The Vision of Prophecy and Other Poems :: :: University of Virginia Library

O Thou! whose tender feet have trod
The thorny path of woe,
Forbid that I should slight the rod,
Or faint beneath the blow.
My spirit to its chastening stroke
I meekly would resign,
Nor murmur at the heaviest yoke
That tells me I am Thine.
Give me the spirit of Thy trust,
To suffer as a son,—
To say, though lying in the dust,
My Father's will be done!

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I know that trial works for ends
Too high for sense to trace,
That oft in dark attire, he sends
Some embassy of grace.
May none depart till I have gained
The blessing which it bears,
And learn, though late, I entertained
An angel unawares.
So shall I bless the hour that sent
The mercy of the rod,
And build an altar by the tent
Where I have met with God.

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II.

“Lord, if Thou hadst been here, my brother had not died.” John xi. 32.

We sadly watched the close of all,
Life balanced on a breath;
We saw upon his features fall
The awful shade of death.
All dark and desolate we were,
And murmuring Nature cried,
“O surely, Lord, hadst Thou been here,
Our brother had not died!”

But when its glance the memory cast
On all that grace had done,—
And thought of lifelong warfare passed,
And endless victory won,—
Then Faith, prevailing, wiped the tear,
And looking upward, cried,
“O Lord, Thou surely hast been ere,—
Our brother has not died!”

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III.

“Ye are complete in Him.—Colossians ii. 10.

In Thee my heart, O jesus, finds repose,—
Thou bringest rest to all that weary are:
Until the day-spring of Thy presence rose
Upon my path, I wandered faint and far.
My feet had gone astray
Upon a lonesome way,—
Each guide I followed failed me in my need,—
Each staff I leaned on proved a broken reed.

Then through that troubled gloom I looked to Thee,—
And Thou wert present to the call of prayer:
One word of Thine awoke new hope in me,
One touch unbound my heavy load of care.
Thou in the weary land,
Didst take me by the hand,
And lead me on with Thee, my chosen Guide,
In pleasant ways, and peaceful streams beside.

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Complete in Thee, my nature, day by day,
Finds the fulfilment of its deepest need,—
Freed from itself,—surrendered to Thy sway,—
It enters into liberty indeed;
Thy love, a genial law,
Its every aim doth draw
Within its blest dominion, and allure
Its longings to the perfect and the pure.

Thy presence is the never-failing spring
Of life and comfort in each darker hour,
And, through Thy grace benignly ministering,
Grief wields a secret purifying power.
'Tis sweet, O Lord, to know
Thy sympathy with woe,—
Sweeter to walk with Thee on ways apart,
Than with the world, where heart is shut to heart.

For Thee Eternity reserves her hymn,—
For Thee Earth has her prayers, and Heaven her vows;
The saints adore Thee, and the seraphim
Under Thy glory stoop their shining brows.
O may this light divine
Gleam on these steps of mine,
Revive my fainting spirit from above,
And guide me onwards to Thy perfect love!

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IV.

“Bid me come unto Thee on the water.”—Matthew xiv. 28.

O, in the dark and stormy night,
When far from land I cry with fear,
Shine o'er the waves, thou holy light,—
Then, O my Saviour, be thou near!
Though from afar, let me but see
Dim through the dark Thy gliding form,
And bright the gloomy hour shall be
That brought Thy presence in the storm.

Then lift Thy hand, and bid me come,
And higher though the tempest blow,
I through the wind and through the gloom
To Thy loved side will gladly go.
The wind is fair that blows to Thee,
The wave is firm that bears me on,
And stronger still that love to me
Which many waters could not drown.

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Or for Thy coming bid me wait,
My soul in patience shall abide;
And though the storm may not abate,
I will not seek another guide.
With Thee I fear no angry blast,—
With Thee my course points ever home;
And in good time, all perils past,
To the Fair Havens I shall come.

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V.

“The footsteps of the flock.”—Song of Solomon, i. 8.

Not always, Lord, in pastures green
The sheep at noon Thou feedest,
Where in the shade they lie
Within Thy watchful eye;
Not always under skies serene
The white-fleeced flock Thou leadest.

On rugged ways, with bleeding feet,
They leave their painful traces;
Through deserts drear they go,
Where wounding briars grow,
And through dark valleys, where they meet
No quiet resting-places.

Not always by the waters still,
Or lonely wells palm-hidden,
Do they find happy rest,
And, in Thy presence blest,
Delight themselves, and drink their fill
Of pleasures unforbidden.

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Their track is worn on Sorrow's shore,
Where windy storms beat ever,—
Their troubled course they keep,
Where deep calls unto deep;
So going till they hear the roar
Of the dark-flowing river.

But wheresoe'er their steps may be,
So Thou their path be guiding,
O be their portion mine!—
Show me the secret sign,
That I may trace their way to Thee,
In thee find rest abiding.

Slowly they gather to the fold
Upon thy holy mountain,—
There, resting round Thy feet,
They dread no storm nor heat,
And slake their thirst where Thou hast rolled
The stone from Life's full fountain.

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VI. SABBATH EVENING.

O time of tranquil joy and holy feeling!
When over earth God's Spirit from above
Spreads out His wings of love;
When sacred thoughts, like angels, come appealing
To our tent-doors;—O eve, to earth and heaven
The sweetest of the seven!

How peaceful are thy skies! thy air is clearer,
As on the advent of a gracious time:
The sweetness of its prime
Blesseth the world, and Eden's days seem nearer;
I hear, in each faint stirring of the breeze,
God's voice among the trees.

O while thy hallowed moments are distilling
Their fresher influence on my heart like dews,
The chamber where I muse
Turns to a temple!—He whose converse thrilling
Honoured Emmaus, that old eventide,
Comes sudden to my side.

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'Tis light at evening-time when thou art present,—
Thy coming to the eleven in that dim room
Brightened, O Christ! its gloom;
So bless my lonely hour that memories pleasant
Around the time a heavenly gleam may cast,
Which many days shall last.

Raise each low aim, refine each high emotion,
That with more ardent footstep I may press
Toward Thy holiness;
And, braced for sacred duty by devotion,
Support my cross along that rugged road
Which Thou hast sometime trod.

I long to see Thee, for my heart is weary,—
O when, my Lord! in kindness wilt Thou come
To call Thy banished home?
The scenes are cheerless, and the days are dreary,—
From sorrow and from sin I would be free,
And evermore with Thee.

Even now I see the golden city shining
Up the blue depths of that transparent air,—
How happy all is there!
There breaks a day which never knows declining,—
A Sabbath through whose circling hours the blest
Beneath Thy shadow rest!

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VII.

“Let not your heart be troubled: ye believe in God, believe also in Me.”—John xiv. 1.

No more let sorrow cloud the eye,
Nor fears the spirit fill;
Though now the parting hour is nigh,
My heart is with you still.
My Father sent me from above,
His mercy's brightest sign;
And if you trust His changeless love,—
O wherefore doubt of mine?

The stretching shadow of the cross
Now overcasts my soul;
You sorrow for the coming loss,—
I long to reach the goal.
My love must first be tried by death
Before it prove its power,
And, through its triumph, give you faith
For many an evil hour.

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Dark days will come when I depart,
But cast your care on me,
And I, unseen, shall keep the heart
From fear and fainting free.
The thorny path that I have trod
Is also traced for you;
But where I walked alone with God,—
Ye have your Saviour too.

VIII. TRUTH.

The rounded whole of Truth the mortal mind
May never mirror in its narrow sphere,
Yet, as it looks to Heaven, may hope to find
The faint reflection ever wax more clear.

To him that seeks, it is more largely sent,
Nor need he grieve that all can not be given;
Upon the leaf each dew-drop is content
To hold its segment of the round of Heaven.

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IX.

“Faith worketh by love.”—Gal. v. 6.

O mourn not that the days are gone,
The old and wondrous days,
When Faith's unearthly glory shone
Along our earthly ways;
When the Apostle's gentlest touch
Wrought like a sacred spell,
And health came down on every couch
On which his shadow fell.

The glory is not wholly fled
That shone so bright before,
Nor is the ancient virtue dead
Though thus it works no more.
Still godlike Power with Goodness dwells,
And blessings round it move,
And Faith still works its miracles,
Though now it works by Love.

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It may not on the crowded ways
Lift up its voice as then,
But still with sacred might it sways
The stormy minds of men.
Grace still is given to make the faint
Grow stronger through distress,
And even the shadow of the saint
Retains its power to bless.

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X. A REQUIEM.

Thou art free from pain, and sorrow
Like a cloud from thee hath passed;
And the day that knows no morrow
Hath arisen on thee at last.
The fair seal of life for ever
Glitters clear upon thy brow;
And the sound of the dark river
Hath no terror to thee now.

Sore we wept when we were taking
Our long farewell look at thee;
But around thee light was breaking
Which no eye but thine might see.
On thine ear a voice was falling
Which to our ear might not come,—
'Twas the voice of Jesus calling
His belovèd to her home.

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In the snow-white linen vested,
Thou art sitting at the feast,
And thy head is sweetly rested
On the Saviour's loving breast.
Thou hast heard the saints all singing,
Thou hast also waved the palm,
While the golden harps were ringing
In the pauses of the psalm.

Thou hast walked the pathways golden,
Where the faithful walk in white,—
With undazzled eyes beholden
The fair city's jasper-light.
Thou art safe there from all evil,—
There no hurtful thing may be;
O'er the world, the flesh, the devil,
Thou hast gained the victory.

Wherefore we do not bewail thee,
But will press the faster on,
Till we meet thee, till we hail thee,
In the land where thou art gone:
Where the crystal river floweth
For the comfort of the blessed,
And the tree of healing throweth
Its broad shadow o'er their rest.

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XI. THE DEATH OF A BELIEVER.

Acts xii.

The Apostle slept,—a light shone in the prison,—
An angel touched his side,
“Arise,” he said, and quickly he hath risen,
His fettered arms untied.

The watchers saw no light at midnight gleaming,—
They heard no sound of feet;
The gates fly open, and the saint still dreaming
Stands free upon the street.

So when the Christian's eyelid droops and closes
In Nature's parting strife,
A friendly angel stands where he reposes
To wake him up to life.

He gives a gentle blow, and so releases
The spirit from its clay;
From sin's temptations, and from life's distresses,
He bids it come away.

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It rises up, and from its darksome mansion
It takes its silent flight,
And feels its freedom in the large expansion
Of heavenly air and light.

Behind, it hears Time's iron gates close faintly,—
It is now far from them,
For it has reached the city of the saintly,
The new Jerusalem.

A voice is heard on earth of kinsfolk weeping
The loss of one they love;
But he is gone where the redeemed are keeping
A festival above.

The mourners throng the ways, and from the steeple
The funeral-bell tolls slow;
But on the golden streets the holy people
Are passing to and fro;

And saying as they meet, “Rejoice! another
Long-waited-for is come;
The Saviour's heart is glad, a younger brother
Hath reached the Father's home!”

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XII. A THOUGHT AT EVENING.

The peaks are swathed with rosy light,—
Day's shadow lingering up the skies,—
And clouds above them, warm and bright,
Are floating, flushed with kindred dyes.
Below, the valleys lurk in gloom,—
The woods a sombre aspect wear;
But high above, that tender bloom
Along the ridge refines the air.

At evening-time it shall be light,
Though clouds at dawn may mantle heaven,—
Though wind and rain, though mist and blight,
Across the lowering day be driven.
Stand thou unshaken in thy place,
And fix thy glance upon the sky;
At last a gleam will reach thy face,
A heavenly gleam that will not die.

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XIII.

“The light that led astray
Was light from heaven!”

It could not be; no light from heaven
Has ever led astray,—
Its constant stars to guide are given,
And never to betray.
The meteor in the marish bred
May lure the foot afar,
But never wayfarer misled
Would say it was a star.

When passion drives to wild excess,
And folly wakes to shame,
It cannot make the madness less
To cast on heaven the blame.
O blindly wander if thou wilt,
And break from virtue's rule,—
But add not blasphemy to guilt,
And doubly play the fool.

The light that seemed to shine on high,
And led thee on to sin,
Was but reflected to thine eye
From passion's fire within.

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And Conscience warned thee of the guide,
And Reason raised her voice;
Thou wert not forced to turn aside,
But freely mad'st the choice.

Thy Will its false enchantment drew
Before thy clearer sight,
And round the hovering tempter threw
An angel's robe of light.
And thus from virtue's peaceful way
So far by passion driven,
How could the light that led astray
Be light that shone from heaven?

Why, reckless of its native aim,
Should genius, throned so high,
E'er lend the sanction of its name
To consecrate a lie,
If not that a corrupted heart
Degrades the noblest mind,
And turns to shame the glorious art
That should have blessed mankind?
O spurn the guilty thought away!
Eternity will tell
That every light that led astray
Was light that shone from hell.

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XIV.

All sainted souls, Lord, are the chords
From which thy fingers draw
Immortal music to the tones
Of Thy most holy Law.
The melodies which Thy wide heavens
Through all the ages fill,
Are wills responding, and at one
With Thine, the Master-Will.

The seraph's harp is but a heart
That knows no law but thine,
The cherub's song a creature's love
At one with Love Divine;—
And music breathes from all Thy worlds,
Because they never stray
From the blue spaces where of old
Thy hand hath traced their way.

The soul of man was once the lyre
On which Thy fingers played,

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Heaven's music then was heard on Earth,
And Earth an answer made,—
Till Sin untuned the instrument
Of paradisal days,
Broke all its golden chords, and marred
Man's blessèd psalm of praise.

Yet not for ever will it lie
Mute, shattered on the ground,
One hand can wake its strings again
To some preluding sound,—
Some wandering murmurs of the strain
That clear through Eden rung,
When first it mingled in the hymn
The stars of morning sung.

One sweet subduing touch contains
The secret charm to move
And re-inspire it with the power
And kindling glow of love.
The Saviour's hand re-strings the chords,
And makes it here begin
The everlasting psalm which floats
Through worlds unstained by sin.

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XV. THE DEATH OF AN INFANT.

I heard the angels singing
As they went up through the sky,
A sweet infant's spirit bringing
To its Father's house on high:

“Happy thou, so soon ascended,
With thy shining raiment on!
Happy thou, whose race is ended
With a crown so quickly won!

“Hushed is now thy lamentation,
And the first words to thee given
Will be words of adoration
In the blessèd speech of Heaven;
For the blood thou mightst have slighted
Hath now made thee pure within,
And the evil seed is blighted
That had ripened unto sin.

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“We will lead thee by a river,
Where the flowers are blooming fair;
We will sing to thee for ever,
For no night may darken there.
Thou shalt walk in robes of glory;
Thou shalt wear a golden crown;
Thou shalt sing Redemption's story,
With the saints around the throne.

“Thou shalt see that better country,
Where a tear-drop never fell,—
Where a foe made never entry,
And a friend ne'er said farewell;
Where, upon the radiant faces
That will shine on thee alway,
Thou shalt never see the traces
Of estrangement or decay.

“Thee we bear, a lily-blossom,
To a sunnier clime above;
There to lay thee in a bosom
Warm with more than mother's love.

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Happy thou, so timely gathered
From a region cold and bare,
To bloom on, a flower unwithered,
Through an endless summer there!”

Through the night that dragged so slowly,
Watched a mother by a bed;
Weeping wildly, kneeling lowly,
She would not be comforted.
To her lost one she was clinging,
Raining tears upon a shroud;
And those angel-voices singing
Could not reach her through the cloud.

“Days without night, joys without sorrow, sanctity without sin, charity without stain, possession without fear, society without envying, communication of joys without lessening; and they shall dwell in a blessed country, where an enemy never entered, and from whence a friend never went away.”—Jeremy Taylor.

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XVI. A THOUGHT ON TIME.

How oft we fret for Time's delays,
And urge him on with sighs,
But to lament in after days
How rapidly he flies!
Too late we sorrow to receive
What once we thought a boon:
Life hurries past us, but we grieve
To reach the grave too soon.

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XVII. LINES.

Honour will oft elude the grasp
That rashly courts the prize;
The radiant phantom we would clasp,
Still, as we follow, flies.
But oft, on Duty's lowly way,
Unsought, will Honour meet
The patient traveller, and lay
Her treasures at his feet.

Thus he who went to seek of old
Some asses that had strayed,
Found on his way a crown of gold
Placed sudden on his head.
And he whose bad ambition dared
A father's crown to seize,
Found treason's bitter doom prepared
Among the forest-trees!

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XVIII. HUMILITY.

O! learn that it is only by the lowly
The paths of peace are trod;
If thou wouldst keep thy garments white and holy,
Walk humbly with thy God.

The man with earthly wisdom high-uplifted
Is in God's sight a fool;
But he in heavenly truth most deeply gifted
Sits lowest in Christ's school.

The lowly spirit God hath consecrated
As his abiding rest;
And angels by some patriarch's tent have waited,
When kings had no such guest.

The dew that never wets the flinty mountain
Falls in the valleys free;
Bright verdure fringes the small desert-fountain,
But barren sand the sea.

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Not in the stately oak the fragrance dwelleth
Which charms the general wood,
But in the violet low, whose sweetness telleth
Its unseen neighbourhood.

The censer swung by the proud hand of merit
Fumes with a fire abhorred;
But Faith's two mites, dropped covertly, inherit
A blessing from the Lord.

Round lowliness a gentle radiance hovers,
A sweet, unconscious grace;
Which, even in shrinking, evermore discovers
The brightness on its face.

Where God abides, Contentment is and Honour,
Such guerdon Meekness knows;
His peace within her, and His smile upon her,
Her saintly way she goes.

Through the strait gate of life she passes stooping,
With sandals on her feet;
And pure-eyed Graces, hand in hand come trooping,
Their sister fair to greet.

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The angels bend their eyes upon her goings,
And guard her from annoy;
Heaven fills her heart with silent overflowings
Of its perennial joy.

The Saviour loves her, for she wears the vesture
With which He walked on earth;
And through her childlike glance, and step, and gesture
He knows her heavenly birth.

He now beholds this seal of glory graven
On all whom He redeems,
And in His own bright City, crystal-paven,
On every brow it gleams.

The white-robed saints, the throne-steps singing under,
Their state all meekly wear;
Their praise wells up from hidden springs of wonder
That grace has brought them there.

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XIX. TO A CHRISTIAN FRIEND.

I saw thee not till slow decay
Had touched thy beauty's early bloom,
Till grief had met thee on thy way
And overcast thy life with gloom;
And yet, methought, thy face was bright
With gleams of an ethereal light.

Yes! thine was beauty all unknown
To those who live through cloudless days;
The peace, possessed by them alone
Who meekly walk on Sorrow's ways,
Gleamed through thy spirit's fleshly veil,
And brightened all thy features pale.

The light of saintly Patience shone
Serenely in thy quiet eye,
And Hope thy marble brow upon
Set the clear signet of the sky,—
And Love was singing all day long
Within thy heart an angel's song.

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And Faith, that can the light of Heaven
Beyond Time's streaming vapours see;—
All these to thee thy God hath given,
And He hath taught thy soul to be
Uplifted high without disdain,
And greatly purified through pain.

A darker path must yet be passed
Before those radiant bounds appear,
And anxious thoughts may overcast
Thy spirit with a natural fear;
But, safe in everlasting arms,
Thou need'st not dread unknown alarms.

The shadows may fall deep and chill
Upon thy lone mysterious way,
But thou shalt go unto the hill
Of frankincense, until the day
Shall lighten in the rosy East,
And wake thee up to endless rest.

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XX.

“He abideth faithful.”—2 Tim. ii. 13.

Friends I love may die or leave me,
Friends I trust may treacherous prove,
But Thou never wilt deceive me,
O my Saviour! in Thy love.
Change can ne'er this union sever,
Death its links may never part,—
Yesterday, to-day, for ever,
Thou the same Redeemer art.

On the cross love made Thee bearer
Of transgressions not Thine own;
And that love still makes Thee sharer
In our sorrows on the throne.
From Thy glory Thou art bending
Still on earth a pitying eye,
And, 'mid angels' songs ascending,
Hearest every mourner's cry.

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In the days of worldly gladness,
Cold and proud our hearts may be,
But to whom, in fear and sadness,
Can we go but unto Thee?
From that depth of gloom and sorrow
Where thy love to man was shown,
Every bleeding heart may borrow
Hope and strength to bear its own.

Though the cup I drink be bitter,
Yet since Thou hast made it mine,
This Thy love will make it sweeter
Than the world's best mingled wine.
Darker days may yet betide me,
Sharper sorrows I may prove;
But the worst will ne'er divide me,
O my Saviour! from Thy love.

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XXI. RECOVERY FROM SICKNESS.

How pleasant, after days of pain,
And nights retreating slow,
To feel the genial air again
Breathe freshly on the brow!
How sweet to leave the darkened room
For open earth and sky,
And feel the sunlight and the bloom
Revive the languid eye!

With lovelier tints each little flower
That stars the hedge is clad,
And every bird has sweeter power
To make the spirit glad.
Our pulses beat to Nature's chime,—
We see the golden glow
That was about us in the time
Of childhood, long ago.

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Joy comes in trances like the wind,—
And in the after-calm,
The heart interprets to the mind
Creation's choral psalm;
We hear it, and we swell the song
With love's harmonious breath,—
Adoring Him to whom belong
The issues out of death.

More fervent thoughts the spirit thrill,
When words are sealed or slow;
The current of its bliss is still,
But deep and swift of flow:
For solemn is the joy that springs
From undeservèd good,
And holy meekness ever clings
To holy gratitude.

Oh, if to sick and weary hearts
Such joy on earth be given,
What is it when the saint departs
To breathe the air of Heaven!
When from Earth's narrowness and gloom
Gone out, with dazzled eyes
He stands within its light and bloom,—
The heir of Paradise!

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XXII. MEMORIAL LINES.

I know thy God hath given thee sweet releasing
From the great woe thy gentle spirit bore,
Yet in the heart still throbs the thought unceasing,—
Beloved! thou wilt come to us no more.
No more! although we feel thy sainted vision,
The while we speak of thee, is lingering near,
And know that, in the bliss of thy transition,
Thou still rememberest us who mourn thee here.

We loved, and still we love thee. What can sever
This holy bond? The spirit is not dust;
Sweet is thy memory in the soul for ever,
And fondly guarded as a sacred trust.
Dear was thy living image when before us
It stood in all thy youthful beauty's glow,
Yet still more dear thy spirit hovering o'er us
With the bright crown of glory on its brow.

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How oft the weary heart, its grief dissembling,
Sees the calm smile upon thy features still,
And hears along its chords, like music trembling,
The low clear tones to which it once would thrill!
The vision fades,—we feel we are forsaken,
The gloom returns, the anguish and the care,—
And tender longings in the heart awaken,
Which wish thee here, though thou art happier there.

Alas! how far the Past outweighs the Present,—
The forms that come no more the friends we see!
How the lone spirit feels 'tis far less pleasant
To smile with others than to weep for thee!
Yet, in the struggle of its silent sorrow,
The pining heart can sometimes break its chain,
And from the Saviour's word this hope may borrow,—
Beloved! we shall see thee yet again.

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XXIII. THE BETTER HOPE.

O never shall the weary rest,
Nor joy to drooping hearts be given,
Till, like a vision pure and blest,
Upon them hope has dawned from Heaven.
In Earth's cold soil no balm may grow
To cure the deepest wounds we feel;
The world moves onwards with its woe,
And mocks the grief it cannot heal.

No bliss unfading walks the earth
Which is not native to the sky;
The power must be of heavenly birth
Which gives us peace that will not die;
Then, only then, our spirits greet
A hope immortally their own,—
When, at the Saviour's gentle feet,
They lay their every burden down.

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In Him, through all the storms, and strife,
And weariness of time they rest;
This hope, the anchor of their life,
Which keeps them safe, and makes them blest.
To Him, and to His cross, it clings
With sacred constancy and true;
And to the trustful heart it brings
Not only peace but pureness too.

Unquenched is still that guiding star
Which shone of old in eastern skies;
Still, all that follow from afar
It leads to where the Saviour lies;
There, only there, the weary rest,
And joy to sorrowing hearts is given,—
There, hope immortal fills the breast,
And all around gleams light from Heaven!

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XXIV.

“Ye are not come unto the mount that might be touched, . . . . but unto mount Sion, the city of the living God.”—Heb. xii. 18, 22.

Not, Lord! unto that mount of dread
Thou bidst thy people gather now,
With clouds and darkness overspread,
And fiery splendour round its brow;
But unto Sion, where Thy grace
Rejoicing o'er Thy works is seen,
And all Thy glory in the face
Of Christ the Saviour shines serene.

Not by the trumpet's stormy blast,
Thou bidst the hushed assembly hear
Those words which in the thunder passed,
And filled the holiest heart with fear;
But, in the still small voice which steals
From the great glory where Thou art,
Thy mercy tells of One who heals
The anguish of the wounded heart.

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O let that voice of heavenly power
The movement of my spirit sway,—
Thy presence in each darker hour
Sustain my hope and guide my way!
That I may go from strength to strength
In an ascending course to Thee,
Till in Thine own pure light at length
The perfectness of light I see.

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XXV. GOD IS LOVE.

Thou, Lord, art Love, and everywhere
Thy name is brightly shown;
Beneath, on earth Thy footstool fair,
Above, on heaven Thy throne.

Thy word is love, in lines of gold
There mercy prints its trace;
In Nature we thy steps behold,
The Gospel shows thy face.

Thy ways are love, though they transcend
Our feeble range of sight;
They wind through darkness to their end
In everlasting light.

Thy thoughts are love, and Jesus is
The living voice they find;
His love lights up the vast abyss
Of the eternal mind.

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Thy chastisements are love,—more deep
They stamp the seal divine,
And, by a sweet compulsion, keep
Our spirits nearer Thine.

Thy heaven is the abode of love;
O blessèd Lord! that we
May there, when Time's dim shades remove,
Be gathered home to Thee.

There, with Thy resting saints, to fall
Adoring round the throne,
When all shall love thee, Lord, and all
Shall in thy love be one!

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XXVI. TO A FRIEND DEPARTED.

The memory of thy truth to me
My heart will ne'er resign,
Until, beloved! mine shall be
As cold a bed as thine.
High o'er my path of life it will
Hang ever as a star,
To cheer my steps toward the hill
Where the immortal are.

The lesson of thy gentle life,
Thy trials meekly borne,
Will keep me hopeful in the strife
When fainting and out-worn;
Then, for a darker hour remains
The memory of the faith
That triumphed over mortal pains,
And calmly fronted death.

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I once had hoped that side by side
Our journey we might go,
And with a perfect love divide
Our gladness and our woe;
But thou hast reached thy Father's home,
And happier thou art there
Than I, left wearily to roam
Through days of grief and care.

Though all is changed since thou art gone,
I would not wish thee here,
Far rather would I weep alone
Than see thee shed a tear;—
The thought of thy great happiness
Is now a part of mine;
Nor would I wish my sorrow less
To see that sorrow thine.

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XXVII. VIA DOLOROSA.

My feet lightly stepped on the highway,
Youth ran with a thrill in my blood,
And my thoughts were in tune with the voices
That rung out of thicket and wood.

The blithe birds were my companions,
They fluttered from tree to tree,
Alluring me on with sweet music
That awoke sweeter echoes in me.

But I suddenly turned down a by-way
With briars and mosses o'ergrown,
And they shrunk from its threatening shadows,
And left me to journey alone.

With a sorrowful heart I went onward,
And a darkness fell on the day,
When one, in attire like a pilgrim,
Appeared by my side on the way.

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His face had the sternness of sorrow,
For a time he spoke not a word,
And then, turning round, spoke abruptly
In a speech I never had heard.

I answered him not, but his language
Awoke many thoughts in my mind,
And the cloud seemed to pass from his features,
And his speech was more gentle and kind.

And slowly my soul understood him,
I may not reveal what he said,
But it seemed, as we walked, the rough by-way
Grew pleasant and soft to my tread.

He vanished, but left a remembrance
Which brightened the desolate place,—
And I knew, by the light on his features,
I had looked on an Angel's face.

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XXVIII. FAITH, HOPE, AND LOVE AT THE SEPULCHRE.

“He is not here,” Love saith, while down her face
Slowly the large tears of her trouble flow;
“They've borne Him hence, and whither who may know?”
Then straightway Faith and Hope, with rapid pace,
Came running toward the tomb,—a holy race:
And Faith did outrun Hope, and stooping low
Saw the sweet-smelling cerements, pure as snow,
Each calmly folded in its proper place,
But on the threshold lingered. Hope, not grieved
At his defeat, soon followed, nor delayed
To enter in, and presently was cheered;
Faith also entered with him, and believed.
Then homewards both returned. Love meanwhile stayed,
And wept and waited till the Lord appeared.

The subject of this Sonnet must have been, unconsciously, suggested by a remembrance of some stanzas in Keble's “Christian Year;” the triad there personified being Reason, Faith, and Love.

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XXIX.

“I am a stranger with Thee, and a sojourner, as all my fathers were.”—Psalm xxxix. 12.

Peregrinis in terris nulla est jucundior recordatio quam suae civitatis.—Augustine.

Though long the wanderer may depart,
And far his footsteps roam,
He clasps the closer to his heart
The image of his home.
To that loved land, where'er he goes,
His tenderest thoughts are cast,
And dearer still through absence grows
The memory of the past.

Though Nature on another shore
Her softest smile may wear,
The vales, the hills, he loved before
To him are far more fair.
The heavens that met his childhood's eye,
All clouded though they be,
Seem brighter than the sunniest sky
Of climes beyond the sea.

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So Faith, a stranger on the earth,
Still turns its eye above;
The child of an immortal birth
Seeks more than mortal love.
The scenes of earth, though very fair.
Want home's endearing spell;
And all his heart and hope are where
His God and Saviour dwell.

He may behold them dimly here,
And see them as not nigh,
But all he loves shall yet appear
Unclouded to his eye,
To that fair City, now so far,
Rejoicing he shall come;—
A better light than Bethlehem's star
Guides every wanderer home.