 | The Legend of the Golden Prayers and other poems |  |
TO C. H. A.
Who married a Clergyman, and went out with him to join the Bishop of New Zealand. Sent with a cross of Irish bog-oak.
Out of the bosom desolate and deep
Of her that was the “Isle of Saints” of old,
Where, far below, her buried forests sleep,
They cut this little cross of ancient mould.
Of her that was the “Isle of Saints” of old,
Where, far below, her buried forests sleep,
They cut this little cross of ancient mould.
Type of her beautiful and glorious days,
Her first pure days of faith, and lore, and love,
When wanted not sweet Nature's note of praise;
Her deep winds whispering down the leafy grove.
Her first pure days of faith, and lore, and love,
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Her deep winds whispering down the leafy grove.
I bid thee lay it on thy pilgrim breast—
I would some thought of us should go with thee,
Some message from the melancholy west,
To that bright isle beyond the southern sea.
I would some thought of us should go with thee,
Some message from the melancholy west,
To that bright isle beyond the southern sea.
And oh, of all our thoughts most sweet, most vast,
What better sign between our hearts than this?
What fitter form to carve out of the past?
What brighter presage of the future's bliss?
What better sign between our hearts than this?
What fitter form to carve out of the past?
What brighter presage of the future's bliss?
Most meet for you, who not with thoughts of ease
Gild your calm dreams of holy wedded life,
Who bear your Master's cross beyond the seas,
For earnest labour, and for weary strife.
Gild your calm dreams of holy wedded life,
Who bear your Master's cross beyond the seas,
For earnest labour, and for weary strife.
Meet symbol, too, from this fair isle forlorn,
To her who hears the wide Pacific roar,
Who sitteth in the twilight of her morn,
Watching the lights that break along the shore;
To her who hears the wide Pacific roar,
Who sitteth in the twilight of her morn,
Watching the lights that break along the shore;
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Hearkening a strain more sweet than rapt'rous burst
Of wild bird's song when dawn is in the sky;
An echo of the angels' song that erst
Spake peace on earth, and told salvation night.
Of wild bird's song when dawn is in the sky;
An echo of the angels' song that erst
Spake peace on earth, and told salvation night.
And he who leads and modulates that strain,
Wandering by pathless waste and lonely rock,
Whose restless bark is ever on the main,
Patiently gathering in his little flock.
Wandering by pathless waste and lonely rock,
Whose restless bark is ever on the main,
Patiently gathering in his little flock.
How will he look along the heaving tide,
And bless the breeze that brings from the old land
One brother more to labour at his side,
Another sister to his exiled band.
And bless the breeze that brings from the old land
One brother more to labour at his side,
Another sister to his exiled band.
And ye will catch the burden of his song,
Will swell the measure when perchance it faints,
Bid gulf and cliff the glorious strain prolong,
And make that isle another Isle of Saints.
Will swell the measure when perchance it faints,
Bid gulf and cliff the glorious strain prolong,
And make that isle another Isle of Saints.
Pray for us, brother, sister,—love doth make
No count of space, devotion hath no bound—
And chief for them, the faithful few, who wake,
Watching our island fold with foes around;
No count of space, devotion hath no bound—
And chief for them, the faithful few, who wake,
Watching our island fold with foes around;
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And so farewell!—already the winds greet
Your out-bound sail, and lift the crested wave;
How oft in thought, in hope, in heart, we meet
By the dear sign of Him who died to save!
Your out-bound sail, and lift the crested wave;
How oft in thought, in hope, in heart, we meet
By the dear sign of Him who died to save!
| The Legend of the Golden Prayers and other poems | |