 | The Cup of Quietness |  |
58
ENVOY
Loyal and tried, whose gentleness,
Made strong by grief, serene by pain,
Still turns to love, as after rain
The blossom lifts its head again
To meet the sun's caress;
Made strong by grief, serene by pain,
Still turns to love, as after rain
The blossom lifts its head again
To meet the sun's caress;
White flower of that old tree, which stood
In Arden's forest-ways ere set
The star of great Plantagenet,
And, branching wide, is parent yet
Of many a gracious brood;
In Arden's forest-ways ere set
The star of great Plantagenet,
And, branching wide, is parent yet
Of many a gracious brood;
Kinswoman of that courtly soul
Who reared the grey secluded halls
That nursed my Muse;—their shadow falls
On cloistered green and bastioned walls
Where waves of Isis roll;—
Who reared the grey secluded halls
That nursed my Muse;—their shadow falls
On cloistered green and bastioned walls
Where waves of Isis roll;—
59
Sprung from his race who, while his feet
Were spattered by the storm which dyed
Edgehill with kindred blood, descried
The secret course of that red tide
Which fills all hearts that beat;
Were spattered by the storm which dyed
Edgehill with kindred blood, descried
The secret course of that red tide
Which fills all hearts that beat;
Child of a house whose men were hale
But brushed by wings of old romance,
And, stout in use of bow and lance,
Yet chose to wear for cognizance
The lily of the vale;
But brushed by wings of old romance,
And, stout in use of bow and lance,
Yet chose to wear for cognizance
The lily of the vale;
Handmaid of Christ—thy Master's grace
Enfolds thee; for thy tender heart
Hath chosen Mary's better part;
Not what thou dost, but what thou art,
Illumes thy flower-like face.
Enfolds thee; for thy tender heart
Hath chosen Mary's better part;
Not what thou dost, but what thou art,
Illumes thy flower-like face.
Thou seem'st a mild September rose,
Lit with the low sun's placid flame;
Thy mien, thy garb, thy very name,
All that belongs to thee, proclaim
The beauty of repose.
Lit with the low sun's placid flame;
Thy mien, thy garb, thy very name,
All that belongs to thee, proclaim
The beauty of repose.
60
How precious in these hustling days
The mellow voice, the restful eye,
The loftiness of soul too high
For pride, the simple dignity
Too natural for praise.
The mellow voice, the restful eye,
The loftiness of soul too high
For pride, the simple dignity
Too natural for praise.
Not ours the bridle-path of ease,
But duty's high and toilsome way,
Where yet birds sing and breezes play,
The rainbow blossoms on the grey,
And autumn gilds the trees.
But duty's high and toilsome way,
Where yet birds sing and breezes play,
The rainbow blossoms on the grey,
And autumn gilds the trees.
No more the glamour of the feast,
But frugal fare of sober joys,
A bitter-sweet that never cloys,
Pulses that keep a steadier poise—
Of bounties not the least.
But frugal fare of sober joys,
A bitter-sweet that never cloys,
Pulses that keep a steadier poise—
Of bounties not the least.
The wine runs thin, the lamp burns low,
Gone are the minstrels and the dance;
But fewer fly the bolts of chance;
And faith, a kindlier tolerance,
A deeper insight, grow.
Gone are the minstrels and the dance;
But fewer fly the bolts of chance;
And faith, a kindlier tolerance,
A deeper insight, grow.
61
Then, ere we quit Earth's genial board,
Let us pronounce a hearty grace,
And take the road with gentle pace,
Pleased that our children run the race
And twine the silver cord.
Let us pronounce a hearty grace,
And take the road with gentle pace,
Pleased that our children run the race
And twine the silver cord.
If youth's bright passion-flower must fade,
Some fruits of life remain to win;
And though the sunny hours begin
To close, we still may kneel within
The sanctuary of shade,
Some fruits of life remain to win;
And though the sunny hours begin
To close, we still may kneel within
The sanctuary of shade,
And, gazing through the golden bars,
Watch evening's benediction rest
On the dear past, till night's behest
Reveal beyond the wistful West
The wonder of the stars;
Watch evening's benediction rest
On the dear past, till night's behest
Reveal beyond the wistful West
The wonder of the stars;
Thankful if, while the distance grows
More sombre, and our feet draw near
The darkness and the hush, no fear
Assail us, and the rounded year
Be calmest at the close.
More sombre, and our feet draw near
The darkness and the hush, no fear
Assail us, and the rounded year
Be calmest at the close.
| The Cup of Quietness | |