Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

“Christ pleasèd not Himself;” the Master's lore,
Bowed at His feet, full well the servant learnt;
For in his breast a strong pure love there burnt,
That for unlovely souls but glowed the more.
Full many a wounded lamb he homeward bore,
As all night long he paced the desolate street,
Winning, with love most patient, far-strayed feet
From the dark paths that they had known before.
Keen-eyed to judge, in action quick and sure,
No trumpet-blower, scorning all display,
Of simple life, a brother of the poor;
Yet had he genial mood and store of mirth,
And all the poor lads loved his kindly sway,
And knew they had one friend upon the earth.

136

II.

From house to house on pastoral mission bound,
Or duly to God's temple day by day,
With hurrying step he passes on his way,
Ever in duty's lowly pathway found.
Scant leisure wins he from the ceaseless round
Of varied service—now by sick men's bed,
Now 'mid the little ones—well skilled to shed
The light which makes this dark earth hallowed ground.
No ruffled brow the vain intruder meets,
Smiling he gives the time he holds so dear,
And those he gives to know not that he gives.
With kindly cheer both rich and poor he greets;
And on that open brow 'tis written clear,
That for his God and for his flock he lives.

137

III.

Of joyous eloquence in word and mien,
Whether with kindling eye and ringing voice
Telling the news which bids the soul rejoice,
Or with bright pleasantry in homelier scene
Seeking the toiler from his care to wean:
No thrice told toils his gladsome spirit broke;
For simple love of our poor Eastern folk
Deep-rooted in his heart of hearts had been.
He was no stern ecclesiastic, bound
In iron rules, but held there still to be
In alien modes some virtue to be found:
Yet for his Church he wrought with voice and pen,
Blending old order with new liberty,
And asking for reward but souls of men.

138

IV.

Like some tall rock that cleaves the headlong might
Of turgid waves in full flood onward borne,
So stood he, fronting all the rage and scorn,
And calmly waiting the unequal fight.
He fashioned his ideal—stately rite,
High ceremonial, shadowing mystic lore;
The Cross on high before the world he bore,
Yet lived to serve the lowliest day and night.
He could not take offence: men held him cold;
Yet was his heart not cold, but strongly just,
And full of Christ-like love for young and old.
They knew at last, and tardy homage gave;
They crowned him with a people's crown of trust;
And strong men sobbed in thousands at his grave.

139

V.

The genial friend, the ever-welcome guest,
Of keenly-flashing wit and strenuous mien,
With home ancestral in the woodlands green
Courting to rural joys and leisured rest;
Yet this the dwelling-place he chose as best,
Where all the wild sea-life of many a coast
Flings on our river-marge its motley host
To swell the surge of sin and strife unblest.
What though from land to land he loves to roam
Keen-eyed and eager-hearted as a boy,
Yet evermore his heart is in his home;
And there he rules with strong but gracious sway,
And sad men catch the infection of his joy
As cheery-voiced he greets them on their way.

140

VI.

His love held all the world in its embrace:
He was a man; and nought that toucheth men
His human heart e'er counted alien,
Some germ of good in each one skilled to trace.
'Mid sordid homes he fixed his dwelling-place,
And there, with her whose wide heart beat to share
His every well-planned scheme and generous care,
He lived to soothe the sad and raise the base.
The old paths hold him not: nor Church nor Creed
Bars the on-rushing flood of woe and wrong;
There must be ventures in this hour of need:
Like Orpheus to the nether shades forlorn,
He will go down in love (for love is strong)
And lead them out into the light of morn.

141

VII.

Sunlight was round about him everywhere:
He left his sylvan home and soft repose
To toil 'mid lives unblest and graceless woes,
And with him a strange spell of joy he bare.
The rough men greeted as he passed them there,
And children put their little hands in his,
Or held wan wistful faces up to kiss,
And careworn women smiled away their care.
Brave-hearted went he forth, in manly cheer,
Smiling his bright smile on the lone and sad,
Treading with free firm foot the sordid ways;
And as the light that shone in him so clear
Broke forth around to make the world more glad,
He found his life one psalm of ceaseless praise.

142

VIII.

‘We know no God,’ they cry, ‘we cannot know:’—
Not carnal men, who dare not face the light,
But strong men, lovers of the truth and right,
And inly wroth with human wrong and woe.
And ofttimes to their gatherings one would go,
Full weary, with his Lord's-day labour o'er,
Yet yearning all their troubles to explore,
And brave with manly sympathy's warm glow.
He set his faith in midst of fiercest fires,
Daring all loss, accepting wound and scar,
That he might bring souls out into the light:
For his was love that never faints or tires,
And his was faith that, like the silver bar,
Comes from the furnace but more strong and bright.

143

IX.

At morn he fed his soul with Angels' food,
Holding with Heaven high mystic communing,
That from the mount some radiance he might bring
Down to the weary earth-bound multitude.
At night among the reckless throng he stood,
Sharer of all their mirth and revels gay,
Yet holding over all a watchful sway,
And tempering every rude ungracious mood.
Not in cheap words he owned mankind his kin,
For them his life, his all, he yearned to spend,
That he their love and trust might wholly win,
And all their rough ways to his moulding bend,
Shielding them from the unholy grasp of sin,
And owned by them a brother and a friend.

(1884.)