The new minnesinger and other poems By Arran Leigh [i.e. K. H. Bradley and E. E. Cooper] |
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 | DEVOTIONAL POEMS. |
 | The new minnesinger and other poems |  |
113
DEVOTIONAL POEMS.
115
STEDFASTNESS.
Stedfast to me, my God,
Stedfast to me;
O that life's paths I trod
Stedfast to Thee!
Stedfast to me;
O that life's paths I trod
Stedfast to Thee!
Changeless thy loving face,
Still seeking mine;
O that my eyes had grace
Ne'er to shun thine!
Still seeking mine;
O that my eyes had grace
Ne'er to shun thine!
Sure Thou to do thy part,
Certain thy love;
O were this wavering heart
Anchor'd above!
Certain thy love;
O were this wavering heart
Anchor'd above!
116
Faithful thy covenant oath,
Faithful to me;
Broken my plighted troth,
Broken to Thee.
Faithful to me;
Broken my plighted troth,
Broken to Thee.
Whom thy strong arm doth hold,
None pluck away,
Yet we will leave its fold,
Yet we will stray.
None pluck away,
Yet we will leave its fold,
Yet we will stray.
Thou who to sinners came,
Sinful am I,
On thy all-healing Name
Helpless I cry.
Sinful am I,
On thy all-healing Name
Helpless I cry.
Lo, to thy cross I come,
Tears blind the way,
And at thine anguish dumb
Mutely I pray.
Tears blind the way,
And at thine anguish dumb
Mutely I pray.
Low-bowed, my shamèd head
Turns now to see
Eyes, whose full purpose shed
Pardon on me.
Turns now to see
Eyes, whose full purpose shed
Pardon on me.
117
Lift with thy piercèd hands,
Lift me e'en now;
Draw me with human bands,
Thou, only Thou.
Lift me e'en now;
Draw me with human bands,
Thou, only Thou.
For, by thy heart's outpour'd
Life, I must be
Patient, long-suffering Lord,
Faithful to Thee!
Life, I must be
Patient, long-suffering Lord,
Faithful to Thee!
118
THE FOURTH WATCH.
And it was now dark, and Jesus was not come to them.
St. John vi. 17.
It was now dark; yet Jesus drew not nigh
Unto His own:
'Gainst swelling sea, and tempest-brooding sky,
They strove alone.
‘He bids us perish who hath power to save!’
Rose the wild cry,
And still the rising wind, the angrier wave,
Made fierce reply.
Unto His own:
'Gainst swelling sea, and tempest-brooding sky,
They strove alone.
‘He bids us perish who hath power to save!’
Rose the wild cry,
And still the rising wind, the angrier wave,
Made fierce reply.
119
It is now dark; Lord Jesus, shall we doubt
Right on to steer,
Though for a few brief furlongs left without
Thy guidance clear?
It is now dark, and therefore Thou art nigh;
Full stedfast we
Bear on, as under the controlling eye
We cannot see.
Right on to steer,
Though for a few brief furlongs left without
Thy guidance clear?
It is now dark, and therefore Thou art nigh;
Full stedfast we
Bear on, as under the controlling eye
We cannot see.
The darker peril brings the deeper peace,
So Thou be there:
Though blacker grow the night, though storms increase,
We have no care.
Across the wildering main no way we see;
But Lord, Thou dost:
It is now dark; the darkness is our plea
For perfect trust.
So Thou be there:
Though blacker grow the night, though storms increase,
We have no care.
Across the wildering main no way we see;
But Lord, Thou dost:
It is now dark; the darkness is our plea
For perfect trust.
120
THE GIFT OF PEACE.
Jesus saith unto them, Peace be unto you. And when he had so
said, he showed unto them his hands and his side.
—St. John xx. 20.
Lord, though no longer we would look
On the dark grave by Thee forsook,
Though Thou art risen indeed,
Our hopes, our hearts' sad longing, yet
On Calvary's holy dark is set,
And still thy cross we need.
On the dark grave by Thee forsook,
Though Thou art risen indeed,
Our hopes, our hearts' sad longing, yet
On Calvary's holy dark is set,
And still thy cross we need.
Yea, on our very day of bliss,
When thought of sorrow falls amiss,
In joy of Easter-tide,
No rest our troubled hearts can know,
Except Love's sacred print thou show
In piercèd hand and side.
When thought of sorrow falls amiss,
In joy of Easter-tide,
121
Except Love's sacred print thou show
In piercèd hand and side.
As on the heaven-lit face we gaze,
In shrinking love and sore amaze,
Thoughts in our hearts will rise.
Our risen Lord we dare not greet,
Till to His wounded hands and feet
He turns our doubting eyes.
In shrinking love and sore amaze,
Thoughts in our hearts will rise.
Our risen Lord we dare not greet,
Till to His wounded hands and feet
He turns our doubting eyes.
But, when the mark of nail and spear
Tells us the Crucified is near,
Our faithless terrors cease.
On us thy hands of blessing lay;
Thy passion hath prepared the way
For thy sweet gift of peace.
Tells us the Crucified is near,
Our faithless terrors cease.
On us thy hands of blessing lay;
Thy passion hath prepared the way
For thy sweet gift of peace.
122
THE HAPPY RESTING.
Thou sleepest not:—how safely may we sleep!Thou slumb'rest not:—how sweet our rest should be!
Fear we for our Belovèd? Thou wilt keep
The watch, we do but yield them unto Thee.
Nor need we yield them prayerfully, as though
They were commended to a stranger's care;
Having so long time known Thee, Lord, we know
It is enough for them that Thou art there.
123
THE BETRAYAL.
Verily, verily, I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me.
Then the disciples looked one on another, doubting of whom he spake.
He then lying on Jesus' breast saith unto him, Lord, who is it?
—St. John xiii. 21, 22, 25.
Lord, if he who lov'd thee best,
Lying lowly on thy breast,
When he heard Thee sadly say,
‘One among ye shall betray,’
Could not quite his heart assure,
'Gainst that foulest sin secure,
But with trembling sought reply,—
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
Lying lowly on thy breast,
When he heard Thee sadly say,
‘One among ye shall betray,’
Could not quite his heart assure,
'Gainst that foulest sin secure,
But with trembling sought reply,—
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
If the twelve Thou countedst blest,
For the faith their lives confest,
For the love that did not shrink
Of thy bitt'rest cup to drink;
If those hero-saints that stand
Nearest Thee on either hand,
Loyal-hearted, could not cry
‘Lord, who is it? 'tis not I.’
For the faith their lives confest,
124
Of thy bitt'rest cup to drink;
If those hero-saints that stand
Nearest Thee on either hand,
Loyal-hearted, could not cry
‘Lord, who is it? 'tis not I.’
How shall we who have not borne
For thy sake, or taunt or scorn,
Dare to dream such doubt had ne'er
Dimm'd our faith had we been there?
Rather let us own each heart
In the traitor's sin hath part;
Might desert Thee, might deny;
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
For thy sake, or taunt or scorn,
Dare to dream such doubt had ne'er
Dimm'd our faith had we been there?
Rather let us own each heart
In the traitor's sin hath part;
Might desert Thee, might deny;
‘Lord, who is it, is it I?’
Since we all have put to shame,
Jesus, thy most sacred name,
Since our lives have mocked Thee more
Than the Crown of Sorrows sore,
Think on us when Thou dost pray
For the souls that might betray;
For from broken hearts we cry,
‘Lord, who is it? it is I.’
Jesus, thy most sacred name,
Since our lives have mocked Thee more
Than the Crown of Sorrows sore,
Think on us when Thou dost pray
For the souls that might betray;
For from broken hearts we cry,
‘Lord, who is it? it is I.’
125
THE FRESH SPRINGTIDE.
While the earth remaineth, seed-time and harvest, and cold and
heat, and summer and winter, and day and night, shall not cease.
—Genesis viii. 22.
I cannot tell what weal or woe
The coming year may bring;
To me it is enough to know
The birds will wake and sing;
And the simple flowers of long ago
About my pathway spring.
The coming year may bring;
To me it is enough to know
The birds will wake and sing;
And the simple flowers of long ago
About my pathway spring.
I know not if my life be set
To sad or blithesome cheer;
Mine eyes, though they may chance be wet
With many a bitter tear,
Will find the April violet
As fresh as yester year.
To sad or blithesome cheer;
Mine eyes, though they may chance be wet
With many a bitter tear,
Will find the April violet
As fresh as yester year.
126
The drooping windflowers, purple-dyed,
Across the woods will blow;
Sweet Nature will not be denied
Her dainty Eden show,
Nor let the saddest from her side
Unblest, ungladden'd go.
Across the woods will blow;
Sweet Nature will not be denied
Her dainty Eden show,
Nor let the saddest from her side
Unblest, ungladden'd go.
Oh, well for us she never may
Tire of her sweet refrain!
Till every tear is wiped away,
Till there is no more pain,
The changeful seasons' soothing sway
Shall keep its constant reign.
Tire of her sweet refrain!
Till every tear is wiped away,
Till there is no more pain,
The changeful seasons' soothing sway
Shall keep its constant reign.
127
THE FIRST SPRINGTIDE.
When Eden's garden was new-drest,
When not a flower had blown,
And Eve from veiled buds but guessed
What glory would be grown,
Of springtide joys the very best
Meseemeth was unknown.
When not a flower had blown,
And Eve from veiled buds but guessed
What glory would be grown,
Of springtide joys the very best
Meseemeth was unknown.
Our fond remembrances beget
Hopes that outbliss surprise:
Whilst in green shielding cover yet
The fragrant purple lies,
My memory-bosom'd violet
Its hidden sweet supplies.
Hopes that outbliss surprise:
Whilst in green shielding cover yet
The fragrant purple lies,
My memory-bosom'd violet
Its hidden sweet supplies.
128
THE UNFAILING SPRINGTIDE.
Afar, in times we cannot trace,
Or know what man will be,
'Tis sweet to feel the flowers will grace
His sadness and his glee;
And the carol-birds a little space
Will hold him sorrow-free.
Or know what man will be,
'Tis sweet to feel the flowers will grace
His sadness and his glee;
And the carol-birds a little space
Will hold him sorrow-free.
There will be scent of blossom-may
Above my graveyard mould;
The sun-warm'd little ones will play
Where I am lying cold;
And the pleasure that has had its day
Return a thousandfold.
Above my graveyard mould;
The sun-warm'd little ones will play
Where I am lying cold;
And the pleasure that has had its day
Return a thousandfold.
129
CHILDREN OF THE PROMISE.
O Lord, they have great faith in Thee,
Thy hedgerow children small;
They take no thought of what shall be,
What terror shall befall:
Their tender blooms they open free
At thy creating call.
Thy hedgerow children small;
They take no thought of what shall be,
What terror shall befall:
Their tender blooms they open free
At thy creating call.
While underneath a leaden sky,
At thy low-whisper'd word,
On leafless boughs confidingly
Trills out the happy bird,
The primrose opes a trustful eye
By some sweet instinct stirr'd.
At thy low-whisper'd word,
On leafless boughs confidingly
Trills out the happy bird,
The primrose opes a trustful eye
By some sweet instinct stirr'd.
130
The fragile flowers we love the best
Thou giv'st when frosts are keen;
'Mid ruffling winds Thou cherishest
The tender nursling green;
Thy perfect strength most manifest
In weakest things is seen.
Thou giv'st when frosts are keen;
'Mid ruffling winds Thou cherishest
The tender nursling green;
Thy perfect strength most manifest
In weakest things is seen.
Dear Lord, Thou askest us to grow
Sweet flowers of grace for Thee;
But the chill wind doth fright us so,
We fear their doom to see;
We will not let the blossoms blow
In a world so winterly.
Sweet flowers of grace for Thee;
But the chill wind doth fright us so,
We fear their doom to see;
We will not let the blossoms blow
In a world so winterly.
But if the timid flower will breast
For Thee the bitter air;
If the unshelter'd bird can rest
On barren boughs, and dare
Grow songful of the summer nest
He feels Thou wilt prepare,
For Thee the bitter air;
If the unshelter'd bird can rest
On barren boughs, and dare
Grow songful of the summer nest
He feels Thou wilt prepare,
Shall we not, Lord, that love requite
That gives our faith free room?
Shall it not be our high delight
To sing 'neath skies of gloom?
To yield to peril and to blight
The flowers thou biddest bloom?
That gives our faith free room?
131
To sing 'neath skies of gloom?
To yield to peril and to blight
The flowers thou biddest bloom?
And if no harvest fruit may be
From our poor blossoms bred,
If from the tempest-shaken tree
They fall untimely dead;
At Thy command, right gladly, we
Their white, waste leaves will shed.
From our poor blossoms bred,
If from the tempest-shaken tree
They fall untimely dead;
At Thy command, right gladly, we
Their white, waste leaves will shed.
132
THE FAR-SPENT DAY.
‘Abide with us . . . the day is far spent.’
—St. Luke xxiv. 29.
Past are the perils of the changeful day;
The glow is gone;
The storm-clouds settle into evening gray,
And slowly on
The glow is gone;
The storm-clouds settle into evening gray,
And slowly on
I journey; but in pain oft looking back,
Tearful I see
Footprints of One, whose friendship now I lack,
Grown strange to me.
Tearful I see
Footprints of One, whose friendship now I lack,
Grown strange to me.
133
Why parted we? My foe in every strife
Thou hast o'erthrown;
Yet in this quiet afternoon of life
Thou leav'st me lone.
Thou hast o'erthrown;
Yet in this quiet afternoon of life
Thou leav'st me lone.
Lord, must I tarry till the graveyard rest
With Thee to talk?
While I still labour I can listen best:
Beside me walk.
With Thee to talk?
While I still labour I can listen best:
Beside me walk.
As from those twain, whose hearts within them burn'd,
The Saviour went,
Turn'd He not round and tarried, when he learn'd
The day far spent?
The Saviour went,
Turn'd He not round and tarried, when he learn'd
The day far spent?
So tarry with me till the night be past;
And round me make
Such glory, and such sunset, as shall last
Till the daybreak.
And round me make
Such glory, and such sunset, as shall last
Till the daybreak.
134
SPIRIT-LONELINESS.
But one thing is needful.
—St. Luke x. 42.
Only to Thee I look, I do not need
That life should smile,
If beauteous on thy bending face I read
Content the while,
That life should smile,
If beauteous on thy bending face I read
Content the while,
Life may look ruggedly; but, Lord, I must
Weep all the way,
When, if thou walkest with me, still Thou dost
But little say.
Weep all the way,
When, if thou walkest with me, still Thou dost
But little say.
135
When with thy child it seems Thou hast forgot
Counsel to take;
When I have cried to Thee, and Thou wilt not
The silence break:
Counsel to take;
When I have cried to Thee, and Thou wilt not
The silence break:
When I nor faint nor fall, but onward press,
Striving to be
True through the dark and mist; but none the less
Sicken for Thee.
Striving to be
True through the dark and mist; but none the less
Sicken for Thee.
Wounded I was, and Thou didst make me whole;
But, now I look
That Thou should'st be the dayfriend of my soul,
I am forsook.
But, now I look
That Thou should'st be the dayfriend of my soul,
I am forsook.
Thou knowest in my sickness and my pain
I need Thee sore;
But when I strive the mastery to gain
O'er sin, still more.
I need Thee sore;
But when I strive the mastery to gain
O'er sin, still more.
Be not responseless! to my prayerful call
Make some reply,
Lest, worn with waiting, into sin I fall
To bring Thee nigh.
Make some reply,
Lest, worn with waiting, into sin I fall
To bring Thee nigh.
136
I know Thou canst not from thy wandering sheep
A long while stay;
Yet leav'st me lonely, when I strive to keep
The narrow way.
A long while stay;
Yet leav'st me lonely, when I strive to keep
The narrow way.
Such yearning for Thee doth my heart possess,
I have small choice
How Thou should'st speak to me—to blame, or bless;
I need Thy voice.
I have small choice
How Thou should'st speak to me—to blame, or bless;
I need Thy voice.
Come to me, and it shall be well howe'er
Thou com'st; thine own
Can bear of Thee all bitterness, but ne'er
Be left alone.
Thou com'st; thine own
Can bear of Thee all bitterness, but ne'er
Be left alone.
137
ALL SAINTS.
I pray for them . . . . for they are thine.
—St. John xvii. 9.
Lord, we do not sue thy grace
Only for our kindred race,
But for all who seek thy face,
For they are thine.
Only for our kindred race,
But for all who seek thy face,
For they are thine.
Joyfully we bend the knee
For thy saints, where'er they be,
For all souls that cry to Thee,
For they are thine.
For thy saints, where'er they be,
For all souls that cry to Thee,
For they are thine.
138
Though they count us not of kin,
Since one kingdom we would win,
Since we wage one war with sin,
Lo, we are thine!
Since one kingdom we would win,
Since we wage one war with sin,
Lo, we are thine!
Though they see not as we see,
They have vision, Lord, of Thee,
And, their works beholding, we
Proclaim them thine.
They have vision, Lord, of Thee,
And, their works beholding, we
Proclaim them thine.
With one precious ransom bought,
By one Heavenly Spirit sought,
Safe into one haven brought,
For we are thine.
By one Heavenly Spirit sought,
Safe into one haven brought,
For we are thine.
Though we speak with varying tongue,
Since we to one Lord belong,
Tuneful swells the rapture song
That we are thine.
Since we to one Lord belong,
Tuneful swells the rapture song
That we are thine.
And, most gracious Saviour, those
Still among thy Church's foes,
With thy pitying love enclose,
And make them thine!
Still among thy Church's foes,
With thy pitying love enclose,
And make them thine!
139
OUTLOOK.
‘Thou tellest their wanderings.’
Lord, we do not only pray
For our brethren far away
From the land they hold so dear,
Land whose memory brings the tear;
For our brethren far away
From the land they hold so dear,
Land whose memory brings the tear;
But for those who further rove
From a land they dearlier love,
Who with saddening footsteps flee
From their mother-home in Thee.
From a land they dearlier love,
Who with saddening footsteps flee
From their mother-home in Thee.
140
So we do not pray for those
Over whom the deep may close;
But for those who nevermore
May regain faith's restful shore.
Over whom the deep may close;
But for those who nevermore
May regain faith's restful shore.
Shall thy havening Church take thought
For the souls to harbour brought,
With no outlook toward that sea
Where perchance her shipwreck'd be?
For the souls to harbour brought,
With no outlook toward that sea
Where perchance her shipwreck'd be?
Though beyond her sight they sail,
Can her prayerful watching fail?
Cry that woke the Christ forgot,
‘Lord, they perish, car'st thou not?’
Can her prayerful watching fail?
Cry that woke the Christ forgot,
‘Lord, they perish, car'st thou not?’
If their course she may not track,
May not call the wanderers back;
Lo, the lost to her, may be
Rescued, succour'd, found by Thee.
May not call the wanderers back;
Lo, the lost to her, may be
Rescued, succour'd, found by Thee.
As we have thy promise plain,
None have ever sought in vain;
From believing hearts we say,
None in vain can miss the way.
None have ever sought in vain;
From believing hearts we say,
None in vain can miss the way.
141
GOD'S HOUSEHOLD.
No more strangers and foreigners . . . of the household of God.
Ephes. ii. 19.
The Lord God which gathereth the outcasts.
—Isaiah lvi. 8.
Of home joys to the stranger
One cannot lightly tell,
And oh, it is so blessed
At home with Christ to dwell,
To those who have not known Him
Scarce can his children show
The peace that doth possess them,
The joys that overflow!
One cannot lightly tell,
And oh, it is so blessed
At home with Christ to dwell,
To those who have not known Him
Scarce can his children show
The peace that doth possess them,
The joys that overflow!
142
Yet not the safely-housèd,
When winter snows are deep,
For pity of the outcast
More bitterly can weep,
Than they, who in the covert
Of the great Father's care,
When weeping in their pity
For those who are not there.
When winter snows are deep,
For pity of the outcast
More bitterly can weep,
Than they, who in the covert
Of the great Father's care,
When weeping in their pity
For those who are not there.
Go forth unto thy wand'rers,
Dear Master, draw them in;
We can but beckon vainly,
A word from Thee will win.
And oh, Thou know'st, if only
Beneath thy roof we meet,
We shall not need to tell them
What makes the home so sweet.
Dear Master, draw them in;
We can but beckon vainly,
A word from Thee will win.
And oh, Thou know'st, if only
Beneath thy roof we meet,
We shall not need to tell them
What makes the home so sweet.
143
LOVE'S YIELDED MEMORIES.
That the love wherewith thou hast loved me may be in them, and I in them.
—St. John xvii. 26.
Father, I come to thee,
And these are left alone:
The love with which thou lovedst me,
I yield it to mine own.
And these are left alone:
The love with which thou lovedst me,
I yield it to mine own.
I know thou lovedst me
Or e'er the world began;
But that new human love of thine
Kept for the Son of man,
Or e'er the world began;
But that new human love of thine
Kept for the Son of man,
144
Kept for the cradled head,
Kept for the wandering child,
For lonely hours at Nazareth,
For desert-temptings wild,
Kept for the wandering child,
For lonely hours at Nazareth,
For desert-temptings wild,
Love only to be learnt
In bitterness of loss,
Learnt in the thronged Jerusalem,
On the deserted Cross—
In bitterness of loss,
Learnt in the thronged Jerusalem,
On the deserted Cross—
Give it to them; for they,
My little ones, must bear
Like me, the God-forsakenness,
Like me the vanquish'd prayer.
My little ones, must bear
Like me, the God-forsakenness,
Like me the vanquish'd prayer.
I, suppliant in their need,
Through them shall never miss
The tender pity of thy love
In heaven's completed bliss;
Through them shall never miss
The tender pity of thy love
In heaven's completed bliss;
But in their strife shall be
Fresh stricken, tempted, tried;—
Love them as Thou hast lovèd me,
Let us with them abide!
Fresh stricken, tempted, tried;—
Love them as Thou hast lovèd me,
Let us with them abide!
145
CHRIST'S CONTINUED MINISTRY.
If in this life only we have hope in Christ, we are of all men most miserable.
—1 Corinthians xv. 19.
Dear Lord, and wilt thou nevermore thy service lone resign?
The fire of coals thy hands must make by which thy children dine,
And e'en within the Father's house sweet ministry is thine.
The fire of coals thy hands must make by which thy children dine,
And e'en within the Father's house sweet ministry is thine.
Thou restest not, how canst thou rest? thine own are far from Thee:
The mother's eyes must weep and watch the children on the sea;
The thought of the Good Shepherd's heart with the foldless lambs must be
The mother's eyes must weep and watch the children on the sea;
The thought of the Good Shepherd's heart with the foldless lambs must be
146
Within thy Father's house for us Thou seekest to prepare
Some earthly, homely touches, lest it show too dazzling fair
For eyes, but newly-wip'd from tears, for human eyes to bear.
Some earthly, homely touches, lest it show too dazzling fair
For eyes, but newly-wip'd from tears, for human eyes to bear.
Thou know'st our hope in Thee is not for this poor life alone,
It must lead us to the vanish'd, to the long'd for, the unknown,
The golden fruitage of the seed in blinding sorrow sown.
It must lead us to the vanish'd, to the long'd for, the unknown,
The golden fruitage of the seed in blinding sorrow sown.
We dare look on to Death's beyond unshudd'ringly for this,—
That Thou wilt teach us how to bear the unfamiliar bliss
When faces, glory-grown, stoop down our saintless lips to kiss.
That Thou wilt teach us how to bear the unfamiliar bliss
When faces, glory-grown, stoop down our saintless lips to kiss.
147
When earth's memories are about us, but on their brows instead
New records of a lonely past that we have never read;
And, looking up to them, we feel how long we have been dead.
New records of a lonely past that we have never read;
And, looking up to them, we feel how long we have been dead.
Lord, in that dearth and loneliness, that pain of all things new,
Come to us Thou whose feet have trod our whole long journey through,
Take our forgotten years, and mould our future thereunto.
Come to us Thou whose feet have trod our whole long journey through,
Take our forgotten years, and mould our future thereunto.
148
A NEW YEAR'S THANKSGIVING.
That thy long-suffering is such
Our praises we outpour;
That we have liv'd, for that is much,
And lov'd, for that is more.
Our praises we outpour;
That we have liv'd, for that is much,
And lov'd, for that is more.
That we shall die, for that is most:
Lord, for thy threefold gift,
Whose choicest part Thou last bestow'st,
Our praiseful hearts we lift!
Lord, for thy threefold gift,
Whose choicest part Thou last bestow'st,
Our praiseful hearts we lift!
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THE WEANING OF SAMUEL.
But Hannah went not up; for she said unto her husband, I will
not go up until the child be weaned, and then I will bring him, that
he appear before the Lord, and there abide for ever.
1 Samuel i. 22.
O thou my son, I prayed for thee amiss!
With senseless vow
Rending my heart from the o'ermast'ring bliss
That binds me now.
With senseless vow
Rending my heart from the o'ermast'ring bliss
That binds me now.
Why wilt thou trouble me? thou art not mine:
I gave thee ere
My right to give: thou art an holy sign,
An answer'd prayer.
I gave thee ere
My right to give: thou art an holy sign,
An answer'd prayer.
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Thou art not mine,—I may not touch thy hair,
Not take the least
Round curl of babyhood; my hands must ne'er
Profane God's priest.
Not take the least
Round curl of babyhood; my hands must ne'er
Profane God's priest.
To His dear use thou should'st ere this have been
Return'd; but He
Suffers me tarry yet awhile to wean
My heart, and thee.
Return'd; but He
Suffers me tarry yet awhile to wean
My heart, and thee.
Lo, from thy weanèd lips my unwean'd heart
With anguish slow,
With sudden snatches of remorse must part:
They must forego
With anguish slow,
With sudden snatches of remorse must part:
They must forego
Even these mother kisses,—must forget!
In temple-round
My little one may minister, not yet
Of God be found.
In temple-round
My little one may minister, not yet
Of God be found.
He is of me: no higher worship knows
Than my bow'd face.
May I not keep him till he meeter grows
For th' Holy Place?
Than my bow'd face.
May I not keep him till he meeter grows
For th' Holy Place?
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Think me not thankless. For my childless years
Some pity spare,
Thou who didst answer when my hidden tears
To thee made prayer.
Some pity spare,
Thou who didst answer when my hidden tears
To thee made prayer.
'Tis the sweet strangeness; 'tis my love's amaze
That holds me so;
'Tis from deep wells of wonder-swelling praise
These drops o'erflow.
That holds me so;
'Tis from deep wells of wonder-swelling praise
These drops o'erflow.
Might he but tarry with me till his touch
Had lost its charm;
Till to familiar pleasure the first flush
Of joy could calm!
Had lost its charm;
Till to familiar pleasure the first flush
Of joy could calm!
He wakes. I could have given him while he slept;
He needs me now.
I falter; but with faltering heart have kept,
Will keep my vow!
He needs me now.
I falter; but with faltering heart have kept,
Will keep my vow!
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I AM THE LORD, I CHANGE NOT.
Change not, change not to me, my God, I would that Thou should'st be
To furthest worlds what Thou hast been on this sad earth to me.
Though Thou hast baffled sore my life, though thy swift scourging rod
Hath left me spirit scarr'd, I cry—Change not to me, my God!
To furthest worlds what Thou hast been on this sad earth to me.
Though Thou hast baffled sore my life, though thy swift scourging rod
Hath left me spirit scarr'd, I cry—Change not to me, my God!
Change not to me for any change that o'er my soul may come,
When lips that dearly love thy praise in bitterness are dumb;
Yea, when I love not at all, when from thy face I flee,
Let thy compelling love pursue, my God, change not to me!
When lips that dearly love thy praise in bitterness are dumb;
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Let thy compelling love pursue, my God, change not to me!
When Death hath wrought his awful change, and left me spirit bare,
Thou who didst hide me 'neath thy wings, thy mantling love prepare;
I am no other than I was when most Thou didst befriend,
I trust Thee, Lord, for what Thou wert, be changeless to the end.
Thou who didst hide me 'neath thy wings, thy mantling love prepare;
I am no other than I was when most Thou didst befriend,
I trust Thee, Lord, for what Thou wert, be changeless to the end.
I do not ask with sudden step thy purest heaven to win,
Be still, Most Merciful, all love-relentless to my sin;
Yea, Lord, make wholly beautiful what Thou hast lov'd so well,
Burn out in me whate'er defiles, burn out in fire of hell.
Be still, Most Merciful, all love-relentless to my sin;
Yea, Lord, make wholly beautiful what Thou hast lov'd so well,
Burn out in me whate'er defiles, burn out in fire of hell.
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Let me but know thy voice, its word I will in all obey,
In outer darkness still most sure that Thou wilt find a way
To bring thy banish'd to Thyself, as Thou didst bring of old,
When thy sin-wearied child but thought on the forsaken fold.
In outer darkness still most sure that Thou wilt find a way
To bring thy banish'd to Thyself, as Thou didst bring of old,
When thy sin-wearied child but thought on the forsaken fold.
Change not to me in those far-worlds, where all is strange and new;
Where can my stranger spirit rest, if thou art changèd too?
As turns the child from alien crowd to the one kindred face
To find that mother eyes make home in unfamiliar place,
Where can my stranger spirit rest, if thou art changèd too?
As turns the child from alien crowd to the one kindred face
To find that mother eyes make home in unfamiliar place,
So trembling must I turn to Thee, the God whom I have known,
The God who in this lonely world hath never left me lone.
Do with me, Lord, whate'er Thou wilt, so only Thou wilt be
For ever, and for evermore, what Thou hast been to me.
The God who in this lonely world hath never left me lone.
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For ever, and for evermore, what Thou hast been to me.
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THE INNER REVELATION.
Hereby know we that we dwell in Him and He in us, because He hath given us of His Spirit.
—1 John iv. 13.
For this commandment which I command thee this day, it is
not hidden from thee, neither is it far off. . . . But the word is very
nigh unto thee, in thy mouth and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.
—Deuteronomy xxx. 11–14.
How shall I free my soul from doubt?
How with clear eye discern
The God I cannot live without,
Yet tremble to mislearn?
How with clear eye discern
The God I cannot live without,
Yet tremble to mislearn?
Deep in my inmost heart I look,
The Written Word I see;
And I must blot the Holy Book,
Or mar my thought of Thee.
The Written Word I see;
And I must blot the Holy Book,
Or mar my thought of Thee.
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But though I sadly should forego
All that therein is said;
Far sweeter truths mine heart doth know
Than e'er mine eyes have read.
All that therein is said;
Far sweeter truths mine heart doth know
Than e'er mine eyes have read.
My God I should not therefore lose,
Deep-learnèd from within,
My trembling heart the heavenly news
By hearsay did not win.
Deep-learnèd from within,
My trembling heart the heavenly news
By hearsay did not win.
Thou dwellest not in temple wall
Of written human speech;
Thou art a living Breath to all,
A Love new-wrought for each.
Of written human speech;
Thou art a living Breath to all,
A Love new-wrought for each.
Fresh vision to fresh op'ning sight
Thou ever dost unfold;
The sunset dyed for us to-night
No other eyes behold.
Thou ever dost unfold;
The sunset dyed for us to-night
No other eyes behold.
Sweet commune hadst Thou with thine own
In happy early days;
Thy children walked by faith alone,
They asked not of thy ways.
In happy early days;
Thy children walked by faith alone,
They asked not of thy ways.
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True is the trust of childish eyes;
But, when the child doth grow,
Love's passion in diviner wise
Deep-probing youth doth know.
But, when the child doth grow,
Love's passion in diviner wise
Deep-probing youth doth know.
We doubt, we question, we desire;
Lord, do we love Thee less?
We would have brain and heart conspire
Full worship to express.
Lord, do we love Thee less?
We would have brain and heart conspire
Full worship to express.
But while in fading record sought,
Thou wilt be ever dumb:
We crave the life-bloom of thy thought,
Thou God who art to come!
Thou wilt be ever dumb:
We crave the life-bloom of thy thought,
Thou God who art to come!
We ask to learn Thee, Lord, so well,
By glad communion free,
That our love-lighted souls may tell
Each word false-writ of Thee.
By glad communion free,
That our love-lighted souls may tell
Each word false-writ of Thee.
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THE DIVINE DAYBREAK.
From Thee the budding flowers, the breaking skies,
Man's opening eyelids, and morn's golden gray;
Lord, on thine eye doth no new vision rise?
What Thou beholdest hast Thou seen alway?
Man's opening eyelids, and morn's golden gray;
Lord, on thine eye doth no new vision rise?
What Thou beholdest hast Thou seen alway?
Hath all thy will been taught to us of old?
Dost Thou but read to us a written book?
Or to thy chosen children slow unfold
A day on which thine own eyes freshly look?
Dost Thou but read to us a written book?
Or to thy chosen children slow unfold
A day on which thine own eyes freshly look?
May not the growing light, the widening view,
The sweet blue folded distances be thine?
Far hopes, ideals fresh, great purpose new,
In lustre break upon the thought divine?
The sweet blue folded distances be thine?
Far hopes, ideals fresh, great purpose new,
In lustre break upon the thought divine?
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May not thy love to usward, perfect aye,
Itself refashion as the ages roll;
And Thou, enlarging thy heart's boundaries, lay
Still closer claim to the upsoaring soul?
Itself refashion as the ages roll;
And Thou, enlarging thy heart's boundaries, lay
Still closer claim to the upsoaring soul?
As grows the child, doth not the mother dare
Still higher futures for her darling see?
So would we dream Thou dost for us prepare
Grander Hereafters as we climb to Thee.
Still higher futures for her darling see?
So would we dream Thou dost for us prepare
Grander Hereafters as we climb to Thee.
Lord, hast Thou like to us the kindling heart,
The broad'ning aim? Art Thou indeed so nigh,
Our spirit-gleams give back in feeble part
Some outburst of a glorious light on high?
The broad'ning aim? Art Thou indeed so nigh,
Our spirit-gleams give back in feeble part
Some outburst of a glorious light on high?
Doth our poor sunlight in its golden rise
Thine eye's diviner daybreak dimly show?
Lo, we are watchers of thy morning skies,
To love Thee dearer as our light doth grow
Thine eye's diviner daybreak dimly show?
Lo, we are watchers of thy morning skies,
To love Thee dearer as our light doth grow
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THE LEAST IN THE KINGDOM OF HEAVEN.
The lily who can choose but greet?
The cowslip-scent is ever sweet,
But dearer joy to me
It is in their old haunts to find
Those wayside flowers of humbler kind
That few would care to see.
The cowslip-scent is ever sweet,
But dearer joy to me
It is in their old haunts to find
Those wayside flowers of humbler kind
That few would care to see.
'Tis hard to sing of them in verse,
The Basil Thyme, the Shepherd's Purse,
The Poor Man's Weatherglass;
Yet the rough-christen'd names they bear
(Untutor'd fancy's rude compare)
Give pleasure as I pass.
The Basil Thyme, the Shepherd's Purse,
The Poor Man's Weatherglass;
Yet the rough-christen'd names they bear
(Untutor'd fancy's rude compare)
Give pleasure as I pass.
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And oh, meseemeth every year
More marvellous it doth appear
How they their place maintain.
They break not into gloried hues,
When the soft heaven beseeching woos;
They chalice not the rain;
More marvellous it doth appear
How they their place maintain.
They break not into gloried hues,
When the soft heaven beseeching woos;
They chalice not the rain;
They have scant beauty to desire,
Yet the great God doth never tire
Of these poor wayside weeds.
A little waft of homely scent,
Breathing to Him their deep content,
Is all the praise He needs.
Yet the great God doth never tire
Of these poor wayside weeds.
A little waft of homely scent,
Breathing to Him their deep content,
Is all the praise He needs.
And if He wearieth not of these,
If such dim-flowering things can please,
The hope our spirit cheers
That our poor lives, obscure and dim,
May quietly bloom on to Him
Through the eternal years.
If such dim-flowering things can please,
The hope our spirit cheers
That our poor lives, obscure and dim,
May quietly bloom on to Him
Through the eternal years.
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TROMPETENRUF.
We shall all be changed, in a moment, in the twinkling of an eye at the last trump.
—1 Cor. xv. 51, 52.
When I awake I am still with thee.
—Psalm cxxxix. 18.
All awake, and fair summoned, at one trumpet-call,
All startled, all deafened, the great and the small.
What all? From the babe who but catches a gleam
Of the finis-doom'd sunlight's funereal beam
To the long-lost obliterate dead? We are men:
But God—will He know all his creatures again?
Those tribes, locust-black'ning the earth as they pass,
Of whom one can only take knowledge in mass;
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Who ate and who drank, and bequeathed useful bone,—
Ah, how will they neighbour? What wise will God blend
The first sketches of man with his consummate end?
The grand, child-soul'd warrior chief, passion'd for fame,
With the minds many-sided, too cultur'd for aim?
Those fable-begetting and wonderful-eyed
Early races of men in the earth's golden tide,
What marvels await them amid their compeers!
How their dreams are outleapt by the swift-running years!
The nature they timidly worshipp'd and wooed,
Behold by their fellows to service subdued!
Love-happy, obedient to man's master will,
She smiles at her iron-brain'd conqueror's skill.
And the women? Fair Eve with her serpent-sham'd grace
To her far-after daughter of long homag'd race;
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To its perfected self, woman-bosom'd, man-souled?
These uttermost sever'd ones, how will they meet;
When God makes the list on His bead-roll complete?
Day by day, touch on touch, His creation arose;
Does His fair-order'd work find harmonious close
In this seizing of souls from warm bodies in breath
To judge side by side with the firstfruits of death?
But, confusion apart, it is odd God should keep
The dead of His love in long-centuried sleep:
No deep inner life-stir is granted to these;
They are not as live, winter-burgeoning trees;
But, stripp'd of the body, the soul is put by,—
All things come in useful,—meanwhile let it lie;
When the course of the spirit-quick ages is past,
The trumpet will shake it to hearing at last.
So, if it all chances as wiseacres tell,
At death we bid life and its Giver farewell,
To go to some lumber-room He will provide,
Till the house, many-mansion'd, give place at His side.
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Doth God keep grim holiday myriad years?
Turn'd adrift from life's schoolhouse, His scholars remain
In the chill of the grave-mould and thick-driving rain!
And why should we dream He will care to renew
Old friendships long-broken, long kept out of view,
On the grand day of meet? Oh, too bitter for scorn
Is the yoke man hath made of His Maker and borne!
To think of this earth, full of mothers, and those
The grand mother-hearted to all human woes,
What a glorious ideal is fashioning there,
'Mid the meanness and sinning that make men despair!
There the father toils long for the children slow-taught,
There the sick are meek-tended, the dead kept in thought,
And each weak helpless thing hath its shield-scale of love,
Callow fledgling to warm-feathered wing; while above,
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Of a deep-lying love that is hid from our eyes:
The mother hath master'd, the death-watcher known,
In part, the great yearning God hath for His own,—
His own by the birthclaim. Who giveth the breath
Must give the life-blessing. Who giveth the death
Must give its befitting completion, not lay
His half-finish'd beauteous creature away.
The night-falling shadows foretell the daybreak;
Who hush'd to the slumber will soon kiss awake.—
His herald a trumpet-blast startling and grim?
Not to war, to deep peace we are going, to Him
Who His earth-sleeping children so tenderly stirr'd
With the touch of the sunbeam, the voice of the bird.
Ah, would He but deal with us as He hath done,
But be to us what He hath been, we should shun
No longer the death-beck'ning hand; but 'tis said
He will change from that past when we chance to be dead;
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The likeness to Providence scarcely be found.
If Death did not change Him, what could make us afraid
To come face to face with the God we had pray'd?
Did the veil of the flesh so safe hide us? lo, He
To the heart's inmost places could utterly see,
Yet to Him in our troubles and sinfalls we came,
And knew we should find Him for ever the same;
Still stedfast our oft-wavering spirits to win,
Resistlessly earnest to root out our sin;
And ruthless in leaving the sting-thrust, or thorn,
By the pain-shrinking flesh to be patiently borne.
A grief-unremitting, prayer-vanquishing Friend,
Who would bid us endure in our tears to the end,
Fresh strength His sole succour; but tenderly still
Would suffer beside us, and win to His will.
And now—Who hath lov'd us, Who called us His own,
We shall see 'mid the chill heaven-breadths on a throne!
O to wake from the presence-room terror, and find
Thee, the piteous God of the life left behind:
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For the mute lips that marvelled the mother made prayer,
Till we caught up the meaning of love, and grew bold
All our even then shroud-loving souls to unfold:
The God of our heartgriefs, to Whom we have brought
All peril of passion, all anguish of thought;—
The fast-growing love that thick-shadow'd must stay
(A glance from the world's Pharaoh-hearted would slay),
Though it starve in the shade of its sheltering reeds;
And Thou hast provided! or those deeper needs,
That still sorer trouble, the guilt-growing dread
Lest thy love be not all thy too-trusting have said:
Soon as found, each hard thought, treason-tinctur'd, of Thee
We have given Thee back, loyal-hearted, to see,
And Thou hast been gracious, unanger'd by doubt
Of a love we so sorely should sicken without,
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Should the friendship be broke when Thou biddest us die?
For Thee we have borne many deaths, and can bear;
Scourge, chasten, afflict us, but have us in care!
We ask not a ‘fainéant’ heaven to gain;
Young-limbed in endeavour, unshrinking from pain,
We look for fresh life-fields, fresh labours to share
With the dear earth-loved comrades, new-harvesting there.
O to work with our dearest once more by our side!
Can we spare it to leisure, that rich morning-tide
Of the day-bloom eternal? Nay, rather one kiss,
One deep folding of love, and we fall to the bliss
Of living, and loving, and serving, and feel
Through the broad-nation'd band the sweet unity steal
That centred our tiny home-circle, and joy
In our fresh-furnished youth, and its higher employ.
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To Thee, the much-work-setting Master, must rise!
Lord, take the tools back, ere we learn the least part,
Unto patternless truth, of life's consummate art!
Each beginning is hard, this too irksome, and so
All the full artist-triumph and calm we forego,
And ask for inertness! More nobly for aim
Deep-rooted in purpose (the child found to blame
In the fret of his feverish haste), and for power
To work through slow years toward the perfected hour.
What, sicken for soul-ease? We seek to go higher,
Fulfilment to win for a larger desire.
New heavens, new earth, Thou wilt ope to our view,
Thou Thyself to our short-travelled eyes wilt be new!
We press earnest-hearted and eager to Thee,
Still eastward-eyed gazing toward what Thou wilt be,
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Is the story the same when we turn o'er the page?
What futures await us? World-clusters in store
For thy star-seeking children Thou hoardest; all lore
Thou countest a pound-gaining servant, dost lay
With unsparing hand treasure-trove in the way
Of those who believe for the works' sake: we well
Can conceive how thy universe-students will dwell
(No light to their questioning vision denied),
Thee, its myst'ry-unravelling Master beside.
What daybreak of bliss on their faces! Not less
Thy faith-hardy, desert-soul-venturers bless,
Who have learnt Thee the heart fashion, friend unto friend;
Can life master such theme from beginning to end?
Or shall we not be thy most backward of all,
We, who spell out thy love, though the letters be small,
And Thou writest in characters painfully fine:
The big text on the wall was more clearly divine;
But we are beyond those first copies, and now
Do not learn by large letters, but study the how
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Can learn what it hath, what men say it hath writ.
And shall we not have our reward? What, not find
New fields for deep search in the infinite mind?
Give rest to thy weary and pain-stricken; we
Of the soul's ‘Wanderlust’ ask far travel of Thee.
We ask Thee to be to us New World and Old;
The story to tell, and the story long told.
Nor need we that any should come to us, spies
From the outlying life that is hid from our eyes.
All hearsay were false; of such infinite news
The earth-dwindled, spirit-clipt from would confuse.
Toward Thee in the darkness undaunted we turn,
Soul to soul, one by one, its great wonder to learn.
Supreme in the goal-touch, Columbus in tread,
Each footprint fresh claims the new world of the dead.
No chart for Death's thick-travers'd ocean is found,
Bound for Thee, yet unknowing for what we are bound,
All blank in horizon, unpiloted, lone,
We seek a far country to spirit-dreams shown,
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Each night a like faith-asking voyage, and wake,
The sunbeams about us, till, trusting Thee quite,
Our eyes close in flush of the soft morning light.
So, when the Great Dark'ning draws on, let it be,
So, Lord, let us sleep, let us waken in Thee!
But lest on our heaven-weak vision at first
The sun-blooming air should too dazzlingly burst,
And the pure light perplex us, O turn to us then
The face Thou hast turn'd to the children of men!
Let thy dear earth-remembering pity recall
The joy and the pain Thou hast been to us,—all
Of the life that is lying between us, and lo,
With Thee to what future Thou wilt we can go.
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