University of Virginia Library

SONNETS.

I. FROSTED TREES.

Oh, what a goodly and a glorious show!
The stately trees have decked themselves with white,
And stand transfigured in a robe of light;
Wearing for each lost leaf a flake of snow.
The rising sun shines through them with a glow
Of gold amid the silver; while a bright
But hapless bird comes fluttering into sight,
Amazed at the wan world above, below.
What was the ivory house which Ahab made,
Compared with Nature's fretwork rich and rare,
In every grove with lavish wealth displayed?
And oh, if frozen mist appears so fair,
How will those “many mansions” be arrayed,
Which Love is fashioning in celestial air!

III. THE SWAN.

The patient swan sits on her island-nest,
And hears the waters as they coldly flow,
Nor shrinks from rain that beats, or winds that blow,
Enduring all with an unruffled breast.
Under her wings her silent hopes are prest;
She notes not days and nights as on they go,
But waits contentedly through gloom or glow
Week after week, till her fond heart is blest.
What though yon screen of glistening willows ring
With dulcet voices of the opening year,
And warblers fresh from warmer regions sing
As if our cloudy skies they fain would clear?
A downy chirp beneath her brooding wing
Is the one music to her listening ear.

IV. YEWBERRIES ON THE SNOW.

I stood beneath a mighty yewtree's shade,
Which spread its circling branches o'er the snow:
Myriads of scattered rubies lay below,
And rosy spangles on the whiteness made.
Nature, with frosty fingers, had arrayed
The earth in beauty which Art could not show—
A dazzling robe of intermingled glow,
Fair to behold, but soon, alas! to fade.
Then of a fairer fadeless robe I thought,
In which the red gives lustre to the white,
By loving hands of Grace Incarnate wrought:
His innocence is as the groundwork bright,
The rubies must on Calvary be sought—
Blest wedding garment of the sons of light!

VI. A LADY'S CHAMBER.

One window of her chamber turns its face
To catch the first blush of the Orient sun,
That ere the shadowy earth her eye has won
Bright thankful thoughts of Heaven may find a place.
At her West window she can sit and trace
Day's setting glories when his course is run,
And watch the curtains of the evening spun
By rosy fingers with celestial grace.
“The sky is red, it will be fair to-morrow!”
A sign familiar to the Saviour's eye
When He was wandering in a world of sorrow:
May sunsets often breathe such prophecy
To her who owns this room; and may she borrow
Eternal hope from One red evening sky!

VIII. DUNMORE WOODS.

They heard of it, they found it, in the wood,
The Ark, the Presence of the Lord of all;
Before His glory on their face they fall,
And worship Him, the Holy and the Good.
And we—have we not found Him, as we stood
Amid these pines which rise like pillars tall;
And in this leafy temple heard His call,
Thrilling the silence of the solitude?
When grateful shadows dim the noontide ray,
Lo, God is here, and sheds a secret balm;
Here still He walketh at the cool of day:
The lofty fir-trees sing a quiet psalm,
The beeches lisp a soft melodious lay,
And on the spirit falls a heavenly calm.

IX. HOPE IS THE WINDOW.

Hope is the window, whence we fondly gaze,
With sparkling eyes, in youth's ecstatic hour,
And see the blossoms dancing on the bower,
Or gaily bordering life's untravelled ways.
Oh, keep that window open all your days!
Veil not your hope—it is God's blessèd dower:
Be brave and bright, when cloudy troubles lower:
Look out—the distance wears a purple haze.
Hope is the window, whence, in life's decline,
As earth recedes, we strain our wistful eyes:
Untried the ocean—steadfast is the Sign—
The Cross our hope and anchor, when storms rise;
And o'er the waves we see a City shine,
Circled with emerald fields and sapphire skies.

X. THE SEASIDE IN WINTER.

Musing I pace the sad deserted shore:
No mimic towers and fortresses appear,
With children's happy faces shining near;
No voice is heard save Ocean's sullen roar;
No prints but mine are left to be smoothed o'er
By the incoming tide which fills my ear:
Yet still the faithful sunbeams tremble clear
From Heaven's blue dome on the sand's sparkling floor.
How soon my footsteps will be found alone
Tracking the margin of a mightier main;
The cherished voices of my children flown,
As children's voices never heard again,
While nearer, nearer rolls the vast Unknown,
And every light but Heaven's is seen to wane.

XI. THE SOOTHING OF NATURE.

Ruffled by private wrongs and public woes,
Too hard, it seemed, for Charity to brook,
I wandered to a solitary nook,
Brooding upon the world's unkindly blows.
There I beheld full many a fresh-blown rose,
Which the soft South-wind, passing, gently took,
And from their dainty cups the fragrance shook,
Soothing the sense and breathing of repose.
Beneath my feet a secret fountain gushed,
And with a tinkling music ran along,
As from green umbrage into light it pushed:
And I by Nature's protest sweet and strong
Was conquered, and my angry thoughts were crushed
By dancing roses and a runnel's song.

XII. A PRAYER IN TIME OF TROUBLE.

Rule me, O Master, with an iron rod,
Rather than rule me not; let Thy strong hand
Force my reluctant soul to Thy command,
If I refuse Thy guiding eye and nod.
Spare not the goad with pricking keenness shod,
If wild I start aside or wilful stand:
Send the rough East-wind, if Thy breezes bland
Win not my soul to love my King and God.
For oh! I know Thy service is most sweet,
Thy yoke is easy and Thy burden light,
Whene'er my will lies captive at Thy feet:
O Love, constrain me by thy gracious might,
And I with joy my Conqueror will greet,
And crown His bleeding brow with garlands bright.

XIII. “SOMETHING FOR EVERY DAY.”

Something for every day I fain would show
Of fruit or blossom to my fostering Sun,
Who with His rays of love my love has won
To shine each day to Him with answering glow:
Some daily footprint of my life below,
Still pointing Homewards when my course is run;
Some service to my fellow-travellers done,
In heightened happiness or lessened woe.
One day at once He gives, not a round year;
One day at once let me devote to Him,
In words and works whose voice is sweet and clear;
So shall the gathered notes compose a hymn
Which will make music to His listening ear
Through all the ranks of chanting Seraphim!

XIV. THE MAGNET AND THE MOON.

As turns the needle to the unseen pole,
At misty midnight or at cloudy noon,
And, if awhile it wavers, settles soon—
So touch, O Lord, and fix my wavering soul.
As day by day the tidal waters roll,
Obedient to the motions of the moon,
And to her call their gladsome voice attune,
So take my thoughts, O Lord, and sway the whole.
O strange attraction, O transcendent dower!
O mighty magnet of the human will!
Fain would I feel its force from hour to hour:
And may the current of my being, still
Own the compulsion of that skiey Power
Who makes it bliss His bidding to fulfil.

XV. GLIMPSES.

There leafless trees uprear a latticed screen,
As high in air their branches interlace,
The star of morning shows its radiant face,
A moment visible—and then unseen.
Through the thick boughs it darts a silvery sheen,
And then behind them hides its moving grace:
You look, and not a glimmer can you trace,
You look again, and lo, an orb serene.
Thus through all earthly obstacles that bar
Our mortal vision, we may sometimes see
Glimpses of One who shineth from afar;
And catch in happy moments fitfully
His Face who calls Himself “The Morning Star:”
Oh, that such gleams could more enduring be!

XVI. PRE-INTIMATIONS.

Before its umbered foliage left the oak,
I saw a tuft of snowdrop-leaves appear,
A tiny phalanx with the frequent spear,
Which to its windy war too soon awoke.
Of comfort and of hope far off it spoke,
While Autumn lingered and the skies were clear;
And whispered sweetly of the vernal year,
Ere from their caves December tempests broke.
So sometimes when a wintry grief draws near
An unexpected light of hope is seen,
Kindly forerunning the experience drear:
A holy text puts forth a sudden green
To fortify us for the coming fear
And bid us look beyond to hours serene.

XVII. THE REFLECTION IN THE LAKE.

The little lake had smoothed its troubled breast
For one bright moment, ere the Autumn-blast
Should strip the trees; and in its depths was glassed
A stately beech, smooth bole and branching crest.
Each crimson plume in which the tree was drest
Upon the mirror of the wave was cast:
The water took the form, and held it fast,
And with the glow the little lake was blest.
Like that still water let my spirit be,
Another form, another glow to take,
Ere life's sweet sunshine shall for ever flee:
Nay, each calm morn a mirror let me make
To catch the crimson of another Tree,
And clasp it fondly like that little lake!

XVIII. A THOUGHT IN A GREENHOUSE.

I sit at ease as in a tropic bower,
While fast and thick the snowflakes eddying fall
On grass and shrubs and buttressed garden-wall,
And Winter reigns the tyrant of the hour.
But in this house of glass each careless flower
Puts on its vesture gay, nor hides at all
Its gold or azure; and the palm-tree tall
Peers at the icicles, and scorns their power.
Thus by His Providence, as by a screen
Invisible, God shelters His elect
That Christian lives may take a heavenly sheen;
And blossom forth uninjured and unchecked
By earth's bleak winter, while a Hand unseen
Bends over them to foster and protect.

XIX. THE FIRSTBORN.

Last year she moved through hosts of smiling friends,
And gifts that rained upon the gracious hour,
And loving words more precious, that had power
To stir the sadness that with triumph blends.
This year above a little cot she bends,
And, happy as a bird within its bower,
Gazes upon her treasure, her May-flower,
Which for all absent loved ones makes amends.
Oh, Mother, Father, cherish Heaven's sweet gift;
Water that fresh young soul with dews of prayer;
And day by day a silent song uplift
To that kind Hand which sent the blossom fair;
And say, Our thanks we speak not, Lord, but live;
To Love who gives so much ourselves we give.

XX. “A LITTLE CHILD SHALL LEAD THEM.”

“A little Child shall lead them.”—See Him lie
In utter weakness on His Mother's knee,
Who in His eyes, as in a well, may see,
When none else seeth, starry mysteries high.
Sinless He is, and yet I hear Him sigh:
Pure as fresh-fallen snow, and yet not free
From touch of suffering which He bears for me,
Answering the angels' song with sorrow's cry.
Who can resist that Everlasting Child?
Shall He not lead us with His gentle eye,
Shall He not rule us with His sceptre mild?
Perforce we lay our harsher natures by,
Though fierce as leopards, and as lions wild,
And kiss His feet and own His sovereignty!

XXI. ON A DOVE WHICH FLEW AGAINST MY STUDY WINDOW.

Belated, and bewildered in the dark,
A snow-white dove against my window flew,
Which raising soft, I pulled the flutterer through,
As Noah once into the sheltering ark.
The ruddy firelight was the luminous mark
Which to my room the wingèd wanderer drew;
As rosy cloudlets up against the blue,
Before the sunrise, beckon to the lark.
I thought of my sweet dove, launched on life's foam,
And how her heart upon a gentle sigh,
Ofttimes at eve to her old nest might roam:
Oh, rather let our longings upward fly,
While, sundered here, we seek the same bright Home,
Mounting like larks with music to the sky!

XXII. A CONFIRMATION.

To clothe the hidden wish in open act,
And thy heart's King, in sight of all, to own;
To place Him gladly on His chosen throne,
And yield the public homage which He lacked:
To hear Him whisper, in a solemn pact,
Thy Lord will never leave His child alone,
Thy every want to Him is fully known,
His every word to thee is blessèd fact:
Such mutual pledges are exchanged this day,
Such heavenly sunshine greets the dew of youth;
Oh may the light and freshness ever stay,
And buds of hope unfold in flowers of truth:
Lord, lay on this dear head Thine unseen hand,
Bid this young life in faith and love expand!

XXV. ON AN OLD UPRAISED SEA-BEACH IN DUNMORE PARK.

What lessons high this moss-grown rock may teach—
The peaceful centre of a pleasure-ground,
Where flowering shrubs fling rosy lights around,
And Church and mansion stand in easy reach!
Once, ere our earth was soothed with human speech,
This selfsame rock o'erlooked old Ocean's bound,
And heard the loud-voiced billows here resound,
Chafing in vain against the rugged beach.
But those wild waves were long ago withdrawn,
And in their stead the tasselled forest-tree
Whispers o'er winding walk and grassy lawn:
And through the tumult of Life's tossing sea
Bids us anticipate the golden dawn
When care shall merge in sweet tranquillity.

XXVI. ON VISITING ARRAN AND LOCHGOIL-HEAD.

Not the peaked summit of the vast Goatfell,
And varying glories that round Arran throng,
Or the endless purple vista of Loch Long,
So deeply graven on my memory dwell,
As those converging hills which grandly swell
Round Lochgoilhead; and form a barrier strong,
Through which a torrent brawls the rocks among,
Undying minstrel of the heathery dell.
For on this scene a Poet's eyes have smiled,
Whose graceful songs, fresh from a gracious heart,
Have many a meditative hour beguiled;
And though his cultured Muse was not the child
Of mist and mountain, yet his genial art
Sheds a soft lustre o'er this landscape wild.

XXVII. ON THE MOUNTAINS ROUND LOCH SHIEL,

As seen from Glencripisdale.

I see the shining mountains which enfold
Within their mighty arms a secret glen,
Where, generations since, brave loyal men
Flocked round their Prince in his adventure bold.
Those sunlit peaks stand as they stood of old,
And flash the historic Past upon my ken;
The clansmen muster as they mustered then;
I hear their shouts, their ardour I behold.
And then I muse on heights of dear renown
Where, centuries since, another Prince was seen,
Who came to seek from loving hearts a crown:
Those sacred hills still speak of what has been,
And through the ages pass the Story down
Of dying Grace, triumphant and serene.

XXVIII. TO A FRIEND ABOUT TO RESIDE IN JERUSALEM.

Favoured your feet, to tread where Jesus trod,
Bearing our burden up the Dolorous Way;
Or 'mid the trees which stooped to hear Him pray;
Or where His footsteps pressed the mountain sod.
Favoured your eyes, to see the lilies nod
The selfsame beauteous crowns as on the day
He paused to praise their royal robes, and say—
Mark how they preach the loving care of God.
Methinks His breath hath sweetened all the air
Which woos green Olivet and Zion's hill;
The sky He looked on needs must be more fair:
But oh, His blessèd Presence lingers still
Round those grey walls, and you may meet Him there
In holy work or worship, at your will.

XXIX. ON MY BLUE HARE,

Ten weeks after it was caught on a mountain near Loch Sunart.

Cut off from all communion with its kind,
Who by far Sunart's waters roam at will,
And range the rocky summits of the hill,
As free and restless as the mountain-wind;—
Dreams it of breezy pleasures left behind,
As by my hearth it sits alone and still?
Do visions of its wild companions fill
The chambers of its ruminating mind?
What are its wondering, wildered thoughts of me,
As with enquiring eye it reads my face,
Or with a graceful bound leaps on my knee,
And feels the tenderness of my embrace?
How puzzled and perplexed its brain must be,
In man, its age-long foe, a friend to trace!

XXX. ON MY BLUE HARE BEGINNING TO TURN WHITE.

Dear little exile from thy native hills,
Condemned, I ween, to no unhappy doom—
With cozy box, and comfortable room
Round which to gambol as thy humour wills;
When the hoarse murmur of the tempest fills
The outer air in Autumn's deepening gloom,
This still retreat is better than the boom
Of waterfalls, or rushing mountain-rills:
And when on those wild northern summits lie
The drifts, and Winter-stars are all aglow,
Here by the fire thy fur shines sleek and dry;
Of cold discomfort nothing dost thou know;
Yet thy blanched feet seem to my wondering eye
As if they had been dipped in sudden snow!

XXXI. A LESSON OF TRUST.

I learn to trust from this dear Highland Hare,
Which lays its gentle head upon my arm,
And dozes on my knee without alarm,
As if it slumbered in its native lair.
Far from its heathery home and mountain air—
How comes it that it never dreams of harm?
What has subdued its fear? What potent charm
Commands this confidence so sweet and rare?
Love, true and constant, is the only spell;
Kindness of act and feeling, voice and eye,
Has won its timorous heart to trust me well:
Nor will I doubt my Benefactor high,
Whose kindnesses are more than I can tell,
But trustful on His loving arm will lie!

XXXII. SWEET THOUGHTS AND SAD THOUGHTS,

Suggested by the death of my tame blue hare.

Sweet thoughts it brought me of its Highland home—
Untrodden hills fragrant with purple heather,
Cliffs where an eagle might have dropt a feather,
And woody hollows where the red deer roam;
Fissures where swollen burns thunder and foam,
And waterfalls clap their white hands together;
Peaks which like giants loom in misty weather,
Or shine like pillars of the unclouded dome.
Dear silent captive, did some secret craving
Trouble its lonely heart by my fireside,
Some dream of windy heights and torrents raving?
Pined it for natural joys perforce denied,
For fern and myrtle in the free air waving,
Till on such sad thoughts brooding, lo! it died?

XXXIII. ON THE DEATH OF “BLUEY,” MY HIGHLAND HARE.

O'er my poor dying pet I breathed a sigh,
And stroked its smooth fur with caressing hand
Of pity, which it seemed to understand,
And answer with its melancholy eye.
I thought of birds and beasts that creep to die
In many a lonely corner of the land,
Amid still woods and mountains wild and grand,
With no kind touch of help or solace nigh.
“O pain and death,” I cried, “what a dark pall
Ye spread o'er this fair world and creatures bright,
Whose innocence might shield them from your thrall:’
But lo! the gloom is pierced by soothing light—
“Without your Father not one life shall fall;”
“Shall not the Judge of all the earth do right?”

XXXIV. ST. JOHN AND THE PARTRIDGE.

The favoured Saint who leaned upon the breast
Of that Incarnate Grace, which he adored;—
The glorious Seer who as an eagle soared
Upon the wings of meditation blest;
At times relaxing from high thought, caress'd
A gentle partridge, as old books record;
Stroked its soft plumes, and o'er its beauty pored;
Or to his bosom those bright pinions press'd.
Did he recall the Master's word, “Behold
The birds of air which neither sow nor reap”—
To fortify his faith as he grew old?
Or did he love his dazzled eyes to steep
In Nature's softer tints of brown and gold,
Which o'er the fields and through the azure sweep?

XXXV. THE BLACK ROCK;

Or, The Mountain above Laudale, Loch Sunart.

Right up, as if to touch the sky, it towers,
A mighty frowning mass, with many a seam
On its dark brow, graved deep by rushing stream—
Stern chronicle of Nature's wildest hours.
Shadowed by hanging woods the mountain lowers
Even at noontide, like a dreadful dream—
Taking no brightness from the summer gleam,
Shedding no lustre from its shaggy bowers.
But lo! a fair white bird, with sunlit wings,
Across the mountain's gloomy bosom glides,
And a relieving ray of gladness brings:
So, past those awful heights where Judgment hides,
Grace, like an angel flies—and flying, sings;
And hopeless fear in grateful love subsides.

XXXVII. ON A GLEN WITHOUT A NAME

(Leading to Iris Bay, Loch Sunart).

From mighty mountains and the vast expanse
Of azure loch, I bend my frequent way
To a green glen, where on the hazel-spray
Reflected lights from tinkling waters dance.
On myriad birchen leaves the sunbeams glance,
And here and there through tangled umbrage stray,
Seeking the burn which lilts its pleasant lay—
Now hid, now seen again, by happy chance.
Wearied with heights and depths and prospects wide,
The soul requires some green secluded nook,
Where, by cool waters, it may rest and hide:
And from afar to this melodious brook,
Whose nameless waves through glen all nameless glide,
Oft I shall turn with a fond backward look.

XXXVIII. ORANSAY;

Or, Oran's Island at the entrance of Loch Sunart.

A golden memory of old Time has crowned
The bare and lonely brow of Oransay:
For here a Saint was wont to kneel and pray,
And seek the Presence which makes holy ground.
The halo of his name has lingered round
While thirteen centuries have ebbed away:
Grace, like a rock, continues in one stay,
When glory, like the mist, is nowhere found.
Along the winding coast of Sunart fair
Oran would bend his course with sail or oar,
Lifting the Cross of Jesus everywhere:
Nor from his labours and his prayers forebore
Till called Columba's resting-place to share,
And sing high songs with him for evermore.

XXXIX. A FAREWELL TO GLENCRIPISDALE.

My farewell morning at the Glen—I pace
Once more this sheltered grove of murmuring pine,
And give God thanks in Nature's sylvan shrine
For all the pleasures of this happy place.
What days upon the mountains I retrace,
What elevating moments have been mine;
Where falling waters thunder as they shine,
And tufted heather sheds a purple grace.
What quiet musings in my lonely tower,
What genial talks with hospitable friends,
While mirth and charity divide the hour:
O fair Glencripisdale, thy praise transcends
A sonnet's compass, and thy name has power
To rule the heart where hope with memory blends.

XL. ULLESWATER UNDER A CLOUD.

Nature we thought to see in all her bloom—
The mountains smiling in their summer pride,
And mirrored softly in the waters wide,
Which the sun's rays to their blue depths illume.
But lo! instead the awful summits loom
Through mists and darkness which their beauties hide;
And showers, which rush along, and yet abide,
Encompass them as with the clouds of doom.
Yet Nature in her wrathful mood can charm,
And fascinate us with her wildest form;
The soul exults in an Almighty arm
Which clothes itself in splendour of the storm;
And learns her deepest lesson in the hour
When Love stands veiled in majesty and power.

XLI. ON SEEING SOME BIRDS IN WINTER

Feeding at the Study Window of the Rev. F. O. Morris, Nunburnholme Rectory.

Trust him, ye gentle birds, of various wing:
Flock to his window, flutter round your friend:
Through these inclement days ye may depend
On his prompt hand the punctual crumbs to bring.
And oh, remember when, in sunny Spring,
Your earliest lays to bounteous Heaven ascend,
Some grateful notes for Christmas fare to blend,
And at your patron's casement sweetly sing.
For not alone when gusts of Winter blow
He loves you, but through all the changing year;
To his kind care thanks manifold ye owe;
His voice secures for you a nation's ear;
Then trust him when the air is thick with snow,
And warble to him when the skies are clear.

XLII. AFTER READING TENNYSON'S “IDYLLS OF THE KING.”

I listened to our Nightingale of song
Amidst his Laurel leaves, till I was stirred
To my heart's depths by the sweet strains I heard,
So lofty, so melodious, and so strong.
Then rose the questioning thought, Why should I wrong
The ears of men, like some thin-piping bird,
With chiming sonnet and with rhyming word,
When such a voice resounds the woods among?
Came the reply, God made the nightingale—
God made the chiff-chaff also, with its twain
Small notes monotonous that never fail,
The summer through, in copse and country lane—
Gladness and gratitude their ceaseless tale,
To God's ear pleasing as that higher strain!

XLIII. ON A FERN-LEAF

Given to me at Aldworth, Haslemere, the Poet Laureate's Home.

Graceful memorial of a favoured hour
Spent in the sylvan walks of Haslemere!
Dear art thou for thy beauty, but more dear
For thy green birthplace near a Poet's bower:
His wondrous touch can make a leaf or flower
More precious than a spray of gold appear;
And wayside ferns and hedgerow weeds that hear
His daily footsteps own the enchanter's power.
Lo, to his house the emulous leaves have flown,
And woven round its walls a garland fine
Of varied foliage, sculptured fair in stone.
But what strange blossoms with those leaves entwine?
“Glory to God” shines like a rose fresh-blown,
“Peace and goodwill” like fragrant eglantime!

XLIV. ON AN AVENUE AT GRASBY VICARAGE,

Planted by the Rev. Charles Tennyson-Turner.

Where larch and poplar intercept the dew
Above a Poet's grassy walk, I strayed,
Tracing the path his frequent steps had made.
Himself had planned the pillared avenue
With glimpse of field and spire and distant blue,
And music soft by unseen fingers played
Above me, as light airs the branches swayed,
Which at my feet the dancing shadows threw.
Ah, this is but a symbol, I exclaim:
Our Poet owns a fairer grove of Song,
Where the leaves flutter to the breath of Fame
And loving feet shall always move along:
While, on each side, sweet pictures charm the eye,
Green nooks of earth or gleams of azure sky.

XLV. IN MEMORY OF CHARLES TENNYSON-TURNER,

July 4th, 1879—His Birthday.

With wreaths of love we crown thy natal day,
Though thou hast vanished from thy fellowmen,
The sweet voice silenced, and the ready pen,
With all it might have painted, put away.
Never again to us will light-winged lay
New beauties waft, caught by thy subtle ken,
Nor to our longing ears ever again
New music from thy cunning harp will stray.
But still thy gentle presence seems to brood
O'er the dim distance of the azure wold,
O'er summer cornfield, and o'er lonely wood:
Still in thy books communion I can hold
With all that is most lovely, true, and good,
And feel thy spirit stir me as of old.

XLVI. LAST LOOKS,

In Memory of F. R. Havergal.

As when ascending some steep wooded height
One traveller leaves his fellows far behind,
Urged upwards by a sky-aspiring mind,
Till sunrise on his eager face shall smite:
Silent he stands transfigured by the sight,
And lifted for awhile above his kind:
But one by one they too Morn's kiss shall find,
Who struggle after him from dark to bright.
So in the light which filled our sister's eyes,
As calm she stood upon life's topmost peak,
We hail the glow of opening Paradise;
And, pressing on, we follow, faint and weak,
Through cares and duties to the restful skies,
Where we shall see the glory that we seek.

XLVII. ON THE SWORD OF A FRENCH NAVAL OFFICER,

A Trophy of the time of Nelson.

A symbol keen of “sorrow on the sea,”
Of thrilling silence after thunders loud,
Of a brave spirit in disaster bowed,
Unequal to contend, unused to flee.
Bright token of a glorious victory,
A sudden gleam of exultation proud,
As when a crescent moon through drifting cloud
Sends forth a flash of silver radiancy.
Victor and vanquished long ago are dust,
But still their gladness and despair we trace
Engraved on steel and unconcealed by rust:
May we grasp well life's sword by God's good grace,
And with a hero-hand maintain our trust,
Then find our trophies in a happier place.

XLVIII. ON THE PROPOSED RESTORATION OF LONDESBOROUGH CHURCH

By the same Architect who restored George Herbert's Church at Bemerton.

He who with careful eye and skilful hand
Has propt the mouldering shrine where Herbert prayed,
That shrine by holy songs immortal made,
Whose incense has been blown o'er sea and land;
With the same artist touch and glance has scanned
These walls and piers and buttresses decayed,
That strengthened, and with beauty new arrayed,
Our House of God through rolling years may stand.
Oh, pleasing is the link which joins the name
Of one so gracious and so sweet with mine:
What though I cannot emulate the fame
Of his rare harp and inspiration fine;
His life I yet may copy, free from blame
And wholly spent in offices Divine.

XLIX. THE MIRROR OF THE WORD

(After Reading the Revised Version of the New Testament).

I gazed into a mirror large and grand:
A landscape, unlike ours, was in it glassed;
A Man, but more than man, across it passed,
Pointing to birds and lilies with His hand.
Before the bright reflection as I stand
A holy peace is o'er my spirit cast;
I see a vision of the First and Last,
I hear a voice of sweet supreme command.
Methought some specks and stains had gathered there,
Veiling in parts those lineaments Divine,
But love removed the mist with quick-eyed care:
More clearly now we view the great design,
With fewer flaws upon the mirror fair,
Where limned for ever Truth and Beauty shine.

L. THE CHURCH REOPENING WEEK.

It flashes on me like a Heavenly dream—
That stately tower which seems to touch the sky;
The frequent service and the anthem high;
Fair arch, ribbed roof, stringed lights with starry beam:
Lone musings by the clear, swift-flowing stream
Which through the level pastures glances by;
Greetings of friends and converse “eye to eye,”
And old affections warmed with kindlier gleam.
A shadow sweet of New Jerusalem joy,
On the green borders of the crystal river;
Where love shall muse, and no vain thoughts annoy,
And friends shall meet, whom nought again can sever;
Where nobler worship shall our tongues employ,
And crown with praise the Name of names for ever.

VALEDICTORY.

Sungleams of earth and heaven, they come to all:
Not only where the forest interlaces
Its leafy boughs, and in sweet rural places;
About the feet of city crowds they fall.
They beam upon us from the pictured wall,
They smile in books, they glow in friendly faces;
Weaving round hearth and home their fairest traces,
In humble cottage or ancestral hall.
Oh, that the pages of this little Book
Might be as Sungleams, lonely hearts to brighten—
Singing and shining like a Summer brook:
Oh, that some load of trouble they might lighten,
Suggest a hopeful thought, an upward look,
And silent aspirations serve to heighten!