet \
Calm in the closet's solitude,
Calm in the bustling street ;
Calm in the hour of buoyant health,
Calm in my hour of pain \
Calm in my poverty or wealth.
Calm in mv loss or gain :
i So 110 R A TIUS BONAR.
Calm in the sufferance of wrong,
Like him who bore my shame ;
Calm 'mid the threatening, taunting throng,
Who hate thy holy name \
Calm when the great world's news with power
My listening spirit stir :
Let not the tidings of the hour
E'er find too fond an ear :
Calm as the ray of sun or star
Which storms assail in vain,
Moving unruffled through earth's war
Th' eternal calm to gain.
ANDREW MARVELL.
CI.
THE CORONET.
When for the thorns with which I long, too long,
With many a piercing wound,
My Saviour's head have crowned,
I seek with garlands to redress that wrong :
Through every garden, every mead,
I gather flowers, my fruits are only flowers,
Dismantling all the fragrant towers
That once adorned my shepherdess's head :
And now, when I have summed up all my store,
Thinking — so I myself deceive —
So rich a chaplet thence to weave
As never yet the King of Glory wore ;
Alas ! I find the Serpent old,
That, twining in his speckled breast,
About the flowers disguised, does fold
With wreaths of fame and interest.
Ah, foolish man, that wouldst debase with them,
And mortal glory, heaven's diadem !
But Thou who only couldst the Serpent tame,
Either his slippery knots at once untie,
And disentangle all his winding snare,
Or shatter, too, with him my curious frame,
And let these wither so that he may die —
Though set with skill, and chosen out with care ;
That they, while thou on both their spoils dost tread,
May crown thy feet that could not crown thy head.
1 82 ELIZABETH BARRETT BRO WXIXG.
CII.
CHORUS OF EDEN SPIRITS.
(From " A Drama of Exile.")
Hearken, oh hearken ! let your souls behind ycu
Turn, gently moved !
Our voices feel along the Dread to find you,
O lost, beloved !
Through the thick-shielded and strong-marshalled angels.
They press and pierce :
Our requiems follow fast on our evangels, —
Voice throbs in verse.
We are but orphaned spirits left in Eden
A time ago :
God gave us golden cups, and we were bidden
To feed you so.
But now our right hand hath no cup remaining,
No work to do,
The mystic hydromel is spilt, and staining
The whole earth through.
Most ineradicable stains, for showing
(Not interfused !)
That brighter colours were the world's foregoing,
Than shall be used.
Hearken, oh hearken ! ye shall hearken surely
For years and years,
The noise beside you, dripping coldly, purely,
Of spirits' tears.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. 18
The yearning to a beautiful denied you,
Shall strain your powers :
Ideal sweetness shall over-glide you,
Resumed from ours.
In all your music, our pathetic minor
Your cars shall cross ;
And all good gifts shall mind you of diviner,
With sense of loss.
We shall be near you in your poet-languors
And wild extremes,
What time ye vex the desert with vain angers,
Or mock with dreams.
And when upon you, weary after roaming,
Death's seal is put,
By the foregone ye shall discern the coming,
Through eyelids shut.
i
1 84 HENRY VAUGHAN.
CUT.
THE NIGHT.
(John iii. 2.)
Through that pure virgin-shrine,
That sacred veil drawn o'er thy glorious noon,
That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine
And face the moon,
Wise Nicodemus saw such light
As made him know his God by night.
Most ble^t believer he,
Who in that land of darkness and blind eyes,
Thy long-expected healing wings could see
When thou didst rise !
And, what can never more be done,
Did at midnight speak with the sun !
O who will tell me where
He found thee at that dead and silent hour ?
What hallowed solitary ground did bear
So rare a flower,
Within whose sacred leaves did lie
The fulness of the Deity?
HENRY win; II AX.
No mercy seat of gold,
dead and dusty (hem!), nor carved stone,
But his own living works did my Lord hold
And lodge alone,
Where trees and herbs did watch and pc
And wonder, while the Jews did sle
Dear night ! this world's defeat ;
The stop to busy fools ; care's check and curb
The day of spirits ; my soul's calm retreat
Which none disturb ;
Christ's progress, and his prayer-time, —
The hours to which high heaven doth chime;
God's silent, searching flight ;
When my Lord's head is filled with dew, and all
His locks are wet with the clear drops of night ;
His still, soft call ;
His knocking time ; the soul's dumb watch,
When spirits their fair kindred catch ;
Were my loud, evil days
Calm and unhaunted as is thy dark tent,
Whose peace but by some angel's wing or voice
Is seldom rent,
Then I in heaven all the long year
Would keep, and never wander here.
But living where the sun
Doth all things wake, and where all mix and tire
Themselves and others, I consent and run
To every mire ;
And by this world's ill-guiding light,
Err more than I can do by night.
D
1 36 HENRY VAUGHAN.
There is in God, some say,
A deep but dazzling darkness ; as men here
Say it is late and dusky, because they
See not all clear :
O for that night ! where I in him
Might live invisible and dim !
GEORGE WITHER,
CIV.
A ROCKING HYMN.
Sweet baby, sleep ; what ails my dear ?
What ails my darling thus to cry ?
Ee still, my child, and lend thine ear,
To hear me sing thy lullaby.
My pretty lamb, forbear to weep,
ill, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear?
What thing to thee can mischief do ?
Thy God is now thy father dear ;
His holy spouse thy mother too.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe \ sweet baby, sleep.
Though thy conception was in sin,
A sacred bathing thou hast had ;
And though thy birth unclean hath been,
A blameless babe thou now art made.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep.
While thus thy lullaby I sing,
For thee great blessings ripening be;
Thine eldest brother is a king,
And hath a kingdom bought for thee.
iSS GEORGE WITHER.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe \ sweet baby, sleep.
Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear ;
For, whosoever thee offends,
By thy protector threatened are,
And God and angels are thy friends
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
When God with us was dwelling here,
In little babes he took delight \
Such innocents as thou, my dear,
Are ever precious in his sight.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
A little infant once was he,
And strength in weakness then was laid
Upon his virgin mother's knee
That power to thee might be conveyed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
The King of kings, when he was born,
Had not so much for outward ease ;
By him such dressings wrere not worn,
Nor such like swaddling clothes as these.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
GEORGE WITHER.
Within a manger lodged thy Lord,
Where oxen lay, and asses fed ;
Warm rooms we do to thee afford,
An easy cradle or a bed.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep :
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
The wants that he did then sustain
Have purchased wealth, my babe, for thee ;
And by his torments, and his pain,
Thy rest and ease secured be.
My baby, then, forbear to weep;
Ee still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep.
Thou hast yet more to perfect this,
A promise and an earnest got
Of gaining everlasting bliss,
Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not.
Sweet baby, then, forbear to weep ;
Be still, my babe; sweet baby, sleep.
1 90 SM JOHN BE A UMONT.
CV.
THE EPIPHAXY.
Fair eastern star, that art ordained to run
Before the sages, to the rising sun,
Here cease thy course, and wonder that the cloud
Of this poor stable can thy Maker shroud :
Ye, heavenly bodies, glory to be bright,
And are esteemed as ye are rich in light ;
But here on earth is taught a different way,
Since under this low roof the highest lay.
Jerusalem erects her stately towers,
Displays her windows, and adorns her bowers ;
Yet there thou must not cast a trembling spark ;
Let Herod's palace still continue dark ;
Each school and synagogue thy force repels,
There Pride, enthroned in misty error, dwells ;
The temple, where the priests maintain their choir,
Shall taste no beam of thy celestial fire,
While this weak cottage all thy splendour takes :
A joyful gate of every chink it makes.
Here shines no golden roof, no ivory stair,
No king exalted in a stately chair,
Girt with attendants, or by heralds styled,
But straw and hay enwrap a speechless child ;
Yet Sabas's lords before this babe unfold
Their treasures, offering incense, myrrh, and gold.
SIR JOHN BEAUMONT. 191
The crib becomes an altar : therefore dies
No ox nor sheep ; for in their fodder lies
The Prince of Peace, who, thankful for his bed,
Destroys those rites in which their blood was shed :
The quintessence of earth he takes and fe
And precious gums distilled from weeping trees ;
Rich metals and sweet odours now declare
The glorious blessings which his laws prepare,
To clear us from the base and loathsome flood
Of sense, and make us fit for angels' food,
Who lift to God for us the holy smoke
Of fervent prayers with which we him invoke,
And try our actions in that searching fire,
By which the seraphim our lips inspire :
No muddy dross pure minerals shall infect,
We shall exhale our vapours up direct :
No storms shall cross, nor glittering lights deface
Perpetual sighs which seek a happy place.
192 JOHN KEBLE.
CVI.
ST. MATTHEW.
Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids,
The nearest heaven on earth,
Who talk with God in shadowy glades,
Free from rude care and mirth ;
To whom some viewless teacher brings
The secret lore of rural things,
The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale,
The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale :
Say, when in pity ye have gazed
On the wreath'd smoke afar,
That o'er some town, like mist upraised,
Hung hiding sun and star ;
Then, as ye turned your weary eye
To the green earth and open sky,
Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell
Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel ?
But Love's a flower that will not die
For lack of leafy screen,
And Christian Hope can cheer the eye
That ne'er saw vernal green :
Then be ye sure that Love can bless
Even in this crowded loneliness,
WThere ever-moving myriads seem to say,
Go — thou art nought to us, nor we to thee — away !
JOHN ki:
re arc in this loud stunning tide
Of human rare and crime,
With whom the melodies abide
Of the everlasting chime ;
Who carry music in their heart,
Through dusky lane and wrangling mart,
Plying their daily task with busier feet,
Because their secret souls a holy strain repeat.
M
1 94 HARTLE Y COLERIDGE.
CVII.
ELIJAH.
A little cake he asked for, that was all ;
And that she gave — 'twas all she had to give
To the poor hungry Prophet fugitive ;
Not knowing quite, she yet believed the call,
And she was blest. Within her cottage wall
By day the Prophet prays, at night he lies,
Whose prayer and presence daily multiplies
The meat and cruse that, let what will befall,
Shall still suffice for each successive day.
She gave a little, and she gave enough,
And taught us how to use the passive stuff
That earth affords, — to give and still to pray.
Hope be the Prophet, and the cruse Content !
Where Hope abides the cruse shall ne'er be spent.
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
CVIII.
FOR EVER WITH THE LORD.
For ever with the Lord !
Amen ! so let it be !
Life from the dead is in that word,
And immortality !
Here in the body pent,
Absent from him I roam,
Yet nightly pitch my moving tent
A day's march nearer home.
My Father's house on high,
Home of my soul ! how near,
At times, to faith's foreseeing eye,
Thy golden gates appear !
Ah ! then my spirit faints
To reach the land I love,
The bright inheritance of saints,
Jerusalem above !
Yet clouds will intervene,
And all my prospect flies ;
Like Noah's dove, I flit between
Rough seas and stormy skies.
1 96 JAMES MONTGOMER Y.
Anon the clouds depart,
The winds and waters cease ;
While sweetly o'er my gladden'd heart
Expands the bow of peace !
Beneath its glowing arch,
Along the hallowed ground
I see cherubic armies march,
A camp of fire around.
I hear at morn and even,
At noon and midnight hour,
The choral harmonies of heaven
Earth's Babel tongues o'erpowcr.
Then, then I feel that he,
Remembered or forgot,
The Lord is never far from me,
Though I perceive him not.
INCIS QUAHLES.
CIX.
"WHOM HAVE I IN HEAVEN BUT THEE? AND
WHAT DESIRE I ON EARTH IN RESPECT
OF THEE?"
I love, and have some cause to love, the earth :
She is my Maker's creature, therefore good :
She is my mother, for she gave me birth ;
She is my tender nurse ; she gives me food :
But what's a creature, Lord, compared with thee ?
Or what's my mother, or my nurse to me ?
I love the air • her dainty sweets refresh
My drooping soul, and to new sweets invite me ;
Her shrill-mouthed choir sustain me with their flesh,
And with their Polyphonian notes delight me :
But what's the air or all the sweets that she
Can bless my soul withal, compared to thee ?
I love the sea ; she is my fellow creature ;
My careful purveyor ; she provides me store :
She walls me round ; she makes my diet greater j
She wafts my treasure from a foreign shore ;
But Lord of oceans, when compared with thee,
What is the ocean, or her wealth to me ?
198 FRANCIS QUARLES.
To heaven's high city I direct my journey,
Whose spangled suburbs entertain mine eye ;
Mine eye, by contemplation's great attorney,
Transcends the crystal pavement of the sky :
But what is heaven, great God, compared to thee ?
Without thy presence heaven's no heaven to me.
Without thy presence earth gives no refection ;
Without thy presence sea affords no treasure ;
Without thy presence air's a rank infection ;
Without thy presence heaven itself 's no pleasure :
If not possest, if not enjoyed in thee,
What's earth, or sea, or air, or heaven to me ?
The highest honours that the world can boast
Are subjects far too low for my desire ;
The brightest beams of glory are, at most,
But dying sparkles of thy living fire ;
The proudest flames that earth can kindle, be
But nightly glow-worms, if compared to thee.
Without thy presence wealth are bags of cares ;
Wisdom, but folly ; joy, disquiet sadness ;
Friendship is treason, and delights are snares ;
Pleasures but pain, and mirth but pleasing madness :
Without thee, Lord, things be not what they be,
Nor have they being, when compared with thee.
In having all things, and not thee, what have I ?
Xot having thee, what have my labours got ?
Let me enjoy but thee, what further crave I?
And having thee alone, what have I not ?
I wish nor sea, nor land, nor would I be
Possest of heaven, heaven unpossest of thee.
RICHARD *
CX.
TE DEUM LAUDAMUS.
Round the Lord in glory seated
Cherubim and Seraphim
Filled his temple, and repeated
Each to each th' alternate hymn.
"Lord, thy glory fills the heaven,
• Earth is with its fulness stored ;
L'nto thee be glory given,
Holy, holy, holy Lord ! "
Heaven is still with glory ringing,
Earth takes up the angel's cry,
" Holy, holy, holy," — singing,
" Lord of hosts, the Lord most high."
With his seraph train before him,
With his holy Church below,
Thus conspire we to adore him,
Bid we thus our anthem flow : —
" Lord, thy glory fills the heaven.
Earth is with thy fulness stored,
Unto thee be glory given,
Holy, holy, holy Lord ! "
200 WILLIAM BLAKE.
CXI.
ON ANOTHER'S SORROW.
Can I see another's woe,
And not be in sorrow too ?
Can I see another's grief,
And not seek for kind relief?
Can I see a falling tear,
And not feel my sorrow's share ?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filFd ?
Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear ?
No, no, never can it be,
Never, never can it be.
And can He who smiles on all
Hear the wren with sorrows small,
Hear the small bird's grief and care,
Hear the woes that infants bear.
And not sit beside the nest,
Pouring pity in their breast ;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear:
WILLIAM BLAKE.
And not sit, both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away ?
O ! no, never can it be,
Never, never can it be.
He doth give His joy to all ;
He becomes an infant small ;
He becomes a man of woe \
He doth feel the sorrow too.
Think not thou canst sigh a sigh
And thy Maker is not by ;
Think not thou canst weep a tear
And thy Maker is not near.
O ! He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy :
Till our grief is lied and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.
202 JOHN MASON NEALE.
CXIL
THE GUIDE.
(From "St. Stephen the Sabaite.")
Art thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distrest ?
" Come to me," saith One, " and coming
Be at rest ! "
Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my guide ?
" In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side."
Hath he diadem as monarch
That his brow adorns ?
" Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns ! "
If I find him, if I follow,
What his guerdon here ?
" Many a sorrow, many a labour,
Many a tear."
If I still hold closely to him,
What hath he at last ?
•'' Sorrow vanquished, labour ended,
Jordan past ! "
JOHN MASON NEAZE.
If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay ?
" Not till earth, and not till heaven
Pass away I "
Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is he sure to bless?
11 Angels, martyrs, prophets, virgins,
Answer, Yes ! "
2 o4 CHARLES KINGSLE Y.
CXIII.
A FAREWELL.
My fairest child, I have no song to give you ;
No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey :
Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave you
For every day.
Be good, sweet maid, and let who will be clever ;
Do noble things, nor dream them all day long \
And so make life, death, and that vast forever
One grand, sweet song.
1/EXR Y U'.l DSll 'OR Til I. ONGFELL 0 M .
CXIV.
VESPER SONG.
(From "The Golden Legend.''
O GLADSOME light
Of the Father Immortal
And of the celestial
Sacred and blessed
Jesus, our Saviour !
Now to the sunset
Again hast thou brought us ;
And, seeing the evening
Twilight, we bless thee,
Praise thee, adore thee !
Father Omnipotent !
Son, the Life-giver !
Spirit, the Comforter !
Worthy at all times
Of worship and wonder !
2o6 ROBERT STEPHEN HA WKER.
cxv.
"THE NIGHT COMETH."
When darkness fills the western sky,
And sleep, the twin of death, is nigh,
What soothes the soul at set of sun ?
The pleasant thought of duty done.
Yet must the pastoral slumbers be
The shepherd's — by the eastern tree —
Broken and brief, with dreams that tell
Of ravaged flock and poisoned well !
Be still, my soul ! fast wears the night,
Soon shall day dawn in holier light :
Old faces — ancient hearts — be there,
And well-known voices thrill the air !
LEWIS MORA' IS.
CXVL
A HYMN IN TIME OF IDOLS.
Though they may crowd
Rite upon rite, and mystic song on song ;
Though the deep organ loud
Through the long nave reverberate full and strong ;
Though the weird priest,
Whom rolling clouds of incense half conceal,
By gilded robes increased,
Mutter and sign, and proudly prostrate kneel ;
Not pomp, nor song, nor bended knee
Shall bring them any nearer Thee.
I would not hold
Therefore that those who worship still where they,
In dear dead days of old,
Their distant sires knelt once and passed away,
May not from carven stone,
High arching nave and reeded column fine,
And the thin soaring tone
Of the keen organ catch a breath divine,
Or that the immemorial sense
Of worship adds not reverence.
But by some bare
Hillside or plain, or crowded city street,
Wherever purer spirits are,
2o8
LE WIS MORRIS.
Or hearts with love inflamed together meet,
Rude bench or naked wall,
Humble and sordid to the world-dimmed sight,
On these shall come to fall
A golden ray of consecrating light,
And thou within the midst shalt there
Invisible receive the prayer.
In every home,
Wherever there are loving hearts and mild,
Thou still dost deign to come,
Clothed with the likeness of a little child.
Upon the earth thou still
Dwellest with them at meat, or work, or play.
Thou who all space dost fill
Art with the pure and humble day by day ;
Thou treasurest the tears they weep,
And watchest o'er them while they sleep.
Spirit and Word
That still art hid in every faithful heart,
Indwelling Thought and Lord —
How should they doubt who know thee as thou art ?
How think to bring thee near
By magic words, or signs, or any spell,
Who art among us here,
Who always in the loving soul dost dwell,
Who art the staff and stay indeed
Of the weak knees and hands that bleed ?
II VS MORRIS, 209
Then let them take
Their pagan trappings, and their lifeless lore :
Let us arise and make
A worthy temple where was none before.
Each soul is its own shrine,
Its priesthood, its sufficient sacrifice,
Its cleansing fount divine,
Its hidden store of precious sanctities.
Those only fit for priestcraft are
From whom their Lord and KinGr is far.
T5
2io SIR HENRY WOTTON.
CXVII.
THE CHARACTER OF A HAPPY LIFE.
How happy is he born and taught
That serveth not another's will \
Whose armour is his honest thought,
And silly truth his highest skill •
Whose passions not his master are ;
Whose soul is still prepared for death,
Untied to the world with care
Of prince's grace or vulgar breath ;
Who hath his life from humours free ;
Whose conscience is his strong retreat ;
Whose state can neither flatterers feed,
Nor ruin make accusers great :
Who envieth none whom chance doth raise,
Or vice ; who never understood
How swords give slighter wounds than praise,
Nor rules of state, but rules of good ;
Who God doth late and early pray
More of his grace than gifts to lend ;
And entertains the harmless day
With a well-chosen book or friend.
SIR HENR V WO TTON. 1 1 1
This man is free from servile hands
( H hope to rise, or fear to fall ;
Lord of himself, though not of lands,
And having nothing, yet hath all.
2i2 JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
CXVIII.
THE TWO ANGELS,
God called the nearest angels who dwell with him above :
The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love,
il Arise/' he said, "my angels ! a wail of woe and sin
Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens ^11 within-,
" My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost
world swells,
The smoke of torment clouds the light and Wights the as-
phodels.
" Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of
pain
Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like
rain ! "
Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden
hair;
Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of
air.
The way was strange, the flight was long ; at last the angels
came
Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in ray-
less flame.
JOHN GREENLEAF WHITTIER.
Then Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too
strong for fear,
Took heart from Clod's almightiness, and smiled a smile of
cheer.
And lo ! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it
fell,
And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into
hell!
Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne,
Four white wings folded at the feet of him who sat thereon !
And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling
flake,
Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake —
" Welcome, my angels ! ye have brought a holier joy to
heaven ;
Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin for-
given i
t »
2i4 JOHN AUSTIN.
CXIX.
A HYMN.
Dear Jesu ! when, when will it be
That I no more shall break with thee ?
When will this war of passion cease,
And let my soul enjoy thy peace ?
Here I repent and sin again :
Now I revive and now am slain ;
Slain with the same unhappy dart
Which, O ! too often wounds my heart.
AVhen, dearest Lord ! when shall I be
A garden sealed to all but thee ?
No more exposed, no more undone ;
But live and grow to thee alone.
Tis not, alas ! on this low earth
That such pure flowers can find a birth :
Only they spring above the skies,
Where none can live till here he dies.
Then let me die, that I may go
And dwell where those bright lilies grow ;
AVhere those best plants of glory rise,
And make a safer paradise.
JOHN AUSTIN.
No dangerous fruit, no tempting Eve,
No crafty serpent to deceive ;
But we Like gods indeed shall be J
O let me die that life to see !
Thus says my song ; but does my heart
Join with the words, and sing its part?
Am I so thorough wise to choose
The other world and this refuse ?
Why should I not? what do I find
That fully here contents my mind ?
What is this meat, and drink, and sleep,
That such poor things from heaven should keep ?
What is this honour, or great place,
Or bag of money, or fair face,
What's all the world that thus we should
Still long to dwell with flesh and blood ?
Fear not, my soul ; stand to the word
Which thou hast sung to thy dear Lord :
Let but thy love be firm and true,
And with more heat thy wish renew.
O may this dying life make haste
To die into true life at last :
Xo hope have I to live before \
But there to live and die no more.
2 1 6 WILLIAM DR UMMOND.
CXX.
FROM " FLOWERS OF SION."
i.
THE EAPT1ST.
The last and greatest herald of heaven's king,
Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild,
Among that savage brood the woods forth bring,
Which he than man more harmless found and mild
His food was locusts, and what young doth spring,
With honey that from virgin hives distilled ;
Parched body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing
Made him appear long since from earth exiled.
Then burst he forth : " All ye, whose hopes rely
On God, with me amid these deserts mourn \
Repent, repent, and from old errors turn."
Who listened to his voice, obeyed his cry ?
Only the echoes, which he made relent,
Rung from their marble caves, " Repent, repent ! "
X
\
117/. /JAM DRVMMOND.
ii.
THE MAGDALEN.
These eyes, dear Lord, once brandons of desire,
Frail scouts betraying what they had to keep,
Which their own heart, then others set on fire,
Their traitorous black before thee here out-weep ;
These locks, of blushing deeds the fair attire,
Smooth-frizzled waves, sad shelves which shadow deep,
Soul-stinging serpents in gilt curls which creep,
To touch thy sacred feet do now aspire.
In seas of Care behold a sinking bark,
By winds of sharp remorse unto thee driven,
O ! let me not exposed be Ruin's mark \
My faults confest, — Lord, say they are forgiven.
Thus sighed to Jesus the Bethanian fair,
His tear-wet feet still drying with her hair.
2i8 JOHN KEBLE.
CXXI.
FOREST LEAVES IN AUTUMN.
Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun,
The line of yellow light dies fast away
That crowned the eastern copse : and chill and dun
Falls on the moor the brief November day.
Now the tired hunter winds a parting note,
And Echo bids good-night from every glade ;
Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float
Each to his rest beneath their parent shade.
How like decaying life they seem to glide !
And yet no second spring have they in store,
But where they fall forgotten to abide
Is all their portion, and they ask no more.
Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing,
A thousand wild- flowers round them shall unfold,
The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring,
And all be vernal rapture as of old.
Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie,
In all the world of busy life around
No thought of them ; fn all the bounteous sky
No drop, for them, of kindly influence found.
JOHN KEBLK 219
Man's { union is to die and rise again —
Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part
With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain,
As his when Eden held his virgin heart
And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice
Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life
Only the first renewed — the heathen's choice,
A round of listless joy and weary strife.
For dreary were this earth, if earth were all,
Though brightened oft by dear affection's kiss ;-
Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall ?
JJut catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis bliss.
Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart,
Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne
On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart
O'er wave or field : yet breezes laugh to scorn
Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven,
And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main,
And stars that shoot through freezing air at even
Who but would follow, might he break his chain ?
And thou shalt break it soon ; the grovelling worm
Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free
As his transfigured Lord with lightning form
And snowy vest — such grace he won for thee,
ilo JOHN KEBLE.
When from the grave he sprung at dawn of morn,
And led through boundless air thy conquering road,
Leaving a glorious track, where saints new-born
Might fearless follow to their blest abode.
But first by many a stern and fiery blast
The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine,
And many a gale of keenest woe be passed,
Till every pulse beat true to airs divine \
Till every limb obey the mounting soul,
The mounting soul, the call by Jesus given.
He who the stormy heart can so control,
The laggard body soon will waft to heaven.
5 HERBERT.
AA RON,
Holiness on the head ;
Light and perfections on the breast ;
Harmonious bells below, raising the dead,
To lead them unto life and rest —
Thus are true Aarons drest.
Profaneness in my head ;
Defects and darkness in my breast ;
A noise of passions ringing me for dead
Unto a place where is no rest —
Poor priest, thus am I drest !
Only another head
I have, another heart and breast,
Another music, making live, not dead,
Without whom I could have no rest —
In him I am well drest.
Christ is my only head,
My alone only heart and breast,
My only music, striking me even dead,
That to the old man I may rest,
And be in him new drest.
222 GEORGE HERBERT.
So holy in my head,
Perfect and light in my dear breast,
My doctrine turned by Christ, who is not dead,
But lives in me while I do rest —
Come, people : Aaron's drest.
LORD BYRON.
CXXIII.
"A SPIRIT PASSED BEFORE ME.'5
(From Job.)
A spirit passed before me : I beheld
The face of immortality unveiled —
Deep sleep came down on every eye save mine —
And there it stood, — all formless — but divine :
Along my bones the creeping flesh did quake :
And as my damp air stiffened, thus it spake :
11 Is man more just than God ? Is man more pure
Than He who deems even Seraphs insecure ?
Creatures of clay — vain dwellers in the dust !
The moth survives you, and are ye more just?
Things of a day ! you wither ere the night,
Heedless and blind to Wisdom's wasted lisjht ! "
224 ISAAC Willi A MS.
CXXIV.
BASIL.
Beautiful flowers round wisdom's secret well,
Deep holy thoughts of penitential lore,
But dressed with images from Nature's store,
Handmaid of Piety ! like thine own cell
By Pontic mountain-wilds and shaggy fell,
Great Basil ! there, within thy lonely door,
Watching, and fast, and prayer, and penance dwell,
And sternly nursed affections heavenward soar.
Without are setting suns and summer skies,
Ravine, rock, wood, and fountain melodies ;
And earth and heaven, holding communion sweet
Teem with wild beauty. Such thy calm retreat,
Blest Saint ! and of thyself an emblem meet,
All fair without, within all stern and wise.
SAMUEL WADDINGTi
cxxv.
ST. FRANCIS, OF ASSISI.
On earth he walked, yet did in heaven dwell ;
With upturned gaze the upland paths he trod \
He worshipped Nature, but he knelt to God,
Nor to the Angelic hosts bade long farewell :
His life was blameless as the lily's bell ;
The wrongful deed he smote with chastening rod ;
Around his feet, with mystic splendour shod,
The glory brightened ere the darkness fell !
Beloved of mortals ! thine immortal soul
Hearkened and heard above life's thunder-roll
The Spirit's quickening voice, " Be good, be kind ! "
Oh, blessed ye that hear, and ye that hearken,
Oh, blessed ye, if when death-shadows darken,
These words graved on your hearts we yet shall find.
16
226 RLGINALD IFEBER.
CXXVI.
HYM N.
Oh, Captain of God's host, whose dreadful might
Led forth to war the armed seraphim,
And from the starry height,
Subdued in burning fight,
Cast down that ancient dragon, dark and grim !
Thine angels, Christ ! we laud in solemn lays,
Our elder brethren of the crystal sky,
Who, 'mid thy glory's blaze,
The ceaseless anthem raise,
And gird thy throne in faithful ministry !
We celebrate their love, whose viewless wing
Hath left for us so oft their mansion high,
The mercies of their King
To mortal saints to bring,
Or guard the couch of slumbering infancy.
But thee, the first and last, we glorify,
Who when thy world was sunk in death and sin,
Not with thine hierarchy,
The armies of the sky,
But didst with thine own arm the battle win.
GINALD HEBER, 227
Alone didst pass the dark and dismal shore,
Alone didst tread the wine-press, and alone,
All glorious in thy gore,
Didst light and life restore,
To us who lay in darkness and undone !
Therefore, with angels and archangels, we
To thy dear love our thankful chorus raise,
And tune our songs to thee
Who art, and art to be,
And, endless as thy mercies, sound thy praise !
RICHARD WILTON.
CXXVII.
THE SHEPHERD'S REED.
" They are like unto children sitting in the market-place, and calling
one to another ; and saying, We have piped unto you, and ye have
not danced ; we have mourned unto you, and ye have not wept." —
S. Luke vii.
O Son of Man, great Shepherd of the sheep,
Thou pipest to us, shall thy children weep ?
Sheep of thy pasture, shall we not rejoice
And dance to thy soft notes and gentle voice ?
No strain so sweet e'er flowed from Grecian lute,
Or pipe of Arcady, or Dorian flute \
Of Roman lyre no mention shall be made,
And David's harp before this reed must fade.
A simple reed by Syrian wraters found
From human lips took a celestial sound :
Through it strange melodies our Shepherd blew,
And wondering, wistful ones around him drew,
Of heavenly love with cadence deep it told,
Of labours long to win them to the fold,
Of bleeding feet upon the mountains steep,
And life laid down to save his erring sheep.
RICHARD WILTON*
O loving Shepherd, to that gracious strain
We Listen and we listen once again,
And while its music sinks into our heart,
Our fears grow fainter and our doubts depart.
Lord, pipe to me, and I will weep no more,
But joyful follow to yon happy shore,
Where my glad soul shall sing and dance to thee
In the "green pastures" of Eternity !
HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
CXXVIII.
SUNDAY.
Thou blessed day ! I will not call thee last,
Nor Sabbath — last nor first of all the seven,
But a calm slip of intervening heaven,
Between the uncertain future and the past \
As in a stormy night, amid the blast,
Comes ever and anon a truce on high,
And a calm lake of pure and starry sky
Peers thro' the mountainous depth of clouds amass'd.
Sweet day of prayer ! e'en they whose scrupulous dread
Will call no other day, as others do,
Might call thee Sunday without fear or blame \
For thy bright morn delivered from the dead
Our Sun of Life, and will for aye renew
To faithful souls the import of thy name.
The ancient Sabbath was an end, — a pause, —
A stillness of the world ; the work was done !
But ours commemorates a work begun.
Why, then subject the new to antique laws?
The ancient Sabbath closed the week, because
The world was finished. Ours proclaims the sun,
Its glorious saint, alert its course to run.
Vanguard of days ! escaped the baffled jaws
HARTLEY COLERIDGEi 231
Of slumbrous dark and death-- so fitly first
Is Sunday placed before the secular d
Unmeetly clad in weeds, with arms reversed,
To trail in sullen thought by silent ways.
Like the fresh dawn, or rose-bud newly burst,
So let our Sabbath wear the face of praise !
232 ADELAIDE ANNE PROCTER.
CXXIX.
PER PACEM AD LUCEM.
I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be
A pleasant road ;
I do not ask that thou wouldst take from me
Aught of its load ;
I do not ask that flowers should always spring
Beneath my feet ;
I know too well the poison and the sting
Of things too sweet.
For one thing only, Lord, dear Lord, I plead \
Lead me aright —
Though strength should falter, and though heart
should bleed —
Through peace to light.
I do not ask, O Lord, that thou shouldst shed
Full radiance here \
Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread
Without a fear.
I do not ask my cross to understand,
My way to see —
Better in darkness just to feel thy hand,
And follow thee.
Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine
Like quiet night :
Lead me, O Lord — till perfect day shall shine,
Through peace to light.
ELIZABETH /■ T BROWNING.
cxxx.
THE TWO SAYINGS.
Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures beat
Like pulses in the Church's brow and breast \
And by them we find rest in our unrest,
And, heart-deep in salt tears, do yet entreat,
God's fellowship as if on heavenly seat.
The first is Jesus wept — whereon is prest
Full many a sobbing face that drops its best
And sweetest waters on the record sweet :
And one is where the Christ, denied and scorned,
Looked upon Peter. Oh, to render plain,
By help of having loved a little and mourned,
That look of sovran love and sovran pain
Which he, who could not sin yet suffered, turned
On him who could reject but not sustain !
234 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.
CXXXI.
THE PRODIGAL.
Why fcedest thou on husks so coarse and rude ?
I could not be content with angels' food.
How earnest thou companion to the swine ?
I loathed the courts of heaven, the choir divine.
Who bade thee crouch in hovel dark and drear ?
I left a palace wide to hide me here.
Harsh tyrant's slave who made thee, once so free ?
A father's rule too heavy seemed to me.
What sordid rags float round thee on the breeze ?
I laid immortal robes aside for these.
An exile through the world who bade thee roam ?
None, but I wearied of a happy home.
Why must thou dweller in a desert be ?
A garden seemed not fair enough to me.
Why sue a beggar at the mean world's door ?
To live on God's large bounty seemed so poor.
What has thy forehead so to earthward brought ?
To lift it higher than the stars I thought.
ALEXANDER POPE,
CXXXIL
THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER.
Father of all ! in every age,
In every clime adored,
By saint, by savage, and by sage,
Jehovah, Jove, or Lord !
Thou Great First Cause, least understood !
Who all my sense confined,
To know but this, that thou art good,
And that myself am blind ;
Yet gave me, in this dark estate,
To see the good from ill \
And binding Nature fast in fate,
Left free the human will.
What conscience dictates to be done,
Or warns me not to do —
This, teach me more than hell to shun,
That, more than heaven pursue.
What blessings thy free bounty gives,
Let me not cast away \
For God is paid when man receives ;
To enjoy is to obey.
-J
6 ALEXANDER POPE,
Yet not to earth's contracted span
Thy goodness let me bound,
Or think thee Lord alone of man,
When thousand worlds are round
Let not this weak, unknowing hand
Presume thy bolts to throw,
And deal damnation round the land,
On each I judge thy foe.
If I am right, thy grace impart,
Still in the right to stay ;
If I am wrong, O ! teach my heart
To find that better way.
Save me alike from foolish pride,
Or impious discontent,
At aught thy wisdom has denied,
Or aught thy goodness lent.
Teach me to feel another's woe,
To hide the fault I see ;
That mercy I to others shew,
That mercy shew to me.
Mean though I am — not wholly so,
Since quickened by thy breath ; —
O lead me wheresoe'er I go,
Through this day's life or death.
ALEXANDER POPE.
This day, be bread and peace my lot :
All else beneath the sun
Thou know'st if best bestowed or not,
And let thy will be dune.
To thee, whose temple is all space,
Whose altar, earth, sea, skies,
One chorus let all beings raise !
All Nature's incense rise !
238 HENRY VAUGHAN.
CXXXIII.
THE RETREAT.
Happy those early days when I
Shined in my angel- infancy !
Before I understood this place
Appointed for my second race,
Or taught my soul to fancy ought
But a white, celestial thought;
When yet I had not walked above
A mile or two from my first love,
And looking back, at that short space,
Could see a glimpse of his bright face ;
When on some gilded cloud or flower
My gazing soul would dwell an hour,
And, in those weaker glories spy
Some shadows of eternity ;
Before I taught my tongue to wound
My conscience with a sinful sound,
Or had the black art to dispense
A several sin to every sense ;
But felt through all this fleshly dress
Bright shoots of everlastingness.
O how I long to travel back,
And tread again that ancient track !
That I might once more reach that plain
Where first I left my glorious train,
HENR V VAl GHAN.
From whence the enlighten* ees
That shady city of palm-tre< ,
But ah ! my soul with too much stay
Is drunk, and staggers in the way !
Some men a forward motif n love,
But I by backward steps would move;
And when this dust falls to the urn,
In th I came return.
24o CHARLES KINGSLEY.
C XXX IV.
HYMN.
(On laying the Foundation-stone of part of Queen's Hospital,
Birmingham.)
Accept this building, gracious Lord,
No temple though it be ;
We raised it for our suffering kin,
And so, good Lord, for thee.
Accept our little gift, and give
To all who here may dwell,
The will and power to do their work,
Or bear their sorrows well.
From thee all skill and science flow;
All pity, care, and love,
All calm and courage, faith and hope,-
Oh ! pour them from above.
And part them, Lord, to each and all,
As each and all shall need,
To rise like incense, each to thee,
In noble thought and deed.
CHARLES KINGSLEY*
And hasten, Lord, that perfect day,
When pain and death shall cease;
And thy just rule shall fill the earth
VVith health, and li-ht, and peace.
When ever blue the sky shall gleam,
And ever green the sod;
And man's rude work deface no more
The Paradise of God.
2)1
*7
•42 REGINALD HEBER.
cxxxv.
"BY COOL SILOAM'S SHADY RILL."
By cool Siloam's shady rill
How sweet the lily grows !
How sweet the breath beneath the hill
Of Sharon's dewy rose !
Lo ! such the child whose early feet
The paths of peace have trod :
Whose secret heart, with influence sweet,
Is upward drawn to God !
By cool Siloam's shady rill
The lily must decay \
The rose that blooms beneath the hill
Must shortly fade away.
And soon, too soon, the wintry hour
Of man's maturer age
Will shake the soul with sorrow's power,
And stormy passion's rage !
O Thou, whose infant feet were found
Within thy Father's shrine !
Whose years, with changeless virtue crowned,
Were all alike divine :
REGINALD HEBER. 2.n
Dependent on thy bounteous breath,
We seek thy grace alone,
In childhood, manhood, age, and death,
To keep us still thine own !
244 W. R. NEALE.
CXXXVI.
THE WIDOW OF NAIN.
u And when the Lord saw her, he had compassion on her, and said
unto her, Weep not." — S. Luke vii. 13.
Forth from the city gate,
As evening shadows lengthen o'er the plain,
And the hushed crowd in reverent silence wait,
Passed out a funeral train.
Only one mourner there,
Slowly, with feeble steps, following the dead,
In the sad travail of the soul's despair
Bowed down her stricken head.
For him she wept forlorn,
Of care the solace, and of age the stay,
Whose silver cord was broken ere the morn
Had brightened into day.
Thus hath it ever been, —
Time the destroyer sweeps relentless by,
When hopes are strong and leaves of promise green,
And manhood's heart beats high.
m A\ NEALE. 245
Wh ) conies of stately mien,
As <>ne with travel weary, seeking rest, —
Whose aspect gentle, and whose brow serene,
Speak of a mission blest ?
Tis he, with power to save,
Who where desponding grief his vigil kept,
Knowing all human sufferings, at the grave
Of Lazarus wept.
Thus spake he, — " Weep no more !
Be still, sad heart ! be dry, ye moistened eyes !
Thus to the living I the dead restore :
Sleeper, awake, arise ! "
Then at his bidding came
To those cold lips the warm, returning breath ;
Then did he kindle life's extinguished flame,
Victor o'er Sin and Death.
And thus he ever stands, —
Friend of the fallen, wiping all tears away,
Whenever sorrow lifts her suppliant hands,
And Faith remains to pray.
Where'er the wretched flee,
From the rude conflict of this world distress'd,
Consoling words He whispers, — " Come to me,
And I will give you rest ! "
246 IV. R. XEALE.
Till at the second birth,
He bids the woes and wrongs of ages cease,
And brings to an emancipated earth,
Judgment, and truth, and peace ;
And gathers all his own
From the four winds to that eternal shore,
Where Mercy sits upon the great white throne,
And Death shall be no more.
FREDERICK 11'. //. AIYEI
CXXXVII.
FROM "SAINT PAUL.
(ion, who at sundry times, in manners many
Spake to the fathers and is speaking still,
Eager to find if ever or if any
Souls will obey and hearken to his will, —
Who that one moment has the least descried him,
Dimly and faintly, hidden and afar,
Doth not despise all excellence beside him,
Pleasures and powers that are not and that are,-
Ay amid all men bear himself thereafter,
Smit with a solemn and a sweet surprise,
Dumb to their scorn and turning on their laughter
Only the dominance of earnest eyes ? —
God, who whatever frenzy of our fretting
Vexes sad life to spoil and to destroy,
Lendeth an hour for peace and for forgetting,
Setteth in pain the jewel of his joy : —
Gentle and faithful, tyrannous and tender,
Ye that have known him, is he sweet to know ?
Softly he touches, for the reed is slender,
Wisely enkindles, for the Same is low.
24S FREDERICK IV. H. MYERS.
God, who when Enoch on the earth was holy,
Saved him from death and Noe from the sea,
Planned him a purpose that should ripen slowly,
Found in Chaldaea the elect Chaldee, —
God, who for sowing of the seed thereafter
Called him from Charran, summoned him from Ur,
Gave to his wife a weeping and a laughter,
Light to the nations and a son for her, —
God, who in Israel's bondage and bewailing
Heard them and granted them their heart's desire,
Clave them the deep with power and with prevailing,
Gloomed in the cloud and glowed into the fire,
Fed them with manna, furnished with a fountain,
Followed with waves the raising of the rod,
Drew them and drave, till Moses on the mountain
Died of the kisses of the lips of God, — ■
God, who was not in earth when it was shaken,
Could not be found in fury of the flame,
Then to his seer, the faithful and forsaken,
Softly was manifest and spake by name.
Showed him a remnant barred from the betrayal,
Close in his Carmel, where the caves are dim,
So many knees that had not bent to Baal,
So many mouths that had not kissed him, —
EDERICK n: //. MYERS.
God, who to -lean the vineyard of his choosing
Sent them evangelists till the day was done,
Bore with the churls, their wrath and their refusing,
Gave at the last the glory of his Son : —
Lo as in Eden when the days were seven,
Pison thro' Havilah that softly ran
Pare on his breast the changes of the heaven,
Felt on his shores the silence of a man :
Silence, for Adam when the day departed
Left him in twilight with his charge to keep,
Careless and confident and single-hearted,
Trusted in God and turned himself to sleep
Then in the midnight, stirring in his slumber,
Opened his vision on the heights and saw
New without name or ordinance or number,
Set for a marvel, silent for an awe,
Stars in the firmament above him beaming,
Stars in the firmament, alive and free,
Stars, and of stars the innumerable streaming,
Deep in the deeps, a river in the sea ; —
These as he watched thro' march of their arising,
Many in multitudes and one by one,
Somewhat from God with a superb surprising
Breathed in his eyes the promise of the sun.
?5o FREDERICK IV. II. MYERS.
So tho' our Day star from our sight be taken,
Gone from his brethren, hidden from his own,
Yet in his setting are we not forsaken,
Suffer not shadows of the dark alone.
Not in the west is thine appearance ended,
Neither from night shall thy renewal be,
Lo, for the firmament in spaces splendid
Lio-hteth her beacon-fires ablaze for thee :
Holds them and hides and drowns them and discovers,
Throngs them together, kindles them afar,
Showeth, O Love, thy multitudes of lovers,
Souls that shall know thee and the saints that are.
Look what a company of constellations !
Say can the sky so many lights contain ?
Hath the great earth these endless generations ?
Are there so many purified thro' pain ?
These thro; all glow and eminence of glory
Cry for a brighter, who delayeth long :
Star unto star the everlasting story
Peals in a mystic sanctity of song.
Witness the hour when many saints assembled
Waited the Spirit, and the Spirit came ;
Ay with hearts tremulous and bones that trembled,
Ay with cleft tongues, and the Holy Ghost, and flame.
FREDERICK \V. //. MYERS.
Witness the men whom with a word He gaineth,
Bold who were base and voiceful who were dumb:
Battle, I know, so long as life remaineth,
Battle for all, hut these have overcome.
Witness the women, of his children sweetest, —
Scarcely earth seeth them but earth shall see,-
Thou in their woe thine agony completcst,
Christ, and their solitude is nigh to thee.
What is this psalm from pitiable places
Glad where the messengers of peace have trod:
Whose are these beautiful and holy faces
Lit with their loving and aflame with God?
Eager and faint, empassionate and lonely,
These in their hour shall prophesy again :
This is his will who hath endured, and only
Sendeth the promise where He sends the pain.
Ay unto these distributeth the Giver
Sorrow and sanctity, and loves them well,
Grants them a power and passion to deliver
Hearts from the prison-house and souls from hell.
Thinking hereof I wot not if the portal
Opeth already to my Lord above :
Lo there is no more mortal and immortal,
Naught is on earth or in the heavens but love.
?S2 FREDERICK IV. H. MYERS.
Hark what a sound, and too divine for hearing,
Stirs on the earth and trembles in the air !
Is it the thunder of the Lord's appearing ?
Is it the music of his people's prayer ?
Surely he cometh, and a thousand voices
Shout to the saints and to the deaf are dumb ;
Surely he cometh, and the earth rejoices,
Glad in his coming who hath sworn, I come.
This hath he done, and shall we not adore him ?
This shall he do, and can we still despair ?
Come let us quickly fling ourselves before him,
Cast at his feet the burthen of our care,
Flash from our eyes the glow of our thanksgiving,
Glad and regretful, confident and calm,
Then thro' all life and what is after living
Thrill to the tireless music of a psalm.
Yea thro? life, death, thro' sorrow and thro' sinning
He shall suffice me, for he hath sufficed :
Christ is the end, for Christ was the beginning,
Christ the beginning, for the end is Christ.
HARD BAXTER. 253
CXXXVIII.
T II E E X I T.
My soul go boldly forth,
Forsake this sinful earth,
What hath it been to thee
But pain and sorrow,
And think'st thou it will be
Better to-morrow ?
Love not this darksome womb,
Nor yet a gilded tomb,
Though on it written be
Mortal men's story,
Look up by faith and see
Sure, joyful glory.
Why art thou for delay ?
Thou cam'st not here to stay :
What tak'st thou for thy part
But heavenly pleasure ?
Where then should be thy heart,
But where's thy treasure ?
Thy God, thy head's above ;
There is the world of love ;
254 RICHARD BAXTER.
Mansions there purchased are,
By Christ's own merit,
For these he doth prepare
Thee by his Spirit.
Look up towards heaven, and see
How vast those regions be,
Where blessed spirits dwell,
How pure and lightful !
But earth is near to Hell,
How dark and frightful !
Here life doth strive with death,
To lengthen mortals' breath ;
Till our short race be run,
Which would be ended,
WThen it is but begun,
If not defended.
Here life is but a spark
Scarce shining in the dark \
Life is the element there,
Which souls reside in ;
Much like as air is here,
Which we abide in.
Hither thou cam'st from thence
The divine influence
In flesh my soul did place
Among the living :
To be of human race
Was his free giving.
RICHARD BAXTER,
There I shall know God more,
There is the blessed choir;
Xo wickedness comes there,
All there is holy :
There is no grief or fear,
No sin or folly.
Jerusalem above,
Glorious in light and love,
Is mother of us all,
Who shall enjoy them,
The wicked Hell-ward fall
Sin will destroy them.
O blessed company,
Where all in harmony,
Jehovah's praises sing
Still without ceasing :
And all obey their King,
With perfect pleasing.
God there is the saints' rest,
God is their constant feast \
He doth them feed and bless
With love and favour,
Of which they still possess
The pleasant savour.
God is essential love,
And all the saints above
25 6 RICHARD BAXTER.
Are like unto him made,
Each in his measure :
Love is their life and trade,
Their constant pleasure.
Love flames in every breast,
The greatest and the least \
Strangers to this sweet life
There are not any.
Love leaves no place for strife ;
Makes one of many.
Each is to other dear,
No malice enters there \
No siding difference \
No hurt, no evil \
Because no ignorance,
No sin, no devil.
What joy must there needs be,
Where all God's glory see ;
Feeling God's vital love,
Which still is burning :
And flaming God -ward move,
Full love returning.
Self makes contention here,
Love makes all common there,
There's no propriety,
Mine is my brother's.
Perfect community
Makes one's another's.
klCHARD BAXTER. 257
do out then, lingering soul,
From this vile serpent's hole ;
Where bred as in a sink,
They hiss and sting us :
Will not Christ, dost thou think,
To better brinir us?
Think not that heaven wants store,
Think not that hell hath more,
If all on earth were lost :
Earth's scarce one tittle
To the vast heavens : at most,
Exceeding little.
All those blest myriads be,
Lovers of Christ and thee j
Angels thy presence wish,
Christ will receive thee ;
Then let not brutish flesh
Fright and deceive thee.
Gladly, my soul, go forth ;
Is heaven of no more worth
Than this curst desert is,
This world of trouble ?
Prefer eternal bliss
Before this bubble.
Wish not still for delay,
Why wouldst thou longer stay
iS
2-3 RICHARD BAXTER.
From Christ, from hope so far
In self-denial :
And live in longer war,
A life of trial ?
Souls live when flesh lies dead :
Thy sin is pardoned,
When Christ doth death disarm,
Why art thou fearful ?
And souls that fear no harm
Should pass forth cheerful.
Cherish not causeless doubt,
That God will shut thee out :
What if he thee assured
From Heaven by letter ?
His Son, his Spirit, and Word
Have done it better.
Hath mercy made life sweet ?
And is it kind and meet
Thus to draw7 back from God,
Who doth protect thee ?
Look then for his sharp rod,
Next to correct thee.
What if foes should make haste ?
Thou wilt the sooner taste
What all blest souls enjoy
With Christ for ever •
Where those that thee annoy,
Shall hurt thee never.
RICHARD BAXTER.
Fear not the world uf light,
Though out of mortal's sight,
As if it doubtful were,
For want of seeing ;
s bodies vilest are,
And the least being.
Vain, sinful world, tare well !
I go where angels dwell ;
Whose life, light, love, and joy,
Are the saint's glory :
God's praises there employ
The Consistory.
Christ, who knows all his sheep,
Will all in safety keep ;
He will not lose his blood,
Xor intercession :
Nor we the purchased good
Of his dear passion.
I know my God is jubt,
To him I wholly trust ;
All that I have, and am,
All that I hope for :
All's sure and seen to him,
Which I here grope for.
Lord Jesus, take my spirit,
I trust thy life and merit ;
Take home this wandering sheep,
For thou hast sought it :
This soul in safety keep,
For thou hast bought it.
260 THOMAS TORE LYNCH.
CXXXIX.
THE HEART OF CHRIST.
Heart of Christ, 0 cup most golden,
Brimming with salvation's wine,
Million souls have been beholden
Unto thee for life divine ;
Thou art full of blood the purest,
Love the tenderest and surest :
Blood is life, and life is love ;
O ! what wine is there like love?
Heart of Christ, O cup most golden,
Out of thee the martyrs drank,
Who for truth in cities olden
Spake, nor from the torture shrank ;
Saved they were from traitor's meanness,
Filled with joys of holy keenness :
Strong are those that drink of love \
O ! what wine is there like love ?
Heart of Christ, O cup most golden,
To remotest place and time
Thou for labours wilt embolden
Unpresuming, but sublime :
Hearts are firm, though nerves be shaken,
When from thee new life is taken :
Truth recruits itself by love ;
O ! what wine is there like love ?
THOMAS TORE I YNCH.
Heart of Christ, 0 cup most golden.
Taking of thy cordial blest,
Soon the sorrowful are folden
In a gentle healthful rest :
Thou anxieties art casing,
Pains implacable appeasing :
Grief is comforted by love;
O ! what wine is there like love ?
Heart of Christ, O cup most golden,
Liberty from thee we win ;
We who drink, no more are holden
By the shameful cords of sin ;
Pledge of mercy's sure forgiving,
Powers for a holy living, —
These, thou cup of love, art thine ;
Love, thou art the mightiest wine,
:f>2 THOMAS MOORE.
CXL.
ANGEL OF CHARITY.
Angel of Charity, who, from above,
Comest to dwell a pilgrim here,
Thy voice is music, thy smile is love,
And Pity's soul is in thy tear.
When on the shrine of God were laid
First-fruits of all most good and fair,
That ever bloomed in Eden's shade,
Thine was the holiest offerinc; ther
&
re.
Hope and her sister, Faith, were given
But as our guides to yonder sky ;
Soon as they reach the verge of heaven,
There, lost in perfect bliss, they die ;
But, long as Love, Almighty Love,
Shall on his throne of thrones abide,
Thou, Charity, shalt dwell above,
Smiling for ever by his side !
HORATIUS BONAR.
CXLI.
MARAH AND ELIM.
Exodus xv. 23-27.
To-day 'tis Elim, with its palms and wells,
And happy shade for desert weariness ;
Twas Marah yesterday, all rock and sand,
Unshaded solitude and bitterness.
Yet the same desert holds them both ; the same
Soft breezes wander o'er the lonely ground ;
The same low stretch of valley shelters both,
And the same mountains compass them around,
So is it here with us on earth ; and so
I do remember it has ever been ;
The bitter and the sweet, the grief and joy,
Lie near together, but a day between.
Sometimes God turns our bitter into sweet ;
Sometimes he gives us pleasant water-springs ;
Sometimes he shades us with his pillar-cloud,
And sometimes to a blessed palm-shade brings.
264 HORATIUS BONAR>
What matters it ? The time will not be long ;-
Marah and Elim will alike be past ;
Our desert-wells and palms will soon be done ;
We reach the city of our God at last.
O happy land ! beyond these lonely hills,
Where gush in joy the everlasting springs ;
O holy Paradise ! above these heavens,
Where we shall end our desert-wanderings.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FAEER. 265
CXLIL
THE THOUGHT OF GOD.
The thought of God, the thought of thee,
Who liest in my heart,
And yet beyond imagined space
Outstretched and present art, —
The thought of thee, above, below,
Around me and within,
Is more to me than health and wealth,
Or love of kith and kin.
The thought of God is like the tree
Beneath whose shade I lie,
And watch the fleets of snowy clouds
Sail o'er the silent sky.
'Tis like that soft invading light,
Which in all darkness shines, — ■
The thread that through life's sombre web
In golden pattern twines.
It is a thought which ever makes
Life's sweetest smiles from tears,
And is a daybreak to our hopes,
A sunset to our fears.
266 FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
One while it bids the tears to flow,
Then wipes them from the eyes \
Most often fills our souls with joy,
And always sanctifies.
Within a thought so great, our souls
Little and modest grow,
And, by its vastness awed, we learn
The art of walking slow.
The wild flower on the mossy ground
Scarce bends its pliant form,
When overhead the autumnal wood
Is thundering like a storm.
So is it with our humbled souls
Down in the thought of God,
Scarce conscious in their sober peace
Of the wild storms abroad.
To think of this is almost prayer,
And is outspoken praise ;
And pain can even passive thoughts
To actual worship raise.
O Lord ! I live always in pain, — ■
My life's sad undersong, —
Pain in itself not hard to bear,
But hard to bear so lon^.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
Little sometimes weighs more than mu< h,
When it has no relief;
A joyless life is worse to bear
Than one of active grief.
And yet, O Lord ! a suffering life
One grand ascent may dare ;
Penance, not self-imposed, can make
The whole of life a prayer.
All murmurs lie inside thy will
"Which are to thee addressed ;
To suffer for thee is our work,
To think of thee our rest.
268 FRANCIS QUARLES.
CXLIIL
"MY BELOVED IS MINE, AND I AM HIS; UK
FEEDETH AMONG THE LILIES."
Canticles ii. 16.
Even like two little bank-dividing brooks,
That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams,
And having ranged and searched a thousand nooks,
Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames,
Where in a greater current they conjoin, —
So I my Best-Beloved's am \ so He is mine.
Even so we met ; and after long pursuit ;
Even so we joined, and so became entire ;
No need for either to renew a suit,
For I was flax, and He was flames of fire :
Our firm united souls did more than twine ;
So I my Best-Beloved's am ; so He is mine.
If all those glittering monarchs that command
The servile quarters of this earthly ball,
Should tender in exchange their shares of land,
I would not change my fortunes for them all :
Their wealth is but a counter to my coin ;
The world's but theirs ; but my Beloved's mine.
Ql ARIA
Nay more, — if the fair i ladies all
Should heap together their diviner treasure,
That treasure should be deemed a price too small
To buy a minute's lease of half my pleasure :
not the sacred wealth of all the nine
Can buy my heart from Him ; or His, from being mine.
Nor time, nor place) nor chance, nor death can bow
My least desires unto the least remove ;
He's firmly mine by oath ; I His by vow ;
He's mine by faith, and I am His by love;
He's mine by water ; I am His by wine ;
Thus I my Best-Beloved's am ; thus He is mine.
He is my altar, — I His holy place ;
I am His guest, and He my living food ;
I'm His by penitence ; He mine by grace ;
I'm His by purchase ; He is mine by blood ;
He's my supporting elm, and I His vine :
Thus I my Best-Beloved's am ; thus He is mine.
He gives me wealth ; I give Him all my vows ;
I give Him songs ; He gives me length of days :
With wreaths of grace he crowns my conquering brows ;
And I His temples with a crown of Praise,
Which He accepts as an e'erlasting sign
That I my Best-Beloved's am ; that He is mine.
2;o R OBER T HERRI CK.
CXLIV.
TO KEEP A TRUE LENT.
Is this a fast to keep
The larder lean,
And clean
From fat of veals and sheep ?
Is it to quit the dish
Of flesh, yet still
To hll
The platter high with fish ?
Is it to fast an hour,
Or ragged to go,
Or show
A downcast look, and sour ?
No ; 'tis a fast to dole
Thy sheaf of wheat
And meat
Unto the hungry soul.
It is to fast from strife,
From old debate
And hate ;
To circumcise thy life.
To show a heart grief-rent ;
To starve thy sin,
Not bin ;
And that's to keep thy Lent.
tGH n (
CXLV,
ABOU BEN ADHEM AND THE ANGEL.
Anou Bex Adhem, — may his tribe increase, —
Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace,
And saw, within the moonlight in his room,
Making it rich, and like a lily-in-bloom,
An angel, writing in a book of gold :
Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold,
And to the presence in the room he said,
J That writest thou t — The vision raised its head,
And, with a look made of all sweet accord,
Answered, The names of those who love the Lord 1 —
And is mine one 1 said Abou. — Nay, not so,
Replied the Angel. — Abou spake more low,
But cheerly still, and said, I pray thee, then,
Write me as one that loves his fellow-men.
The Angel wrote, and vanished. The next night
It came again with a great wakening light,
And showed the names whom love of God had blessed,
And lo ! Ben Adhem's name led all the rest.
272 SABINE BARING-GOULD.
CXLVI.
THE SULTAN'S DAUGHTER.
AN OLD FLEMISH BALLAD.
A Sultan had a daughter sweet,
And walking in the bowers,
At early dawn the maiden went
Gathering garden flowers.
" O, who is he ? " the damsel asked,
" The flowers on earth who shed — ■
The roses pink, the lilies white,
Hyacinths blue and red ?
" O, who is he ? I love him well ;
Ah ! wondrous is his power,
Who made the blossom, seed, and leaf,
Fashioning all the flower.
" O, who is he, that gardener good?
To him my heart I yield \
For worthy he to be beloved,
Painting the summer held."
Then Jesus there at cockcrow came,
And at the window stood \
" I come to take the maiden's heart,
I am the gardener ^ood."
in/XE &A&ING-&OULI).
The Sultan's daughter rose and said,
u Thy like I have not seen,
C) gentle Lord, with locks all wet,
Knee-deep in herbage green/1
"O maiden, I have loved thee well,
All in my lather's home;
My locks are wet with drops of night,
As in the dew I roam.
11 I come for thee, to bear thy soul
To see my Father's bowers ;
To realms of light, where angels white
Sing in the land of flowers."
" With thee I'll go," the maiden said,
11 For thee I love so well ;
But what are these red flowers thou hast ?
What are these roses, tell ? "
He showed the roses in his palms,
The roses on his feet ;
A blood-red rose was on his side,
There where the heart doth beat.
t: 0 these are wounds I show to thee,
To prove I love thee true :
I bore for thee the nails, the spear,
Piercing my body through."
i9
274 SABINE BARING-GOULD.
The Sultan to his garden came,
There lay his daughter dead :
A smile upon her face, her arms
Were as a cross outspread.
RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH.
CXLVII.
RETRIBUTION.
Oh, righteous doom, that they who make
Pleasure their only end,
Ordering the whole life for its sake,
Miss that whereto they tend.
While they who bid stern duty lead,
Content to follow, they,
Of duty only taking heed,
Find pleasure by the way.
276 WILLIAM CULLEN BR YAX7\
CXLVIII.
HYMN OF THE WALDENSES.
Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted flock
Cry to thee from the desert and the rock ;
While those who seek to slay thy children hold
Blasphemous worship under roofs of gold ;
And the broad, goodly lands, with pleasant airs,
That nurse the grape and wave the grain, are theirs.
Yet better were this mountain wilderness,
And this wild life of danger and distress —
Watchings by night, and perilous flight by day,
And meetings in the depths of earth to pray —
Better, far better, than to kneel with them,
And pay the impious rite thy laws condemn.
Thou, Lord, dost hold the thunder ; the firm land
Tosses in billows when it feels thy hand :
Thou dashest nation against nation, then
Stillest the angry world to peace again.
Oh ! touch their stony hearts who hunt thy sons —
The murderers of our lives and little ones.
Yet, mighty God, yet shall thy frown look forth
Unveiled, and terribly shall shake the earth.
Then the foul power of priestly sin, and all
Its long-upheld idolatries, shall fall.
Thou shalt raise up the trampled and oppressed,
And thy delivered saints shall dwell in rest.
ROBERT OF FRAN
CXI, IX.
"COME, HOLY ONE, IN LOVE/'
Come, Holy One, in love;
Shed on us from above
Thine own bright ray :
Divinely good thou art ;
Thy sacred gifts impart
To gladden each sad heart,
O, come to-day !
Come, truest friend and best,
Our loving, holy guest,
With soothing power ;
Rest which the weary know,
Shade 'mid the noontide glow/
Peace when deep griefs o'erflow,
Cheer us this hour !
Come, Light serene and still,
Our inmost bosoms fill ;
Dwell in each breast :
We know no dawn but thine,
Send forth thy beams divine
On our dark souls to shine,
And make us blest.
ROBERT OF FRANCE.
Exalt our low desires \
Quench all unholy fires ;
Heal every wound :
Our stubborn spirits bend ;
Our sinful coldness end ;
Our wandering steps attend,
While heavenward bound.
RICHARD WILTON.
CL.
AT HIS FEET.
Mary " sat at Jesus' feet "
Rapt in contemplation sweet,
Gazing up into his face,
Drinking in his words of grace.
By no earthly murmur moved
From the posture that she loved :
Lord, be this my daily choice,
At thy feet to hear thy voice.
Mary " fell at Jesus' feet"
When her brother, through the street
By the mourners borne away,
Folded in death's darkness lay ;
All her sorrow forth she sighed,
Christ with answering groans replied.
Lord, in trouble let me fall
At thy feet, and tell thee all.
Mary stood at Jesus' feet
Offering, as he sat at meat,
Costly gift of spikenard rare,
Glistening tears, and flowing hair ;
Speechless love and thanks she gave
To the Master, strong to save :
Lord, when gladness lights my days,
At thy feet Fll give thee praise.
2 So RICHARD WILTON.
At thy feet, once pierced for me,
Always shall my station be ;
By thy Spirit and thy Word,
To thy servant speak, O Lord :
In my sorrow succour bring ;
Hear me when thy praise I sing \
Till, 'mid Heaven's high joys, at last
At thy feet my crown I cast !
HARTl LE RIDGE. 281
CLI.
A CiRA( E.
Sweetest Lord ! that wert so blest
On thy sweetest mother's breast,
Give to every new-born baby
Food that needs — as good as may be.
Jesus ! Lord, who long obey'd
The sainted sire, the Mother Maid,
Teach my young heart to submit, — ■
Deign thyself to govern it.
Babe and boy, and youth and man,
All make up the mighty plan ;
And these the Saviour sanctified,
For he was all — and then he died.
AYhate'er he gives us we may take,
But still receive it for his sake.
But might the prayer within my breast
Make others blest, as I am blest ;
And might my joy in thanking thee
Make for all hungry souls a plea ;
Then would I praise and thee adore,
And ever thank thee, more and more
Rejoicing, if thou wouldst but bless
Thy creatures for my thankfulness.
282 LORD BYRON,
CLII.
THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB.
The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold,
And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ;
And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the se3,
When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee.
Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green,
That host with their banners at sunset were seen ;
Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown,
That host on the morrow lay withered and strown.
For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast,
And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed ;
And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill,
And their hearts but once heaved, and for ever grew* still !
And there lay the steed with his nostrils all wide,
But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride :
And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf,
And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf.
And there lay the rider distorted and pale,
With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail \
And the tents were all silent, the banners alone.
The lances unlifted, the trumpets unblown.
LORD BYRON.
And the widows of Ashur arc loud in their wail,
And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ;
And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword,
Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord !
2 S4 HENR Y II A R T MUM. 1 X
CLIII.
:WIIEN OUR HEADS ARE BOWED WITH WOE."
When our heads are bowed with woe,
When our bitter tears o'erflow ;
When we mourn the lost, the dear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn,
Thou our mortal griefs hast borne,
Thou hast shed the human tear :
Gracious son of Mary, hear !
When the sullen death-bell tolls
For our own departed souls ;
When our final doom is near,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
Thou hast bowed the dying head \
Thou the blood of life hast shed \
Thou hast filled a mortal bier ;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
When the heart is sad within
With the thought of all its sin ;
When the spirit shrinks with fear,
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
HENRY HART MILMAN. 2S5
Thou the shame, the grief hast known,
Though the sins were not thine own ;
Thou hast deigned their load to bear;
Gracious Son of Mary, hear !
286 JOHN KEDLE.
CLIV.
THE VISITATION AND COMMUNION OF THE
SICK.
0 Youth and Joy, your airy tread
Too lightly springs by Sorrow's bed,
Your keen eye-glances are too bright,
Too restless for a sick man's sight.
Farewell : for one short life we part ;
1 rather woo the soothing art,
Which only souls in sufferings tried
Bear to their suffering brethren's side.
Where may we learn that gentle spell ?
Mother of martyrs, thou canst tell !
Thou who didst watch thy dying Spouse
With pierced hands and bleeding brows,
Whose tears from age to age are shed
O'er sainted sons untimely dead,
If e'er we charm a soul in pain,
Thine is the key-note of our strain.
How sweet with thee to lift the latch,
Where Faith has kept her midnight watch,
Smiling on woe : with thee to kneel,
Where fixed, as if one prayer could heal,
JOHA REBLE.
She listens, till her pale eye glow
With joy wild health can never know,
And each calm feature, ere we read,
Speaks, silently, thy glorious Creed.
Such have I seen ; and while they poured
Their hearts in every contrite word,
How have I rather longed to kneel
And ask of them sweet pardon's seal !
How blessed the heavenly music brought
By thee to aid my faltering thought !
11 Peace ! " ere we kneel, and when we cease
To pray, the farewell word is, " Peace ! ;;
I came again ; the place was bright
" With something of celestial light " —
A simple altar by the bed
For high communion meetly spread,
Chalice and plate and snowy vest.
We ate and drank; then calmly blest,
All mourners, one with dying breath,
We sat and talked of Jesus' death.
Once more I came ; the silent room
Was veiled in sadly- soothing gloom,
And ready for her last abode
The pale form like a lily shewed,
By virgin fingers duly spread,
And prized for love of summer fled.
The light from those soft-smiling eyes
Had fleeted to its parent skies.
JOHN KEBL£>
O soothe us, haunt us, night and day,
Ye gentle spirits far away,
With whom we shared the cup of grace,
Then parted — ye to Christ's embrace,
We to the lonesome world again,
Yet mindful of the unearthly strain
Practised with you at Eden's door,
To be sung on, where angels soar,
With blended voices evermore.
GEORGE MORINE.
CLV.
DIRGE.
(In Memoriam C. D. F.)
M Earth to earth, and dust to dust :
Let them mingle, for they must."
i.
Raise the pillow ; smooth the bed ;
Gently turn that reverend head ;
Shade the lamp, nor let its glimmer
Vex those eyes that still grow dimmer -
Dim, and dark, and dead.
ii.
Softly speak, and lightly tread,
Move like shadows round the bed :
Let stillness fill the chambers wholly,
Brooding like a Spirit holy —
Waiting for the dead.
in.
Under breath let prayer be said ;
Children kneeling round the bed :
Stifle tears, and stifle sorrow,
They will find their place to-morrow —
Weeping for the dead.
20
290 GEORGE M0R1NE.
IV.
Life is fleeting ; life has fled !
Drop the curtain round the bed :
Through its clay-encumbered portal
Wanders forth a Soul immortal —
Dust retains the dead.
v.
Bend the knee, and bow the head ;
Let the last farewell be said :
So leave the chamber of the dead.
SAMUEL 7AYL0R COLERIDGE. 291
CLVL
HYMN.
(Before Sunrise in the Vale of Cliamouni.)
Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star
In his steep course — so long he seems to pause
On thy bald awful head, O sovran Blanc ?
The Arve and Arveiron at thy base
Rave ceaselessly ; but thou, most awful Form !
Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines,
How silently ! Around thee and above
Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black,
An ebon mass ; methinks thou piercest it
As with a wedge ! But when I look again,
It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine,
Thy habitation from eternity !
0 dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee
Till thou, still present to the bodily sense,
Didst vanish from my thought : entranced in prayer
1 worshipped the Invisible alone.
Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody,
So sweet, we know not we are listening to it,
Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought;
Yea, with my life and life's own secret joy ;
Till the dilating soul, enwrapt, transfused,
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE,
Into the mighty vision passing — there
As in her natural form, swelled vast to Heaven !
Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise
Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears,
Mute thanks and secret ecstacy ! Awake,
Voice of sweet song ! Awake, my heart, awake
Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my hymn.
Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the Vale !
O struggling with the darkness all the night,
And visited all night by troops of stars,
Or when they climb the sky or when they sink !
Companion of the morning-star at dawn,
Thyself earth's rosy star, and of the dawn
Co-herald ! wake, O wake, and utter praise !
"Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in earth ?
Who filled thy countenance with rosy light ?
Who made thee parent of perpetual streams?
And you, ye five wild torrents fiercely glad !
Who called you forth from night and utter death,
From dark and icy caverns called you forth,
Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks,
For ever shattered, and the same for ever ?
Who gave you your invulnerable life,
Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy,
Unceasing thunder, and eternal foam ?
And who commanded — and the silence came —
Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest ?
Ye ice-falls ! ye that from the mountain's brow
Adown enormous ravines slope amain —
SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice,
And stopped at once amid their maddest plunge !
Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts !
Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven
Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun
Clothe you with rainbows ? Who, with living flowers
Of loveliest blue,1 spread garlands at your feet? —
God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations,
Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God !
God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice !
Ye pine-groves, with your soft and soul-like sounds !
And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow,
And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God !
Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost !
Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle's nest !
Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain-storm !
Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds !
Ye signs and wonders of the element !
Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise !
Thou, too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks,
Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard,
Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene
Into the depth of clouds that veil thy breast —
Thou too, again, stupendous Mountain ! thou
That, as I raise my head, awhile bowed low
In adoration, upward from thy base
Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears,
Solemnly seemest, like a vapoury cloud,
1 The Genitalia Major*
29i SAMUEL TAYLOR COLERIDGE.
To rise before me ! rise, 0 ever rise ;
Rise like a cloud of incense from the earth !
Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills,
Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven,
Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky,
And tell the stars, and tell yon rising sun,
Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God.
JOHN GREENLEAF WH1TTIER.
CLVII.
THE RIVER PATH.
X< i bird-song floated down the hill,
The tangled bank below was still;
Xo rustle from the birchen stem,
Xo ripple from the water's hem.
The dusk of twilight round us grew,
We felt the falling of the dew ;
For from us, ere the day was done,
The wooded hills shut out the sun.
But on the river's farther side
We saw the hill-tops glorified, —
A tender glow, exceeding fair,
A dream of day without its glare.
With us the damp, the chill, the gloom :
With them the sunset's rosy bloom ;
While dark, through willowy vistas seen,
The river rolled in shade between.
From out the darkness where we trod
We gazed upon those hills of God,
29G JOHN GREENLEAF WIIITTIER.
Whose light seemed not of moon or sun.
We spake not, but our thought was one.
We paused, as if from that bright shore
Beckoned our dear ones gone before ;
And stilled our beating hearts to hear
The voices lost to mortal ear !
Sudden our pathway turned from night ;
The hills swung open to the light \
Through their green gates the sunshine showed,
A long slant splendour downward flowed.
Down glade, and glen, and bank it rolled ;
It bridged the shaded stream with gold ;
And, borne on piers of mist, allied
The shadowy with the sunlit side !
11 So," prayed we, " when our feet draw near
The river, dark with mortal fear,
" And the night cometh chill with dew,
Oh, Father ! let thy light break through !
" So let the hills of doubt divide,
So bridge with Faith the sunless tide !
" So let the eyes that fail on earth
On thy eternal hills look forth ;
11 And in thy beckoning angels know
The dear ones whom we loved below ! n
THOMAS DEKKER.
CLVIII.
A SOXG OF LABOUR.
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers ?
Oh, sweet content !
Art thou rich, yet is thy mind perplexed ?
Oh, punishment !
Dost thou laugh to see how fools are vexed
To add to golden numbers, golden numbers ?
Oh, sweet content !
Chorus. — Work apace, apace, apace, apace ;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.
Canst drink the waters of the crisped spring?
Oh, sweet content !
Swimm'st thou in wealth, yet sink'st in thine own tears?
Oh, punishment !
Then he that patiently want's burden bears,
No burden bears, but is a king, a king !
Oh, sweet content !
Chorus. — Work apace, apace, apace, apace ;
Honest labour bears a lovely face.
29S SIX WALTER SCOTT
CLIX.
HYMN TO THE VIRGIN.
Ave Maria ! Maiden mild !
Listen to a maiden's prayer :
Thou canst hear though from the wild,
Thou canst save amid despair.
Safe may we sleep beneath thy care,
Though banished, outcast, and reviled —
Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer ;
Mother, hear a suppliant child !
Ave Maria !
Ave Maria ! undefiled !
The flinty couch we now must share,
Shall seem with down of eider piled,
If thy protection hover there.
The murky cavern's heavy air
Shall breathe of balm if thou hast smiled :
Then, Maiden ! hear a maiden's prayer,
-Mother, list a suppliant child !
Ave Maria !
Ave Maria ! stainless child !
Foul demons of the earth and air,
From this their wonted haunt exiled,
Shall flee before thy presence fair.
We bow us to our lot of care,
Beneath thy guidance reconciled :
Hear for a maid a maiden's prayer,
And for a father hear a child !
Ave Maria !
HRRTCK WILLIAM FARRAR.
CLX.
IN THE FIELD WITH THEIR FLOCKS ABIDING.
In the field with their flocks abiding,
They lay on the dewy ground ;
And glimmering under the starlight
The sheep lay white around ;
When the light of the Lord streamed o'er them,
And lo ! from the heaven above
An angel leaned from the glory,
And sang his song of love : —
He sang that first sweet Christmas,
The song that shall never cease — ■
" Glory to God in the highest,
On earth good-will and peace/'
" To you in the city of David
A Saviour is born to-day ! "
And sudden a host of the heavenly ones
Flashed forth to join the lay !
O never hath sweeter message
Thrilled home to the souls of men,
And the heavens themselves had never heard
A gladder choir till then, —
For they sang that Christmas carol
That never on earth shall cease — ■
li Glory to God in the highest,
On earth good-will and peace."
300 FREDERICK WILLIAM FARRAR.
And the shepherds came to the manger,
And gazed on the Holy Child,
And calmly o'er that rude cradle
The Virgin Mother smiled ;
And the sky, in the starlit silence,
Seemed full of the angel lay :
" To you in the city of David
A Saviour is born to-day ; "
Oh, they sang — and I ween that never
The carol on earth shall cease —
11 Glory to God in the highest,
On earth good-will and peace."
CHRISTINA ROSSETTIi 301
CI !
ADVENT.
This Advent moon shines cold and clear,
These Advent nights are long ;
Our lamps have burned year after year,
And still their flame is strong.
" Watchman, what of the night? " we cry,
Heart-sick with hope deferred.
" Xo speaking signs are in the sky,"
Is still the watchman's word.
The porter watches at the gate,
The servants watch within ;
The watch is long betimes, and late ;
The prize is slow to win.
"Watchman, what of the night?" but still
His answer sounds the same ;
" The daybreak tops the utmost hill,
Nor pale our lamps of flame."
One to another hear them speak,
The patient virgins wise :
Surely He is not far to seek ;
All night we watch and rise.
3o2 CHRISTINA ROSSETTL
The days are evil, looking back,
The coming days are dim \
Yet count we not his promise slack,
But watch and wait for him.
One with another, soul with soul,
They kindle fire from fire ;
" Friends watch us who have touched the goal ;
They urge us, come up higher."
" With them shall rest our waysore feet ;
With them is built our home — ■
With Christ ! " " They sweet, but He most sweet,
Sweeter than honeycomb.*'
There no more parting, no more pain \
The distant ones brought near
The lost so long are found again —
Long lost, but longer dear.
Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,
Nor heart conceived that Rest :
With them our good things long deferred —
With Jesus Christ, our Best.
We weep, because the night is long ;
We laugh, for day shall rise ;
We sing a slow, contented song,
And knock at Paradise.
Weeping, we hold him fast who wept
For us, we hold him fast ;
And will not let him go, except
He bless us first or last.
CHRISTINA ROSSETTI 303
Weeping, wo hold him fast to-night :
We will not let him go
Till daybreak smite our wearied sight,
And summer smite the snow.
Then figs shall bud, and dove with d
Shall coo the live-long day ;
Then He shall say, " Arise, my L
My fair One — come away."
3o4 THOMAS CAMPBELL.
CLXII.
THE NATIVITY.
When Jordan hushed his waters still,
And silence slept on Zion hill ;
When Salem's shepherds through the night
Watched o'er their flocks by starry light :
Hark ! from the midnight hills around,
A voice, of more than mortal sound,
In distant hallelujahs stole,
Wild murmuring o'er the raptured soul.
Then swift to every startled eye,
New streams of glory gild the sky \
Heaven bursts her azure gates, to pour
Her spirits to the midnight hour.
On Wheels of light, on wings of flame,
The glorious hosts to Zion came ;
High heaven with songs of triumph rung,
While thus they smote their harps and sung
O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh ;
The joys of nature rise again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reign !
THOMAS CAMPBE 305
Mercy, from her golden urn,
Pours a rich stream to them that mourn ;
Behold, she binds with tender care.
The bleeding bosom of despair.
He comes to cheer the trembling heart,
Bids Satan and his host depart ;
Again the day-star gilds the gloom,
Again the bowers of Eden bloom !
O Zion ! lift thy raptured eye,
The long-expected hour is nigh ;
The joys of nature rise again,
The Prince of Salem comes to reisfn.
306 THOMAS CARLYLE.
CLXIIL
TO-DAY.
So here hath been dawning
Another blue Day :
Think wilt thou let it
Slip useless away ?
Out of Eternity
This new Day is born ;
Into Eternity,
At night, will return.
Behold it aforetime
No eye ever did :
So soon it for ever
From all eyes is hid.
Here hath been dawning
Another blue Day :
Think wilt thou let it
Slip useless away ?
JOHN WESLEY,
CLXIV.
THE PRESENCE OF GOD.
Lo ! God is here ! Let us adore,
And own how dreadful is this place !
Let all within us feel his power,
And silent bow before his face !
Who know his power, his grace who prove,
Serve him with awe, with reverence love.
Lo ! God is here ! Him day and night
The united choirs of angels sing :
To him, enthroned above all height,
Heaven's hosts their noblest praises brings
Disdain not, Lord, our meaner song,
Who praise thee with a stammering tongue.
Gladly the toys of earth we leave,
Wealth, pleasure, fame, for thee alone :
To thee our will, soul, flesh, we give ;
O take, O seal them for thine own :
Thou art the God ! Thou art the Lord !
Be thou by all thy works adored.
3o3 JOHN WESLEY.
Being of beings, may our praise
Thy courts with grateful fragrance fill ;
Still may we stand before thy face,
Still hear and do thy sovereign will :
To thee may all our thoughts arise,
Ceaseless, accepted sacrifice !
In thee we move : all things of thee
Are full, thou Source and Life of all —
Thou vast, unfathomable Sea !
Fall prostrate, lest in wonder fall,
Ye sons of men ; for God is Man :
All may we lose, so thee we gain !
As flowers their opening leaves display,
And glad drink in the solar fire,
So may we catch thy every ray,
So may thy influence us inspire :
Thou Beam of the eternal Beam !
Thou purging Fire ! Thou quickening Flame !
GE( BERT. 309
CLXV,
EASTER DAY.
I got me flowers to strew thy way,
I got me boughs off many a tree ;
Eut thou wast up by break of day,
And brought'st thy sweets along with thee.
The sun arising in the East,
Though he give light, and the East perfume,
If they should offer to contest
With thy arising, they presume.
Can there be any day but this,
Though many suns to shine endeavour ?
We count three hundred, but we miss :
There is but one, and that one ever.
3io GEORGE SANDYS.
CLXVI.
FROM THE " PARAPHRASE UPON LUKE I.
(Verses 68-79.)
O praise the Lord, his wonders tell,
Whose mercy shines in Israel,
At length redeemed from sin and hell
The crown of our salvation,
Derived from David's royal throne,
He now hath tohis people shown.
This to his prophets did unfold,
By all successively foretold,
Until the infant world grew old,
That He our wrongs would vindicate,
Save from our foes' inveterate hate,
And raise our long depressed estate.
To ratify his ancient deed,
His promised grace, by oath decreed,
To Abraham and his faithful seed.
That we might our Preserver praise,
Walk purely in his perfect ways,
And fearless serve him all our days.
GEORGE SANDYS. 311
His path thou shalt prepare, sweet Child,
And run before the Undefiled,
And Prophet of the Almighty styled.
Our knowledge to inform, from whence
Salvation springs : from penitence,
And pardon of each foul offence.
Through mercy, O how infinite !
Of our Great God, who clears our sight,
And from the Orient sheds his light.
A leading Star to enlighten those
Whom night and shades of death inclose,
Which that high track to glory shows.
3 1 2 JOSEPH ADDISON.
CLXVIL
HOW ARE THY SERVANTS BLEST, O LORD.
How are thy servants blest, 0 Lord,
How sure is their defence !
Eternal wisdom is their guide,
Their help Omnipotence.
In foreign realms and lands remote,
Supported by thy care,
Through burning climes I passed unhurt,
And breathed the tainted air.
Thy mercy sweetened every toil,
Made every region please ;
The hoary Alpine hills it warmed,
And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas.
Think, oh, my soul, devoutly think,
How, with affrighted eyes,
Thou saw'st the wide extended deep
In all its horrors rise.
Confusion dwelt in every face,
And fear in every heart ;
When wave on wave, and gulf on gulf,
O'ercame the pilot's art.
Yet then from all my griefs, () Lord,
Thy men y set me free,
Whilst in the confidence of prayer,
My faith took hold on thee.
For though in dreadful whirls we hung,
High on the broken wave,
I knew thou wert not slow to hear,
Nor impotent to save.
The storm was laid, the winds retired
Obedient to thy will ;
The sea, that roared at thy command,
At thy command was still.
In midst of dangers, fears, and death,
Thy goodness I'll adore,
And praise thee for thy mercies past,
And humbly hope for more.
My life, if thou preserv'st my life,
Thy sacrifice shall be ;
And death, if death must be my doom,
Shall join my soul to thee.
3i4 JAMES MONTGOMER Y.
CLXVIII.
A POOR WAYFARING MAN OF GRIEF.
A poor wayfaring man of grief
Hath often crossed me on my way,
Who sued so humbly for relief,
That I could never answer, Nay ;
I had not power to ask his name,
Whither he went, or whence he came,
Yet there was something in his eye
That won my love, I knew not why.
Once, when my scanty meal was spread,
He entered ; not a word he spake ;
Just perishing for want of bread ;
I gave him all ; he blessed it, brake,
And ate ; but gave me part again :
Mine was an angel's portion then ;
For, while I fed with eager haste,
That crust was manna to my taste.
I spied him, where a fountain burst
Clear from the rock ; his strength was gone ;
The heedless water mocked his thirst,
He heard it, saw it hurrying on j
JAMES MONTGOMERY.
I ran to raise the sufferer up ;
Thrice from the stream he drained my cup,
Dipt, and returned it running o'er :
I drank, and never thirsted more.
Twas night; the floods were out; it blew
A winter hurricane aloof;
I heard his voice abroad, and flew
To bid him welcome to my roof;
I warmed, I clothed, I cheered my guest,
Laid him on my own couch to rest ;
Then made the hearth my bed, and seemed
In Eden's garden while I dreamed.
Stript, wounded, beaten, nigh to death,
I found him by the highway-side :
I roused his pulse, brought back his breath,
Revived his spirit, and supplied
Wine, oil, refreshment ; he was healed :
I had myself a wound concealed ;
But from that hour forgot the smart,
And peace bound up my broken heart.
In prison I saw him next, condemned
To meet a traitor's death at morn :
The tide of lying tongues I stemmed,
And honoured him 'mid shame and scorn
My friendship's utmost zeal to try,
He asked, if I for him would die ?
The flesh was weak, my blood ran chill ;
But the free spirit cried, "I will,''
j t 6 JAMES MONTGOMER V.
Then in a moment to my view
The Stranger darted from disguise ;
The tokens in his hands I knew,
My Saviour stood before mine eyes !
He spake ; and my poor name he named,-
" Of me thou hast not been ashamed ;
These deeds shall thy memorial be ;
Fear not ; thou didst them unto Me."
WALTl I'T.
IX.
"DIES HUE, DIES ILLA."
That day of wrath, that dreadful day,
When heaven and earth shall pass away,
What power shall be the sinner's stay, — -
How shall he meet that dreadful day ?
When, shrivelling like a parched scroll,
The flaming heavens together roll ;
When louder yet, and yet more dread,
Swells the high trump that wakes the dead :
O ! on that day, that wrathful day,
When man to judgment wakes from clay,
Be Thou the trembling sinner's stay,
Though heaven and earth shall pass away !
ISAAC WATTS.
CLXX.
THE CHARACTER OF CHRIST.
Go, worship at Immanuel's feet ;
See, in his face what wonders meet ;
Earth is too narrow to express
His wrorth, his glory, or his grace !
The whole creation can afford
But some faint shadows of my Lord ;
Nature, to make his beauties known,
Must mingle colours not her own.
Is he compared to wine or bread ?
Dear Lord, our souls would thus be fed :
That flesh, that dying blood of thine,
Is bread of life, is heavenly wine.
Is he a tree ? The world receives
Salvation from his healing leaves :
That righteous Branch, that fruitful bough,
Is David's root and offspring too.
Is he a rose ? Not Sharon yields
Such fragrancy in all her fields :
Or if the lily he assume,
The valleys bless the rich perfume.
ISAAC I WITTS.
Is he a vine ? 1 lis heavenly root
Supplies the boughs with life and fruit :
Oh, may a lasting union join
My soul to Christ, the living vine !
Is he the head ? Each member lives,
And owns the vital power he gives ;
The saints below, and saints above,
Joined by his Spirit and his Love.
Is he a fountain ? There I bathe,
And heal the plague of sin and death ;
These waters all my soul renew,
And cleanse my spotted garments too.
Is he a fire ? He'll purge my dross \
But the true gold sustains no loss :
Like a refiner shall he sit,
And tread the refuse with his feet.
Is he a rock ? How firm he proves !
The Rock of Ages never moves,
Yet the sweet streams that from him flow,
Attend us all the desert through.
Is he a way ? He leads to God ;
The path is drawn in lines of blood ;
There would I walk with hope and zeal.
Till I arrive at Sion's hill.
ISAAC WATTS.
Is he a door ? I'll enter in ;
Behold the pastures large and green !
A paradise divinely fair ;
None but the sheep have freedom there.
Is he designed a corner-stone,
For men to build their heaven upon ?
I'll make him my foundation too,
Nor fear the plots of hell below.
Is he a temple ? I adore
The in-dwelling majesty and power :
And still to this most holy place
Whene'er I pray, I turn my face.
Is he a star ? He breaks the night,
Piercing the shades with dawning 1
I know his glories from afar,
I know the bright, the morning star.
Is he a sun ? His beams are grace,
His course is joy and righteousness :
Nations rejoice when he appears
To chase their clouds, and dry their tears.
O let me climb those higher skies
Where storms and darkness never rise !
There he displays his powers abroad,
And shines and reisns the incarnate God.
ISAAC WATTS.
Nor earth, nor seas, nor sun, nor star,
Nor heaven his full resemblance I
His beauties we ran never trace,
Till we behold him face to face.
22
1 2 2 WILLIAM CO J J TER.
CLXXI.
RETIREMENT.
Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far ;
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war.
The calm retreat, the silent shade,
With prayer and praise agree,
And seem by thy sweet bounty made
For those who follow thee.
There if thy spirit touch the soul,
And grace her mean abode,
Oh, with what peace, and joy, and love,
She communes with her God !
There, like the nightingale, she pours
Her solitary lays,
Nor asks a witness of her song,
Nor thirsts for human praise.
Author and guardian of my life,
Sweet source of light divine,
And — all harmonious names in one —
My Saviour ! thou art mine !
WILLIAM COWPER.
What thanks I owe thee, and what love -
A boundless, endless store —
Shall echo through the realms above
When time shall be no more.
324 JOHN MILT OX.
CLXXII.
MORNING HYMN.
These are thy glorious works, Parent of good,
Almighty, thine this universal frame,
Thus wondrous fair, — thyself how wondrous then !
Unspeakable, who sit'st above these heavens
To us invisible, or dimly seen
In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare
Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine.
Speak ye who best can tell, ye sons of light,
Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs
And choral symphonies, day without night,
Circle his throne rejoicing ; ye in heaven,
On earth join all ye creatures to extol
Him first, him last, him midst, and without end.
Fairest of stars, last in the train of night,
If better thou belong not to the dawn,
Sure pledge of day, that crown'st the smiling morn
With thy bright circlet, praise him in thy sphere,
While day arises, that sweet hour of prime.
Thou sun, of this great world both eye and soul,
Acknowledge him thy greater, sound his praise
In thy eternal course, both when thou climb'st,
And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall'st.
Moon, that now meet'st the orient sun, now fly'st
With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies,
And ye five other wandering fires that move
JOJ IX MILTON.
In mystic dance not without son-, resound
His praise, who out of darkness called up light.
Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth
Of Nature's womb, that in quaternion run
Perpetual circle, multiform j and mix
And nourish all things ; let your ceaseless change
Vary to our great Maker still new praise.
Ye mists and exhalations that now rise,
From hill or steaming lake, dusky or grey,
Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold,
In honour to the world's great author rise
Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky,
Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers,
Rising or falling still advance his praise.
His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow,
Breathe soft or loud ; and wave your tops, ye pines,
With every plant, in sign of worship wave.
Fountains and ye, that warble, as ye flow,
Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise.
Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds,
That singing up to heaven-gate ascend,
Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise.
Ye that in waters glide, and ye that wralk
The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep ;
Witness if I be silent, morn or even,
To hill, or valley, fountain, or fresh shade
Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise.
Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still
To give us only good ; and if the night
Have gathered ought of evil or concealed,
Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.
ELIZABETH B ARRET! BROWNING,
CLXXIII.
"HE GIVETH HIS BELOVED, SLEEP."
Of all the thoughts of God that arc
Borne inward into souls afar,
Along the Psalmist's music deep,
Now tell me if that any is,
For gift or grace, surpassing this —
" He giveth his beloved, sleep " ?
What would we give to our beloved ?
The hero's, heart to be unmoved,
The poet's star-tuned harp, to sweep,
The patriot's voice, to teach and rouse,
The monarch's crown, to light the brows ? —
He giveth his beloved, sleep.
What do we give to our beloved ?
A little faith all undisproved,
A little dust to overweep,
And bitter memories to make
The whole earth blasted for our sake.
He giveth his beloved, sleep.
" Sleep soft, beloved ! " we sometimes say,
But have no tune to charm away
Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep.
But never doleful d lin
Shall break the happy slumber when
He giv< th his ] leep,
O earth, so full of dreary no'
C) men, with wailing in your voices !
O delved gold, the waiter's heap !
0 strife, O curse, that o'er it fall !
God strikes a silence through you all,
And giveth his beloved, sleep.
His dews drop mutely on the hill ;
His cloud above it saileth still,
Though on its slope men sow and reap.
More softly than the dew is shed,
Or cloud is floated overhead,
He giveth his beloved, sleep.
Ay, men may wonder while they scan
A living, thinking, feeling man
Confirmed in such a rest to keep ;
But angels say, and through the word
1 think their happy smile is heard — ■
u He giveth his beloved, sleep."
For me, my heart that erst did go
Most like a tired child at a show,
That sees through tears the mummers leap,
Would now its wearied vision close,
Would childlike on his love repose,
Who giveth his beloved, sleep.
328 ELIZABETH BARRETT BRO WNING.
And friends, dear friends, — when it shall be
That this low breath is gone from me,
And round my bier ye come to weep,
Let One, most loving of you all,
Say, u Not a tear must o'er her fall ;
He giveth his beloved, sleep."
N O T I", s .
Page I. These stanzas form the "Introduction" to Blake's Songs
of Experience. "That strange interfusion of sweetness and strength,"
writes Mr. Pater, "is not to be found in those who claimed to be his
(Michelangelo's) followers; but it is found in many of those who worked
before him, and in many others down to our own time — in William
Blake, for instance, and Victor Hugo, who, though not of his school,
and unaware, are his true sons, and help us to understand him, as he
in turn interprets and justifies them" (The Renaissance, p. 104).
Page 3. Wordsworth's Ode To Duty has not been so popular,
or so much praised, as his Ode on lnti?nations of Immortality from
Recollections of Childhood, yet many competent judges consider it the
finer poem. Mr. Swinburne, for instance, in an article in the Nine-
teenth Century, observes, "I should place on the one hand the OdetoDuty,
on the other hand the Song at the Feast of Brougham Castle, as instances
of decisive and perfect success, high — upon the whole — above the Ode on
Intimations of Immortality ." Not so Rossetti, however : — "I remember,"
writes Mr. Hall Caine in his Recollections of Rossetti, " that some time
in March of the year in which he (Rossetti) died, Mr. Theodore Watts,
who was paying one of his many visits to see him in his last illness at
the seaside, touched, in conversation, upon the power of Wordsworth's
style in its higher vein, and instanced a noble passage in the Ode to
Duty. Mr. Watts spoke with enthusiasm of the strength and simplicity,
the sonorousness and stately march of these lines ; and numbered them,
I think, among the noblest verses yet written, for every highest quality
of style. But Rossetti was unyielding, and though he admitted the beauty
of the passage, and was ungrudging in his tribute to another passage
which I had instanced, he would not allow that Wordsworth ever pos-
sessed a grasp of the great style."
330 NOTES.
Page 9. It is somewhat surprising to find that none of Faber's
hymns are included in Lord Sclborne's Book of Praise, nor are any of
them to be found in the excellent collection of English Sacred Lyrics
published by Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench, and Co., in their Parchment
Library series. But although this poem, The Eternity of God, is un-
questionably a fine composition, and many of his hymns are deservedly
popular, Faber's work, as a vhole, is somewhat disappointing, and we
cannot but regret that many of his poems were ever written.
Page 12. The first and fourth stanzas of these lines by Cardinal
Newman appear to be a rhythmical echo of Cowper's —
" Far from the world, O Lord, I flee,
From strife and tumult far,
From scenes where Satan wages still
His most successful war."
Page 16. Our greatest sacred poets are usually held to be Milton,
George Herbert, Cowper, Heber, and Keble, yet the last of these —
Keble — writes in the year 1S25 : "To Spenser, upon the whole, the
English reader must revert as being pre-eminently the sacred poet of his
country ; as most likely, in every way, to answer the purposes of his
art ; especially in an age of excitation and refinement, in which the
gentler and more homely beauties, both of character and of scenery,
are too apt to be despised : wdth passion and interest enough to attract
the most ardent, and grace enough to win the most polished ; yet by a
silent preference everywhere inculcating the love of better and more
enduring things."
Page 19. "This poem," writes Dr. George Mac Donald, "is artistic
throughout. Perhaps the fact, of which we are informed by Izaak
Walton, that Donne caused it to be set to a grave and solemn tune, and
to be often sung to the organ by the choristers at St. Paul's in his own
hearing, especially at the evening service, may have something to do
with its degree of perfection. There is no sign of his usual haste about
it. It is even elaborately rhymed, after Norman fashion, the rhymes in
each stanza being consonant with the rhymes in every stanza. "
This is so, and it is especially interesting and noteworthy at the present
time when French forms of verse, like the ballade and the chant royal,
are so much in fashion. George Herbert's Aaron (see p. 221) may be
N\ 33'
referred to as another poem of this description in which the rhym
the same in all the stanzas.
jc 20. Miss Christina poem- have not, \vc think, re-
ceived as yet the high praise which they deserve. Her brother, Dante
Gabriel Rossetti, appear- to have been aware of the excellence < :
work, especially as regards her sonnets, which are little, if at all, infe-
rior to those by Mrs. Browning. Mr. Swinburne, who holds her p
in very high esteem, especially admires her Advent, which will be found
at p. 207, and her brother thought her sonnet entitled After Commu-
nion (p. 79) one of her nobl
PnSe 35- Some slight surprise is naturally stirred within us when
we find a playwright composing devotional poetry, yet Ben Jonson has
left us, in addition to this Hymn to God the Father, several other sacred
poems of great excellence. His Hymn on the Nativity and his lines To
Heaven may be mentioned amongst others.
Page 37. This graceful hymn I find in the Savoy hymn-book (as
also that by the late Dean Stanley). I have to thank Archdeacon
Farrar for kindly permitting me to include it and the Christmas Carol
given at p. 305.
Page 38. The poetry of Keble — we refer more especially to his
" Christian Year " — has undoubtedly had an extraordinary circulation.
In less than twenty years the " Christian Year " passed through some
thirty editions, and each edition consisted of 3,000 copies. Professor
Wilson (Christopher North) eulogized it in BlackivoooT s Magazine, and
a writer in the Qua?'terly Review, referring to it, observed, " In this
volume old Herbert would have recognized a kindred spirit, and "Walton
would have gone on a pilgrimage to make acquaintance with the author."
In recent years, however, an opposite tide has set in, and we hear more
often words of disparagement used respecting it than that it is wrorthy
of our admiration. I must confess that, while the whole of Keble's
poetry does not greatly delight me, there are some of his poems that
seem to be of a high order. Especially is this the case as regards his
lines, "O Youth and Joy, your airy tread," given at p. 2S6, which are
worthy of Wordsworth.
332 NOTES.
Page 42. Henry Yaughan must share with Arthur Hugh Clough his
title to the foremost place among the poets of Wales. Yaughan was
the forerunner of Wordsworth, while Clough's most intimate friend, Mr.
Matthew Arnold, is now Wordsworth's most illustrious disciple. The
reader will do well to compare Vaughan's poem, The Retreat (p. 238),
with Wordsworth's Ode on Intimations of Immortality y as the latter is
manifestly the echo of the former, although unquestionably the finer
poem. The main thought is the same in both compositions, namely,
that our life on earth is not our first existence ; and with this is coupled in
both poems the supposition that in our childhood, in our "angel-infancy,"
we have some "intimations of immortality," and behold some "shadows
of eternity." The similarity of the two poems is well defined by Dr.
MacDonald in his " England's Antiphon." " Wordsworth's poem," he
adds, "is the profounder in its philosophy, as well as far the grander
and lovelier in its poetry ; but in the moral relation Vaughan's poem
is the more definite of the two, and gives us in its close, poor as that is
compared with the rest of it, just what we feel is wanting in Words-
worth's— the hope of return to the bliss of childhood."
Several of his other poems also resemble those of Wordsworth, as for
instance the lines beginning —
1 ' I walked the other day, to spend my hour,
Into a field,
Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield
A gallant flower."
Page 47. "This ode," writes Bishop Warburton, "was written in
imitation of the famous sonnet of Hadrian to his departing soul ; but as
much superior to his original in sense and sublimity as the Christian
religion is to the Pagan " (Warburton's edition of Pope's Works, vol. i.
P. 133)'
The following lines are the so-called sonnet of Hadrian :
" Animula vagula, blandula,
Hospes comesque corporis,
Quae nunc abibis in loca
Pallidula, rigida, nudula ;
Nee, ut soles, dabis jocos."
I must confess that I see little similarity between the two poems, but
NOTES.
Hadrian's lines have been the source of inspiration of a large numl
poems, imitations, and paraphrases, Mrs. Barbauld's well-known
on "Life" being amongst the number. The followi
Trior's translation :
u Poor, little, pretty, fluttering Thing !
Must we no longer live together?
And dost thou prune thy trembling wing,
To take thy flight thou know'st not whithi
Thy humorous Vein, thy pleasing Folly,
Lies all neglected, all forgot ;
And pensive, wavering, melancholy,
Thou dread'st and hop'st thou know'st not what.
As regards Pope's poem, however, the fact seems to be that when asked
by Steele to write an Ode on Hadrian's lines he imitated not Hadrian,
but Thomas Flatman, a barrister, poet, and painter, who died the year
Pope was born, and whose poem, A Thought of Death, contains the
following lines :
" Fainting, gasping, trembling, crying,
Panting, groaning, speechless, dying.
* * * *
Methinks I hear some gentle spirit say,
l>e not fearful, come away."
Page 65. An Italian translation, by Mr. Gladstone, of this beautiful
hymn will be found in the NhietecntJi Century for September, 1SS3, of
which the following is the first verse :
" Senti, senti, anima mia,
(Fu il signore che sentia)
Gesu parla, e parla a te :
1 Di, Figliuolo, ami Me?'"
Page 70. George Herbert was a descendant of the Earls of Pembroke
and a younger brother of Lord Herbert of Cherbury. He was educated
at Westminster School and Trinity College, Cambridge, and was pre-
sented to the living of Bemerton by King Charles I. in the year 1630.
Richard Baxter pays the following tribute to the excellence of his
334 NOTES.
poems : ,; But I must confess, after all, "that, next the Scripture poems,
there are none so savoury to me as Mr. George Herbert's and Mr. George
Sandys'. I know that Cowley and others far exceed Herbert in wit and
accurate composure ; but as Seneca takes with me above all his contem-
poraries, because he speaketh things by words, feelingly and seriously,
like a man that is past jest ; so Herbert speaks to God, like one that
really belie veth a God, and whose business in the world is most with
God. Heart-work and Heaven-work make up his books " {Prefatory
Address to Baxters Poetical Fragments).
For details of his life the reader should refer to Izaak Walton's Life
of Herbert.
The following lines, entitled Employment, are exceedingly quaint and
typical of Herbert's style :
" He that is weary, let him sit.
My soul would stir
And trade in courtesies and wit ;
Quitting the fur
To cold complexions needing it.
Man is no star, but a quick coal
Of mortal fire :
Who blows it not, nor doth control
A faint desire,
Lets his own ashes choke his soul."
* * * *
r*aSe 73- These lines by Sir Thomas Browne should be compared
with Bishop Ken's Morning and Evening Hymns. It will be seen that
the Bishop, who was only five years of age when the Religio Medici
was published, has borrowed somewhat extensively from Sir Thomas
Browne's poem. The Bishop begins : " Awake, my soul, and with the
sun thy daily stage of duty run," which appears to be copied from
Browne's " Awake, . . . and with as active vigour run thy course as doth
the nimble sun." Again the Bishop writes : " Teach me to live that I
may dread the grave as little as my bed," — which also appears to be
copied from Browne's lines : —
" O make me try
By sleeping what it is to die,
And as gently lay my head
On my grave as now my bed."
NOTES.
• ■ ' my drowsy h the
Bishop reproduces : " Dull sleep, of sense me to deprive, I an but half
my time alive ! n And Browne's lines :
4< O come that hour when I shall never
Sleep again, but wake for ever,"
are manifestly copied in the Bishop's couplet :
11 O when shall I, in endless day,
For ever chase dark sleep away."
Page S6. This poem (as also Dr. G. MacDonald's " Marriage
'") was published in Lays of 'the Sanctuary (1859). I have to thank
Mr. Emmet for kindly permitting me to include it in this selection.
Page 113. Isaac Watts is said to have remarked that he would
sooner have written this poem by Charles Wesley than all his own
poems. It is a composition full of that spiritual force which springs
from conviction, but the same may be said of many of Watts's own
poems, and especially of that on " The Character of Christ " (p. 318).
Page 117. These characteristic lines are taken from Mr. Stevenson's
Underwoods. I have to thank Messrs. Chatto and Windus for allowing
me to include them in this selection.
v Page 133. A writer in the Athenctum (1879) observes that " there
are not many things in our Lyra Sacra which surpass "The Signals of
Levi ;" and "The Silent Tower of Bottreau " (p. 160) is equally re-
markable. Were I asked to name a poet whose writings especially
deserve to be better known, I should mention the author of these
poems. Born at Plymouth in 1803, Hawker married, when he was only
nineteen years of age, Charlotte, daughter of Colonel Wrey I'Ans, of
Whitstone House, near Bude Haven. Cornwall. Four years later he
gained the Newdigate Prize at Oxford,1 and in the following year (1S2S)
took his degree of 15. A. For more than forty years he was Vicar of
Morwenstow, Cornwall, and he wrote and published the following
1 Among other authors represented in this selection who also gained
the Newdigate Prize may be mentioned Heber, Faber, Milman, the
late Dean Stanley, and Mr. Matthew Arnold.
336 NOTES.
volumes of verse: " Tendrils by Reuben" (1821), " Records of the
Western Shore" (1832), second series of "Records," (Sic. (1836),
" Ecclesia, a Volume of Poems" (1840), "Reeds shaken with the
Wind" (1843), Second Series do. (1844), "Echoes from Old Cornwall"
(1846), "The Quest of the Sangraal" (1863), and "Cornish Ballads
and other Poems " (1869). He died at Plymouth in the year 1875, and
the evening before his death was received into the Roman Catholic
Church. The following lines are full of a peaceful grace indicative of
the life of their author :
THE TAMAR SPRING.
Fount of a rushing river ! wild flowers wreathe
The home where thy first waters sunlight claim ;
The lark sits hushed beside thee, while I breathe,
Sweet Tamar spring ! the music of thy name.
On ! through the goodly channel, on ! to the sea !
Pass amid heathery vale, tall rock, fair bough :
But never more with footsteps pure and free,
Or face so meek with happiness as now.
Fair is the future scenery of thy days,
Thy course domestic, and thy paths of pride :
Depths that give back the soft-eyed violet's gaze,
Shores where tall navies march to meet the tide.
Thine, leafy Tetcott, and those neighbouring walls,
Noble Northumberland's embowered domain ;
Thine, Cartha Martha, Morwell's rocky falls,
Storied Cotehele, and Ocean's loveliest plain.
* * * * * *
Thou heedest not ! thy dream is of the shore,
Thy heart is quick with life ; on ! to the sea !
How will the voice of thy far streams implore
Again amid these peaceful weeds to be !
My Soul ! my Soul ! a happier choice be thine —
Thine the hushed valley, and the lonely sod ;
P'alse dreams, far vision, hollow hope resign,
Fast by our Tamar spring, alone with God !
NOTES.
Dr. Johnson was exceedingly fond of this hymn, and i
to repeat it with a face beaming with enthusiasm. Hartley I
liked it the Least of Addison's hymns. ''I cannot i
"with the 'spangles1 and the 'shining frame.' They remind m
tambour work. Perhaps, if I had never read the psalm, I might think
the verses fine" (Abbey and Overton's English Church in
Century).
Page 224. Isaac Williams was one of the authors who wrote the
Lyra Apostolka, the two other principal contributors being Keble and
Cardinal Newman.
"There is a fine sonnet by Isaac Williams," writes Dante Gabriel
Rossetti, " evidently on the death of a worldly man, and he wrote
other good ones " (Mr. Hall Caine's Recollections of Rossetti, p. 249).
Page 228. This poem, as also The Garden of the Soul and At His
Feet, are taken from the Rev. Richard Wilton's Lyrics Sylvan and
Sacred, in which volume will be found some interesting translations
from the Latin sacred poetry of George Herbert.
Page 253. Richard Baxter was born in the year 16 15 at Rowton,
in Hampshire. He is said to have written more than one hundred
books, and BoswTell, probably embarrassed by so large a choice, records
that on one occasion he inquired of Dr. Johnson which of Baxter's
works he should read: — " Read any of them," replied the Doctor,
"they are all good ! "
More definite and serviceable, however, is the advice of Coleridge,
who writes : — " Pray, read with great attention Baxter's Life of him-
self; it is an inestimable work. ... I could almost as soon doubt the
Gospel verity as Baxter's veracity."
There are writers whose wrorks charm by reason of their lucidity,
good sense, and practical intelligence, rather than of any special gift of
erudition or grandeur of diction. Isaac Barrow may be given as one
illustrious example of such writers, and Richard Baxter is another.
Baxter wras, it is needless to state, a prose-writer and theologian rather
than a poet, yet the poem we have included in this selection is one of a
great merit.
Page 310. Mr. G. A. Simcox, referring to the four potts, Herbert,
Crashaw, Vaughan, and Sandys, observes: " Sandys was the only one
23
333 NOTES.
who could write smooth, clear, and vigorous verse — an accomplishment
which requires perfect self-possession, or overmastering inspiration, or
good models. Sandys wrote before Waller and Denham as well as
the average versifiers who came after Dryden. His classical transla-
tions are not equal to his scriptural paraphrases, and if he had finished
the /Eneid, Dryden would have left it alone."
He was the son of Sandys, Archbishop of York, and was born at
Bishopthorpe in the year 1577. After spending the greater part of his
life in Eastern travel he returned to his native country and employed
the remainder of his years in composing sacred poetry. Richard
Baxter writes : " . . . It did me good when Mrs. Wyat invited me to
see Boxley Abbey in Kent, to behold upon the old stone wall in the
garden, a summer-house with this inscription in great golden letters,
that in that place Mr. George Sandys, after his travels over the world,
retired himself for his poetry and contemplations."
LIST OF AUTHORS.
Addison, Joseph (1672-1719), xxn., xcv., clxvii.
Alford, Henry (1810-1871), 11., xl., xcvii.
Arnold, Matthew, xxviii., xxxix., lxxiv.
Austin, John (1613-1669), lxxxviii., cxix.
Baring-Gould, Sabine, xcvl, cxlvi.
Baxter, Richard (1615-1691), cxxxviii.
Beaumont, Sir John (1582-1628), cv.
Blake, William (1757-1828), 1., lxxiii., cxi.
bonar, horatius, xlii., c, cxli.
Browne, Sir Thomas (1605-1682), xlvh.
Bronte, Emily (1818-1849), lxyii.
Browning, Elizabeth Barrett (1809-1861), lx., cil, cxxx.,
clxxiii.
Bryant, William Cullen {b. 1797), xn., lii., cxlyiii.
Byrom, John (1691-1763), xli.
Byron, Lord (1788-1824), cxxiii., clii.
Campbell, Thomas (1777-1844), clxii.
Carey, Patrick (b. 1622), lviii.
Carlyle, Thomas (1795-1881), clxiii.
Clough, Arthur Hugh (1819-1861), xxi., lxx., xcix.
Coleridge, Hartley (1796-1849), lxxii., cyil, cxxyiii., clk
Coleridge, Samuel Taylor (1772-1834), xliy., clyi.
Cowper, William (1731-1800), xliii., lxxxiy., clxxi.
Crashaw, Richard (1612-1650), xxxi.
Dekker, Thomas (d. 1639), clyiii.
Donne, John (1573-1631), xm.
340 LIST OF A UTHORS.
Dowdex, Edward, xxx., lxiv., xcviii.
Drummoxd, William (1585-1649), xcil, cxx.
Drydex, Johx (1631-1700), LXI.
Emmet, Johx, lv.
Eliot, George (1820-1881), lxix.
Faber, Frederick William (1815-1863), vn., cxlii.
Farrar, Frederick William, xxv., clx.
Gilder, Richard Watsox, lxxx., lxxxvii.
Gosse, Edmund, lxxxv.
Grigg, Joseph [b. 1768), li.
Habixgtox, William (1605-1654), xlviii.
Hawker, Robert Stephex (1803-1875), lxxvi., lxxxix, cxv.
Heber, Regixald (1783-1826), iv., lvil, cxxvi., cxxxv.
Herbert, George (1593-1632), x., xxiil, xlvl, cxxii., clxv.
Herrick, Robert (1591-1662), xiv., xxxv., lxxix., cxliv.
Huxt, Leigh (1784-1859), cxlv.
Joxsox, Bex (1573-1637), xxiv.
Keble, Johx (1792-1866), xxvi., lxxxiii., cvi., cxxl, cliv.
Kixgsley, Charles (1819-1875), xv., liii., cxiii., cxxxiv.
LOXGFELLOW, HEXRY WADSWORTH (1807-1885), XXXVII., CXIV.
Lynch, Thomas Toke (1818-1871), xxxviii., xci., cxxxix.
Lyte, Hexry Fraxcis (1 793-1847), xvn.
Mac Donald, George, xlix.
Mant, Richard (1 776-1848), ex.
Marvell, Axdrew (1620-1678), ci.
Milman, Hexry Hart (1791-1868), xciv., cliii.
Milton, Johx (1608-1674), xxvu., lxii., clxxii.
Montgomery, James (1771-1854), cviii., clxviii.
Moore, Thomas (1779-1852), lxviii., cxl.
Morixe, George (1809-1872), clv.
Morris, Lewis, lxxxi., cxvi.
Myers, Frederick W. H., xxxvi., lxxxii., cxxxvii.
LIST OF AUTHORS.
1 S-1S66), CX 1 1.
r, W. K.. 1 w.wi.
Newm . \ III., I. VI.
Pai Turner, xix., t.xxviii.
ander (1688-1744), xxxii., 'xxxii.
Procter, Adelaide A. (1S24-1S64), exxix.
Qua 1 592-1644), cix., CXLIII.
Raleigh, Sir Walter (1552-1618), vi.
setti, Christina, xx., l., liv., lxxv., clxi.
Sandys, George (1577-1648), clxvi.
Scott, Sir Walter (1771-1832), xxxiv., clix., clxix.
Southwell, Robert (i 560-1 595), lix.
Spenser, Edmund (1 552-1598), xi.
Stanley, Arthur Penrhyn (1815-1881), xyiii.
Stevenson, Robert Louis, lxvi.
Taylor, Jeremy (1613-1667), v., lxxvii.
Trench, Richard Chenevix (1807-1886), xvi., xxxiil, cxxxi.,
CXLVII.
Vaughan, Henry (1621-1695), xxix., cm., exxxm.
Waddington, Samuel, lxxi., lxxxvi., cxxv.
Watts, Isaac (1674-1748), ix., clxx.
Wesley, Charles (1 708-1 788), lxv.
Wesley, John (1 703-1 791), clxi v.
Whittier, John Greenleaf, cxviil, clvii.
Williams, Isaac (1802-1865), xc, xciil, cxxiv.
Wilton, Richard, xlv., cxxvii., cl.
Wither, George (1588-1667), civ.
Wotton, Sir Henry (1 568-1639), cxvu.
Wordsworth, William (1 770-1850), in.
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE
Abou Bex Adiiem, may his tribe
increase 271
A little cake he asked for, that was all 194
Angel of charity, who from above 262
A poor wayfaring man of grief 314
Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden
slumbers 297
Art thou weary, art thou languid 202
A spirit passed before me : I beheld 223
A Sultan had a daughter sweet 27.2
Ave Maria! Maiden mild ! 298
Beautiful flowers round wisdom's
secret well 224
Behold ! a Stranger's at the door 80
Blessed, yet sinful one, and broken-
hearted 17
Blest be thy love, dear Lord 159
Blest pair of sirens, pledges of
heaven's joy 40
Breathe from the gentle south, O Lord 154
But how shall we be glad? 48
By cool Siloam's shady rill 242
Calm me, my God, and keep me
calm 179
Can I see another'swoe 200
Christ ! I am Christ's ! and let the
name suffice you .. 54
Christ is not dead, — so spake, in
accents low 157
Come, Holy One, in love 277
Come, O thou Traveller unknown ... 113
Creator Spirit ! by whose aid 05
Dear Jesu, when, when will it be ... 214
Earth to earth, and dust to dust _ ... 289
Even like two little bank-dividing
brooks 268
page
Fair eastern star, that art ordained
to run 190
Far from my heavenly home 24
Far from the world, O Lord, I flee ... 322
Father of all ! in every age 235
For ever with the Lord ! 195
Forth from the city gate 244
Forth from the dark and stormy sky 6
God and Father, great and holy 37
God called the nearest angels who
dwell with him above 212
God's child in Christ adopted,--Christ
myall 67
God of the thunder! from whose
cloudy seat 106
God, who at sundry times, in manners
many 247
Go worship at Immanuel's feet 318
Gracious Spirit, dwell with me 164
Happy those early days when I 238
Hearken, oh hearken ! let your souls
behind you 182
Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord 6$
Hast thou a charm to stay the morn-
ing star 291
Hear, Father, hear thy faint afflicted
flock 276
Hear me, O God 35
Hear the voice of the bard 1
Heart of Christ, O cup most golden 260
He liveth long who liveth well ! 63
Holiness on the head 221
Honey in the lion's mouth 23
How are thy servants blest, O Lord 312
How happy is he born and taught ... 210
I come to thee not asking aught, I
crave 1 08
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE
' . that life may '
I - i 1 7
i Rowers to strew thy way ... 309
1 and peace in the bright earth 175
I love, and have some cause to love,
the earth 197
I love and love not : Lord, it breaks
my heart 85
In holy hooks we read how Clod hath
spoken 126
In the fields with their flocks abiding 299
In the hour of my distress 52
I paced along 144
Is this a fast to keep 270
I would have gone; God bade me
stay 29
Let folly praise that fancy loves 92
Little children, dwell in love 61
Linger no more, my beloved 84
Lol God is here! letusadore 307
Lord Christ, if thou art with us, and
these eyes 176
Lord, come away 138
Lord, I have knelt and tried to pray
to-night 44
Lord, leave us not to wander lonely 86
Lord, thou hast given me a cell 141
Love thee ! _ oh thou, the world's
eternal sire ! 170
Mary sat at Jesus' feet 279
Most glorious Lord of life ! that on
this day 16
My fairest child, I have no song to
give you 204
My Redeemer and my Lord 57
My soul, go boldly forth 253
My spirit longeth for thee 62
My sun has set ; I dwell 130
Nigh to the place where he was
crucified 68
No bird-song floated down the hill ... 295
No coward soul is mine 118
No heavenly maid we here behold ... 143
Not war, nor hurrying troops from
plain to plain 2
Not with a choir of angels without
number T55
Now is the noon of sorrow's night ... 45
Of all the thoughts of God that are 326
O gladsome light 205
Oh, Captain of God's host, whose
dreadful might 226
Oh, could thy grave at home, at
Carthage, be! 41
Oh, righteous doom that they who
make 275
0 Jesus, 146
1 I Lord, my heart is sick 9
O Lordi my God, do thou thy holy will 1 1
O Master, it is good to be 25
() may I join the elixir invisible
On earth he walked, yet did in
heaven dwell 225
O only Source of all our light and
life 30
O praise the Lord, his wonders tell 310
O Son of Man, great Shepherd of the
sheep 228
O thou whose image in the shrine ... 177
O God, our help in ages past 13
O years and age, farewell 20
: O Youth and joy, your airy tread ... 286
Praise to the Holiest in the height 12
Red o'er the forest peers the setting
sun 218
Rise, O my soul, with thy desires to
heaven 8
Round the Lord in glory seated 199
Run, shepherds, run, where Bethle-
hem blest appears 166
Softly and gently, dearly-ransomed
soul 89
So here hath been dawning 306
Speak low to me, my Saviour, low
and sweet 94
Spirit! whose various energies 58
j Star of morn and even 27
Stern Daughter of the voice of God 3
Sweet baby, sleep ! what ails my
dear 187
Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright 15
Sweetest Lord! that wert so blest... 281
That day of wrath, that dreadful day 317
The Assyrian came down like the
wolf on the fold 282
The bird let loose in Eastern skies ... 120
The child leans on its parent's breast 163
The day of the Lord is at hand, at
hand 21
The last and^ greatest herald of
heaven's King 216
The Lord my pasture shall prepare... 32
The merry world did on a day 33
The moon was bright that Paschal
night '. 173
The mountain that the moon doth kiss 158
The night is come. Like to the day 73
There is light on Hebron now 133
The sad and solemn night 82
These are thy glorious works, Parent
of good 324
344
INDEX OF FIRST LINES.
PAGE
The snow lies deep throughout the
night 168
The spacious firmament on high 172
The thought of God, the thought of
thee 265
They are all gone into the world of
light 42
11 They have no more wine," she said 77
This Advent moon shines cold and
clear 301
This is the month, and this the happy
morn 97
Thou art gone to the grave ! but we
will not deplore thee 90
Thou blessed day ! I will not call thee
last 230
Though the}- may crowd 207
Thou say'st, Take up thy cross 139
Through that pure virgin-shrine 184
Tintagel bells ring o'er the tide 160
To-day 'tis Elim, with its palms and
wells 263
To mercy, pity, peace, and love 127
Two sayings of the Holy Scriptures
beat 233
Vital spark of heavenly flame 47
PAGE
What we when face to face we see... 123
What gospel, still what gospel?
Christ, yea, Christ 125
We cannot kindle when we will 128
When darkness fills the western sky 20p"
When for the thorns with which I
long, too long 181
When Israel, of the Lord beloved ... 50
When I survey the bright 75
When Jordan hushed his waters still 304
When our heads are bowed with woe 284
Where is thy favoured haunt, eternal
voice 33
Whither, O whither art thou fled 70
Why feedest thou on husks so coarse
and rude 234
Why should I call thee Lord, who
art my God 79
Wilt thou forgive that sin when I
begun 19
Worldly designs, fears, hopes, fare-
well! 91
Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids ...... 192
11 Yes, write it in the rock,'' Saint
Bernard said 60
I7NWIN BROTHERS, THE GRESHAM PRESS, CHIt.WORTH AND LONDON.
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