 | Carmina crucis |  |
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3. Third Part.
“I am crucified with Christ, nevertheless I live;
yet not I, but Christ liveth in me, and the life which I
now live in the flesh I live by the faith of the Son of
God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.”
Galatians ii. 20.
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L'ENVOI.
To me how many tasks
Love gave in youth, and I was well content;
Only to stand and wait a lover asks;
And yet my spirit, bent
By pain and strife, forewent
Its steadfast service long
Ere the sweet evensong.
Love gave in youth, and I was well content;
Only to stand and wait a lover asks;
And yet my spirit, bent
By pain and strife, forewent
Its steadfast service long
Ere the sweet evensong.
Yet oft will Love return
And sweetly talk with me, most like a friend
Austere and proved, whose words, perchance, are stern,
Yet in whose eyes (that while he speaketh bend
To meet my own) such gentleness I find,
That all his speech seems pitiful and kind.
And sweetly talk with me, most like a friend
Austere and proved, whose words, perchance, are stern,
Yet in whose eyes (that while he speaketh bend
To meet my own) such gentleness I find,
That all his speech seems pitiful and kind.
Love saith to me, “Repent;”
Love saith to me, “Believe;”
Love sayeth oft-times, “Grieve
That thou hast little lent,
That thou hast little given,
To Him, thy Lord in Heaven,
And when He cometh what wilt Thou receive?”
Love saith to me, “Believe;”
Love sayeth oft-times, “Grieve
That thou hast little lent,
That thou hast little given,
To Him, thy Lord in Heaven,
And when He cometh what wilt Thou receive?”
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Love sayeth to me, “Pray
That thou mayst meet that day
Desired yet feared;” and oft-times Love again
Repeats these words, and oh! my spirit then,
What sayest thou? “I say
To all Love sayeth, Yea,
Yea evermore, and evermore Amen!”
That thou mayst meet that day
Desired yet feared;” and oft-times Love again
Repeats these words, and oh! my spirit then,
What sayest thou? “I say
To all Love sayeth, Yea,
Yea evermore, and evermore Amen!”
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THE SUN-FLOWER.
Till the slow daylight pale,
A willing slave, fast bound to one above,
I wait; he seems to speed, and change, and fail;
I know he will not move.
A willing slave, fast bound to one above,
I wait; he seems to speed, and change, and fail;
I know he will not move.
I lift my golden orb
To his, unsmitten when the roses die,
And in my broad and burning disk absorb
The splendours of his eye.
To his, unsmitten when the roses die,
And in my broad and burning disk absorb
The splendours of his eye.
His eye is like a clear
Keen flame that searches through me; I must droop
Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere;
To mine he cannot stoop.
Keen flame that searches through me; I must droop
Upon my stalk, I cannot reach his sphere;
To mine he cannot stoop.
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I win not my desire,
And yet I fail not of my guerdon; lo!
A thousand flickering darts and tongues of fire
Around me spread and glow;
And yet I fail not of my guerdon; lo!
A thousand flickering darts and tongues of fire
Around me spread and glow;
All ray'd and crown'd, I miss
No queenly state until the summer wane,
The hours flit by; none knoweth of my bliss,
And none has guess'd my pain;
No queenly state until the summer wane,
The hours flit by; none knoweth of my bliss,
And none has guess'd my pain;
I follow one above,
I track the shadow of his steps, I grow
Most like to him I love
Of all that shines below.
I track the shadow of his steps, I grow
Most like to him I love
Of all that shines below.
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SITA.
[_]
Sita, the divine spouse of Rama, is torn from him by evil genii, under whose power she long remains. When after a protracted separation, Sita is again restored to Rama, he turns from her coldly, under the idea that during her cruel bondage and long wanderings she may have met with contamination. She appeals to the ordeal of fire and flings herself within it, adjuring the flame, as searching all things, to bear witness to her purity. The fire restores her “faultless, pure, immaculate, one who has never offended against her lord in speech, in heart, in eyes.”
Death-smitten with a look
From him she loved, of doubt and question cold,
She turn'd from him she loved without rebuke,
And stood amazed; then spake out keen and bold,
As one whose grief already is too old
For fond reproach:
From him she loved, of doubt and question cold,
She turn'd from him she loved without rebuke,
And stood amazed; then spake out keen and bold,
As one whose grief already is too old
For fond reproach:
“All pain except this pain,
To live and meet his cold averted eye;
All shame, except his lofty, still disdain;
All other outrage schemed 'twixt earth and sky
I have endured for ages, still upborne
By thought of Rama's love; I meet his scorn;
Come Fire, and end this undream'd agony.”
To live and meet his cold averted eye;
All shame, except his lofty, still disdain;
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I have endured for ages, still upborne
By thought of Rama's love; I meet his scorn;
Come Fire, and end this undream'd agony.”
And even while she spake
She fell a flame within the flame, as light
As melts upon the stream a snowy flake
The fire sent forth—a thousand lambent bright
Swift flickering tongues, each one that did proclaim
Her pure and stainless, “Sita, free from blame.”
The flame caress'd her scarlet vesture's pride,
No flower that garlanded her forehead shrank,
Her bosom glow'd; as one that doth deride
Her fate she stood serene as though she drank
The flame's fierce breath.
She fell a flame within the flame, as light
As melts upon the stream a snowy flake
The fire sent forth—a thousand lambent bright
Swift flickering tongues, each one that did proclaim
Her pure and stainless, “Sita, free from blame.”
The flame caress'd her scarlet vesture's pride,
No flower that garlanded her forehead shrank,
Her bosom glow'd; as one that doth deride
Her fate she stood serene as though she drank
The flame's fierce breath.
Then sang she, “Oh, thou keen
Attesting flame! Thou callest me by name,
Thou sayest to me, Welcome, free from blame
In thought, word, deed, unstain'd! and yet the same
Were I, still Sita, still a blameless Queen,
Hadst Thou too join'd with all to work me shame!
Attesting flame! Thou callest me by name,
Thou sayest to me, Welcome, free from blame
In thought, word, deed, unstain'd! and yet the same
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Hadst Thou too join'd with all to work me shame!
Had all on Earth made cause
With all in Heaven to drag me unto ill,
I had been ever pure, and to the laws
That bound me ever true! rememb'ring still,
Rama's deep eyes, and all the heaven we shared
'Mid the high hills, in many a balmy cleft,
And chasm the warm thunder scarce had left.
Yea! let my spirit to its depths be bared,
Still were I pure! though ages past away,
And found me still the demon's scoff and prey
Through spells accurst, or left me drifted, driven
Through Hell's wide vaults; still trampled on, despised,
My soul was his, although our lives were riven,
Yea, scorn'd and outraged, agonized, abhorr'd,
Still I was Rama's love, and he was Sita's Lord!
With all in Heaven to drag me unto ill,
I had been ever pure, and to the laws
That bound me ever true! rememb'ring still,
Rama's deep eyes, and all the heaven we shared
'Mid the high hills, in many a balmy cleft,
And chasm the warm thunder scarce had left.
Yea! let my spirit to its depths be bared,
Still were I pure! though ages past away,
And found me still the demon's scoff and prey
Through spells accurst, or left me drifted, driven
Through Hell's wide vaults; still trampled on, despised,
My soul was his, although our lives were riven,
Yea, scorn'd and outraged, agonized, abhorr'd,
Still I was Rama's love, and he was Sita's Lord!
And Thou, oh, champion, late
And sure! Thou Fire that, searching all things, dost proclaim
Me pure and stainless! Sita, free from blame!
Hadst thou, too, leagued thyself with iron Fate,
Hadst join'd the cruel earth and bitter sky
To leave forsaken Sita desolate;
Then from itself unto itself my soul
Would witness to the whole;
Still to itself my heart would testify
And prove me Sita! Sita still the pride
Of Heaven, the cherish'd Bride
Of Rama, fair and uncontaminate.”
And sure! Thou Fire that, searching all things, dost proclaim
Me pure and stainless! Sita, free from blame!
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Hadst join'd the cruel earth and bitter sky
To leave forsaken Sita desolate;
Then from itself unto itself my soul
Would witness to the whole;
Still to itself my heart would testify
And prove me Sita! Sita still the pride
Of Heaven, the cherish'd Bride
Of Rama, fair and uncontaminate.”
She ceased, nor to the sky
Nor sun appealing turned; nor yet the eye
Of Rama sought; but stood as one compelled
To speak the words she utter'd, not in pride,
Nor wrath, nor scorn, but even as impell'd
By stedfast truth. So stood she, self-upheld,
And before all the worlds, self-justified.
Nor sun appealing turned; nor yet the eye
Of Rama sought; but stood as one compelled
To speak the words she utter'd, not in pride,
Nor wrath, nor scorn, but even as impell'd
By stedfast truth. So stood she, self-upheld,
And before all the worlds, self-justified.
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EXPECTANS EXPECTAVI.
Thou gavest me no kiss,
Jesus, my Master! oft I sadly thought
Perchance Thou choosest to be found unsought;
And I was ever seeking! yet in this
I cannot change, and even should I miss
Thee on thy way, yet here I will abide,
And track thy foot-prints to the dark stream's side.
Jesus, my Master! oft I sadly thought
Perchance Thou choosest to be found unsought;
And I was ever seeking! yet in this
I cannot change, and even should I miss
Thee on thy way, yet here I will abide,
And track thy foot-prints to the dark stream's side.
Thou gavest unto me
No sign! I knew no loving secret, told
As oft to men beloved, and I must hold
My peace when these would speak of converse high;
Jesus, my Master, yet I would be nigh
When these would speak, and in the words rejoice,
Of them who listen to the Bridegroom's voice.
Thou gavest unto me
No goodly gift, no pearl of price untold,
No signet-ring, no ruby shut in gold,
No chain around my neck to wear for pride,
For love no token in my breast to hide;
Yea! these, perchance, from out my careless hold
Had slipped, perchance some robber shrewd and bold
Had snatch'd them from me! so Thou didst provide
For me, my Master kind, from day to day;
And in this world, Thine Inn, Thou badst me stay,
And saidst,—“What Thou spendest, I will pay.”
No sign! I knew no loving secret, told
As oft to men beloved, and I must hold
My peace when these would speak of converse high;
Jesus, my Master, yet I would be nigh
When these would speak, and in the words rejoice,
Of them who listen to the Bridegroom's voice.
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No goodly gift, no pearl of price untold,
No signet-ring, no ruby shut in gold,
No chain around my neck to wear for pride,
For love no token in my breast to hide;
Yea! these, perchance, from out my careless hold
Had slipped, perchance some robber shrewd and bold
Had snatch'd them from me! so Thou didst provide
For me, my Master kind, from day to day;
And in this world, Thine Inn, Thou badst me stay,
And saidst,—“What Thou spendest, I will pay.”
I never heard Thee say
“Bring forth the robe for this My son, the best,”
Thou gavest not to me, as unto guest
Approved, a festal mantle rich and gay;
Still singing, ever singing, in the cold
Thou leavest me, without Thy Door to stay;
Now the Night draweth on, the Day is old,
And Thou hast never said,—“Come in, my Friend,”—
Yet once, yea twice, methinks thy love did send
A secret message,—“Bless'd unto the end
Are they that love and they that still endure.”
Jesus, my Saviour, take to Thee Thy poor,
Take home Thy humble Friend.
“Bring forth the robe for this My son, the best,”
Thou gavest not to me, as unto guest
Approved, a festal mantle rich and gay;
Still singing, ever singing, in the cold
Thou leavest me, without Thy Door to stay;
Now the Night draweth on, the Day is old,
And Thou hast never said,—“Come in, my Friend,”—
Yet once, yea twice, methinks thy love did send
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Are they that love and they that still endure.”
Jesus, my Saviour, take to Thee Thy poor,
Take home Thy humble Friend.
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ELECTION.
Who shall the secret learn
Of Thine exclusion stern?
Thy word, thy world write bitter things and plain,
Yet doth the heart appeal,
From lore their books unseal,
And ask, “Can aught that lives love, suffer, yearn in vain?”
Of Thine exclusion stern?
Thy word, thy world write bitter things and plain,
Yet doth the heart appeal,
From lore their books unseal,
And ask, “Can aught that lives love, suffer, yearn in vain?”
Pain shall my witness be
That I am loved by Thee;
Before Thy worlds were framed, within Thy Book
Were all my members writ;
Upon my substance, yet
Unfashion'd, Thou didst look:
Then from Thy breath was lit
A furnace, deep and vast;
Yet didst thou weigh the blast
The while Thou feedest the keen flame, and see
The sum of things Thou didst prepare for me.
That I am loved by Thee;
Before Thy worlds were framed, within Thy Book
Were all my members writ;
Upon my substance, yet
Unfashion'd, Thou didst look:
Then from Thy breath was lit
A furnace, deep and vast;
Yet didst thou weigh the blast
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The sum of things Thou didst prepare for me.
Need shall my witness be
That I am loved of Thee;
No work of Thine, my God, is from Thee thrown
With careless hand! sun, moon, and steadfast star,
And wave that moans and strives against its bar
Is held to Thee! the moss unto its stone.
Thou takest care for all! the spider clings
And lays her hold in palaces of kings,
The fierce beasts roam by night, uncouth and wild
And yet, beloved, Thou wilt not leave Thy child;
Thou wilt not break the reed
Which Thou hast bruised; the vine
Unclasp, that seeks to twine
Around the elm, nor bid its tendrils bleed;
Nor will Thy soul reject
Him whom Thou dost elect
To be Thine own through weakness, search, and need.
That I am loved of Thee;
No work of Thine, my God, is from Thee thrown
With careless hand! sun, moon, and steadfast star,
And wave that moans and strives against its bar
Is held to Thee! the moss unto its stone.
Thou takest care for all! the spider clings
And lays her hold in palaces of kings,
The fierce beasts roam by night, uncouth and wild
And yet, beloved, Thou wilt not leave Thy child;
Thou wilt not break the reed
Which Thou hast bruised; the vine
Unclasp, that seeks to twine
Around the elm, nor bid its tendrils bleed;
Nor will Thy soul reject
Him whom Thou dost elect
To be Thine own through weakness, search, and need.
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Love shall my witness be
That I am loved of Thee:
The red pomegranate bursts not till it shows
Within its breast the dark, well-ripen'd seed;
The heart most nigh to breaking learns and knows
The fulness of its wealth through very need;
When fire is kindled on the earth it glows
In highest Heaven; none run uncall'd, none love
Unloved; below, above,
Thy works are many, but Thy Name is One:
Who speaks of doom, of Fate
Thou dost predestinate,
Through Love the soul that loves to be Thine own.
That I am loved of Thee:
The red pomegranate bursts not till it shows
Within its breast the dark, well-ripen'd seed;
The heart most nigh to breaking learns and knows
The fulness of its wealth through very need;
When fire is kindled on the earth it glows
In highest Heaven; none run uncall'd, none love
Unloved; below, above,
Thy works are many, but Thy Name is One:
Who speaks of doom, of Fate
Thou dost predestinate,
Through Love the soul that loves to be Thine own.
Thou hast given me a heart to desire,
Thou hast given me a soul to aspire,
A spirit to question and plead;
I ask not what Thou hast decreed;
I think but of love and of need;
Thou art rich, Thou art kind, Thou art free;
What joy shall be failing to me
Whom Thou lovest? Thy smile and Thy kiss
Can give me back all that I miss,
In Thy presence is fulness of bliss:
I ask not its nature! I know
It is life, it is youth, it is love,
It is all that is wanting below,
It is all that is waiting above.
Thou hast given me a soul to aspire,
A spirit to question and plead;
I ask not what Thou hast decreed;
I think but of love and of need;
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What joy shall be failing to me
Whom Thou lovest? Thy smile and Thy kiss
Can give me back all that I miss,
In Thy presence is fulness of bliss:
I ask not its nature! I know
It is life, it is youth, it is love,
It is all that is wanting below,
It is all that is waiting above.
Is it peace that I crave? is it rest?
Is it love that would bless and be blest?
All, all that Thou takest away,
Thou canst give me again, in a day,
In an hour, in a moment! Thy hand
Is full, and I open my breast
For the flower of my soul to expand!
Is it love that would bless and be blest?
All, all that Thou takest away,
Thou canst give me again, in a day,
In an hour, in a moment! Thy hand
Is full, and I open my breast
For the flower of my soul to expand!
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BURIED, BUT NOT DEAD.
“What now dost thou bury
“So softly and still?
“Oh! this is the grave
“Of my own proud will.”
“I bid it sleep softly in Death's little room,
“And my hopes, too, I bury with it in the tomb.”
De la Motte Fouqué.
“So softly and still?
“Oh! this is the grave
“Of my own proud will.”
“I bid it sleep softly in Death's little room,
“And my hopes, too, I bury with it in the tomb.”
De la Motte Fouqué.
Betwixt the light of the rising sun,
And the light of the waning moon,
Along the grassy forest path,
Fair Knight, thou speedest soon!
A chill faint Dawn is on the sky,
And through the wood a breath
Runs fresh, yet cold as is the sigh
That comes 'twixt life and death.
And the light of the waning moon,
Along the grassy forest path,
Fair Knight, thou speedest soon!
A chill faint Dawn is on the sky,
And through the wood a breath
Runs fresh, yet cold as is the sigh
That comes 'twixt life and death.
The forest paths are green and lone,
The forest shade is deep,
The secrets on its stillness thrown
It knoweth well to keep;
And some will seek the forest glade,
A deadly strife to end;
And some there are will seek its shade,
To meet a gentle friend.
The forest shade is deep,
The secrets on its stillness thrown
It knoweth well to keep;
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A deadly strife to end;
And some there are will seek its shade,
To meet a gentle friend.
Yet on this brow I read no frown
Of foeman's vengeful ire,
And in this quiet eye cast down
No light of soft desire;
Not thus they look who meet by night
Beneath the blossom'd thorn,
And cry, when breaks the Eastern light,
“How quickly comes the morn!”
Of foeman's vengeful ire,
And in this quiet eye cast down
No light of soft desire;
Not thus they look who meet by night
Beneath the blossom'd thorn,
And cry, when breaks the Eastern light,
“How quickly comes the morn!”
A little bird upon the bough
Sang clear, a light breeze stirr'd
The thick, dark summer leaves, but now
I know not if he heard
The whisper of the summer leaves,
The carol of the bird.
Sang clear, a light breeze stirr'd
The thick, dark summer leaves, but now
I know not if he heard
The whisper of the summer leaves,
The carol of the bird.
A little brook beside his way
Ran chafing, chiding long;
I know not if he marked its play,
Or heard its ceaseless song;
At length he near'd a green, smooth place
Within the thickest shade,
A still, fair, solitary place,
For quiet spirits made.
Ran chafing, chiding long;
I know not if he marked its play,
Or heard its ceaseless song;
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Within the thickest shade,
A still, fair, solitary place,
For quiet spirits made.
And in that solitary place
He knelt and pray'd to God,
I saw no mound beneath his knees,
No heaving of the sod:
Unstirr'd I saw the grasses lie,
Unstirr'd the daisies wave;
A pleasant spot, and yet I knew
He knelt upon a grave.
He knelt and pray'd to God,
I saw no mound beneath his knees,
No heaving of the sod:
Unstirr'd I saw the grasses lie,
Unstirr'd the daisies wave;
A pleasant spot, and yet I knew
He knelt upon a grave.
He lifted up his steel-clad hands,
“I bring to Thee the first,
I bring to Thee,” he said, “the last
Fond hope that I have nursed;
The wish that strengthen'd with my strength,
And with my being grew;
And the last sweet, silent dream that crept
Close to my heart, and drew
So soft a breath that if it slept
Or woke, I scarcely knew.
On earth, in Heaven, whom have I now
But thee,—in death, in life?
Oh, bind my spirit with the vow
That makes an end of strife!
“I bring to Thee the first,
I bring to Thee,” he said, “the last
Fond hope that I have nursed;
The wish that strengthen'd with my strength,
And with my being grew;
And the last sweet, silent dream that crept
Close to my heart, and drew
So soft a breath that if it slept
Or woke, I scarcely knew.
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But thee,—in death, in life?
Oh, bind my spirit with the vow
That makes an end of strife!
“The Dead above their dead may wail,
The living live to Thee,
Oh, First and Last! Thou dost not fail
For Thou art strong; and we,
Thy little ones, are weak and frail,
And Thou, our Lord, art free,
And we with heavy bands are bound;
But now of bond or free
I reck not,—bitter turns to sweet,—
I see Thy hands, I see Thy feet;
My dearest Lord, I see
Thy wounded heart! Oh, be Thou found
For First and Last to me!”
The living live to Thee,
Oh, First and Last! Thou dost not fail
For Thou art strong; and we,
Thy little ones, are weak and frail,
And Thou, our Lord, art free,
And we with heavy bands are bound;
But now of bond or free
I reck not,—bitter turns to sweet,—
I see Thy hands, I see Thy feet;
My dearest Lord, I see
Thy wounded heart! Oh, be Thou found
For First and Last to me!”
He rose and went upon his way;
A moving to and fro
Was in the woods, as of a calm,
Strong wind that gathers slow:
No dew lay on the grassy dell,
The sky was cloudless-clear,
Yet from the clear, bright heavens there fell
A solitary tear.
A moving to and fro
Was in the woods, as of a calm,
Strong wind that gathers slow:
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The sky was cloudless-clear,
Yet from the clear, bright heavens there fell
A solitary tear.
And through the woven boughs—I saw
The glory of the sky
Look down,—I saw the forest flowers
In quiet bloom and die,—
I saw the lowly grasses bend,
I saw the daisies wave;
Oh! Jesus, loving to the end,
Thou knowest of that grave!
The glory of the sky
Look down,—I saw the forest flowers
In quiet bloom and die,—
I saw the lowly grasses bend,
I saw the daisies wave;
Oh! Jesus, loving to the end,
Thou knowest of that grave!
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RECEIVING.
“Non vox sed votum, non chordula musica sed cor,
Non clamans sed amans, cantat in aure Dei.”
Non clamans sed amans, cantat in aure Dei.”
My heart is fixed on One above,—
To win His smile, to please His eyes
My heart is fain: because I love,
I serve,—nor yet with tears and sighs;
By patient duty love must rise,—
And late and early, far and near
I sought Him gifts; to Him are dear
The things that others still despise.
To win His smile, to please His eyes
My heart is fain: because I love,
I serve,—nor yet with tears and sighs;
By patient duty love must rise,—
And late and early, far and near
I sought Him gifts; to Him are dear
The things that others still despise.
I sought for Him in Spring-time cold;
The trembling palm that comes in haste,
The little crocus all in gold,
The slender snow-drop, and the bold
Mezereon, on its leafless stem,
Fair things that do not fear to waste
Their gentle souls! and after them
Another store I chanced to find
Of things forgotten, left behind.
The trembling palm that comes in haste,
The little crocus all in gold,
The slender snow-drop, and the bold
Mezereon, on its leafless stem,
Fair things that do not fear to waste
Their gentle souls! and after them
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Of things forgotten, left behind.
Some soft white fleece by briers torn
From off the flock,—some ear of corn
Dropt careless from the gleaner's breast,
The last red berry on the thorn,
Or prize of some forsaken nest.
From off the flock,—some ear of corn
Dropt careless from the gleaner's breast,
The last red berry on the thorn,
Or prize of some forsaken nest.
There came on earth a weary time;
If this be Autumn, where is now
The fruit upon the laden bough,
The harvest redd'ning in the broad
Calm sunshine, where the squirrels hoard,
The winding clear of hunter's horn?
Leaves only, wither'd leaves I found;
A mournful silence, mournful sound
Of wind that rustled through the sere,
Stark boughs, and from the shrunken ear
Shook out the thin and blighted corn.
If this be Autumn, where is now
The fruit upon the laden bough,
The harvest redd'ning in the broad
Calm sunshine, where the squirrels hoard,
The winding clear of hunter's horn?
Leaves only, wither'd leaves I found;
A mournful silence, mournful sound
Of wind that rustled through the sere,
Stark boughs, and from the shrunken ear
Shook out the thin and blighted corn.
But while I mourn'd thereat, more clear
Than song of bird at Autumn eve,
A voice was borne upon mine ear,
A voice that said, “Why wilt thou grieve,
And must I still from thee receive?
How hast thou learnt which pleaseth best
The gift thou bringest, or the free
Firm open palm held up to me?
The less is of the greater blest.
Than song of bird at Autumn eve,
A voice was borne upon mine ear,
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And must I still from thee receive?
How hast thou learnt which pleaseth best
The gift thou bringest, or the free
Firm open palm held up to me?
The less is of the greater blest.
“Remember what on earth I spake.”
“Oh then,” I said, “at this Thy word
I take Thee now, through zeal I erred,
Through love, that bids me now confess
My fault; to give be Thine! to bless
Is Thine; dear Lord, to Thee I leave
The greater blessing! with the less,
So well content I will not grieve
From Thee for ever to receive,
“Oh then,” I said, “at this Thy word
I take Thee now, through zeal I erred,
Through love, that bids me now confess
My fault; to give be Thine! to bless
Is Thine; dear Lord, to Thee I leave
The greater blessing! with the less,
So well content I will not grieve
From Thee for ever to receive,
“And still receive! and never cease
To gaze on all this wealth of Thine,
To joy in all Thy flocks' increase,
Far more than if my cup with wine
And oil ran o'er, and store of wheat
In finest flour, and honey sweet
From out the stony rock were mine!
To gaze on all this wealth of Thine,
To joy in all Thy flocks' increase,
Far more than if my cup with wine
And oil ran o'er, and store of wheat
In finest flour, and honey sweet
From out the stony rock were mine!
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“‘To give than to receive more blest!’
Thou saidest. Oh, Thou Giver free!
Good measure, shaken down and press'd
Together, now I ask from Thee;
Oh! give to me, dear Lord, and still
Increase Thy boons! make broad the place
Where Thou dost dwell in me, and fill
My hands with gifts, my heart with grace;
But let me look upon Thy face.
What need to mourn if Thou on mine
But little comeliness should trace
When love can give me all of Thine?
The loved are fair, the loved are dress'd
In garments rich and fresh and rare.
Oh! bless Thou me and I am blest,
Oh! love Thou me and I am fair!”
Thou saidest. Oh, Thou Giver free!
Good measure, shaken down and press'd
Together, now I ask from Thee;
Oh! give to me, dear Lord, and still
Increase Thy boons! make broad the place
Where Thou dost dwell in me, and fill
My hands with gifts, my heart with grace;
But let me look upon Thy face.
What need to mourn if Thou on mine
But little comeliness should trace
When love can give me all of Thine?
The loved are fair, the loved are dress'd
In garments rich and fresh and rare.
Oh! bless Thou me and I am blest,
Oh! love Thou me and I am fair!”
115
DECLENSION AND REVIVAL.
“From Me is thy fruit found.”
—Hosea xiv. 8.
Die to thy root, sweet flower!
If so God wills, die even to thy root;
Live there awhile an uncomplaining, mute,
Blank life, with darkness wrapp'd about thy head,
And fear not for the silence round thee spread.
This is no grave, though thou among the dead
Art counted, but the Hiding-place of Power;
Die to thy root, sweet flower!
If so God wills, die even to thy root;
Live there awhile an uncomplaining, mute,
Blank life, with darkness wrapp'd about thy head,
And fear not for the silence round thee spread.
This is no grave, though thou among the dead
Art counted, but the Hiding-place of Power;
Die to thy root, sweet flower!
Spring from thy root, sweet flower!
When so God wills, spring even from thy root;
Send through the earth's warm breast a quicken'd shoot,
Spread to the sunshine, spread unto the shower,
And lift into the sunny air thy dower
Of bloom and odour; life is on the plains
And in the woods a sound of buds and rains
That sing together; lo! the winter's cold
Is past! sweet scents revive, thick buds unfold;
Be thou, too, willing in the Day of Power,
Spring from thy root, sweet flower!
When so God wills, spring even from thy root;
Send through the earth's warm breast a quicken'd shoot,
Spread to the sunshine, spread unto the shower,
And lift into the sunny air thy dower
Of bloom and odour; life is on the plains
And in the woods a sound of buds and rains
116
Is past! sweet scents revive, thick buds unfold;
Be thou, too, willing in the Day of Power,
Spring from thy root, sweet flower!
117
VESPERS.
When I have said my quiet say,
When I have sung my little song,
How sweetly, sweetly dies the day
The valley and the hill along;
How sweet the summons, “Come away”
That calls me from the busy throng!
When I have sung my little song,
How sweetly, sweetly dies the day
The valley and the hill along;
How sweet the summons, “Come away”
That calls me from the busy throng!
I thought beside the water's flow
Awhile to lie beneath the leaves,
I thought in Autumn's harvest glow
To rest my head upon the sheaves;
But, lo! methinks the day was brief
And cloudy; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf
I bring, and yet accepted, free,
And blest, my Lord, I come to Thee.
Awhile to lie beneath the leaves,
I thought in Autumn's harvest glow
To rest my head upon the sheaves;
But, lo! methinks the day was brief
And cloudy; flower, nor fruit, nor leaf
I bring, and yet accepted, free,
And blest, my Lord, I come to Thee.
What matter now for promise lost,
Through blast of Spring or Summer rains!
What matter now for purpose crost,
For broken hopes and wasted pains;
What if the olive little yields,
What if the grape be blighted? Thine
The corn upon a thousand fields,
Upon a thousand hills the vine.
Through blast of Spring or Summer rains!
What matter now for purpose crost,
For broken hopes and wasted pains;
118
What if the grape be blighted? Thine
The corn upon a thousand fields,
Upon a thousand hills the vine.
Thou lovest still the poor; oh, blest
In poverty beloved to be!
Less lowly is my choice confess'd,
I love the rich in loving Thee!
My spirit bare before Thee stands,
I bring no gift, I ask no sign,
I come to Thee with empty hands
The surer to be fill'd from Thine!
In poverty beloved to be!
Less lowly is my choice confess'd,
I love the rich in loving Thee!
My spirit bare before Thee stands,
I bring no gift, I ask no sign,
I come to Thee with empty hands
The surer to be fill'd from Thine!
119
“THE MEEK SHALL INCREASE THEIR JOY IN THE LORD.”
[I.]
So spake the hoary thyme,
Half hidden in the grass:
I watch from morning prime
Until my Lord shall pass.
Half hidden in the grass:
I watch from morning prime
Until my Lord shall pass.
How bright beneath the sun,
How sweet within the glade,
The flow'rets ope, each one
Beloved by Him who made
His flowers that live in light,
His flowers that live in shade.
How sweet within the glade,
The flow'rets ope, each one
Beloved by Him who made
His flowers that live in light,
His flowers that live in shade.
The primroses are pale,
Yet fair; the violet grows
Beneath her leafy veil,
And be she pale none knows,
Or be she fair, so sweet her soul that overflows.
Yet fair; the violet grows
Beneath her leafy veil,
And be she pale none knows,
Or be she fair, so sweet her soul that overflows.
120
But all my head is strew'd
With ashes grey; and bent
Beneath the footfall rude,
Steals forth my timid scent,
Crush'd from a leaf that curls its wound to hide content.
With ashes grey; and bent
Beneath the footfall rude,
Steals forth my timid scent,
Crush'd from a leaf that curls its wound to hide content.
Why should my Lord delight
In me? Behold how fair
His garden is! How bright
His roses blowing there;
His lilies all like queens, that know not toil nor care,
In me? Behold how fair
His garden is! How bright
His roses blowing there;
His lilies all like queens, that know not toil nor care,
In white calm peace on high
Each rears a blossom'd rod;
The gentian low doth lie,
Yet lifts from up the sod
An eye of steadfast blue, that looks up straight to God.
Each rears a blossom'd rod;
The gentian low doth lie,
Yet lifts from up the sod
An eye of steadfast blue, that looks up straight to God.
I wait my Lord to greet,
I can but love and sigh;
I watch his eye to meet,
He can but pass me by;
And if his hasty feet
Should crush me, it were sweet
Beneath his feet to die.
I can but love and sigh;
I watch his eye to meet,
121
And if his hasty feet
Should crush me, it were sweet
Beneath his feet to die.
II.
My Love, my Lord, has gone
Down to his garden fair,
To tell o'er his roses, one by one,
And to gather lilies there;
Down to his garden fair,
To tell o'er his roses, one by one,
And to gather lilies there;
Now will I rise and sing
A song which I have made,
Unto my Lord the King,
Nor will I be afraid
To ask him of his flowers that spring
In sunshine and in shade.
A song which I have made,
Unto my Lord the King,
Nor will I be afraid
To ask him of his flowers that spring
In sunshine and in shade.
“Oh, what are these roses bright,
That in thy garland blow?
These roses red as blood,
These roses white as snow?”
That in thy garland blow?
These roses red as blood,
These roses white as snow?”
122
“These blood-red roses grew
On a field with battle dyed;
These snow-white roses strew
A path that is not wide;
None seek that path but they who seek
Him who was crucified!”
On a field with battle dyed;
These snow-white roses strew
A path that is not wide;
None seek that path but they who seek
Him who was crucified!”
“Oh, what are these lilies tipp'd
With fire, that sword-like gleam?
Oh, what are these lilies dipp'd
As in the pale moon-beam,
That quiver with unsteadfast light,
And shine as through a dream?”
With fire, that sword-like gleam?
Oh, what are these lilies dipp'd
As in the pale moon-beam,
That quiver with unsteadfast light,
And shine as through a dream?”
“These fiery spirits pass'd
From earth through sword and flame;
These quiet souls at last
Through patience overcame:
These shine like stars on high, and these
Have left no trace nor name;
I bind them in one wreath, because
Their triumph was the same.”
From earth through sword and flame;
These quiet souls at last
Through patience overcame:
These shine like stars on high, and these
Have left no trace nor name;
I bind them in one wreath, because
Their triumph was the same.”
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“Oh, what are these flowers that wake
So cheerful to the morn,
All wet with tears of early dew;
And these that droop forlorn,
With heavy drops of night drench'd through?”
“These little flowers of cheerful hue
Familiar by the wayside grew,
And these among the corn.
So cheerful to the morn,
All wet with tears of early dew;
And these that droop forlorn,
With heavy drops of night drench'd through?”
“These little flowers of cheerful hue
Familiar by the wayside grew,
And these among the corn.
“And these, that o'er a ruin wave
Their crimson flag, in fight
Were wounded sore, yet still are brave
To greet the scent and sight;
And these I found upon a grave,
All wet with drops of night.
Their crimson flag, in fight
Were wounded sore, yet still are brave
To greet the scent and sight;
And these I found upon a grave,
All wet with drops of night.
“And some I have that will unfold
When night is dusk and still,
And some I have that keep their hold
Upon the wind-swept hill;
These shrink not from the summer heat,
They do not fear the cold,
And all of these I know for sweet,
For patient and for bold.”
When night is dusk and still,
And some I have that keep their hold
Upon the wind-swept hill;
These shrink not from the summer heat,
They do not fear the cold,
And all of these I know for sweet,
For patient and for bold.”
124
“Thou bearest flowers within thy hand,
Thou wearest on thy breast
A flower; now tell me which of these
Thy flowers thou lovest best;
Which wilt thou gather to thy heart
Beloved above the rest?”
Thou wearest on thy breast
A flower; now tell me which of these
Thy flowers thou lovest best;
Which wilt thou gather to thy heart
Beloved above the rest?”
“Should I not love my flowers,
My flowers that bloom and pine,
Unseen, unsought, unwatch'd for hours
By any eyes but mine?
My flowers that bloom and pine,
Unseen, unsought, unwatch'd for hours
By any eyes but mine?
“Should I not love my flowers?
I love my lilies tall,
My marigolds with constant eyes,
Each flower that blows, each flower that dies
To me, I love them all.
I love my lilies tall,
My marigolds with constant eyes,
Each flower that blows, each flower that dies
To me, I love them all.
“I gather to a heavenly bower
My roses fair and sweet,
I hide within my breast the flower
That grows beside my feet.”
My roses fair and sweet,
I hide within my breast the flower
That grows beside my feet.”
125
CHRIST'S GARLAND.
The world with stately tread
Moves down the terrace walk,
To pluck, from garden bed,
From off its dainty stalk
The rose, the silken rose—the rose whose splendour
Is but the luxury of light grown tender;
The rose, that makes the very summer round her
More warm, more blissful only to have found her;
The golden sunbeams in their falling bless her,
The winds that steal her balmy breath caress her;
She breathes, she blooms, she dies in joy; her duty
Is to be fair and glad; her life is beauty;
Love wooes her, wins her, pleasure will not leave her,
The sharp thorn guards her well, but does not grieve her,
To all she giveth free, yet none bereave her.
Ho for the rose! but by the bitter sea,
Torn by the vexing gale, and by the spray
O'er-wash'd, the rosemary
Lives on from day to day
With deep strange scent, that yet
Cleaves, like a vain regret;
Unblessing she, unbless'd,
Unwoo'd and uncaress'd,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me.
Moves down the terrace walk,
To pluck, from garden bed,
From off its dainty stalk
The rose, the silken rose—the rose whose splendour
Is but the luxury of light grown tender;
The rose, that makes the very summer round her
More warm, more blissful only to have found her;
The golden sunbeams in their falling bless her,
The winds that steal her balmy breath caress her;
She breathes, she blooms, she dies in joy; her duty
Is to be fair and glad; her life is beauty;
Love wooes her, wins her, pleasure will not leave her,
The sharp thorn guards her well, but does not grieve her,
To all she giveth free, yet none bereave her.
126
Torn by the vexing gale, and by the spray
O'er-wash'd, the rosemary
Lives on from day to day
With deep strange scent, that yet
Cleaves, like a vain regret;
Unblessing she, unbless'd,
Unwoo'd and uncaress'd,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me.
The lover seeks some fair
Exotic bloom that breathes through leaf and stem
Its soul upon the heavy weighted air,
The myrtle dark, the rich geranium,
Are his; all blossoms delicate and rare;
His too are violets dim,
And sweet and hid! for him
The sweetbrier, and the woodbine dusk that run
Their wild warm souls in one,
Till in their clasp and in their kiss unending,
None knows, so close, so kind, so sure their blending,
Which is the sweeter, which of them the fairer,
And which of bliss is giver, which is sharer;
But by the common way
Grow flowers that are not gay
Nor sweet like these, and if ye chance to name them
Weeds, only weeds, ye will not seem to blame them;
Weeds, only weeds, perchance, these flowers may be,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me.
Exotic bloom that breathes through leaf and stem
Its soul upon the heavy weighted air,
The myrtle dark, the rich geranium,
Are his; all blossoms delicate and rare;
His too are violets dim,
And sweet and hid! for him
The sweetbrier, and the woodbine dusk that run
Their wild warm souls in one,
Till in their clasp and in their kiss unending,
None knows, so close, so kind, so sure their blending,
Which is the sweeter, which of them the fairer,
And which of bliss is giver, which is sharer;
127
Grow flowers that are not gay
Nor sweet like these, and if ye chance to name them
Weeds, only weeds, ye will not seem to blame them;
Weeds, only weeds, perchance, these flowers may be,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me.
The child beneath his feet
Finds flowers, so many flowers,
He counts by them his fleet,
Bright days' unlingering hours;
So many, that for best
He takes the nearest still,
And still hath flowers, his breast
And clasping hands to fill;
He seeks the moor where burns
The furze; the scented plume
Of meadow sweet, the bloom
Of May, the hedge-row ferns;
And all his flowers are cool
And fresh! above the pool
They lean, or in the pleasant pastures blow,
Yet by the ruin's edge,
And on the crater's ledge,
And by the glacier, underneath the snow,
Upon the dreary hill,
On cottage window sill,
Are other flowers unsought, unsung that be,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me!
Finds flowers, so many flowers,
He counts by them his fleet,
Bright days' unlingering hours;
So many, that for best
He takes the nearest still,
And still hath flowers, his breast
And clasping hands to fill;
He seeks the moor where burns
The furze; the scented plume
Of meadow sweet, the bloom
Of May, the hedge-row ferns;
And all his flowers are cool
And fresh! above the pool
128
Yet by the ruin's edge,
And on the crater's ledge,
And by the glacier, underneath the snow,
Upon the dreary hill,
On cottage window sill,
Are other flowers unsought, unsung that be,
Yet fair enough, my Lord, for Thee and me!
129
VENI, VENI, EMMANUEL!
[_]
“Then went out the inhabitants of the town of Mansoul with haste to the green trees and to the meadows, to gather boughs and flowers, therewith to strew the streets against their Prince, the son of Shaddai, should come; they also made garlands and other fine works, to betoken how joyful they were, and should be, to receive their Emmanuel into Mansoul; they also prepared for his coming what music the town might afford, that they might play before him to the palace, his habitation.” Bunyan's Holy War.
Who cometh now from Edom's height,
From Bozrah's rock-girt fortress hold?
A conqueror, travelling in His might,
A kingly champion, long foretold.
From Bozrah's rock-girt fortress hold?
A conqueror, travelling in His might,
A kingly champion, long foretold.
Alone, upon Thy way, alone
Thou comest from the hills of pride;
And with Thee of Thy people, none
The triumph share, the spoil divide.
Thou comest from the hills of pride;
And with Thee of Thy people, none
The triumph share, the spoil divide.
130
Thou sawest there was none to aid,
No Saviour for our race beheld;
Thy vengeance then its pathway made,
And Thine own fury Thee upheld.
No Saviour for our race beheld;
Thy vengeance then its pathway made,
And Thine own fury Thee upheld.
Ride on, ride on, elect of God,
Thy feet are on the necks of Kings;
Thy glittering spear, Thine iron rod,
Shall guide Thy hand to fearful things.
Thy feet are on the necks of Kings;
Thy glittering spear, Thine iron rod,
Shall guide Thy hand to fearful things.
Why art Thou in Thy garments red?
Thy feet have track'd the crimson stair
That leadeth from the hills of dread,
From fierce red-handed Esau's lair.
Thy feet have track'd the crimson stair
That leadeth from the hills of dread,
From fierce red-handed Esau's lair.
A fiery flush around Thee lies,
In fire behind Thee sinks the sun,
Yet is Thy vesture dipped in dyes
From ruddy sky and soil
unwon.
In fire behind Thee sinks the sun,
Yet is Thy vesture dipped in dyes
From ruddy sky and soil
Who is He that cometh from Bozrah? This ancient city of Edom, upon which, in connection with Edom and Teman, destruction has been pronounced by God (see Jeremiah xlix. 7 to 22; and the whole prophecy of Obadiah,) whose inhabitants dwelt “in the clefts of the rocks,” and the “heights of the hills, and made their house” like the nests of the eagles, has been identified with the modern village of Busareh, among the mountains north of Petra. All travellers in this region have been struck with the peculiarly vivid red of its rocks and soil (see Stanley's glowing description), which seems to give an added meaning to the expression in the text; “the dyed garments from Edom” enhance the idea of vengeance having been executed in a land already tinged with the hues of doom.
Thy robes are sprinkled as with wine,
And purpled with a costly stain;
As one that treadeth out the vine
Thy feet have trampled on the slain.
And purpled with a costly stain;
As one that treadeth out the vine
Thy feet have trampled on the slain.
131
As one who treadeth on the grape,
Thy feet on princes and on powers
Have trampled! let not one escape,
But crush to earth Thy foes and ours.
Thy feet on princes and on powers
Have trampled! let not one escape,
But crush to earth Thy foes and ours.
Yea! beat them small before the wind,
And smite and scatter them to dust;
To Thy swift chariot firmly bind
The cruel Lords of hate and lust.
And smite and scatter them to dust;
To Thy swift chariot firmly bind
The cruel Lords of hate and lust.
Ride on, Thy mission to fulfil;
And let the promptings of Thy hand
Be terror, wrath, and anguish still,
Till not a foe Thy might withstand.
And let the promptings of Thy hand
Be terror, wrath, and anguish still,
Till not a foe Thy might withstand.
The ancient Dragon in the sea
Thy sharp and biting sword shall feel;
And on the serpent's head shall be
The vengeance of Thy bruised heel.
Thy sharp and biting sword shall feel;
And on the serpent's head shall be
The vengeance of Thy bruised heel.
And forth Thy keen and cleaving darts
Shall fly with sure incessant aim;
Till all Thine arrows reach the hearts
Of them that wrought Thy people shame.
Shall fly with sure incessant aim;
Till all Thine arrows reach the hearts
Of them that wrought Thy people shame.
132
Then come to heal Thy people's smart,
And with Thee bring Thy captive train;
Come Saviour of the world and heart,
Come, mighty Victor over pain!
And with Thee bring Thy captive train;
Come Saviour of the world and heart,
Come, mighty Victor over pain!
And let Thy champing war-steed browse
Upon the green and springing vine;
And feed on the young olive boughs,—
Thou wilt not hurt the oil and wine.
Upon the green and springing vine;
And feed on the young olive boughs,—
Thou wilt not hurt the oil and wine.
And let our Earth's wild story cease
Its broken tale of wrong and tears;
Come, Lord of Salem, Prince of Peace,
And bring again our vanish'd years!
Its broken tale of wrong and tears;
Come, Lord of Salem, Prince of Peace,
And bring again our vanish'd years!
Thou bearest in Thy hand a book,
None other may its clasps unseal;
No eyes but mine and Thine may look
On what its crowded lines reveal.
None other may its clasps unseal;
No eyes but mine and Thine may look
On what its crowded lines reveal.
133
Yet fair, gold letter'd, now within
Each line another line I see,
The tale of all that might have been;
And Thou wilt read it o'er with me;
Each line another line I see,
The tale of all that might have been;
And Thou wilt read it o'er with me;
And with Thy guiding help, I pierce
Life's labyrinth now no longer vain;
The love that frees the universe
Hath made its broken story plain.
Life's labyrinth now no longer vain;
The love that frees the universe
Hath made its broken story plain.
Thou wearest on Thy kingly breast
A little flower that faded soon,
A flower unwooed and uncaress'd
By summer in its golden noon.
A little flower that faded soon,
A flower unwooed and uncaress'd
By summer in its golden noon.
A flower beside a stream that grew
In mossy wood-walks, dank and wild,—
The first of all the flowers I knew,
The treasure of a lonely child.
In mossy wood-walks, dank and wild,—
The first of all the flowers I knew,
The treasure of a lonely child.
Within Thine eye divine I read
A love exact, a pity sure,
Minute and tender, taking heed
Of all that human hearts endure.
A love exact, a pity sure,
Minute and tender, taking heed
Of all that human hearts endure.
134
That blends within its mighty scope
Thy vast design, our feeble plan,
And brings again each faded hope,
In giving back his God to Man.
Thy vast design, our feeble plan,
And brings again each faded hope,
In giving back his God to Man.
And art Thou come with us to dwell,
Our Prince, our Guide, our Love, our Lord?
And is thy name Emmanuel,
God present with His world restored?
Our Prince, our Guide, our Love, our Lord?
And is thy name Emmanuel,
God present with His world restored?
The world is glad for Thee! the rude
Wild moor, the city's crowded pen;
Each waste, each peopled solitude,
Becomes a home for happy men.
Wild moor, the city's crowded pen;
Each waste, each peopled solitude,
Becomes a home for happy men.
The heart is glad for Thee! it knows
None now shall bid it err or mourn;
And o'er its desert breaks the rose
In triumph o'er the grieving thorn.
None now shall bid it err or mourn;
And o'er its desert breaks the rose
In triumph o'er the grieving thorn.
135
Thou bringest all again; with Thee
Is light, is space, is breadth and room
For each thing fair, beloved, and free,
To have its hour of life and bloom.
Is light, is space, is breadth and room
For each thing fair, beloved, and free,
To have its hour of life and bloom.
Each heart's deep instinct unconfess'd;
Each lowly wish, each daring claim;
All, all that life hath long repress'd,
Unfolds, undreading blight or blame.
Each lowly wish, each daring claim;
All, all that life hath long repress'd,
Unfolds, undreading blight or blame.
Thy reign eternal will not cease;
Thy years are sure, and glad, and slow;
Within Thy mighty world of peace
The humblest flower hath leave to blow,
Thy years are sure, and glad, and slow;
Within Thy mighty world of peace
The humblest flower hath leave to blow,
And spread its leaves to meet the sun,
And drink within its soul the dew;
The child's sweet laugh like light may run
Through life's long day, and still be true;
And drink within its soul the dew;
The child's sweet laugh like light may run
Through life's long day, and still be true;
The maid's fond sigh, the lover's kiss,
The firm warm clasp of constant friend;
And nought shall fail, and nought shall miss
Its blissful aim, its blissful end.
The firm warm clasp of constant friend;
And nought shall fail, and nought shall miss
Its blissful aim, its blissful end.
136
The world is glad for Thee! the heart
Is glad for Thee! and all is well,
And fixed, and sure, because Thou art,
Whose name is call'd Emmanuel.
Is glad for Thee! and all is well,
And fixed, and sure, because Thou art,
Whose name is call'd Emmanuel.
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