 | Carol and Cadence |  |
THE HAWTHORN.
The hawthorn's out in bloom;
It is raimented all in webs of white and red from the fairies' loom:
The scent of its balmy breath
All over the grim grey walls soars up like a great sweet voice,
That biddeth the wretch rejoice
And heartens the suffering soul with the hope of eternal life,
In the midst of a world of strife
And death.
It is raimented all in webs of white and red from the fairies' loom:
The scent of its balmy breath
All over the grim grey walls soars up like a great sweet voice,
That biddeth the wretch rejoice
And heartens the suffering soul with the hope of eternal life,
In the midst of a world of strife
And death.
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But yesternight 'twas green
And now there is nothing for blossom of leafage to-day to be seen.
What angel with Aaron's rod
Hath smitten its verdurous wells with the stroke and the word Divine
And bidden them brim with wine
Of glory and glamour and gladness and colour and sweetness and scent,
In the name omnipotent
Of God?
And now there is nothing for blossom of leafage to-day to be seen.
What angel with Aaron's rod
Hath smitten its verdurous wells with the stroke and the word Divine
And bidden them brim with wine
Of glory and glamour and gladness and colour and sweetness and scent,
In the name omnipotent
Of God?
In its redolent robes of grey
And coral, it stands like the blossoming sign of the birth of a new world-day;
It biddeth all hearts have heed
Of its homily preached to the grey old world of grace and youth,
Its tale of the pearls of truth
And beauty that are for the diver, the seeker, to find and gain
In the heart of Life's seas of pain
And need.
And coral, it stands like the blossoming sign of the birth of a new world-day;
It biddeth all hearts have heed
Of its homily preached to the grey old world of grace and youth,
Its tale of the pearls of truth
And beauty that are for the diver, the seeker, to find and gain
In the heart of Life's seas of pain
And need.
In alley and street and square,
With the balm of its breath of benison sweet it heartens the heavy air:
No quarter there is so base
Where the blossoming hawthorn scorns to lighten the loveless day
With its bridal robes in May,
No nook, in its blossoming-tide, of the grim old town's to find
But the track of its scent on the wind
Can trace.
With the balm of its breath of benison sweet it heartens the heavy air:
No quarter there is so base
Where the blossoming hawthorn scorns to lighten the loveless day
With its bridal robes in May,
No nook, in its blossoming-tide, of the grim old town's to find
But the track of its scent on the wind
Can trace.
Hail to thee, hawthorn-tree!
Thy perfumes perish, thy flower-flames dwindle and drown in Summer's sea;
in Summer's sea;
But thy lesson of joy and cheer,
Of faith in beauty that dies not and sleeps but to wake again,
Shall still with us remain
For solace, when Life lies faint and flowerless in Winter's hold
And the hope at its heart grows cold
And sere.
Thy perfumes perish, thy flower-flames dwindle and drown in Summer's sea;
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But thy lesson of joy and cheer,
Of faith in beauty that dies not and sleeps but to wake again,
Shall still with us remain
For solace, when Life lies faint and flowerless in Winter's hold
And the hope at its heart grows cold
And sere.
| Carol and Cadence | |