 | Our Holiday Among The Hills |  |
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IV. PART IV.—PSALMS.
[O Lord, all things are praising Thee always!]
O Lord, all things are praising Thee always!The mountain's peaceful power; the restless sea
With all its surging music, fiercely free;
The busy rill that stone nor stumbling stays;
The fairy blue-bells swinging on the braes
In their ethereal beauty born of Thee:
And with distinctest voice of all does he,
My own belovèd, utter forth Thy praise!
But I, who worship Thee from day to day
In silence inarticulate, and seek
Passionately to praise Thee, and who pray
With feeling strong but thought and utter ance weak,
Am dumb as are the pebbles of the way—
Or as an infant, trying first to speak.
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SONG OF THE BLADES OF GRASS.
Humble we are and lowly,
Made to be trodden on;
Once we had hope, but slowly,
Softly that hope has gone;
Yet we despair not wholly—
On us a star has shone!
Made to be trodden on;
Once we had hope, but slowly,
Softly that hope has gone;
Yet we despair not wholly—
On us a star has shone!
When we first woke from sleeping,
Rose from our earth-bed warm,
Kindly the light came peeping
Under the tall bent's arm,
And the blue sky seemed keeping
All on the earth from harm.
Rose from our earth-bed warm,
Kindly the light came peeping
Under the tall bent's arm,
And the blue sky seemed keeping
All on the earth from harm.
But “Here is nought abiding”
Mournful long grasses say,
Shaking their heads, and hiding
From us the light of day,
E'en in the sunshine chiding
If we are glad and gay.
Mournful long grasses say,
Shaking their heads, and hiding
From us the light of day,
E'en in the sunshine chiding
If we are glad and gay.
Strange are the things they tell us—
How can the mighty powers
Ruling the sky be jealous
Of such a joy as ours?
Sending forth storms to quell us,
Darkness, and driving showers.
How can the mighty powers
Ruling the sky be jealous
Of such a joy as ours?
Sending forth storms to quell us,
Darkness, and driving showers.
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And when the sky is dreary,
When from the mists the sun
Staggers out wan and weary
As if his strength were done,
Cry they “'Tis this we fear aye!
This is our doom begun!”
When from the mists the sun
Staggers out wan and weary
As if his strength were done,
Cry they “'Tis this we fear aye!
This is our doom begun!”
We are so young beside them
Withered and old and grey,
We never dare to chide them,
No matter what they say;
They would have ill betide them,
We would have good alway.
Withered and old and grey,
We never dare to chide them,
No matter what they say;
They would have ill betide them,
We would have good alway.
Surely the skies have heard them
Murmur in midst of bliss,
And to their wish preferred them—
To a grey gloom like this—
As in a grave interred them
Safe from the sunlight's kiss.
Murmur in midst of bliss,
And to their wish preferred them—
To a grey gloom like this—
As in a grave interred them
Safe from the sunlight's kiss.
Boisterous winds are brawling
Over the patient hill;
Something upon us falling
Heavy and damp and chill
Seems to be ever calling
“Down, little blades, lie still!”
Over the patient hill;
Something upon us falling
Heavy and damp and chill
Seems to be ever calling
“Down, little blades, lie still!”
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Summer, so long expected,
Welcome however late!
Come to our hearts dejected,
Smile on our dismal fate,
Leave us no more neglected
—It is so hard to wait!
Welcome however late!
Come to our hearts dejected,
Smile on our dismal fate,
Leave us no more neglected
—It is so hard to wait!
“Patience!” they answer kindly,
Shadow and shower and breeze—
“Rest in the gloom resign'dly,
Taking what Heaven may please:
Trust, little children, blindly:
None of us farther sees.”
Shadow and shower and breeze—
“Rest in the gloom resign'dly,
Taking what Heaven may please:
Trust, little children, blindly:
None of us farther sees.”
Yet there was, one morn, lightly
Hung in our midst, a star!
Glittering and beckoning brightly
In the high blue afar
—Once we saw many nightly,
Now know not where they are!
Hung in our midst, a star!
Glittering and beckoning brightly
In the high blue afar
—Once we saw many nightly,
Now know not where they are!
Some of our hopes are blighted—
Hopes of a summer gone;
Hopes to be no more slighted
Trampled, and trodden on:
Yet are we not benighted
—On us a star has shone!
Hopes of a summer gone;
Hopes to be no more slighted
Trampled, and trodden on:
Yet are we not benighted
—On us a star has shone!
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DISTRUST.
To-day my future seemed too golden clear.It cannot be, I said, it cannot be;
God never meant such happiness for me—
It is not good to have such pleasure here.
Thus medicining my cup of joy with fear
I sought my window, hoping half to see
The smiling heaven o'erclouded ominously—
And scared a bird, who thought I came too near.
Ungrateful bird! It was my hand that spread
That feast of crumbs for thee, and fleest thou thus?
Canst thou not trust the hand that gives thee bread?
Why then so doubtful and so timorous?
—Lord, do we grieve Thee likewise with our dread,
Distrusting all Thy gracious gifts to us?
THE COMMON CREED.
Lord, with blind eyes we look, and fear;
We listen with deaf ears, and start;
We think Thou mayst be very near
—But oh! Thou ever silent art!
We listen with deaf ears, and start;
We think Thou mayst be very near
—But oh! Thou ever silent art!
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And we that would obey Thy will,
For Thou, we feel, art wise and good,
Search for it in our hearts; but still,
O Lord, it is misunderstood!
For Thou, we feel, art wise and good,
Search for it in our hearts; but still,
O Lord, it is misunderstood!
We follow where our passions lead,
Deeming them lights that lead to Thee;
And when it is Thy light, indeed,
We think it false, and from it flee!
Deeming them lights that lead to Thee;
And when it is Thy light, indeed,
We think it false, and from it flee!
The soul ignores the human part,
The human part denies the soul;
To this we lean, from that we start,
And back again to that we roll!
The human part denies the soul;
To this we lean, from that we start,
And back again to that we roll!
We weep in hope, we weep in fear,
Through life's long idly striving day;
And what our hands collect and rear,
Our hearts destroy, and cast away!
Through life's long idly striving day;
And what our hands collect and rear,
Our hearts destroy, and cast away!
There is no rock on which to rest
And raise the fabric of a life!
Time with its changes tries the best,
Long ere oblivion ends the strife!
And raise the fabric of a life!
Time with its changes tries the best,
Long ere oblivion ends the strife!
Yet Thou that mad'st the human heart
A home of vexing hopes and fears,
—Our Father, not on earth that art,
Wilt surely one day dry our tears!
A home of vexing hopes and fears,
—Our Father, not on earth that art,
Wilt surely one day dry our tears!
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IN THE CHURCHYARD AT CHRISTIANIA.
Death has no province in the Northern Land,To fetter, terrorise with threats, and slay;
But when he comes (and that late in the day)
He comes, as an official with his wand,
Wearing a bosom-flower and smiling bland,
To lead the spirit to its rest away.
Few tears, or none, are shed—not more than may
Grace a departure to some distant strand.
They lay the body where they can re-view
Daily its resting-place: no yew-trees wave
Funereal plumes around of faithless hue,
A sieve for all the sorrowing winds that rave,
But lightsome blossoms blend their white and blue
To make a pleasure-garden of the grave.
AN EVENING HOUR IN ORWELL ACRE.
Here, in the churchyard by the lake,
One vigil hour I'll gladly wake,
Where Orwell's buried thousands sleep
In social slumber, calm and deep.
Here, while the glooms of evening spread,
I'll sit among the slumbering dead
—No melancholy misanthrope,
Bankrupt of health and heart and hope;
But full of life, and like to live,
Thankful for joys this earth can give,
A young man drawing cheerful breath,
And yet—no enemy to Death!
One vigil hour I'll gladly wake,
Where Orwell's buried thousands sleep
In social slumber, calm and deep.
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I'll sit among the slumbering dead
—No melancholy misanthrope,
Bankrupt of health and heart and hope;
But full of life, and like to live,
Thankful for joys this earth can give,
A young man drawing cheerful breath,
And yet—no enemy to Death!
I would not have a shortened day;
And neither would I live alway.
But, since the end I may not know
Of why I live or where I go,
With calm obedience I would wait
The pleasure of omniscient Fate.
And neither would I live alway.
But, since the end I may not know
Of why I live or where I go,
With calm obedience I would wait
The pleasure of omniscient Fate.
'Tis pleasant in the sun to live;
And Night has her own joys to give.
Our very sorrows and our cares
—The pain they bring us is not theirs;
Time passes and the pain has oozed,
And now they seem like joys misused.
And Night has her own joys to give.
Our very sorrows and our cares
—The pain they bring us is not theirs;
Time passes and the pain has oozed,
And now they seem like joys misused.
In calm Eternity's wide view
Little should vex or me or you.
Even Death, which each must undergo,
Whether he bows to it or no,
—'Tis far too common to be sent
Upon us for a punishment.
And I would rather make a friend
And talk of him before the end
Familiarly—keeping the faith
Of all our family with Death.
Little should vex or me or you.
Even Death, which each must undergo,
Whether he bows to it or no,
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Upon us for a punishment.
And I would rather make a friend
And talk of him before the end
Familiarly—keeping the faith
Of all our family with Death.
As thus: I have a canker-care;
It haunts me here, it hounds me there;
But Thou wilt heal (if none before),
And it will trouble me no more.
It haunts me here, it hounds me there;
But Thou wilt heal (if none before),
And it will trouble me no more.
A rival; and he hates me hard,
The harder for my friends' regard;
Drowning—he would not help me, no!
Yet drowned—and he would weep, I know.
The harder for my friends' regard;
Drowning—he would not help me, no!
Yet drowned—and he would weep, I know.
We are but boys—fall out and fight,
And cry, and make it up at night,
When Thou wilt stroke us on the head
And put us sobbing both to bed.
And cry, and make it up at night,
When Thou wilt stroke us on the head
And put us sobbing both to bed.
How calmly by the mimic deep
The buried crowds of Orwell sleep,
Careless of all that once was dear,
And past the sway of hope and fear!
How enviably long and deep
The buried cares of Orwell sleep!
Night occupies Benarty hill,
The last belated bird is still,
A far-off cottage light goes out,
And darkness gropes the world about!
The buried crowds of Orwell sleep,
Careless of all that once was dear,
And past the sway of hope and fear!
How enviably long and deep
The buried cares of Orwell sleep!
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The last belated bird is still,
A far-off cottage light goes out,
And darkness gropes the world about!
Save now and then amid the sigh
Of sedges, or the pinewood nigh,
A cushat's low domestic moan,
The worlds of Life and Death are lone;
Farmhouse and churchyard, lake and hill,
Alike mysteriously still!
Of sedges, or the pinewood nigh,
A cushat's low domestic moan,
The worlds of Life and Death are lone;
Farmhouse and churchyard, lake and hill,
Alike mysteriously still!
Not stiller in the chancel light
Lies the effigies of a knight
Upon the lid of marble stone
He lifts his mailèd hands upon
—His child-meek hands, no more to feel
The pulse of war, the strength of steel—
Than I, upon this green grave-bed,
Rapt into concord with the dead!
Lies the effigies of a knight
Upon the lid of marble stone
He lifts his mailèd hands upon
—His child-meek hands, no more to feel
The pulse of war, the strength of steel—
Than I, upon this green grave-bed,
Rapt into concord with the dead!
I feel, as at the door of death,
My spirit drawing curious breath!
My spirit drawing curious breath!
Methinks, though life to me is dear,
'Twere little to die now and here—
To lay upon this turf my head
As on the pillow of a bed,
With this to deepen the delight
That I should have no fears to-night,
And only this to give me pain
That one might call on me in vain.
'Twere little to die now and here—
To lay upon this turf my head
As on the pillow of a bed,
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That I should have no fears to-night,
And only this to give me pain
That one might call on me in vain.
SONG OF THE CLOVER BLOSSOM.
Within a soft and verdant bed
Of clover leaves I lie,
While drives the tall grass overhead
Athwart a cloudy sky.
The wind, that rocks it to and fro
In agony of pain,
Is whispering soft to me below
Of pleasant things, and plain.
Of clover leaves I lie,
While drives the tall grass overhead
Athwart a cloudy sky.
The wind, that rocks it to and fro
In agony of pain,
Is whispering soft to me below
Of pleasant things, and plain.
The long stems, in their anguish, twist
And bend as low as I;
Yet see they but the clammy mist
That makes the fair light die.
Oh, I am poor and small, I know,
And cannot see so far;
I only give my scent to blow
Where no sweet odours are.
And bend as low as I;
Yet see they but the clammy mist
That makes the fair light die.
Oh, I am poor and small, I know,
And cannot see so far;
I only give my scent to blow
Where no sweet odours are.
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I only gaze up timidly
And wish the light were there,
With no strong cry of agony
—No heaven-constraining prayer.
I take the sorrow to my heart
Unshrinkingly and dumb,
And wait till darkness shall depart
And sunlight's glory come.
And wish the light were there,
With no strong cry of agony
—No heaven-constraining prayer.
I take the sorrow to my heart
Unshrinkingly and dumb,
And wait till darkness shall depart
And sunlight's glory come.
SABBATH ON THE HILLS.
O Lord our God, we praise Thee on the height!Here in Thy smiling sunshine would we fling
Earth's mantle from our souls, and let them spring
Soaring to Thee, the Father of all light!
From these Thy holy hills their sunward flight
Nor toilsome were, nor tedious; on the wing
Of this pure air upborne, still should they sing,
Drawn, praising Thee, from earth to the Infinite.
—There are no larks to bless this solitude.
Silent it lies and looks on the blue sky
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By the mild lustre of a loving eye;
Yet, though by angels' song Thine ear is wooed,
Thou hearest, Lord, the linnet's feeble cry!
A RAILWAY ACCIDENT.
For ever in my memory fastI see thee as I saw thee last.
—What demon tempts me thus to look
Upon the page of Memory's book,
Where, blurred with blood, with anguish wet,
The annals of that hour are set?
—Heaven from mine eyes in mercy keep
That spectacle that murders sleep!
Surely the pitying angels wept
That should have compassed round and kept
This gentle life that did no harm,
And was of mine the darling charm!
The cruel tragedy is past,
And thou—for ever safe at last!
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Good-bye, we said, amid the din
Of bells, and wheels, and gasps that burst
From that black engine's heart accurst!
Good-bye thou saidst—and in my ear
The parting tone yet lingers dear—
While on thy lips there sat the while
A tender, tearful, timorous smile
—As if thou wouldst not seem to part
With boding sorrow in thy heart.
Even now, while sorrowing here I stand,
I feel the tremor of thy hand:
Was it love's tenderness? or fear
—A consciousness that Fate was near?
Or jar of nerve from shriek and rasp?
—It was at least our final clasp!
The guard's shrill whistle brought the close,
White steam-balls from the funnel rose;
Good-byes repeated, friends drew back;
The engine moved along the track,
Strong and insensate through the gloom,
Deliberately to its doom!
As down the platform passed the train,
I saw thee, Seraph! once again:
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—I saw thee as I see thee now!
O loveliest picture Earth could claim
Set in a carriage window frame!
What radiant beauty from thy face
Lit up the darkness of the place!
It seemed the halo of a saint,
But brighter than the Masters paint,
A glory finer than the sun
—The aureole of Heaven begun!
A moment seen!
I thank thee, Heaven!
For the clear glimpse that then was given—
It tarried with me from that day,
It tarries with me now alway!
It was as if an angel bowed
For the clear glimpse that then was given—
It tarried with me from that day,
It tarries with me now alway!
Earthward from a dark thunder-cloud,
Then gently, smilingly withdrew
While yet you gazed and ere you knew.
I charge thee, Memory, hold them fast,
Those features as I saw them last,—
Brave eyes, sweet lips, with just a trace
Of transient sadness on the face,
Saintly serenity of brow
—How poor is Earth without them now!
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Is all my hope, is all my heart;
And Heaven scarce nearer now can be
Since thou art there to plead for me!
CLOUDS.
Through all the day, in sunshine and in cloud,My heart was weighted with prophetic woe—
“Thus,” in the cloud, I dreamt, “will grief o'erflow
My smiling plains of joy, and care-weeds crowd
My sunny gardens, by young love endowed:”
And in the sunshine, “This will shortly go;
Let me not trust therein; too well I know
To none is constant happiness allowed.”—
—Whence come these roseate shores that wide outroll?
Those ebon rocks and flowery islets far
Make with that amber sea a perfect whole.
To love, all things add beauty; nought can mar.—
The sunset sweeps misgivings off my soul,
And peace drops from the wings of the first star.
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HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR.
O Lord, Thy creatures cry to Thee
For love, and light, and guidance still!
Their highest hope Thy face to see,
Their utmost aim to do Thy will.
Thou wouldst not have us vainly grieve
For faults and follies past and gone?
Be ours the bitterness to leave
And bear the fuller knowledge on.
For love, and light, and guidance still!
Their highest hope Thy face to see,
Their utmost aim to do Thy will.
Thou wouldst not have us vainly grieve
For faults and follies past and gone?
Be ours the bitterness to leave
And bear the fuller knowledge on.
From out the ashes of the Old
The phœnix of the New Year springs
With possibilities untold
In the proud freedom of its wings.
High may it soar with us, until
On heights of holiness it dies,
That other years may higher still
On young unwearied pinions rise!
The phœnix of the New Year springs
With possibilities untold
In the proud freedom of its wings.
High may it soar with us, until
On heights of holiness it dies,
That other years may higher still
On young unwearied pinions rise!
We drift upon an unknown sea,
On waves that ever nearer draw
The borders of eternity,
Obedient to unchanging law.
And through the night we shrink to hear
On that dim shore their dying fall;
Till comes the thought to calm our fear,
That Thou, O Lord, art over all!
On waves that ever nearer draw
The borders of eternity,
Obedient to unchanging law.
And through the night we shrink to hear
On that dim shore their dying fall;
Till comes the thought to calm our fear,
That Thou, O Lord, art over all!
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TO A FRIEND.
Thy work may not be measured; scales and rule
Are for the tangible and transient—thou
With pain of heart and sweat of brain and brow
Pliest thy work with no material tool.
Therefore heed not the rating of the fool,
Whose blindness to the light would not allow
The glory of the sun that's shining now,
If within walls he circumscribe thy school.
Are for the tangible and transient—thou
With pain of heart and sweat of brain and brow
Pliest thy work with no material tool.
Therefore heed not the rating of the fool,
Whose blindness to the light would not allow
The glory of the sun that's shining now,
If within walls he circumscribe thy school.
But count thy work in every life that springs
Attestive to thy teaching, wheresoe'er
On earth it suffers—or in heaven it sings,
Owning in part its portion to thy care;
And think that round thee may be angel-wings
As there are hearts, blessing thee unaware!
Attestive to thy teaching, wheresoe'er
On earth it suffers—or in heaven it sings,
Owning in part its portion to thy care;
And think that round thee may be angel-wings
As there are hearts, blessing thee unaware!
| Our Holiday Among The Hills | |