Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander Edited, with a preface, by William Alexander |
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Part II.
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 | Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander |  |
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II. Part II.
CALEB AND JOSHUA.
“And Joshua the son of Nun, and Caleb the son of Jephunneh,
which were of them that searched the land, rent their clothes; and
they spake unto all the company of the children of Israel, saying,
‘The land which we passed through to search it, is an exceeding
good land.’”—Numb. xiv. 6, 7,
The mist-wrapp'd mountains stand like grisly shadows,
The driving clouds come blinding from the west,
O'er the black marshes, and the dripping meadows,
And the swollen river's breast.
The driving clouds come blinding from the west,
O'er the black marshes, and the dripping meadows,
And the swollen river's breast.
The clouds hang heavily in leaden masses
On the hilltops, or wildly eastward roll;
The struggling wind moans in the mountain passes,
Like an imprisoned soul.
On the hilltops, or wildly eastward roll;
The struggling wind moans in the mountain passes,
Like an imprisoned soul.
Who now could call up gleams of sunny weather,
Flooding the plain, and dancing on the rill,
And those soft shadows of the purple heather,
Straining th' unclouded hill?
Flooding the plain, and dancing on the rill,
And those soft shadows of the purple heather,
Straining th' unclouded hill?
Ah, no! like rainbow tints that children capture,
Even from our grasp unrealized they part;
Dream as we will, the summer's golden rapture
Thrills not the wintry heart.
Even from our grasp unrealized they part;
Dream as we will, the summer's golden rapture
Thrills not the wintry heart.
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And hard it is, when visible shadows bound us,
Tied to its duties, by its chidings vex'd,
With all of this world ever, ever round us,
To realize the next.
Tied to its duties, by its chidings vex'd,
With all of this world ever, ever round us,
To realize the next.
Hard was it haply in the desert lonely,
For those two hearts that tedious forty years;
Caleb and Joshua—found faithful only,
Amid a people's fears.
For those two hearts that tedious forty years;
Caleb and Joshua—found faithful only,
Amid a people's fears.
When night by night, a ring of fiery lustre,
The hot sun burned into the dead white sand;
When day by day, in the same weary cluster,
The tents stood on the land;
The hot sun burned into the dead white sand;
When day by day, in the same weary cluster,
The tents stood on the land;
And like the scanty plumes at some poor burial,
A few tall palms at furthest distance placed,
With their stiff shadows broke the blue ethereal
Of the monotonous waste:
A few tall palms at furthest distance placed,
With their stiff shadows broke the blue ethereal
Of the monotonous waste:
Hard was it to call up the cornfields golden,
The purple vintage by the brook of grapes,
The giant cedars in the forest olden,
The graceful mountain shapes.
The purple vintage by the brook of grapes,
The giant cedars in the forest olden,
The graceful mountain shapes.
Yet for all this, through all the lone recesses,
Of those wild hills shall summer smile again,
The stream shall dimple to her bright caresses,
The flowers shall paint the plain.
Of those wild hills shall summer smile again,
The stream shall dimple to her bright caresses,
The flowers shall paint the plain.
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Yet for all this, in Canaan Caleb's daughters
Dwelt by the upper and the nether springs,
Still Joshua led through Jordan's riven waters,
And o'er the necks of kings.
Dwelt by the upper and the nether springs,
Still Joshua led through Jordan's riven waters,
And o'er the necks of kings.
Yet for all this, true faith is eagle-sighted,
Steadying her gaze though the weak heart will shrink,
Into the land of sun and moon unlighted,
O'er the dark river's brink,
Steadying her gaze though the weak heart will shrink,
Into the land of sun and moon unlighted,
O'er the dark river's brink,
Into that summer where these wintry sorrows,
That wrap us round and round shall fall away,
Where from past joys no light the spirit borrows,
Christ is its Light for aye!
That wrap us round and round shall fall away,
Where from past joys no light the spirit borrows,
Christ is its Light for aye!
THE DEAD.
Suggested by a scene on Ascension Day.
“He that toucheth the dead body of any man shall be unclean
seven days.”—Num. xix. 11.
I heard the bells clang out, that told
It was the Lord's Ascension Day.
Leisurely the great river rolled,
Keeping its own eternal time;
And from the thorn and from the lime,
Sweet came the breeze of May.
It was the Lord's Ascension Day.
Leisurely the great river rolled,
Keeping its own eternal time;
And from the thorn and from the lime,
Sweet came the breeze of May.
Two wasted tapers flared and died,
Beside a little cradle bed,
Two sleeping babies lay inside;
No need for mother's lullaby,
A white cloth at their feet did lie,
A white cloth at their head.
Beside a little cradle bed,
Two sleeping babies lay inside;
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A white cloth at their feet did lie,
A white cloth at their head.
Soft primrose flowers that first unfurl
Were strewn amidst the snowy bands,
As like they lay as pearl to pearl,
As still, save when the mother press'd,
With restless lip those lips at rest,
Or kissed the waxen hands.
Were strewn amidst the snowy bands,
As like they lay as pearl to pearl,
As still, save when the mother press'd,
With restless lip those lips at rest,
Or kissed the waxen hands.
Yea, Christian mother, fold them fast,
Thou dost not fear defilement given;
No need of sprinkling ashes cast
On garment soiled and weeping face,
Polluted by that last embrace,
Until the seventh day's even.
Thou dost not fear defilement given;
No need of sprinkling ashes cast
On garment soiled and weeping face,
Polluted by that last embrace,
Until the seventh day's even.
Those pale twin brows were washen clean,
The shadow of the Cross is there;
Fair shrines where God Himself has been,
(And never Grecian reared a fane,
With marble of such delicate vein,
Or chiselled work so rare.)
The shadow of the Cross is there;
Fair shrines where God Himself has been,
(And never Grecian reared a fane,
With marble of such delicate vein,
Or chiselled work so rare.)
One fleshly form within the veil,
For sinner's sake has passed to-day,
And evermore the curse doth fail,
Because the glory that He set
On our man's nature lingers yet,
And we are hallow'd clay.
For sinner's sake has passed to-day,
And evermore the curse doth fail,
Because the glory that He set
On our man's nature lingers yet,
And we are hallow'd clay.
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O blessed creed for joy or pain,
And soothing e'en our worst distress,
Teaching that these shall live again;
Love unrebuked may linger now,
O'er the closed lip, and kiss the brow,
And hoard the silken tress.
And soothing e'en our worst distress,
Teaching that these shall live again;
Love unrebuked may linger now,
O'er the closed lip, and kiss the brow,
And hoard the silken tress.
These bodies of our pain and woe,
Wherein the spark of life divine
Was born, and nursed, and struggled so,
Like costly odours that all day,
Burn dimly in a lamp of clay,
Before some Indian shrine.
Wherein the spark of life divine
Was born, and nursed, and struggled so,
Like costly odours that all day,
Burn dimly in a lamp of clay,
Before some Indian shrine.
These bodies that weigh down the soul,
Shall live again in form and frame,
Though death have revell'd on the whole,
When the grave's victory is o'er,
And pain, and sin can hurt no more,
How chang'd, yet still the same!
Shall live again in form and frame,
Though death have revell'd on the whole,
When the grave's victory is o'er,
And pain, and sin can hurt no more,
How chang'd, yet still the same!
THE BURIAL OF MOSES.
“And He buried him in a valley in the land of Moab over
against Beth-peor, but no man knoweth of his sepulchre unto this
day.”—Deut. xxxiv. 6.
By Nebo's lonely mountain,
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
And no man knows that sepulchre,
And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
On this side Jordan's wave,
In a vale in the land of Moab
There lies a lonely grave.
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And no man saw it e'er,
For the angels of God upturned the sod,
And laid the dead man there.
That was the grandest funeral
That ever pass'd on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth—
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
That ever pass'd on earth;
But no man heard the trampling,
Or saw the train go forth—
Noiselessly as the daylight
Comes back when night is done,
And the crimson streak on ocean's cheek
Grows into the great sun;
Noiselessly as the spring-time
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills,
Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown,
The great procession swept.
Her crown of verdure weaves,
And all the trees on all the hills,
Open their thousand leaves;
So without sound of music,
Or voice of them that wept,
Silently down from the mountain's crown,
The great procession swept.
Perchance the bald old eagle,
On grey Beth-peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie,
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard,
That which man knoweth not.
On grey Beth-peor's height,
Out of his lonely eyrie,
Looked on the wondrous sight;
Perchance the lion stalking,
Still shuns that hallowed spot,
For beast and bird have seen and heard,
That which man knoweth not.
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But when the warrior dieth,
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed
While peals the minute gun.
His comrades in the war,
With arms reversed and muffled drum,
Follow his funeral car;
They show the banners taken,
They tell his battles won,
And after him lead his masterless steed
While peals the minute gun.
Amid the noblest of the land,
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honour'd place
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazon'd wall.
We lay the sage to rest,
And give the bard an honour'd place
With costly marble drest,
In the great minster transept
Where lights like glories fall,
And the organ rings, and the sweet choir sings
Along the emblazon'd wall.
This was the truest warrior
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breath'd a word.
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
That ever buckled sword;
This the most gifted poet
That ever breath'd a word.
And never earth's philosopher
Traced with his golden pen
On the deathless page truths half so sage
As he wrote down for men.
And had he not high honour,
The hill side for a pall,
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
And the dark rock-pines, like tossing plumes,
Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave.
The hill side for a pall,
To lie in state, while angels wait
With stars for tapers tall,
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Over his bier to wave,
And God's own hand in that lonely land
To lay him in the grave.
In that strange grave without a name,
Whence his uncoffin'd clay
Shall break again, O wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapt around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife, that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.
Whence his uncoffin'd clay
Shall break again, O wondrous thought!
Before the Judgment Day,
And stand with glory wrapt around
On the hills he never trod,
And speak of the strife, that won our life,
With the Incarnate Son of God.
O lonely grave in Moab's land!
O dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell,
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep
Of him He loved so well.
O dark Beth-peor's hill!
Speak to these curious hearts of ours,
And teach them to be still.
God hath His mysteries of grace,
Ways that we cannot tell,
He hides them deep, like the hidden sleep
Of him He loved so well.
RAHAB.
“By faith Rahab perished not with them that believed not,
when she had received the spies with peace.”—Heb. xi. 31.
Rise up, rise up, O Rahab;
And bind the scarlet thread
On the casement of thy chamber,
When the battle waxeth red.
And bind the scarlet thread
On the casement of thy chamber,
When the battle waxeth red.
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From the double feast of Gilgal,
From Jordan's cloven wave,
They come with sound of trumpet
With banner and with glaive.
From Jordan's cloven wave,
They come with sound of trumpet
With banner and with glaive.
Death to the foes of Israel!
But joy to thee, and thine,
To her who saved the spies of God,
Who shows the scarlet line!
But joy to thee, and thine,
To her who saved the spies of God,
Who shows the scarlet line!
'Twas in the time of harvest,
When the corn lay on the earth,
That first she bound the signal
And bade the spies go forth.
When the corn lay on the earth,
That first she bound the signal
And bade the spies go forth.
For a cry came to her spirit
From the far Egyptian coasts,
And a dread was in her bosom
Of the Mighty Lord of Hosts.
From the far Egyptian coasts,
And a dread was in her bosom
Of the Mighty Lord of Hosts.
And the faith of saints and martyrs
Lay brave at her heart's core,
As some inward pulse were throbbing
Of the kingly line she bore.
Lay brave at her heart's core,
As some inward pulse were throbbing
Of the kingly line she bore.
As there comes a sudden fragrance
In the last long winter's day,
From the paly silken primrose
Or the violet by the way.
In the last long winter's day,
From the paly silken primrose
Or the violet by the way.
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And we pause, and look around us,
And we feel through every vein
That the tender spring is coming
And the summer's rosy reign.
And we feel through every vein
That the tender spring is coming
And the summer's rosy reign.
In the twilight of our childhood,
When youth's shadows lie before,
There come thoughts into our bosoms
Like the spies to Rahab's door.
When youth's shadows lie before,
There come thoughts into our bosoms
Like the spies to Rahab's door.
And we scarcely know their value,
Or their power for good or ill,
But we feel they are God's angels,
And they seek us at His will.
Or their power for good or ill,
But we feel they are God's angels,
And they seek us at His will.
And we tremble at their presence,
And we blush to let them forth,
In some word of tender feeling,
Or some deed of Christian worth.
And we blush to let them forth,
In some word of tender feeling,
Or some deed of Christian worth.
Yet those guests perchance may witness
In that awful battle day,
When the foe is on the threshold,
And the gates of life give way:
In that awful battle day,
When the foe is on the threshold,
And the gates of life give way:
When the soul that seeks for safety,
Shall behold but one red sign—
But the blood drops of Atonement
On the cross of Love Divine!
Shall behold but one red sign—
But the blood drops of Atonement
On the cross of Love Divine!
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THE WARNING ANGEL.
“And an Angel of the Lord came up from Gilgal to Bochim.”
—Judges ii. 1.
An Angel of the Lord came up from Gilgal,
Up to the place of tears,
From where in the deep forest-calms
The ancient wind was singing psalms,
And all in tune, the tall green palms
Bow'd down their feathery spears.
Up to the place of tears,
From where in the deep forest-calms
The ancient wind was singing psalms,
And all in tune, the tall green palms
Bow'd down their feathery spears.
The Angel spake at Bochim to the people,
And like a whirlwind swept
His words of anger, as he told
Of heathen shrines within the fold,
Of heathen altars on the wold,
Till all the people wept.
And like a whirlwind swept
His words of anger, as he told
Of heathen shrines within the fold,
Of heathen altars on the wold,
Till all the people wept.
They wept, like husbandmen in summer weather
Who watch the ripening corn,
And see the crimson poppy stain
The yellowing sea of golden grain,
Like drops of blood: and all in vain
Their idle spring-time mourn.
Who watch the ripening corn,
And see the crimson poppy stain
The yellowing sea of golden grain,
Like drops of blood: and all in vain
Their idle spring-time mourn.
Cometh the Angel of the Lord full often
And standeth by our homes,
Not in his visible presence bright
Passing from Gilgal's palmy height
With word of power, and arm of might,
Yet evermore he comes.
And standeth by our homes,
Not in his visible presence bright
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With word of power, and arm of might,
Yet evermore he comes.
Perchance he takes death by the hand and standeth
Low knocking at our door,—
We miss one little lambkin's bleat,
The gabbling voice so wild and sweet,
The tottering of uneven feet
Along the nursery floor.
Low knocking at our door,—
We miss one little lambkin's bleat,
The gabbling voice so wild and sweet,
The tottering of uneven feet
Along the nursery floor.
Perchance he comes with sickness in his quiver,
And stirreth all the deeps
Of our whole inward life, and tells
Where in our bosom's secret cells
In its green grove some idol dwells,
Some sin unheeded sleeps.
And stirreth all the deeps
Of our whole inward life, and tells
Where in our bosom's secret cells
In its green grove some idol dwells,
Some sin unheeded sleeps.
But whether with sharp pain he come, or sorrow,
Happy who own him near;
Who o'er the bier, and by the bed,
Feel his white wings and know his tread
And softly say with bended head,
“An Angel hath been here!”
Happy who own him near;
Who o'er the bier, and by the bed,
Feel his white wings and know his tread
And softly say with bended head,
“An Angel hath been here!”
Yes, he hath come up surely to our Bochim
Out of the green palm-wood;
So hearken we God's awful word,
Lay bare our bosom's bleeding chord,
And make an offering to the Lord,
Even where the Angel stood.
Out of the green palm-wood;
So hearken we God's awful word,
Lay bare our bosom's bleeding chord,
And make an offering to the Lord,
Even where the Angel stood.
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GIDEON'S FLEECE.
“And Gideon said unto God, Let me prove, I pray Thee, but
this once with the fleece.”—Judges vi. 39.
All night long on hot Gilboa's mountain,
With unmoistened breath, the breezes blew;
All night long the green corn in the valley
Thirsted, thirsted for one drop of dew.
With unmoistened breath, the breezes blew;
All night long the green corn in the valley
Thirsted, thirsted for one drop of dew.
Came the warrior from his home in Ophrah,
Sought the white fleece in the mountain pass,
As he heard the crimson morning rustle
In the dry leaves of the bearded grass.
Sought the white fleece in the mountain pass,
As he heard the crimson morning rustle
In the dry leaves of the bearded grass.
Not a pearl was on the red pomegranate,
Not a diamond in the lily's crown,
Yet the fleece was heavy with its moisture,
Wet with dew-drops where no dew rained down.
Not a diamond in the lily's crown,
Yet the fleece was heavy with its moisture,
Wet with dew-drops where no dew rained down.
All night long the dew was on the olives,
Every dark leaf set in diamond drops;
Silver frosted lay the lowland meadows,
Silver frosted all the mountain-tops.
Every dark leaf set in diamond drops;
Silver frosted lay the lowland meadows,
Silver frosted all the mountain-tops.
Once again from Ophrah came the chieftain,
Sought his white fleece mid the dewy damps,
As the early sun looked through the woodlands
Lighting up a thousand crystal lamps.
Sought his white fleece mid the dewy damps,
As the early sun looked through the woodlands
Lighting up a thousand crystal lamps.
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Every bright leaf gave back from its bosom,
Of that breaking sun a semblance rare;
All the wet earth glistened like a mirror,
Yet the fleece lay dry and dewless there.
Of that breaking sun a semblance rare;
All the wet earth glistened like a mirror,
Yet the fleece lay dry and dewless there.
Type, strange type, of Israel's early glory,
Heaven-besprinkled when the earth was dry;
Mystic type too of her sad declining,
Who doth desolate, and dewless lie,
Heaven-besprinkled when the earth was dry;
Mystic type too of her sad declining,
Who doth desolate, and dewless lie,
When all earth is glistening in the Presence
Of the Sun that sets not night or day,
When the fulness of His Spirit droppeth
On the islands very far away.
Of the Sun that sets not night or day,
When the fulness of His Spirit droppeth
On the islands very far away.
Dream no more of Israel's sin and sorrow,
Of her glory and her grievous fall,
Hath that sacrament of shame and splendour
To thine own heart not a nearer call?
Of her glory and her grievous fall,
Hath that sacrament of shame and splendour
To thine own heart not a nearer call?
There are homes whereon the grace of Heaven
Falleth ever softly from above,
Homes by simple faith, and Christian duty,
Steeped in peace, and holiness, and love:
Falleth ever softly from above,
Homes by simple faith, and Christian duty,
Steeped in peace, and holiness, and love:
Churches where the voice of praise and blessing
Droppeth daily like the silver dew,
Where the earnest lip of love distilleth
Words, like water running through and through.
Droppeth daily like the silver dew,
Where the earnest lip of love distilleth
Words, like water running through and through.
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There are children trained in truth and goodness,
Graceless, careless in those holy homes,
There are hearts within those Christian temples,
Cold as angels carved upon the domes.
Graceless, careless in those holy homes,
There are hearts within those Christian temples,
Cold as angels carved upon the domes.
Places are there sin-defiled and barren,
Haunts of prayerless lips, and ruined souls:
Where some lonely heart, in secret, filleth
Cups of mercy, full as Gideon's bowls:
Haunts of prayerless lips, and ruined souls:
Where some lonely heart, in secret, filleth
Cups of mercy, full as Gideon's bowls:
Where some Christ-like spirit, pure and gentle,
Sheddeth moisture on the desert spot,
Feels a tender Spirit, in the darkness,
Dewing all the dryness of his lot.
Sheddeth moisture on the desert spot,
Feels a tender Spirit, in the darkness,
Dewing all the dryness of his lot.
Christ! be with us, that these hearts within us
Prove not graceless in the hour of grace;
Dew of heaven! fill us with the fulness
Of Thy Spirit in the dewless place.
Prove not graceless in the hour of grace;
Dew of heaven! fill us with the fulness
Of Thy Spirit in the dewless place.
SAMSON.
“And they called for Samson out of the prison-house, and he
made them sport.”—Judges xvi. 25.
“Bring the captive from the prison,”
Quoth the lordly Philistine,
“To-day we hold high festival
With banquet, and with wine.
Call all Philistia's nobles,
From the sea to the mountain gorge,
Call the maiden from the millstone
The warrior from the forge;
Quoth the lordly Philistine,
“To-day we hold high festival
With banquet, and with wine.
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From the sea to the mountain gorge,
Call the maiden from the millstone
The warrior from the forge;
“From all the rich corn country
'Twixt the hills, and the sandy plain,
Where five great cities ride like ships
Upon a golden main,
From Gaza where the fish-god
Hath many honoured shrines,
To Ashdod, and to Askelon,
And Jaffa on her wave-washed throne,
And Ekron girt with vines;
'Twixt the hills, and the sandy plain,
Where five great cities ride like ships
Upon a golden main,
From Gaza where the fish-god
Hath many honoured shrines,
To Ashdod, and to Askelon,
And Jaffa on her wave-washed throne,
And Ekron girt with vines;
“From fair pomegranate gardens
Red as the blushing east,
From thickets hung with oranges,
Like gold-lamps at a feast,
Come to the hall of Dagon!
Come throng his temple court!
To-day we bring the strong man forth
To make the people sport.”—
Red as the blushing east,
From thickets hung with oranges,
Like gold-lamps at a feast,
Come to the hall of Dagon!
Come throng his temple court!
To-day we bring the strong man forth
To make the people sport.”—
The eagle cast a shadow
As he sailed to and fro,
On far Lekiah's limestone cliff,
And on the sward below;—
The white clouds flung strange figures
On the corn, and the waving grass,
While the blind man ground in his prison-house,
Bound with his chains of brass.
But shades and lights more wonderful
Were in that lone dark place,
For the shadow of his own great deeds,
Was on the blind man's face.
As he sailed to and fro,
On far Lekiah's limestone cliff,
And on the sward below;—
The white clouds flung strange figures
On the corn, and the waving grass,
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Bound with his chains of brass.
But shades and lights more wonderful
Were in that lone dark place,
For the shadow of his own great deeds,
Was on the blind man's face.
At Timnath in the vineyards
He heard the lion roar,
And the Lord's Spirit mightily
Came on him as of yore;
Three thousand warriors bore him down
From Etam's rock again,
And he cast away their cords like flax,
And slew his thousand men.
He heard the lion roar,
And the Lord's Spirit mightily
Came on him as of yore;
Three thousand warriors bore him down
From Etam's rock again,
And he cast away their cords like flax,
And slew his thousand men.
Once more he bore the Gazite gates
Up Hebron's weary hill,
And at his side a woman's voice
Was sounding, sounding still.
And ever while his heavy hand
Ground in the prison drear,
“The Philistines be upon thee,”
Was sounding in his ear.
Up Hebron's weary hill,
And at his side a woman's voice
Was sounding, sounding still.
And ever while his heavy hand
Ground in the prison drear,
“The Philistines be upon thee,”
Was sounding in his ear.
In the chambers of its darkness,
When the Christian soul lies low,
Counting o'er his former graces;
And the spiritual foe
Shows his armies without number,
Shows his weapons keenly tried,
Let him look up through his blindness,
For the Lord is on his side.
When the wicked triumph greatly,
And the Dagon of their sin
Hath conquered both with guile and sword,
Cast down the servants of the Lord
And quenched good thoughts within;
Then let them tremble where they stand,
For the Lord's vengeance is at hand,
And He is sure to win.
When the Christian soul lies low,
Counting o'er his former graces;
And the spiritual foe
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Shows his weapons keenly tried,
Let him look up through his blindness,
For the Lord is on his side.
When the wicked triumph greatly,
And the Dagon of their sin
Hath conquered both with guile and sword,
Cast down the servants of the Lord
And quenched good thoughts within;
Then let them tremble where they stand,
For the Lord's vengeance is at hand,
And He is sure to win.
Come forth, thou blind old champion!
The people call thee now,
The day of wrath is come at length;
For lo! the seven locks of thy strength
Show grisly on thy brow.
A glorious death thou com'st to die,
A nation's wail thy funeral cry;
Lay hand upon the pillars twain,
And as they lean, and bend, and fall,
Lie down beneath the crushing wall,
Upon thy thousands slain.
The people call thee now,
The day of wrath is come at length;
For lo! the seven locks of thy strength
Show grisly on thy brow.
A glorious death thou com'st to die,
A nation's wail thy funeral cry;
Lay hand upon the pillars twain,
And as they lean, and bend, and fall,
Lie down beneath the crushing wall,
Upon thy thousands slain.
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HANNAH'S OFFERING.
“Therefore also have I lent him unto the Lord, as long as he
liveth, he shall be lent unto the Lord.”—I Sam. i. 28.
To Shiloh from the mountains,
Where Ephraim's grapes are trod,
The mother brought her offering
Unto the house of God.
The merchantmen from Edom
Give spices rich for gold,
But she doth bear a gift more rare,
Unto that sacred hold.
Where Ephraim's grapes are trod,
The mother brought her offering
Unto the house of God.
The merchantmen from Edom
Give spices rich for gold,
But she doth bear a gift more rare,
Unto that sacred hold.
There are lambs in Ephraim's pastures,
Pure as the drifted snows,
That lie on the brow of Lebanon,
For ever, like a rose.
There are heifers in her valleys,
And costly gifts they are—
But she doth bring a living thing,
That is more precious far.
Pure as the drifted snows,
That lie on the brow of Lebanon,
For ever, like a rose.
There are heifers in her valleys,
And costly gifts they are—
But she doth bring a living thing,
That is more precious far.
The little face that nestled
Into her heart at night,
The lips that lisping “mother,”
First thrilled her with delight.
He that in all home music
Was her one golden chord;
She brings him now to shrive her vow,
And leaves him with the Lord.
Into her heart at night,
The lips that lisping “mother,”
First thrilled her with delight.
He that in all home music
Was her one golden chord;
She brings him now to shrive her vow,
And leaves him with the Lord.
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The brow of the child Nazarite
Was open as the morn,
Whereon like gold-fringed cloudlets
Lay the bright locks unshorn—
The baby hand that rested
In hers was pure from stain,
As she brought him nigh to the old priest's eye,
Nor brought him forth again.
Was open as the morn,
Whereon like gold-fringed cloudlets
Lay the bright locks unshorn—
The baby hand that rested
In hers was pure from stain,
As she brought him nigh to the old priest's eye,
Nor brought him forth again.
O mothers, by the cradles
Of your baptizéd sons,
Weaving a web of happy years,
For those belovéd ones,
As in each passive feature
Some glorious hope ye trace,
And a long bright shade by the future made,
Lies on the sleeping face;
Of your baptizéd sons,
Weaving a web of happy years,
For those belovéd ones,
As in each passive feature
Some glorious hope ye trace,
And a long bright shade by the future made,
Lies on the sleeping face;
Give them a fate more noble,
In your unspoken thought,
Than earth, with her dreamy greatness
And fame, hath ever brought.
Bring them a free heart-offering,
Back to the God Who gave,
By the vows that were said on the infant head,
Over the hallowed wave.
In your unspoken thought,
Than earth, with her dreamy greatness
And fame, hath ever brought.
Bring them a free heart-offering,
Back to the God Who gave,
By the vows that were said on the infant head,
Over the hallowed wave.
O Christian, when thou bringest
An offering to God's shrine,
Take of the thing that is closest twined
Around that heart of thine—
The hope, or the pride, or the dearest love
That ever thy soul has known,
Lay them down there, in Christ's own care,
And He will bless the loan.
An offering to God's shrine,
Take of the thing that is closest twined
Around that heart of thine—
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That ever thy soul has known,
Lay them down there, in Christ's own care,
And He will bless the loan.
THE HARPING OF DAVID.
“And it came to pass, when the evil spirit from God was upon
Saul, that David took an harp, and played with his hand, so
Saul was refreshed and was well.”—I Sam. xvi. 23.
The cloud is on the monarch's soul,
Foreshadower of his future doom;
So mists, before the thunders roll,
Come down and wrap the hill in gloom—
Foreshadower of his future doom;
So mists, before the thunders roll,
Come down and wrap the hill in gloom—
Go, call the gentle Bethlemite,
And bid him wake his sweetest lay,
Perchance that music, pure and light,
May drive the threatening fiend away.
And bid him wake his sweetest lay,
Perchance that music, pure and light,
May drive the threatening fiend away.
The shepherd boy has brought his lute,
He sings, he strikes the pliant chords!
Each ear is caught, each lip hangs mute,
On the sweet air, the wondrous words.
He sings, he strikes the pliant chords!
Each ear is caught, each lip hangs mute,
On the sweet air, the wondrous words.
He stays his hand, the impassioned strain
Along the lofty palace dies;
The listening courtiers breathe again,
The cloud has left the monarch's eyes.
Along the lofty palace dies;
The listening courtiers breathe again,
The cloud has left the monarch's eyes.
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Ah, no! the measure died not all—
The echoes of that golden rhyme
Are ringing on, from fall to fall,
For ever down the stream of time.
The echoes of that golden rhyme
Are ringing on, from fall to fall,
For ever down the stream of time.
At matin hour, in vespers low,
They ring, they ring, those silver bells,
For praise, for plaint, for joy or woe,
Whene'er our strain of worship swells.
They ring, they ring, those silver bells,
For praise, for plaint, for joy or woe,
Whene'er our strain of worship swells.
The fair cathedral's arches grand,
Her marble saints with lifted palms,
Her carven pillars ever stand,
Wrapt in a dream of rolling psalms.
Her marble saints with lifted palms,
Her carven pillars ever stand,
Wrapt in a dream of rolling psalms.
The grey old walls beneath the yew,
With modest porch, and taper spire,
Have ripened to their music too,
Rung from the clamorous village choir.
With modest porch, and taper spire,
Have ripened to their music too,
Rung from the clamorous village choir.
When wakeful men, with ears unstopped,
Through weary hours have told each sound
That broke upon the dark, then dropped
Into the pulseless silence round,
Through weary hours have told each sound
That broke upon the dark, then dropped
Into the pulseless silence round,
While the strained eye impatient longs
For the first throb of breaking light,
What snatches of those heavenly songs
Have come to him at dead of night?
For the first throb of breaking light,
What snatches of those heavenly songs
Have come to him at dead of night?
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Some grand Laudate's lofty roll,
Some tender penitential wail,
Have made a music in his soul,
Sweeter than any nightingale.
Some tender penitential wail,
Have made a music in his soul,
Sweeter than any nightingale.
Come, blessed Psalms! when mists of sin,
Over my soul beclouded lie,
Pierce through the wide world's strife and din,
And bid the evil spirit fly.
Over my soul beclouded lie,
Pierce through the wide world's strife and din,
And bid the evil spirit fly.
Come, blessed Psalms! when weak and lone
My heart breaks down, and finds no aid,
And let me find in your deep tone
Some voice of comfort ready made.
My heart breaks down, and finds no aid,
And let me find in your deep tone
Some voice of comfort ready made.
For who shall find, in pain or loss,
Words of such sweet, sustaining power,
As those that hung about the Cross,
And soothed my Saviour's dying hour?
Words of such sweet, sustaining power,
As those that hung about the Cross,
And soothed my Saviour's dying hour?
THE BURIAL OF SAMUEL.
“And Samuel died, and all the Israelites were gathered
together, and lamented him, and buried him in his house
at Ramah.”—I Sam. XXV. 1.
Thirty days amid the hills of Ramah
Doth the voice of lamentation swell,
Like the murmur of a mighty river,
When the winter floods are on the fell,
Doth the voice of lamentation swell,
Like the murmur of a mighty river,
When the winter floods are on the fell,
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Like a wind imprisoned in the gorges
Of the mountains, moaning as it sweeps—
But no tempest in the valley struggles,
And no torrent tumbles from the steeps.
Of the mountains, moaning as it sweeps—
But no tempest in the valley struggles,
And no torrent tumbles from the steeps.
All the Israelites make moan together
With a lamentation loud and sore,
For the seer is gathered to his fathers,
They shall hear the prophet's voice no more.
With a lamentation loud and sore,
For the seer is gathered to his fathers,
They shall hear the prophet's voice no more.
Bear him, bear him slowly to the burial,
Haunted as ye go is all the air,
With a thousand sweet and solemn fancies,
Memories of the great man that ye bear.
Haunted as ye go is all the air,
With a thousand sweet and solemn fancies,
Memories of the great man that ye bear.
Like a sudden incense borne from Shiloh,
Round the cold corpse comes a fragrant breath,
And a young child with a linen ephod
Girded, glideth by the car of death.
Round the cold corpse comes a fragrant breath,
And a young child with a linen ephod
Girded, glideth by the car of death.
There's a look upon the sharpened features
Of the old man, strangely like the grace
And the glory of unclouded childhood,
As it smiles upon that phantom face.
Of the old man, strangely like the grace
And the glory of unclouded childhood,
As it smiles upon that phantom face.
Sure those lips have held a high communion
And those ears a wondrous Voice have heard,
When the call came through the darkened chamber,
And the child made answer, “Speak, O Lord.”
And those ears a wondrous Voice have heard,
When the call came through the darkened chamber,
And the child made answer, “Speak, O Lord.”
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For his smile is shadowed in its brightness,
As by some great glory pass'd away—
So the hills that have been gold at sunrise,
Wear a deeper purple all the day.
As by some great glory pass'd away—
So the hills that have been gold at sunrise,
Wear a deeper purple all the day.
Lo! the kingly Benjamite beside him
Walketh once again with stately tread,
And the withered hands are raised in blessing,
And the oil is poured upon his head.
Walketh once again with stately tread,
And the withered hands are raised in blessing,
And the oil is poured upon his head.
But the prophet's heart is full of sorrow,
And some natural tears unbidden spring,
For he sees the rending of the mantle,
And he mourneth for the fallen king.
And some natural tears unbidden spring,
For he sees the rending of the mantle,
And he mourneth for the fallen king.
Sons of Jesse, tall of form, and goodly,
Seven brave warriors pass before the seer,
Look not on their beauty, or their stature,
For the Lord's anointed is not here.
Seven brave warriors pass before the seer,
Look not on their beauty, or their stature,
For the Lord's anointed is not here.
Call the youngest, call him from the sheepfold,
In his eye a spirit pure and free,
On his cheek the colour of the morning,
Call him from the sheepfold! this is he!
In his eye a spirit pure and free,
On his cheek the colour of the morning,
Call him from the sheepfold! this is he!
Slowly, slowly now the visions vanish,
Israel's wail comes up upon the ear,
Prayers of pleading, words of love and warning,
All are over—lift the silent bier!
Israel's wail comes up upon the ear,
Prayers of pleading, words of love and warning,
All are over—lift the silent bier!
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Leave the old man—leave him with his Father,
Dark and lonely in that quiet place
Lonelier shadows on his heart have fallen,
Darker griefs have deepened on his face.
Dark and lonely in that quiet place
Lonelier shadows on his heart have fallen,
Darker griefs have deepened on his face.
An ungrateful people's causeless clamour,
Sons regardless of their father's call,
And his dream of hero-goodness broken
On the hard heart of rebellious Saul.
Sons regardless of their father's call,
And his dream of hero-goodness broken
On the hard heart of rebellious Saul.
But the tree that blossomed well in summer,
Blossoms sweetly at the autumn's close;
Graces nursed in childhood and in manhood,
In old age are sweeter than the rose.
Blossoms sweetly at the autumn's close;
Graces nursed in childhood and in manhood,
In old age are sweeter than the rose.
Here is incense, richer than in Shiloh
The child-Levite from the altar sent,
Deeds of love and mercy and devotion,
All the fragrance of a life well spent.
The child-Levite from the altar sent,
Deeds of love and mercy and devotion,
All the fragrance of a life well spent.
Calmly slept the fair child by the altar,
As he waited for God's voice of dread—
Calmer doth the good saint sleep in Ramah,
Waiting for the Voice that wakes the dead.
As he waited for God's voice of dread—
Calmer doth the good saint sleep in Ramah,
Waiting for the Voice that wakes the dead.
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SAUL.
“But the Spirit of the Lord departed from Saul.
—I Sam. xvi. 14.
I stood beside the shadowy lake,
I watched the glorious brimful tide,
In lines of foamy music break
Against her shingly side.
I watched the glorious brimful tide,
In lines of foamy music break
Against her shingly side.
The wild hills by her waters kiss'd,
Hung round her soft as soft might be,
They glimmer'd through a silver mist,
Down on a silver sea.
Hung round her soft as soft might be,
They glimmer'd through a silver mist,
Down on a silver sea.
And where their darkest ridge upheaves,
A rich red light was streaming o'er,
—Like a great heap of crimson leaves,
Piled on a purple floor—
A rich red light was streaming o'er,
—Like a great heap of crimson leaves,
Piled on a purple floor—
Red in the western heaven on high,
Red in the burning lake below,
And deep-red in the Eastern sky
That kindled with the glow.
Red in the burning lake below,
And deep-red in the Eastern sky
That kindled with the glow.
So like, methought, a noble life,
Attempered well in every part,
No jarring element at strife
With God's grace in the heart.
Attempered well in every part,
No jarring element at strife
With God's grace in the heart.
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I came another eventime—
The long blue tide had ebbed away;
A sullen ridge of sand and slime
Under the mountains lay.
The long blue tide had ebbed away;
A sullen ridge of sand and slime
Under the mountains lay.
The crimson light in heaven might burn,
The purple hue might wrap the hill,
But down below was no return,
For all was dark and still.
The purple hue might wrap the hill,
But down below was no return,
For all was dark and still.
Wandering along the lonely shore,
The curlew gave her sorrowful call,
Like a good angel weeping sore
Over a sinner's fall.
The curlew gave her sorrowful call,
Like a good angel weeping sore
Over a sinner's fall.
For that wild scene was like a heart
Whence God's full tide of grace is driven,
That dwells in wilful sin apart,
And hath no share in heaven.
Whence God's full tide of grace is driven,
That dwells in wilful sin apart,
And hath no share in heaven.
I thought of Ramah's regal feast,
I thought of red Gilboa's plain,
Of bright hopes in that kingly breast,
Of that unworthy slain:
I thought of red Gilboa's plain,
Of bright hopes in that kingly breast,
Of that unworthy slain:
Of all the promise rich that lay
Around thy glorious youth, great Saul!
Of stubbornness that spurned at sway,
And pride that marred it all.
Around thy glorious youth, great Saul!
Of stubbornness that spurned at sway,
And pride that marred it all.
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Sweet lake! again thy tide shall draw
Soft rippling to thy mountains' feet—
Against thy nature's gentle law
Thy wild heart never beat.
Soft rippling to thy mountains' feet—
Against thy nature's gentle law
Thy wild heart never beat.
But never more God's holy dew
Came to that God-forsaken man,
Till wilfulness, rebellion grew,
And pride to madness ran.
Came to that God-forsaken man,
Till wilfulness, rebellion grew,
And pride to madness ran.
O, when we read with wondering eyes,
The hero's greatness, and his sin,
Self-doubting be the thoughts that rise,
Sharp be the glance within!
The hero's greatness, and his sin,
Self-doubting be the thoughts that rise,
Sharp be the glance within!
We too would walk our own wild way—
Our hearts are wilful every one,
Ever the hardest prayer to pray,
Is Christ's, “Thy will be done.”
Our hearts are wilful every one,
Ever the hardest prayer to pray,
Is Christ's, “Thy will be done.”
So catch we Nature's lesson still,
Her harmony of hue and tone,
That heart, and mind, and fretful will,
Move to God's will alone.
Her harmony of hue and tone,
That heart, and mind, and fretful will,
Move to God's will alone.
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THE DEATH OF DAVID.
“So David slept with his fathers.”—I Kings ii. 10.
King David sleepeth in his fathers' grave—
O for one echo of that deep dirge-strain,
Mourning so well the beautiful and brave,
That rang erewhile o'er Gilboa's royal slain!
O for one echo of that deep dirge-strain,
Mourning so well the beautiful and brave,
That rang erewhile o'er Gilboa's royal slain!
O for a murmur as of his own Psalms,
Touching all hearts, like a great wind at play,
That sports with Nature in long ocean calms,
And green earth valleys, all a summer's day.
Touching all hearts, like a great wind at play,
That sports with Nature in long ocean calms,
And green earth valleys, all a summer's day.
From his calm face the shadows sharp and strong
Of olden days have passed, and left it still;
From his closed lip the last low lingering song,
Like the last echo flung back from a hill,
Of olden days have passed, and left it still;
From his closed lip the last low lingering song,
Like the last echo flung back from a hill,
Has died away; and never, never more,
So bold a hand shall sweep the silver lyre,
So true a tone shall teach to kneel and soar,
So sweet a voice shall lead the saintly choir.
So bold a hand shall sweep the silver lyre,
So true a tone shall teach to kneel and soar,
So sweet a voice shall lead the saintly choir.
Warrior, and king, and minstrel more renown'd
Than ever touched fair fancy's noblest chord,
Saint with a wondrous weight of glory crown'd,
At once the type and prophet of his Lord.
Than ever touched fair fancy's noblest chord,
Saint with a wondrous weight of glory crown'd,
At once the type and prophet of his Lord.
He hath gone down into the shadowy vale—
What though his face with many tears was wet,
Though sin's remorseful cry, though sorrow's wail
Swelled from that harp to heavenly music set;
What though his face with many tears was wet,
Though sin's remorseful cry, though sorrow's wail
Swelled from that harp to heavenly music set;
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Still in that grief we read a deeper sorrow,
The awful mystery of a suffering God,
Still from that sharp, sin-laden cry we borrow
A voice that mourns where our own feet have trod.
The awful mystery of a suffering God,
Still from that sharp, sin-laden cry we borrow
A voice that mourns where our own feet have trod.
What though his warrior-eye might ne'er behold
On green Moriah's side the white stone flower,
For which his red right hand had piled the gold,
Planning God's temple in his happier hour;
On green Moriah's side the white stone flower,
For which his red right hand had piled the gold,
Planning God's temple in his happier hour;
Still like a dream before his eye it slept,
Its chambers flooded with a golden glow,
A strange bright place where faintest odours crept,
From cedar-flowers eternally in blow.
Its chambers flooded with a golden glow,
A strange bright place where faintest odours crept,
From cedar-flowers eternally in blow.
And he had heard a grander music thrilling
Where needs no temple's marble wall to rise,
Had seen his glorious ritual's fulfilling,
And known the One-sufficient Sacrifice.
Where needs no temple's marble wall to rise,
Had seen his glorious ritual's fulfilling,
And known the One-sufficient Sacrifice.
As a great mountain on a stormy eve,
After a stormy day, stands dimly shown,
—How many times we saw the grey mist weave
A murky mantle for his crest of stone!—
After a stormy day, stands dimly shown,
—How many times we saw the grey mist weave
A murky mantle for his crest of stone!—
Now a brief sunset splendour wraps his brow,
A crimson glory on a field of gold,
Yet the wild tide is breaking dark below,
Nor from its shaggy side the cloud has rolled—
A crimson glory on a field of gold,
Yet the wild tide is breaking dark below,
Nor from its shaggy side the cloud has rolled—
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So dim, so beautiful we see thy form,
Conqueror and saint, man sinning and forgiven,
Around thee wrapt earth's shadows and its storm,
With here and there a glimpse of purest heaven.
Conqueror and saint, man sinning and forgiven,
Around thee wrapt earth's shadows and its storm,
With here and there a glimpse of purest heaven.
But the morn breaks, a morning without clouds,
A clear calm shining when the rain is o'er,
He lieth where no mist of earth enshrouds,
In God's great sunlight wrapped for evermore.
A clear calm shining when the rain is o'er,
He lieth where no mist of earth enshrouds,
In God's great sunlight wrapped for evermore.
Psalmist of Israel! sure thou hearest now,
If sweeter strains than thine can ever be,
A sweeter music where the elders bow,
Striking their harps upon the crystal sea.
If sweeter strains than thine can ever be,
A sweeter music where the elders bow,
Striking their harps upon the crystal sea.
| Poems by Cecil Frances Alexander | |