The Poetical Works of Frances Ridley Havergal

Sweet blind singer over the sea,
Tuneful and jubilant! how can it be,
That the songs of gladness, which float so far,
As if they fell from the evening star,
Are the notes of one who never may see
‘Visible music’ of flower and tree,
Purple of mountain, or glitter of snow,
Ruby and gold of the sunset glow,
And never the light of a loving face?
Must not the world be a desolate place
For eyes that are sealed with the seal of years,
Eyes that are open only for tears?
How can she sing in the dark like this,
What is her fountain of light and bliss?

Oh, her heart can see, her heart can see!
And its sight is strong, and swift and free.

206

Never the ken of mortal eye
Could pierce so deep and far and high
As the eagle vision of hearts that dwell
In the lofty, sunlit citadel
Of Faith that overcomes the world,
With banners of Hope and Joy unfurled,
Garrisoned with God's perfect Peace,
Ringing with pæans that never cease,
Flooded with splendour bright and broad,
The glorious light of the Love of God.

Her heart can see, her heart can see!
Well may she sing so joyously!
For the King Himself, in His tender grace,
Hath shown her the brightness of His face:
And who shall pine for a glow-worm light,
When the Sun goes forth in His radiant might?
She can read His law, as a shining chart,
For His finger hath written it on her heart;
She can read His love, for on all her way
His hand is writing it every day.
‘Bright cloud’ indeed must that darkness be,
Where ‘Jesus only’ the heart can see.

Her heart can see! her heart can see,
Beyond the glooms and the mystery,
Glimpses of glory not far away,
Nearing and brightening day by day;
Golden crystal and emerald bow,
Lustre of pearl and sapphire glow,
Sparkling river and healing tree,
Evergreen palms of victory,

207

Harp and crown and raiment white,
Holy and beautiful dwellers in light;
A throne, and One thereon, whose face
Is the glory of that glorious place.

Dear blind sister over the sea!
An English heart goes forth to thee.
We are linked by a cable of faith and song,
Flashing bright sympathy swift along;
One in the East and one in the West,
Singing for Him whom our souls love best,
‘Singing for Jesus,’ telling His love
All the way to our home above,
Where the severing sea, with its restless tide,
Never shall hinder, and never divide.
Sister! what will our meeting be,
When our hearts shall sing and our eyes shall see!

Many sweet hymns by Fanny Crosby have become known, and are warmly appreciated in England and Scotland. In answer to the inquiry, ‘Who is Fanny Crosby?’ the following beautiful reply was received:— ‘She is a blind lady, whose heart can see splendidly in the sunshine of God's love.’ Hence the above greeting to a far-off fellow-minister of song.

July on the Mountains.

[_]

(ON THE SNOWDON RANGER TRACK.)

There is sultry gloom on the mountain brow,
And a sultry glow beneath.
Oh for a breeze from the western sea,
Soft and reviving, sweet and free,
Over the shadowless hill and lea,
Over the barren heath!

There are clouds and darkness around God's ways,
And the noon of life grows hot;

208

And though His faithfulness standeth fast,
As the mighty mountains, a shroud is cast
Over its glory, solemn and vast,
Veiling, but changing it not.

Send a sweet breeze from Thy sea, O Lord,
From Thy deep, deep sea of Love;
Though it lift not the veil from the cloudy height,
Let the brow grow cool and the footsteps light,
As it comes with holy and soothing might,
Like the wing of a snowy dove.

My Window.

Under my window my couch is set,
I have gazed through it long, I am gazing yet;
While on my table lie,
Without one look, each treasured book,
And the verses planned,
Which will have to be copied by and by,
For the pencil fell from forgetful hand.

Though all that from my couch I see
Is the topmost bough of a leafless tree,
Clear pencilled where the blue
Dies into white as it meets the light
From the bright south-east,
I have revelled in my morning view,
My eyes have had a very feast.

209

Last night I sat without a lamp,
When the clouds broke up their sullen camp.
Through the tiny pointed arch,
With its one cross-bar, I watched a star,
As on unknown quest,
Just touch the zenith of its march,
And curve its path to the solemn west.

Now all the clouds have fled away,
The Dark has died, and the living Day
Has dropped the stars on her shroud;
And as I lie, the shining sky
Is so grandly bright,
With so much radiance endowed,
That it trembles with its wealth of light.

A wealth that is enough for me,—
I need not mountain, wood, or sea,
In many-tinted sight;
This seven-rayed flow of pure white glow
Through the sapphire air,
This calming glory of the Light,
Is so unutterably fair

It is not idle to employ
Quick-passing moments on a joy,
Like these sweet morning rays.
So I do not think, but rest and drink
From the crystal river,
While a dewdrop of rejoicing praise
Floats up to Him, the kind Light-Giver!

210

Candlemas Day.

Yes, take the greenery away
That smiled to welcome Christmas Day,
Untwine the drooping ivy spray.

The holly leaves are dusty all,
Whose glossy darkness robed the wall,
And one by one the berries fall.

Take down the yew, for with a touch
The leaflets drop, as wearied much
With light and song, unused to such.

Poor evergreens! Why proudly claim
The glory of your lovely name,
So soon meet only for the flame?

Another Christmas Day will show
Another green and scarlet glow,
A fresh array of mistletoe.

And this new beauty, arch or crown,
Will stiffen, gather dust, grow brown,
And in its turn be taken down.

To-night the walls will seem so bare!
Ah, well! look out, look up, for there
The Christmas stars are always fair.

They will be shining just as clear
Another and another year,
O'er all our darkened hemisphere.

211

So Christmas mirth has fleeted fast,
The songs of time can never last,
And all is buried with the past.

But Christmas love and joy and peace
Shall never fade and never cease,
Of God's goodwill the rich increase.

‘Now!’

I.

A night of danger on the sea,
Of sleeplessness and fear!
Wave after wave comes thundering
Against the strong stone pier;
Each with a terrible recoil,
And a grim and gathering might,
As blast on blast comes howling past,
Each wild gust wilder than the last,
All through that awful night.

II.

Well for the ships in the harbour now,
Which came with the morning tide;
With unstrained cable and anchor sure,
How quietly they ride!
Well for the barque that reached at eve,
Though watched with breathless fear,
It was sheltered first ere the tempest burst,
It is safe inside the pier!

212

III.

But see! a faint and fatal light
Out on the howling sea!
'Tis a vessel that seeks the harbour mouth,
As in death-agony.
Though the strong stone arms are open wide,
She has missed the only way;
'Tis all too late, for the storm drives fast,
The mighty waves have swept her past,
And against that sheltering pier shall cast
Their wrecked and shattered prey.

IV.

Nearer and nearer the barque is borne,
As over the deck they dash,
Where sailors five are clinging fast
To the sailless stump of the broken mast,
Waiting the final crash.
Is it all too late? is there succour yet
Those perishing men to reach?
Life is so near on the firm-built pier,
That else must be death to each.

V.

There are daring hearts and powerful arms,
And swift and steady feet,
And they rush as down to a yawning grave,
In the strong recoil of the mightiest wave,
Treading that awful path to save,
As they trod a homeward street.

213

Over the boulders and foam they rush
Into the ghastly hollow;
They fling the rope to the heaving wreck,
The aim was sure, and it strikes the deck,
As the shouts of quick hope follow.

VI.

Reached, but not saved! there is more to do,
A trumpet note is heard;
And over the rage and over the roar
Of billowy thunders on the shore,
Rings out the guiding word.
There is one chance, and only one,
All can be saved, but how?
‘The rope hold fast, but quit the mast
At the trumpet-signal “NOW!”’

VII.

There is a moment when the sea
Has spent its furious strength;
A shuddering pause with a sudden swirl,
Gathering force again to hurl
Billow on billow in whirl on whirl;
That moment comes at length—
With a single shout the ‘Now’ peals out,
And the answering leap is made.
Well for the simple hearts that just
Loosing the mast with fearless trust,
The strange command obeyed!

214

VIII.

For the rope is good, and the stout arms pull
Ere the brief storm-lull is o'er;
It is but a swift and blinding sweep
Through the waters wild and dark and deep,
And the men are safe on shore—
Safe! though the fiend-like blast pursue,
Safe! though the waves dash high;
But the ringing cheer that rises clear
Is pierced with a sudden cry:

IX.

‘There are but four drawn up to shore,
And five were on the deck!’
And the straining gaze that conquers gloom
Still traces, drifting on to doom,
One man upon the wreck.
Again they chase in sternest race
The far-recoiling wave;
The rope is thrown to the tossing mark,
But reaches not in the windy dark
The one they strive to save.

X.

Again they rush, and again they fail,
Again, and yet again:
The storm yells back defiance loud,
The breakers rear a rampart proud,
And roar, ‘In vain, in vain!’

215

XI.

Then a giant wave caught up the wreck,
And bore it on its crest;
One moment it hung quivering there
In horrible arrest.
And the lonely man on the savage sea
A lightning flash uplit,
Still clinging fast to the broken mast
That he had not dared to quit.

XII.

Then horror of great darkness fell,
While eyes flashed inward fire;
And over all the roar and dash,
Through that great blackness came a crash,
A token sure and dire.
The wave had burst upon the pier,
The wreck was scattered wide;
Another ‘Now’ would never reach
The corpse that lay upon the beach
With the receding tide.

XIII.

God's ‘Now’ is sounding in your ears;
Oh, let it reach your heart!
Not only from your sinfulness
He bids you part;

216

Your righteousness as filthy rags
Must all relinquished be,
And only Jesus' precious death
Must be your plea.

XVI.
[_]

Wrongly numbered in the source text; should be poem XIV.

Now trust the one provided rope,
Now quit the broken mast,
Before the hope of safety be
For ever past.
Fear not to trust His simple word,
So sweet, so tried, so true,
And you are safe for evermore;
Yes,—even you!

Light at Eventide.

‘At evening time it shall be light.’— Zecii. xiv. 7.

Dear Lord, Thy good and precious Book seems written all for me;
Wherever I may open it, I find a word from Thee.
My eyes are dim, but this one verse is pillow for the night,
Thy promise that ‘At Evening Time it shall be’ surely ‘light.’

217

It was not always light with me; for many a sinful year
I walked in darkness, far from Thee; but Thou hast brought me near,
And washed me in Thy precious blood, and taught me by Thy grace,
And lifted up on my poor soul the brightness of Thy face.

My Saviour died in darkness that I might live in light,
He closed His eyes in death that mine might have the heavenly sight;
He gave up all His glory to bring it down to me,
And took the sinner's place that He the sinner's Friend might be.

His Spirit shines upon His Word, and makes it sweet indeed,
Just like a shining lamp held up beside me as I read;
And brings it to my mind again alone upon my bed,
Till all abroad within my heart the love of God is shed.

I've nearly passed the shadows and the sorrows here below;
A little while—a little while, and He will come, I know,
And take me to the glory that I think is very near,
Where I shall see Him face to face and His kind welcome hear.

And now my loving Jesus is my Light at Eventide,
The welcome Guest that enters in for ever to abide;
He never leaves me in the dark, but leads me all the way,—
So it is light at Evening Time, and soon it will be Day!

Written to accompany an engraving:—An old man, worn, but peaceful, sitting at his cottage door in evening sunlight, with The Book on his knee.

218

‘Yet Speaketh.’

Yet speaketh!' though the voice is hushed that filled
Cathedral nave or choir, like clearest bell,
With music of God's truth,—that softly thrilled
The silence of the mourner's heart,—that fell
So sweetly, oh, so sweetly, on the ear
Of those to whom that voice was dearest of the dear.

‘Yet speaketh!’ For the echo lingers yet
Where fifty years ago his voice was heard,
And old men weep, who never can forget
Their early gladness through his faithful word;
O'er all the waves and storms of life between,
That voice floats on for them still powerful and serene.

‘Yet speaketh!’ Glowing hymns, like heavenly breeze,
That stir us, and our soft Hosannas lift
To Hallelujahs;—holy melodies,
Enrobed in grand sweet harmonies, a gift
Laid wholly on the altar of his God,
Without one thought or care for this world's vain applaud:

Deep teachings from the Word he held so dear,
Things new and old in that great treasure found;
A valiant cry, a witness strong and clear,
A trumpet with no pale, uncertain sound:—
These shall not die, but live; his rich bequest
To that belovèd Church whose servant is at rest.

219

‘Yet speaketh!’ In the memory of those
To whom he was indeed ‘a living song,’
The voice, that like fair morning light arose,
Rings on with holy influence deep and strong;
Rings on, unmingled with another sound,
The sweetest, clearest still among all others found.

‘Yet speaketh!’ By that consecrated life,
The single-hearted, noble, true, and pure,
Which, lifted far above all worldly strife,
Could all but sin so patiently endure.
O eloquence! by this he speaketh yet;
For who that knew and loved could evermore forget?

‘Yet speaketh!’ E'en the shadow, poor and dim,
Of sun-traced portrait, and the cold, white stone
(All that the stranger-artist guessed of him),
Speak to our hearts in gentle spirit-tone,
Vocal with messages of faith and love,
And burning thoughts that fall like swift stars from above.

‘Yet speaketh!’ There was no last word of love,
So suddenly on us the sorrow fell;
His bright translation to the home above
Was clouded with no shadow of farewell;
His last Lent evening closed with praise and prayer,
And then began the songs of endless Easter there.

‘Yet speaketh!’ O my father, now more dear
Than ever, I have cried—‘Oh, speak to me

220

Only once more, once more!’ But now I hear
The far-off whisper of thy melody;
Thou art ‘yet speaking’ on the heavenly hill,
Each word a note of joy,—and shall we not ‘be still’?

A blind girl, who heard two or three of his last sermons, said ‘He was a living song to me.’ She, too, is ‘gone home.’

For New Year's Day, 1874.

‘From glory to glory.’—2 Cor. iii. 18.

‘From glory unto glory!’ Be this our joyous song,
As on the King's own highway we bravely march along!
‘From glory unto glory!’ O word of stirring cheer,
As dawns the solemn brightness of another glad New Year.

Our own belovèd Master ‘hath many things to say;’
Look forward to His teaching, unfolding day by day;
To whispers of His Spirit, while resting at His feet,
To glowing revelation, to insight clear and sweet.

‘From glory unto glory!’ Our faith hath seen the King,
We own His matchless beauty, as adoringly we sing:
But He hath more to show us! O thought of untold bliss!
And we press on exultingly in certain hope to this:—

To marvellous outpourings of His ‘treasures new and old,’
To largess of His bounty, paid in the King's own gold,
To glorious expansion of His mysteries of grace,
To radiant unveilings of the brightness of His face.

221

‘From glory unto glory!’ What great things He hath done,
What wonders He hath shown us, what triumphs He hath won!
We marvel at the records of the blessings of the year!
But sweeter than the Christmas bells rings out His promise clear—

That ‘greater things,’ far greater, our longing eyes shall see!
We can but wait and wonder what ‘greater things’ shall be!
But glorious fulfilments rejoicingly we claim,
While pleading in the power of the All-prevailing Name.

‘From glory unto glory!’ What mighty blessings crown
The lives for which our Lord hath laid His own so freely down!
Omnipotence to keep us, Omniscience to guide,
Jehovah's Triune Presence within us to abide!

The fulness of His blessing encompasseth our way;
The fulness of His promises crowns every brightening day;
The fulness of His glory is beaming from above,
While more and more we realize the fulness of His love.

‘From glory unto glory!’ Without a shade of care,
Because the Lord who loves us will every burden bear;
Because we trust Him fully, and know that He will guide,
And know that He will keep us at His belovèd side.

222

‘From glory unto glory!’ Though tribulation fall,
It cannot touch our treasure, when Christ is all in all!
Whatever lies before us, there can be naught to fear,
For what are pain and sorrow when Jesus Christ is near?

‘From glory unto glory!’ O marvels of the word!
‘With open face beholding the glory of the Lord,’
We, even we (O wondrous grace!) ‘are changed into the same,’
The image of our Saviour, to glorify His Name.

Abiding in His presence, and walking in the light,
And seeking to ‘do always what is pleasing in His sight,’
We look to Him to keep us ‘all glorious within,’
Because ‘the blood of Jesus Christ is cleansing from all sin.’

The things behind forgetting, we only gaze before,
‘From glory unto glory,’ that ‘shineth more and more,’
Because our Lord hath said it, that such shall be our way
(O splendour of the promise!) ‘unto the perfect day.’

‘From glory unto glory!’ Our fellow-travellers still
Are gathering on the journey! the bright electric thrill
Of quick instinctive union, more frequent and more sweet,
Shall swiftly pass from heart to heart in true and tender beat.

And closer yet, and closer the golden bonds shall be,
Enlinking all who love our Lord in pure sincerity;
And wider yet, and wider shall the circling glory glow,
As more and more are taught of God that mighty love to know.

223

O ye who seek the Saviour, look up in faith and love,
Come up into the sunshine, so bright and warm above!
No longer tread the valley, but, clinging to His hand,
Ascend the shining summits and view the glorious land.

Our harp-notes should be sweeter, our trumpet-tones more clear,
Our anthems ring so grandly, that all the world must hear!
Oh, royal be our music, for who hath cause to sing
Like the chorus of redeemed ones, the Children of the King!

Oh, let our adoration for all that He hath done
Peal out beyond the stars of God, while voice and life are one!
And let our consecration be real, and deep, and true;
Oh, even now our hearts shall bow, and joyful vows renew!—

‘In full and glad surrender we give ourselves to Thee,
Thine utterly, and only, and evermore to be!
O Son of God, who lovest us, we will be Thine alone,
And all we are, and all we have, shall henceforth be Thine own!’

Now, onward, ever onward, from ‘strength to strength’ we go,
While ‘grace for grace’ abundantly shall from His fulness flow,
To glory's full fruition, from glory's foretaste here,
Until His Very Presence crown our happiest New Year!

224

Finis.

Another little volume filled with varied verse and song,
Should wake another note of praise, unheard, but deep and strong;
For He who knows my truest need, and leads me day by day,
Has given the music that hath been such solace on my way.

I look up to my Father, and know that I am heard,
And ask Him for the glowing thought, and for the fitting word:
I look up to my Father, for I cannot write alone,
'Tis sweeter far to seek His strength than lean upon my own.

And so the closing verses of my new-filled book shall be
A note of praise, dear Father, sung only unto Thee,—
To Thee, who hast so helped me, to Thee who hast so blessed,
The only Friend who knows my heart, the nearest and the best.

I bless Thee, gracious Father, who hast moulded praise from pain,
And turned a wail of mourning to a trustful calm refrain,
To many a sorrow giving me an afterward of song,
And wafting it to other hearts in comfort true and strong.

225

I bless Thee, gracious Father, for Thy pleasant gift to me,
And earnestly I ask Thee that it may always be
In perfect consecration laid at Thy glorious feet,
Touched with Thine altar-fire, and made an offering pure and sweet.

Written on the last leaf of a ms. volume.

University of Virginia Library

XI. Miscellaneous.

A Seeing Heart.