University of Virginia Library

And now another spring, another year
Bears on to long—long—long eternity,
Numbering the watches of our fleeting age
By callings to repentance. Spring returns,
Spring into summer melts, and summer pours
Its lap in autumn, which in winter dies,
And winter gradual kindles into spring.
Thus, now advancing and retiring now,
The seasons intertwining form the wheels
Which, turning and returning, bear us on
To the great circle of eternity,
Which in itself revolves—end without end.
Their changeful rounds set forth the Unchanging Whole,
And all their changes to the Unchangeable
Hasten, as rivers to a shoreless sea.

The spring returns, and 'neath her mantle green
Brings sacred Lent, the admonitory call
Of One who cares for us withdrawn from sight:
As if from midst the stars when night is still,
And Heavens are in their courses swift and mute,
Like sentinel who speaks of dangers near,
He came to us and ask'd if All is well.
As if on ward, with gentle-warning touch
He came, in solemn whisper heard within,
“Arise, and pray!” or with reproving grief,
“Could ye not watch with Me one little hour?”

Once more then—and once more—for thus each Lent
Is but the seed-time of the Great Unseen.

And oh, how short the time! For what is life
Amid the abysses of the infinite,
The everlasting into which we pass?
A minute spot beneath the shadows huge
Of the o'erwhelming future, hedged within,
Where lies our short-hour'd life, like valleys green
With sunny lakes and busy works of men
On verdant slopes, all circumscribed beneath
The ever-present sight of mountains high,
Alps upon alps ascending, till from view
They hide among the skies. Such be to us
The little vineyard of our life below,
Where we are call'd to labour; it may have
Its varied sweet with toil, and gleams and showers,
And shadows intermingling with the light.

'Tis vernal Lent again; look forth abroad
Where elm-girt fields terrace the sidelong hill
That lifts its back behind, whereon the sheep
Range for scant pasture o'er the dark-green down;
The plough is on the slope—the ploughman sings
His matins with the lark—the harrow's march
Turns back, and then its harness'd task renews
On the hard clogs, and gathers weedy roots,
Backward and forward still renews the task:
Another scatters wide the stable heaps.
Thus nature may set forth the work of Grace
And seed-time, and the work that on us lies:
Hard thoughts to break and open to the sun
And dews of God's good Spirit, on the head
The ashes of repentance: such the task
As may by self-abasement soil restore,
Chill'd and impoverish'd by the unsparing world.

Meanwhile in heavenly places may be heard
The Intercessor's plea, Stop yet awhile—
Leave it alone—but one year more—and spare;
If it bear fruit then, well; but if not then,
Then shalt thou cut it down; for where it falls,
There the tree lies for ever. He that pleads
In Heaven, on earth His warning voice applies,
With warning joins His interceding Love.

And now this gradual burst of genial Spring
Looks in upon us, and with such a call
That it must needs its gentle teaching blend,
And harmonize its soothing eloquence
E'en with the sterner wisdom heard within.

Early before the dawn hath mark'd the sky
I hear the little birds, in accents sweet
Speaking of love and joy; and all the trees
Are swelling preparation, 'neath each shrub
Looks out some modest violet, verdant banks
Stand thick with showers of yellow primrose pale
As Winter's sky with stars; for Nature keeps
Coming espousals of the earth and sky.
Love issues forth abroad,—the varied green
O'er-canopies his ways, while the bright blue
Soft intervenes; Flowers spring beneath his feet;
Birds sing around him from their sylvan homes;
Clouds at his presence move, careering fast,
And open all the Heavens; the Air is balm;
Earth, Sky, and Seas and Rivers, graceful smile;
And all his path is sunshine as he goes.

I deem it in accordance meet and kind
The Church at such a season should repeat
Her annual call to mourn. For what if Love
Builds now his nest abroad with budding gems
Embowering overhead. with flowers beneath,
And keeps with songs the same. It seems to say
We have another love, another home,
The love of God and Heaven; and of that love
The Cross is made the sign to us on earth.
Look up to Heaven, the busy Day hath dropp'd
His curtain o'er the many-colour'd scene
And many-voiced, the silent Night invites
Our eyes, prone on the ground, to lift toward Heaven,
And ponder there on our eternal home.
See, how the dark hath shown more than the light,
Light hath the earth, the dark hath oped the skies.
On wing of swiftest motion—what repose!
Like some harmonious music—yet how still!
Silence and light and swift obedience all:
Obedience without law, light without shade.
Day stirring-tongued hath ceased—and Silence left
To tell her tale more movingly to man,
Of beauty such as is not of the spring,
Of resurrection's great unchanging year,
Pure and serene as night, when she lets fall
Her tears for sinful man; of Love Divine,
Not sought in vernal Nature's soft delights,
But with the Cross of soul-subduing Lent.

But is there not a peace self-reconciled
Which knows constraint no more, and feels no yoke;
For faith and virtue breathe celestial air
Here upon earth, where all is joy serene;—
Where the light Cross knows suffering Lent no more,
For love is its reward, its own delight?
Yes; unto them whose will made one with God
Hath perfect freedom in His service found:
When His commands become the wings that bear
Upward to Heaven, and there find rest in Him.
But faith and virtue know of no advance,
No forward step progressive from the past,
Save where self is denied, self overcome:
As climbing vines in heights they have attain'd
Hang full with summer fruits, and there repose;
Yet rise not thence save where the tendril spreads
Cross-like its hands, uprising shows the Cross.
'Tis thus on earth, where our probation blends
With the infirmities of human will;
For that must on it bear our Master's sign
Which would increase His love; it is the Cross
Gives wings to Prayer, for Heaven-conversing Prayer,
When Fasting and when Sorrow hedges in,
Is then most strong and sweetest; 'tis the Cross
Which sanctifies all deeds of charity,
E'en as the widow's mite—bent all to give,
Like life-blood from the heart—thence dear to Him
Who gave His all for us; whate'er it be
Which we with God would treasure, if the Cross
Be absent from it, 'tis not known in Heaven;
For Alms without it cannot pass the door,
Unless they bear on them that Kingdom's stamp,
The type and superscription of the King.
With open-handed boon, from door to door,
'Mid low-roof'd cottages to pass, as soft
As wings of Western winds that breathe on flowers,—
If the Cross be not with it, 'tis as nought
With Him who sees in secret; and to pore
O'er sacred volumes—sit by flowery wells
Of ages rich in wisdom, converse sweet
With saintly men of old, in studious cell,
If the Cross marks it not, and keeps subdued
By unremitting prayers and self-distrust,
'Tis but as worldly knowledge puffing up
To leave the heart still cold. To walk abroad
In cloister'd garden haunts, for student pale,
And watch each flower and shrub, each gleam and shade,
If the Cross be not on it, with the rein
O'er wandering thoughts, e'en this too is but cause
For retrospective sorrow; further yet,
To teach the ignorant, subdue the proud,
To move all hearts with pulpit eloquence,
And kindle the Refiner's fire in souls
Merged in the world, 'tis no avail in Heaven,
Unless the Cross be on the heart in prayer,
Sole sanctifier; nor can this my verse
To me and others work enduring good,
If not with that Anointing consecrate
That goeth from the Cross and Him that bears
That weight of loving sorrows. Therefore sweet
I deem this season of the opening year,
Because the Church hath on it laid the Cross,
So to attune our hearts to bear a part
In vernal signs unblamed, and hallow'd thus
That sadness of the heart which oft attends
On Nature's joys—that strange unconscious grief,
Which speaks of man exiled from Paradise;
Nor all unmeet are suffering Nature's smiles
With the Church call to inner shrines apart,
Between the porch and altar there to weep,
Although our Second Adam for our sakes
Kept fast His forty days where Nature mourn'd,
Amid the creatures of the desert wild.

For what if sympathies now stir abroad,
Making the air—the wave—the field—the bough—
All animate and vocal with delight?
As when the impassion'd heart expression seeks
With flying fingers o'er some instrument,
And wakes and modulates unto a tongue;
So now all Nature moulds herself a voice
Jubilant with thanksgiving, breaking forth
In beauty and in life and vernal joy.

Man's heart is made for a diviner love,
Love which may walk above the things of sense,
And hold communion with the eternal world,
Treading on all that man holds dear on earth,
And walking on the clouds with eyes that gaze
Upward to throne of God, whereon there sits
He that is God and Man; nor all in vain
Are Nature's sympathies, for we with them
Still blend our lower being, now made one
With Him who sits in Heaven. For all are His,
All to His service bound. All good He links
E'en to His throne in Heaven, where now He reigns
Above the highest star, with power to draw
All things unto Himself. The man within
Is made for love which above wisdom soars
And contemplation, fills the being whole.
What is the feeling heart, the kindling eye,
The bloom of strong affections on the soul,
With all the powers that move the heart of man,
But gifts, and tendrils, and attractive chains,
By which we might feel after, and might find,
And hold the Man of Sorrows; Nature's stock
Where spiritual love might grafted grow,—an eye
That hath been made for tears, that it may weep
On Calvary; feet that might thither tend,
The soul of love within them moving there;
Unbidden hands that there might hold Him fast,
Him whom our love hath found, nor let Him go?
Alas! that such e'en Nature's tenderness
Should be the occasion and the hold of sin,
Mating the soul with charnels and the grave.

For He Himself is Love, His Name is Love,
Love is His Being, Love essential God;
And all things unto Him He draws with love
From step to step—from chain to chain—from low
To highest—all He fills and moves with love
Which He would to Himself conform, would make
Like to Himself, unto Himself would join,
Clothed with Himself and housed, made one with Him;
Love in them, they in Love must dwell, that thus
Self they may leave behind, and dwell in God.

Yet more: our God Incarnate gives Himself
Upon the Cross to be our Living Bread,
The one true food of body and of soul,
And so our very senses to Himself
E'en in Himself hath sanctified, that they
Into Himself thus more and more may grow;
The hands, that they to Him all the day long
Be lifted up in Prayer; the knees, that they
By kneeling in their weakness by His strength
Be strengthen'd; and the feet, that they may be
His own and on His errands always found
Of mercy, on the mountains bringing peace,
Beautiful as the streaks that make the dawn;—
The eyes, that they with His own light within
May all things read, fill'd with the mind of Christ;—
Read Him in Nature and in Providence,
Read Him in daily life, on public stage,
In all things read His parable; the tongue,
That it may be all His, may speak His words,
And prayer and praise and charity; the heart,
That it may beat for Him who gave it life,
The better life, the Blood of His own Heart,
That it may be within the Well of Life.
So where His hallow'd Cross hath gone before,
His quickening Body may be stretch'd on ours,
The living on the dead, to every limb
Infusing life divine; 'tis not to us
Mezentius-like, as told in heathen tale,
Though such was once to Him a bed of death
So exquisite in torture, when of man
The body dead in sin was bound and spread
Upon His Living Body on that Cross,
But unto us 'tis life, His life o'ercomes
And swallows up our death, with His own life
To live for ever. To each sense, each limb
Imparting of Himself, of rest in Him.

Oh, may we be of those, while time is given,
Who hide beneath that saving, sheltering wing,
Outstretch'd to gather us with earnest call!
Sweet e'en His words reproving, when address'd
Unto that little flock—His tender care—
To whom His Father had the kingdom given:
“O ye of little faith, to be afraid
Of angry winds and storms that shake the boat!”
“O ye of little faith, because ye fear
Having no bread!” Ne'er words of greater love,
As of a nurse who would wipe every tear
From off her infant's cheek, each fear suppress,
And by ungentle rockings to and fro
Upon her quiet bosom soothe to peace.

Wilt Thou not come to me each passing morn,
In some told miracle which with the Cross
May sink into my spirit? with some tale
Of healing mercy, or some parable
By which unto myself Thy Spirit says,
“Thou art the man, that need of health is thine?”

Wilt Thou not come to me in scenes of life
And nature in the field, while to the heart
The creatures of Thy hand may speak of Thee?

Now March's bitter and unpitying wind
Blows on the tender, meek, and trembling lamb,
E'en as the cold winds of the unfeeling world
Came on the Lamb of God, the innocent Lamb
Upon the Cross naked and suffering laid
To all the winds of Heaven—nay, all the winds,
But not of Heaven. O all ye pitying thoughts,
And all ye spirits that relentings move,
Come to my heart from these my eyes without,
And give me eyes within that Holy Lamb
To see—till they drop tears, tears which within,
When all is parch'd by the dry eastern winds,
From sore remembrances of what is past,
May come like April sun-showers! I that Lamb
Would take home to my heart, that it may be
Laid in my bosom—drink my cup and eat
My bread with me, my one—my little one,
And be to me a daughter, one to watch
And ward defiling thoughts. O mystic Lamb,
Type of endurance and meek innocence,
Still ever thus be with me, in my heart,
And in my deeds and gesture from henceforth,
And ever at my side and on my tongue,
Teaching all ways of lowly gentleness.
How can I hide him from the unpitying winds
Of contumely, scorn, and the world's hate,
But in my heart of hearts?

With gradual move
From week to week approaching comes the Cloud
Of Lent, replete with penitential tears;
The Cloud wherein God is, that we may fear,
And bow'd to earth may hear His awful voice;
Entering with Moses and Elias there,
And there to be with Christ—the forty days—
Lifted above the world, with Christ to talk
Of His departure hence on Calvary,
Learning how “good 'tis for us to be here,”
And thence with Christ descending, walk with Him
In penitential humbleness and care
'Mong men below, and nothing know 'mong men
Except Christ Crucified; so learn we how
Sorrow's mysterious sanctities, which here
Tend all the unclothing of the soul, and point
In various shapes our pathway to the grave,
May bind us to the Cross of God's dear Son,
Work in us death that we may live with God.

To wear the threshold of a good man's door—
And to pass by with silent courtesies
Those that stand idle in the market-place,
The personal talk—the light-heard vanities
That perish with the past, discourse of farm,
Of funded stock and merchandise, and stage
Of politics, and incident in camp or town,
Of wars, unholy leagues, and cries to arms,—
Shut against these the ear, if it may be,
And still more close the heart;—to talk of Christ
E'en by the way, and of His dying love,
And of the great Hereafter. Those avoid
That love the dress of fashion;—on thy robe
And fringes of thy garment be inscribed
The love of Christ and of His hallow'd Cross;—
For outward garb bespeaks the heart within;
Nor artful care, nor still less let there be
The artful negligence, but artless love
Of chaste simplicity. And flee the stir
Of controversial heats and kindling eye
Of partisanship, the contagious fret,
Mingling of human passion with the flame
Of upward fires divine; but seek the abode
Of wisdom, and drink in the pregnant words
Of one that prays. Nor seek his tongue alone,
But seek the searching of a good man's eye,
And it may be the healing; above all
Seek the absolving keys, of comfort sweet,
The Church's seal of pardon. Some, may be,
Need upward training on some stabler stay,
Some dresser of the vineyard,—on the ground
Else haply lost without all fruit or power,
Waste wandering; yet a danger e'en in this
Of too much aid, too oft appliances
Of the directing hand, lest Conscience lose
Self-guiding judgment, needing exercise,
Leaning on aid external to itself;
So frail, so subtle, and so complex-form'd
The soul of man—its motives—and its thoughts,—
Its past, its present; interwoven all
With inward make and structure; from without
Its manifold temptations, and within.
Nor can the charge and weight of our own souls
Be transferr'd to another; no one else
Can sit within the soul upon the seat
Which God has made for conscience, and there placed
The self-condemning, self-absolving judge,
The oracle of God which is within.
The tempter on external aid will urge
To cast the burden, when with sterner voice
The monitor within gives warning note
Of danger, well-advised; while self-deceit
Would plead her cause, and seek the approving seal.
And doubtless all the long-wrought tangled web
Of circumstance, of doubt, perplexing thoughts
Of right and wrong, with convolutions raised
And manifold dependencies, self-known,
Are given to exercise the reasoning soul,
To strengthen and to purify the eye
Of conscience, from the motives unperceived,
Whose subtle film the vision may impair.
'Tis oft as with the eye itself diseased,
Medical aid through all the frame diffused
Must strengthen the whole body, by degrees
To pour new health into and so correct
The instrument of vision. Conscience oft
Needs renovation through the man entire,
And daily life restored. To meet the Eye,
The awful Eye of God, nor seek disguise
The sickly soul will shrink, and turn away
To feeble human counterparts, like birds
That love to dwell in twilight. Better seek
The Eye that is life-giving though severe,
And by obedience to His inner law
And to His written Word to hang on Him,
Till weariness to rest, fear turn to love.

Such caution need the ministrations oft
Of sacerdotal aid and guiding powers
'Mid saintlike ways, medicinal and good,
Of penitents. Far oftener souls impair'd
Will altogether cast aside the bonds,
Minister to themselves the absolving keys,
In partisanship or example frail
Seeking the opiate of unreal peace.

Meanwhile, if girded with its lamp to watch,
Repentance of itself within itself
Finds theme for too much sorrow, when 'tis bent
To drive some treacherous inmate from the soul.
Who hath not found, when he hath striven and pray'd
Against some bosom sin, that it hath been
Like rousing of a viper which will bite
And leave a sting ere he resigns his place
Where he has coil'd upon the breast, too long
Left haply undisturb'd and nourish'd there?
Yea, e'en at holiest season or in hour
Of solemn grief will make his presence felt.
The unclean spirit then most fiercely raged
When Christ was near, on hearing of His voice,
And bidden from his victim to depart.

Then fear not, but wax strong in faith and prayer
When trial seems most rife, and on thee turns;
For safe are we in God, till sin leaves reft
Of His protection; but relapse in sin
Denotes His anger and His aid withdrawn;—
Full ample cause for sadness and alarm;
For His displeasure answers to our fear.
But every conquest proves a strength Divine,
And strength Divine speaks all-protecting love.

Then what if Prayer and Fast throughout the day
Keep watch, the Rock thus smitten flows with tears,
And is its own refreshing; better thus
Than when in dead of night the spirit wakes
All dry and desolate amid the stir
Of this world's hurried pastimes, feels the weight
Of everlasting ages yet to be—
On everlasting everlasting piled
For ever and for ever; wakes to feel
That every day, like wave on wave that drifts
The nearer to that shore, doth render us
Less fit to meet it, adds unto the score
Of empty pleasures or of vanities
Less stern yet not less empty: at such time
In the dread still of solitary night,
When Thought lets down the plummet to the deep
And finds no bottom, Esau's bitter cry
Is scarce more bitter; and that cry was full
Of penitential tears—but yet the wood
Was not in waters of that bitterness;
For tears need to be wash'd with other tears,
And grief itself is cause for after grief,
Till brought to Christ, till Love hath sanctified
And His all-healing Cross hath touch'd the wave.

To Paul 'mid bonds, imprisonments, deaths oft,
Bearing about the dying of his Lord,
And his own body with no fancied blows
Bruising and beating under, there was given
Deep pleasure in infirmities, with men
Of men most miserable, yet the while
The glow within of everlasting morn
Kept its perpetual sunshine. In the dawn
The morning star looks fairest of all stars,
Emerging from the gloom, and while it stays
Bright gleams have bathed the tears which night hath left.

In both alike, the crowded Babylon
And the lone rock of Patmos, sons of love
Admitted were to converse high with God,
When the flesh weaken'd had let go its hold
And pressure on the soul, and the freed wing
Upward arose, from earthly weight withdrawn.

When all is still in the dark solemn night,
Such thoughts may be our music, whispering peace;
For if to Saints and Martyrs chains and stripes,
Buffetings of the world, exile and shame,
Borne for Thy sake and chosen for Thy love,
Were to them gladness and exceeding joy;
So others in the losses of the world,
In lone imprisonment and claustral bars,
Though not for Thy sake chosen, yet in Thee,
By Thee, and with Thee borne,—they those sad hours
Have found more sweet than all the blessings heap'd
On former high estate and prosperous course.

Then what if Weakness as with prison bounds
Closes around, and Sickness with stern hand
Draws down unto the grave day after day?
Pining Infirmity, with night-long pains
That pave the way to death, may render eyes
That look to Heaven familiar with the Face
Of the Great Comforter, who pitying looks
On those that mourn—His loved ones; nay, at times
Pressure severe and the approach of death
Opens the eyes to things that are so great,
And dwarfs or disannuls the hopes and fears
That held the heart in thrall, when hurrying hours
May do the work of ages. Sweet such hopes
That cheer life's close. As I have seen what time
A murky haze had veil'd the sky and earth
And dimm'd the distance from the hill, when lo!
Between the clouds shot down a silver shower
Upon the western Severn, and afar
Ships were beheld within that shield of light
On confines of the Day. In other climes
They seem'd to walk, within a brighter world,
Fairer than ours. Thus have I known of peace
That came upon the last declining days
Of one who for long years had struggled sore
With a desponding sadness.

What remains
Each day when kept from sin to yield Thee praise,
Each day give thanks for the release from pain,
Each day for comforts of some timely friend,
Each day for self-denial seized in love,
Each day for merciful occasion given,
This is enough—to cut off lofty hopes
And aspirations which must fade as dreams
When we awake; for strong imaginings
Will mould and colour as the heart inclines,
And from their own creations then stretch forth
To love or hate, and minister to sin.
These when the clouds depart shall be disclosed
In saints of God as golden steps of Heaven,
Transmuted by an alchemy divine.

Hence from this season, which is wisdom's school,
The heart may learn to keep perpetual Lent,
By which the daily cares and toils of life
Are sanctified, relieved, and fruitful made
In good; when of itself the will is train'd
To love the Will of God, because it thus
Hath learn'd the virtue of the Cross of Christ,
And what to Him may bring, and drink from Him
Who smites and is Himself the smitten Rock.
'Tis sweet to think our path-besetting ills
And trials are from Thee that lovest us
And knowest, and thereby unto Thyself
Would draw us, waiting for our love. To us
Reproof is but remedial, though to Thee
Stripes whereby we are healed; fleshly pains
Are wearisome and profitless until
Hallow'd by the remembrance of the woes
That made long furrows on Thy back, and marr'd
Thy countenance with sorrow; venom'd words
Inflame, till gazing on Thee, taught by Thee,
Love shall extract the poison of those wounds.

Or look we forth where news ephemeral lift
The mirror of mankind, the chequer'd page
Of politics and trade, of strife and crime,
'Tis too much cause for sadness. Reason there
Distemper'd and discolour'd looks on man,
Shorn the sweet locks of charity; as when
The sun arising in some murky fen
Draws up the sick foul vapours round his face,
And through them looks bloated and turbulent:
In love of Thee restored her purer light
Mounts high, with genial ray she walks in Heaven,
And scatters earth-born vapours from her path.

What are our home affections without Thee?
Oh, that on those around us Thou wouldst set
The shield of Thy protection, that ourselves
May harm them not, nor soil by any taint
Of our example; and if rent in twain
These ties, may yet our love be firm in Thee!

And what is earthly friendship without Thee?
Its best estate is as some glassy vase,
Or porcelain of frail transparency,
Lifted with care and held with tender hands.
At one rude blow—the first, alas! and last—
Shiver'd upon the ground it broken lies,
All tearful, tender reminiscences.
Nor though cemented and uprear'd again
Is it what once it was, and our poor tears
Are weak disjointed fragments to restore;
It is not, and it ne'er can be again.
But Thou wouldst all our love—though one rude sin
Hath dash'd it all in shivers on the ground—
Yet Thou wouldst it replace and form anew,
Cemented with Thy Blood and wrought entire,
That it may hold the fire which upwards burns.

Alas, our earthly loved ones, and their love!
For what if rear'd throughout with constant faith?
The deepest arrow thence may reach the heart;
And the remembrance of them and their praise
From the warm heart that lingers on their love
Is but a gleam that plays upon their grave.

The loss of those most dear—of all our woes
The saddest—yet our choicest days on earth,
Our best affections are but building up
This height from which we fall—they but prepare
And nurse this tree on which our sorrow grows,
Fostering our after woe—as then to fall
When heaviest. Therefore this a gift Divine
I deem, and school of wisdom, sent by Him
Who loveth us; 'tis He hath given to weave
From fibres of the heart those tender cords
That join us to each other day by day,
Strengthening and growing till they serve as bonds
To bind our best affections to the tomb
And that which is beyond it; warnings stern,
Yet tender! for our life here would be still
Labour'd forgetfulness of coming death,
Did He not thus with love and human tears
Soften the heart that He may write thereon
The image of eternity. In them
That we may learn of death—learn how to live,
May learn a daily dying; day by day
And hour by hour we die, 'tis nature's law,
And we are but survivors of ourselves
Because our better part is hid in God.