The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith :: :: University of Virginia Library

Why should I always pray,
Although I always lack?
Were't not a better way
Some praise to render back?
The earth that drinks the plenteous rain
Returns the grateful cloud again.

We should not get the less
That we remembered more
The truth and righteousness
Thou keep'st for us in store:
In heaven they do not pray—they sing,
And they have wealth of every thing.

And it would be more meet
To compass Thee with song
Than to have at Thy feet
Only a begging throng
Who take Thy gifts, and then forget
Alike Thy goodness, and their debt.

So give me joyous Psalms,
And Hymns of grateful praise:
Instead of seeking alms,
A song to Thee I'll raise:
Yet still I must a beggar be,
When lauding Thy great charity.

But where shall I begin?
With health and daily bread?
Or cleansing of my sin?
Or light around me shed?
Till I would praise, I did not see
How rich Thy gifts have been to me.

[One thing I of the Lord desire—]

“Blessed are the pure in heart: for they shall see God.”—Matt. v. 8.

One thing I of the Lord desire—
For all my way hath miry been—
Be it by water or by fire,
Oh, make me clean.

Erewhile I strove for perfect truth,
And thought it was a worthy strife;
But now I leave that aim of youth
For perfect life.

If clearer vision Thou impart,
Grateful and glad my soul shall be;
But yet to have a purer heart
Is more to me.

Yea, only as the heart is clean
May larger vision yet be mine,
For mirrored in its depths are seen
The things divine.

I watch to shun the miry way,
And stanch the spring of guilty thought;
But, watch and wrestle as I may,
Pure I am not.

479

So wash Thou me without, within;
Or purge with fire, if that must be;
No matter how, if only sin
Die out in me.

[Lilies take no care]

“Consider the lilies of the field, how they grow; they toil not, neither do they spin: and yet I say unto you, That even Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”—Matt. vi. 28, 29.

Lilies take no care
How they are to grow,
How the earth and air
Cause their flowers to blow;
Yet their beauty rare
Makes a goodly show:
Solomon in glory bright
Was not half so fair a sight.

May I therefore lie
Here, and take mine ease,
Trusting so to vie
In growth and grace with these,
And the Master's eye
With holy beauty please?
Have I only just to be
What the earth will make of me?

Lilies have no sin
Leading them astray,
No false heart within
That would them bewray,
Nought to tempt them in
Any evil way;
And if canker come and blight,
Nought will ever put them right.

But good and ill, I know,
Are in my being blent;
And good or ill may flow
From mine environment;
And yet the ill, laid low,
May better the event:
Careless lilies, happy ye!
But careless life were death to me.

I must watch and pray,
I must work and war,
I must shun the way
Where temptations are,
And mend, while yet I may,
What sin is fain to mar:
If the lamp I do not trim
Soon it will be fouled and dim.

Yet I will not mope,
Yet I will not fear,
But be filled with hope,
And be of good cheer,
Ready still to cope
With the danger near:
Care, that broods with drooping wing,
Only broods of care will bring.

[Once they sought the Cross of shame]

“Is not this the carpenter?”—Mark vi. 3.

Once they sought the Cross of shame
Where He bore the sinner's blame,
And they battled for the sepulchre
Made holy by His name;
But oh to chance upon
Some work that He had done,
The carpenter of Nazareth,
The Father's only Son!

Were it table, trunk, or stool
Fashioned by His hand and tool,
The carpenter of Nazareth
Who Heaven and earth doth rule,
'Twere something just to view
Handiwork He deigned to do;
'Twould shed on all our daily tasks
A glory ever new.

For His by axe and saw
Would be all without a flaw,
Like His patience upon Calvary
To magnify the law;
And the humblest work ye do,
Let it faithful be and true,
And be not ye ashamed of it,
And it will honour you.

480

Let the Captain of the Host
His deeds of prowess boast,
And Priest and Prophet claim that they
Should be esteemed the most:
But He took the burden great
Of the worker's toil and sweat,
And the carpenter of Nazareth
Did labour consecrate.

Very dear the Cross of shame
Where He took the sinner's blame,
And the tomb wherein the Saviour lay,
Until the third day came;
Yet He bore the self-same load,
And He went the same high road,
When the carpenter of Nazareth
Made common things for God.

[It is the fashion now for wits to be]

“The fool hath said in his heart, There is no God.”—Ps. xiv. I.

It is the fashion now for wits to be
Without a God,
Except some Force behind the things we see,
Like heat or light or electricity;
And one is odd,
Among these Oracles, who still believes
In any God that thinks or loves or grieves.

But there's a spirit, deep in the heart's core,
Of reverence,
Which somehow will not bow down to adore
The mightiest force in Nature; what is more,
I have a sense
Of being something greater far than those
Blind makers of the world which science knows.

Worship I must, but may not worship aught
Which I can bind
And yoke to do me service, having caught
The secret of its power, with wonder fraught,
But without mind;
And while I comprehend it, I must be
Higher than that which comprehends not me.

You do not need to worship? May be so;
I judge you not;
Only, they say, the dog that does not know
A master, like a savage wolf will grow,
Hating his lot,
And is a sorry brute, until he find
A mightier will than his, and nobler mind.

And this would be the hapless lot of men
With out God's fear;
Their home would soon be as the wild beast's den,
All the fierce self resuming sway again;
And we should hear
But cries of wrath or hunger from the crowd,
Or pæans of self-worship vain and loud.

Save us from that self-worship! Poor, indeed,
Is he who knows
Nothing more worthy than himself to lead
His heart to purer thought and nobler deed
Than ever rose
From his self-contemplation, and to rouse
The soul to prayers and hymns and holy vows.

481

[Hark! hark! the joyous lark]

“The joy of the Lord is your strength.” —Neh. viii. 10.

Hark! hark! the joyous lark
Greets the dewy dawn of May;
Hardly has he time to mark
The quivering eyelid of the day,
Ere he springs, with fluttering wings,
In the rapture of the sight;
Ever soaring as he sings,
Till he lose himself in light.

Heart, heart, how slow thou art
With thy morning hymn of praise!
Does the love no joy impart
Which has lit up all thy days?
Why so sad, amid the glad
Sunshine, which is God's and thine?
Oh, the bliss that may be had,
Lost in thoughts of love divine!

Why, oh why, sit still and sigh,
Moping o'er thy former sin,
With the gates of glory nigh
Free for thee to enter in?
Oh rejoice with heart and voice,
Like the bird upon the wing;
They who in the Lord rejoice
Songs of Heaven to earth shall bring.

[He led me out and in]

“He shall go in and out, and find pasture.”—John x. 9.

He led me out and in,
And pasture still I found,
For where He led me
There He fed me,
Although it might seem barren ground.

He led me out and in,
Yet in the frost and cold,
With Him beside me
To cheer and guide me,
My peace was great as in the Fold.

He led me out and in,
From many a hallowed spot
To buying, selling,
Planting, felling,
And yet my spirit fainted not.

He led me out and in,
And if to-day was glad,
While to-morrow
Brought its sorrow,
Yet they both a blessing had.

So lead me out and in:
Thy guidance, Lord, is best;
If Thou chasten
'Tis to hasten
My footsteps to the promised rest.

And in the fold or out,
It shall be well with me
Or in sadness,
Or in gladness,
If only I am still with Thee.

[Oh to be like my Lord! Yet must I be]

“There are diversities of gifts, but the same Spirit.”— 1 Cor. xii. 4.

Oh to be like my Lord! Yet must I be
Mine own self too,
And to the nature He bestowed on me
Be frankly true.

The olive fruits not as the clustering vine;
Nor may we get
Scent of the rose or lily from woodbine,
Or violet.

The harp may not give forth the trumpet's note;
Nor shalt thou bring
From pipe or tabor tones that softly float
From the harp-string.

482

False to myself, I were not true to Him;
Nor should I be
More angel, having wings of cherubim
Attached to me.

All creatures have their natural gift and form
In God's great plan,
And nought will give the grasshopper or worm
Stamp of a man.

Even as He made me, so I must be still;
Changed, yet the same,
Holy in heart, and dutiful in will,
And high in aim;

Yet true unto the man that once in me
Was prone to err;
For Faith works not a dull monotony
Of character.

Earth hath not more variety than Heaven,
Though every one
To whom the grace of glory shall be given
Be like its sun.

They differ in their glory, star from star,
And in their might,
Yet all their varying robes of splendour are
His borrowed light.

[Be still, and know He doeth all things well]

“Commune with your own heart upon Your bed, and be still.”—Ps. iv. 4.

Be still, and know He doeth all things well,
Working the purpose of His holy will,
And if His high designs He do not tell,
Till He accomplish them, do thou be still.

Why should'st thou strive and fret and fear and doubt,
As if His way, being dark, must bode thee ill?
If thine own way be clearly pointed out,
Leave Him to clear up His, and be thou still.

Was ever yet thy trust in Him misplaced?
And hoping in Him, did He not fulfil
The word on which He causèd thee to rest,
Though not as thou had'st thought, perchance? Be still.

What if the road be rough which might be smooth?
Is not the rough road best for thee, until
Thou learn, by patient walking in the truth,
To trust and hope in God, and to be still?

A little faith is more than clearest views;
Would'st thou have ocean like a babbling rill?
God without mystery were not good news;
Wrestle not with the shadows, but be still.

Be still, and know that He is God indeed
Who reigns in glory on His holy hill,
Yet once upon the Cross did hang and bleed,
And heard the people raging—and was still.

[Abba, Father! O to think that I]

“Because ye are sons, God has sent forth the Spirit of His Son into your hearts, crying, Abba, Father.”—Gal. iv. 6.

Abba, Father! O to think that I,
Not in my pride of mind and vanity,
But by Thy Spirit unto Thee may cry,
Abba, Father!

483

Too well I know, Lord, that I am not meet
To get a child's place even beside Thy feet,
Yet dost Thou hold me close to Thy heart's beat,
Abba, Father!

Oh help me, while I am a pilgrim here,
Childlike to walk in meekness, love, and fear,
For this too is Thy house, and Thou art near,
Abba, Father!

'Tis not in me to guide my ways aright,
'Tis not in me to quell the Tempter's might,
But Thou wilt me uphold, and give me light,
Abba, Father!

Thou hast redeemed me; living, I am Thine;
And dying, also, Thou art ever mine;
Nothing shall part me from the love divine,
Abba, Father.

Made one with Jesus, who is one with Thee
The love that rests on Him o'erflows on me,
And O the wonder and the mystery!
Abba, Father.

[O barren fruitless years]

“Redeeming the time, because the days are evil.”—Eph. v. 16.

O barren fruitless years,
Lean wastes of desert sand—
Could I but water you with tears,
And make you fruitful land!

Oh years that once did reap
A crop of sinful deeds—
Would I might pile them in a heap,
And burn those noxious weeds!

Oh years of grief and pain
That brought me dull despair—
Might I your wine-press tread again,
And find the blessing there!

Oh mingled thread of days,
What have I made of you?
What garment have I wrought of praise
What robe of honour due?

Have ye no help in store,
For healing of the mind?
Or will it mend the road before
To grieve for that behind?

Though I must bear the blame
Of time misspent and ill,
Let me not clothe myself with shame
By what remaineth still.

[Oft, Lord, I weary in Thy work]

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”—Matt. xxvi. 41.

Oft, Lord, I weary in Thy work,
But of Thy work I do not tire,
Although I toil from dawn till dark,
From matins of the early lark,
Until his even-song expire.

Ah! who that tends the altar fire,
Or ministers the incense due,
Or sings Thy praises in the choir,
Or publishes good news, could tire
Of that he loves so well to do?

Sweet is the recompense it brings—
The work that with good-will is done;
For all the heart with gladness sings,
And all the fleeting hours have wings,
And all the day is full of sun.

484

And if he labour not in vain,
If souls are by his message stirred,
If he can comfort grief and pain,
Or bring repentant tears like rain
By force of his entreating word,

The hand may weary at its task,
And weary he may drag his feet,
The weary frame may long to bask
In needful rest; but do not ask
The heart to weary of its beat.

[Lo! this our marching order still]

“Speak unto the children of Israel, that they go forward.”—Ex. xiv. 15.

Lo! this our marching order still,
As on that day of God's great power,
Forward! it is the Master's will,
The Saviour's hour.

Go forward, trusting in the Lord,
New trials will bring mercies new,
For certain, He that gives the word
Will go with you.

Behind, the foe is hastening on,
Eager his purpose to fulfil,
And Forward safety lies, but none
In standing still.

Across your path a stormy sea
Is breaking on a waste of sand;
But God's ways on the waters be
As on the land.

And thirst and hunger soon shall make
Your heart, in deserts parched, to sink;
Yet there ye from His hand shall take
Both food and drink.

Forward! He will be with you there
Wherever He would have you go,
And to your fear and your despair
A path will show.

O look not back, nor hunger for
The coarse abundance of the Nile;
Think rather of the yoke ye bore
A cruel while.

There is no freedom and no peace
Except in making progress true,
And every new stage will increase
His grace to you.

Forward! to learn the higher truth
Through harder tasks of duty done,
What though the way be rough or smooth
If Life be won?

[The Master comes, and calls for thee]

“The Master is here, and calleth for thee.”—John xi. 28.

The Master comes, and calls for thee:
Let Him not wait outside the gate,
Knocking to get an entrance free,
For that were but scant courtesy.

It is thyself He fain would meet,
Not raiment fair, nor braided hair,
Nor dainty hands, nor sandalled feet,
Nor features framed His eyes to meet.

Just as thou art, go straight to Him
In sorrow's dress of carelessness,
It will not matter what thy trim,
Or that thine eyes with tears are dim.

Haste to Him, with thy grieving heart
And vexèd mind, in Him to find
Help for the bruised and wounded part—
The mercy of His healing art.

Thou needest Him, He calls for thee,
For when thy need is worst, indeed,
He comes in watchful care to be
The help of thine extremity.

485

Oh would'st thou strength and comfort get
Make no delay, but go thy way,
Pour out thine heart to Him, and let
His love be poured out into it.

[There where the hosts of darkness lie]

“Fight the good fight of faith.”— 1 Tim. vi. 12.

There where the hosts of darkness lie,
And the brave battle rages high,
Give me my post to live or die
With fearless heart:
Thou, Lord, alone may'st plan the fight,
Alone array the battle right,
Mine but to do with all my might
My little part.

It may be just to watch and wait,
Like sentinel to keep the gate,
And so outwit the cunning sleight
Of crafty foe;
Or it may be, 'mid dust and smoke,
To ply the sword with thrust and stroke
Until the bands of sin are broke,
Or lying low.

Perchance 'twill be a humbler post,
Only to serve Thy chosen host
Who fight the battle, never lost,
In strength divine;
And sword or spear I may not wield,
But travel o'er the stricken field,
And comfort to the wounded yield
Who thirst or pine.

Not mine to choose my work or fate,
Whether to die with hope elate,
Or live the triumph to relate
In after years.
Enough to battle in Thy name,
For truth and right, but not for fame,
And ne'er Thy holy cause ashame
By coward fears.

And if it be my lot to fall
Unnoticed and unknown of all,
Named only in the great roll-call,
So let it be:
Give me my weapon and my task—
Tumbrel, or sword, or waterflask,
To know my post is all I ask,
And to serve Thee.

[Light the lamp that burneth cheery]

“Ye are the light of the world.”— Matt. v. 14.

Light the lamp that burneth cheery
When the nights are dark and long
And the storm without is eerie
And the household gathers near ye
For work and the tale and song:
In the world are sin and sadness,
Bringing misery and madness;
Light your home with Christian gladness.

Light the lamps through all the city,
Twinkling in the crowded street,
Where the foolish and the witty,
And the wretched seeking pity,
And rogues and righteous meet;
Keep your lights there clearly shining,
Truth and right and love combining,
All the common highways lining.

Light the lamp, oh, keep it blazing,
Where the storm is raging high,
And the shipwrecked soul is gazing
To the clouds that are erasing
All the star-guides in the sky;
Through the tempest and the terror,
And the darkness and the horror,
Flash the glory from thy mirror.

Where our lights thus shining rightly
In the home and in the street

486

Through the gloom that cometh nightly,
And our beacons gleaming brightly
Where perilous breakers beat,
Little then should men be needing
All our arguing and pleading,
With that life-light God ward leading.

[Looking unto Jesus]

“Looking unto Jesus, the author and finisher of our faith.”—Heb. xii. 2.

Looking unto Jesus,
Healing I shall find
For the broken spirit,
And the bruisèd mind—
Yet I gaze on daily,
Till my eyes grow dim,
Looking unto any
Rather than to Him!

Looking unto Jesus,
I shall learn the road
That the soul must travel,
Going home to God—
Yet I lag and linger,
Till I scarce can see
My guide and sweet companion
Beckoning to me!

Looking unto Jesus,
I behold the heights
Gleaming in the glory
Of Love's undying lights—
Yet my heart unmovèd
Cares not to aspire,
Nor for all their splendour
Would be any higher!

What is it that ails me?
Why am I so dead
That looking unto Jesus
Lifts not up my head?
And my heart so wanders,
Caring not to see
Him, its fount of gladness?—
Jesus, look on me.

[Ah! you bring money in your hand]

“Wherefore is there a price in the hand of a fool to get wisdom, seeing he hath no heart to it?”—Prov. xvii. 16.

Ah! you bring money in your hand,
Fain to buy wisdom? You are clear
There's nothing gold will not command;
It answereth to all things here;
And you wish wisdom, as is fit,
And will not grudge the cost of it.

For you are rich, and you have store
Of guineas, dollars, and rupees,
And bonds and shares, that yield you more
Than you can squander well with ease.—
God help you, man! You could not buy
An ounce of wisdom with them. Try.

Lo! here are books where men have found
Of wisdom many a precious gem;
And you may have them, gilt and bound,
But not the wisdom wrapt in them.
Yet buy them, fool: so men have got
Credit for wisdom they had not.

And likely that is all you want—
The credit, not the thing itself.
Then hold your peace, and do not vaunt,
And you may purchase with your pelf,
If you have wit your tongue to rule,
A name for wisdom, though a fool.

There! go your way, and with your gold,
Buy food and raiment, house and land;
The best things are not bought and sold,
There is no price that will command
Wisdom, or peace, or love, or health;
And you are poor with all your wealth.

487

[Learn, O my soul, to use]

“All things work together for good to them that love God.”—Rom. viii. 28.

Learn, O my soul, to use
Experience thou hast got,
Nor any thread to lose
God wove into thy lot,
Nor yet to pick and choose
What pleaseth thee or not.

He leads thee by His way,
That thou may'st truly learn;
Gives thee thy work each day,
Thy daily wage to earn;
It is not idle play,
But matter of concern.

The error of thy thought
Had yet some truth to teach;
The sorrow of thy lot
Some wisdom had to preach;
They could not else be brought
So well within thy reach.

There's light wrapt in the cloud,
And heat in frosts and snows,
A voice that speaketh loud
Where silence awful grows,
And life that doth enshroud
Itself in death's repose.

No lesson, then, refuse,
Which love to thee hath given;
If here it find no use
Thou'lt find it yet in heaven;
God's teaching does not lose,
Hid in the heart like leaven.

[One writ a plea for Faith, and put]

“Of making many books there is no end.”—Eccles. xii. 12.

One writ a plea for Faith, and put
His thoughts into a printed book;
I read it that I might confute
My doubts, and all my faith it shook.

Another and another still
I tried, and all the more I read
The less I could believe, until
A mist of darkness wrapt my head.

They dried up all my Jacob's wells;
They broke the faithful shepherd's rod;
They blurred the gracious miracles
Which are the signature of God.

And hour by hour, and day by day
My heart grew colder than before,
And for one doubt they took away
They left suggestion of a score.

In trouble, then, and fear I sought
The Man who taught in Galilee,
And peace unto my soul was brought,
And all my faith came back to me.

Oh times of weak and wavering faith
That labour pleas in His defence,
Ye only dim Him with your breath:
He is His own best evidence.

[Sometimes my heart with hope is filled]

“It is good that a man should both hope and quietly wait for the salvation of the Lord.”—Lam. iii. 26.

Sometimes my heart with hope is filled
Full as the summer day with sun,
And eagerly my glebe is tilled,
And strenuous work is done;
Only I fret at all delay,
And fain would haste the expected day
Of fruit, which seemeth far away;
And patience I have none.

Sometimes with patience slow I plod
Through the long hours, from morn till night,
Complaining not of man or God,
Yet feeling no delight;—

488

A sodden spirit, bound to cope
With daily toil I may not drop,
But without any heart or hope,
Or any joy or might.

Ah! hope that hath no patient force
Works in the end but stir and fret,
And hopeless patience runs a course
Of deadness and regret;
Oh for a Spirit, strong and free,
Fount of a larger life in me,
That waits and works and hopes to see
The great Salvation yet.

[Alone, to face the Powers of darkness here]

“Ye shall leave Me alone: and yet I am not alone, because the Father is with Me.” —John xvi. 32.

Alone, to face the Powers of darkness here,
Forsaken of the friends He held so dear;
Yet never less alone, for God was near!

So in the waste, dim wilderness at first
His work began, with hunger faint and thirst,
And the fell Tempter fain to do his worst.

Lonely His sun rose, lonely too it set,
But round it trailing clouds of glory met,
For God was with Him, and His peace was great.

Not in the forest grows the noblest tree;
All highest life a solitude must be,
Apart, with only God for company.

But when forsaken, we are haply thrown
Upon the Father's loving care alone,
And left to lean against the eternal throne.

How should we fear if He be at our side?
Or falter if His face He do not hide?
Or feel alone if He with us abide?

[Bright and glad the time has been]

“No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous, but grievous: nevertheless afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”—Heb. xii. 11.

Bright and glad the time has been
When Thou gavest me repose,
Lying on the pastures green
Where the quiet water flows,
While the song-birds filled the air,
And the voice of pain was mute,
And the bloom was passing fair;
But it yielded little fruit.

Dark and sad the hours have been
In the Valley and Shadow of Death,
Where no light mine eyes have seen
But the far, cold stars of faith,
And my heart, with haunting fears,
Almost sank into despair;
Yet the harvest of my years
Mostly has been gathered there.

Not where pleasures spring up rife
Do our richest fruits abound;
But where sorrow of our life
Waters with its tears the ground.
There we learn to look above
For our happiness and peace,
Learn the comfort of Thy love,
And in life and strength increase.

[Were there no oxen feeding in the stall]

“Where no oxen are, the crib is clean: but much increase is by the strength of the ox.”—Prov. xiv. 4.

Were there no oxen feeding in the stall,
The crib were clean:
But without oxen harvest would be small,
Housekeeping lean:

489

Wherefore we may not be too prim and nice;
There is no good that doth not cost a price.

Were there no children in the house, it were
Dainty and trim;
But without children, lo! the hearth were bare
And cold and dim:
Better their laughter than a chamber neat,
For only in their mirth is home complete.

Were there no thinking, there would be no doubt
To vex the heart;
But life were brutish if it were without
Its thinking part:
And to be Godlike we must risk the chance
Of doubting much that we believed once.

Were there no stir among the dry bones, then
Were there much peace;
But if the Spirit move not, Death's dull reign
Would never cease;
Better fanatic follies than to lie
Cold and unmoved in starched propriety.

Something, I reckon, we have still to give
In sacrifice
That we may richly grow, and greatly live;
And 'tis a vice
To grudge what makes our being large and full
For the small order of a frigid rule.

[Jesus, in the deep, dark night]

“Though He slay me, yet will I trust in Him.”—Job xiii. 15.

Jesus, in the deep, dark night,
Send Thy light to guide my way:
Thou canst give the blind their sight,
Thou canst turn the night to day:
Yet if dark my path must be,
Let me still hold fast to Thee.

Jesus, in the hour of grief,
Send the Comforter to cheer;
He can give the heart relief,
He can wipe away the tear:
Yet if sorrow be my lot,
Let me be still and murmur not.

Jesus, in the war of life,
Be Thou ever near to save;
Thou canst shield from perils rife,
Thou canst pluck me from the grave.
Yet if I am doomed to death,
Mine be still the fight of Faith.

Am I abject thus to lie
At His mercy? surely no:
Did He not in mercy die,
Death for me to overthrow?
And can I doubt the love which He
Witnessed on His cross for me?

'Tis the sun that brings the cloud,
Shadows of the light are born;
Let the clouds and shadows shroud
Life to me in grief forlorn,
Still I know 'twas love that wrought
All the sorrow of my lot.

[Whatsoe'er I be or do]

“Beware ye of the leaven of the Pharisees, which is hypocrisy.”—Luke xii. 1.

Whatsoe'er I be or do,
Let me honest be and true;
Never wear a false pretence,
Never speak with double sense,

490

Claim a grace I have not got,
Or look the thing that I am not.

Am I common clay at best?
Be the common clay confessed;
If for something better fit,
Let me roundly stand to it;
Saint or sinner, why should I
Ever be a paltry lie?

Copper cheaply bought and sold,
Pass it not for burnished gold;
Nor let him that doeth well,
Call himself a child of Hell,
As if falsehoods should be given
In tribute to the God of Heaven.

Hence with oily phrase and smooth!
True men know the ring of truth;
Think not god can be deceived,
He is only wroth and grieved;
Play not Publican to be
So much more a Pharisee.

[Not to be served, O Lord, but to serve man]

“The Son of Man came not to be ministered unto, but to minister.”— Mark x. 45.

Not to be served, O Lord, but to serve man
All that I can,
And as I minister unto his need,
Serve Thee indeed:
So runs the law of Love that hath been given
To earth from Heaven.

What, if the task appointed me be mean?
Wert Thou not seen
To gird Thee with the towel, as was meet,
To wash the feet
Of Thy disciples, whom Thou would'st befriend
Unto the end?

For meanest work becomes the noblest part,
When a great heart,
Pitiful, stoops to comfort our distress,
Or to impress
A sealing kiss on penitence, fresh clad
In raiment sad.

And if the wanderer's feet be soiled and sore,
So much the more
He needs a tender hand to cleanse and heal,
And make him feel
There is no task that love will shrink to do
Life to renew.

[Laying the foundations]

“Therefore leaving the principles of the doctrine of Christ, let us go on unto perfection; not laying again the foundation of repentance from dead works, and of faith toward God, of the doctrine of baptisms, and of laying on of hands, and of resurrection of the dead, and of eternal judgment.”—Heb. vi. 1, 2.

Laying the foundations
O'er and o'er again!—
Calling sinners to repent,
And believe that Christ was sent
To die for love of men;

Good are the foundations,
But thou shalt do well
To build thereon, by truth and right,
A spacious mansion of delight
Wherein thy soul may dwell.

More than mere foundations
Is the house we need;
Lay them well, and leave them there,
They hold only cellars where
Life is cramped indeed.

491

Yet we lay foundations
O'er and o'er again,
Making the grand Gospel stale
By our telling of the tale
To the sons of men.

On, then, to perfection,
Truth is infinite;
Be not babes with milk content,
Take the strong meat that is meant
For the man of might.

Lay not still foundations,
Seek the higher faith,
And a larger life to know,
For the soul that does not grow
Is not far from death.

[I have heard a cry of wailing]

“Surely I come quickly. Even so, come, Lord Jesus.”—Rev. xxii. 20.

I have heard a cry of wailing
Running through the troubled years,
As of expectation failing,
As of sorrow unavailing,
As of rising doubts and fears.

For the Church is weary, waiting
'Mid the world's unceasing hum,
And its scorning and its hating,
And its fury unabating;
And the Lord is slow to come.

Ah! the thoughtlessness of sorrow!
Well for us He came not soon,
Well He cometh not to-morrow,
Well He lets us wait, and borrow
Light of many a waning moon.

True, the Church is sighing, weeping:
But her work, how is it done?
Is she well His vineyard keeping?
What of harvest is she reaping?
Has the world for Him been won?

And the Virgins, are they waking?
Are the Talents growing more?
Or the Servants merry-making,
And of drunken feast partaking,
While He lingers near the door?

Was there ever in her story
Any hour of golden fame
'Mong the ages, young or hoary,
When His coming back in glory
Would not cover her with shame?

Yet I hear the voice of wailing
Still above the busy hum,
As of expectation failing,
As of sorrow unavailing—
Ah! the Lord is slow to come!

[What shall I do for all the grace and truth]

“What shall I render unto the Lord for all his benefits toward me?”—Ps. cxvi. 12.

What shall I do for all the grace and truth
That I have known
E'er since the error of a wayward youth
Led me, alone,
Forth on a way, alas! that was not good,
Through bog and quagmire and be wildering wood,
Where I did seek for bread, and found not food,
Only a stone?
Yet mercy compassed me, and left me not
To that scant diet in the desert got.

What shall I do to make up for the loss
Of those bad days,
When I had turned from Thy redeeming Cross
To vain, proud ways
That made my life a barren land of drought,

492

Wet by no dews, though wrapt in mists of doubt,
Which left no warmth within, nor light without,
Nor prayer nor praise?
Yet goodness followed me, and love divine,
And still Thy Spirit pleaded, Lord, with mine.

Oh, I can nothing do, but only give
Myself to Thee,
Now to be Thine, whether I die or live:
And give Thou me
An heart to love Thee, and Thy will to do,
And strength to walk before Thee meek and true,
And the great faith that maketh all things new;
And let me be
True to the consecration and the vow,
Sealed with the sacred baptism on my brow.

[All the springs of God are found]

“All my springs are in Thee.”— Ps. lxxxvii. 7.

All the springs of God are found
Here within this hallowed ground.
Founts to quench the thirst within,
Or to cleanse the soul from sin,
Streams of healing to restore
Hearts that have been wounded sore,
Living water making glad
All the weary and the sad.

Whatsoe'er our ailments are,
We have not to travel far
To supply the need of each—
Here to get the dumb their speech,
There restore the blind their sight,
Or the palsied hand its might;
For all springs of God are here
That His glory may appear.

It hath pleased the Father so
To all fulness we should grow,
Where His fulness doth abide
In the Christ, the crucified—
Fulness of our life and health,
Peace and hope and joy and wealth,
That they who on His name do call,
May find in Him their all in all.

[If I had got the cup]

“Charity vaunteth not itself.”—1 Cor. xiii. 4.

If I had got the cup,
Which some have had to drain,
Unto the brim filled up
With pleasure or with pain,
I might have done as badly
As they who did the worst;
I might have plunged as madly
Into evil from the first.

Who knows himself, and yet
Will say he could not be
Entangled in the net
Of opportunity?
Or that the storm, assailing
The virtue he achieves,
Would smite it unavailing,
And only rob the leaves?

The ill that one has wrought
Is mostly what is known,
But not the fight he fought,
Or grief he may have shown.
And none are evil wholly,
Or evil all at once;
Lord, keep me meek and lowly,
I wot not what may chance.

[He had not gone to ply the net]

“I go a fishing.”—John xxi. 3.

He had not gone to ply the net
Upon the lake of Galilee,
As he went to Gennesaret
The risen Lord to see.

493

And as the weary hours crept by
Where once such blissful days he had,
His soul with haunting memory
And misery was mad.

It all came back—the happy past,—
How Jesus once had named him Rock,
And then the end of all at last,—
The maid and crowing cock.

How could he meet the Master's sight,
Whom he with curses did deny?
Yet if he met Him not that night,
'Twere better he should die.

Then swiftly striding to the shore
He leapt into the swaying boat,
To haul a net, or ply an oar,
And rid him of his thought.

O breaking heart! that sought in toil
The shame and anguish to forget,
Thy Lord was seeking thee mean while
To ply thee with His net.

And in our failure and despair,
When hardly we dare think or feel,
Lo! He is looking for us there,
Our aching wounds to heal.

[What am I that there should be]

“When I consider Thy heavens, the work of Thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which Thou hast ordained; what is man, that Thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that Thou visitest him?” —Ps. viii. 3, 4.

What am I that there should be
Thought or care in heaven for me,
That the Father's heart should long
To turn my sorrow into song,
Or that Christ should die to win
Such a soul as mine from sin?

What am I? A pigmy form,
Feeble as a poor earth-worm;
Fain to make a little stir
Like the chirping grasshopper:
How should He that ruleth all
Care for anything so small?

Does He measure, then, by size,
Not as we are good and wise?
Is the senseless lump of earth
More to Him than manly worth?
Or the raging of the sea
More than reasoned thought in me?

Nay, such measurement were mean:
He is great whose soul is clean;
He is mighty who has Mind
Nature's Force to loose and bind;
He is worth the saving cross,
Whose death were an eternal loss.

[Gird your loins about with truth]

“Quit you like men: be strong.”— 1 Cor. xvi. 13.

Gird your loins about with truth;
Life will not go always smooth,
Singing lightsome songs of youth:
Play the man!

Learn with justice to keep pace,
Spurning what is vile and base,
And bravely ever set your face
To play the man.

Fear not what the world may say,
Hold the strait and narrow way,
In the open light of day.
And play the man.

They will call you poor and weak,
Being merciful and meek:
Heed them not, but stedfast seek
To play the man.

It needeth courage to be true,
And patiently the right to do,
Loving him that wrongeth you—
Play the man!

494

Trust in God, and let them mock;
They will break, as they have broke,
Like the waves upon the rock—
Play the man!

[When I forget Thee, like a sun-parched land]

“This do in remembrance of Me.” Luke xxii. 19.

When I forget Thee, like a sun-parched land
Which neither rain nor dew from heaven hath wet,
So my soul withers, and I understand
Wherefore Thou gavest me this high command
Not to forget.

When I forget the death which is my life,
How weak I am! how full of fear and fret!
How my heart wavers in a constant strife
With mists and clouds that gather round me rife,
When I forget!

Ah, how can I forget? And yet my heart
By dull oblivious thought is hard beset,
Bred in the street, the meadow, or the mart:
Yet Thou my strength and life and glory art,
Though I forget.

I will remember all Thy Love divine;
Oh meet Thou with me where Thy saints are met,
Revive me with the holy bread and wine,
And may my love, O God, lay hold on Thine,
And ne'er forget.

And not to-day alone, but evermore
Oh let me feel the burden of the debt—
The load of sorrow that the Master bore,
The load of goodness that He keeps in store,
And not forget!

[Bind on me, Lord, the new law given]

“A new commandment I give unto you, That ye love one another, as I have loved you.”—John xiii. 34.

Bind on me, Lord, the new law given
To bind and blend the earth with heaven,
And oh that I may love Thee, even
As Thou hast lovèd me!

They serve Thee best who love Thee most,
They love Thee best who serve the host
Of weak and erring ones and lost,
For so Thou lovedst me.

If they reject me and despise,
If I am hateful in their eyes,
Let me with kindness them surprise,
For so Thou lovedst me.

If they be worthless, so was I;
And yet for me did Jesus die;
Oh let me not the cross deny
Which proved Thy love to me.

And to the blind it will be sight,
And to the weak it will be might,
The love that bringeth health and light,
As Thine, Lord, did to me.

[O heart, my heart, that burdened art and breaking]

“Out of the depths have I cried unto thee, O Lord.”—Ps. cxxx. 1.

O heart, my heart, that burdened art and breaking
With sharp remorse
For faithlessness and failure, and forsaking

495

Of the right course!
Heart, O my heart,
In sorry plight thou art.

O heart, my heart, that hardly dares remember
Thy guilty past,
Or look into full many a secret chamber
Thou had'st locked fast!
Yet heart, my heart,
They were but closed in part.

O heart, my heart, thy sin might be forgotten,
But could not hide;
He knoweth what is sound, and what is rotten
With lust or pride.
Heart, O my heart,
Yet will it sting and smart.

O God, my God, wilt Thou forgive a sinner
Such deep offence,
So near his end, and yet but a beginner
In penitence?
God, O my God,
Send healing with Thy rod.

[Lord, there is nothing I can give]

“Freely ye have received, freely give.” —Matt. x. 8.

Lord, there is nothing I can give
Which Thou hast not;
For all from Thee I did receive,
Which I have got;
And even the very life I live
Thou did'st allot:
How could I grudge to give Thee back
The overflow I do not lack?

Thine are the silver and the gold,
The treasure Thine;
They are a trust for Thee I hold,
They are not mine;
And oh, if they might help to mould
The life divine!
What higher honour could they meet
Than to inlay the Mercy-seat?

There is no price for what is best,
It is not bought;
Who would in heavenly things invest
Gets them for nought,
And debtor unto Thee must rest,
Or have them not;
But though Thy mercies be not sold,
Yet we may serve Thee with our gold.

So let us bring it to the Lord,
For it is His;
And that corrupteth which we hoard,
And wasted is;
But truly, well, and safely stored,
When it can bless
The sick, and poor, and weak oppressed,
And bring unto the weary rest.

[He spake without one shade of guilt or blame]

“I have glorified Thee on the earth: and now, O Father, glorify Thou Me.”— John xvii. 4, 5.

He spake without one shade of guilt or blame
To touch His heart with penitence or shame;
“My Father, I have glorified Thy name,
Now glorify Thou Me.”
No lips but His a word like that might dare,
So meek and bold, so free from doubt and care;
God spake to God, and yet he spake in prayer,
As none might pray but He.

Ah! well for us that He could justly plead
In this high strain, and claim as rightful meed

496

The glory due to perfect word and deed,
And tried, yet sinless thought;
For in His friends He would be paid His debt,
And on their heads He would this glory set;
But for Himself, it was a nobler yet—
A crown of thorns—He sought.

We look back from the verge of life, and see
Error and failure, sin and misery;
And we can only cry, ah! woe is me!
Be merciful, O God!
But now we dare pray, glorify Thy Son,
Crown the meek Victor who the fight hath won,
There are a thousand crowned in crowning One
Who bore our heavy load.

[Oh we boast us of our law]

“Not the hearers of the law are just before God, but the doers of the law shall be justified.”—Rom. ii. 13.

Oh we boast us of our law,
Glory in our gospel light,
Pity those who cannot draw
Fresh the living water bright;
We are favoured, we are blest,
We have heard the joyful sound,
We are sons of God confessed,
We are free who once were bound;
Bless the Lord who unto us
Is in mercy plenteous.

Ah! but what if we are still
Walking on in sinful ways,
Keeping a rebellious will,
Lusting for the world's poor praise?
What, if we are growing old,
None the wiser for the rod?
What if we have faith in gold,
Not in either man or God?
Shall we praise the Lord that we
Have nor faith nor charity?

Not the hearer of the word,
But the doer, he is just.
He who, knowing not the Lord,
Keepeth yet his soul from rust,
He who doeth what is right,
Bravely stands by what is true,
Faithful to his inner light,
Dark although it seem to you—
He is nearer God than they
Who know the truth, and disobey.

[Ah me! the secret sin]

“Cleanse thou me from secret faults.”— Ps. xix. 12.

Ah me! the secret sin
That lurks and works within
The fair, false heart which gives it willing room!
How sure it bringeth blight,
Like nipping frost by night
That withers in the spring its early bloom!

Oh hidden, cherished lust,
Like a small speck of rust
On the sheathed sword—known but to God and me;
What if the weapon good
Unto the sheath be glued
On battle day, and I am shamed by thee?

Oh cleanse it from my heart,
And let me play my part
And put away what Thou would'st take away;
Leave not the sharp-toothed moth
That is devouring both
The garment and the soul it doth array.

497

[Not one regretful look behind]

“Truly, if they had been mindful of that country from whence they came out, they might have had opportunity to have returned. But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly: wherefore God is not ashamed to be called their God.”—Heb. xi. 15, 16.

Not one regretful look behind
Lord, would I cast,
Nor hanker with a faithless mind
For the dead Past:
Who would recall the troubled night
When joying in the morning light?

Not back again, not back again
To that old road
So haunted by the fear of men,
No fear of God—
The hungry wilderness of self,
Whose love was the base love of pelf!

Forward, my way lies forward still,
To get release
From sinful stain, and wayward will,
And find the peace
Where flesh with spirit shall agree,
And God shall not be shamed in me.

My work is here, but not my rest,
And not my home,
And not the wealth I would invest
For life to come;
I have my treasures hid above,
And usury of faith and love.

And if to-night mine inn be good,
I shall be glad;
But if to-morrow's fare be rude,
And lodging bad,
It shall be so much easier then
To strike my tent, and on again.

But never backward may I look,
Or feel regret
That I the way of sin forsook,
And heavenward set
My face to find the life in God,
And comfort of His staff and rod.

[Higher still, and higher!]

“If ye then be risen with Christ, seek those things which are above, where Christ sitteth on the right hand of God.”— Col. iii. 1.

Higher still, and higher!
Oh to leave the clouds below,
And the creeping mists that throw
Doubt on all the way we go
As we would aspire
Higher still, and higher!

Higher still, and higher!
Ah! how little way I make,
Plunging where the black bogs quake,
Slowly hewing through the brake
Tangled with old briar!—
Higher still, and higher!

Higher still, and higher!
Courage! look not down to see
How high thy footing now may be,
Upward set thy face where He
Calls thee to come nigher,
Higher still, and higher.

Higher still, and higher!
Lo! the sun is sinking fast,
And lengthening shades are round thee cast.
Let not thy heart fail at the last;
'Tis no time to tire—
Higher still, and higher!

Higher still, and higher!
Sweet the air is, pure and clear,
And the Lord is ever near
Yonder where the songs I hear
And the golden lyre—
Higher still, and higher.

498

Higher still, and higher!
What, if Death be standing right
In thy way, and dreadful night?
All beyond is life and light,
And thy soul's desire—
Higher still, and higher!

[Dear to me the Church of Christ]

“How amiable are Thy tabernacles, O Lord of hosts.”—Ps. lxxxiv. 1.

Dear to me the Church of Christ,
Sweet the memories lingering there,
Sweet the place of solemn tryst,
Sweet the house of prayer,
Where the glory ever pours
Through the everlasting doors.

Solace of the spirit vexed,
Refuge of the contrite heart,
Helper of the mind perplexed
Evermore thou art:
Oh that I might always dwell
Where I hear Thy Sabbath bell!

There they brought me when a child
For the cleansing of the Lord;
There I came with garment soiled
Of mine own accord,
Broken in my pride of strength,
Weary of the world at length.

Not the tinted lights that shine
Softly through the pictured pane,
But the light of love divine
Flooding all thy fane,
That is what entrances me,
Hushed in its high mystery.

Not the word the preacher speaks
Pleading in his Master's name,
But the still small Voice that seeks
Way ward hearts to tame,
That is what I love to hear,
Then I know that God is near.

[Hast thou wandered far, my child?]

“Her house is the way to hell, going down to the chambers of death.”—Prov. vii. 27.

Hast thou wandered far, my child?
Whither did'st thou go,
That thy feet are so defiled,
And thy pace so slow?
Hast thou been among the wild
Mountains and the snow?

Mountain steep and snows were sweet
For me to tread again;
But I've been on the stony street,
Among the haunts of men;
Better to have put my feet
Within the lion's den.

In the haunts of men are found
Kind and loving hearts,
Wisdom springing from the ground,
All entrancing arts,
Homes that do with peace abound,
Songs in many parts.

Nay, but beauty at the door
Called me to come in
Where the vine-blood stained the floor,
And the song was sin;
And another victim more
Perished so within.

But thou hast returned at last,
Sad and penitent;
Snaky arms hast from thee cast,
All their power is spent:
'Twas an evil dream, the Past;
Wake up innocent.

Ah! the Past still cleaves to me
With a leprous force—
Tainted thought that will not be
Cleansed out by remorse;
And the goodness that I see
Makes the anguish worse;

499

[Thy Kingdom come—the reign of truth and right]

“Thy kingdom come.”—Matt. vi. 10.

Thy Kingdom come—the reign of truth and right,
Where lies, amazèd at the searching light,
Creep back into the darkness out of sight:
Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Kingdom come, when Thou shalt reign alone,
With all the graven gods of stock or stone,
Like broken potsherds strewn around Thy throne:
Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Kingdom come, when wrath and war shall cease
And swords be reaping-hooks for tasks of peace,
And love shall rule, and wisdom shall increase:
Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Kingdom come, when all shall do Thy will,
And gladly haste Thy purpose to fulfil,
And faith take meekly all life's good and ill:
Thy Kingdom come.

The Kingdom come, where peace and pity meet,
And let Thy folk who know Thy mercy-seat
Like pity show to those who them entreat:
Thy Kingdom come.

Thy Kingdom come, Lord, in this heart of mine,
Set there Thy throne, and reign in right divine,
And make me wholly true, and wholly Thine:
Thy Kingdom come.

[Waiting for the day to dawn]

“Willing rather to be absent from the body, and to be present with the Lord.”— 2 Cor. v. 8.

Waiting for the day to dawn,
Peering through the darkness far,
Here and there a cloud withdrawn,
Here and there a star.

Dark and silent is the hour,
Not a whispering wind is heard,
Not an insect in a flower,
Not a twittering bird.

Long the night has been and slow,
Spite of good, remembered words,
And my heart is faint and low
With the loosening cords.

Who is with me? Only Thou,
Thou, my never-failing Friend:
Lay Thy hand upon my brow,
Hold it to the end.

Lo! is that a gleam of morn
Touching yonder trailing cloud,
White and ghostly and forlorn,
Pallid as a shroud?

Yet within that cloud there lie
All the glories of the day—
Light, and life, and song; and I
Long for them and pray.

So I wait with failing strength,
Give me, Lord, the grace I need,
That I yet may die at length
Into life indeed.

500

[Bid me not look in heaven for only rest]

“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.”—John v. 17.

Bid me not look in heaven for only rest,
Well-earned because the battle has been won.
My fight has been a poor one at the best,
And now I trust to have it better done
Where never sets the sun.

What need of rest, except to be refreshed
For further work, and carry on our task,
No more with sin enfeebled and enmeshed?
Eternal idleness I do not ask,
Nor in such bliss could bask.

So many failures I have made on earth,
So many hours have wasted of my day,
So little gained of true abiding worth,
So oft have erred, and gone so far astray
From the one Living Way!

Oh to redeem the time that I have lost,
To right whatever wrong I may have done,
To publish peace unto the tempest-tossed,
To bring back hope to some despairing one,
Until there shall be none!

Who knows? The Father worketh hitherto,
And Christ, whom I would serve in love and fear,
Went not away to rest Him, but to do
What could be better done in heaven than here,
And bring to all good cheer.

And I would work with Him whose mercy lasts
For ever, and His love is everywhere,
Who preached to spirits in prison, and daily casts
His nets where souls are sinking in despair:
My heaven were with Him there.

Perchance, in that new life we shall be born
Children at first, and have to slowly grow,
And its unfathomable wonders learn,
Like children, singing gladly as we go
Where living waters flow.

Yet must we come to manhood's better hour,
And have our work appointed us to do,
And do it with more heart, and hope, and power,
And fresh as with eternal morning dew
That doth our life renew.

At any rate, to sit with folded palms
On listless thrones, with crowns of shining gold,
Or touch the harp unto the voice of psalms,
With hearts that are to sinners hard and cold,
Is not the hope I hold.

[Oh, are they near to us or far away?]

“If it were not so. I would have told you.”—John xiv. 2.

Oh, are they near to us or far away?
And know they how our eyes grow dim with tears?
And can they hear what breaking hearts here say,
Our dead who sleep through all the waiting years?

501

Not vain the task to sweep the ocean's floor,
Or sift the slag and cinders of the moon,
Tell what the sun for fuel has in store,
Or when eclipse shall darken it at noon:

But dream not thou the great sealed stone to roll
From the grave's mouth, and to light up its gloom,
Or to unwrap the cerements of the soul,
And search the close-kept secret of the tomb.

They may be far away—I cannot tell—
And nothing of my grief can hear or see;
They may be near me, holden by a spell
Which, hard on them, will yield no help to me.

But near or far, the spirit is ensphered
Alone and silent, till it find again
A body, and appear as it appeared
When its haunts were among the sons of men.

Yet Thou that art the Lord of death and life,
Wilt Thou not clothe them with familiar frames,
That we may know belovèd friend or wife,
And clasp their hands, and call them by their names?

Changed as Thou wert, Thy friends discovered Thee
By the nail-prints and by the wounded side;
And Thou wilt leave some mark on us that we
Amid the glory may be verified.

Thou would'st have told us had it not been so,
Thou wilt not let us yearn for some dear face,
Or voice remembered fondly long ago,
To make Thy heaven to us a lonely place.

Oh rich in hope the things which Thou hast told,
Rich too the hope of what Thou hast concealed;
And having faith in Thee, Lord, I would hold
The hope unspoken as the hope revealed.

[O'er land and sea love follows with fond prayers]

“I exhort therefore, that, first of all, prayers be made for all men.”—1 Tim. ii. 1.

O'er land and sea love follows with fond prayers
Its dear ones in their troubles, griefs, and cares;
There is no spot
On which it does not drop this tender dew,
Except the grave and there it bids adieu,
And prayeth not.

Why should that be the only place uncheered
By prayer, which to our hearts is most endeared,
And sacred grown?
Living, we sought for blessings on their head;
Why should our lips be sealed when they are dead,
And we alone?

Idle? their doom is fixed? Ah! who can tell?
Yet, were it so, I think no harm could well
Come of my prayer:

502

And oh the heart, o'erburdened with its grief,
This comfort needs, and finds therein relief
From its despair.

Shall God be wroth because we love them still,
And call upon His love to shield from ill
Our dearest, best,
And bring them home, and recompense their pain,
And cleanse their sin, if any sin remain,
And give them rest?

Nay, I will not believe it. I will pray
As for the living, for the dead each day.
They will not grow
Less meet for heaven when followed by a prayer
To speed them home, like summer-scented air
From long ago.

Who shall forbid the heart's desires to flow
Beyond the limit of the things we know?
In heaven above
The incense that the golden censers bear
Is the sweet perfume from the saintly prayer
Of trust and love.