The Prisoner of Love :: :: University of Virginia Library

God's bruises are our own exceeding balm,
They carry with them rest;
The raging strife has still a core of calm
And in mid passion hides the conqueror's palm,
Pains first pierce Jesu's Breast;
And, O my brother, the most bitter cry
Holds place and honour in Eternity.

God's wounds, with which He tempers our wild zeal,
Before us fell on Him;
They are his sonship's great and blessèd seal
And in the very act of smiting heal,
Illuming life they dim;
And, in each cup of grief, the Saviour first
Drank of its utmost dregs and slaked His thirst.

God's thorns that through thy bondage prick and press,
Those shadows, do but shape
In the Christ-trodden flame and fearful stress
Thy grievous faults to His own Loveliness,
Lost if we could escape;
And not one pang of one sweet message fails,
Christ blunts their points ere He inflicts the nails.

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God's Body first was broken and His Heart,
That breaking might be dear;
And from each stroke He stole the deadly smart,
Bearing Himself the fiercest pain and part,
And bleeding with our spear;
Christ were not Christ unless His Cross were mine,
And God not God were not all loss Divine.

God's Passion in my measure falls on me,
It is our living Breath;
Without its blessèd Altar who could see
Christ's open grave a mercy full and free—
But for that daily death?
There could be glory, none in earth and sky,
Were not each little step a Calvary.

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October 2 OUR HOME

“Lord, thou hast been our dwelling place in all generations.”— Ps. xc. 1.

O Father, unto Thee I call
Who hearest me, and hearest all
And every sinner's patient plea;
Descend in mercy and in might,
And roll the glory of Thy Light
Around me like a living sea.
Though from the darkness and the dust
I cry with penitential trust,
And in the bondage of my fear;
Yet out of blessèd Love's blue sky
And its great calm eternity,
O Father, hear.

O Father, I am sure that Thou
Art with me in Thy Fulness now,
As surely as the sun and air;
I drink Thy Spirit when I go
About my daily tasks below,
And all in Thee alone is fair.
Thou art my Manna and sweet Well,
And in Thy Presence do I dwell
Beneath its secret dazzling dome;
And if I lodge awhile on earth
In flesh and feel its utter dearth,
Thou art my Home.

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October 3 UNWORTHY

“Depart from me; for I am a sinful man, O Lord.”— St. Luke v. 8.

Not even the little touch of trust;
I only ask to gaze—
From this so distant strife and dust
Where care eats into souls like rust,
Through its distorting haze—
Upon the Reflex, not to look
At Light I cannot live and brook,
In dumb and deep amaze.
I am not worthy to draw near,
And kiss His garment hem;
My sins did point the cruel spear,
My thorns His diadem.

Not even a little word of hope,
From Him who cannot lie;
But at the bottom of the slope,
Whereby great doors of promise ope
With many a tender tie,
I only seek to watch and wait
Within my round of penance strait
Until for Him I die.
I am not worthy once to catch
His precious Voice from far,
Or lift His sacred wicket latch
And loose my prison bar.

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October 4 NOT EVEN A LITTLE

“Blessed is the man . . . watching daily at my gates.”— Prov. viii. 34.

Not even a little sign of heed;
I only want to give,
And not to get release from need
By market coin or measured creed—
For none but Him to live;
And by my hourly toil to raise
Still higher on the breath of praise,
His high prerogative.
I am not worthy yet to stand
An outcast at His door,
Or be the besom in His hand
To sweep the temple floor.

Not even a little thought of Love
Which ever floweth free
And gathers bird of prey and dove
In Pity clasping like a glove—
Not even this for me;
I only strive to honour Him,
And out of darkness cold and dim
His Shadow just to see.
I am not worthy to go up,
As others do arise
Who at His table sit and sup—
I dream of Paradise.

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October 5 BROKEN WINGS

“They . . . brake the pitchers that were in their hands.”— Judges vii. 19.

O God, I want to soar, but cannot rise
From earth to Thy great Heaven,
Above the shining shame I do despise;
To pass, although through hell, to Paradise—
But for life's bitter leaven.
I feel within me awful hidden powers,
Which seek Thy Light like pale immurèd flowers
Forth-stretching to their sun;
And in my breast, like flame, all centuries' dowers
For ever leap and run.
But, though the eagle in me strain the strings,
Still in Thy Mercy break, O break these wings.

It is no hour for creatures wrought of dust,
To dream of selfish flying;
When fragile ones in my poor pity trust
Or out of darkness with dim faces thrust,
And toil on dead or dying.
How shall I let the eagle in me flutter,
When woes eternal round me weep or mutter
The message I must hear?
How shall I dare that ecstasy to utter,
Dragged down by helpless fear?
Dear Father, though I have the strength of kings
In ocean tide, yet break these cruel wings.

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October 6 BREAKING AND MAKING

“Break up your fallow ground.”—Jer. iv. 3.

The upward impulse fain would burst the bars
Of flesh that are my prison,
And bear me past the scathe and mortal scars
To the clear night of my own native stars—
As souls of light have risen.
But everywhere stands out a stubborn fetter
Which draws my spirit down to life's dull letter,
And hugs my mounting heart;
While squalid forms, which I might lift to better,
Before me ghost-like start.
Ah, though the eagle spurns the unspacious things,
Yet of compassion, Lord, break these bright wings.

What, shall I shun the little hopes, that lean
On me in starved affection;
Because the ways of men are small and mean,
And hands that minister in mire unclean
Or lack Thy large direction?
While there remains on earth just one weak brother,
O do Thou smite these lofty looks and smother
In Thee their burning fire;
To glow no more for me but for another,
Some son of Thy desire.
And, if the eagle frets or trumpet rings,—
In kindness, Love, break me and break my wings.

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October 7 CHRIST AND HIS BROKEN VESSEL

“Should we again break thy commandments.”—Ezra ix. 14.

“I gave it to the world,” the Master cried,
“Wrought of my living Blood and Flesh,
And throbbing through with My Divinity;
To Heaven and its dear angelries I died,
That this My Vessel might be full and fresh—
And in it, lo, I poured Infinity.
Yea, when before Me it in beauty stood,
I called it blessèd above all and good.

“But now I find it not with patient search,
This that was part and parcel of My Frame
And for each age the truth and token;
Where is My precious Cup, the Holy Church,
That bore so proudly once My reverend Name?
It lies in fragments, marred and broken;
A thing of shame, a shadow to be felt,
Though in it once My Grace and Glory dwelt.

“Ah, with the pieces yet My human Heart
Itself is riven and in their trouble rent,
And I am with My Vessel shattered;
Though something of My Life in every part
Remains, to help the pure and penitent—
And thus the saving seed is scattered.
For, as I press the earth with bruisèd Feet,
Still with the fragments all the world is meet.”

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October 8 THE COVENANT

“My covenant will I not break.”—Ps. lxxxix. 34.

“I left it whole, most excellent and fair,
A cup of bliss, a marvel and My pride
'Mid trembling graces green and vernal;
It breathed an incense soft as summer air,
And gathered large new lustre at My Side
Thrilled with the joy of thoughts eternal.
But men arose in haste, who knew Me not,
And turned each splendour to a loathsome spot.

“Divisions came (a thunder-cloud) and lay
Like night upon it, though with bitter tears
I bathed the lands and fenced My Treasure;
But errors throve and doubt that had its day
And darkened many a faith with cruel fears,
Which would not take its mighty measure.
And then in sordid shards it clove and fell,
Though life rang out from even its dying knell.

“I saw Myself there stricken to the tomb
With its affliction too afflicted sore,
While to the last my Love had spoken;
All Heaven was struggling in its sacred womb,
If pain and endless grief were all I bore
And with it was My Body broken.
Still shall the fragments plant a better time,
And yet bring back the lost true golden chime.”

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October 9 THE ETERNAL SACRIFICE

“I thirst.”—St. John xix. 28.

“God has His hell, more awful far than man's
Because it is a Throne
Beyond the reach of earthly bars and bans,
Wherein He reigns alone;
And as none dreams the largeness of that Life
Past tale of human breath,
No wildest vision may reveal the strife
Of that eternal Death.
And I who draw from God this dazzling fate,
Co-sufferer with Him,
Yet would not if I could resign a state
A myriad times as dim;
If every throb of being were a thorn
Fresh added to My crown,
And every gift for universal scorn
Some glory still laid down.
This is the burden and the bitter stress,
The greatness and the grief
Of rule that lies in utter loneliness,
And never knows relief;
The splendour which I am not weak to spurn,
This terrible broad care
Wherewith in secret sorrow I must burn,
The shadow none can share.”

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October 10 THE PERPETUAL OBLATION

“In all their affliction he was afflicted.”—Isa. lxiii. 9.

“Ah, if I loved My brother less I might
Gain solace now and then,
And not be left in solitary Light
Doomed by disloyal men;
If I did not deem it un-Christlike shame
A moment even to tire,
Consumèd thus in undestroying flame
A very Soul on fire.
Earth saw but once the darkness of My lot,
But every day I die
For some creation, and there is no spot
Of space not Calvary.
Betwixt two thieves, the Hate and Scorn of all,
I must for ever hang;
And that, athirst for love, in vain I call
Is my most piercing pang.
It is an hourly passion which I bear,
Most willing and most sweet,
This royal wedding-robe which I must wear
That is my winding-sheet.
No sight of mortal could endure the loss,
The bondage that is Mine
And shall be always, the stupendous Cross
So human and Divine.”

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October 11 EVERLASTING LOVE

“With everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee.”— Isa. liv. 8.

“O think not only once I put on flesh
For earthly cares and crimes,
I have been born and crucified afresh
A thousand thousand times.
I am incarnate in all weakness now,
Where truth can hardly stand;
In faces seamed with sorrow is My Brow,
Bruisèd in each new brand.
Where the lone watcher in My temple kneels,
Emptied of greed and pride,
And claims with woe the kinship that he feels—
There is My wounded Side.
When trust renounces ease and gilded sloth
And toileth as it should,
I am the One that keeps His higher troth
With the Eternal Good.
Yea, in the harlot who no longer strays
An outcast and obscene,
I tabernacle when she turns and prays—
A modern Magdalene;
Mine is the head she hangeth low in love
To learn the purer part,
Mine the lost cry for light she sends above
And Mine the broken heart.”

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October 12 THE SECRET SAVIOUR

“Verily thou art a God that hidest thyself, O God of Israel, the Saviour.”—Isa. xlv. 15.

“Even in the babe and babe-like spirits too
That faintly lisp their faith,
I dwell and work out what they humbly woo
Alike in life and death.
Wherever weakness from a seed of grace,
Daring to live and die,
Looks up in darkness to the Father's Face—
There if unheard am I.
And when white hope puts forth a crumpled wing
With hardly strength to wave,
There is the goodly garment of the King
Who rules above the grave.
My Cross is planted in each blessèd Life
Which suffers and is true,
And flinches not to front the altar knife
In the last offering due.
Such is My throne in hell, and I uphold
A part no other can,
The lot of mighty sorrows manifold—
To make a Heaven for man.
And yet no gladness is so sweet as this,
No marriage such a tie,
To burn for ever in Love's own abyss,
And dying not to die.
Here do I keep with pain perpetual tryst,
Thus always racked and rent,
And know that now I am indeed the Christ
In griefs great sacrament.”

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October 13 UNTO DEATH

“Jesus Christ the same yesterday, and to-day, and for ever.”— Heb. xiii. 8.

“And therefore do I live and shall live on,
Self-martyred for My own,
Though new worlds rise and older worlds are gone,
Unhonoured and unknown.
And they that blindly fan My altar fire
Increase My awful joy,
And only add more fuel to desire—
The Love none may destroy.
For could I cease to suffer for a while
And hang this thorn-crowned Head,
The earth would weep, the skies no longer smile,
And God Himself were dead.
These nails are still the beauty of my pride,
The badges of my Power,
And in the virtue of My Bleeding Side
All natures fruit and flower.
The soldier's spear is yet the single rod
Wherewith I sway the lands,
I feel assured that I alone am God
But by these piercèd Hands.
And so in tortured minds or troubled flesh
I languish on My Cross,
And drain the cup of death to gather fresh
Divinity from loss.
In truth though frail and the most feeble trust,
That guides some wandering lamb
Sore wounded and bedraggled in the dust—
There if unseen I am.”

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October 14 THE MYSTERY OF PAIN

“No chastening for the present seemeth to be joyous . . . afterward it yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness.”— Heb. xii. 11.

Pain is a mystery, but still
I would not once abate
A pulse of any ache or ill,
Which does but educate
My foolish life that needs the knife
To crown and consecrate.
It is a key that opens doors
To larger lands and skies,
It gives me gleams of crystal floors
And day that never dies;
While leading, out of night and doubt,
Into the eternities.

And at the inmost heart of flame
I find no crushing grief,
But something that can task and tame
The suffering to seem brief;
And in the fire is born desire,
Which is its own relief.
I feel it is a pathway trod
With many a cruel slip,
Which marries yet my soul to God
Even in its burning grip;
And, on its pangs, the furnace hangs
A fairer Fellowship.

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October 15 CHASTENING

“My son, despise not thou the chastening of the Lord.”— Heb. xii. 5.

Pain is a mystery, but who
Would make the anguish less,
And by a moment's wrong undo
Its work of loveliness;
And spoil, by tears or empty fears,
The spirit's bridal dress?
There is no other way to Him
To whom all creatures come,
Though it be often thwart and dim
With thunder-curtained dome;
And thus at last, by tortures past,
We learn He is our Home.

But who can tell, why some are pent
In iron bars of woe,
And for the weak and innocent
Is loosed the earthquake throe,
And why the pure and meek endure
The hardest fight and foe?
Though I am well assured, the One
Who has for ever stood
Betwixt the stake and each dear son
Has kindled yet the wood;
And were each breath a martyr's death
His unguessed Will is good.

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October 16 MY GUARDIAN ANGEL

“He shall send his angel before thee.”—Gen. xxiv. 7.

I know an Angel, and He comes all times
When others are not near;
And O I softly hear
A voice more sweet than choicest wedding chimes,
And tender as a tear.
It wakes a music, deeper than the art
Which conquers time and space
With infinite embrace,
And sets church bells a-ringing in my heart,
As if God's holy place.
But yet there is no sort of earthly sound,
Although it makes a happier world go round.

I see an Angel, and His face is fair,
Lit with the sunrise hue
Of every glamour true;
It breathes the beauty of the summer air,
And has its hidden clue.
He smiles upon me, and my heaviest gloom
Disperses at His glance;
My broken spirits dance
Forth into light, and laugh again and bloom
O'er iron circumstance.
And still no keenest eye of man can mark
That grace, which dazzles me even in the dark.

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October 17 THE ANGEL OF THE COVENANT

“The Angel which redeemed me.”—Gen. xlviii. 16.

I have an Angel and He has no pride
Except in stooping low,
And veiling that bright glow
Which reaches far, and sitting at my side
He often bears my blow.
Ah, yes, His virgin delicate pure white
For me is stainèd much,
And bruised with many a touch
That leaves His charm more rare and exquisite,
Because His Love is such.
And sometimes I, whom sinful burdens bow,
Do catch a reflex glory from His brow.

I keep an Angel, or He has kept me
A captive to His will
Which playeth on me still;
As on a jangling lute, that would be free,
But yields its answers ill.
Yet am I learning the new tune at last
Which is our secret bond,
And bids me ne'er despond;
Till in due season, when this school is past,
I sing it right beyond.
When stormy passions rise, He brings me balm
And turns my discords to a Sabbath psalm.

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October 18 SECRET OF JOY

“With thee is the fountain of life: in thy light shall we see light.”—Ps. xxxvi. 9.

I have the secret of all joy
For every hour and every place,
A gladness which can never cloy
And looks up in the Father's Face;
It hangeth not on any time
Nor resteth on a rite or form,
But is a hidden happy chime
Amid the madness of the storm.

It lies not in some reverend round
Of holy duties high and good,
And knows not other bar or bound
Than that of human brotherhood;
The sacred Word, the solemn wall,
May help but cannot shut it in,
It is beyond an earthly call,
And makes each Christian heart akin.

I carry it with me, a light
Of peace which broadens as I go,
The blessèd sense that all is right
Which sees in every cloud the bow;
I feel whatever comes is best
And find a Bethel in each stone,
Softer than even a Mother's breast—
And Love yet reigns upon the Throne.

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October 19 VERY PRESENT

“A very present help in trouble.”—Ps. xlvi. 1.

He is present and I need Him
In the darkness and the doubt,
Though misgiving would not heed Him—
For I cannot see without.
When the clouds of sorrow gather
With the winds that never cease,
Comes the Friend who is my Father—
He is present, and is Peace.
When the way grows sick and drearer,
Worse than any track I trod,
Then to me He still is nearer
And a very Present God.

He is Present, and I trust Him
When my foes to battle shout,
If I sometimes far would thrust Him—
For I cannot fight without.
When I miss, alas! my brother
In the lone and evil hour,
He sustains me as no other—
He is Present and is Power.
Should the trial flame wax double
And my feet be poorly shod,
I will look beyond the trouble
To the very Present God.

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October 20 TO-DAY

“In thy presence is fulness of joy.”—Ps. xvi. 11.

He is present, and I love Him,
Though my lips do sometimes pout,
For the sunshine is above Him—
And I cannot walk without.
There is no one like my Master
In His Mercy and His Might,
So betwixt me and disaster—
He is Present, and is Light.
Let me lean in all my blindness
When uncertainly I plod,
Just upon the guardian kindness
Of the Very Present God.

He is Present, and I hold Him—
Nay, He claspeth me about,
And these arms that would enfold Him—
For I cannot live without.
'Mid the cry of earth's carousals,
In the tumult and the strife,
O I think of our espousals—
He is Present, and is Life.
Through the bitter woe and welter,
Then a staff becomes His rod;
Even the shadow is the shelter
Of the Very Present God.

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October 21 VICARIOUS

“I will very gladly spend and be spent for you.”— 2 Cor. xii. 15.

More fuel, Lord,
More suffering still;
Heap on more faggots, and the cord
Of fire make fiercer at Thy Will;
For I am earthly now and all
Stained with the oft-repeated fall.
With trial's flame,
Consume the dross;
O search me through this sinful frame,
And nail me to Thy burning Cross;
Yea, heat the furnace seven times more,
That I may learn Thy secret lore.

My brother, Lord,
Lies stricken down!
Then set on me Thy judgment sword,
And lend to him my borrowed crown;
For only shall I count that gain
Which gives to me another's pain.
I cannot be
Unless in him,
Who is myself, and thus lets free
My heart from its poor dungeon dim;
And chiefly while I bear his load,
Through wrath and up the iron road.

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My sister, Lord,
And also Thine
But nearer to Thee, at the board
And banquet where the children dine,
Is sick and droops her darling head—
And I would suffer all instead.
I ask not joys,
Nor costly fee
Of fortune and its dying toys—
I want her burden laid on me;
That in my measure, and by loss,
I may be married to Thy Cross.

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October 22 TOIL

“Work . . . while it is day: the night cometh, when no man can work.”—St. John ix. 4.

O the honest pride of toiling
Always to some worthy end,
With no jewels but the soiling
Left to witness what we spend.
O the joy that hath no fellow,
In the planting of the blade;
Till it turns from green to yellow,
Through the sunshine and the shade.

O if we wrought some addition
To men's living staff or stock,
Though our eyes see no fruition
Yet in one small golden shock.
O the trust that we, when spilling
Often idle work or waste,
There are duly thus fulfilling
Nature's purpose even in haste.

O the strength, that we are striving
Still with God Himself for good,
And the world by us is thriving,
On the hopes it first withstood.
O the bliss that, with endurance
And despite the long delay,
Not one seed of love's assurance
Ever can be thrown away!

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October 23 DIVINE SILENCE

“He answered nothing.”—St. Mark xv. 3.

The written Word is sweet and pure,
For any mortal mood;
A feast for ever free and sure,
Which yields us daily food.

But the unwritten word is more,
A revelation wide;
For hearts that seek the hidden lore,
And sit at Jesu's Side.

Whate'er He did was fit and fine,
Whate'er he spoke an aid;
But richer still and most Divine,
The thing undone, unsaid.

His silent Gospel hath a Grace
Felt only by the few,
Who dwell within the Holy Place
And drink the heavenliest dew.

And though the silence may be doom,
As it on Herod fell
And wrapt God's enemies in gloom,
It hath a saving spell.

And those that come in lowly love,
To take the Gentiles' seat,
Rise to the Table set above
And eat the children's meat.

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October 24 PURITY

“Holy, harmless, undefiled, separate from sinners.”— Heb. vii. 26.

If but one creature, though a little child
All undefil'd,
Did walk in white upon the earth so dead
With eyes of perfect purity, and spake
For Jesu's sake—
The solid ground would tremble at his tread.
The beast, that felt no fear for earthquake shock
Or rending rock,
Would fly in terror from a spotless thing;
And fiercer men
Would own in such a conqueror and their king,
And those that asked no mercy ask it then.

O vaster, stronger than the force of fire
Or mocked desire,
And deeper than the ocean at its flood;
The beauty which is breathed by lips unstained
Is heaven regained—
Which might atone for ages' blots and blood.
No evil for a moment could live nigh
That presence high,
It would be crushed as low as graveyard clods
And quite consumed;
That unsoiled sweetness would turn men to gods,
And with its light the world would be illumed.

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October 25 THE ALTAR OF LOVE

“We have an altar.”—Heb. xiii. 10.

There is an Altar,
And its name is Love;
Upon it the full glory of the lands
Must in the end be given the Priest above,
Though flesh and blood may falter,
By pure hands.
The only incense of the only Heaven,
And the one sweetness of the one true leaven
Of earth and nature and the cosmic strife;
The free and vast
One victim to the last;
It is, and was, and ever shall be—Life.

There are no prices
For that service paid,
Unto the uttermost, by life of man;
Hearts hear the call, and lowly are they laid
In love that sacrifices
All it can.
And thus by yielding of our dearest treasure
We fill up what is lacking to the measure
Of that Atonement, which must still be wrought;
The murdered king
Or martyr offering,
Weds closer earthly hopes and heavenly thought.

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October 26 MAN THE SAVIOUR

“When thou art converted, strengthen thy brethren.”— St. Luke xxii. 32.

Each is a little
Saviour and was sent,
As surely as the Christ to enfranchise us
And reconcile to God the penitent,
Though they be weeds and brittle—
Only thus.
So out of doom and the chill, gravelike dulness
We gather grace, who do not grudge our fulness,
To form the remnant that shall rule and teach;
We learn that ill
Is good, and suffering still
Alone may draw our Paradise in reach.

Go to the mountain,
Whence we see afar
Our land of promise and the unsetting light;
Thence do the prison gates of Time unbar,
And there we drink the fountain
Which is sight.
Not once or twice must we pursue the vision
Despite the cruel breath of blind derision,
But daily in the liberty of love;
And thou shalt know,
There are no chains below
For him that dwells with majesties above.

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October 27 HOLY FORCE

“The race is not to the swift, nor the battle to the strong.”— Eccles. ix. 11.

There is a hidden
Fund of Holy Force,
Whereto each adds as suffering years go by,
And every tear lends something to that Source;
It roofs us, while storm-ridden,
With blue sky.
The little sob that breathes in hidden places
And on the spring of youth ploughs winter traces,
The fire of fever, and the splendid spot
In some great fall
Which raiseth yet our all—
Do help us forward to the fairer lot.

No education
Were as godlike grief,
Which stamps upon the trouble of the heart
A strength and stature more than mere relief;
Divinest legislation,
Pure, apart.
Love, when most loving, then is most a portal
From squalid earth out into the immortal;
The tomb is but a sign of something more,
And the cold clod
A pathway up to God,
Or beacon pointing to the shining Shore.

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October 28 BY STAGES

“Strait is the gate, and narrow is the way, which leadeth unto life.”—St. Matt. vii. 14.

We climb by stages
Perilous and sharp,
By lonesome ledges in this haunted sleep
Of brute beliefs with many a jangled harp,
To bright and broader ages'
Boundless Deep.
And they that still in somewhat true have trusted
Find at each onward step their life adjusted,
Through all its inwardness, to Life more high;
They see new links
On the most awful brinks,
That bring the very poles of being nigh.

The taint of sinning
In our human roots
Lies dark and deep, and is a constant stain;
But now therewith we mark the better shoots,
In dreadful shade beginning
Birth again.
For our real nature has a wider orbing,
Through the Redemption of the Christ, absorbing
Into its inmost essence His sweet Blood;
By channels dull
And from the mouldering skull,
The tides of Love can only reach the flood.

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October 29 MORE THAN THOUGHT

“Put to death in the flesh, but quickened by the Spirit.”— 1 St. Pet. iii. 18.

And thou, my brother
Far away, but near
In sorrow, yet art greater than thy thought
And vastest vistas of all faith and fear;
For at thy side Another
Moves, unsought.
Death, though it narrow life and strangely dim it,
Still ever was a door and not a limit
Unto the spirit as it outward speeds;
And they that pass
Like shadows on the grass,
Yet thus alone can rise to grander creeds.

Can ought be squandered,
In the scheme of things?
Nay, at the soul of Suffering lies a bond
Binding to God the heart's most tender strings;
They find, who most have wandered,
Peace beyond.
For present life is only in the making,
And needs the blessèd blow or kindly shaking
To wring the fragrance from it through each stripe;
And out of pain
To reach a heaven of gain
Somewhere, at length, in revelation ripe.

345

October 30 BY MANY WAYS

“God, who at sundry times and in divers manners spake in time past, ... hath in these last days spoken unto us by his Son.”—Heb. i. 1, 2.

Though vast and various
Be the paths Divine,
Whereby the moulding of the race is won;
No lives are larger than those which enshrine
Sorrow, that in vicarious
Deeds is done.
Here is the base, here are the blessèd sluices
Whence break new births and all the joyous juices
Of fresher forms, at inspiration's breath;
From the agony
Of each red Calvary,
The honeycomb out of the ribs of death.

Pain is not penal,
Sufferings are no crimes
And nothing can be wrong that is not sin;
But only innocence may save sick times,
And show to natures venal
God their kin.
O by pure Passion, are our burdens lightened,
And all the darkling world is blessed and brightened;
The moral axis of the earth is changed;
Till the rose, Bliss,
Laughs out of the abyss
Which once kept caste and class so long estranged.

346

October 31 FROM CALVARY

“Peace through the blood of his cross.”—Col. i. 20.

Ye that love greatly
Start from Calvary,
And through the valley of the shadow win
The fruit and blessing of Eternity;
Then Eden, desert lately,
Shall begin.
Gird up your loins, and bear the precious crosses;
Not otherwise than through the grave of losses
And by the anguish of the separate Few,
Does earth grow young
As when Creation sung,
And man get powers that these for him renew.

Suffering is woven
In the primal frame
Of the great Kosmos, and beats time with this
The presence of a purifying flame;
And joy, save by it cloven,
Comes amiss.
No service yet was beautiful and holy
Unless it drank the cup of Sorrow slowly,
And let the drops of agony soak in;
But, ah, the deep
And height of bliss, to keep
Watch for the world and suffer for its sin.