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v

TO THE MOST REVEREND FATHER IN GOD, Edward, LORD ARCHBISHOP OF CANTERBURY, PRIMATE OF ALL ENGLAND.

vii

[On Grasmere lake you read my lays]

On Grasmere lake you read my lays,
Reposing in calm Autumn days
From cares that cloud Augustine's throne;
And deigned my simple strains to own
With gracious words of unsought praise.
Ceasing to read, you paused to gaze
On mountains circled with the rays
Of light by her own Poet strown
On Grasmere lake.
Such praise in such a place outweighs
My merit, but my spirit stays
With hope, that notes of slender tone
May live with music organ-blown
When falls Time's mist, as falls the haze
On Grasmere lake!

xv

TO THE REV. RICHARD WILTON,

AUTHOR OF “SUNGLEAMS, RONDEAUX, AND SONNETS.”

This Gallic form you rightly choose,
And rightly teach your English Muse
In this yet unfamiliar strain
To tell of English vale and plain—
To tell of English dawns and dews.
Talk as they will of trick and ruse,
Surely they err who still refuse
For our less-laughing moods to train
This Gallic form.
Let none its dainty charm abuse
From this time forth, and none accuse,
As once, its bird-like, blithe refrain
Of nought but idle themes again,
Since for a graver song you use
This Gallic form!
AUSTIN DOBSON.

1

Benedicite.

The “Benedicite” is a hymn or canticle which may be used interchangeably with the Te Deum in the Morning Prayer of the Church of England. It is taken from the Apocrypha, where it appears as an addition to the Book of Daniel, and is there called “The Song of the Three Holy Children,” that is, Hananiah or Ananias, Mishael or Misael, and Azariah or Azarias, whose names were changed when they entered the service of Nebuchadnezzar, King of Babylon, into the more familiar Shadrach, Meshech, and Abednego. (Dan. i. 7.)

There is no Hebrew version of the Song. It is only found in the Greek, and in that language was widely circulated along with the Septuagint translation of the Old Testament. The Benedicite was used as a hymn by the Jews for a century or two before the Birth of Christ, and is therefore some five hundred years older than the Te Deum; and it was adopted by the Christians in their public worship at a very early period. Cyprian, who lived in the fourth century, says it was used in the Church long before his time, and quotes it as a part of Holy Scripture. But as Wheatley observes (Common Prayer, p. 144), “Our Church does not receive it for Canonical Scripture, because it is not to be found in the Hebrew, nor was allowed in the Jewish Canon; but it is, notwithstanding, an exact paraphrase of the hundred and forty-eighth Psalm, and so like it in words and sense that whosoever despiseth this, reproacheth that part of the Canonical Writings.”

The frequent repetition of the refrain, “Bless ye the Lord, praise Him and magnify Him for ever,” gives great dignity to this call upon the creatures to join with man in the praises of their Maker. It is interesting to think that the mysterious silence of centuries between the Old and New Testaments is, in part, bridged over by the exultant strains of this noble hymn, which after being long familiar to Jewish lips was taken up by the voices of the early Christians, and has come echoing down the ages to the present time, ever reminding men that the God of Nature is the God of Grace.

Some years ago a book was published which drew much attention to this Hymn. It was the well-known work by Dr. Child Chaplin, and was called “Benedicite, or the Song of the Three Children; being illustrations of the power, beneficence, and design manifested by the Creator in His works.” It contained what may be called a series of popular scientific essays on the various clauses of the Benedicite, except the last seven invocations.

These thirty-two Rondels on the successive verses of the Benedicite, each with a different refrain, were composed, not consecutively. in various places in England and Scotland, during the years 1883 and 1884.


3

O ye Angels of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Angels, praise Him evermore,
Your Lord and Master glorify;
And “Holy, Holy, Holy” cry,
As veiled ye stand His face before:
Or spread your willing wings to soar
And flash His mandates through the sky:
Ye Angels, praise Him evermore,
Your Lord and Master glorify.
Wondering ye marked Him when He wore
The garb of our mortality:
Ye saw Him weep, ye heard Him sigh,
And succour to His sorrow bore:
Ye Angels, praise Him evermore,
Your Lord and Master glorify.

5

O ye Heavens, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Heavens, with your encircling blue,
Prepare a temple for His praise;
An azure dome of song upraise,
Distilling music like the dew:
Let angels warble out of view,
And men reply with gladsome lays:
Ye Heavens, with your encircling blue,
Prepare a temple for His praise.
Ye larks, to rosy dawn be true,
Ascending your melodious ways;
Ye linnets, charm the listening days,
And nightingales, the strain renew:
Ye Heavens, with your encircling blue,
Prepare a temple for His praise.

6

O ye Waters that be above the Firmament, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye watery Clouds, His praises bear,
Where'er ye float o'er sea and land:
Pile up your fleecy masses grand—
Your snowy castles in the air:
And God's artillery prepare
To thunder forth at His command:
Ye watery Clouds, His praises bear,
Where'er ye float o'er sea and land.
Rain down your largess everywhere
O'er field and wood with lavish hand;
Till touched, as with a magic wand,
All earth a radiant garland wear:
Ye watery Clouds, His praises bear,
Where'er ye float o'er sea and land.

7

O all ye Powers of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Bless ye the Lord, O all ye Powers,
Who sing above or serve below;
O seraphs, with devotion glow
Amid your everlasting bowers;
In praise of Him, both yours and ours,
Let music unimagined flow:
Bless ye the Lord, O all ye Powers,
Who sing above or serve below.
O men, uprear your stately towers,
And bid your labouring organs blow
High praise to Him, to Whom ye owe
The hope which soothes your fleeting hours:
Bless ye the Lord, O all ye Powers,
Who sing above or serve below.

8

O ye Sun and Moon, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Sun and Moon, dispense His praise,
Shine to His glory day and night:
Sun, bless Him when thy chariot bright
Ascends the high cerulean ways—
Bless Him with evening's crimson rays,
Bless Him with morning's golden light:
O Sun and Moon, dispense His praise,
Shine to His glory day and night.
O Moon, amid the starry maze
That dances round thee, sing His might;
Or, curtained in pavilion white
Of fleecy cloud, or circling haze:
O Sun and Moon, dispense His praise,
Shine to His glory day and night.

9

O ye Stars of Heaven, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O all ye Stars, that sweep through space,
Your Maker's praises bear along:
Flood Heaven's high dome with ceaseless song,
And shout for joy before God's face:
His power in shining letters trace,
Who keeps you bright and swift and strong:
O all ye Stars, that sweep through space,
Your Maker's praises bear along.
O show me in what favoured place
He sits serene your hosts among;
Upholding all the countless throng,
Your Lord and ours—the Man of grace:
O all ye Stars, that sweep through space,
Your Maker's praises bear along.

10

O ye Showers and Dew, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O bless the Lord, ye Dews and Showers,
O'er all the earth His praise distil;
Increase the music of the rill,
Enrich the greenness of the bowers:
Freshen the faces of the flowers,
The laughing plains with plenty fill:
O bless the Lord, ye Dews and Showers,
O'er all the earth His praise distil.
Ye dews that cool the sultry hours,
Ye rains that work His secret will
In field and garden, vale and hill—
The love is His, the boon is ours;
O bless the Lord, ye Dews and Showers,
O'er all the earth His praise distil.

11

O ye Winds of God, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Winds of God, now loud, now low,
Round all the earth His praises bear;
Now softly scatter odours rare
Where'er your dewy footsteps go:
Now in the roaring pinewoods blow
A long-drawn thunder through the air:
O Winds of God, now loud, now low,
Round all the earth His praises bear.
For oh, the gracious Power we know
Who deigns your viewless form to wear,
A sweet, strong Influence everywhere,
To Whom our life of life we owe;
O Winds of God, now loud, now low,
Round all the earth His praises bear.

12

O ye Fire and Heat, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Bless ye the Lord, O Fire and Heat,
And spread your Maker's fame on high:
From yon vast furnace in the sky
His praise with throbbing pulses beat;
And borne on unseen pinions fleet
To each remotest planet fly:
Bless ye the Lord, O Fire and Heat,
And spread your Maker's fame on high.
Life flushes forth beneath your feet
And verdure to delight the eye:
All Nature, wanting you, must die:
All worlds your vital presence greet:
Bless ye the Lord, O Fire and Heat,
And spread your Maker's fame on high.

13

O ye Winter and Summer, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Summer, Winter, blend your strain,
And bless the Lord in gloom or glow:
O Summer, let your praises flow
As freely as the gentle rain,
Which feeds the grass and ripening grain,
And bids the rose and lily blow:
O Summer, Winter, blend your strain,
And bless the Lord in gloom or glow.
O Winter, your loud tempests chain,
And make a silence with your snow,
Softly to welcome Peace below,
And Righteousness without a stain:
O Summer, Winter, blend your strain,
And bless the Lord in gloom or glow.

14

O ye Dews and Frosts, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye gemmy Dews and sparkling Rime,
Bless ye the Lord from morn to morn:
Ye Dews, hang jewels on the corn,
Which lifts its spears in Summer-time;
Give freshness to the gracious prime,
And every blade of grass adorn:
Ye gemmy Dews and sparkling Rime,
Bless ye the Lord from morn to morn.
Hoar Frosts that deck our wintry clime
With beauty of the coldness born,
Impearling every twig and thorn,
Silvering the beech and leafless lime—
Ye gemmy Dews and sparkling Rime,
Bless ye the Lord from morn to morn.

15

O ye Frost and Cold, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Frost and Cold, His Word fulfil,
And breathe from silent lips His praise;
On tree and pane a fretwork raise
Whose beauty baffles human skill;
And in the field and garden kill
The weedy growth of Summer days:
O Frost and Cold, His Word fulfil,
And breathe from silent lips His praise.
Pity in happy hearts instil
For wanderers on the homeless ways;
And payment urge, for bygone lays,
To flutterers at the window-sill:
O Frost and Cold, His Word fulfil,
And breathe from silent lips His praise.

16

O ye Ice and Snow, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Bless ye the Lord, O Ice and Snow,
And shine and sparkle in His sight:
Give to the earth a mantle white,
Which like Christ's seamless coat shall glow,
The righteousness of saints to show,
Spotless, and fair, and pure as light:
Bless ye the Lord, O Ice and Snow,
And shine and sparkle in His sight.
Though frozen rills may cease to flow,
Let Love's free stream be at its height;
And let Peace sit by firesides bright
And cheerly sing, while tempests blow,
Bless ye the Lord, O Ice and Snow,
And shine and sparkle in His sight.

17

O ye Nights and Days, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Bless ye the Lord, O Nights and Days,
A dark-bright wreath for Him entwine:
“The days are Thine, the nights are Thine,”
And ring the changes of Thy praise.
Days weave for Thee their gladsome rays,
And nights with solemn lustre shine:
Bless ye the Lord, O Nights and Days,
A dark-bright wreath for Him entwine.
O may my days an anthem raise,
And songs resound from nights of mine—
Fair joys and gloomy griefs combine
To praise Him, Whose are all my ways:
Bless ye the Lord, O Nights and Days,
A dark-bright wreath for Him entwine.

18

O ye Light and Darkness, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Light and Darkness, come and go,
And waft His praise on balanced wing:
O Light, your morning glories bring,
For Him spread out your evening glow:
O'er all this beauteous world below
Your joy-inspiring radiance fling:
O Light and Darkness, come and go,
And waft His praise on balanced wing.
O Darkness, bring your wondrous show
Of worlds above that shine and sing;
Make all your boundless spaces ring
With measured strains that ceaseless flow:
O Light and Darkness, come and go,
And waft His praise on balanced wing.

19

O ye Lightnings and Clouds, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Lightnings and Clouds, in praise of Him
Unfurl your banners in the sky:
Ye Lightnings, let your pennons fly,
Illumining the midnight dim,
Till all the landscape seems to swim
In fire, before the dazzled eye:
Lightnings and Clouds, in praise of Him,
Unfurl your banners in the sky.
Ye Clouds, upon the ocean's brim,
In sunset-hues your streamers dye;
Your gold and crimson wave on high
And beautify the horizon's rim:
Lightnings and Clouds, in praise of Him,
Unfurl your banners in the sky.

20

O let the Earth bless the Lord; yea, let it praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O let the Earth in fair array
Breathe to the Lord a gladsome strain;
Weave round her brow a radiant chain
Of apple-bloom or fragrant may,
And dance along her sunny way
Through waving grass and springing grain:
O let the Earth in fair array
Breathe to the Lord a gladsome strain.
In sylvan aisles her worship pay,
Or praise Him by the azure main:
When morning smiles without a stain,
Or evening dons her mantle grey—
O let the Earth in fair array
Breathe to the Lord a gladsome strain.

21

O ye Mountains and Hills, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Hills and Mountains, lift His praise,
To your high calling be ye true:
Let your pure summits pierce the blue,
And catch His earliest morning rays;
And with a lingering glory blaze
When earth puts on her twilight hue:
Ye Hills and Mountains, lift His praise,
To your high calling be ye true.
Along your silent upland ways
His holy feet have brushed the dew,
When hiding out of human view
He sought lone nights for busy days:
Ye Hills and Mountains, lift His praise,
To your high calling be ye true.

22

O all ye Green Things upon the Earth, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O all ye Green Things on the earth,
Bless ye the Lord in sun and shade;
To whisper praises ye were made,
Or wave to Him in solemn mirth:
For this the towering pine had birth,
For this sprang forth each grassy blade:
O all ye Green Things on the earth,
Bless ye the Lord in sun and shade.
Ye wayside weeds of little worth,
Ye ferns that fringe the woodland glade,
Ye dainty flowers that quickly fade,
Ye steadfast yews of mighty girth:
O all ye Green Things on the earth,
Bless ye the Lord in sun and shade.

23

O ye Wells, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O Wells and Springs, where'er ye flow,
Bless God with your sweet undersong;
His ceaseless praises bear along,
Rippling and tinkling as ye go:
What though your voice is soft and low,
'Tis musical your flowers among:
O Wells and Springs, where'er ye flow,
Bless God with your sweet undersong.
When fainting with the noonday glow,
Some traveller quaffs you, and is strong;
When under midnight's shining throng
A mirror to some star ye show:
O Wells and Springs, where'er ye flow,
Bless God with your sweet undersong.

24

O ye Seas and Floods, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Seas and Floods, with voice of might
Resound His Name for evermore:
Ye rushing falls, that thunder o'er
The rifted rocks, and daze the sight:
Ye waves that with your crests of white
Incessant dash upon the shore:
Ye Seas and Floods, with voice of might
Resound his Name for evermore.
Ye torrents from the mountain height
Round your grey boulders dance and roar;
Ye billows on the ocean floor
Your hands in jubilation smite:
Ye Seas and Floods, with voice of might
Resound His Name for evermore.

25

O ye Whales, and all that move in the waters, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye silent Tenants of the deep,
From your dim haunts His praise uplift:
Whether ye glance with motion swift,
Or through the weedy tangle creep:
Whether through restless waves ye sweep,
Or with the lazy currents drift:
Ye silent Tenants of the deep,
From your dim haunts His praise uplift.
Your ordered paths He bids you keep,
Your watery pleasures are His gift:
He shows you, through a cloudy rift,
The oozy fields which ye may reap:
Ye silent Tenants of the deep,
From your dim haunts His praise uplift.

26

O all ye Fowls of the air, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

O all ye Birds of various wing,
Bless ye the Lord in joyful lays;
Whether in some dim forest-maze,
Unseen yourselves, your voices ring:
Or up through azure heights ye spring,
Bearing aloft melodious praise:
O all ye Birds of various wing,
Bless ye the Lord in joyful lays.
Whether in garden-nooks ye sing,
Or warble by the public ways:
If but a simple trill ye raise,
Or but a cheery chirp ye bring:
O all ye Birds of various wing,
Bless ye the Lord in joyful lays.

27

O all ye Beasts and Cattle, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Beasts and Cattle, magnify
Your Lord and Master evermore;
Lions, that in the desert roar,
Proclaim His awful majesty—
And creatures fierce that ambushed lie
In woods, or haunt the reedy shore:
Ye Beasts and Cattle, magnify
Your Lord and Master evermore.
Ye flocks that range the mountains high,
Ye peaceful herds that wander o'er
A thousand hills, His Name adore—
Lowing and bleating to the sky:
Ye Beasts and Cattle, magnify
Your Lord and Master evermore.

28

O ye Children of Men, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Sons of Men, your glory wake,
To God your jubilate raise:
He calls on you to lead the lays
Which from His happy creatures break;
Their varied notes and cries to take
And blend into articulate praise:
Ye Sons of Men, your glory wake,
To God your jubilate raise.
Wake heart and voice for His dear sake,
The Son of Man, Who walked earth's ways;
With praise of Him crown all your days,
Of Him your sweetest music make:
Ye Sons of Men, your glory wake,
To God your jubilate raise.

29

O let Israel bless the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Let Israel praise Him with a song,
And laud His love and lift His fame;
For them He came in cloud and flame
To teach the bounds of right and wrong:
Bore them on eagles' wings along,
And made a people for His Name:
Let Israel praise Him with a song,
And laud His love and lift His fame.
He deigned to dwell His saints among;
For them a Virgin's Child He came;
Blameless He took away their blame,
Becoming weak to make them strong:
Let Israel praise Him with a song,
And laud His love and lift His fame.

30

O ye Priests of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Priests of God, your incense bring,
The fragrant offering of your praise:
Give thanks with morning's cheerful rays,
At tranquil eve your censers swing:
Let grateful thoughts, like blossoms, spring
To beautify life's common ways:
Ye Priests of God, your incense bring,
The fragrant offering of your praise.
And, as ye move, sweet bells shall ring,
Spontaneous as the wild birds' lays;
And yours shall be harmonious days
In happy service of the King:
Ye Priests of God, your incense bring,
The fragrant offering of your praise.

31

O ye Servants of the Lord, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye faithful Servants of the Lord,
Be works of love your harp of praise;
Let arduous toils of loyal days
The music which He asks, afford:
Let every hour its fitting chord
Of action high conspire to raise:
Ye faithful Servants of the Lord,
Be works of love your harp of praise.
Let Him with duty be adored,
Who toiled along earth's painful ways—
With labours not with empty lays,
Who His sweet Life for us outpoured:
Ye faithful Servants of the Lord,
Be works of love your harp of praise.

32

O ye Spirits and Souls of the Righteous, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye Righteous Souls in Paradise,
Be ceaseless praise your blissful dower:
No sorrows cloud your tranquil hour,
No sins entangle or surprise:
No ruffling fears or doubts arise,
No pain disturbs, no dangers lower:
Ye Righteous Souls in Paradise,
Be ceaseless praise your blissful dower.
What speechless glories meet your eyes,
What joys surround you, and embower;
How ye expand, like some fair flower,
Beneath those soft celestial skies:
Ye Righteous Souls in Paradise,
Be ceaseless praise your blissful dower.

33

O ye holy and humble Men of heart, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

Ye holy, humble Men of heart,
Praise God for your peculiar joys;—
Faith, which no dust of doubt alloys,
And hopes, that singing, upward dart:
A sweet content that dwells apart,
And perfect peace which never cloys:
Ye holy, humble Men of heart,
Praise God for your peculiar joys.
Your lives are void of guile or art:
Your ears are stopped to the vain noise
Of Siren-songs and tinkling toys:
No fears can make you swerve or start:
Ye holy, humble Men of heart,
Praise God for your peculiar joys.

34

O Ananias, Azarias, and Misael, bless ye the Lord; praise Him and magnify Him for ever.

The Lord be praised,” be thine to sing,
O Muse of mine, with Nature's choir:
To thee He gave the tuneful lyre,
For Him be struck each trembling string:
From morn to morn, as on lark's wing,
Ascend thy music, high and higher:
“The Lord be praised,” be thine to sing,
O Muse of mine, with Nature's choir.
Nay, to a cherub's pinion cling,
And worship with a seraph's fire;
And, with the blessed saints, aspire
To smite thy harp before the King:
“The Lord be praised,” be thine to sing,
O Muse of mine, with Nature's choir.

35

Sonnets.


37

Castle Campbell,

ON THE OCHILS.

The sunlit castle flashed upon our ken,
Topping the trees which crown the steep ravine,
And in an instant all we sought was seen,
We grasped our long day's pleasure there and then —
The secret windings of the shadowy glen,
The awful fissure severed by the sheen
Of steely water, open spaces green,
And heathery vales remote from feet of men.
Imagination in a moment's space
Filled up a gladsome picture to the mind,
Such as revolving hours would slowly trace:
And oh, what peace prophetic we may find
In one brief glimpse of heart-assuring Grace
Which holds, as in a bud, Heaven's joys entwined

40

Flowers for the Holy Table.

The God of Nature is the God of Grace;
And so with reverent fingers we entwine
Garlands of blossoms for the Bread and Wine,
Which on the Table of the Lord we place—
As lilies once looked up into His Face
And won a smile from Him in Palestine;
A benediction they will ne'er resign
While cares on human brows their furrows trace.
But if before the Lord 'tis right and meet
To spread the beauty of the fresh-culled flowers,
Nature's own offering at the Saviour's feet;
Let answering thoughts of Grace, in busy hours,
Circle our footsteps in the field or street,
And deck our pathway to the Eternal bowers!

41

Eucharists.

Extensions of the Incarnation”—this,
Yea nothing less in Eucharists we see:
Before Thy Table, Lord, we bow the knee,
To wait Thy coming, and to feel Thy kiss.
We mourn for sin and straight its burden miss:
Thy spotless Body sets us sweetly free:
Thy Blood is wine of immortality;
We take the cup and taste angelic bliss.
Lord, give us grace Thy Body to discern,
And through the lattice of the broken Bread
To see the loving Face for which we yearn:
And on our hearts Thy precious Blood be shed,
Like drops of fiery dew, to make them burn
With loyal love to Thee, our glorious Head.

42

The Veiled Waterfall,

GLENCRIPISDALE.

In front of falling waters we reclined,
Which down a chasm tore their thund'rous way:
Birches before them hung, with emerald spray
Screening the silvery foam which shone behind.
With every fitful wafting of the wind
The leafy veil was lifted, to display
The crystal splendour in its white array—
The changing drops in changeless form confined.
Thus earth's fair dreams and fancies intervene
And veil Heaven's glory from our mortal eye,
Dimming things hoped for by things felt and seen:
O for God's breath—the Spirit from on high—
To flash upon us through the sundered screen
The living waters of Eternity!

43

Arran.

My happy days in Arran's beauteous isle!
Like pages of a book I turn them o'er:
Glen Sannox, with its grandeur and its roar;
Glen Rosa, with its greenness and its smile;
Glencloy, whose tinkling burn a little while
The sense delights, the memory evermore;
The perfect curve of Brodick's silvery shore:
Fair pictures, how the mind's eye they beguile!
The Holy Isle, whose heights and caverns speak
Of piety which sought these coasts of yore,
Casting o'er ages dark one gracious streak:
Goatfell, cloud-piercing and sublime, which bore
My joyful footsteps on its loftiest peak,
And bade me through infinitude to soar!

45

A Garden by the Sea.

A little garden leaning to the bay,
And bounded by low trees, a shadowy screen,—
With children's voices from the sloping green,
Happy and careless at their innocent play:
Beyond—the ocean stretching far away,
A vast circumference of azure sheen,
With glistening sails in the dim distance seen,
And tidal music murmuring all the day.
Such is Life's story, with its narrow bound
Of hopes and joys that fill our fleeting years,
And mortal shadows closing us around:
While, looming nigh, Eternity appears,
That mighty sea, that mystery profound,
Whose voice e'en now breaks on our wondering ears.

47

The Writing on the Ground.

Jesus stooped down and wrote upon the ground:”
Lost are the words traced by His finger there;
But still His characters divinely fair
About our feet, in lines of light, are found.
He stoops, and snowdrops start to life all round;
His finger wakes the violets everywhere;
The lilies of the field His message bear,
And primrose banks with thoughts of peace are crowned.
Ah, Lord, stoop lower still, and on the floor
Of my dim way-worn heart Thy blessing write;
The Spirit is Thy finger evermore,
Oh may I feel its touch, like rays of light,
Awaking me to trust Thee and adore,
And bud and blossom always in Thy sight!

50

“The Priest's Craig.”

Between Saddleyoke and Hartfell, near Moffat.

Where steep-ridged Saddleyoke's twin summits rise,
And, facing them, huge Hartfell's bulk is seen,
A grassy hollow intermediate lies
And fronts the shadowy glen that yawns between;
From whence all access to that upland green
A sudden precipice sternly denies:
Its name for ages “The Priest's Craig” has been,
The meaning of the name a vague surmise.
Was it some holy man in far off days
Wrestled in prayer upon this lonely height?
Or, tending his sparse sheep in these dim ways,
Fell o'er the cliff, misled by mist or night?
Vainly we ask, and strive Time's veil to raise,
The visionary Priest eludes our sight!

51

The Interleaved Prayer Book.

To the Countess of Londesborough at the Restoration of Londesborough Church.

The new East Window, in Londesborough Church, designed by Mr. Temple Moore, and filled with stained glass by Messrs. Burlison and Grylls of London, was intended to commemorate the coming of age of the only son of Lord and Lady Londesborough, the Honourable Francis Denison, now Lord Raincliffe, Dec. 1885. The subject is the Crucifixion.

Lady, accept this Book of Prayer, which shows
On each alternate page the distant springs
Of inspiration, whence it sweetly brings
The stream of holy thought that through it flows.
Antiquity in every Collect glows;
To every Canticle a memory clings:
These words, through all the ages, have lent wings
To praise and hope amid life's joys or woes.
This ancient Book befits that ancient Shrine
By centuries of worship sanctified,
And now made beautiful by Thee and Thine;
Where softest colours blend their radiant pride
To glorify the Cross of Love divine,
At whose dear Feet true rest and peace abide.

53

The Soldier-Artist.

Major-General G. F. Moore, a brave soldier, an upright man, a sincere Christian, and a great lover of Nature and Art. He was wounded severely at the siege of Moultan. He died September 8, 1884. To a friend who asked him shortly before his death if he felt comfort and confidence in the Cross of Christ, he answered, “I have got beyond the Cross; I am in the Presence.”

He longed once more in azure of the sky
And of the misty hills to bathe his sight;
The calmness, the expansion, and the height
Allured his ardent soul and artist eye:
Once more his skilful pencil he would ply
To catch from Nature's face a transcript bright;
But ah, there fell a dimness as of night:
He looked, he sighed, and but returned to die.
Now sword alike and palette gather dust,
The noble heart and cunning hand are still:
But in the Presence, he had learnt to trust,
Of beauty and of peace he takes his fill,
And uncorrupt and righteous, true and just,
He rests for ever on God's holy hill.

55

Two Cambridge Students.

Frederick R. Wilton, B.A., Scholar of St. John's College, and one of the masters of the City of London School, killed on Snowdon, in 1874. Robert C. Wilton, Scholar of Christ's College, drowned at Tenby in 1884—a youth of great promise—both sons of Mr. Robert Wilton of Doncaster. See a sonnet in the author's “Lyrics, Sylvan and Sacred,” p. 92, on the death of the first-named student, ending

“O favoured youth, to whom the bliss was given
To climb a mountain and to find it—Heaven!”

On his way up the mountain he met with a gentleman, to whom among other things he said, “I never felt so near to Christ as I do on this mountain to-day.”

Facing the mountain where he slipt and fell
Sheer down the misty slope—one brother lies;
Facing the sea where, under sunny skies,
Sudden he sank, the other sleepeth well:
Both pleasant in their lives—ah, who can tell
What light of hope was lit in loving eyes
That watched them, in earth's wisdom growing wise;
And Christward drawn as by a Heavenly spell.
Yes, they sleep well, since in the Lord they sleep!
And now, from lowly duties soon set free,
The glory of a higher life they reap;
Resting with Him where there is no more sea,
But many a secret grove, and valley deep,
And mountain-nook of sweet security!

56

St. James the Just.

The first Bishop of Jerusalem, and the author of the Epistle of St. James—whose words in chapter v., verse 9, correspond with and illustrate the question put to the martyr by his Jewish enemies.

Which is the door of Jesus?” Such the cry
That rent the ears of James surnamed the Just,
The brother of the Lord; ere yet they thrust—
Those miscreant Jews—their victim from on high.
Down from that battlement against the sky
The Saint was dashed upon the pavement-dust;
While his last breath reiterates his trust,—
“Before the door He stands—the Lord is nigh:”
Never so nigh as when with loving hand
He lifts the latch of that mysterious door,
Which softly opens to His sole command—
Showing the glory of the golden floor,
The beauty of the unimagined land,
Where with His own He walks for evermore!

73

Rondeaux.


75

A Glen in Arran.

In sweet Glencloy, by Brodick Bay,
I gleaned a holy thought to-day:
Far up the glen, against the sky,
A silver streamlet caught my eye,
Descending its precipitous way.
Onward its gathering waters stray,
And strike from stones a cheerful lay,
While their refreshing task they ply
In sweet Glencloy.
Such be my daily course, I pray,—
Starting beneath a Heaven-sought ray,
To bless the world as I pass by,
Turn hindrances to harmony,
Nor lose what glancing ripples say
In sweet Glencloy.

78

The Wishing Gate, Grasmere.

The Wishing Gate, at length I find,
And leave my wishes all behind,
As gazing on this lovely scene,
This peaceful lake, this island green,
Nature frames all things to my mind.
Nay, while I, on the bars reclined,
In Wordsworth's fir-grove hear the wind,
I quite forget, though here I lean,
The Wishing Gate.
For I have nought to wish, I ween,
Blest in what is and what has been,
And void of longings vain and blind;
Thankful for all God's sunshine kind,
And that, without a wish, I've seen
The Wishing Gate!

79

The Beech-Tree by the Lake.

The Tree remains erect and fair,
From year to year reflected there;
Now with green Summer dyes the lake,
Now bids it tints of Autumn take,
Now image Winter's branches bare.
Behold its crimson streamers rare
Glassed in the wave;—a breath of air
Their beauteous form may blur or break—
The Tree remains!
So in a world of sin and care
To this dear thought I oft repair:
Though winds the mental mirror shake,
And faith's blest forms refuse to wake,
Truth never fails—be well aware—
The Tree remains!

80

The Christmas Rose.

The Christmas Rose its bloom displays
In Winter's shortest, darkest days;
And oft the wind unpitying blows
Its fair, white petals o'er the snows,
And strews them in the common ways.
A tender glory draws my gaze—
A whiteness gleaming through Time's haze;
My heart is touched—it surely knows
The Christmas Rose!
Sweet Flower—sweet Babe—Thy gentle rays
Claim loving care and lasting praise:
I clasp Thee and my bosom glows;
Dark earth to Thee its lustre owes,
And loves to sing in ceaseless lays
The Christmas Rose!

82

Christ the Creator.

All things were created by Him and for Him.” —Col. i. 16.

By Him, for Him, were all things made,
Who once on Mary's lap was laid:
The mighty orbs that sweep through space,
Far as the keenest eye can trace,
By His controlling hand are swayed.
The lilies in a leafy shade
That bloom their little hour and fade,
Are crowned with sweetness and with grace
By Him, for Him.
He, who in human garb arrayed,
Once toiled on earth and wept and prayed,
Gave to each shining star its place,
Bade every blossom lift its face—
Their differing glories all displayed
By Him, for Him.

84

A Work-day Fancy.

A watery gleam of sunlight lay
Before me—toiling on my way—
When to the inward eye of thought
A stretch of Syrian road was brought,
Where gracious Feet were wont to stray.
The Eastern sunshine seemed to play
Around a Form in meek array,
Of which, through misty years, I caught
A watery gleam.
It lighted up my dreary day,
And drove my weariness away:
All unexpected and unsought
The fancy came, with comfort fraught,
And changed for me to staff and stay
A watery gleam!

85

The Redbreast Sings.

The redbreast sings as if to cheer
The heart of the declining year:
Sitting amid the shattered bowers,
Where fallen leaves hide withered flowers,
It charms with song the season drear.
From holly boughs red berries peer
To warn us Christmas snows are near;
But though the face of Nature lowers,
The redbreast sings.
O for a voice serene and clear,
In age or sorrow, pain or fear,
To solace man's decaying powers:
Such gracious ministry be ours—
As when to soothe the pensive ear
The redbreast sings.

86

My Sparrows.

A cheery chirp my sparrows raise
In gladsome and in gloomy days—
Now nesting in my window-rose,
Now printing footsteps in the snows
Which muffle all the garden ways.
Not theirs the high melodious lays
Which thrill, in Spring, the leafy maze:
Theirs to keep up, when Springtide goes,
A cheery chirp.
The merry discord with us stays
When music flies on Summer rays;
From opening dawn to evening's close
Teaching us how life's common prose
May turn to poetry of praise—
A cheery chirp!

87

A Parting Smile.

A parting smile, a last farewell,
On which the heart may fondly dwell,—
From one who loves and lingers, thrown
To one beloved and left alone—
Its preciousness, ah, who can tell?
'Tis like the cadence of a bell
That vibrates down a leafy dell,
When evening blends with that sweet tone
A parting smile.
'Tis like the fragrance that is blown
From honied limes, while doves make moan;
'Tis like the music from a shell
Which trembles to a poet's spell;
Can he forget it, who has known
A parting smile?

89

Lazarus.

Tradition says that Lazarus lived thirty years after he was raised from the dead, and was never known to smile.

He never smiled,—who left the place
Where Saints repose in peace, to trace
Once more earth's sad and weary round;
Though friendly greetings might abound,
And gladness beamed on Mary's face.
What wonder—when for four days' space
He quaffed the founts of speechless grace—
Quitting each rapturous sight and sound,
He never smiled?
Could thoughts of Paradise be drowned
Because his brow was now uncrowned?
Could Mary's sisterly embrace
Such bliss unutterable chase?
High hope for us in this is found—
He never smiled!

91

The Doomed Fir-trees.

Marked for the fall, I saw them stand,
Tall firs, amid a giant band,
Their fellows in the moaning wood:
Too well the sign I understood—
Dire impress of a fatal hand.
No more their high tops will be fann'd
In Summer-time, by breezes bland,
No more in Spring their boughs will bud—
Marked for the fall.
What though their hoary growth has spann'd
A century of years, and scann'd
The seasons in their changing mood,
Secure in this green solitude;
Death finds out all—they bear the brand,
Marked for the fall!

92

“I am the First and the Last.”

The First and Last”—O may this be
The Name that paints my Lord to me—
The rising and the setting ray,
Which rounds with beauty every day,
And makes its hours run lightsomely.
My morning prayer shall climb to Thee;
My midnight vigil Thou shalt see;
Matins to Evensong shall say—
“The First and Last.”
Grateful I muse beneath the Tree
Which bore such Fruit to make me free;
Then go rejoicing on my way,
And catch an echo of the lay
Which crowns to all Eternity
“The First and Last.”

93

Rondels.


95

[The larch has donned its rosy plumes]

The larch has donned its rosy plumes,
And hastes its emerald beads to string:
The warblers now are on the wing
Across the pathless ocean-glooms:
Through tender grass and violet-blooms
I move along and gaily sing,
“The larch has donned its rosy plumes,
And hastes its emerald beads to string.”
Nature with beauteous tints illumes
The fields and groves of budding Spring,
Loved voices from afar to bring:
And my glad Muse its song resumes,—
“The larch has donned its rosy plumes,
And hastes its emerald beads to string!”

96

[“Within my cage I sit and sing]

Within my cage I sit and sing,
While seasons come and seasons go:
Outside, the birds flit to and fro,
Or upward soar on freeborn wing:
But let the air with music ring,
Or earth be wrapped in silent snow,
Within my cage I sit and sing,
While seasons come and seasons go.”
Sweet bird, a lesson thou dost bring
Meet for man's prison-house below:
Content, like thine, I fain would show,
As thanking God for everything,
Within my cage I sit and sing,
While seasons come and seasons go!

99

Lyrics and Hymns.


101

Glencripisdale.

What though green mounds alone attest
That this was once the Home of men,
With wives and little children blest—
The burn goes singing down the glen!
What though along these paths we went
With friends now gone beyond our ken,
Their earthly holidays all spent—
The burn goes singing down the glen!
What though we too so soon must pass
From these loved haunts, ah when? ah when?
We will not breathe a sad “alas”—
The burn goes singing down the glen!

106

What though so quickly sinks our day,
These joys will cheer our children then:
Nature keeps up her gladsome lay,
The burn goes singing down the glen!
What though to earth we close our eyes,
Sights undescribed by mortal pen
Are ours through Christ, where no one sighs,
“The burn goes singing down the glen!”

107

A Wedding Hymn.

And both Jesus was called, and His disciples, to the marriage.” —St. John ii. 2.

Lord, to our marriage-feast this day
Thou hast been called with faithful voice;
Vouchsafe the grace for which we pray;
Bid Thy disciples' hearts rejoice.
Thou who didst smile on Cana's board,
And turn the water into wine,
Thy holy Presence now accord,
And give to us some gladdening sign.
Look on the bridegroom and the bride;
Thy loving hands upon them lay:
Go with them as their Guard and Guide,
And scatter blessings on their way.

108

Their mutual love be firm and pure,
And sweetened with pervading grace:
Thus shall it deepen and endure,
And water still to wine give place.
And should clouds come, with changeful years,
As sorrow tracks Thy saints below,
Yet shine Thou, Lord, upon their tears,
And grief will take the rainbow's glow.
Lord, look on those they leave behind,
As fondly they recall the past:
In Thy rich fulness let them find
Thou keepest the best wine till last.
On all Thy grace and blessing pour:
For each some sweet surprise unroll:
Earth, Heaven, are Thine, with all their store,
Thou Lord and Bridegroom of the soul.

109

A Harvest Hymn.

His merciful kindness is ever more and more towards us.” —Ps. cxvii. 2.

More and more, as years roll round,
Thy dear mercies, Lord, abound,
And thy kindnesses descend
Without measure, without end.
More and more, Lord, we would give
Thanks to Thee in whom we live;
And ascend to Thee above
On the ladder of Thy love.
Day by day Thy doors of gold
Are for our delight unrolled:
Sunshine marches o'er the world
With its banners all unfurled.

110

Blossoms opening their fair eyes
Waft their incense to the skies;
Happy birds upon the wing
Welcome to the morning sing.
Cornfields lifting up their spears
Bravely put to flight men's fears;
While a whisper soft and low
Tells of the “much fruit” they show.
Rippling o'er the breezy plain
Shine the breadths of golden grain:
North and south and east and west
With the smile of God are blest.
More and more, as years roll by,
Kindness cheers us from on high;
More and more our thanks shall rise
For the bounty of the skies.
Gracious Lord, accept our praise
For the love that crowns our days;
But most chiefly, as is meet,
For Thy Heavenly “Corn of Wheat.”

111

Christmas Day;

The Nativity of our Lord, or the Birthday of Christ.

O day of glory, day of grace,
When Jesus showed His lovely face
To make this world a holy place
By His sweet rising:
How shall we tell His precious worth?
How shall we hail His wondrous Birth—
This sorrowful and sinful earth
With peace surprising?
O Love, all love which overpast!
The Father, in His pity vast,
Out of His secret bosom cast
This Pearl most holy:
And in a stable it was found,
Where camels knelt, their loads unbound,
And meek-eyed cattle gathered round
The manger lowly.

112

The midnight sky is all ablaze
With sudden light and golden rays
Of angels watching with amaze
His opening story—
The blessèd Virgin-Mother there
Bending above her Infant fair,
And pondering on that Jewel rare,
That undreamt glory.
And lo, the echo of a song
Which deepens as it rolls along,
The chorus of a countless throng,
Like a low thunder:
The sacred hills of Palestine
Are flooded with the voice divine,
The shepherds listen to the sign
With a husht wonder.
Well might that song of songs be heard—
Well might the angel-host be stirred
To hover o'er the Incarnate Word
With adoration:
Well might the air with bliss be fraught,
And splendour passing human thought—
“Glad tidings of great joy” are brought
To every nation!

113

O welcome then this happy morn
On which the Saviour Christ was born,
With flowers His Infant brow adorn,
Lilies and roses:
Glory to God for His dear Son,
And peace on earth, through suffering won;
Heaven's hallelujah is begun
And never closes!
Our thanks this day to God we lift
For His unutterable Gift,
And bid the good news circle swift
On eagle pinion;
Till earth permits “a little Child
To lead her” with attraction mild,
And every utmost region wild
Owns His dominion!