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| I. |
| II. |
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| IX. |
| XVIII. |
| XIX. |
| XXI. |
| XXIII. |
| XXV. |
 | Songs in many keys |  |
20
MEMORY.
Pale Memory sat musing by the fire,
Her sad eyes turned toward the days long past,
And in them burned an unfulfilled desire,
Bitter and wild regrets and yearnings vast.
Her sad eyes turned toward the days long past,
And in them burned an unfulfilled desire,
Bitter and wild regrets and yearnings vast.
Dim shadowy phantoms peopled all the room,
Amongst them friends long vanished from the scene,
Who came from out the dark encircling gloom
And spake of times and things that once had been.
Amongst them friends long vanished from the scene,
Who came from out the dark encircling gloom
And spake of times and things that once had been.
Before her pass'd the years of sweet delight,
And in her ears rang silver songs and mirth,
While as the dead days rose again to sight,
She for the first time saw how bless'd was earth.
And in her ears rang silver songs and mirth,
While as the dead days rose again to sight,
She for the first time saw how bless'd was earth.
She knew it now, but knew it all too late;
No resurrection for the life once o'er,—
Against such hope was ever closed the gate;
The stone could ne'er be rolled from that tomb's door!
No resurrection for the life once o'er,—
Against such hope was ever closed the gate;
The stone could ne'er be rolled from that tomb's door!
58
Blessings were hers not reckoned at their worth,
Or lightly taken as they daily came,
And this remembrance bow'd her head to earth,
And touched her faded cheek with burning flame.
Or lightly taken as they daily came,
And this remembrance bow'd her head to earth,
And touched her faded cheek with burning flame.
So as she thought of years beyond recall,
With all that might have been, and could not be,
Adown her wasted face the tears did fall,
And still she cried—“Ah well-a-day! Ah me!”
With all that might have been, and could not be,
Adown her wasted face the tears did fall,
And still she cried—“Ah well-a-day! Ah me!”
62
PAST AND FUTURE.
The bird was singing on the tree,
The summer still was in its prime,
And memories came borne to me,
With fragance of the honeyed lime.
The summer still was in its prime,
And memories came borne to me,
With fragance of the honeyed lime.
For weary years had o'er me flown,
Since here I watched the ripening corn,
And now I was unknown, alone,
Strange in the house where I was born.
Since here I watched the ripening corn,
And now I was unknown, alone,
Strange in the house where I was born.
Then was I but a simple boy,
Enchanting prospects opened round,
Fair worlds of love and hope and joy,
Vistas of glory without bound.
Enchanting prospects opened round,
Fair worlds of love and hope and joy,
Vistas of glory without bound.
The air was filled with music sweet,
No discord marr'd the tuneful strain,
Nor dreamt I, in my fond conceit,
There might be undertone of pain.
No discord marr'd the tuneful strain,
Nor dreamt I, in my fond conceit,
There might be undertone of pain.
63
The bitter truth at last I know,
The music from the world has fled,
The light departed long ago,
And all the sweetest flowers shed.
The music from the world has fled,
The light departed long ago,
And all the sweetest flowers shed.
And here I stand with tearful eyes,
Where first I looked upon the sun;
And though I've fought and gained the prize,
What pleasure now in having won?
Where first I looked upon the sun;
And though I've fought and gained the prize,
What pleasure now in having won?
Heart-sick I wander here forlorn,
The lost and loved lie cold and still;
I see the light of early morn
Touch their dark graves on yonder hill.
The lost and loved lie cold and still;
I see the light of early morn
Touch their dark graves on yonder hill.
And can earth offer nothing more
To those who boldly breast the wave,
Than pleasures hollow at the core,
Or empty fame, and then a grave?
To those who boldly breast the wave,
Than pleasures hollow at the core,
Or empty fame, and then a grave?
If so, thank God for hopes that shine
As radiant stars in wintry skies,
Kindled at altar-fires divine,
And gleaming bright upon the eyes.
As radiant stars in wintry skies,
Kindled at altar-fires divine,
And gleaming bright upon the eyes.
64
Earth's sorrows all shall pass away,
Like dreary shadows of the night,
Before the golden dawn of day,
That fills and floods the world with light.
Like dreary shadows of the night,
Before the golden dawn of day,
That fills and floods the world with light.
Sing on, sweet bird upon the tree,
Make glad the hours from chime to chime;
If more than sad be Memory,
Fair Hope predicts a coming time,
Make glad the hours from chime to chime;
If more than sad be Memory,
Fair Hope predicts a coming time,
When, having reached the happy shore
Whence all that pains has pass'd and fled,
We find the loved for evermore,
And clasp again our long-lost dead.
Whence all that pains has pass'd and fled,
We find the loved for evermore,
And clasp again our long-lost dead.
67
BLESSED ARE THEY THAT MOURN.
What sayest thou, O soul,—'tis hard to bear
Life's weary burdens,—crushing weight of pain,
Grief that is speechless,—dull corroding care,
Hopes unfulfilled that burn into the brain,
A breaking heart,—sore travail,—bitter throe,
All that makes up life's mystery of woe?
Life's weary burdens,—crushing weight of pain,
Grief that is speechless,—dull corroding care,
Hopes unfulfilled that burn into the brain,
A breaking heart,—sore travail,—bitter throe,
All that makes up life's mystery of woe?
Thou faintest in the dark and cloudy day,
And weepest o'er thy early withered flowers,
Recoiling from the rough and thorn-strewn way,
And from the loneliness of cheerless hours.
Thou deem'st it hard, poor soul, so oft to say,
“Father, I pray, let this cup pass away!”
And weepest o'er thy early withered flowers,
Recoiling from the rough and thorn-strewn way,
And from the loneliness of cheerless hours.
Thou deem'st it hard, poor soul, so oft to say,
“Father, I pray, let this cup pass away!”
'Tis hard from lovers and from friends to part,
To break the bonds of past and precious years,
To see death come and sunder heart from heart,
And ope afresh the spring of flowing tears;—
'Tis hard in homes from which the light is gone
To sit in silence, weeping and alone.
To break the bonds of past and precious years,
To see death come and sunder heart from heart,
And ope afresh the spring of flowing tears;—
68
To sit in silence, weeping and alone.
But would'st thou shun the sorrow and the loss,
And pass through life and never shed a tear?
Would'st thou escape the sharpness of the cross,
And never know what 'tis to doubt or fear?
For thus would heav'n itself the poorer be,
And prove, sad soul, but half a heav'n to thee.
And pass through life and never shed a tear?
Would'st thou escape the sharpness of the cross,
And never know what 'tis to doubt or fear?
For thus would heav'n itself the poorer be,
And prove, sad soul, but half a heav'n to thee.
For thou a wonder wouldest be to all
Who win the glories of that radiant place;
They drank on earth the wormwood and the gall,
Dust on their robes and sweat upon their face;
Each saint that finds before God's throne a home,
From tribulation, grief, and pain has come.
Who win the glories of that radiant place;
They drank on earth the wormwood and the gall,
Dust on their robes and sweat upon their face;
Each saint that finds before God's throne a home,
From tribulation, grief, and pain has come.
And what if thou alone had'st felt no ill,
Nor known what 'tis for tortured hearts to bleed,—
Had'st never bent submissive to God's will,
Or turned to Him in hours of sorest need,—
Had'st never felt affliction's rankling smart,
The sword's sharp smiting, or the festering dart?
Nor known what 'tis for tortured hearts to bleed,—
Had'st never bent submissive to God's will,
Or turned to Him in hours of sorest need,—
Had'st never felt affliction's rankling smart,
The sword's sharp smiting, or the festering dart?
69
Say, what if thou, in those blest mansions where
Enraptured saints, white-robed, their God adore,
Alone no likeness of thy Lord should'st wear,
No marks of Him the crown of thorns who bore?
Would'st thou not mourn the everlasting loss,
That thou, and only thou, had borne no cross?
Enraptured saints, white-robed, their God adore,
Alone no likeness of thy Lord should'st wear,
No marks of Him the crown of thorns who bore?
Would'st thou not mourn the everlasting loss,
That thou, and only thou, had borne no cross?
Then welcome sorrow with no shade of fear,
An angel entertained all unawares;
Shrink not reluctant from her mien severe,
For life and healing on her wing she bears.
Let praise for suff'ring, heart and tongue employ;
'Tis they who sow in tears shall reap in joy.
An angel entertained all unawares;
Shrink not reluctant from her mien severe,
For life and healing on her wing she bears.
Let praise for suff'ring, heart and tongue employ;
'Tis they who sow in tears shall reap in joy.
A Song.
What aileth thee, fair moon,
That thou dost look so white and wan?
Art sad that thou so soon
Must wane before the coming dawn,—
That all thy regal splendours bright
Must fade and vanish with the night?
That thou dost look so white and wan?
Art sad that thou so soon
Must wane before the coming dawn,—
That all thy regal splendours bright
Must fade and vanish with the night?
I grieve to see thee pale,—
Sorrow becometh not a queen.
Is it that earth's unceasing wail
Troubles the pure serene?
And dost thou pity then her throes,
Her sin, her travail, and her woes?
Sorrow becometh not a queen.
70
Troubles the pure serene?
And dost thou pity then her throes,
Her sin, her travail, and her woes?
Or is't that thou dost mourn
That there is drawing near a time
When, having reached the bourne,
Thou shalt no more in beauty climb
The purple spaces of the sky,
With golden planets sweeping by?
That there is drawing near a time
When, having reached the bourne,
Thou shalt no more in beauty climb
The purple spaces of the sky,
With golden planets sweeping by?
A Song.
We part on Time's sad shore,
Alone I go before;
But where to meet and when, O love, again?
Beyond the shadows where all tears are o'er,
There meet we evermore.
Alone I go before;
But where to meet and when, O love, again?
Beyond the shadows where all tears are o'er,
There meet we evermore.
Let us be calm and strong;
The parting is not long,
And you, like me, shall pass the ebon door,
Beyond which lie sweet light, and love, and song,
For ever, evermore.
The parting is not long,
And you, like me, shall pass the ebon door,
Beyond which lie sweet light, and love, and song,
For ever, evermore.
71
A Song.
O youth, O love, O spring!
I hear the copses ring,
As long ago in happy days of yore,
When like the birds my joyous heart did sing;
Alas! it sings no more.
I hear the copses ring,
As long ago in happy days of yore,
When like the birds my joyous heart did sing;
Alas! it sings no more.
Ah, now 'tis still and mute,
Like some poor broken lute,
Whose chords no hand shall e'er again sweep o'er,
Which lies unstrung, neglected, at the foot,—
Silent for evermore.
Like some poor broken lute,
Whose chords no hand shall e'er again sweep o'er,
Which lies unstrung, neglected, at the foot,—
Silent for evermore.
79
A PARABLE.
I.
Amongst the birds, I hear none can compare
As critic with the Owl, although I ween
Cross-grained he is, and often full of spleen,
And hooting drives the songsters to despair,—
He gives himself, too, many a jaunty air.
The Lark he rated soundly that the dale
He filled not sweetly as the Nightingale;
The Robin once was asked how he did dare
As critic with the Owl, although I ween
Cross-grained he is, and often full of spleen,
And hooting drives the songsters to despair,—
He gives himself, too, many a jaunty air.
The Lark he rated soundly that the dale
He filled not sweetly as the Nightingale;
The Robin once was asked how he did dare
To lift his voice, since he was not a Thrush;
And the poor Wren, because he sings so small,
Was bidden to keep silence in the bush;
The Greenfinch was sent rudely to the wall.
O sapient Owl! to Nature lend an ear,
All songsters, great and small, to her are dear.
And the poor Wren, because he sings so small,
Was bidden to keep silence in the bush;
The Greenfinch was sent rudely to the wall.
O sapient Owl! to Nature lend an ear,
All songsters, great and small, to her are dear.
80
II.
Cries one, “Ye minor singers, stay your verse;
The right of song is theirs who from the lyre
Draw thrilling strains that kindle hearts to fire,
Who charm a rapt and listening universe,
As noble thoughts all grandly they rehearse,
And unto lofty heights of song aspire,
On pinions strong that soaring never tire;
The rest must take their feebleness for curse.”
The right of song is theirs who from the lyre
Draw thrilling strains that kindle hearts to fire,
Who charm a rapt and listening universe,
As noble thoughts all grandly they rehearse,
And unto lofty heights of song aspire,
On pinions strong that soaring never tire;
The rest must take their feebleness for curse.”
Ah! men and critics, say must this be so?
As well hold that the stars should stay their light
Because they are not suns. A taper's glow
Guides some poor wanderer homeward through the night.
From Campbell's reed shall no sweet music flow
For that he cannot Shakespeare's trumpet blow?
As well hold that the stars should stay their light
Because they are not suns. A taper's glow
Guides some poor wanderer homeward through the night.
From Campbell's reed shall no sweet music flow
For that he cannot Shakespeare's trumpet blow?
TWENTY-SEVEN RONDEAUX,
89
IX. GLIDE ON, FAIR STREAM.
Glide on, fair stream, whose silver sound
Fills the green valley to its bound,
And falls in cadence deep and clear,
Like music on the listening ear,
'Till grief is in remembrance drowned.
Fills the green valley to its bound,
And falls in cadence deep and clear,
Like music on the listening ear,
'Till grief is in remembrance drowned.
Thy banks to me are haunted ground,
Recalling hours with blessings crowned:
Ah! would that they again were here!
Glide on, fair stream!
Recalling hours with blessings crowned:
Ah! would that they again were here!
Glide on, fair stream!
When musing here in thought profound,
Ghosts from the past my steps surround;
And, glassed within thy waves, appear
Faces I held and hold most dear,
And in whose light my life I found.
Glide on, fair stream!
Ghosts from the past my steps surround;
And, glassed within thy waves, appear
Faces I held and hold most dear,
And in whose light my life I found.
Glide on, fair stream!
98
XVIII. O FAIR BLUE SEA.
O fair blue sea! I love thy sounding shore,
The cadenced music of thy measured roar;
In calm or storm, I care not which it be,
Thou art a rapture and an ecstasy,
As in the golden times that are no more.
The cadenced music of thy measured roar;
In calm or storm, I care not which it be,
Thou art a rapture and an ecstasy,
As in the golden times that are no more.
When sad or wearied, to thy verge I flee,
To watch thy waters dashing wild and free,
As I have often stood and watched before,
O fair blue sea!
To watch thy waters dashing wild and free,
As I have often stood and watched before,
O fair blue sea!
The hills and streams oft fail to solace me,
But solace never fails when sought of thee.
Peace ever to the mind thou dost restore,
And still thy voice is what it was of yore,
A revelation and a mystery,
O fair blue sea!
But solace never fails when sought of thee.
Peace ever to the mind thou dost restore,
And still thy voice is what it was of yore,
A revelation and a mystery,
O fair blue sea!
99
XIX. IN LAKELAND.
Fair mountain lake amid the lonely hills,
Fed by the flowings of a thousand rills,
That flash like silver down the mountain-side,
I watch the shining ripples o'er thee glide,
And peace once more my happy bosom fills.
Fed by the flowings of a thousand rills,
That flash like silver down the mountain-side,
I watch the shining ripples o'er thee glide,
And peace once more my happy bosom fills.
I see thy golden fringe of daffodils,
And hear the low-voiced breeze that through them thrills,
And vexing passions in my heart subside,
Fair mountain lake!
And hear the low-voiced breeze that through them thrills,
And vexing passions in my heart subside,
Fair mountain lake!
A beauty from thy tranquil face distils,
Which the soul's tumult gently soothes and stills;
Ah, would that I could ever here abide,
Close to the dark-blue waters of thy tide,
And wander near thee as my fancy wills,
Fair mountain lake!
Which the soul's tumult gently soothes and stills;
Ah, would that I could ever here abide,
Close to the dark-blue waters of thy tide,
And wander near thee as my fancy wills,
Fair mountain lake!
101
XXI. SWEET VESPER BELLS.
Sweet vesper bells, whose chimes from yonder tower,
Come floating on the breeze with healing power,
And fill with music all the trembling air!
Fresh hope ye bring to hearts that ache with care,
As dews of eve revive the drooping flowers.
Come floating on the breeze with healing power,
And fill with music all the trembling air!
Fresh hope ye bring to hearts that ache with care,
As dews of eve revive the drooping flowers.
The heart is lifted up in praise and prayer,
As fall your liquid tones, a silver shower,
Upon the open champagne, broad and fair,
Sweet vesper bells!
As fall your liquid tones, a silver shower,
Upon the open champagne, broad and fair,
Sweet vesper bells!
Of all the day I hail that pensive hour,
When the shy bird of night sings in her bower
Songs sweet as love yet plaintive as despair,
And fond and faithful echoes gently bear
To all, your benediction as a dower,
Sweet vesper bells!
When the shy bird of night sings in her bower
Songs sweet as love yet plaintive as despair,
And fond and faithful echoes gently bear
To all, your benediction as a dower,
Sweet vesper bells!
103
XXIII. A WISH.
Fain would I pass from all the pain,
The aching heart and weary brain,
From gnawing grief and withering care,
And passion rising to despair,
From love dissatisfied and vain.
The aching heart and weary brain,
From gnawing grief and withering care,
And passion rising to despair,
From love dissatisfied and vain.
From tears that burn the cheeks they stain,
And hopes that droop like flowers in rain,
From sorrows that turn grey the hair,
Fain would I pass!
And hopes that droop like flowers in rain,
From sorrows that turn grey the hair,
Fain would I pass!
Beyond the silent, soundless main,
Where the long lost are found again,
Where summer smiles for ever fair,
Where skies are pure, divine the air,
Where love and joy eternal reign,
Fain would I pass!
Where the long lost are found again,
Where summer smiles for ever fair,
Where skies are pure, divine the air,
Where love and joy eternal reign,
Fain would I pass!
105
XXV. CONTRITION.
The contrite heart, this in God's eyes
Is the most welcome sacrifice;
With this no other can compare,
None is so costly, none so fair;
All other gifts it far outvies.
Is the most welcome sacrifice;
With this no other can compare,
None is so costly, none so fair;
All other gifts it far outvies.
No sweeter songs than those sad sighs
That from a broken spirit rise,
When penitence reveals in prayer
The contrite heart!
That from a broken spirit rise,
When penitence reveals in prayer
The contrite heart!
God loves these low impassioned cries;
He hears them in His Paradise;
It matters not when breathed, or where;
With angels' songs His ear they share,
For in their pleading He descries
The contrite heart!
He hears them in His Paradise;
It matters not when breathed, or where;
With angels' songs His ear they share,
For in their pleading He descries
The contrite heart!
112
A THOUGHT.
When, leaving Deepdale far behind, you stand
On rugged Kirkstone's wild and rocky height,
And backward turn where sleeps the vale in light,
With Brother's Water and its noble band
Of giant mountains, guardians of this land,
There fronts your gaze a panorama bright.
But look before,—more beauty takes the sight,—
Blue Windermere with woods that kiss the strand.
On rugged Kirkstone's wild and rocky height,
And backward turn where sleeps the vale in light,
With Brother's Water and its noble band
Of giant mountains, guardians of this land,
There fronts your gaze a panorama bright.
But look before,—more beauty takes the sight,—
Blue Windermere with woods that kiss the strand.
Such prospect Christian pilgrims may descry
When life's high summit is at length attained.
Glance on the Past, there meet the raptured eye
Mercy and love;—look forward, and there lie
Blessings surpassing those that have been gained,
Fair realms of joy that earthly realms outvie.
When life's high summit is at length attained.
Glance on the Past, there meet the raptured eye
Mercy and love;—look forward, and there lie
Blessings surpassing those that have been gained,
Fair realms of joy that earthly realms outvie.
113
“WHOM THE GODS LOVE DIE YOUNG.”
A loving mother bent with tender care
Over a boy, fresh as a rose in May,
Who slept exhausted with his happy play,
And lifting up her voice she breathed a prayer
That Jove would bless her darling sweet and fair,
Would in the dawning flush of opening day
Bestow the best within His power that lay,
Some gift with which none other might compare.
Over a boy, fresh as a rose in May,
Who slept exhausted with his happy play,
And lifting up her voice she breathed a prayer
That Jove would bless her darling sweet and fair,
Would in the dawning flush of opening day
Bestow the best within His power that lay,
Some gift with which none other might compare.
She laid a hand upon the curling head,
And pressed upon the fragrant lips a kiss:
Could any pleasure be so great as this?
What boon would Jove vouchsafe to crown her bliss?
At dawn once more she leant above his bed,
Her prayer was answered,—lo, her child lay dead!
And pressed upon the fragrant lips a kiss:
Could any pleasure be so great as this?
What boon would Jove vouchsafe to crown her bliss?
At dawn once more she leant above his bed,
Her prayer was answered,—lo, her child lay dead!
114
AN EVENING ON THIRLMERE.
O lustrous twilight! O fair summer eve,
Whose dews are tears for the sweet dying day,
A coronet of glory thou dost weave
Around the sun who slowly sinks away,
Of blue and amber clouds and luminous air.
Here as with raptured eyes I gaze around,
The heart uplifted and the head made bare,
I feel that this indeed is holy ground.
Whose dews are tears for the sweet dying day,
A coronet of glory thou dost weave
Around the sun who slowly sinks away,
Of blue and amber clouds and luminous air.
Here as with raptured eyes I gaze around,
The heart uplifted and the head made bare,
I feel that this indeed is holy ground.
Such charm there is about this witching hour,
Such changing colour, varying light and shade,
Such wonder, beauty, majesty and power,
That adoration on the heart is laid,
And the whole spirit is in worship bowed
Before God's presence in the sky and cloud.
Such changing colour, varying light and shade,
Such wonder, beauty, majesty and power,
That adoration on the heart is laid,
And the whole spirit is in worship bowed
Before God's presence in the sky and cloud.
115
DEBORAH'S SONG.
By the hand of a woman when Sisera was slain,
And the kingdom and crown from fierce Jabin were torn,
Then Deborah's song thrilling over the plain
To the camp of her people in triumph was borne.
And the kingdom and crown from fierce Jabin were torn,
Then Deborah's song thrilling over the plain
To the camp of her people in triumph was borne.
Hear, hear, O ye kings, and attend to my voice,
And ye princes of Judah, give ear to my word;
For the avenging of Israel, rejoice, O rejoice,
For I, even I, will sing praise to the Lord.
And ye princes of Judah, give ear to my word;
For the avenging of Israel, rejoice, O rejoice,
For I, even I, will sing praise to the Lord.
O Lord, when Thou wentest in wrath out of Seir,
When Thou marchedst from Edom's incarnadined field,
The heavens dropped water, earth trembled for fear,
Hills melted away, and the clouds were unsealed.
When Thou marchedst from Edom's incarnadined field,
The heavens dropped water, earth trembled for fear,
Hills melted away, and the clouds were unsealed.
All the highways were desert till Jael arose,
And through byeways the traveller journeyed along;
The villages ceased through dread of our foes,
Till I, a mother in Israel, avenged the foul wrong.
And through byeways the traveller journeyed along;
The villages ceased through dread of our foes,
Till I, a mother in Israel, avenged the foul wrong.
127
They chose them new gods; then was war at the door;
Was a shield or a spear throughout Israel known
Though twice twenty thousand had led them before,
When the Canaanite fell and his might was o'erthrown?
Was a shield or a spear throughout Israel known
Though twice twenty thousand had led them before,
When the Canaanite fell and his might was o'erthrown?
Speak, speak, ye that ride on white asses, and say,
What! is there not cause to chant praises to God?
And ye seated in judgment, that walk by the way,
Speak, should not His mercies be sounded abroad?
What! is there not cause to chant praises to God?
And ye seated in judgment, that walk by the way,
Speak, should not His mercies be sounded abroad?
The noise of the archers no longer is heard,
Where maidens draw water from out the clear spring;
But there they rehearse the great acts of the Lord,
At the gates of the city His goodness they sing.
Where maidens draw water from out the clear spring;
But there they rehearse the great acts of the Lord,
At the gates of the city His goodness they sing.
Awake, awake, Deborah, utter a song!
Rise, Barak, arise, and give ear to my word!
Abinoam's brave son, lead thy captives along,
Let each pulse of thy bosom to praises be stirred!
Rise, Barak, arise, and give ear to my word!
Abinoam's brave son, lead thy captives along,
Let each pulse of thy bosom to praises be stirred!
All in Israel left fought bravely and well,
God gave them dominion and strength in the strife;
The mighty before me were vanquished and fell,
At the foot of a woman they yielded their life.
God gave them dominion and strength in the strife;
The mighty before me were vanquished and fell,
At the foot of a woman they yielded their life.
128
Out of Ephraim came but a handful of men,
While Benjamin gave a whole tribe to the fight;
From Zebulon they marched that handle the pen,
And Machir sent nobles of valour and might.
While Benjamin gave a whole tribe to the fight;
From Zebulon they marched that handle the pen,
And Machir sent nobles of valour and might.
Great Issachar's princes took Deborah's part,
As Barak on foot hurried down to the plain,
For Reuben's divisions were searchings of heart,
He chose 'mongst the sheepfolds and flocks to remain.
As Barak on foot hurried down to the plain,
For Reuben's divisions were searchings of heart,
He chose 'mongst the sheepfolds and flocks to remain.
Shame, shame on the cowards who shrank from the fight!
Shame on Gilead; on Dan by his ships on the shore!
And recreant Asher,—cared he not for the right,
That no share in the conflict he gallantly bore?
Shame on Gilead; on Dan by his ships on the shore!
And recreant Asher,—cared he not for the right,
That no share in the conflict he gallantly bore?
Curse ye Meroz,—aye, curse both the men and the town,
'Gainst the mighty they came not to fight for the Lord;
Curse all who in places of safety crouched down,
Nor drew from the scabbard the rust-eaten sword.
'Gainst the mighty they came not to fight for the Lord;
Curse all who in places of safety crouched down,
Nor drew from the scabbard the rust-eaten sword.
Brave Zebulon and Naphthali jeoparded life,
And fought to the death in high parts of the field;
They marched down in battle array to the strife,
Resolved, though at cost of their lives, not to yield.
And fought to the death in high parts of the field;
They marched down in battle array to the strife,
Resolved, though at cost of their lives, not to yield.
129
Dispersed were the squadrons and routed the foe,
Jehovah descended to succour the brave;
He poured on the Gentiles His vials of woe,
And, baffled and beaten, they sank in the grave.
Jehovah descended to succour the brave;
He poured on the Gentiles His vials of woe,
And, baffled and beaten, they sank in the grave.
Like the ripe sheaves of corn by the sickle shorn down,
Fell the kings of Megiddo 'neath Barak's keen sword;
Over Death's ghastly field the red harvest was strown,
For the stars in their courses fought on high for the Lord.
Fell the kings of Megiddo 'neath Barak's keen sword;
Over Death's ghastly field the red harvest was strown,
For the stars in their courses fought on high for the Lord.
The river of Kishon swept by on its wave,
—That river, the Kishon, the ancient and strong,
Swept the armies of Canaan, her mighty and brave,
And bore them to death on its torrent along.
—That river, the Kishon, the ancient and strong,
Swept the armies of Canaan, her mighty and brave,
And bore them to death on its torrent along.
The hoofs of their horses were broken, O Lord,
As they plunged through the rain-sodden field in their flight,
For the steeds were pressed on over plain and through ford,—
O my soul! O my soul! thou hast trodden down might!
As they plunged through the rain-sodden field in their flight,
For the steeds were pressed on over plain and through ford,—
O my soul! O my soul! thou hast trodden down might!
And bless'd among women art thou, Heber's wife,
Thy praises shall ever be woven in song;
For thine is the palm and the crown of the strife,—
Thy hand hath avenged oppressed Israel's wrong.
Thy praises shall ever be woven in song;
For thine is the palm and the crown of the strife,—
Thy hand hath avenged oppressed Israel's wrong.
130
When Sisera for safety had fled to her tent,
Jael met him with welcome and smiles on her face,
And said, as in homage before him she bent,
“Turn in, my lord, turn thee, rest here for a space.”
Jael met him with welcome and smiles on her face,
And said, as in homage before him she bent,
“Turn in, my lord, turn thee, rest here for a space.”
He asked her for water,—she gave him frothed milk,
And butter brought forth in a right lordly bowl,
Then covered him o'er with a mantle of silk,
And watched at his side till deep sleep o'er him stole.
And butter brought forth in a right lordly bowl,
Then covered him o'er with a mantle of silk,
And watched at his side till deep sleep o'er him stole.
Then softly she took both the hammer and nail,
And stealthily crept on his slumber profound;
Her hand never once in its purpose did fail,
She drave the tent-pin through his brow to the ground.
And stealthily crept on his slumber profound;
Her hand never once in its purpose did fail,
She drave the tent-pin through his brow to the ground.
A strong shudder ran through the warrior, and shook
Every limb, which, convulsed, writhed in anguish and pain;
Then a leap in the air, a wild frenzied look,
And down at her feet fell proud Sisera slain.
Every limb, which, convulsed, writhed in anguish and pain;
Then a leap in the air, a wild frenzied look,
And down at her feet fell proud Sisera slain.
At her feet he bowed low,—he fell, he lay down:
Where he fell there he lay, stark, ghastly, and dead.
'Twas a woman who vanquished this chief of renown;
With her hand to the hammer she smote off his head.
Where he fell there he lay, stark, ghastly, and dead.
'Twas a woman who vanquished this chief of renown;
With her hand to the hammer she smote off his head.
131
Through the glare of the noon, through the gloom of the night,
The mother of Sisera looked for her son;
“Why comes not his chariot again from the fight?
Why tarry his wheels when the battle is won?
The mother of Sisera looked for her son;
“Why comes not his chariot again from the fight?
Why tarry his wheels when the battle is won?
“Oh, have they not sped and divided the prey,
A damsel or two to each man for his share?
And for Sisera, the victor in this glorious day,
Work wrought by the needle, embroidery rare?”
A damsel or two to each man for his share?
And for Sisera, the victor in this glorious day,
Work wrought by the needle, embroidery rare?”
O Jael! to thee shall be tuned the sweet lyre;
Thy name shall be lauded from age unto age,
And thousands emboldened by thee shall aspire
The battle with wrong and oppression to wage.
Thy name shall be lauded from age unto age,
And thousands emboldened by thee shall aspire
The battle with wrong and oppression to wage.
As the Gentiles were routed at Kishon's deep ford,
And their horses and chariots were counted for prey,
So may all Thine enemies perish, O Lord,
And like chaff by the whirlwind be driven away.
And their horses and chariots were counted for prey,
So may all Thine enemies perish, O Lord,
And like chaff by the whirlwind be driven away.
But let all them that love Thee go forth in their might,
As the Sun, like a bridegroom, goes forth in his strength,
To scatter the clouds, chase the gloom of the night,
And bring in the splendours of morning at length.
As the Sun, like a bridegroom, goes forth in his strength,
To scatter the clouds, chase the gloom of the night,
And bring in the splendours of morning at length.
132
JUDAS.
A SCRIPTURE STUDY.
He left the chamber with its light and love,
And holy fellowship that breathed of heaven
More than of earth, and went into the night,
The dark, deep night; for not as yet the moon
Had risen o'er the slopes of Olivet.
Within his eye there burned a sullen fire,
Wan was his cheek, and on his lips a smile
So bitter it betrayed the hell within;
While on his brow there sat an angry scowl.
The words, as awful as a death-knell, rang
Still in his ears: “Do quickly that thou doest.”
And voices wild and weird came on the air,
And broke for him the silence of the night:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed; good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And so his soul
Was smitten with strange awe, and rapidly
He hurried through the empty streets, as though
To flee from these dread voices; but in vain!
For ever smote upon his ears the words
Of doom,—“Good had it been for that man, good,—
If he had not been born.” But though a great
Dread shook his soul, not once his purpose failed;
The devil, who had entered his waste heart,
And took possession as its rightful lord,
Now led the willing captive to his doom.
The unhallowed bargain had been struck by which
Jesus should be betrayed unto His foes.
Some chaffering there had been and traffic close
Between the traitor and the Sanhedrim,
But all was settled now. The price arranged
At thirty silver pieces; for the greed
Of gain upon his heart had fed until
It grew a passion strong as death itself;
It mastered him, and swept him fiercely on,
As sweeps the tidal wave the helpless wrack
To shore. And now he hurries through the streets
The deed of infamy to do which shall
His name send down branded for evermore
A synonym for all that's base and foul.
And now his pitying angel, ere he leaves
The wretched man unto himself, will make
One effort more to save him from his doom,
And guides him all unwitting through a street,
Where he shall witness that may touch his heart.
Lo! as with quickened step he hurries on,
His eye is caught by sudden gleam of light,
Which from some torches flashing throws its glare
On group of men at work upon a cross,
Two others lying near already made,
This nearly finish'd. The iron hammer strikes
A hard and ringing sound upon the nails
That clench the transverse beams upon the stem.
He pauses,—looks,—and a great shudder runs
Through all his frame, and shakes him with a spasm
Of quick surprise,—remorse,—and ghastly dread.
Then came into his eyes a sad strange look,
Pathetic in its wildness and its awe.
He half turns back,—irresolute,—infirm,—
Then starts like some arrested felon, who
Is seized red-handed in the act of crime:
The hot blood rushes over cheek and brow,
And helpless wrath looks out from blood-shot eyes.
A bag which in his hands he holds is clasped
More closely to his palpitating heart;
And with one fearful glance at those who wrought,
And at the cross on which they worked in haste,
He hurries on like one close at whose heels
A demon treads,—so rushing to his doom.
The air seem'd fill'd with whisperings strangely sad,
With wailings and lamentings, and with sighs,
As if unfallen spirits mourned to see
A soul that of its own free will chose sin,
And was for ever castaway from God.
And holy fellowship that breathed of heaven
More than of earth, and went into the night,
The dark, deep night; for not as yet the moon
Had risen o'er the slopes of Olivet.
Within his eye there burned a sullen fire,
Wan was his cheek, and on his lips a smile
So bitter it betrayed the hell within;
While on his brow there sat an angry scowl.
The words, as awful as a death-knell, rang
Still in his ears: “Do quickly that thou doest.”
And voices wild and weird came on the air,
And broke for him the silence of the night:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed; good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And so his soul
Was smitten with strange awe, and rapidly
133
To flee from these dread voices; but in vain!
For ever smote upon his ears the words
Of doom,—“Good had it been for that man, good,—
If he had not been born.” But though a great
Dread shook his soul, not once his purpose failed;
The devil, who had entered his waste heart,
And took possession as its rightful lord,
Now led the willing captive to his doom.
The unhallowed bargain had been struck by which
Jesus should be betrayed unto His foes.
Some chaffering there had been and traffic close
Between the traitor and the Sanhedrim,
But all was settled now. The price arranged
At thirty silver pieces; for the greed
Of gain upon his heart had fed until
It grew a passion strong as death itself;
It mastered him, and swept him fiercely on,
As sweeps the tidal wave the helpless wrack
To shore. And now he hurries through the streets
The deed of infamy to do which shall
His name send down branded for evermore
A synonym for all that's base and foul.
And now his pitying angel, ere he leaves
134
One effort more to save him from his doom,
And guides him all unwitting through a street,
Where he shall witness that may touch his heart.
Lo! as with quickened step he hurries on,
His eye is caught by sudden gleam of light,
Which from some torches flashing throws its glare
On group of men at work upon a cross,
Two others lying near already made,
This nearly finish'd. The iron hammer strikes
A hard and ringing sound upon the nails
That clench the transverse beams upon the stem.
He pauses,—looks,—and a great shudder runs
Through all his frame, and shakes him with a spasm
Of quick surprise,—remorse,—and ghastly dread.
Then came into his eyes a sad strange look,
Pathetic in its wildness and its awe.
He half turns back,—irresolute,—infirm,—
Then starts like some arrested felon, who
Is seized red-handed in the act of crime:
The hot blood rushes over cheek and brow,
And helpless wrath looks out from blood-shot eyes.
135
More closely to his palpitating heart;
And with one fearful glance at those who wrought,
And at the cross on which they worked in haste,
He hurries on like one close at whose heels
A demon treads,—so rushing to his doom.
The air seem'd fill'd with whisperings strangely sad,
With wailings and lamentings, and with sighs,
As if unfallen spirits mourned to see
A soul that of its own free will chose sin,
And was for ever castaway from God.
A band of men the High Priest promised him,
Who should attend him to the Garden, where
Jesus ofttimes resorted with His friends,
That by their help the prisoner might be ta'en.
When he the barracks gained, there were they all,
A company of soldiers clad in steel,
And armed with swords and staves, prepared and apt
For any deed of blood to which they might
Be called. Many had torches in their hands,
And lanterns; for although the moon was nigh
Full-orbed, the leafy olives threw a shade
Athwart the Garden paths, and Jesus might,
Were He so minded, 'scape their vigilance
And baffle their pursuit. No need there was
Of such a band,—of lighted torch no need,
Or glittering sword, or murderous staff no need;
Jesus stood calm, unmoved. Nay, when He heard
The tramp of hurrying footsteps, and the clang
Of armour, and as the red glare of lamp
Athwart the soft moonlighted pathways fell
Of the grey olive-yard, at once He came,
And fronted all with calm majestic mien.
A sign the traitor gave them, by which mark
They were to know the man they came to seize;
That sign, true friendship's token, was a kiss;
And so when Jesus stood before them all,
He hurried up as though he were a friend,
And with an evil smile cried, “Master, Hail!”
And then upon His worn and wasted cheek,
On which the bloody sweat still stood in drops,
Dared to implant a kiss which hurt the place
It touched. The last complaint of wounded love
Came sadly then upon the traitor's ear;
“Judas, betrayest thou with a kiss the Son
Of Man?” And Peter, with indignant rage,
Careless of odds against him, spake and said,
“Lord, shall we smite them with the sword?” But He,
Standing unarmed in lonely majesty,
Calm and unmoved, the moonlight streaming full
Upon a face majestic, and yet sad
With nameless sorrow, to his captors put
The question, “Whom seek ye?” They answered straight,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” Then came a voice,
Quiet and still as that small voice once heard
By great Elijah in dark Horeb's cave,
And like it full of God, deep as though charged
With thunder, which foreboded coming doom,
And held them awed as though upon their sight
The lightning soon would flash in judgment flames.
“I,—I am He,” it said in solemn tones,
And paralysed the traitor and His foes,
And smote them to the ground. As there they lay
In abject fear, again those searching words,
“Whom seek ye?” And again they answer made,
Recovering slowly from their sudden dread,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” He said again,
“I've told you I am He. If Me ye seek,
Let these men go their way.” Then Simon Peter,
With heart that throbbed with righteous wrath and shame,
Out from the darkness sprang, and drew his sword,
And smote the High Priest's servant, severing
His ear. But Jesus stayed the ill-timed strife.
“Put up thy sword into its sheath; for they
That take the sword shall perish with the sword.
The cup My Father giveth me to drink,
Shall I not drink it? Thinkest thou that I
Cannot unto my Father pray, and that
He presently shall give Me more than twelve
Legions of angels? But how then shall be
Fulfilled the Scriptures that it must be thus?”
Then to the soldiers turning who had hold
Of Him, He said, “Suffer ye thus far, sirs;”
And in one last great act of healing grace
He touched and healed the wound on Malchus' ear.
And as the multitudes came thronging round
From out the shadow of the olive-trees,
And from the Garden's dim and dark recess,
Amongst it priests, and officers, and Scribes,
He turned to them and said, “Be ye come out
As 'gainst a thief with swords and staves? When I
Was with you daily in the Temple, ye
No hand against me then stretched forth. But this,
This your hour is,—the Powers' of darkness too.”
Then at the Tribune's words His hands they bound,
And forming round Him a close guard and strong,
Led Him once more through shadows of the night
Over the Kedron to the High Priest's hall,
Then His disciples all forsook and fled.
Who should attend him to the Garden, where
Jesus ofttimes resorted with His friends,
That by their help the prisoner might be ta'en.
When he the barracks gained, there were they all,
A company of soldiers clad in steel,
And armed with swords and staves, prepared and apt
For any deed of blood to which they might
Be called. Many had torches in their hands,
And lanterns; for although the moon was nigh
Full-orbed, the leafy olives threw a shade
Athwart the Garden paths, and Jesus might,
136
And baffle their pursuit. No need there was
Of such a band,—of lighted torch no need,
Or glittering sword, or murderous staff no need;
Jesus stood calm, unmoved. Nay, when He heard
The tramp of hurrying footsteps, and the clang
Of armour, and as the red glare of lamp
Athwart the soft moonlighted pathways fell
Of the grey olive-yard, at once He came,
And fronted all with calm majestic mien.
A sign the traitor gave them, by which mark
They were to know the man they came to seize;
That sign, true friendship's token, was a kiss;
And so when Jesus stood before them all,
He hurried up as though he were a friend,
And with an evil smile cried, “Master, Hail!”
And then upon His worn and wasted cheek,
On which the bloody sweat still stood in drops,
Dared to implant a kiss which hurt the place
It touched. The last complaint of wounded love
Came sadly then upon the traitor's ear;
“Judas, betrayest thou with a kiss the Son
Of Man?” And Peter, with indignant rage,
Careless of odds against him, spake and said,
137
Standing unarmed in lonely majesty,
Calm and unmoved, the moonlight streaming full
Upon a face majestic, and yet sad
With nameless sorrow, to his captors put
The question, “Whom seek ye?” They answered straight,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” Then came a voice,
Quiet and still as that small voice once heard
By great Elijah in dark Horeb's cave,
And like it full of God, deep as though charged
With thunder, which foreboded coming doom,
And held them awed as though upon their sight
The lightning soon would flash in judgment flames.
“I,—I am He,” it said in solemn tones,
And paralysed the traitor and His foes,
And smote them to the ground. As there they lay
In abject fear, again those searching words,
“Whom seek ye?” And again they answer made,
Recovering slowly from their sudden dread,
“Jesus of Nazareth.” He said again,
“I've told you I am He. If Me ye seek,
Let these men go their way.” Then Simon Peter,
With heart that throbbed with righteous wrath and shame,
Out from the darkness sprang, and drew his sword,
138
His ear. But Jesus stayed the ill-timed strife.
“Put up thy sword into its sheath; for they
That take the sword shall perish with the sword.
The cup My Father giveth me to drink,
Shall I not drink it? Thinkest thou that I
Cannot unto my Father pray, and that
He presently shall give Me more than twelve
Legions of angels? But how then shall be
Fulfilled the Scriptures that it must be thus?”
Then to the soldiers turning who had hold
Of Him, He said, “Suffer ye thus far, sirs;”
And in one last great act of healing grace
He touched and healed the wound on Malchus' ear.
And as the multitudes came thronging round
From out the shadow of the olive-trees,
And from the Garden's dim and dark recess,
Amongst it priests, and officers, and Scribes,
He turned to them and said, “Be ye come out
As 'gainst a thief with swords and staves? When I
Was with you daily in the Temple, ye
No hand against me then stretched forth. But this,
This your hour is,—the Powers' of darkness too.”
Then at the Tribune's words His hands they bound,
139
Led Him once more through shadows of the night
Over the Kedron to the High Priest's hall,
Then His disciples all forsook and fled.
But Judas, in his treachery secure,
Followed to see the end, and then beheld
The hasty trials, perjuries, and scorn,
The scourge, the savagery, and cruel hate,
The bleeding back, the twisted crown of thorns,
And heard Him sentenced to the shameful cross.
And all at once came there a sudden flash
Across his soul, in which there leaped to light
The greatness of his crime; and now he saw
With opened eyes the horror and the sin,
The hideous guilt and wickedness, and wrong.
A black gulf opened at his feet. For this
He scarce had reckoned on; until the last
He hoped his Master might escape such doom—
And wherefore not? for might not He whose power
Subdued all nature to His will,—who chained
The winds, and calmed the waves, and healed the sick,
And at whose word the dead had left the bed,
Rose from the bier, and from the sepulchre,
Himself deliver from the enemy,
And go upon His way unhurt, unscathed?
If Jesus were in truth the Son of God,
He could display a superhuman power
And put to utter shame the Sanhedrim,
Confound priest, Pharisee, and Scribe, and prove
To all the lofty majesty of God;
While he would reap his gains, and hold the bribe
For which he sold his Lord, nor did Him harm.
But when this hope was blasted, and he saw
That Jesus was condemned, quick anguish, rage,
And sharp remorse enfixed their horrid fangs
Within his shrinking soul. The traitor stood
Appalled. Then in a frenzy of despair
He hastened to the men who tempted him,
Fooled him, and found him ready dupe and tool;
And when he reached their presence as they sat
In council, dashed the silver pieces down
As though like scorching flame they burnt his hands;
And as they rang upon the Temple floor
He cried: “I've sinned in that I have betrayed
The innocent blood!” Then came the cold reply,
Contemptuous, sneering, like the serpent's hiss,
“What's that to us? See thou to that!” And now
He saw it all,—saw clearly,—blind before!
Fool that he was! A tool, as soon as used
Rejected, cast aside, despised, and scorned!
What was his late repentance unto them?
Their end was gained: his fate—what mattered it?
They laughed, “What's that to us? See thou to that!”
And then they lifted up the price of blood,
The wretched traitor's hire,—took it for use
And purpose of their own, and laughed to scorn
Their tool beguiled, and willingly deceived.
Oh, had he turned though late to Christ instead,
And at his Master's feet himself had thrown
To wash them with his tears, and through these tears
To look upon the face that he had just profaned
With that unhallowed kiss, and prayed for grace,
He had at once and freely been forgiven—
But stone his heart,—unsoftened,—unsubdued.
Then rose before the guilty man a face
All calm and beautiful, reproachful, sad,
And on his quickened ear there thrilled the words:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed: good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And now,
Maddened, remorseful, filled with bitter rage
Against himself and those who tempted him,
And feeling, too, within his inmost soul
The desolation and the agony
Of one already lost, though not in hell—
One God-forsaken, at whose heart there gnawed
A deathless worm and burnt a quenchless fire,—
He rushed out to a solitary place,
And as the early morn broke over Olivet,
He hanged himself upon a blasted tree
That stood for ages in the Potter's Field.
Thus went the traitor down to his own place!
Followed to see the end, and then beheld
The hasty trials, perjuries, and scorn,
The scourge, the savagery, and cruel hate,
The bleeding back, the twisted crown of thorns,
And heard Him sentenced to the shameful cross.
And all at once came there a sudden flash
Across his soul, in which there leaped to light
The greatness of his crime; and now he saw
With opened eyes the horror and the sin,
The hideous guilt and wickedness, and wrong.
A black gulf opened at his feet. For this
He scarce had reckoned on; until the last
He hoped his Master might escape such doom—
And wherefore not? for might not He whose power
Subdued all nature to His will,—who chained
The winds, and calmed the waves, and healed the sick,
And at whose word the dead had left the bed,
Rose from the bier, and from the sepulchre,
140
And go upon His way unhurt, unscathed?
If Jesus were in truth the Son of God,
He could display a superhuman power
And put to utter shame the Sanhedrim,
Confound priest, Pharisee, and Scribe, and prove
To all the lofty majesty of God;
While he would reap his gains, and hold the bribe
For which he sold his Lord, nor did Him harm.
But when this hope was blasted, and he saw
That Jesus was condemned, quick anguish, rage,
And sharp remorse enfixed their horrid fangs
Within his shrinking soul. The traitor stood
Appalled. Then in a frenzy of despair
He hastened to the men who tempted him,
Fooled him, and found him ready dupe and tool;
And when he reached their presence as they sat
In council, dashed the silver pieces down
As though like scorching flame they burnt his hands;
And as they rang upon the Temple floor
He cried: “I've sinned in that I have betrayed
The innocent blood!” Then came the cold reply,
Contemptuous, sneering, like the serpent's hiss,
“What's that to us? See thou to that!” And now
141
Fool that he was! A tool, as soon as used
Rejected, cast aside, despised, and scorned!
What was his late repentance unto them?
Their end was gained: his fate—what mattered it?
They laughed, “What's that to us? See thou to that!”
And then they lifted up the price of blood,
The wretched traitor's hire,—took it for use
And purpose of their own, and laughed to scorn
Their tool beguiled, and willingly deceived.
Oh, had he turned though late to Christ instead,
And at his Master's feet himself had thrown
To wash them with his tears, and through these tears
To look upon the face that he had just profaned
With that unhallowed kiss, and prayed for grace,
He had at once and freely been forgiven—
But stone his heart,—unsoftened,—unsubdued.
Then rose before the guilty man a face
All calm and beautiful, reproachful, sad,
And on his quickened ear there thrilled the words:
“Woe to the man by whom the Son of Man
Shall be betrayed: good had it been for him
If he had not been born.” And now,
Maddened, remorseful, filled with bitter rage
142
And feeling, too, within his inmost soul
The desolation and the agony
Of one already lost, though not in hell—
One God-forsaken, at whose heart there gnawed
A deathless worm and burnt a quenchless fire,—
He rushed out to a solitary place,
And as the early morn broke over Olivet,
He hanged himself upon a blasted tree
That stood for ages in the Potter's Field.
Thus went the traitor down to his own place!
143
CHRIST BEFORE PILATE.
A SCRIPTURE STUDY.
The Roman stood within the judgment-hall,
Impatient, fierce, contemptuous, and proud.
What was this Jewish mob to him, and what
The petty questions of their narrow law?
Their superstitions wearied him; their rites
Of which he heard, religious sacrifice
And ceremony, roused his hate and scorn.
Their God, Jehovah, whom no image carved
In gold or silver, marble or in brass,
Presented to the sense, had not the will,
Or if the will, had not the needful power,
To save them from Rome's iron rule,—Great Rome!
The mistress of the world, whose eagles soared
Above their lofty towers and gleaming roofs,
Their splendid temple, and their palaces.
To show his hatred of fanaticism,
He once, when some wild tumult had broke forth,
Attacked even at the altar where they knelt
Some Galileans, and had mixed their blood
With blood of sacrifices newly slain.
And now, just as the dawn has flushed the east,
A fierce excited crowd, with priests and scribes,
Intrude upon his presence with loud cries
And storm of passion, clamorous for blood—
The blood of Jesus, called the Nazarene.
Him had they ta'en last night beneath the moon
Down in the Garden of Gethsemane
Under the olives. The red glare of torches
And ruddy gleam of lanterns fell upon
The flashing steel, helmet, and shield, and greave,
Of Roman soldiers come to arrest the Christ,
By Judas led, disciple and false friend,
Who kissed his Master's pale pathetic cheek,
And thus betrayed Him to the cruel men
Who thirsted for His death, and in return
Received the thirty silver pieces down,
The bargained price promised for righteous blood.
The priestly council and the surging crowd,
Too scrupulous at Paschal-time to pass
The door which led into the Gentile hall
Of judgment, fearing ceremonial guilt,
Impatient stood like hungry pack of wolves
Without, filled with a bitter scorn and hate,
Beneath the burning sunrise of the morn.
Loud angry cries, hoarse murmurs, curses deep,
Are borne into the Roman's splendid hall,
Where scornful Pilate and his prisoner meet,
Confronted face to face. The judge before
Had caught a passing glance amidst the mob
Of the meek, weary, suffering man who stood
With cord about His neck and hands fast bound,
But with such majesty in His clear eye
As awed the Roman, smote him with a fear
As strange as it was hitherto unknown.
Who, who was this upon whose regal brow
Nature had placed her mark and crowned a king?
Pity and wonder thrilled in every tone
As he addressed his prisoner in the words,
“Art thou the King, then, of the Jews?” And then
The thought came surging through his troubled heart,
“What! thou, thou friendless man, by anguish marked
As all its own, within whose patient eye
Sits sorrow throned,—thou, hunted to the death,—
What thou! art thou King of the Jews indeed?”
Then came the answer, calm, distinct, and clear,
“Sayest thou of thyself this thing, or did
The others tell it thee of me?” With scorn
Disdainful Pilate in contemptuous voice
Replied, “Am I a Jew? 'Twas thine own nation
And the chief priests delivered thee to me.
What hast thou done?” As one who answered from
A height above the tumults of the world,
Its strange confusions, falsities, and wrongs,
And lived in regions pure, serene, and true,
Jesus made answer straight in clear calm tones,
Which, sweet and solemn, fell as falls a voice
From heaven,—“My kingdom is not of this world;
For if My kingdom were of this world, then
My servants all would fight that I should not
Be thus delivered to the Jews; but now
My kingdom is not from hence.”—“Art thou a King?”
With wonder on his lips, awe in his face,
Cried Pilate, startled from his cold disdain.
Then with the voice and bearing of a God,
In words that throbbed and thrilled with truth divine,
And shook the soul as though it were the voice
That shakes the wilderness and breaks the cedars,
Stilling the waves, dividing flames of fire,
Jesus replied, “Thou sayest that I am
A King:—to this end was I born;—for this
Came I into the world, that I should bear
Witness unto the truth, and every one
That loves the truth heareth My voice.” Then Pilate,
Touched to the heart, and strangely moved to pity,
Said in a voice unutterably sad,
As though 'twere nowhere to be found, in heaven,
Or on the earth, or in the deep abyss,
“What,—what is truth?” Then rose another thought,
Bitter, contemptuous, and charged with scorn—
“Truth! truth! what cares this Jewish mob for truth?
They hate and would condemn the innocent,
This man, high-souled and noble, who stands here,
The stamp of goodness on his open brow.
Truth! truth! What boots it now to talk of truth
When at my gates the hell-hounds cry for blood?”
Impatient, fierce, contemptuous, and proud.
What was this Jewish mob to him, and what
The petty questions of their narrow law?
Their superstitions wearied him; their rites
Of which he heard, religious sacrifice
And ceremony, roused his hate and scorn.
Their God, Jehovah, whom no image carved
In gold or silver, marble or in brass,
Presented to the sense, had not the will,
Or if the will, had not the needful power,
To save them from Rome's iron rule,—Great Rome!
The mistress of the world, whose eagles soared
Above their lofty towers and gleaming roofs,
Their splendid temple, and their palaces.
To show his hatred of fanaticism,
144
Attacked even at the altar where they knelt
Some Galileans, and had mixed their blood
With blood of sacrifices newly slain.
And now, just as the dawn has flushed the east,
A fierce excited crowd, with priests and scribes,
Intrude upon his presence with loud cries
And storm of passion, clamorous for blood—
The blood of Jesus, called the Nazarene.
Him had they ta'en last night beneath the moon
Down in the Garden of Gethsemane
Under the olives. The red glare of torches
And ruddy gleam of lanterns fell upon
The flashing steel, helmet, and shield, and greave,
Of Roman soldiers come to arrest the Christ,
By Judas led, disciple and false friend,
Who kissed his Master's pale pathetic cheek,
And thus betrayed Him to the cruel men
Who thirsted for His death, and in return
Received the thirty silver pieces down,
The bargained price promised for righteous blood.
The priestly council and the surging crowd,
Too scrupulous at Paschal-time to pass
The door which led into the Gentile hall
145
Impatient stood like hungry pack of wolves
Without, filled with a bitter scorn and hate,
Beneath the burning sunrise of the morn.
Loud angry cries, hoarse murmurs, curses deep,
Are borne into the Roman's splendid hall,
Where scornful Pilate and his prisoner meet,
Confronted face to face. The judge before
Had caught a passing glance amidst the mob
Of the meek, weary, suffering man who stood
With cord about His neck and hands fast bound,
But with such majesty in His clear eye
As awed the Roman, smote him with a fear
As strange as it was hitherto unknown.
Who, who was this upon whose regal brow
Nature had placed her mark and crowned a king?
Pity and wonder thrilled in every tone
As he addressed his prisoner in the words,
“Art thou the King, then, of the Jews?” And then
The thought came surging through his troubled heart,
“What! thou, thou friendless man, by anguish marked
As all its own, within whose patient eye
Sits sorrow throned,—thou, hunted to the death,—
What thou! art thou King of the Jews indeed?”
146
“Sayest thou of thyself this thing, or did
The others tell it thee of me?” With scorn
Disdainful Pilate in contemptuous voice
Replied, “Am I a Jew? 'Twas thine own nation
And the chief priests delivered thee to me.
What hast thou done?” As one who answered from
A height above the tumults of the world,
Its strange confusions, falsities, and wrongs,
And lived in regions pure, serene, and true,
Jesus made answer straight in clear calm tones,
Which, sweet and solemn, fell as falls a voice
From heaven,—“My kingdom is not of this world;
For if My kingdom were of this world, then
My servants all would fight that I should not
Be thus delivered to the Jews; but now
My kingdom is not from hence.”—“Art thou a King?”
With wonder on his lips, awe in his face,
Cried Pilate, startled from his cold disdain.
Then with the voice and bearing of a God,
In words that throbbed and thrilled with truth divine,
And shook the soul as though it were the voice
That shakes the wilderness and breaks the cedars,
Stilling the waves, dividing flames of fire,
147
A King:—to this end was I born;—for this
Came I into the world, that I should bear
Witness unto the truth, and every one
That loves the truth heareth My voice.” Then Pilate,
Touched to the heart, and strangely moved to pity,
Said in a voice unutterably sad,
As though 'twere nowhere to be found, in heaven,
Or on the earth, or in the deep abyss,
“What,—what is truth?” Then rose another thought,
Bitter, contemptuous, and charged with scorn—
“Truth! truth! what cares this Jewish mob for truth?
They hate and would condemn the innocent,
This man, high-souled and noble, who stands here,
The stamp of goodness on his open brow.
Truth! truth! What boots it now to talk of truth
When at my gates the hell-hounds cry for blood?”
And so, with thoughts that burned and scorched his soul,
He passed out to the surging crowd and said,
“I find no fault in him. Say, will ye then,
That as your custom is at Passover
One prisoner to release, that I release
To you your King?” Then rose tumultuous, wild,
A storm of voices charged with deadly hate,
While shrieks and curses filled the shuddering air;
But one loud cry was heard above the roar,
“Not this man, but Barabbas;—not this man;
We'll have Barabbas!” As there came this cry
Upon his ear, “What shall I do?” he mused—
“Pronounce him innocent and set him free?
Declare he's done no deed deserving death?
And yet,—and yet,—should this seditious mob
Be stirred to sudden rage and mutiny,
Break into insurrection, stain the streets
With Roman blood, what will they say in Rome?
What shall I do to satisfy their hate
Yet save this man? Scourge him and let him go,
This will I do.” So, yielding to the storm
Of savage cruelty that longed for blood,
He to the soldiers gave command that they
Should strip the prisoner, tie him by the hands
Unto a pillar of the barrack-room,
And with a leathern thong sharp at the edge
With serried teeth of bone and lead, deal out
Their brutal blows upon his naked back.
He passed out to the surging crowd and said,
“I find no fault in him. Say, will ye then,
That as your custom is at Passover
One prisoner to release, that I release
148
A storm of voices charged with deadly hate,
While shrieks and curses filled the shuddering air;
But one loud cry was heard above the roar,
“Not this man, but Barabbas;—not this man;
We'll have Barabbas!” As there came this cry
Upon his ear, “What shall I do?” he mused—
“Pronounce him innocent and set him free?
Declare he's done no deed deserving death?
And yet,—and yet,—should this seditious mob
Be stirred to sudden rage and mutiny,
Break into insurrection, stain the streets
With Roman blood, what will they say in Rome?
What shall I do to satisfy their hate
Yet save this man? Scourge him and let him go,
This will I do.” So, yielding to the storm
Of savage cruelty that longed for blood,
He to the soldiers gave command that they
Should strip the prisoner, tie him by the hands
Unto a pillar of the barrack-room,
And with a leathern thong sharp at the edge
With serried teeth of bone and lead, deal out
Their brutal blows upon his naked back.
These low, vile men, scum of the provinces,
Ready for any crime, and gloating o'er
Their bloody work, tore with the bitter scourge
His bleeding back, until the tender nerves
Did shrink, quivering beneath the agony.
Then twined they around His brow a wreath
Of thorny spikes, that pierced and drew the blood,
Which fell in big red drops upon His cheek,
And in His hands a reed for sceptre placed,
With spittings in the face and savage blows,
And on His shoulders, furrowed with the thong,
Hung an old scarlet robe in mockery;
And then, with fierce derision, and on knees
Bent in a scoffing homage, raised the cry,
“All hail! King of the Jews! All hail! All hail!”
Then Pilate quickly going forth again,
Hoping to move the pity of the mob,
Exclaimed, “Behold, I bring him forth to you
That ye may know I find no fault in him.”
And now came Jesus forth, sceptred, robed, and crowned,
Blood-stained and weary, even unto death;
And as He stood there in His woe and shame,
And yet with Deity upon His brow,
The governor exclaimed, “Behold the Man!”
And now like thunder breaking overhead
There rose a cry that made the welkin ring
Again, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
And Pilate said, “Nay, take ye him yourselves
And crucify him, for I find no fault
In him.” But they made answer straight and fierce,
“We have a law, and by our law he ought
To die, because he made himself the Son
Of God.” Pilate was startled; a great fear
Fell darkly on his heart,—“A Son of God!”
So took he Christ again into the hall,
And asked in trembling voice with anxious eye,
“Whence art thou?” Jesus answered not; what need
That He should speak again? He had no more
To say to Pilate or the people. No!
Dumb as a sheep before her shearers stands,
So stood He dumb before His wondering judge.
Impatient, now Pilate the silence broke:
“Speakest thou not to me? Dost thou not know
That mine the power to crucify thee?—mine
The power to set thee free?” Now came the words,
Bearing a tender pity in their tone
For one who kicked against the pricks,—for one
Not brave enough to dare and do the right,—
“Thou couldest have no power against Me, save
'Twere given thee from above; therefore hath he
Who gave Me unto thee the greater sin!”
149
Their bloody work, tore with the bitter scourge
His bleeding back, until the tender nerves
Did shrink, quivering beneath the agony.
Then twined they around His brow a wreath
Of thorny spikes, that pierced and drew the blood,
Which fell in big red drops upon His cheek,
And in His hands a reed for sceptre placed,
With spittings in the face and savage blows,
And on His shoulders, furrowed with the thong,
Hung an old scarlet robe in mockery;
And then, with fierce derision, and on knees
Bent in a scoffing homage, raised the cry,
“All hail! King of the Jews! All hail! All hail!”
Then Pilate quickly going forth again,
Hoping to move the pity of the mob,
Exclaimed, “Behold, I bring him forth to you
That ye may know I find no fault in him.”
And now came Jesus forth, sceptred, robed, and crowned,
Blood-stained and weary, even unto death;
And as He stood there in His woe and shame,
And yet with Deity upon His brow,
The governor exclaimed, “Behold the Man!”
And now like thunder breaking overhead
150
Again, “Crucify him! Crucify him!”
And Pilate said, “Nay, take ye him yourselves
And crucify him, for I find no fault
In him.” But they made answer straight and fierce,
“We have a law, and by our law he ought
To die, because he made himself the Son
Of God.” Pilate was startled; a great fear
Fell darkly on his heart,—“A Son of God!”
So took he Christ again into the hall,
And asked in trembling voice with anxious eye,
“Whence art thou?” Jesus answered not; what need
That He should speak again? He had no more
To say to Pilate or the people. No!
Dumb as a sheep before her shearers stands,
So stood He dumb before His wondering judge.
Impatient, now Pilate the silence broke:
“Speakest thou not to me? Dost thou not know
That mine the power to crucify thee?—mine
The power to set thee free?” Now came the words,
Bearing a tender pity in their tone
For one who kicked against the pricks,—for one
Not brave enough to dare and do the right,—
“Thou couldest have no power against Me, save
151
Who gave Me unto thee the greater sin!”
These solemn words of judgment, awful, calm,
Thrilled wavering Pilate to his inmost soul,
And moved him to one desperate effort more.
So bringing Jesus forth again, he sat
Upon his judgment-seat on Golgotha,
And lo! scarce had he mounted the tribunal
When a slave from Claudia Procula, his wife,
Ran breathless to the throne, and craved at once
An audience of his master, and then spake
These urgent passionate words before them all:
“Thy wife, my mistress, sent me here to say,
Have thou nothing to do with that just man,
For I this day in dreams have many things
Suffered because of him.” Then cried the Jews
Aloud, “If thou let this man go, thou art
Not Cæsar's friend; for whosoever makes
Himself a king against great Cæsar speaks.”
But Pilate, nothing daunted, said once more,
“Behold your King!” And from the surging crowd,
Fierce as the tigress that has tasted blood,
Arose the horrid shout upon the air,
“Away with him! Crucify him!”—“What, sirs!
And shall I crucify your King?” Then came
The cry from Sadducee, and Priest, and Scribe,
“We have no king but Cæsar! None but Cæsar!”
And Pilate, seeing their remorseless hate,
And willing to absolve himself from guilt
While yet he gave up Jesus to their will,
As if he thought that water washed out blood,
For water called, and washed his hands before
The frenzied multitude, and cried aloud
That all might hear, “I,—I am innocent
Of blood of this just man; see ye to it!”
And now a fearful yell as of one voice
Rose on the air and up to the ear of God,
And sudden silence filled the courts of heaven:—
Still'd every harp, and hushed the voice of song,—
“On us and on our children be his blood!”
And Pilate, panic-stricken, all aghast,
Struggling no longer against his better will,
And murdering sweet pity in his breast,
With conscience busy full of scorpion stings,
Delivered Jesus to their savage hate.
O hapless man! Had he but known the Truth,
When Truth before him clearly stood revealed,
And clothed upon with majesty divine;
And had he to his conscience proved but true,
Willing to die rather than give to death
The Innocent and Just, he might have sent
A name to farthest ages honoured, loved,
Enrolled by Christ's own hand amongst the blest,
Instead of name till time shall be no more
A proverb and a hissing and a scorn.
Thrilled wavering Pilate to his inmost soul,
And moved him to one desperate effort more.
So bringing Jesus forth again, he sat
Upon his judgment-seat on Golgotha,
And lo! scarce had he mounted the tribunal
When a slave from Claudia Procula, his wife,
Ran breathless to the throne, and craved at once
An audience of his master, and then spake
These urgent passionate words before them all:
“Thy wife, my mistress, sent me here to say,
Have thou nothing to do with that just man,
For I this day in dreams have many things
Suffered because of him.” Then cried the Jews
Aloud, “If thou let this man go, thou art
Not Cæsar's friend; for whosoever makes
Himself a king against great Cæsar speaks.”
But Pilate, nothing daunted, said once more,
“Behold your King!” And from the surging crowd,
Fierce as the tigress that has tasted blood,
Arose the horrid shout upon the air,
152
And shall I crucify your King?” Then came
The cry from Sadducee, and Priest, and Scribe,
“We have no king but Cæsar! None but Cæsar!”
And Pilate, seeing their remorseless hate,
And willing to absolve himself from guilt
While yet he gave up Jesus to their will,
As if he thought that water washed out blood,
For water called, and washed his hands before
The frenzied multitude, and cried aloud
That all might hear, “I,—I am innocent
Of blood of this just man; see ye to it!”
And now a fearful yell as of one voice
Rose on the air and up to the ear of God,
And sudden silence filled the courts of heaven:—
Still'd every harp, and hushed the voice of song,—
“On us and on our children be his blood!”
And Pilate, panic-stricken, all aghast,
Struggling no longer against his better will,
And murdering sweet pity in his breast,
With conscience busy full of scorpion stings,
Delivered Jesus to their savage hate.
O hapless man! Had he but known the Truth,
When Truth before him clearly stood revealed,
153
And had he to his conscience proved but true,
Willing to die rather than give to death
The Innocent and Just, he might have sent
A name to farthest ages honoured, loved,
Enrolled by Christ's own hand amongst the blest,
Instead of name till time shall be no more
A proverb and a hissing and a scorn.
168
THE CURSE IN THE HOUSE.
He came, a stranger from afar,
In the warm and pleasant month of June,
When the nightingale sang to the evening star,
And wild birds carolled a joyous tune.
In the warm and pleasant month of June,
When the nightingale sang to the evening star,
And wild birds carolled a joyous tune.
Of manly form and handsome face,
With blue, and bright, but restless eye;
A tongue that spoke with a pleasant grace:
All looked at him as he went by.
With blue, and bright, but restless eye;
A tongue that spoke with a pleasant grace:
All looked at him as he went by.
He settled near her father's croft,
Outside the borders of the town,
Where the city's hum came low and soft
Over the meadows newly mown.
Outside the borders of the town,
Where the city's hum came low and soft
Over the meadows newly mown.
He plied at first an eager trade,
With a steady hand and subtle brain,
And all the neighbours, praising, said,
“He works so close, he is sure of gain!”
With a steady hand and subtle brain,
And all the neighbours, praising, said,
“He works so close, he is sure of gain!”
169
He woo'd and won her woman's heart,
Made its affections all his own;
Guileless, and simple, free of art,
'Twas his ere well she knew 'twas gone.
Made its affections all his own;
Guileless, and simple, free of art,
'Twas his ere well she knew 'twas gone.
She pledged, without one fear, her faith;
She gave him all she had—a love
Trusting, and true, and strong as death,
Pure as the cloudless heaven above.
She gave him all she had—a love
Trusting, and true, and strong as death,
Pure as the cloudless heaven above.
Wedded they were in the village church:
“Never was sweeter or fairer bride;”
So the neighbours said as she left the porch,
And walked with her husband, side by side.
“Never was sweeter or fairer bride;”
So the neighbours said as she left the porch,
And walked with her husband, side by side.
The days went by in a sweet content,
And peace and love were in their home;
They lightly came, and as lightly went,
As sea-birds flitting over the foam.
And peace and love were in their home;
They lightly came, and as lightly went,
As sea-birds flitting over the foam.
Months passed: there came a baby boy,
White and fresh as the driven snow,
To fill their home and hearts with joy,
And make their cup of bliss o'erflow.
White and fresh as the driven snow,
To fill their home and hearts with joy,
And make their cup of bliss o'erflow.
170
But out, and alas! a cloud arose
No bigger than man's hand at first,
But pregnant with thick-coming woes,
Which soon in sorrow over them burst.
No bigger than man's hand at first,
But pregnant with thick-coming woes,
Which soon in sorrow over them burst.
Changed grew the home with love once warm,
That had lent to it so tender a grace,
For it lost for Luke the olden charm
Of baby's kiss and wife's embrace.
That had lent to it so tender a grace,
For it lost for Luke the olden charm
Of baby's kiss and wife's embrace.
And now suspicion darkly fell
Upon his honour and good name,
But why,—it boots not here to tell,
Or how he sank from shame to shame.
Upon his honour and good name,
But why,—it boots not here to tell,
Or how he sank from shame to shame.
Enough to say, the tempter came,
And caught poor Luke with glozing tongue,
Which threw around it words of flame,
And witty jests at hazard flung.
And caught poor Luke with glozing tongue,
Which threw around it words of flame,
And witty jests at hazard flung.
O woe for the drink, whose ills are more
Than thought can reach or tongue can tell!
O woe for the ale-house, through whose door
Many pass downward into hell!
Than thought can reach or tongue can tell!
O woe for the ale-house, through whose door
Many pass downward into hell!
171
The twilight fills a sombre room,
The fire is dying on the stone;
And the wife sits brooding in the gloom—
Weeping, alas! alone—alone!
The fire is dying on the stone;
And the wife sits brooding in the gloom—
Weeping, alas! alone—alone!
Luke oft came home in reckless mood,
With hollow laugh and whirling words,
Which, as she pale and trembling stood,
Cut to her heart like piercing swords.
With hollow laugh and whirling words,
Which, as she pale and trembling stood,
Cut to her heart like piercing swords.
Sometimes his better self returned,
When prompted by a deep despair
That like a fire within him burned,
There from his anguish sprang a prayer.
When prompted by a deep despair
That like a fire within him burned,
There from his anguish sprang a prayer.
But this soon passed, as dews at morn,
Which bead each tender spike of grass,
Or as the shadows across the corn
When 'thwart the heaven clouds come and pass.
Which bead each tender spike of grass,
Or as the shadows across the corn
When 'thwart the heaven clouds come and pass.
For when he felt temptation's power,
He crept out to the sinful place,
And there spent many a careless hour,
And sank still lower in disgrace.
He crept out to the sinful place,
And there spent many a careless hour,
And sank still lower in disgrace.
172
A blight fell on the hapless wife,
Sorrow lay heavy at her heart;
A nameless fear held all her life,
And every shadow made her start.
Sorrow lay heavy at her heart;
A nameless fear held all her life,
And every shadow made her start.
She met him with no word unkind,
She sought to soothe his pain to rest;
Around his neck her arms would wind,
And fondly press him to her breast.
She sought to soothe his pain to rest;
Around his neck her arms would wind,
And fondly press him to her breast.
Tears often filled her weary eye,
The kindly neighbours shook their head;
“Poor Katie, ah, she will surely die,”
They oft to each other sadly said.
The kindly neighbours shook their head;
“Poor Katie, ah, she will surely die,”
They oft to each other sadly said.
Oft as he rose to cross the door,
The weeping wife would bar the way,
And would in piteous tones implore
That with her and the child he'd stay.
The weeping wife would bar the way,
And would in piteous tones implore
That with her and the child he'd stay.
At times he'd promise, loudly swear
That he would never drink again;
His words were plausible and fair,
But he was weak—his vows were vain.
That he would never drink again;
His words were plausible and fair,
But he was weak—his vows were vain.
173
And once—oh bitter shame to tell!—
When she had prayed him not to go,
Maddened, by fumes as if of hell,
He struck his loving wife a blow.
When she had prayed him not to go,
Maddened, by fumes as if of hell,
He struck his loving wife a blow.
That blow smote hope, if not love, dead,
It took all sweetness from her life;
“The grave,” the pitying neighbours said,
“Will open soon for his poor wife.”
It took all sweetness from her life;
“The grave,” the pitying neighbours said,
“Will open soon for his poor wife.”
Once came he home, wine-maddened, wild,—
She had been watching half the night;
Sound in the cradle slept the child,
Low in the socket burned the light.
She had been watching half the night;
Sound in the cradle slept the child,
Low in the socket burned the light.
His song before him reached the door,
Hurting the ear on which it came;
And when he staggered on the floor,
She saw his face glowed like a flame.
Hurting the ear on which it came;
And when he staggered on the floor,
She saw his face glowed like a flame.
With vacant laugh his boy he took
From the warm cot on which he slept,
And held him up with hand that shook,
Till the poor infant screamed and wept.
From the warm cot on which he slept,
And held him up with hand that shook,
Till the poor infant screamed and wept.
174
Then as he tossed it in the air
With shaking hand, uncertain gait,
His wife looked on with blank despair,
Foreboding what might be its fate.
With shaking hand, uncertain gait,
His wife looked on with blank despair,
Foreboding what might be its fate.
And when she, pale and pleading, stood,
And sought to hold her husband's arm,
He swore an oath that froze her blood,
He would not do her darling harm.
And sought to hold her husband's arm,
He swore an oath that froze her blood,
He would not do her darling harm.
“O Luke,” she said, “give me the child,
For love of Christ, dear Luke have care!”
He laughed a frantic laugh and wild,
And on her turned a drunken stare.
For love of Christ, dear Luke have care!”
He laughed a frantic laugh and wild,
And on her turned a drunken stare.
O mother's heart that dreaded all!
For when he threw it up again,
Hoping to catch it in its fall—
Alas! his efforts were in vain.
For when he threw it up again,
Hoping to catch it in its fall—
Alas! his efforts were in vain.
A heavy thud upon the ground,
A feeble cry, short, sharp, and shrill;
A woman's shriek,—an awful sound—
That smote the ear; then all was still.
A feeble cry, short, sharp, and shrill;
A woman's shriek,—an awful sound—
That smote the ear; then all was still.
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Dead at their feet the infant lay,
White, wan, and chill—oh, for one moan!
But no! Like some sweet rose of May,
The bud was withered ere 'twas blown.
White, wan, and chill—oh, for one moan!
But no! Like some sweet rose of May,
The bud was withered ere 'twas blown.
They stood, those two, above their dead;
They neither spoke, nor moved, nor shook;
But all aghast with speechless dread,
Like statues with a human look.
They neither spoke, nor moved, nor shook;
But all aghast with speechless dread,
Like statues with a human look.
But now a wail so sharp and shrill,
Came thrilling on the drunkard's ear,
That through his blood it sent a chill
And blanched his fevered cheeks with fear.
Came thrilling on the drunkard's ear,
That through his blood it sent a chill
And blanched his fevered cheeks with fear.
Anon there flashed a sudden light
Across his brow, into his eye,
Quick as the lightning 'thwart the night,
Disclosing all the earth and sky.
Across his brow, into his eye,
Quick as the lightning 'thwart the night,
Disclosing all the earth and sky.
Then bowed he down upon the ground
With wan white face and trembling knee,
And through the silence deep, profound,
His voice rose high in agony.
With wan white face and trembling knee,
And through the silence deep, profound,
His voice rose high in agony.
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For grace he prayed, and cursed the hour
He yielded first to such a sin,
And cried to God in heaven for power
A conquest over self to win.
He yielded first to such a sin,
And cried to God in heaven for power
A conquest over self to win.
He grew a sobered, altered man;
Grief bowed his heart and blanched his head;
His life was lived beneath a ban,
And hope was crushed and joy was dead.
Grief bowed his heart and blanched his head;
His life was lived beneath a ban,
And hope was crushed and joy was dead.
For sorrow sat beside his hearth,
And flung its shadow across his floor;
The light had passed for ever from earth,
And would return no more—no more!
And flung its shadow across his floor;
The light had passed for ever from earth,
And would return no more—no more!
All shunned the man, as though some brand—
The mark of Cain—was on his brow;
No one held out a friendly hand,
Or said a word of welcome now.
The mark of Cain—was on his brow;
No one held out a friendly hand,
Or said a word of welcome now.
A spectre at his hearth did wait,
And darkly crouched beside his door,
Went with him as he passed the gate,
And followed him for evermore.
And darkly crouched beside his door,
Went with him as he passed the gate,
And followed him for evermore.
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For her—she pined from day to day,
Killed by the blow that killed her child;
Fading like some sweet flower away,
She often wept, but never smiled.
Killed by the blow that killed her child;
Fading like some sweet flower away,
She often wept, but never smiled.
The days were marked by bitter pain,
Her sobs at night betrayed her grief;
To aching heart and weary brain
The grave alone held forth relief.
Her sobs at night betrayed her grief;
To aching heart and weary brain
The grave alone held forth relief.
She died; he wept his early dead,
The true and tender loving wife;
He wept with heart that inly bled,
But could not bring her back to life.
The true and tender loving wife;
He wept with heart that inly bled,
But could not bring her back to life.
Ah! better thus, that she should sleep
In peace beneath the daisied sod,
Never again to mourn or weep,
But pass where lived her child with God.
In peace beneath the daisied sod,
Never again to mourn or weep,
But pass where lived her child with God.
For Luke himself, the only hope
To ease the gnawing at his breast,
Was for the grave its gates to ope,
And take him to its welcome rest.
To ease the gnawing at his breast,
Was for the grave its gates to ope,
And take him to its welcome rest.
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A PORTRAIT.
IN MEMORIAM.
A maiden young, and beautiful as young,
As fair as ever haunted poet's dream,
Or in his tuneful measures has been sung;
Her charming presence, like a sunny gleam,
Brightness and blessedness around her flung,
And white her thoughts as lilies on a stream.
Her clear, calm eyes were of the morning's blue,—
They met yours with a gaze both frank and true,
And from their depths of azure forth there stole
The talismanic sunlight of the soul.
As fair as ever haunted poet's dream,
Or in his tuneful measures has been sung;
Her charming presence, like a sunny gleam,
Brightness and blessedness around her flung,
And white her thoughts as lilies on a stream.
Her clear, calm eyes were of the morning's blue,—
They met yours with a gaze both frank and true,
And from their depths of azure forth there stole
The talismanic sunlight of the soul.
So moved she through the world, a shape of light,
Like some pure spirit from another sphere,
Robed in the hues of loveliness,—so bright,—
It seemed in her that God would make it clear
What perfect woman is, to human sight,
And for this purpose partly sent her here.
Her every movement had a nameless grace,
The soul of goodness shone upon her face;
And lovelier far than any tongue can speak,
The smile that rippled on her virgin cheek.
Like some pure spirit from another sphere,
Robed in the hues of loveliness,—so bright,—
It seemed in her that God would make it clear
What perfect woman is, to human sight,
And for this purpose partly sent her here.
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The soul of goodness shone upon her face;
And lovelier far than any tongue can speak,
The smile that rippled on her virgin cheek.
She had a silver laugh, so sweet and clear,
That you might well imagine it to be
The echo of faint music wafted near
From dulcet lutes,—one of those things that we
Would fain have linger on the enamoured ear,
And 'neath whose charm the heart throbs audibly;
Sweeter her voice than bird's of eve, whose song
Floateth the stillness of the night along,
Yet gentle, low, such as may best express
The magic depth of woman's tenderness.
That you might well imagine it to be
The echo of faint music wafted near
From dulcet lutes,—one of those things that we
Would fain have linger on the enamoured ear,
And 'neath whose charm the heart throbs audibly;
Sweeter her voice than bird's of eve, whose song
Floateth the stillness of the night along,
Yet gentle, low, such as may best express
The magic depth of woman's tenderness.
The world was nought to her,—its pleasant ways
She soon surrendered,—gave up all for Christ;
Not here her heart,—on Him she fixed her gaze,
For He, and He alone, her soul sufficed;
She lived for deeds of love, for prayer and praise,
And nought from these her constant soul enticed.
O happy Maid! whose feet for ever trod
The narrow path that upward led to God!
When came the voice to summon her away,
Ready was she to answer,—“Yea, Lord, yea!”
She soon surrendered,—gave up all for Christ;
Not here her heart,—on Him she fixed her gaze,
For He, and He alone, her soul sufficed;
She lived for deeds of love, for prayer and praise,
And nought from these her constant soul enticed.
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The narrow path that upward led to God!
When came the voice to summon her away,
Ready was she to answer,—“Yea, Lord, yea!”
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TEL-EL-KEBIR.
On the Desert lay silence unbroken and deep,
And the shadows of night gathered round like a pall;
Our men flung them down on the sand-dunes to sleep,
To snatch a brief rest sorely needed by all.
And the shadows of night gathered round like a pall;
Our men flung them down on the sand-dunes to sleep,
To snatch a brief rest sorely needed by all.
Weird, awful, and solemn to watchers that night,
The battalions in slumber beneath the broad sky,
Just seen, and no more, by the Desert's strange light,
And the gleam of the stars that shone faintly on high.
The battalions in slumber beneath the broad sky,
Just seen, and no more, by the Desert's strange light,
And the gleam of the stars that shone faintly on high.
Our horses stood ready at every man's side,
Each bridled and saddled with stirrup and rein:
In a moment might reach us the orders to ride,
And cross the vast stretches of desert again.
Each bridled and saddled with stirrup and rein:
In a moment might reach us the orders to ride,
And cross the vast stretches of desert again.
But some on the saddle all through the long night
Sat moveless and silent,—not statues more still,—
And with passionate yearning they watched for the light,
Though they tamed throbbing hearts to a resolute will.
Sat moveless and silent,—not statues more still,—
And with passionate yearning they watched for the light,
Though they tamed throbbing hearts to a resolute will.
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Here, three days before, a fierce skirmish was fought,
And close to our camp some hundreds lay dead:
On the breath of the night death odours were brought
From the corses on which foul corruption had bred.
And close to our camp some hundreds lay dead:
On the breath of the night death odours were brought
From the corses on which foul corruption had bred.
We felt sick as the scent crept past on the air,
Borne heavily to us across the sand-bars;
And we thought of the dead, with their eyeballs astare,
And their white faces turned to the passionless stars.
Borne heavily to us across the sand-bars;
And we thought of the dead, with their eyeballs astare,
And their white faces turned to the passionless stars.
Not a watch-fire was lighted through all the long night,
Not a soldier dare put in his lips a cigar,
For the foe must not hear of our march till the light,
Then,—ah, then with the dawn would come conflict and war.
Not a soldier dare put in his lips a cigar,
For the foe must not hear of our march till the light,
Then,—ah, then with the dawn would come conflict and war.
The shelterless sands must be crossed before day,
That the darkness might save us from shot and from shell:
Such were Wolseley's commands,—'twas ours to obey,—
We felt sure what he did was done wisely and well.
That the darkness might save us from shot and from shell:
Such were Wolseley's commands,—'twas ours to obey,—
We felt sure what he did was done wisely and well.
Close on midnight was whispered our General's word,
Which passed down the lines, and from rank to rank ran;
And as soon as the order to saddle was heard,
We leaped to our horses once more to a man.
Which passed down the lines, and from rank to rank ran;
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We leaped to our horses once more to a man.
Like shadows we moved through the clear Eastern night;
For a hush as of death held each one of our band,
As with slow measured tread we marched on to the fight,
And the tramp of our horses fell dead on the sand.
For a hush as of death held each one of our band,
As with slow measured tread we marched on to the fight,
And the tramp of our horses fell dead on the sand.
The Highland Brigade was the first to advance,
The Camerons soon formed themselves into rank,
And then the Black Watch, firm in step, bold in glance,
Fell in as one man to the right on the flank.
The Camerons soon formed themselves into rank,
And then the Black Watch, firm in step, bold in glance,
Fell in as one man to the right on the flank.
As trackless as ocean the great desert waste,
Not a sign far or near to point out a way,—
By the light of the stars our pathway we traced,
All hoping to reach the entrenchments ere day.
Not a sign far or near to point out a way,—
By the light of the stars our pathway we traced,
All hoping to reach the entrenchments ere day.
Rawson steered by the compass and planets' pale light,
And guided our march towards Tel-el-Kebir,
Gave the line of advance as we marched through the night,
And followed his steps, nor thought of a fear.
And guided our march towards Tel-el-Kebir,
Gave the line of advance as we marched through the night,
And followed his steps, nor thought of a fear.
Poor Rawson! all loved him, so gallant, so brave,
He was first, as he scaled the entrenchments, to fall:
I had died,—so had many,—that young life to save,
We'd have bared our own breasts to receive the death-ball.
He was first, as he scaled the entrenchments, to fall:
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We'd have bared our own breasts to receive the death-ball.
Was he loved? You may judge,—our commander rode back
Through the rush and the roar, clash of arms and the shell,
Through the whistling of bullets that fell thick on his track,
To bid his brave friend a last, hurried “farewell.”
Through the rush and the roar, clash of arms and the shell,
Through the whistling of bullets that fell thick on his track,
To bid his brave friend a last, hurried “farewell.”
Came there now through the darkness a rifle's sharp sound,
And the thought rose at once, “Did an army lie there,
Beyond those dark lines, and across the deep mound?
And was Arabi's host of our closeness aware?”
And the thought rose at once, “Did an army lie there,
Beyond those dark lines, and across the deep mound?
And was Arabi's host of our closeness aware?”
All at once on our eyes flashed a flood of red flame
In a bright, dazzling stream,—and the strife was begun,
And the pale, phantom lines into view slowly came,
As rang rattle of rifle and thunder of gun.
In a bright, dazzling stream,—and the strife was begun,
And the pale, phantom lines into view slowly came,
As rang rattle of rifle and thunder of gun.
Then the pibroch shrilled forth in tones loud and clear,
And the Highlanders raised a wild cheer in reply;
We felt more than saw that the enemy was near,
And the blast of a bugle came echoing by.
And the Highlanders raised a wild cheer in reply;
We felt more than saw that the enemy was near,
And the blast of a bugle came echoing by.
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We welcomed the sound with a thrill of delight,
Knowing now we should close with the foe before day,
That the light would reveal the entrenchments to sight,
Behind whose black lines the Egyptians lay.
Knowing now we should close with the foe before day,
That the light would reveal the entrenchments to sight,
Behind whose black lines the Egyptians lay.
So on through the hours we kept nearing the foe,
All hoping for battle ere blush of the dawn;
And what could we do as the minutes passed slow,
But stare right through the dark and march steadily on?
All hoping for battle ere blush of the dawn;
And what could we do as the minutes passed slow,
But stare right through the dark and march steadily on?
Then as the light broadened we saw on our right
Graham's men, and the brave Duke of Connaught's Brigade,
With Hamley's Division all burning for fight,
And to carry by storm the foe's strong barricade.
Graham's men, and the brave Duke of Connaught's Brigade,
With Hamley's Division all burning for fight,
And to carry by storm the foe's strong barricade.
There at last! right in front lay Tel-el-Kebir;
And Alison whispered, “Fix bayonets: lie down!”
Then the crash of a rifle,—sharp,—short,—smote the ear,
And a circle of fire wreathed the air like a crown.
And Alison whispered, “Fix bayonets: lie down!”
Then the crash of a rifle,—sharp,—short,—smote the ear,
And a circle of fire wreathed the air like a crown.
Then we ran a few paces, and lay down again,
And the enemy's guns shot their shells o'er our head;
And the bullets poured down from the trenches like rain,
And under the shower many a soldier dropped dead.
And the enemy's guns shot their shells o'er our head;
And the bullets poured down from the trenches like rain,
And under the shower many a soldier dropped dead.
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Now the order to “Charge” came welcome to all,
And we rose as one man,—rose at once into life,—
And the pibroch struck up and re-echoed the call,
And with a loud ringing cheer we rushed to the strife.
And we rose as one man,—rose at once into life,—
And the pibroch struck up and re-echoed the call,
And with a loud ringing cheer we rushed to the strife.
Our men climbed the trench, cheer on cheer, yell on yell,
What cared they? to kill? or be killed? if killed not in vain;
So surging and surging, some clambered, some fell,
Some were hurled from the parapet wounded or slain.
What cared they? to kill? or be killed? if killed not in vain;
So surging and surging, some clambered, some fell,
Some were hurled from the parapet wounded or slain.
As I entered the trench, a shell burst at my feet,
I felt blinded and deaf from the dust and the blare,
Was stifled and scorched by the sulphurous heat,
But I pressed on o'er the dead into Arabi's lair.
I felt blinded and deaf from the dust and the blare,
Was stifled and scorched by the sulphurous heat,
But I pressed on o'er the dead into Arabi's lair.
There, alas! I encountered a pitiful sight,
A woman lay dead in her blood on the ground;
She was killed by mischance in the dark of the night,
With a child on her breast, bleeding too from a wound!
A woman lay dead in her blood on the ground;
She was killed by mischance in the dark of the night,
With a child on her breast, bleeding too from a wound!
Dead mother! dead babe! the sole woman there,
With her husband she'd march'd at the war-trumpet's call,
And flying for safety in trembling despair,
Was shot through the heart by a death-wingèd ball.
With her husband she'd march'd at the war-trumpet's call,
And flying for safety in trembling despair,
Was shot through the heart by a death-wingèd ball.
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Some minutes of carnage,—a close-handed strife,
For the battle had now in grim earnest begun,—
A struggle for conquest,—nay, for more, for dear life,
And the riflemen charged in a swift steady run.
For the battle had now in grim earnest begun,—
A struggle for conquest,—nay, for more, for dear life,
And the riflemen charged in a swift steady run.
Before us,—behind us,—on flank and in rear,
Came the whizzing of shells and the musketry's ring,
And each bullet in passing rang a knell in some ear,
And our grape and our guns bore sure death on their wing.
Came the whizzing of shells and the musketry's ring,
And each bullet in passing rang a knell in some ear,
And our grape and our guns bore sure death on their wing.
Now rose the wild cheer of the Irish Brigade,
As the trenches were carried at point of the sword;
And there volleyed and thundered a fierce fusillade,
Poured again and again by Arabi's horde.
As the trenches were carried at point of the sword;
And there volleyed and thundered a fierce fusillade,
Poured again and again by Arabi's horde.
The Egyptians fought stoutly, at least for a space,
But feebler and feebler at length grew their fire;
And we trod o'er the dead as we filled up their place,
While the living before us began to retire.
But feebler and feebler at length grew their fire;
And we trod o'er the dead as we filled up their place,
While the living before us began to retire.
The batteries taken,—the foe at once fled,
And made for the open in dastardly flight,
But found in the sands a fitting deathbed,
By hundreds mown down in hand-to-hand fight.
And made for the open in dastardly flight,
But found in the sands a fitting deathbed,
By hundreds mown down in hand-to-hand fight.
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There was waving of swords and the bagpipe's shrill scream,
Each fought as if hope hung alone on his might,
And their lips had that smile, and their eyes had that gleam,
Which were omens that ours was success in the fight.
Each fought as if hope hung alone on his might,
And their lips had that smile, and their eyes had that gleam,
Which were omens that ours was success in the fight.
So it was! so it was! with small loss it was won,—
We had captured the stronghold of Tel-el-Kebir.
Before Englishmen what could the foe do but run?
And entering the breach we gave a loud cheer.
We had captured the stronghold of Tel-el-Kebir.
Before Englishmen what could the foe do but run?
And entering the breach we gave a loud cheer.
So ended the war,—thanks to Wolseley's rare skill,
No such march, no such battle had ever been seen,
All done in a night—well it makes the heart thrill,
But each man there had died for his country and Queen.
No such march, no such battle had ever been seen,
All done in a night—well it makes the heart thrill,
But each man there had died for his country and Queen.
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VIVISECTION.
A PROTEST.
Ties soft and sweet as summer rains
Link the bright heavens and earth in one,
And both are bound by golden chains
To Him who sits upon the throne.
Link the bright heavens and earth in one,
And both are bound by golden chains
To Him who sits upon the throne.
There breathes a charity divine
Through all the ranks of things that be,
Which, touching them with grace benign,
Binds each to each in sympathy.
Through all the ranks of things that be,
Which, touching them with grace benign,
Binds each to each in sympathy.
To Man, vicegerent of this earth,
Lord of its creatures great and small,
Was given, by right of native worth,
Sovran dominion over all.
Lord of its creatures great and small,
Was given, by right of native worth,
Sovran dominion over all.
This lordship was a moral trust,
Made over by a gracious God;
His was a sceptre mild and just,
And not a hard and iron rod.
Made over by a gracious God;
His was a sceptre mild and just,
And not a hard and iron rod.
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'Twas his to shield from wrong and pain
The creatures subject to his will,
To exercise a gentle reign,
And not to torture, gash, or kill.
The creatures subject to his will,
To exercise a gentle reign,
And not to torture, gash, or kill.
How has the gold become so dim!
The most fine gold, how has it changed!
How fallen now is Man from him
Who once the bowers of Eden ranged!
The most fine gold, how has it changed!
How fallen now is Man from him
Who once the bowers of Eden ranged!
Now Science, from her heights serene,
Says for the interests of her cause
She must apply the torture keen,
And so discover Nature's laws.
Says for the interests of her cause
She must apply the torture keen,
And so discover Nature's laws.
She drains from living things the life,
And calmly looks upon their woe,
As 'neath the anguish of the knife
The red drops from the arteries flow.
And calmly looks upon their woe,
As 'neath the anguish of the knife
The red drops from the arteries flow.
She probes her dark remorseless way,
Regardless of the creatures' pain;
Her hand is swift to smite and slay,
If doubtful knowledge she but gain.
Regardless of the creatures' pain;
Her hand is swift to smite and slay,
If doubtful knowledge she but gain.
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The mangled dog, with piteous cries,
Is held within a living death,
And fawning on his master dies,
Who counts each throbbing of his breath.
Is held within a living death,
And fawning on his master dies,
Who counts each throbbing of his breath.
For Science has her poisons dire,
Subtly instilled in opened veins,
Her scalpel and her knives and fire,
To cut the bone and scathe the reins.
Subtly instilled in opened veins,
Her scalpel and her knives and fire,
To cut the bone and scathe the reins.
She severs and lays bare the brain,
With cruel skill plucks out the eye;
Is blind to all the ghastly pain,
Is deaf to every moan and cry.
With cruel skill plucks out the eye;
Is blind to all the ghastly pain,
Is deaf to every moan and cry.
Thus she pursues her dreadful quest,
'Midst shuddering nerves that shrink and start,
Searches the chambers of the breast,
Divides the palpitating heart.
'Midst shuddering nerves that shrink and start,
Searches the chambers of the breast,
Divides the palpitating heart.
Like fierce Inquisitor of old,
She wrings her secrets out by pain;
And if aught still remains untold,
The rack must be applied again.
She wrings her secrets out by pain;
And if aught still remains untold,
The rack must be applied again.
The tender light that heralds day,
Men said was type of Science' dawn;
The brilliant noon, when splendour lay
On hill and meadow, stream and lawn,
Men said was type of Science' dawn;
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On hill and meadow, stream and lawn,
Was emblem of the blessèd reign
Which over all things she should hold,
And sin should pass, and wrong and pain,
While came again the age of gold.
Which over all things she should hold,
And sin should pass, and wrong and pain,
While came again the age of gold.
The day has come,—now shines the sun;
What lessons read we by its light?
“At all cost knowledge must be won;
For knowledge scorn the just and right.”
What lessons read we by its light?
“At all cost knowledge must be won;
For knowledge scorn the just and right.”
Granted that knowledge is a good,
A tree that bears most blessèd fruit;
Must it be watered with the blood
Of the poor helpless, shrinking brute?
A tree that bears most blessèd fruit;
Must it be watered with the blood
Of the poor helpless, shrinking brute?
What then? Hath Science come to this,
That 'tis her part to maim and kill,
Though deeming it her greatest bliss
To heal the sore and cure the ill?
That 'tis her part to maim and kill,
Though deeming it her greatest bliss
To heal the sore and cure the ill?
With trenchant anger shall she speak
Of those who loathe her cruel way,
Who stand between her and the weak
To save them from her horrid sway?
Of those who loathe her cruel way,
Who stand between her and the weak
To save them from her horrid sway?
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The Physiologist may frown—
What care we though he storm and brawl?
God on our work looks smiling down;
All things are His—He owns them all.
What care we though he storm and brawl?
God on our work looks smiling down;
All things are His—He owns them all.
This Science is no God divine,
At whose high altar we must bow;
A fetish rather, at whose shrine
Dark bloody rites are offered now.
At whose high altar we must bow;
A fetish rather, at whose shrine
Dark bloody rites are offered now.
And cruelty, you'll ever find,
Has swift revenges of its own;
It sears the conscience, dulls the mind,
And turns the human heart to stone.
Has swift revenges of its own;
It sears the conscience, dulls the mind,
And turns the human heart to stone.
God's mercy is o'er all His works—
'Tis part of His most loving plan;
He hates the sophistry that lurks
Behind the plea of good to man.
'Tis part of His most loving plan;
He hates the sophistry that lurks
Behind the plea of good to man.
I rise in Science' sacred name
To vindicate her noble cause,
All jealous for that well-earned fame
Which traces out great Nature's laws.
To vindicate her noble cause,
All jealous for that well-earned fame
Which traces out great Nature's laws.
True Science is both just and kind;
No joy to her to take the knife:
Her highest pleasure she doth find
In sheltering, not destroying, life.
No joy to her to take the knife:
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In sheltering, not destroying, life.
Oh, by the grace of Him who came
And bowed to earth the heavens down,
Whose heart with love was all aflame,
Who bore for us the thorny crown,—
And bowed to earth the heavens down,
Whose heart with love was all aflame,
Who bore for us the thorny crown,—
Who tells us that His loving care
Is over all from great to least,
Who paints the lily sweet and fair,
Feathers the bird, sinews the beast!
Is over all from great to least,
Who paints the lily sweet and fair,
Feathers the bird, sinews the beast!
Close to thy heart God's creatures lay;
He careth for the worm, the fly,
For insects born but for a day,
To live their little life and die.
He careth for the worm, the fly,
For insects born but for a day,
To live their little life and die.
Too long, O brothers! we have stood,
Careless, indifferent, apart,
While Science draws the welling blood
From out the living creature's heart.
Careless, indifferent, apart,
While Science draws the welling blood
From out the living creature's heart.
But now in Mercy's name we'll fight
'Gainst deeds so dark they shame the sun,
Till each dumb creature has its right,
And Love's great victory is won!
'Gainst deeds so dark they shame the sun,
Till each dumb creature has its right,
And Love's great victory is won!
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IN MEMORIAM.
THE VERY REV. FRANCIS CLOSE, D.D., DEAN OF CARLISLE, DIED DECEMBER 17, 1882.
O clear of mind and large of heart,
Who battled for the right so long;
Tears mingle with our Christmas song,
And dim the eyes from which they start.
Who battled for the right so long;
Tears mingle with our Christmas song,
And dim the eyes from which they start.
We sorely miss thee from the field,
Where, fearing God and never man,
Thou gallantly didst lead the van,
God's truth thy buckler and thy shield.
Where, fearing God and never man,
Thou gallantly didst lead the van,
God's truth thy buckler and thy shield.
Thine was the rich and ripened thought,
The chastened judgment, tempered zeal,
As prompt to act as 'twas to feel,
The wisdom by experience bought.
The chastened judgment, tempered zeal,
As prompt to act as 'twas to feel,
The wisdom by experience bought.
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Thy lips, touched with a living flame,
In burning words scathed vice and sin,
Which, heard above the world's loud din,
Won honours for the Master's name.
In burning words scathed vice and sin,
Which, heard above the world's loud din,
Won honours for the Master's name.
But now that voice in silence lies,
Those true eyes closed whate'er befall,
And though we loudly on thee call,
Thine ear is deaf to all our cries.
Those true eyes closed whate'er befall,
And though we loudly on thee call,
Thine ear is deaf to all our cries.
Where shall the Church find such a man?
The will resolved,—the busy hand,
The power to lead and to command,
The brain to think,—the mind to plan?
The will resolved,—the busy hand,
The power to lead and to command,
The brain to think,—the mind to plan?
But yet we would not mourn him gone,
For he was ripe and full of years,
And therefore we press back the tears;
His noble work on earth was done.
For he was ripe and full of years,
And therefore we press back the tears;
His noble work on earth was done.
And God had need of him above,
And called him with Himself to be,
Where spreads the bright and glassy sea,
Reflecting depths of wondrous love.
And called him with Himself to be,
Where spreads the bright and glassy sea,
Reflecting depths of wondrous love.
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God send us one to fill his place,
To take the banner from his hand,
Against the hosts of darkness stand,
And fling it in the foeman's face.
To take the banner from his hand,
Against the hosts of darkness stand,
And fling it in the foeman's face.
Farewell, O dear and steadfast friend!
We look to meet thee once again
Beyond this world of sin and pain,
Prove we but faithful to the end.
We look to meet thee once again
Beyond this world of sin and pain,
Prove we but faithful to the end.
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CHRIST ALL IN ALL.
To whom, O Saviour, shall we go?
What teacher shall we choose for guide?
With Thee eternal truths abide,
From Thee the living waters flow.
What teacher shall we choose for guide?
With Thee eternal truths abide,
From Thee the living waters flow.
Shall we to Science lend an ear,
Or of her teaching make a choice,
Mistaking hers for heavenly voice,
Beguiled to listen and to hear?
Or of her teaching make a choice,
Mistaking hers for heavenly voice,
Beguiled to listen and to hear?
Science has nothing for the soul,
Her world is bounded by the sight;
Her teaching cold as Northern light
That plays around the Arctic pole.
Her world is bounded by the sight;
Her teaching cold as Northern light
That plays around the Arctic pole.
Shall we to Nature fondly turn,
Hear what of God she can declare;
What we can find in earth or air
To make the heart with rapture burn?
Hear what of God she can declare;
What we can find in earth or air
To make the heart with rapture burn?
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Nature can offer us no balm
To stanch an open, running sore
That bleeds and festers at the core,
Or o'er the conscience shed a calm.
To stanch an open, running sore
That bleeds and festers at the core,
Or o'er the conscience shed a calm.
Whether or no I grieve or weep,
Stars roll unheeding through the skies,
Suns in the heavens set and rise,
And tides along the ocean sweep.
Stars roll unheeding through the skies,
Suns in the heavens set and rise,
And tides along the ocean sweep.
'Tis Thine, O Lord, to save from sin,
To comfort, succour, strengthen, heal;
And Thou dost with and for us feel,
And hearts from sorest sorrows win.
To comfort, succour, strengthen, heal;
And Thou dost with and for us feel,
And hearts from sorest sorrows win.
Beauty for ashes Thou dost give,
The oil of joy for mourners' ways,
For heaviness the robes of praise,
And bidd'st the dying sinner live.
The oil of joy for mourners' ways,
For heaviness the robes of praise,
And bidd'st the dying sinner live.
Then trust we only in Thy Word,
And lowly at Thy feet we fall;
Thou art our hope, our life, our all,
Redeemer, Saviour, God, and Lord!
And lowly at Thy feet we fall;
Thou art our hope, our life, our all,
Redeemer, Saviour, God, and Lord!
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CHURCH BELLS.
I
When I hear the sweet bells ringingFrom the storied old church-tower,
Memories in my heart awaken
With a strange and thrilling power;
For the dead days rise before me,
When with friends I heard their chime,
And my soul is filled with yearnings
For that dear and happy time.
The sweet, sweet bells!
II
Yet again, each Sabbath holy,Peal their voices on the ear,
Calling people with their music,
Bidding them from far and near:—
Come, ye troubled souls and weary,
Lay your burdens down and rest,
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Peace to every laden breast.
The soft, clear bells!
III
Oft I hear their joyous chimingFrom the belfry tower above,
Sending forth in jubilation
Tidings of new wedded love;
Thus they ring in pleasant changes,
Till the charmèd air around,
Thrilling with the golden message,
Throbs and quivers to the sound.
The strong, clear bells!
IV
Oft the iron tongue of curfewSmites the ear with measured roar,
Tells the hours are quickly passing,
That they were, but are no more;
Warns us we are so much nearer
To the Great and Awful Day,
That the tide of life is ebbing,
Calls us all to watch and pray.
The deep-toned bells!
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V
Oft they toll in tones all solemn;Muffled peal and mournful knell
Bear to us a needed warning
In the sound of passing bell;
One more soul its flight hath taken,
One more spirit gone to God,
And the mortal on earth's bosom
Rests in peace below the sod.
The sad, sweet bells!
VI
Ring on! we are never wearyOf a voice that floats from heaven.
Ring on! for we love your cadence,
Heard at morn, or noon, or even.
Yes, we love the silver chiming
Of the solemn hallowed bells,
As they sound o'er moor or mountain,
Crowded town, or fragrant fells.
The sweet, sweet bells!
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A WAIF OF THE STREETS.
He was cold, the shoeless child, as he ran down the wintry street,
And the wind blew keenly against him, and the rain fell fast, and the sleet;
He was ragged, and scantily clad, with a sad face, wan and thin,
And in all the great Christian city there was no one to take him in.
And the wind blew keenly against him, and the rain fell fast, and the sleet;
He was ragged, and scantily clad, with a sad face, wan and thin,
And in all the great Christian city there was no one to take him in.
He had lost the sweet look of childhood, seemed old beyond his years,
And his great blue eyes 'neath their lashes appeared no strangers to tears.
Poor boy! as he passed me, I thought he could be no older than eight,
And were these hard streets and their vices to be his terrible fate?
And his great blue eyes 'neath their lashes appeared no strangers to tears.
Poor boy! as he passed me, I thought he could be no older than eight,
And were these hard streets and their vices to be his terrible fate?
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Hundreds were pressing about him, but he was alone, alone!
He had not a friend in the world, not one to claim as his own;
His father, drunkard and thief, in dread of the law had fled;
His mother had failed in the struggle for life, and was dead.
He had not a friend in the world, not one to claim as his own;
His father, drunkard and thief, in dread of the law had fled;
His mother had failed in the struggle for life, and was dead.
So the child was sent adrift, and used through the thoroughfares roam,
His only friend the police, who often gave him a home,
At least, for the night; but nobody knew or could tell
How he lived; he had nothing, no, not even a match to sell.
His only friend the police, who often gave him a home,
At least, for the night; but nobody knew or could tell
How he lived; he had nothing, no, not even a match to sell.
He was off at the glimmer of dawn, ere well had broken the day,
And only came back with night, when the shadows fell long and grey;
He never slept in a bed, but lay down on the cold stone floor,
Or crept to a place near the stove, or a corner close to the door.
And only came back with night, when the shadows fell long and grey;
He never slept in a bed, but lay down on the cold stone floor,
Or crept to a place near the stove, or a corner close to the door.
For houseless, like the Saviour, he had nowhere to lay his head,
And early cast out in the morning, he begged or he stole his bread;
Living as best he was able all through the wintry day,
And drifting back with the evening tide, like wrack tossed on the spray.
And early cast out in the morning, he begged or he stole his bread;
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And drifting back with the evening tide, like wrack tossed on the spray.
It was Christmas-time, and the houses were all ablaze with light,
And the shops were decked with holly, and berries were gleaming bright;
There was singing, and feasting, and laughter, and gladness, and mirth,
And bells were ringing to call men to praise for the Saviour's birth.
And the shops were decked with holly, and berries were gleaming bright;
There was singing, and feasting, and laughter, and gladness, and mirth,
And bells were ringing to call men to praise for the Saviour's birth.
What was Christmas to him? Ah! what was that wonderful morn,
Which brings the glad tidings that Christ of the Virgin was born?
He had no one to tell him of Jesus—no one to teach him to praise;
What to the Christians around them were the city's waifs and strays?
Which brings the glad tidings that Christ of the Virgin was born?
He had no one to tell him of Jesus—no one to teach him to praise;
What to the Christians around them were the city's waifs and strays?
I said, as he ran with bare feet over the London flags,
And the keen winter's wind whistled cold through his thin and wretched rags:
“My boy, you are hungry; would you like a dinner, poor child?”
He looked up in my face, half-doubting—looked for a moment and smiled.
And the keen winter's wind whistled cold through his thin and wretched rags:
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He looked up in my face, half-doubting—looked for a moment and smiled.
Then he answered me, “Sir, I am hungry; I haven't broke fast all day;
Do give me something for bread, sir—a penny—I can buy it over the way.”
And hope came into his eyes, while across the wan thin face
Spread a blush that lent to its pallor a new and beautiful grace.
Do give me something for bread, sir—a penny—I can buy it over the way.”
And hope came into his eyes, while across the wan thin face
Spread a blush that lent to its pallor a new and beautiful grace.
So I took the shivering child,—this exile from all men's fold—
Hungry-eyed, with his little face sunken and wan, I took the boy from the cold,
And I brought him at once to the “Robins’” Home, and gave him a dinner there,
With many a starving outcast from the noisy street and square.
Hungry-eyed, with his little face sunken and wan, I took the boy from the cold,
And I brought him at once to the “Robins’” Home, and gave him a dinner there,
With many a starving outcast from the noisy street and square.
And oh! what a pleasure it was to see these poor little ones eat!
I know not a joy in the world could be purer, or half so sweet;
And to teach them in kindly words of a Father who from above
Looks down on all in His pity, and tells us that He is “Love!”
I know not a joy in the world could be purer, or half so sweet;
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Looks down on all in His pity, and tells us that He is “Love!”
To tell them of Jesus the Saviour, born at this Christmastime,
Whose goodness and mercy peal out in each sweet and silver chime
Of the clashing bells that ring from the tall church close by,
And lift up the heart and the hope to the mansions of glory on high.
Whose goodness and mercy peal out in each sweet and silver chime
Of the clashing bells that ring from the tall church close by,
And lift up the heart and the hope to the mansions of glory on high.
Well, I placed that poor boy in a Home, under the tenderest care,
And I saved the child from the sin which brings with it woe and despair;
No more is he outcast, or lies 'neath a cruel social ban,
But he knows, and he does, his duty—does it well to God and man.
And I saved the child from the sin which brings with it woe and despair;
No more is he outcast, or lies 'neath a cruel social ban,
But he knows, and he does, his duty—does it well to God and man.
Oh, my brothers! my sisters! there's many a waif and stray
You may rescue from sin and sorrow, as you pass along the way
That leads to Christ and to peace, and on to the golden door,
Which shall close 'gainst sin and sorrow, and shut them out evermore.
You may rescue from sin and sorrow, as you pass along the way
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Which shall close 'gainst sin and sorrow, and shut them out evermore.
Oh come ye that love your children, and would keep them undefiled,
Come, and take into your pity the starving and shoeless child;
Teach him, oh teach him of Jesus, and at last He will say to thee,
“As ye did to the least of these little ones, ye did it also to Me.”
Come, and take into your pity the starving and shoeless child;
Teach him, oh teach him of Jesus, and at last He will say to thee,
“As ye did to the least of these little ones, ye did it also to Me.”
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GOOD-BYE.
The time is come, dear friends, for us to part,
And I must say “Good-bye” to you to-day;
Fain would I now pour out to you my heart
Before I pass upon my lonely way.
All know the sadness of this word, “Farewell;”
It sounds as at the grave a funeral bell,
And as I utter it tears fill the eye,
And yet it must be said,—“Good-bye,—Good-bye.”
And I must say “Good-bye” to you to-day;
Fain would I now pour out to you my heart
Before I pass upon my lonely way.
All know the sadness of this word, “Farewell;”
It sounds as at the grave a funeral bell,
And as I utter it tears fill the eye,
And yet it must be said,—“Good-bye,—Good-bye.”
Our fellowship has ever been most sweet,
Like all true fellowship, both frank and free;
And happy hours have flown on wings too fleet,
Rapid as rush of rivers to the sea.
Yet have they left for each of us behind
Fond memories that linger on the mind,
And which close to our love will ever lie:
“Good-bye,”—once more, dear friends, once more—“Good-bye.”
Like all true fellowship, both frank and free;
And happy hours have flown on wings too fleet,
Rapid as rush of rivers to the sea.
Yet have they left for each of us behind
Fond memories that linger on the mind,
And which close to our love will ever lie:
“Good-bye,”—once more, dear friends, once more—“Good-bye.”
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“Good-bye!” the words still falter on my tongue,
They linger there as loth to leave my lips;
But to this effort must the heart be strung,
Though life's fair sun went down beneath eclipse.
Soon pass we from each other's yearning eyes,
No more sweet questionings or fond replies;
You feel the aching sorrow, friends, and I,—
I know how bitter 'tis to say, “Good-bye.”
They linger there as loth to leave my lips;
But to this effort must the heart be strung,
Though life's fair sun went down beneath eclipse.
Soon pass we from each other's yearning eyes,
No more sweet questionings or fond replies;
You feel the aching sorrow, friends, and I,—
I know how bitter 'tis to say, “Good-bye.”
“Good-bye!” may “God be with ye” all through life,
Where'er ye are, wherever ye may go;
And alway give ye triumph in the strife;
And make with bliss your cup to overflow.
Now must I journey to another land,
Past sound of your dear voice or touch of hand;
Yet though we part in spirit we are nigh,
Still are we friends,—“Good-bye!”—again,—“Good-bye!”
Where'er ye are, wherever ye may go;
And alway give ye triumph in the strife;
And make with bliss your cup to overflow.
Now must I journey to another land,
Past sound of your dear voice or touch of hand;
Yet though we part in spirit we are nigh,
Still are we friends,—“Good-bye!”—again,—“Good-bye!”
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