 | Ballads of the North and Other Poems |  |
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LONDON STREETS
85
‘TO A GREAT AND GOOD PHYSICIAN.’
God hears to-day, and every day, for thee
Blessings and prayers uncounted; therefore hear
Once for thyself, to greet thee this New Year,
Blessings and prayers uncounted; therefore hear
Once for thyself, to greet thee this New Year,
What He hears always:—little though it be
That words can tell. We thank Him for thy life,
Fulfilled in one strong, simple, selfless strife
With pain and ill; that, never taking breath
For one hour's ease, wrestles all day with death,
And conquers in His Name; and for the power
For soul and body's aid, that is thy dower,—
The mighty gift of healing, half of God,
And half of some steep journey nobly trod,
Some sublime hour of sacrifice in youth,
Where the two ways met,—this world's praise, and Truth.
That words can tell. We thank Him for thy life,
Fulfilled in one strong, simple, selfless strife
With pain and ill; that, never taking breath
For one hour's ease, wrestles all day with death,
And conquers in His Name; and for the power
For soul and body's aid, that is thy dower,—
The mighty gift of healing, half of God,
And half of some steep journey nobly trod,
Some sublime hour of sacrifice in youth,
Where the two ways met,—this world's praise, and Truth.
86
Is not the time of trial without fear
Because the comfort of thy voice is near?
Have we not known how, all these years gone by,
Wherever called thee the most hopeless cry,
Wherever want most sad, and pain most sore,
Wherever most thy heart was pierced and rent,
Through the dark hours thy steadfast watchings wore,
The touches of thy tenderness were spent,
Till from the saved, the succoured, the consoled,
One blessing wraps thy name a thousandfold?
Because the comfort of thy voice is near?
Have we not known how, all these years gone by,
Wherever called thee the most hopeless cry,
Wherever want most sad, and pain most sore,
Wherever most thy heart was pierced and rent,
Through the dark hours thy steadfast watchings wore,
The touches of thy tenderness were spent,
Till from the saved, the succoured, the consoled,
One blessing wraps thy name a thousandfold?
Ah, to how many a man, like Hercules,
Hast thou brought home out of the gates of death
Hast thou brought home out of the gates of death
The best-belovèd, and joined hands of these
That parted hopeless;—or brought back the breath
Which even to the last had ebbed away
In little, lovely, moaning forms that lay
Chill on their mothers' bosoms! Who shall say
Of what deliverances from what despairs
How many still are mindful in their prayers,
And still remember thee by! At thy door
Even now what anxious faces evermore
Wait for the pity of thine eyes to cross
The story of their sickness or their loss;
And no one goes away without some balm,
The pain made softer, or the fear more calm.
What restless forms to-day are lying, bound
On sick-beds, waiting till the hour come round
That brings thy foot upon the chamber stair,
Impatient, fevered, faint, till thou art there,
The one short smile of sunshine to make light
The long endurance of another night.
That parted hopeless;—or brought back the breath
Which even to the last had ebbed away
In little, lovely, moaning forms that lay
Chill on their mothers' bosoms! Who shall say
87
How many still are mindful in their prayers,
And still remember thee by! At thy door
Even now what anxious faces evermore
Wait for the pity of thine eyes to cross
The story of their sickness or their loss;
And no one goes away without some balm,
The pain made softer, or the fear more calm.
What restless forms to-day are lying, bound
On sick-beds, waiting till the hour come round
That brings thy foot upon the chamber stair,
Impatient, fevered, faint, till thou art there,
The one short smile of sunshine to make light
The long endurance of another night.
But of thy loving-kindness and thy care,
Hope, that thy footsteps follows everywhere,
Skill without measure, patience without fail,
Each one who knows thee knows a separate tale;
But only God knows all.—And if to some
(Are they indeed His best-beloved?) there come
Hours of severer proof, and furnace-tried,
Which may not be cut short nor turned aside,—
When the art fails then the love triumphs more;—
The last and best of gifts is yet in store.
Through uttermost extremity of pain,
Through darkness of deep waters, comes a strain
(The words return, the sense is mazed and dim),
‘And there appeared an Angel, strengthening him.’
And thy face is the vision, and thy voice
Hope, that thy footsteps follows everywhere,
Skill without measure, patience without fail,
Each one who knows thee knows a separate tale;
But only God knows all.—And if to some
(Are they indeed His best-beloved?) there come
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Which may not be cut short nor turned aside,—
When the art fails then the love triumphs more;—
The last and best of gifts is yet in store.
Through uttermost extremity of pain,
Through darkness of deep waters, comes a strain
(The words return, the sense is mazed and dim),
‘And there appeared an Angel, strengthening him.’
And thy face is the vision, and thy voice
Is soft above the tempest, though it close
Over one sinking in slow fires. Who knows
How many hearts for evermore rejoice
For that revealing what a friend may be,
For that upholding they have had of thee
In that unspoken, solemn fellowship!
This blessing go with thee from heart and lip:—
Because for our sake, us the sufferers,
How many hearts for evermore rejoice
For that revealing what a friend may be,
For that upholding they have had of thee
In that unspoken, solemn fellowship!
This blessing go with thee from heart and lip:—
Because for our sake, us the sufferers,
Thou makest of thy moments and thy hours
From sunrise unto sunset ministers
From sunrise unto sunset ministers
Unspared, unwearied, unto needs of ours,—
(From sunset unto sunrise who shall say
How often?) still foregoing day by day
The common ease and pleasure of the way,
Without self-pity and without regret
Wholly to thy heroic labour set,—
May God repay thee better than thy loss,
And such stray streaks as cannot choose but cross
The daily toil and tedium of thy track
Yield unto thee a sevenfold sunshine back!
89
How often?) still foregoing day by day
The common ease and pleasure of the way,
Without self-pity and without regret
Wholly to thy heroic labour set,—
May God repay thee better than thy loss,
And such stray streaks as cannot choose but cross
The daily toil and tedium of thy track
Yield unto thee a sevenfold sunshine back!
The grace of God upon thee, may'st thou feel
The shortened slumber and the hasty meal
Refresh thee as a Sacrament;—thy sense
Be quickened into rapture more intense
Because thy joys are fewer;—and the green
Valleys be fairer because far between.
The first white flashing of a swallow's wing,
Glimpses of pear-trees between walls in spring,
The morning air from new-mown fields in June,
The water-lilies on a Sabbath noon,
The solemn river-sunsets through the smoke,
The first reviving smile from eyes awoke
Out of Death's shadow unto life again,—
Be sweeter unto thee than other men.
The shortened slumber and the hasty meal
Refresh thee as a Sacrament;—thy sense
Be quickened into rapture more intense
Because thy joys are fewer;—and the green
Valleys be fairer because far between.
The first white flashing of a swallow's wing,
Glimpses of pear-trees between walls in spring,
The morning air from new-mown fields in June,
The water-lilies on a Sabbath noon,
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The first reviving smile from eyes awoke
Out of Death's shadow unto life again,—
Be sweeter unto thee than other men.
And because mortal sorrow needs must fall
On all men, and the highest most of all,
And some sharp struggle crowns each perfecting,
And that our lower love no shield can bring
On all men, and the highest most of all,
And some sharp struggle crowns each perfecting,
And that our lower love no shield can bring
Between thee and the higher Love to stand,
That strikes for Love's own sake unfaltering,—
That strikes for Love's own sake unfaltering,—
Therefore when thou too stretchest out thy hand
For help, when thy need cometh, doubt, or pain,
Or loss, or other anguish of this earth,
And though we died for thee our death were vain,
And though we gave all it were nothing worth,
And of the many thousands whom thy face
Hath comforted, can none return the grace,
Being less than thee,—may the one Higher One
Do to thee even as thou to us hast done,
O Soother of our sorrows! May'st thou see,
Steadfastly gazing towards Eternity,
The heavens opened, and at God's right hand
With the same smile as once thy Master stand;—
Nor only so, but come down from His place,
And stand beside thee, and His arms embrace
Nor ever let thy hand go, holding fast,
Till all the tyranny be overpast.
For help, when thy need cometh, doubt, or pain,
Or loss, or other anguish of this earth,
And though we died for thee our death were vain,
And though we gave all it were nothing worth,
And of the many thousands whom thy face
Hath comforted, can none return the grace,
Being less than thee,—may the one Higher One
Do to thee even as thou to us hast done,
O Soother of our sorrows! May'st thou see,
Steadfastly gazing towards Eternity,
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With the same smile as once thy Master stand;—
Nor only so, but come down from His place,
And stand beside thee, and His arms embrace
Nor ever let thy hand go, holding fast,
Till all the tyranny be overpast.
New Year's Day.
92
WORKING-GIRLS IN LONDON.
‘Is not this the time of flowers,
And of birds that sing?’
‘Here we know the days and hours,
Not the Spring.’
And of birds that sing?’
‘Here we know the days and hours,
Not the Spring.’
‘Is not this the age for pleasure,
And for holidays?’
‘We have neither ease nor leisure,
Work always.’
And for holidays?’
‘We have neither ease nor leisure,
Work always.’
‘Are not ripe fruits now in season,
Honey, cream, and cake?’
‘Daily bread for us is reason
Thanks to make.’
Honey, cream, and cake?’
‘Daily bread for us is reason
Thanks to make.’
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‘Are not these the days for playing
On the garden-grass?’
‘We, our daily work delaying,
Starve, alas!’
On the garden-grass?’
‘We, our daily work delaying,
Starve, alas!’
‘Are not these the nights for wearing
Robes of gossamer?’
‘Summer finds us burdens bearing,
Spite of her.’
Robes of gossamer?’
‘Summer finds us burdens bearing,
Spite of her.’
‘Are not cool streams flowing whitely,
Water lily lit?’
‘Here within close walls we nightly
Stifling sit.’
Water lily lit?’
‘Here within close walls we nightly
Stifling sit.’
‘Is not this the month for lying
In the green leaves' shade?’
‘Summer breezes fresh are flying,
Fast we fade.’
In the green leaves' shade?’
‘Summer breezes fresh are flying,
Fast we fade.’
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‘Will not Love come here to-morrow,
For bridegroom and bride?’
‘Here Love meaneth pain and sorrow
Multiplied.’
For bridegroom and bride?’
‘Here Love meaneth pain and sorrow
Multiplied.’
‘Is not this the time of roses,
Opening red and bright?’
‘In the Chapel one reposes,
Shut and white.’
Opening red and bright?’
‘In the Chapel one reposes,
Shut and white.’
‘If of good things life bereft us,
What avails the rest?’
‘Still the better things are left us,
And the best.’
What avails the rest?’
‘Still the better things are left us,
And the best.’
‘Are not some among you living
Who can cheer the way?’
‘Yes, their lives in service giving,
Day by day.’
Who can cheer the way?’
‘Yes, their lives in service giving,
Day by day.’
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‘Would you not with your rich neighbour
Change, and cast off care?’
‘Christ our poverty and labour
Chose to share.’
Change, and cast off care?’
‘Christ our poverty and labour
Chose to share.’
‘Refuge have you none, unholpen,
From the strife and din?’
‘Yes, the Church stands always open,
Hushed within.’
From the strife and din?’
‘Yes, the Church stands always open,
Hushed within.’
‘Is there not one hour suspended
From the hard world's wrong?’
‘Softly sounds when day is ended
Evensong.’
From the hard world's wrong?’
‘Softly sounds when day is ended
Evensong.’
‘Would you for fine houses rather
Leave your chambers bare?’
‘Still in secret speaks Our Father
To us there.’
Leave your chambers bare?’
‘Still in secret speaks Our Father
To us there.’
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‘Are the days not long and dreary,
And the years afar?’
‘Leaning on Thy breast Thy weary
Children are.’
And the years afar?’
‘Leaning on Thy breast Thy weary
Children are.’
‘In your conflict have you never
Recompense for loss?’
‘Yes, One Presence with us ever
Bears our cross.’
Recompense for loss?’
‘Yes, One Presence with us ever
Bears our cross.’
‘O young feet, ye can but falter
On your road at length!’
‘Still we kneel before the Altar
For fresh strength.’
On your road at length!’
‘Still we kneel before the Altar
For fresh strength.’
‘Have not some, O faithful daughters,
Sunk beneath the wave?’
‘One we know in the deep waters,
Swift to save.’
Sunk beneath the wave?’
‘One we know in the deep waters,
Swift to save.’
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‘Are there not dark hours, too lonely
For all help, at last?’
‘Through the darkest ones Christ only
Holds us fast.’
For all help, at last?’
‘Through the darkest ones Christ only
Holds us fast.’
98
DIVES.
O Lazarus, between us lies
A gulf which neither yet can pass;
And yet one speaks, and one replies,
Between us close no walls of brass;
My life is lost, my soul undone;
But Abraham calls me still his Son.
A gulf which neither yet can pass;
And yet one speaks, and one replies,
Between us close no walls of brass;
My life is lost, my soul undone;
But Abraham calls me still his Son.
Thy brother too! Year after year,
In this deep dungeon of the dead,
Have we not soul to soul grown near,
By interwoven fateful thread,
Remembering how our days have run
Together, underneath the sun?
In this deep dungeon of the dead,
Have we not soul to soul grown near,
By interwoven fateful thread,
Remembering how our days have run
Together, underneath the sun?
99
Thine eyes upon me used to wait
With a mute pleasure and caress;
As I went in and out my gate
They almost smiled for gentleness;
They seemed to thank me passing by,
For sight of one so fine as I.
With a mute pleasure and caress;
As I went in and out my gate
They almost smiled for gentleness;
They seemed to thank me passing by,
For sight of one so fine as I.
Those patient eyes reproached me not,
Their envy poisoned not my good,
They seemed to say, ‘So mean my lot,
I cannot serve thee as I would.’
I took the will, and was content
With thy admiring wonderment.
Their envy poisoned not my good,
They seemed to say, ‘So mean my lot,
I cannot serve thee as I would.’
I took the will, and was content
With thy admiring wonderment.
Thou hadst no sister, Lazarus,
Thou hadst no friend of human kind;
Thy desolate heart was turned to us,
Some solace for its love to find;
The tender flattery I could read,
But nothing of the piteous need.
Thou hadst no friend of human kind;
Thy desolate heart was turned to us,
Some solace for its love to find;
The tender flattery I could read,
But nothing of the piteous need.
100
I and my brethren were to thee
Thy pageant, freely thine to share;
Thou in thy mouldering rags might'st see
How cool fine linen was to wear;
And every day a sumptuous feast
I spread before thine eyes at least.
Thy pageant, freely thine to share;
Thou in thy mouldering rags might'st see
How cool fine linen was to wear;
And every day a sumptuous feast
I spread before thine eyes at least.
Thou didst my every sense offend,
And yet I sometimes looked thy way,
I knew thee for a humble friend,
I gave thee leave to see me gay;
Gracious and generous to excuse
Thy want of worth, thy want of use.
And yet I sometimes looked thy way,
I knew thee for a humble friend,
I gave thee leave to see me gay;
Gracious and generous to excuse
Thy want of worth, thy want of use.
Out of my luxury's excess
I spared no single drop for thee;
Out of thy utter nakedness
Thou gavest heavenly gift to me;
For ever seeming to implore
My pardon that it was not more.
I spared no single drop for thee;
Out of thy utter nakedness
Thou gavest heavenly gift to me;
For ever seeming to implore
My pardon that it was not more.
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‘Most worshipful, I cannot serve,
I am a blot in thy fair sight,
No slave's least portion I deserve,
I taint the air, I mar the light:’
Yet I forgave thee all this wrong,
And sometimes threw a dole along.
I am a blot in thy fair sight,
No slave's least portion I deserve,
I taint the air, I mar the light:’
Yet I forgave thee all this wrong,
And sometimes threw a dole along.
O Lazarus, how fiercely ached
Thy burning sores the whole day long!
How was thy bitter thirst unslaked!
No drop of water cooled thy tongue.
And yet my hard heart did not melt;—
I know it now, for I have felt.
Thy burning sores the whole day long!
How was thy bitter thirst unslaked!
No drop of water cooled thy tongue.
And yet my hard heart did not melt;—
I know it now, for I have felt.
How meek and hopeless thy desire
For crumbs that from my table fell;
O Lazarus, the flakes of fire
Fall on my heart, in rain of hell!
Oh, the slow pangs, day after day
Thou starving at my side away!
For crumbs that from my table fell;
O Lazarus, the flakes of fire
Fall on my heart, in rain of hell!
Oh, the slow pangs, day after day
Thou starving at my side away!
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And yet I missed thee from thy place,
My daily life was incomplete,
My pompous march had lost its grace,
The meal unwatched became less sweet;
By thy humility my pride
No longer could be satisfied.
My daily life was incomplete,
My pompous march had lost its grace,
The meal unwatched became less sweet;
By thy humility my pride
No longer could be satisfied.
We are not fixed so far apart
But that I knew thy face again,
Thy patient face that held my heart
By one last link not snapt in twain:
It seemed a simple thing at first
To call for thee to slake my thirst.
But that I knew thy face again,
Thy patient face that held my heart
By one last link not snapt in twain:
It seemed a simple thing at first
To call for thee to slake my thirst.
Should I not send thee to and fro,
My messenger with willing feet,
Back to my father's house to go,
Along the well-remembered street?
Wouldst thou not hasten, glad and proud,
So much promoted and allowed?
My messenger with willing feet,
Back to my father's house to go,
Along the well-remembered street?
Wouldst thou not hasten, glad and proud,
So much promoted and allowed?
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And thou, I know—yes, thou art not
Less loving than in days of old;
Thy wistful watch was not forgot;
I seem to hear the sigh that told
Thou too wast frustrate of thy task:—
To minister thou still dost ask.
Less loving than in days of old;
Thy wistful watch was not forgot;
I seem to hear the sigh that told
Thou too wast frustrate of thy task:—
To minister thou still dost ask.
Was this indeed the face I saw
So carelessly, so many days?
Oh, blessèd be the fires that draw
The veil from my besotted gaze!
Thou angel, that I now see plain,
Whom I did never entertain!
So carelessly, so many days?
Oh, blessèd be the fires that draw
The veil from my besotted gaze!
Thou angel, that I now see plain,
Whom I did never entertain!
Too late for me, too late it is!
Dogs were more pitiful than I;
I never gave thee any kiss,
Thy unanointed wounds were dry:
But oh, in vain, how many years
Have I not washed them with my tears!
Dogs were more pitiful than I;
I never gave thee any kiss,
Thy unanointed wounds were dry:
But oh, in vain, how many years
Have I not washed them with my tears!
104
But, O my Lazarus, it is gone;
For ever past is all thy pain;
If for one hour I might atone,
I would not bring it back again:
My everlasting loss I bear,
Once mine, but once, for love and care!
For ever past is all thy pain;
If for one hour I might atone,
I would not bring it back again:
My everlasting loss I bear,
Once mine, but once, for love and care!
Lazarus, my Lazarus, from afar
Still toward me turned thy face I see,
Me from thy smile doth none debar,
Thine eyes look out to comfort me;
Thy hand a sterner law controls:
It is not set between our souls.
Still toward me turned thy face I see,
Me from thy smile doth none debar,
Thine eyes look out to comfort me;
Thy hand a sterner law controls:
It is not set between our souls.
How can I ask thee to forgive,
Who of my crimes no reckoning took?
Who by a monster used to live,
And yet couldst bear on him to look?
Whose spirit dwelt its griefs above,
And only felt the angels' love?
Who of my crimes no reckoning took?
Who by a monster used to live,
And yet couldst bear on him to look?
Whose spirit dwelt its griefs above,
And only felt the angels' love?
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We cannot now be reconciled,
Where strife has never entered in;
Thy charity, thy suffering mild,
Working with God thy peace to win,
Have worked this miracle as well,—
To save a soul alive in hell.
Where strife has never entered in;
Thy charity, thy suffering mild,
Working with God thy peace to win,
Have worked this miracle as well,—
To save a soul alive in hell.
And still behind thee seems to grow
Another, dimly like to thee,
Whose looks meet mine, till scarce I know
If it were thou or it were He
Who all those years lay on thy bed,
Unloved, unknown, uncomforted.
Another, dimly like to thee,
Whose looks meet mine, till scarce I know
If it were thou or it were He
Who all those years lay on thy bed,
Unloved, unknown, uncomforted.
Weep not for me, O Lazarus!
On Abraham's bosom thou dost hide
Thy tears that flow to see me thus:
Must we not patient both abide?
My sins are greater than my doom:
That which I was, may hell consume!
On Abraham's bosom thou dost hide
Thy tears that flow to see me thus:
Must we not patient both abide?
My sins are greater than my doom:
That which I was, may hell consume!
106
Through all the torment stern and strange,
I feel, as winter feels the spring,
In me and all around a change,
Some far-off day the years will bring:
Perchance thy prayers have brought it near;
God's will be done, both there and here!
I feel, as winter feels the spring,
In me and all around a change,
Some far-off day the years will bring:
Perchance thy prayers have brought it near;
God's will be done, both there and here!
And then, O Lazarus, thou shalt come,
And to thy Master draw me near;
It is thy hand shall lead me home,
It is thy voice shall give me cheer;
And thou too shalt have thy desire
Fulfilled at last, although by fire.
And to thy Master draw me near;
It is thy hand shall lead me home,
It is thy voice shall give me cheer;
And thou too shalt have thy desire
Fulfilled at last, although by fire.
By all our past that we have earned,
May it not be that thou and I,
Together yet, both hearts that yearned,
Thou, O belovèd, set on high,
And I within the lowest place,
May serve one Master face to face?
May it not be that thou and I,
Together yet, both hearts that yearned,
Thou, O belovèd, set on high,
And I within the lowest place,
May serve one Master face to face?
107
Lazarus, my Lazarus, we will go
Together, I on thee will wait;
That souls made wiser by our woe
May learn their lesson not too late.
What need of words between us now?
We know each other, I and thou.
Together, I on thee will wait;
That souls made wiser by our woe
May learn their lesson not too late.
What need of words between us now?
We know each other, I and thou.
108
FAREWELL HYMN FOR BISHOP SMYTHIES OF EAST AFRICA.
St. Alban's, October 10th, 1888.
Christ has called thee. On thy mission
Thou art going forth to-day;
Home and country, ease and safety,
These are bonds to hold and stay:
Stronger is the hand constraining;—
Christ is calling,—come away!
Thou art going forth to-day;
Home and country, ease and safety,
These are bonds to hold and stay:
Stronger is the hand constraining;—
Christ is calling,—come away!
Down the jungle-swamps of fever,
Down the dark slave-driver's track,
Through the roaring of the lions,
Through the Unknown, shapeless, black,
Through the savage hosts of slaughter,
Christ is leading :—look not back!
Down the dark slave-driver's track,
Through the roaring of the lions,
Through the Unknown, shapeless, black,
Through the savage hosts of slaughter,
Christ is leading :—look not back!
109
Dearer than all else, He draws thee
Where no stream of gladness runs;
He has given thee His message
To His most forsaken sons;
Filled thy heart with His own pity
For His sheep, the long-lost ones.
Where no stream of gladness runs;
He has given thee His message
To His most forsaken sons;
Filled thy heart with His own pity
For His sheep, the long-lost ones.
Some have gone before, and fallen,
Not until their work could stand:—
Follow, to fill up their places,
With the torch from hand to hand,
Till the African vast blackness
Glitters with a beacon-band!
Not until their work could stand:—
Follow, to fill up their places,
With the torch from hand to hand,
Till the African vast blackness
Glitters with a beacon-band!
Lights are shining in dark places,
Seeds are springing from the tomb,
O'er the desert-wastes already
Breaks the Rose of Martyrdom;
Saints we knew with dusky faces
Smile upon us out of home.
Seeds are springing from the tomb,
O'er the desert-wastes already
Breaks the Rose of Martyrdom;
Saints we knew with dusky faces
Smile upon us out of home.
110
Speed thee! Here are tears of parting,
Friend looks sadly upon friend;
Shall we here once more have meeting?
What shall be His crown to send?
In the peace He gives thou goest;
God be with thee to the end!
Friend looks sadly upon friend;
Shall we here once more have meeting?
What shall be His crown to send?
In the peace He gives thou goest;
God be with thee to the end!
111
THE SHADE OF CHATTERTON.
Brooke Street, Holborn.
The church on winter afternoons
Is warm, is dark,
The cold wind whistles down the street,
Sighs and moans,—hark!
Out of a hundred years of waste,
Of seas without a mark,
The dove on weary wing beats back
To the ark.
Is warm, is dark,
The cold wind whistles down the street,
Sighs and moans,—hark!
Out of a hundred years of waste,
Of seas without a mark,
The dove on weary wing beats back
To the ark.
Oh, I am poorer than you all,
More weak, more thin;
Oh, I go mourning all alone,
Unsaved from sin.
I will go out before your Feasts
And glorious Songs begin;
Let me in when the lights are low,
Let me in!
More weak, more thin;
Oh, I go mourning all alone,
Unsaved from sin.
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And glorious Songs begin;
Let me in when the lights are low,
Let me in!
Oh, the cold fogs, for those who rest
Not in the tomb!
Oh, it is cold along the street,
In sleet and gloom!
Oh, it was cold a hundred years
Up in the haunted room!
I sat and shivered comfortless
For my doom.
Not in the tomb!
Oh, it is cold along the street,
In sleet and gloom!
Oh, it was cold a hundred years
Up in the haunted room!
I sat and shivered comfortless
For my doom.
I left a name, a short sad tale,
A mournful shade;
Some words of pity followed me,
Men praised, none prayed;
Careless, a withered laurel leaf
Upon my grave they laid;
Then they forgot me, till you came
To my aid.
A mournful shade;
Some words of pity followed me,
Men praised, none prayed;
Careless, a withered laurel leaf
Upon my grave they laid;
Then they forgot me, till you came
To my aid.
113
You built a church for sanctuary,
Thither I fled;
You worshipped there, I listened to
The words you said;
You kept the vigils of the year,
Remembering the dead;
You wrote my name, by all who pass
To be read.
Thither I fled;
You worshipped there, I listened to
The words you said;
You kept the vigils of the year,
Remembering the dead;
You wrote my name, by all who pass
To be read.
A Cross upon the door drives ill
Spirits away;
I clasped it close, it was the first
That came my way;
I kissed it weeping,—‘Oh, how long
I waited for this day!’
I came unbidden with the rest,
Let me stay!
Spirits away;
I clasped it close, it was the first
That came my way;
I kissed it weeping,—‘Oh, how long
I waited for this day!’
I came unbidden with the rest,
Let me stay!
I haunt the empty space between
The font and door;
When you go home I stay on guard,
Your janitor;
I do not sleep at nights, but they
Seem shorter than before;
A shadow in the shadow I lie
On the floor.
The font and door;
When you go home I stay on guard,
Your janitor;
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Seem shorter than before;
A shadow in the shadow I lie
On the floor.
Far off I see your Altar Lights,
I hear your Song;
The church is filled, but I am left
Out of the throng.
Oh, I am Thine, though spurned of Thee!
Have I then done Thee wrong?
Out of the deeps I call on Thee,—
For how long?
I hear your Song;
The church is filled, but I am left
Out of the throng.
Oh, I am Thine, though spurned of Thee!
Have I then done Thee wrong?
Out of the deeps I call on Thee,—
For how long?
I suffer in your midst, so much
At least I share;
I love, though I am not beloved,
My soul lies bare:
The pale ghosts cannot be forbid
To pray, and wail in prayer;
You could not sweep away my sighs
From the air.
At least I share;
I love, though I am not beloved,
My soul lies bare:
The pale ghosts cannot be forbid
To pray, and wail in prayer;
You could not sweep away my sighs
From the air.
115
I do not know your Christmas Day,
I keep your Lent;
You know the Father's face and hand,
Above you bent;
If He would have me for His slave,
I would be well content;
With bleeding heart I kneel with you,
Penitent.
I keep your Lent;
You know the Father's face and hand,
Above you bent;
If He would have me for His slave,
I would be well content;
With bleeding heart I kneel with you,
Penitent.
All glorious things within me stirred,
As in the bud;
Heroic deeds and wonderful
Throbbed in my blood;
Dim and wild echoes came to me
Along time's rolling flood;
I wove them into words, I half
Understood.
As in the bud;
Heroic deeds and wonderful
Throbbed in my blood;
Dim and wild echoes came to me
Along time's rolling flood;
I wove them into words, I half
Understood.
The creed of Christ was spoken round,
I knew it not.
Wild music sounded in my brain,
My heart was hot;
The fires of hell, the fires of heaven
Were mingled in this spot;
I had no sign, it seemed as if
Heaven forgot.
I knew it not.
Wild music sounded in my brain,
My heart was hot;
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Were mingled in this spot;
I had no sign, it seemed as if
Heaven forgot.
O sorrow of fate! the seasons keep
Their time on earth:
Why should the seasons of the heavens
Fail of their mirth?
Of daisies and of primroses
The May-Day hath no dearth;
But the Flower of the Gods in January
Came to birth.
Their time on earth:
Why should the seasons of the heavens
Fail of their mirth?
Of daisies and of primroses
The May-Day hath no dearth;
But the Flower of the Gods in January
Came to birth.
Faces that were unseen by me,
Voices unheard!
I would have waited on your will,
For one kind word.
I could have lived! I would have been
Your happy singing-bird;
You should have been more glad for me,
More heart-stirred.
Voices unheard!
I would have waited on your will,
For one kind word.
I could have lived! I would have been
Your happy singing-bird;
You should have been more glad for me,
More heart-stirred.
117
I pass you, though you see me not,
Along the street;
I watch your coming as for friends,
Kind eyes I meet:
The pavement echoes with the tread
Of ministering feet;
In the grey morning I am first
Out to greet.
Along the street;
I watch your coming as for friends,
Kind eyes I meet:
The pavement echoes with the tread
Of ministering feet;
In the grey morning I am first
Out to greet.
O boys to-day! in Bands of Hope,
In Guild, in Roll,
One of your days of everyday
Had saved my soul;
One word of all the words you hear
Had made my spirit whole;
I would have begged your wasted crumbs
For my dole.
In Guild, in Roll,
One of your days of everyday
Had saved my soul;
One word of all the words you hear
Had made my spirit whole;
I would have begged your wasted crumbs
For my dole.
You hunger, but you will not starve
Without a friend;
There are dark times,—you have a hope
Lights up the end;
You toil, but others toil with you,
For you their lives they spend;
You fall,—hands are stretched out to you,
To amend.
Without a friend;
There are dark times,—you have a hope
Lights up the end;
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For you their lives they spend;
You fall,—hands are stretched out to you,
To amend.
O kindly led, be kind to me,
Comfort me too!
I was as young as you, give me
A place with you.
Of all the gifts so freely given,
Leave me at least a few;
Spare me sometimes out of your prayers
One or two.
Comfort me too!
I was as young as you, give me
A place with you.
Of all the gifts so freely given,
Leave me at least a few;
Spare me sometimes out of your prayers
One or two.
O priests, who daily minister,
Give me some sign!
For me who have but tears to drink,
Where you pour wine.
Is there no bond of fellowship,
Our hearts to intertwine?
When you confess the people's sins,
Speak for mine!
Give me some sign!
For me who have but tears to drink,
Where you pour wine.
Is there no bond of fellowship,
Our hearts to intertwine?
When you confess the people's sins,
Speak for mine!
119
I am no longer desolate,
I have a home;
Familiar footsteps come and go
Amidst the gloom:
Yours is the Children's Bread,—to wait
The Master exiles some:
I shall be watching here, when next
He shall come.
I have a home;
Familiar footsteps come and go
Amidst the gloom:
Yours is the Children's Bread,—to wait
The Master exiles some:
I shall be watching here, when next
He shall come.
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