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

O judge, thy measure is too small,
If it be but of earthly tone
And temper—it must fail and fall,
Unless it be the Cross alone.
We ask no measure less than this,
Nor is there other eye that sees
Than his who passes the abyss,
And learns to sing upon his knees.

Thou canst not rise beyond the height
Thy soul hath reached by travail sore,
Yet is there darkness that is light
To those who tread the farther shore;
God's message will not touch the ear
Which hath not heard its heavenly part,
With hope baptized in blessed fear
Unto sweet music for the heart.

They who have caught the angel song
That chanted Christ before He came,
And grown from weakness wise and strong,
Can henceforth never be the same;
For such have found the Holy Grail,
And they have known the secret call,
But felt the Cross's every nail
Ere they in Christ possest their all.

January 1 THE LIGHT OF GOD'S GOODNESS

“Shew me thy glory. And he said, I will make all my goodness pass before thee. ... Thou canst not see my face: ... there shall no man see me, and live.”—Exod. xxxiii. 18–20.

We cannot see Thee as Thou art,
We cannot hear Thee as we would;
But do believe that all is good,
And in the beating of Thy heart
Lies the last throb of Fatherhood—
If heaven and earth alike depart;
And though the ancient suns have set,
Their light is burning in us yet.

We would not see the utter awe
Of Thy whole Splendour, if we might;
We are content, that reverent night
Should wrap us close in loving law.
We dare not ask the perfect sight,
That slays what is not without flaw;
And though great landmarks long have gone,
Horizons in us still lead on.

We may not see the gracious round
That gathers in all moons and stars,
The final touch that draws the scars
Into the beauty of its bound;
But O the blessing of the bars,
That shut us in with roses wound!
We warm our hands at holy fires,
Of early faiths and old desires.

January 2 LIGHT OF GOD'S LOVE

“God, who commanded the light to shine out of darkness, hath shined in our hearts, to give the light of the knowledge of the glory of God in the face of Jesus Christ.”—2 Cor. iv. 6.

We shall not see the wider way
Which beacons to the Presence now,
Though sunrise glimmers on the brow
And trust in shadow shows its ray;
Why should we wish the heavens to bow,
Before our eyes can drink of day?
Thy Goodness ever passeth by,
If lesser orbs have left the sky.

We failed to see one finished thing
Among the grandeurs that have been,
Though land was from Thy glory green
And ocean gave its marriage ring;
We guessed each woman would be queen
Some day, and every man a king.
Meanwhile we humbly kneel, and know
Our altars with Thy kindling glow.

We did not see in storied line
Or canvas or the carven stone,
The inmost Light that is Thy throne
And bids the desert laugh and shine;
Completeness rests with Thee alone,
And walls our errors in Divine.
Enough to feel how heavenly earth,
Which is Thy Love's own sacred Hearth.

January 3 GRACE AND THE THORN

“There was given to me a thorn in the flesh. ... For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee: for my strength is made perfect in weakness.”—2 Cor. xii. 7–9.

Give me Thy burdens, Lord, ere I go out,
Against the trials of a troublous earth;
I needs must have my cross, my glorious doubt,
My aching dearth;
I cannot breathe Thy better air, unless
Faith marks the cloud which veils the dazzling dome,
And feels the claim of that world-weariness
Calling me Home.

Give me the cares that are my armour now,
Though long brute barriers to the onward way;
Spare not one thorn that pierced the unwilling brow,
But yesterday;
Bind me in chains of many wants, and load
My bitter life with bondage grey and mean,
And it shall be a staff, albeit a goad
Whereon I lean.

Give me the losses that are just my wealth,
The lack wherein my wings alone may rise,
For in the blindness and the blank unhealth
Lurks Paradise;
Ah, in each shadow, at the fire or shock,
Out of the death that I must daily brave,
I plant my feet more firmly on the Rock,
My cradle-grave.

January 4 THE GREATEST BOON

“He doth not afflict willingly, nor grieve the children of men.”—Lam. iii. 33.

Give me Thy greatest boon, that fain would try
My shrinking trust, and shapes me thus at length
Forth from the waves of dear adversity,
To grander strength;
Thy peace is there beneath the passion swell,
If now I only heed the imprisoning bound
Or fret at fever sore, and all is well
And Love all round.

Give me to know that if heaven seem one frown,
And there are natural tears for mortal things;
The very babe sees Christ is looking down,
And feels its wings.
Yea, the first smile that thrills the mother's heart
Reveals the eternal truth that God is good,
And praises, though unconscious of its part,
His Fatherhood.

Give me Thyself, with every thorn, and so
It will be small—nay, beautiful and sweet—
And every tear a lesson glad, if slow,
Learnt at Thy feet.
Till I have grown, from many a shattered chain
And many a shameful choice of broken charms,
Into Thine Image, and a child again
Rocked in Thine Arms.

January 5 JEWELS OF SORROWS

“Unto you it is given in the behalf of Christ, not only to believe on him, but also to suffer for his sake.”—Phil. i. 29.

Give me repentance for repentance poor,
Sickness that shows the world is without rest;
And let each pang be but an opening door,
Unto Thy Breast
Mine be the hunger that denies repose,
The nails, the stones that are my treasure still,
Until I see my love at last unclose
Within Thy Will.

Give me my brother's woe, my sister's weight,
Wherewith she stumbles in her sadness lone;
For these are precious, and my earthly freight
And heavenly throne.
O, may my dumbness and these darkened ears
Yet glorify the Master more, and make
Some sufferer's portion brighter from my fears,
For Jesus' sake.

Pain be my platter, and grief the cup,
Whereof I drink and gather food to go;
And every fall a step that lifts me up
From deeps below.
Sorrows my jewels are, not passing joys,
Weakness the sword that cuts for me a way
Towards some fresh cross, and builds while it destroys
Gold out of clay.

January 6 OUR OPEN CAGE

“All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth.”— Ps. xxv. 10.

By different paths, O Lord, from many lands
We come, we come unconscious of Thy will,
And the eternal Patience of those Hands
Guiding us still;
For all the roads of knowledge and of faith,
Descents of man, ascents Divine and free,
Through joy or sorrow and by life or death
Lead unto Thee.

There is one Goal to these our many cares,
While blindly we pursue mere selfish ends,
And but one way at last if unawares
It upward tends.
We think the track is moulded by our pains,
We hew us idols, raise the temple dome,
To reach by altars dead and broken chains
Somehow our Home.

We choose or seem to choose the daily deed,
The apportioned task and triumph for an hour,
But Thine was ever the immortal seed
And Thine the flower;
We strive against Thee with our idle strength,
As in an open cage a foolish dove,
Until we find our liberty at length
Within Thy Love.

January 7 A MAGNIFICAT

“Now also Christ shall be magnified in my body, whether it be by life, or by death.”—Phil. i. 20.

We have the crown refusing to be kings,
We grovel on the ground when ours the sky,
We feel the flutter of the angel wings
Yet will not fly,
For all is good, save sin, the deepest cloud,
The darkest evil and the graveyard dust,
Whatever comes—and if it be the shroud—
Divinely must.

And every little pang or prick of thorn,
As well as earthquake shocks that shake the globe,
Teach us there is no rest for hearts forlorn
Except Thy robe;
And suffering is the shadow of its fall
That fain would gather us into its reach,
And grief is just a gracious Father's call
Who wants us each.

Or height or depth, or tender kiss or harms
That fret the weakness of our human flesh,
Are nothing less than shapings of Thine Arms
Making afresh;
And thus rebuilded, rising to our stars,
We prove whatever is though hard is best;
And while we beat against them still the bars
Are but Thy Breast.

January 8 THE ELECT LADY

“These are they which came out of great tribulation, and have washed their robes, and made them white in the blood of the Lamb.”—Rev. vii. 14.

O Virgin Church, I see before me rise
And standing where the blessed martyrs stood,
Unharmed in glorious shame
Betwixt the sword and flame;
Thou art the open door of Paradise,
Pure as was Mary in her maidenhood.
Thy towers are tops of day,
And in thy courts the little children play.

Purgèd by fire and the red axe and rope,
Thou hast learned love in iron schools of pain,
And wrung the jewel Light
From chambers of dread night;
Thou art the eternal Prisoner of Hope,
And Christ works with thee in one chosen chain—
Thou wouldest not be sweet,
Hadst thou not washed and kissed the Saviour's Feet.

White Mother Maiden, at thy holy breast
Gather for living food the souls that need,
In hunger of the heart;
Thou biddest none depart,
That by the Cross are crucified to rest—
Willing with precious blood to sow the seed.
And in thy crimson shrine,
God seems more Human and man more Divine

January 9 REDEMPTION

“The whole creation groaneth and travaileth in pain together until now. And not only they, but ourselves also ... waiting for ... redemption.”—Rom. viii. 22, 23.

All living creatures' pain,
The sufferings of the lowliest thing that creeps
Or flies a moment ere it sinks and sleeps,
Are too Redemption's tears and not in vain—
For nothing idly weeps.
Earth is through these fulfilling that it must
As in Christ's own eternal Passion chain,
And flowering from the dust.

The driven and drudging ass
Crushed by the bondage of its bitter round,
Repeats the Gospel in that narrow bound;
God is reflected in the blade of grass,
And there is Calvary's ground.
O not an insect or on leaf or sod
But in its measure is a looking-glass,
And shows Salvation's God.

All thus are carrying on,
And do work out, the one Redemption's tale;
Each is a little Christ on hill or dale,
The hell where Mercy's light has never shone
Is with that Mercy pale.
And though flesh turn from agony they dread,
Even as they groan and travail it is gone—
Love riseth from the dead.

January 10 THY WILL MY WAY

“If this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 42.

Thy will be done, my Saviour! Let me lie,
Calm in Thy keeping;
For Thou art Love and Wisdom, and I know
Whether I live this coming hour or die,
Thy Guardian Hands are round me and below,
Waking or sleeping;
And though I were Thy humblest I am one—
Thy will be done.

Thy will be done, my Master! It is sweet
To feel Thy Nearness
Always, when others I so often miss;
To be allowed to bathe Thy blessed Feet
In costly tears, and sometimes kneel and kiss
Their Divine dearness;
If every gift were pain and pleasure none—
Thy will be done.

Thy will be done, my Shepherd! In Thy fold,
When it is sorrow,
I am content to famish or to feed;
For Thou art Present in the dark and cold,
And with Thy Riches nothing more I need,
Nor dread the morrow;
Whether the weary fight be lost or won—
Thy will be done.

January 11 GOD DISPOSE

“Thy will be done in earth, as it is in heaven.”— St. Matt. vi. 10.

Thy will be done, my Saviour! Joys or pangs
Are of Thy giving;
And if I must go through the burning fire
Or crucify this flesh, with Thee it hangs,
And every nail is but a quenched desire
That spoiled true living;
If men for Thee must suffer, make me one—
Thy will be done.

Thy will be done, my Master! And if friends
Mock or betray me,
And fortune flies and with it earthly weal,
I will believe that Love Eternal sends
Each loss to sign me better with Thy seal—
Although it slay me;
I ask for no great prize and portion none—
Thy will be done.

Thy will be done, my Shepherd! Let me drink
But of Thy Fulness,
And bear Thy blest reproaches as my part;
I shall not tremble on death's awful brink,
Nor feel when gathered to Thy broken Heart
Despair's cold dulness;
And if a crown of thorns be only won—
Thy will be done.

January 12 THE CHRIST LIFE

“To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”—Phil. i. 21.

Dear Lord, I care not very much to live,
Nor would I fear so very much to die,
But let me take what Thou dost freely give
And in the hands of perfect Wisdom lie.
Thy Love my life is, and it cannot be
I might one moment live apart from Thee.

May I not choose the fancied good or ill,
But leave the choice with Thee Who errest not,
Content to rest upon that holy Will
Whatever be the lesson of my lot!
No good were good without Thy Presence sweet,
Nor ill unkind that brought me to Thy Feet.

To live is but to look into that Face
Which is the sunshine of all hearts and lands,
And beauty hath no meaning and no place
Unless in Thee and in Thy strength it stands.
I were mere clay, save for the quickening trust
Which lifts me to the eternal Light from dust.

To die is just to pass from shadows vain
Unto full blessing only found in Thee,
To drop a burden and to break a chain
Which binds a spirit fretting to be free;
And would such joy might be my latest breath,
That every soul should fall in love with death.

January 13 OUR CLOSED DOOR

“And thou shalt set bounds unto the people round about.”— Exod. xix. 12.

Some day these feet shall tread Thy temple floor,
Master, though now no glory shine on me—
Content to wait for Thee;
I thank Thee for the shutting of the door;
It is my sweetest ointment
Thy balm of disappointment,
And without this I were exceeding poor.

Grey clouds roll through the heavens their ragged drift,
And hide from me the little gleam of blue,
A glimpse of splendour true;
I thank Thee for the veiling of the rift;
For when the gateway closes
We find the fairest roses,
Denial is Thy best and greatest gift.

Not here for me Thy royal robe and kiss,
Nor feast, nor gracious garland to be worn,
Unless it be of scorn;
I thank Thee for the blotting out of bliss;
The palms and crowns for others
And give the flowers to brothers
But keep for me Thy grandest crown of thorn.

Not for my foot the freedom of the moor
And mountain, while it carries still the stain—
But some dear sufferer's chain;
I thank Thee for the darkening of the door;
Without Thy lovelier losses
And milestones that are crosses,
Could I be as my Master who was poor?

January 14 SADNESS, THE ANGEL

“Behold, there stood a man over against him with his sword drawn in his hand.”—Josh. v. 13.

Sadness is just the angel on the way
That brings me tidings of the better land,
Though sworded he may stand;
I thank Thee for the cleansing of the clay;
For, were my pride not broken,
I had no heavenly token
To bid me hear a Father's call to pray.

I feel each pain is never idly sent;
It hath a meaning for the time and place,
And marks a special grace;
I thank Thee I am often bowed and bent;
And Thy so precious sorrow,
That bears no fruit to-morrow,
Shall yet be richest in the life most rent.

I know Thy disappointments leave their scars
But O they turn to jewels when my love
Looks just to Thee above;
I thank Thee for the helpful bolts and bars;
Sweet is the sunny meadow,
But with no saving shadow
I should not see a glint of guiding stars.

It may be now I tread Thy temple floor,
Unconscious here is the most holy ground
And in the very bound;
I thank Thee for the shutting of the door;
It shuts me from earth's pleasure
To Thee my heavenly Treasure,
And shuts me in with all Thy blessed Poor.

January 15 SPEAR-POINTS

“And he took ... thorns of the wilderness and briers, and with them he taught the men of Succoth.”—Judges viii. 16.

In every lack lies some sublimest gain,
And on the spear-point of the puniest pang
Eternal issues hang;
I thank Thee for the privilege of pain;
My famine is Thy Fulness,
And from my darkest dulness
Shineth at last the Rest that shall remain.

A perfect portion mine I do believe,
Though I be robbed of lawful joys and light
Or riches get my right;
I thank Thee for the wrongs I may retrieve;
Thou spreadest each a Table
And giv'st, as we are able
To enter in Thy mercies and receive.

Thy loving strokes tell clearest what Thou art;
They bind me to Thy brotherhood of Grief,
That cometh as a Thief;
I thank Thee for the smiting and the smart;
Thou fill'st my neighbour's vessel
Fuller, but I can nestle
Within Thy precious wounds and Broken Heart.

When faith looks back the meaning is descried
Of every little nail that pierced my rest,
Stabbing me through Thy Breast;
I thank Thee for the soft repose denied;
And the most far withholdings
Are warmest, and enfoldings
Into the secret of the Crucified.

January 16 THE WAY OF THE CROSS

“Whosoever doth not bear his cross, and come after me, cannot be my disciple.”—St. Luke xiv. 27.

He who would follow Me, must give
Body and soul and mind
And all, if he would truly live—
Nor turn a look behind;
He must not keep one treasure back,
To be my servant now
And walk with Me the lonely track—
Dost thou?

He must surrender child and wife,
At need, whate'er I crave,
And with the roses of this life
Cast them into My Grave;
He must spare nothing that is dear,
No tenderest tie or vow
Which sunders him from Love more near—
Hast thou?

He must lay fortune at My Feet
And friends and every good,
If he would thus be not unmeet
For my pale Brotherhood;
He must not grudge the grinding cares
Which sickly soon the brow,
Nor weigh the cost the Martyr dares—
Canst thou?

He who would make his Master known
And bear the blessèd Cross,
Must never call a thing his own
Nor measure pain and loss.
He must be piercèd with My thorn,
And breaking yet not bow
Beneath the burden I have borne—
Wilt thou?

He must not hold the earthly strong
Nor deem the Heavenly slight,
But gladly suffer shame and wrong
With darkness as his light;
He must be always offering up
His best nor heedful how,
And drain with Me the deathly cup—
Art thou?

January 17 DE MINIMIS CURAT DEUS

“The very hairs of your head are all numbered.”— St. Matt. x. 30.

Each matter counts, each mite hath part
And power in God's great systemed Grace,
If finds an echo in His Heart
And some soft reflex of His Face.
O we are lapt in Boundless Love
And nothing can be out of place,
There is no under or above
Within the Father's wide embrace.

My fairest fear, my sweetest pain,
Is bound to broader schemes and scope
In tune with a sublimer strain,
Not measured even by harps of hope.
The thorn of thought which draggeth down
To darkness, whence no portals ope,
May be a gem in Jesu's crown—
Reached but by His red Altar slope.

The smallest trifle still must tell,
Though how I do not fully see,
And is a little heaven or hell—
According as I choose to be.
A tear is infinite, the pang
Where I am least myself and free—
On each eternal issues hang,
They lead through shadow, Lord, to Thee.

January 18 CHRIST'S FULNESS

“The love of Christ, ... filled with all the fulness of God.”— Eph. iii. 19.

Lord Jesus, Thou art all to me
And ever walkest at my side,
Thou art an overshadowing tree,
My Morning and the Eventide:
Thou art the Fountain, whence I dip
Up life of loving fellowship.

Thou art the pillow of my head
And daily staff wherewith I go,
My table and the heavenly bread
That feeds me when I faint below;
And as the flower that holds the light,
I summer in Thy Holy Sight.

Thou art my platter and the board
At which Thine angels also sit,
My refuge and the secret hoard
So full of treasures infinite;
The gold is Thine, and at the Cross
I purge me from the clinging dross.

Thou art my sword and guardian shield,
My haven and the sheltering shore,
The bounty of the harvest-field
Wherein I reap for evermore;
Thou art my one Delight and All,
Who hearest even before I call.

January 19 THE SINNER'S PLACE

“He was wounded for our transgressions.”—Isa. liii. 5.

Away from there, my Lord, my Love
Why should'st Thou suffer so?
Thine is the crownèd seat above,
And mine the Cross below.
I am not worthy of such grace,
With grief it crushes me;
For, ah, that is the sinner's place
Where only I would be.

It is too terrible that Thou
Art piercèd with my sins,
And must in awful anguish bow
Where the world's life begins.
The wonder of Thy Pity, Lord,
Yet brings me to Thy grave;
To Mercy which is like a sword,
And killeth but to save.

O let the cruel nails be mine,
And all Thy bitter part;
That I may learn the Love Divine
Which breaketh this cold heart.
Yea, Thine be honour's every crown,
For me the shame and loss;
I gladly lay my treasures down,
To take instead Thy Cross.

January 20 THE SECRET PRESENCE

“Greater works than these shall he do, because I go unto my Father.”—St. John xiv. 12.

Christ came to me one weary day, and said—
“Now, to be nearer thee, I must go far
And build between Myself and thee a bar,
That thou may'st lean no more on outward aid;
But still unfaltering fight, be not afraid,
For I am yet the Morn and Evening Star:
My Voice in silence thou wilt closest hear,
And when the farthest off I am most near.

“To love thee greatly, too, I must deny
And yield thee up to trouble and long toil,
That life to foes may be a ready spoil—
For those I love the best I crucify;
But in the darkness and extremity,
The lamp of faith shall find its sweetest oil;
And if I would do grander works for thee,
Then I do nothing, and Mine angels flee.”

So He arose and left my gaze, and I
Went forth, I deemed alone, to empty years,
Companioned but by ghostly doubts and fears;
And the soft breath of Heaven seemed one big sigh
That bade my feeble flesh lie down and die,
And bitter thoughts spared not their cruel spears.
But, lo, an awful Brightness in me shone,
And all Eternity with me moved on.

January 21 THE LIGHT OF THE WORLD

“I am the light of the world: he that followeth me shall not walk in darkness, but shall have the Light of Life.”—St. John viii. 12.

Light comes not only from the East,
But through far windows seen by few
In lands where they on manna feast,
With faith they every hour renew;
Light is not fixèd here or there,
For such it shineth everywhere.

In darkest nights there is a sun,
And sometimes from the West it breaks,
When lesser lamps their course have run
And all the inmost heart awakes;
Then beams a brightness not of earth,
Alike on altar and the hearth.

The souls that humbly watch and wait
'Mid bleak horizons black with sin,
And stand though in an iron strait,
Shall find a better day within;
When prospects are most blank and blind,
The morn is creeping up behind.

Dawn bursts not only on the eye,
Down in the sabbath of the breast
It kindles powers that cannot die,
And deeper rest beyond the rest;
For those, that catch its faintest gleam,
Have read at last the ages' dream.

January 22 SCATTER FLOWERS

“The desert shall rejoice, and blossom as the rose.”— Isa. xxxv. 1.

We scatter flowers along our track,
And know not whether bad or good,
Some give to us a blessing back,
Some die where they a moment stood;
O scatter flowers for sunless hours,
In love of Christian Brotherhood.

We scatter gems as on we go
In every kindly act or aim,
Some rest on humble heads below,
Some miss the message that they claim;
O scatter gems, for diadems
Of poorer lives that sorrows maim.

We scatter seeds of golden corn
When we take duties while we can,
Some help a soul that is reborn,
Some do but spoil a splendid plan;
O scatter seeds in gentle deeds,
If they may raise one fallen man.

God scatters with us as we toil
For others, and He holds each hand,
And if our task is stony soil
Still is He Master of the land;
And He will send, unto the end,
The power that comes with His command.

January 23 OUT OF THE DUST

“He knoweth the way that I take: when he hath tried me, I shall come forth as gold.”—Job xxiii. 10.

“Dust of gold.”—Job xxviii. 6.

Were I the dust beneath Thy Feet,
Lord, when Thou passest, they would make
The whole wide world around me sweet,
And life within me all awake;
Were I the dust beneath Thy Feet,
Thereunder earth and Heaven would meet

Were I the dust upon the hem
Of Thy sweet robe for ever nigh,
Each pang would be a precious gem
And stumbling-stones yet lift me high;
Were I the dust upon Thy hem,
My thorns would weave a diadem.

Were I the dust about Thy path
Which still is everywhere and good,
Soft would the buffets be of wrath
In such a blessed Brotherhood;
Were I the dust about Thy path,
Gold would be then my aftermath.

Were I the dust below the dust
Whereon Thy gracious steps are laid,
Forth from the very grave my trust
Would spring and no more be afraid;
Were I the dust below the dust,
Life would be mine because it must.

January 24 SERVICE OF HUMILITY

“Whosoever will be great among you, let him be your minister; and whosoever will be chief among you, let him be your servant.”—St. Matt. xx. 26, 27.

I seek not, Lord, some easy task,
No gain or glory do I ask
Nor any cheap successes;
No market pricing of men's lips
A year, a day, and then eclipse—
Nor fortune's false caresses.
I only covet to be free,
To serve my brother,—serving Thee.

The riches that I crave are Thine
Alone, which Thou dost first refine
By daily cares and losses;
The modest choice of Mary's part,
The secret of a humble heart
Learnt not by crowns but crosses.
For what I need and value most,
Is place by Thee at Duty's post.

Mine incompleteness which would fall
Without Thy help that giveth all,
Fill up though but through trials;
If I must pass the purging flame,
It will grow meek at Jesu's Name
And make Divine denials.
I am content to live or die,
Because within Thy Love I lie.

January 25 THE USEFUL LIFE

“It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief.”—Isa. liii. 10.

Use me, O Lord, however small
Or perilous the office be;
I am assured that, if I fall,
It can be only upon Thee.
I simply ask to be a tool
Which Thou wilt at Thy duties ply,
Though but a besom in the school
Of Grace which is Humility.

Use me, O Lord, for any toil
That may yet higher lift Thy throne;
And when I labour, let the soil
Be mine, and Thine the praise alone.
I merely want to serve Thy Hand,
In honour or dishonour held—
I care not which—at Thy command,
With every private feeling quell'd.

Use me, O Lord, although I creep
Along the meanest track of trust,
Or am Thy Temple mat, or sweep
Thy glorious pathway from the dust.
I would not strike a stirring note,
Nor ever wished 'mid men to shine;
I were content to be a mote,
If this set off Thy rays Divine.

January 26 CHRIST THE WAY

“I am the way, the truth, and the life: no man cometh unto the Father, but by me.”—St. John xiv. 6.

The shadow falls, O bid it shine,
Dear Saviour, on me and be Thine
Along the lonely way;
Thy Hand in darkness holds and lifts
The helpless wanderer, as he drifts
And hardly dares to pray.

Yet I would rather stray with Thee
Through the grey desert, than be free
To walk a selfish road;
And I would sail the roughest tide
If Thou wert standing at my side,
Or bear the heaviest load.

Thy Love may only be my life
Through inward storms or outward strife,
In Thee is ever morn;
O with Thee barren labours bloom,
While winter days deny their gloom
And pains forget their thorn.

Thou art the Way, my dearest Lord,
And with the manna of Thy word
My soul is hourly fed;
And at Thy Presence pure and bright,
My withered heart would leap to light
Were it like Lazarus dead.

January 27 THE TRUE ASPECT

“Lot dwelled in the cities of the plain, and pitched his tent towards Sodom.”—Gen. xiii. 12.

“Looking (away) unto Jesus.”—Heb. xii. 2.

Sodom has many a tempting toy
That lures with idle jest or joy,
But there Thy Face I cannot see;
And though the passions of the flesh
While crucified rise up afresh,
I pitch my little tent towards Thee.

O Father, in this narrow nook
Of lowly life I upward look,
Where Thou my shelter still must be;
And if the world is very bright,
I cannot mark it for Thy light
And pitch my little tent towards Thee.

I know and could forget it not,
The suffering of Thy servant Lot
Who thought of pastures fair and free;
I dare not go near Sodom's walls
Nor hear from far its Siren calls,
And pitch my little tent towards Thee.

Be Thou my City and my Home,
My fortress tower, my Temple dome,
My living Well, my shadowing Tree;
And I a passing pilgrim, then
Without the clogging ties of men,
Will pitch my little tent towards Thee.

January 28 MANNA

“To him that overcometh will I give to eat of the hidden manna.”—Rev. ii. 17.

Dear Master, ere I touch the toil
Which Thou hast bidden Thy servant do,
I pray Thee to preserve from soil
My life and labour with me too;
Be with me in my every need,
And let me on Thee rest indeed.

Choose for me in each daily choice
I make, and, Lord, not merely speak
Through faltering lips but be my Voice—
For without Thee my words were weak;
May men take knowledge, I have knelt
With Thee and in Thy Presence dwelt.

Wash me in innocence, and stand
Beside me when the seed is sown;
And strengthen me—nay, be my Hand,
That mine may seem my very own.
Here at Thine Altar as I pray,
Be Thou my blessed Food to-day.

Keep Thou this heart with diligence
Sweet for Thyself and unto death,
That I from Thine Omnipotence
May draw mine every thought and breath;
O be Thou only, ere I call,
My living Life, my Love, my All.

January 29 EARTHEN VESSELS

“We have this treasure in earthen vessels, that the excellency of the power may be of God, and not of us.”—2 Cor. iv. 7.

My strength is weak, my staff is brittle,
And I would turn at danger's touch;
But that my love, dear Lord, is such
I cannot, will not serve Thee little—
My heart desires to serve Thee much;
O lift me more, unto the stature
Of Thine own high and holy Nature.

O may my faith be nothing moulded
By forms and fashions of the day,
And worn to suit an easy way;
But in Thy Glory lie enfolded,
Yet sweetening in Thy blessed sway
I do not ask release from labours,
But to rest from them in my neighbour's.

My love was faint and would be colder,
The world is so a present fear
That when Thou speakest I scarce hear;
Ah, lay some lamb upon my shoulder,
And I shall find Thy Greatness near;
Nay, if I trust and do not tarry,
It will be Christ that I shall carry.

January 30 VICARIOUS SUFFERING

“Who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the church.”—Col. i. 24.

Jesu, my Lord and Life, the Master,
If any wounds are aimed at Thee
That Thou wilt let my blindness see;
Be those my portion—may disaster
That were a brother's, fall on me.
Though sore my dread when winds grow rougher,
Make me not safe, but for Thee suffer.

I am a child in faith and humble,
Do Thou uphold me with Thy Hand
To bear instead my fellow's brand,
And prop his steps that else might stumble.
Bruise me below, that he may stand;
I am not brave, I flinch from losses—
But grant me, Lord, Thine empty Crosses.

My work is poor, I claim no merit
Except that I am only Thine
And with Thy splendour feebly shine;
But while so poor, I do inherit
All riches in Thy Grace Divine.
I seek no more than what is given,
To find in Thee myself—my Heaven.

In Thy vast vineyard there are corners
Without a labourer, or the light
Of love to make them large and bright;
The Saints are few, and many scorners,
Yet sow me there although in night;
And should there be some grave for filling,
If that Thy will be, I am willing.

January 31 HEART SERVICE

“God is a Spirit: and they that worship him must worship him in spirit and in truth.”—St. John iv. 24.

Christ bade us not to worship much,
But just to follow, follow
His Master tone, His Master touch—
For earth is hollow, hollow;
He would not limit us to forms,
But gave us strength against the storms.

Christ did not leave us lengthy prayers,
But bade us copy, copy
His leading through a world of tares
And sin's red poppy, poppy;
He would not raise a reverend shrine,
But strove to make the heart Divine.

Christ left no rigid rules to bind,
But Light to follow, follow,
As with the summer sweet and kind
Goes round the swallow, swallow;
He would not lay upon us chains,
But showed us how to conquer pains.

Christ asked us not to worship faith
But prove by living, living;
And loyal be like Him to death,
With labour's giving, giving.
He would not have us bow to brooms,
Though they sweep out His temple rooms.

Christ taught us not to seek repose
In tears or laughter, laughter;
But bear the Cross the days disclose
With Him, yet after, after.
In forms He suffered none to rest
Nor feelings, but upon His Breast.

Christ gave no rites or legal robe
To be a burden, burden;
But Life to cover all the globe,
And Love as guerdon, guerdon.
We are to imitate His deeds,
Not quarrel in His name for creeds.

February 1 BEARING THE CROSS

“Obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.”— Phil. ii. 8.

If we like Christ would really live
And walk with Him the Blessèd Way,
We must be then content to give
Ourselves in service every day;
We must not stand aside and preach
Goodwill nor stay one sinner's fall,
But all be very true to each
And each a brother be of all.

If we would bear Christ's holy Cross
And enter fully in its power,
We must not measure gain or loss,
Or reckon suffering by the hour;
We must not count our travail much
And weigh the fancied worth of men,
Nor shrink away from lepers' touch—
God's palace is the lepers' pen.

If we like Christ would really love
And leave the world a better place,
We must not seek in light above
Alone, but in the dark, His Face;
We must hold every one as sweet
As if Himself and all His throne,
And when we wash a brother's feet
Think we are washing there His Own.

February 2 THE FULNESS OF CHRIST

“It pleased the Father that in him should all fulness dwell.”—Col. i. 19.

What, dost thou call me still to further stress,
Master of me,
And bid the fainting flesh yet deeper sink
Or wander in the dreadful wilderness?
Ah! every trial shall be but a link,
Holden from Thee.
Each new affliction only is fresh proof
Of boundless Love,
And though the bonds of Life's foundation part
Or Thy dear angels stand a while aloof,
In the abysses of despair, my heart
Soars most above.

Sweet Saviour, be it so, and up the ascent
Through testing flood
And flame of ordeal I go steadfast on,
Wearing the jewel of one fair intent,
Along the path Thy piercèd feet have gone
Even unto Blood;
Oh, thus I learn if but through many a loss
And altar stone,
By blighted faiths and broken works and wings;
And there I find beneath the shadowing Cross
The great preambles of all thoughts and things,
In Christ alone.

February 3 YE ARE THE SALT

“Ye are the salt of the earth: but if the salt have lost its savour, wherewith shall it be salted?”—St. Matt. v. 13.

Scatter the salt in pining places,
Where leperous is the air and sick
And sin lies seared on pallid faces,
Where blood to lust alone is quick;
Scatter it broadcast, let the savour
Sink low in vicious slum or vault,
Let Christ give all your faith its flavour—
Ye are the Salt.

Scatter the salt in gracious giving
And grudge not any pain or loss,
Pour out your utmost love in living
That draws its greatness from the Cross;
Scatter it where the hearts are rotten
And grim corruption doth not halt,
Where trust is fled and joy forgotten,—
Ye are the Salt.

Scatter the salt with no delaying,
The children cry, the death-bell tolls
Out of the darkness and decaying—
The worm is at their very souls;
Scatter your best, your brightest hoping,
Stay not for conscious fear or fault
Though among graveyards work be groping—
Ye are the Salt.

February 4 TOUCH AND LIVE

“If I may but touch his garment, I shall be whole.”— St. Matt. ix. 21.

Life unto Life, it must be, in each part
And every little dower;
All must be by the altar of the heart
Kindled, and at the base of being start—
Before thy touch hath power;
Some ray of Heaven must in some act outshine,
And then this human will through the Divine
Break into blessèd flower.

Love unto Love, it must be, from the root
And bed-rock of all things;
For e'en the trembling of the timid shoot
Veils in its green the grace of boundless fruit,
A promise meet for kings;
And thou shalt never slake that holy thirst,
Who hast not brought thy pitcher at the first
To the great water-springs.

All unto All, it must be, bloom and stem,
Or leaves so idly born;
Thus wilt thou touch if only just Christ's hem,
And find in every scar a joyous gem,
A royal robe in scorn;
For of His blessèd Fulness He shall give
And bid thee in His Life and Beauty live,
Who takes Himself the thorn.

February 5 CRUCIFIED ONES

“They that are Christ's have crucified the flesh with the affections and lusts.”—Gal. v. 24.

There are who have stooped very low
Down to the awful deeps, where grow
The primal roots and powers of things;
Who lived one long March-April day
That laughed and laughing yet would slay,
But might not break their angel wings.
These are the souls beneath the rod,
That live the likest to their God.

And they must ever wear the mark
Of love, that wrestled with the dark
And came at last to perfect morn;
The stigmata of awful strife,
Which carry through their loftier life
Christ's every nail and every thorn.
They died the death that never died,
The Passion of the Crucified.

But in their eyes the vision dread
That saw and past the burial bed,
Can never now quite wholly fade;
Its royal stamp, in each large line,
Ranks them with Presences Divine—
Not of our narrow earthly shade.
For they have truly seen and known,
And fought the foe and overthrown.

February 6 OUR PICTURE

“I am black, but comely.”—Sol. Song i. 5.

“I shall be satisfied, when I awake, with thy likeness.”— Ps. xvii. 15.

God giveth each a sketch to fill,
It may be but a little line
Or touch of colour here and there;
And we, alike through good and ill,
Must find the form to make Divine
And draw our colours—none knows where.
He drops a hope or leaves a hint,
We paint the final tone and tint.

Now links are lost and blurring shades
Then meet us, as we vainly try
At first the true design to see;
And, ere it's ours, the vision fades,
It follows all mortality—
The sentence laid on tower and tree.
In foolish means we fancy ends,
And unto nought our labour tends.

Until from idle stress and strife
We learn the lessons God would give,
The last and true and heavenly art;
Until we mix our paints with life
And bruise the colours that will live,
With blessed wounds and bleeding heart.
Then, if we bring the broken whole,
We find the picture with the soul.

February 7 CHRIST IN HIS CHURCH

The Antanaplerosis

“I .... fill up that which is behind (lacking) of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the church.”—Col. i. 23, 24.

“Why persecutest thou me?”—Acts ix. 4.

All the afflictions
Of martyrs and confessors and the saints,
And every pure white virgin soul that faints
Under the bondage and the bitter cup,
Are benedictions
And what the Master left man to fill up;
For but by trial
Each servant of the Holy Cross, who fain
Would live the very Life and die the pain
Of that great Death and never count its price,
Must in denial
Measure the glory of His Sacrifice.

There is no other
True path, whereby through the unending strife
Of flesh and spirit we attain to Life,
Than that of suffering and the daily loss
With Christ our Brother—
No power but that which cometh from the Cross;
The heart anointed
With sorrow, that has felt the fire's handgrip,
Through such learns something of the Fellowship
Which gathers God and sinners into one;
Our task appointed,
That leads to Light, can only thus be done.

February 8 ROD AND STAFF

“Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil: for thou art with me; thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Ps. xxiii. 4.

Christ wrought the fulness
Of free Redemption, that doth nothing lack;
But we, His Body, treading in His track,
Shall bear the same blest nail and precious thorn,
The cloud's dread dulness,
And through His Grave be every hour reborn.
For that grand Passion
Yet in His Church goes on, and cannot fail
By one least thorn-prick or red print of nail,
And each true heart must be an altar sweet,
Though frail of fashion,
And each true mouth may kiss His wounded Feet.

Ours be the filling
Up of our Lord's afflictions with each breath,
Right to the brim of being and to death
In suffering service He doth daily need,
Though tears be spilling,
Or life and blood that are the Church's seed.
The sickness, sorrow,
Borne humbly and in patience as His rod
Will complement the very work of God,
And brings gold grain and purges earth from chaff;
Till, some bright morrow,
We find His chastening rod was but our staff.

February 9 LIGHT-BEARERS

“Let your light so shine before men, that they may see your good works, and glorify your Father which is in heaven.”— St. Matt. v. 16.

Thy Truth is only, Lord, a trust
For me to take and carry on,
That when this body is but dust
The treasure too may not be gone;
But dwelling in a brother's heart
May fashion him new earth and sky,
And be a large and living part
Of all our great Humanity.

It is no good for me alone,
No private tool, no selfish toy,
But that whereon I may enthrone
A gentle universal joy;
A blessing for the common weal
That shall not pass or perish more,
But set as a Diviner seal
Mark what is pure and precious ore.

Father, I take the Light from Thee,
And kindle thus a brother's breast
With that eternal fire, till he
Finds in Thy Refuge only rest.
O let it shining from me give
The warmth and love that others lack,
And yet in future bosoms live
To beacon endless wanderers back.

February 10 THE BROTHERHOOD OF THE CROSS

“Who now rejoice in my sufferings for you, and fill up that which is behind of the afflictions of Christ in my flesh for his body's sake, which is the church.”—Col. i. 24.

We who are Brothers of the Cross
And learnt the secret of the years
Passing to Light through bitter loss,
And plucked their blessing out of tears;
Who have renounced the hopes of flesh
And hail the persecutor's blow,
Happy by death to rise afresh—
We know.

Others may fancy they are wise
And think their fleeting pleasures much,
Pain is the door of Paradise
Which opens to Love's little touch;
O they may deem the world Divine
And to its lower fashion grow,
But we—whom blessèd fires refine—
We know.

Others may guess at ears of Truth
And reck not they are reaping wind,
While some poor sister even as Ruth
Is gleaning gold they drop behind;
They gather hoards of empty dross
And heap up chaff in idle show,
But we—the Brothers of the Cross—
We know.

February 11 LIFE BY DEATH

“Ye are dead, and your life is hid with Christ in God.”— Col. iii. 3.

Life is no life, that never dies
And doth not daily offer up
Its all to Love that crucifies,
And daily holds the Passion cup;
Life is no life, that never gives
The sacrifice by which it lives.

Life is no life, that keepeth back
One little portion of the whole,
And fain would tread the Saviour's track
Nor render body, mind, and soul;
Life is not life, whose every breath
Is not renewed by constant death.

Life is no life, that fain would grudge
The offering of a nail or thorn,
And lets not Christ be also Judge
Of life that hourly is reborn;
Life is not life, unless it lie
Alway in Him who bids us die.

Life is no life, that dares to choose
Its sufferings and would measure ill,
And hath not fully learnt to lose
Itself in higher Love and Will.
Life is not life, except with Christ,
Kept at the Cross in ceaseless tryst.

February 12 CROSS-BEARERS

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live.”— Gal. ii. 20.

The Cross is not for Christ alone,
It stands on Calvary still for thee,
Dear brother, and will be a throne
Of power no eye did ever see.
Fear not; it looketh dread and dim,
And mortal flesh and blood may bow;
Remember, that it carried Him—
Go thou.

The Cross may come in many ways,
A sudden night, a rolling sea,
Or when aside sweet sorrow prays—
But each a little Christ must be;
The nails are blunted and the thorn,
Its grave is not so grievous now
Since it by Christ was greatly borne—
Die thou.

The Cross, dear brother, is not death—
But life for all who freely give
Themselves to God and hold each breath
Lost that for others doth not live;
Rejoice, if thou atonement art
In Christ for rebels' broken vow,
And in the piercing of thy heart
Live thou.

February 13 REVERENCE

“Honour all.”—1 St. Pet. ii. 17.

“Support the weak.”—1 Thess. v. 14.

Next to thy Master honour most
All helpless things, as He would do—
As if the Godhead thou would'st woo,
Kneeling at worship's solemn post;
Woman and child are Godlike too,
And bring us light like Pentecost;
For lo, behind their innocence
Lies Heaven's own dread Omnipotence.

There is an angel hid in all,
Responsive to the angel touch,
Yea, in the blackest soul is such;
And child and woman, though they fall,
We cannot reverence over-much—
We dare not slight their faintest call;
The dew of their sweet mortal dress,
Their frailty, is their loveliness.

Nay, under the unvirgin face
Unsexed by sin in every line
Till nought there longer live and shine,
Is still a higher heavenly trace;
For there is something even Divine,
Without a single human grace.
And, since the Saviour wore our flesh,
His Beauty is born in each afresh.

February 14 THE WORK OF SALVATION

“Whosoever will save his life shall lose it: and whosoever will lose his life for my sake shall find it.”—St. Matt. xvi. 25.

Go thou and dig My Vineyard, there
For each one is a corner,
And My broad field is everywhere—
A place for even the scorner;
I cannot do thy task for thee,
I lay but the foundation,
And thou (if brother thou would'st be)
Must work out thy salvation.

Go thou, dear soul, and labour on
And bear thyself the burden,
For I this very road have gone
And am thy Guide and Guerdon;
I cannot take thy little part,
Though I be always willing,
Thou must bring first a faithful heart
Before Grace does the filling.

Go thou and gather in thy sheaf,
Ere falls the sere and yellow
Upon the fading autumn leaf,
And I will be thy Fellow;
Thy trust, thy toil I cannot bring,
Nor sorrow's bitter leaven,
Ah, give the whole burnt offering
And gain thyself and Heaven.

February 15 IN THE ORDER

“No end ... upon his kingdom, to order it, ... with judgment and with justice from henceforth even for ever.”—Isa. ix. 7.

O let me choose the winning part
Of order and eternal right,
One with the beating of God's heart,
One with the marching on of Light.
I do not need an earthly chart,
For against Thee I cannot fight.
Yea, when I do desert my post,
Thy Wisdom rules through error most.

O let me battle at Thy side
For faith and beauty, and the sweet
Which hometh even in Marah's tide
And in the mean and miry street.
Thy Goodness is so very wide,
Crowns kings, and washes beggars' feet.
And all things work together still,
The adverse storms, for Thy dear Will.

O let me own Thy loftier law,
Embrace the fetters, bless the rod,
And link my soul to larger awe
Which marks Divineness in the clod;
Until I see what Stephen saw,
And lose myself in Love and God.
Ah! lift me from this lower sky,
Father, to Thine Eternity.

February 16 WHOLE SERVICE

“Thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all thy heart, and with all thy soul, and with all thy mind.”—St. Matt. xxii. 37.

“A living sacrifice.”—Rom. xii. 1.

Dear Lord, Thou askest of me much,
The most tremendous task and price,
That I a sinner should give such
A boundlessness of sacrifice.
Thou bid'st me come to every call,
And sealèd with the Cross and sign'd
To offer Thee my very all—
My body and my soul and mind.

Ah! if Thou me hadst askèd less
The service never yet were done,
For of my utter littleness
I must surrender all or none.
It is because Thy claim is large
And nothing there excepted, Lord,
In the sheer greatness of the charge
I choose Thy Sweetness—if the sword.

For only Thou dost so possess
The right and might to take the whole,
And in Thine awful Loveliness
To use me, body, mind, and soul.
And thus with joy I freely cast
Myself, my will, my every breath
Upon the Love alone Thou hast,
For life and fuller life through death.

February 17 DIVINE FATHERHOOD

“After this manner pray ye: Our Father.”— St. Matt. vi. 9.

Father, I could not ever pray,
I could not stand where Jesus stood
And walk with Him the narrow way,
But for Thy Blessed Fatherhood.
'Tis this which makes me very bold
And life so lovely and so sweet,
That I may draw from Grace untold
And not lie only at Thy Feet.

Father, I may approach quite near
To find in Thee a perfect rest,
And Thou wilt wipe away each tear
When I am folded to Thy Breast.
'Tis this which gives me courage great
To do what else were darkly done,
And count as joy the hardest fate,
Because I am indeed Thy son.

Father, the earth would not look green
Nor were blue roses in the sky,
If this vast truth had never been,
Hadst Thou no Christian Family;
'Tis this which brings the rebel far
From Thee to pastures glad and good,
The very light of sun and star,
Thy grand and gracious Fatherhood.

Father, my Home is but in Thee,
Outside Thy Love I cannot go,
And by Thee only am I free
To serve Thee for this while below;
'Tis this which maketh life to live,
And setteth love upon its throne,
The sonship none but Thou canst give—
Always, through Jesus Christ alone.

February 18 A LITTLE

“Take heed that ye despise not one of these little ones.”— St. Matt. xviii. 10.

“Who hath despised the day of small things?”—Zech. iv. 10.

A little love, a little faith,
A little sorrow for our sin,
From hearts that cherish Thee therein
Which otherwise were homes of death;
Father, Thou askest not for more,
Out of my basket and my store.

A little toil, a little tear
Dropt now and then upon the way,
When unto Thee I kneel and pray—
A little hope, a little fear;
Thou askest but a little shoot,
If in me be the living root.

A little knowledge of Thy Law,
A little purpose here or there
To sow the precious Promise where
Is not the light or holy awe;
Thou askest but a little deed,
If souls have yet the lasting seed.

A little time, a little touch
That helps a brother on the road,
Or eases an oppressive load—
A little praise for very much;
Father, not little do I bless
Thy Greatness to my littleness.

February 19 THE FREE SERVICE

“Free among the dead.”—Ps. lxxxviii. 5.

The arrow fettered is to fly,
The wing must carry weight to move,
And burdens to its kindred sky
Upraise the spirit that they prove;
I need both liberty and bond,
Broad spaces, and the blessed string,
To shape my path for worlds beyond
And claim my heritage as king.

The starving stone shall be my bread,
But lay me prostrate ere I rise;
The longest path, among my dead,
Yet leads me round to Paradise.
The weary brow, the wounded breast,
Shall feel the fretting of the thorn
And needs like nails, before the rest
Which opens to me gates of morn.

The trial shakes me but to shape;
I touch the heaven, if I kneel down;
And he, who lightly would escape
The furnace, loses too the crown.
The kingship I must make my own,
By many a bitter proof in all;
And I had never guessed or known
My greatness, till I found my fall.

February 20 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS

“All day long I have stretched forth my hands unto a disobedient and gainsaying people.”—Rom. x. 21.

Tell me the land where my Love dwelleth not;
There is no little spot,
Which from His altar doth not gather grace
(Some feature of God's Face)
And burn with reflex Glory; let it shine,
Till earth is all Divine,
And not one sinner wears a meaner dress
Than the white robe of Christ's own Righteousness.

Tell me the life where my Love suffers not
His crucifying lot,
And bears not still His beautiful dread load
Along our human road.
Ah, there is no least nook, however dim,
With sorrow not for Him;
No agony of others, not to be
Another garden of Gethsemane.

Tell me the heart where my Love hometh not—
Who would cleanse every spot;
O yet outside He standeth at the door,
To sweep the darkened floor,
And with His Blood to wash away each sin
That He may dwell within;
The earth is sick with waiting, till He come
To bring His brothers to His Heart and Home.

February 21 SELF-PUNISHED

“Cursed is the ground for thy sake; in sorrow shalt thou eat of it all the days of thy life.”—Gen. iii. 17.

Dwell not too much thou on the riven parts
Although the fragments be most precious things,
God doth complete His work with broken hearts
And bruiseth to make whole;
For thus He frames, of shattered joys and wings,
Each crowned anointed soul.

Strive to see all as all and never doubt
In darkest chaos is a heavenly plan,
Divinity at last comes dazzling out
Even from thy blighted bit;
And in the grave lies promise of the man,
Serene and infinite.

O when thy life looks mutilated most
And peace has vanished from thy sight afar,
God is around thee like an armèd host
And campeth at thy side;
Then will the gates of Paradise unbar,
And windows open wide.

Thy very cry of loneliness so lost
And wandering weary in the noon of night,
Tells thee the gulf by Christ Himself is crost
To seek His wounded lamb;
It is the answer to thee of the Light,
“Belovèd, here I am!”

February 22 SOWING AND REAPING

“He that soweth iniquity shall reap vanity.”—Prov. xxii. 8.

God will not punish thee, He cannot thus
Out of His kindness hurt a single hair,
And He is punished daily still by us—
His Grace we crucify;
Our every step is but an Altar stair,
To some new Calvary.

It is thy sins that carry the stern rod
Of retribution, in a Father's care
Is nothing of a grim avenging God,
But pure and boundless Love;
Each suffering calls thee to a heavenly share,
And title writ above.

Ah, it is evil in thee all at strife
With better thoughts and higher hopes that lay
Stern strokes and burdens on a fruitless life,
In utter Mercy's law;
For thou dost only pierce thyself and slay,
And to thy birthright draw.

But in thy sorrow Christ must sorrow yet
Far more, and He is stricken with thy stain,
But O His Hand doth on thy ways beset
Troubles that round thee hang;
His bleeding Breast comes between thee and pain,
And blunts its every pang.

February 23 BREAKING BREAD

“And they told what things were done in the way, and how he was known of them in breaking of bread.”—St. Luke xxiv. 35.

In the Breaking of the Bread,
In the pleading of our prayers,
Lift, O lift Thy risen Head
On our hearts, though unawares;
From the grave-clothes and the sorrow,
Lift us to the sun-bright morrow.

Jesus, make Thy Presence known
Now while we awake in faith,
Give Thyself unto Thine own
In the Life that conquers death;
Broaden out our weak affection,
To the breadth of Resurrection.

In the Breaking of the Bread,
In the pouring of the wine,
May we with Thy Fulness fed
Draw within us Strength Divine;
Raise the falling, rouse the sleeper,
With Thy depths O make us deeper.

Jesus, grant each hungry soul
What no other giveth thus,
And by breaking make us whole
As Thou broken wast for us;
Yea, enlarge us, to the measure
Of Thine own exceeding Treasure.

February 24 ONE FATHER

“Now, O Lord, thou art our father; we are the clay, and thou our potter; and we all are the work of thy hand.”— Isa. lxiv. 8.

One Father made the man and beast
To do their duty at His call,
And biddeth both unto the feast
Which His great Mercy spreads for all;
Though the dumb creatures that He wrought
The least upon this earthly stem,
Seem to us wasted life or nought—
Omnipotence still needeth them.

One Father watches over us
And folds the insect in His reach,
The world and worm are guarded thus
And the same Wisdom works in each;
Though many are but things of dust,
They hide within His mantle's hem,
And lift to Heaven their little trust—
Omnipotence still needeth them.

One Father fashions beast and man
And keeps with either faithful troth,
Alike they enter in His Plan,
And the same Mercy shelters both;
O not the smallest wing that waves
But gives His crown a separate gem,
And though some creatures drudge as slaves
Omnipotence still needeth them.

February 25 THE JOY OF THE CROSS

“Jesus, ... who for the joy that was set before him endurea the cross, despising the shame.”—Heb. xii. 2.

Sorrow and joy were never twain,
And both at one great Fountain start—
They cannot, do not dwell apart;
For gladness is baptized in pain,
Both rise in Jesu's broken Heart,
And they but die to live again.
The Cross must be our larger choice,
If we for ever would rejoice.

They grow upon one gracious stem,
For only smiles interpret tears
And hope were fruitless without fears;
Doubt leadeth faith to Jesu's hem,
His robe of Righteousness, and spears
Of thorn are in His diadem.
Love seeks the jewels, but it fails
Unless it first has felt the nails.

And now, with every deed, I prove
In life and death a common chord;
The Cross reveals the holy Word,
And with each footstep doth it move—
The very Shadow of my Lord,
The living Sunshine of my Love.
Unless I lie within His grave,
Not even Omnipotence can save.

February 26 ONLY LOVE

“The kingdom and patience of Jesus Christ.”—Rev. i. 9.

Only Love knows how to suffer,
Only Love knows how to die;
Therefore Love can live, though rougher
Passions still around it lie;
Therefore Love, whate'er the bringing
Brought by time, goes forth with singing.

Love is patient, though our flighty
Fancies oft lead us astray;
Love is meek and love is mighty,
In Divinity's delay;
Till, in Truth and Mercy meeting,
Dawns the one white Grace's greeting.

Love, although its tasks be doubled
Daily on the upward road,
Never can be over-troubled
Or refuse the heaviest load;
Love demands but, for its guerdons,
Less of bliss and more of burdens.

Love is very wise and only
Learns to do the righteous thing,
Love is never tired or lonely,
And through winter keeps the spring;
Heaven, which opens to the lover,
Reason cannot yet discover.

February 27 LIVING THE LIFE

“Seek ye me, and ye shall live.”—Amos v. 4.

Live always as before thy God
Do every deed as if thy last,
And thou shalt find the common clod
Glow like the heaven and like it vast;
And Heaven shall haunt thy very feet,
More homely than thy native street.

Seek only what is great and good,
Nor stop at lower than the best,
And ask not to be understood
But in thy daily service blest;
And if thou doest nothing mean,
Then nothing thine will be unclean.

Speak as if in the very Shrine
And Presence of the Holy One,
So thou thyself shalt wax Divine
And all thy work be wisely done;
Thy house will be of precious stone,
The ante-chamber to God's Throne.

Aim not at happiness for thee
But others, and count labour lost
Which has not set some brother free
And borne for him the final cost;
Let love, that holds the humblest place,
See in the vilest Jesu's Face.

February 28 KNOCKING

“Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him, and he with me.”—Rev. iii. 20.

Thou comest to me like a thief,
Thou comest in the hush of night,
To rob my soul of sapping grief
And rest me with a pure relief—
To give me something more than sight;
O glorious Eavesdropper, Thou art
Behind the door of every heart.

I would not banish from its throne
Thy Presence, which is all my power,
Nor take instead an earthlier tone
Where Thou must reign and rule alone—
I dare not hold Thee from Thy dower;
But, Saviour, when Thou knockest, give
This dying love the strength to live.

And ere I open let me sweep
Each chamber ready for its King,
Meet for a Guardian who will keep
My foolish mind from sluggard sleep,
And strew the floors with flowers of spring;
Thou, who didst purge the temple clean,
Think not my little house too mean.

Knock gently, that I may not fear
To know Thou art so very nigh;
So every sense will be an ear,
And all my heart awaking hear—
Attuned to Thee, and raised as high;
Then hide me in Thy Greatness, Lord,
Although it slay me like a sword.

February 29 THE LARGER HOPE

“God our Saviour; who will have all men to be saved.”— 1 Tim. ii. 3, 4.

Hope lifts us out of petty ruts,
And opens wide the heavenly gate
Which earthly care so blindly shuts,
And makes us masters of our fate;
It shows the larger view of things,
And looks before and after both,
Until we stand as crownèd kings
And beat down Bel and Ashtaroth.

It raiseth, Father, men to Thee
As peers in Thine own glorious pride,
With its enfranchisements as free
And partners seated at Thy side.
Whence we may mark the orbèd end
Obscured by many a shade and shoal,
And see how Thy creations tend
To their predestined happy goal.

Behold all creatures gathered in
Out of a thousand thousand lands
In other distant worlds, to win
The benediction of Thy Hand;
And at the supreme final close
One family in bliss to be,
If some at first but darkly chose
A path that dimly led to Thee.

March 1 GOD SO LOVED

“God so loved the world, that he gave his only begotten Son.”— St. John iii. 16.

“A man of sorrows and acquainted with grief.”—Isa. liii. 3.

God tries us long in many ways
And tosses to and fro,
Because He loves us so;
And therefore the sweet saint, that prays,
Hangs on His cross below;
He leaves us in the lonely places,
And shuts us out from gifts and graces,
Because He loves us so.

God strips us often, stark and nude,
With purgatorial touch,
Because He loves us much;
The humblest hearts in solitude,
He binds and blesses such;
We find our Heaven in lonely places,
And there His truth cuts deepest traces,
Because He loves us much.

God bids our health and comforts fly,
And bounties man might boast,
Because He loves us most;
He makes us feel mortality,
And wants an armèd host;
He lets us thirst in lonely places
To lift the soul He thus abases,
Because He loves us most.

March 2 ANGEL VISITS

“The Angel which redeemed me from all evil, bless.”— Gen. xlviii. 16.

God sends an angel sometimes down
Veilèd in form of ill,
Because He loves us still;
He lays upon our head a crown
Of thorns, His holy will;
But there is light in lonely places
More than in monarchs' splendid spaces,
Because He loves us still.

God lets us often faint and fail
Or sound some grievous hell,
Because He loves us well;
He driveth home Christ's every nail,
And rings the passing bell;
He leadeth best in lonely places,
And bids us move to mourner's paces,
Because He loves us well.

God heaps upon us burdens yet
Though we beneath them fall,
Because He loves us all;
His dearest doth He lower set,
At fast not festival;
He proves our trust in lonely places
Apart with death and its embraces,
Because He loves us all.

March 3 ORDEAL OF FIRE

“It shall be revealed by fire; and the fire shall try every man's work of what sort it is.”—1 Cor. iii. 13.

“He shall sit as a refiner and purifier of silver.”— Mal. iii. 3.

God willeth us to pass through fire
And keepeth those who do,
Because He dwells there too;
And purges in the flames desire,
For souls His mercies woo;
We win His love in lonely places
Though far from old and friendly faces,
Because He dwells there too.

God launcheth us out in the deep
To swim His Jordan swell,
Because He there doth dwell;
But He who loves us never sleeps,
And with Him all is well:
He bids us stand in lonely places
Though fruit with thorn He interlaces,
Because He there doth dwell.

God bids us offer with our blood
Service nought else can teach,
Because He dwells with each;
And life, save taken at the flood,
Hath not a royal reach;
He sets the Cross in lonely places
And sorrows with the suffering races,
Because He dwells in each.

March 4 THE TWO OFFERS

“If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts ... how much more shall your Father which is in heaven give good things to them that ask him?”—St. Matt. vii. 11.

I asked for Calvary—they offered ease,
Success, and all the softer joys
Of sheltered life, that only asks to please
Itself with pretty times and toys;
I could have borne the brunt of iron woes,
But not the Judas hand of friendly foes
That decks with kisses and destroys.

But there are summits that the soul must reach,
Although through bitter leagues of loss
And years that learn in trouble what they teach,
Above the waves that weep and toss;
Here only is the ever-flowing Fount,
This (where broods ever morning) is the Mount
O'ershadowed by an awful Cross.

The watershed of the two worlds is here,
The threshold and dividing line;
One rests in cloud and misty atmosphere,
One holds and keeps the rainbow shine.
The sound of Sunday bells, a flame-like flower,
A glimpse of blue, a broken chord, have power
Here to reveal the Truth Divine.

But I must be an exile, Lord, as Thou—
'Mid others whom I seek to save,
And wear Thy thorns upon a piercèd brow
Ere I enjoy the grace I crave;
But if an outcast in the pomp and pride
Of earth that thrusts me to Thy riven Side,
I shall meet Angels at Thy Grave.

March 5 TO AND FROM CALVARY

“Thou, Lord, art good, and ready to forgive.”—Ps. lxxxvi. 5.

“Their sins and their iniquities will I remember no more.”— Heb. viii. 12.

I turn to Calvary, and see
My Love there crucified for me—
Ah, bitter shame! Ah, blessed woe!
The Friend of each—however mean,
Or very outcast or unclean—
Dying for man His mortal foe.
I hear from those dear trembling Lips
World-music for the lost and low,
The words that death cannot eclipse,
“Father, forgive—they do not know.”

I turn from Calvary and find
So little Christ in human kind,
So much of lust and cruel greed;
The sinner's Cross with all its pangs
Is everywhere, but on it hangs
The Saviour still in utter need.
My guilty hand which never fails
To glean from pleasures passing by
Some comfort, yet drives home the nails
In Him and helps to crucify.

Forgive, dear Lord, my every sin—
My pride, the peace that would begin
But hath already feared and flown;

Forgive the greatness of my debt,
The selfish seeking, and forget
The goodness that might well have grown.
Forgive my faith—if faith at all,
Only from seed that Thou hast sown;
Forgive my love which is so small,
And make it boundless in Thine own.

March 6 MERCY'S BOUND

“Lord, to whom shall we go? Thou hast the words of eternal life.”—St. John vi. 68.

When on the stormy straits of life
The bearings of my faith seem lost,
And darkness is my light, and still
Without a compass I am tost;
If fears arise and doubts are rife,
Dear Saviour, rest me on Thy Will;
That I may feel, though wandering far,
Thy mercy is my bound and bar.

And O if errors wax too sweet,
Or other dazzling lures rise up
Betwixt me and Thy constant Love
Which yet doth drink affliction's cup;
In cloistered lot or lonelier street,
May I then hear Thy Voice above;
For only Thy most gracious Word
Stirs every heart, and strikes each chord.

Ah, save me from myself, and hold
These arms that grasp at shadows vain,
Forgetting pleasures quickly tire—
Just to avoid Thy blessèd pain;
Bid me remember I am gold
For Thee, and must endure the fire.
Refine and mould me to Thy Hand,
That in Thy strengthening I may stand.

March 7 NULLA CRUX, O QUANTA CRUX

“If any man will come after me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross daily, and follow me.”—St. Luke ix. 23.

They that plant the seed of sorrow
In the shadow of to-day,
Yet shall reap in joy to-morrow
Corn the richer for delay.
Man that goeth forth and weepeth
Bearing thoughts like precious things,
True to faith that still he keepeth,
Mounts at last on angel wings.
Love, that waits till autumn leaves,
Then shall gather in the sheaves.

Dropping hopes we climb to stature
Strong and stately as the tree,
And by dreadful deeps the nature
Grows that is erect and free;
Missing much, we gain far better
Than we ever dreamed before;
Yea, the bondage of the letter
Breaks, our birthright to restore.
Love, that watches by the tomb,
Sees new worlds within its womb.

He whose life is safe from losses,
Shielded from the lash of scorn,
Bears the greatest cross of crosses—
If no cross is ever borne.

He shall garner not the sweetness
Which is only won at length
Out of gloom, and that completeness
In the furnace wrought to strength.
Love is earth without a sky
When it has no Calvary.

March 8 THE PERPETUAL OFFERING

“It is expedient ... that one man should die for the people.”—St. John xi. 50.

Deem not, poor sinner, that I died
Once only for the world and thee;
My Love was daily crucified,
Ere any bond-slave could be free;
I suffered sore and long, before
A single rebel came to Me.

Golgotha was but the last link
In martyrdoms I hourly bare,
Whose every step was on the brink
Of death and yet more killing care;
No cruel thorn or carking scorn,
No shadow, which I did not share.

Deem not that any words or deeds
Which flowed from Mercy knew no cost,
And thoughts that bloomed in blessèd creeds
Had no dread Passion to be crost;
Thy every gain was through My pain,
And all but sorrow's nails I lost.

Each miracle was dearly paid
By trials that thou canst not guess,
And I who grudged no creature aid
Found none in Mine own awful stress;
I lived and died, I was denied
By each, in utter loneliness,

Nor deem I do not suffer now,
If I on earth no longer pine
For love and meet the broken vow
That others made—that still is thine;
My outstretched hands, in all the lands,
Are pierced as once in Palestine.

March 9 EARLY HOLY COMMUNION

“Jesus took bread, and blessed it, and brake it, and gave it to the disciples, and said, Take, eat; this is my Body.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 26.

Before I mingle with the cares,
The burdens, and the busy strife
Which Christ the Worker with me shares,
That nought may common be in life;
I would not walk except with Him
Who on this way before us went,
And made the gloom with glory swim—
I come to this High Sacrament.

In humble faith and grief for sin
Committed though I knew the right,
I would this day in Him begin
Who only is my Life and Light.
For none but He can truly feed
My inmost soul and sanctify,
And breathe through all my earthly need
The blessings of eternity.

Lord, Thou wast broken for my sake
To form me with Thy Body whole,
And of that Death if I partake
My love shall find its native pole.
Ah, though I were the very least
For whom Thy Table now is spread,
Yet am I welcome at the Feast—
O be Thou still my Daily Bread.

March 10 THE SHADOW OF THE CROSS

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death.”—Phil. iii. 10.

Thy sheltering shadow rests on me
And wraps us both within one veil,
Dear Saviour, whom in all I see—
When other visions fade and fail;
Joy without sorrow were not joy,
It needs the shadow to be true,
And would with utter sweetness cloy
Unless some clouds were in the blue;
It asks for a redeeming tear,
For Heaven and hell are very near.

But Thine is such a perfect store,
And Thou dost freely pour it out,
While still the sadness goes before
And faith is strengthened by the doubt.
Yet, ah! the dawnrise that I guess
And dimly track through life and loss,
Is light of Thy dread Loveliness
And wears the jewels of the Cross.
Those radiant fetters beam from far,
Our Morning and our Evening star.

I am not even sure of self,
Nor of the little things so nigh—
The broken vase upon the shelf,
The tale betwixt a laugh and sigh;

But I am certain of Thy Love
With mighty thoughts that move the globe,
And I may like a homing dove
Nest in Thy Bosom 'neath Thy robe;
Yea, I do have a living part,
In Thee and in Thy bleeding Heart.

March 11 LESS THAN NOTHING

“As having nothing, and yet possessing all things.”— 2 Cor. vi. 10.

Though less than nothing in Thy sight
Yet I am richer than I know,
And share a destiny of light
With Thee beyond the winds that blow;
Whate'er I touch will pale and pass,
The solid ground is crumbling dust
And worlds no more than summer grass,
But from their graves shall blossom trust.
There may be earth, but Heaven must be,
Because in all I see but Thee.

The nearer realms that round me lie
Are not so very close and sweet,
As those that with a spirit tie
Do bind me to Thy Blessèd Feet;
For there are awful secret links,
Which in the heart's shy chamber shine
Beyond the stars, and he who thinks
His all in God will wax Divine.
Aye, as in prayer and praise I speak,
I stand on His own mountain peak.

The ocean, Lord, is wide and grand,
But Love is deeper and more large,
And while I look its heavenly land
Spreads out in spaces without marge.

And I have proved Thy kingdom here,
Within me, is more bright and great;
It drowns in glory every sphere,
Out-dazzled by my soul's estate.
For, in my Saviour, I have found
Music to which the spheres go round.

I know my sorrow is Thy dress,
The nails are but the living proof
Thy hourly mercies on me press—
The Cross and shadow are my roof;
These thorns are badges of my rank
And sonship, ornaments that fill
This lot with beauty which were blank,
If tuned not to Thy blessèd Will;
I cannot fly, I cannot fall,
Save on and unto Thee in all.

March 12 LOSING AND SAVING

“Fear not: jor they that be with us are more than they that be with them.”—2 Kings vi. 16.

O if we always love the good,
Yet stand upon the losing side
Where martyrs have before us stood,
And scorn the vulgar baits of pride;
Then shall we never know retreat,
Though suffering wrong and sore defeat.

If we still walk the narrow way
And stumble on the cruel stone,
Which telleth us to pause and pray,
While pilgrims are we left alone;
When we seem vanquished in the fight,
We must be victors for the right.

If we have not a helper near
And danger daily hems us round,
While everywhere some foe or fear
Encroacheth on our holiest ground;
Ah, though we suffer grimly thus,
The awful odds are yet with us.

If Heaven looks veiled and shadows fall
Upon the heart and cloud the sight,
Or weakness garrisons our wall
And darkness is the only light;
Though drifting hopeless with the tide,
We must be winners on God's side.

March 13 PASSION AND PALM

“This is thankworthy, if a man for conscience toward God endure grief, suffering wrongfully.”—1 St. Pet. ii. 19.

Truth is not, cannot be, that has not stood
First at the very Cross and garnered thence
Something of that great Universal Good,
And grasped as ours God's own Omnipotence;
Who has not wept with Mary, nor still weeps,
Renewing thus his daily strength and youth,
Shall never drink of those Eternal Deeps
Where dwelleth only Truth.

O if we fain would feel the inmost heart
And hunger of the soul that moves towards God,
Then must we seek it in no pampered part,
But under the kind refuge of the rod;
If thou would'st gain the treasure beyond price,
It lurks not in the shallows of the flood
Nor at the shore, but in the sacrifice
Poured out of precious blood.

For faith must wrestle with the dark and doubt
And fight for blessing on the ocean ways,
Stricken by storms to draw divinely out
Knowledge, though while illuming us it slays;
But if we want the wings that heavenward fly
And love that is the world's redeeming breath,
We shall be taught alone at Calvary
To conquer is by death.

Ah, we shall never make the world our own,
And God's footstool ere we have given it up—
Unless we gather where our Lord hath sown
And drink ourselves of His sweet-bitter cup;
Till we do tread His solitary road
By glorious steps of struggling and of pain,
And faint with Him beneath the awful load
Christlike to rise again.

March 14 NAIL PRINTS

“Bear ye one another's burdens.”—Gal. vi. 2.

“In his hands the print of the nails.”—St. John xx. 25.

O we must learn that but in vanquished ill
We raise a throne to have in Heaven its part,
And only thus the Master may fulfil
Himself as Servant in the suffering heart;
The ragged side of work, the loose rough ends
And broken pieces He will bless who can,
They bind us to His nails, and thus He bends
Us to His perfect plan.

The work is His, the passion too He takes
And empties of the anguish and the sting,
For by the crown of thorns alone He makes
Through royal cares the subject also king;
And He who knows our labours' other side,
Through which to grace the task has dimly grown,
Kisses the knots and blots, and stoops to hide
Within His wounds our own.

The blemishes, the failures, as we deem,
Transfigured by His Love put on a dress
Divinely fair, and to His Mercy seem
The one true touch of final Loveliness;
Each erring stitch assumes a precious mark,
Print of the very Cross that Jesus bore,
And where our silent tears fell in the dark
He finds His jewelled store.

It's Easter somewhere always, if we would,
And if we saw the Resurrection light,
The very grave is by that witness good
And every wrong at last eternal right;
Yea, and the scars on scathèd breast and brow
Themselves proclaim our Easter bliss and balm,
And prove in pressing benediction now
The Passion is the Palm.

March 15 THE SERVICE OF SUFFERING

“The sufferings of this present time are not worthy to be compared with the glory which shall be revealed in us.”— Rom. viii. 18.

Bring forth the royal robe of fire,
Bring here the crown of thorn,
Drive home the nails that crush desire
And pangs that I have borne;
Dear child, I cannot give thee less
Than was My lovely Loneliness.

Put on the jewels that are pain
And do forbid thee rest,
O let the altar knife again
Stab on and through the breast;
I could not honour weakness more,
Than with the sufferings that I wore.

Cast out the craven doubt and fear
That tamper with My Truth,
And bare thy heart unto the spear
That sharpens upon youth;
Dear child, thou could'st not offer less
Than life with all its wilfulness.

Put off pretence that apes the whole,
Self-righteous rags of shame,
And let Me burn into thy soul
My Love with purging flame;
I seek thy fulness, but not more
Than I so freely gave before.

March 16 THE ASCENSION WAY

“Who shall ascend into the hill of the Lord? . . . He that hath clean hands, and a pure heart.”—Ps. xxiv. 3, 4.

Not this the way, the flowery track,
If thou would'st witness to the end
Or like the Saviour not look back,
And with Him too in heart ascend;
Count not the playthings thou may'st lack,
Nor fear with foemen to contend.
The way, dear Master, unto Thee
Lies through the grey Gethsemane.

Not this the way, by pleasant fields
And many a bright and murmuring fount,
Where pleasure all its harvest yields,
Up to the calm Ascension Mount;
With broken swords and battered shields,
Not gold, we swell our sweet account.
And those, that pay no battle debt,
Will never rise to Olivet.

Not this the way, as others go—
The many moved by worldly will,
Who seek the upper springs below
And peace with passions never still;
No mocking shade, no passing show,
For hearts that God himself must fill.
The tops of Truth, the broader sky,
Are only reached from Calvary.

March 17 MY HEART'S DESIRE

“Brethren, my heart's desire and prayer to God for Israel is, that they might be saved.”—Rom. x. 1.

Lord, I would pray! My heart's desire
Is just to commune now with Thee,
And clothed in faith's own fair attire
To find what prophets could not see;
I would ascend, I do aspire,
O breathe Thy Spirit into me.
If I unburden every care,
Thou wilt in each have larger share.

I would be very much alone
With Thee and this frail human heart,
And then Thy Presence there enthrone
From all my worldly ways apart;
Thy Love for losses will atone,
When I behold Thee as Thou art.
Secrets I whisper in Thine ear,
Thou wilt hold sacred and most dear.

Lord, I would step aside from toil
And trouble that I yet must meet,
I ask Thy Peace and better spoil
Than gained in busy mart or street;
May earth now be all holy soil,
And with Thy Glory blest and sweet.
Whate'er in Thee I do or dare,
Let my whole life be Praise and Prayer.

March 18 ORO, LABORO

“That our God would count you worthy of this calling, and fulfil all the good pleasure of his goodness, and the work of faith with power.”—2 Thess. i. 11.

Oro, laboro, is my simple creed,
And nothing less;
For did no future fall to us indeed,
And could our little life of care stop short,
Or we go down for ever when in port
After sore stress;
Then man were greater even than God by Love,
And man above.

Clothed in the armour of an iron grief,
Christ's very own,
Tender as tears and still my best relief;
I rise, on stairs of sorrow, higher yet
Calmly without a fear, without regret,
To worlds unknown;
Except that He is with me to the end,
Saviour and Friend.

Oro, laboro! Restless as the earth
This human trust,
And restful as the heaven in dawn's new birth
When one blue rose of pure and perfect light,
While every sense is one immediate sight,
Conquers and must;
This would, though heaven were blotted out with pain,
Form it again.

Higher and higher still I step, if faith
At times despond;
And many an ancient landmark like a wraith
Melts (as I move) a portion yet of all,
And dear old boundaries are although they fall
New skies beyond;
Pain upon pain my stairs, but each a throne
And stepping stone.

March 19 WORSHIP OF WORK

“Remembering without ceasing your work of faith, and labour of love.”—1 Thess. i. 3.

Oro, laboro! Doubt itself finds place,
Darkness its room;
For he who once hath seen Truth's unveiled face
Looketh on God, and fear keeps too in chime
Ever with trust and only waits its time
Of coming bloom;
Grim barriers shelter, and do not confine,
Growth if Divine.

Surely to rise and feel nought comes amiss,
Loss upon loss;
Knowing the burden is our greatest bliss,
To see Redemption grandly working thus
Christ's Blessèd Passion alway still in us,
Cross over cross;
What vaster hope, though storms in fury strike,
Or more Godlike?

Oro, laboro! Never did such dream
As saving Fact,
Kindle the world with its transfiguring gleam;
As this that fashions out of holy grief
Temples and towers, our chosen grace and chief
Glory in act;
To climb up ever, on each ache and ill,
Ascending still!

This is God's measure, this His scale of worth,
Pang upon pang;
Nature fights with us and the travailing earth
That takes from suffering blossom fair and dew,
Transformed by woe, and on this do the new
Creations hang;
For what is any sorrow, but the glove
Of infinite Love?

March 20 LABOUR OF LOVE

“Faith which worketh by love.”—Gal. v. 6.

Oro, laboro! Freedom is no gift,
For gallant strife;
It comes to souls that just in Christ uplift
Themselves and seek no wage of triumph won,
But see and do the duty to be done,
Living the life;
Nor man nor God Himself can this bestow,
It must upgrow.

We move among the eternities, the loves,
The faiths and fears;
Glimpsed at their splendid moments even as doves
White on the blue of the unfathomed deep,
Those flying visions pure, softer than sleep,
Sweeter than tears;
Betwixt two worlds we stand, but dwells my heart
With Christ apart.

Oro, laboro! Now the prisoning bars
Take other shape:
They are but bridges leading to the stars,
Custodians kind that draw with closer bond
Man unto man and heaven and all, beyond
One soul's escape;
I cannot lift a hand, beneath the rod,
Not touching God.

100

The pains beat out the music, and not thought
Though above fate;
Anguish that shuts us in as nought can do
Is but the shadow of God, and shuts in too
Christ at His Fulness, and His sufferings seal
Not separate;
He wears with us that crown, for ever worn,
Of blessèd thorn.

101

March 21 SELF-REVERENCE

“Thou God seest me.”—Gen. xvi. 13.

Tempt me no more, I will do nothing mean
Or common or unclean;
I will be reverent to myself and go
With stately step, if low,
About my little empire, as though all
Worlds did upon me lean;
I will be royal, even if none may know,
And answer like a king whatever call.
Yea, not a word or work of mine but shall
Keep holy festival,
With heavenly Powers in me and that great Love
Yet not alone above;
But in the humblest mind and home as well,
And down to deepest hell.

The hidden side of me none sees but I
Myself and the Most High,
That will I chisel with the choicest art
In any unnoticed part
Beyond the gaze of man, a shrine to make
Where angels may draw nigh;
The secret cloisters of the human heart,
Lo, I will carve for simple Duty's sake
In many a glorious curve and colour sweet,
For blessèd angels' feet.
And there is nothing small within the light
Of God's transforming sight,
And glows Divine each detail at His touch
For him who serveth much.

102

March 22 EPISTLES OF CHRIST

“Shall not God search this out? for he knoweth the secrets of the heart.”—Ps. xliv. 21.

Ah, when alone I will be most to view
And treasure bloom and dew,
As though my thoughts were thoroughfares and lay
Open to the broad day;
And all my unknown feelings shall be pure,
Bathed every hour anew
In that Eternal Love which must have sway,
Sealèd for ever with its signature.
As in my Sovereign's Court when none is near,
And with a splendid fear,
I will bring all my bearing to the test
Of the supremely Best;
Crowning myself, as for God's passing-by,
With tender chivalry.

I wear the marks of the most highest birth
Reaching beyond this earth,
And I must move with awful self-respect
As one of Love's elect;
For I am most of Heaven and in it now,
And all hath utmost worth
Whate'er be mine, and nought may I reject
Who carry that great sign upon my brow.
O he who once has stept beyond this stage
And found his heritage,
He can forget no more the loftier part
Though with a broken heart;
And empty charms that pleasure idly weaves,
Fall off like dying leaves.

103

March 23 FOR CHRIST'S SAKE

“In that day shall the Lord of hosts be for a crown of glory.”—Isa. xxviii. 5.

Lord, let me suffer, that some lot may be
Brighter with holy joy;
And if thou must destroy
A life, O may thy judgment fall on me,
To make a fallen brother strong and free.
My bread be sorrow and my drink be tears,
If I may upward raise
By anguish borne in praise
One outcast trampled down by the dark years.

Lord, let me suffer that the child of sin
May choose Thy sweeter air,
And grow to fashion fair;
Thy deeper hell, lo, I would enter in—
To carry Heaven, and there bid hope begin.
For there are hells on earth and many a part
Foredoomed and damned at first,
And for that Love athirst
Which springs best from another's broken heart.

Lord, let me suffer, if a single breast
May only thus be healed
And the dear Christ revealed;
O take my portion of Thy living Rest,
And pour it out on some poor soul opprest.
The grave thou diggest (where dim sufferers pine)
For a lone Pariah lost
Grant me, whate'er the cost—
It were a bed of roses and Divine.

104

March 24 ROYALTY OF SUFFERING

“If we suffer, we shall also reign with him.”—2 Tim. ii. 12.

Lord, let me suffer, though this weak heart fails
When trial doth draw near,
And droopeth faith in fear;
Yea, from another's cross draw out the nails,
And crucify this coward flesh that quails;
If I may teach one stricken soul that Love
Rules over care and grief,
While pain is pain's relief,
And even the fall is but a fall above.

Lord, let me suffer, that the sad may feel
Joy rooted in all things,
Whatever sorrow brings;
And they, that shyly in the shadow kneel,
Grind sin and death to dust with conquering heel.
Ah, let them learn no little sob is vain,
No tear was shed for naught
Or labour idly wrought,
And there is pleasure at the core of pain.

Lord, let me suffer, if I thus may show
Within the dark Thy Light,
That cruel wrong comes right;
While all the streams of anguish from Thee flow,
And red earth with thine Altar is aglow.
Blot me for ever from Thy Book of Life,

105

And let my travailing breath
Be but a daily death—
If I may save one struggler in the Strife.

Lord, let me suffer, though I simply add
A moment brief of bliss
To pain's Diviner kiss,
For unloved lips and lives that never had
A wooer when the hearts around were glad.
Strip me of joy, if any feet that stood
Strayed in the desert far
May see the Morning Star,
And know that all Thy work is very good.

106

March 25 CHRIST THE WAY

“By a new and living way, . . . through . . . his flesh.”—Heb. x. 20.

O every hour of mercy hath
Its heavenly task and human freight,
And every little pain or path
Is easy with the Cross's weight;
Our stumbling-stocks are but the stones
Whereby we build eternal thrones.

And if we do our duty now
Or drain the cup that sorrow fills,
The future will unveil its brow
And show the everlasting hills;
Each moment is a living part
Of all, and lieth in God's Heart.

No burden knocks at any door
Unless the Christ hath borne it first,
And e'en the shadow on thy floor
(If death) is Love for thee athirst;
And though the final step be dim,
The deepest darkness fell on Him.

The measure of thy grief before
Was proved by Him who cannot fail,
And Christ, whom thus we do adore,
Is present in each thorn or nail;
Ah, He is piercèd in our loss,
And hangs with us on every cross.

107

March 26 I DID SIN

“He was wounded for our transgressions, he was bruised for our iniquities. . . . The Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.”—Isa. liii. 5, 6.

I did sin, and Thou didst sorrow,
Jesu Christ, though these red hands
Wrought the deed with such a morrow,
Breaking all of Thy commands;
Thine the burden, Thou the Payer
Of the debt I cannot tell,
Who with pity and with prayer
Stoopedst even to life and hell.

I did sin, and Thou didst offer
Life itself that I might live,
To the enemy and scoffer
Giving what he could not give.
Thou the Wronged wast yet the Victim,
Priest and Sacrifice for man,
Gathering woes that should afflict him
All in Thine eternal plan.

I did sin, and Thou through dying
Liftedst me from utter loss,
In my grave of judgment lying
Lest I bow beneath the cross.
Love instead of the offender
Bore whatever shame was mine,
With an infinite surrender—
Just to make me, too, Divine.

108

March 27 THE MASTER'S WATCH

“What, could ye not watch with me one hour?”— St. Matt. xxvi. 40.

In the first watch the Master came
And found me faithless then in sleep,
For I had broken to my shame
The promise that I could not keep;
He did not waken me or weep,
And only took Himself the blame.
He said, “I have no earthly bed,
Nor where to rest My weary Head.”

In vision deep I gathered still
Some knowledge of His wondrous way,
Sorrow that slew but could not kill
The Saviour of the night and day;
For, oh! I struggled hard to pray,
And catch the impress of His Will.
But though I gat a blessèd gleam,
I felt my service was a dream.

Then in the second watch again
He gazed upon me where I was,
And yet He did not now complain,
Nor murmur softly even “Alas!”
He said, “My burden will not pass,
Which this dear weakness doth ordain;
And though the suffering world is wide,
I will hold vigil at his side.”

109

March 28 WATCH AND PRAY

“Watch and pray, that ye enter not into temptation.”— St. Matt. xxvi. 41.

But still I stirred within my sleep
And vainly strove by Him to stand,
I knew I was His folded sheep
And sheltered in that Human Hand.
He did not rouse me or command,
But simply said, “His rest is deep;
O he is tired and needeth grace,
And I must travail in his place.”

Then in the third watch hoping on
If I at length would haply wake,
He found my slumber had not gone
While He kept guarding for my sake;
He said, “If one would sometimes take
His little part, in Babylon!
I had a single cross; but, see,
A thousand thousand press on Me.”

I was aware of all He said
And did for me, and ever tried
To burst the bondage on me laid—
The fetters thence about Him tied;
He said, “I am the Crucified
Alone, I never ask for aid;
I die, I die, and every day
Of dreadful Love that cannot slay.”

110

March 29 THE WATCHER

“Watch ye, stand fast in the faith, quit you like men, be strong.”—1 Cor. xvi. 13.

In the fourth watch my Master drew
Yet nearer to me at my post
Although I slept, and hours were few
Wherein to face the hostile host;
But, ah, He blamed Himself the most,
And said, “Mine is the Cross anew!
My brother rests; so let it be;
The vigil none can share with Me.”

And so if watchful I may seem,
Or fancy that my faith is strong,
I am not doing as I deem
In the great battle against wrong;
He fights and watches all along,
And this my labour is a dream.
For He within me worketh out,
Whate'er I win from fear or doubt.

When some poor pilgrim from the night
Calls to me, “Watchman, is the day
Soon coming with its longed-for light
To help me on my weary way?”
It is His voice that answers, “Yea,
Look up, the East is alway bright;
On Me the first thy shadow fell;
Go on thy journey; all is well.”

111

March 30 LOVE IS DEAD

“Christ that died, yea rather, that is risen again.”— Rom. viii. 34.

I heard a weeping at the fountains,
I heard a wailing on the mountains—
A murmur over sea and shore,
A Voice that said
“Great Love is dead
And we must mourn for evermore.”
There was a shadow on the sky,
On rock and river
An awful shiver—
Earth shook in her mortality.
And, through the world, a rolling wave
Of grief was felt in every grave.

I heard a voice, I saw a vision—
A Calvary, and cold derision
Mocking a Form that hung and hangs
For ever there,
And everywhere
While Christ must bear His people's pangs.
I saw that Love had veiled His Head
In utter anguish,
And low did languish—
I thought that love was really dead.
The sun forgot that it was day,
And heaven in ghostly sackcloth lay.

112

March 31 LOVE IS LIVING

“Every thing that may abide the fire, ye shall make it go through the fire.”—Num. xxxi. 23.

I only marked the sin, the losses,
I only saw at first the crosses
And Christ in His grey Passion pain—
The Love that died
There crucified—
As though it could not rise again.
I did not look past outward sight
And guess the wonder
That was thereunder,
I did not hail the hidden Light;
It seemed, the very frame of things
Reeled at the central source and springs.

But then a deeper message spoken—
I found by death that death was broken,
And sin it was that suffered thus
The cruel shame,
Deliverance came
Alone through Calvary to us.
I found that in this judgment vial
And full free giving,
Grew life and living
For those that choose the Cross denial.
And now I know, whatever be,
Great love is all on earth and sea.

113

April 1 THE BREAKER

“The breaker is come up before them: . . . and their king shall pass before them, and the Lord on the head of them.” —Micah ii. 13.

The sun is breaking through the cloud,
The bud is breaking on its tree,
And breaking from His shining shroud
The great Christ cometh fair and free;
O watching weep, and weeping pray,
Dear brother, for thy break of day.

The ground is breaking with the Seed,
The awful Seed of living Life
Eternal, which is Life indeed—
The grave with new creation rife;
O praying watch, and watching weep,
Dear brother, waken from thy sleep.

The bonds are breaking one by one
Before His Resurrection Breath,
Which does what is for ever done
And showeth Love is more than death.
O weeping wake, and waking watch,
Dear brother, till He lift thy latch.

The bonds are breaking of our pain
And sorrow quite forgets its parts,
It is a blessing and no chain—
The ring and robe of wedding hearts;

114

O weeping watch, and watching wake,
Dear brother, till all shadows break.

The bars are breaking of our sin
And hell hath lost its fear and power,
For all the world is all akin
And every soul must burst in flower;
O watching weep, and weeping pray,
Dear brother, for the Truth and Way.

115

April 2 THE BREAKING

‘He was bruised for our iniquities: . . . and with his stripes we are healed.”—Isa. liii. 5.

Silence is breaking into song
And separation is no more,
For Love is Life itself and strong
And both the harbour and the shore;
O praying watch, and watching weep,
Dear brother, for Christ's wandering sheep.

The stream is breaking from its bed
And through the borders of our pride,
Its glory is upon us shed
And showered in Grace on every side;
O weeping wake, and waking watch,
Dear brother, the first gleams to catch.

The bread is breaking, as we eat
And take again His Blood and Flesh;
All hearts must break to be complete,
And die in Christ to live afresh.
O weeping watch, and watching wake,
Dear brother, till thine own doth break.

Deserts are breaking into dew,
The thorn remembers it's a bud.
Old times are breaking with the new,
And all because of Jesu's Blood;
Yea, through the wide and weary lands,
The Breaker as the Maker stands.

116

April 3 THANKSGIVING

“Be ‘anxious’ for nothing, but in every thing by prayer and supplication with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”—Phil. iv. 6.

Father, I thank Thee that this life
Which is the better part of me,
Is vaster than all forms of strife
And like Thy Nature full and free;
That it can never have a bound
But that which is its one defence,
And knows no line of limit round
Except Thine own Omnipotence.

I thank Thee that for ever on
My spirit shall pursue its way,
And when this mortal bar is gone
Shall see before it brighter day;
That as I gain a grander sphere
I must myself yet greater grow,
Above the ranges that rise here—
Sweet things that satisfy below.

I thank Thee that with broadening arch
The future waxes fairer still,
And gathers in its glorious march
A purer balm for every ill;
That pains are jewels in Thy throne—
An earnest of the joys to be,
The tomb is but a stepping stone
Which brings me nearer unto Thee.

117

April 4 THANKS-LIVING

“In a little wrath I hid my face from thee for a moment; but with everlasting kindness will I have mercy on thee.”— Isa. liv. 8.

Father, I thank Thee that the cloud
When reached becomes an open gate
For mightier motions, and the shroud
With these is incommensurate;
That time is just the varied web
Whereof I weave a vesture fit,
Which though its earthly portion ebb
Shall mingle with the Infinite.

I thank Thee that in no event
And no attainment ever won,
I may achieve a true content
Or feel my endless work is done;
That I must gaze with loftier look
At each new turn on something more,
And still turn pages in the book
Of blessing and its heavenly lore.

I thank Thee for the friendly thorn
Which now forbids my heart to rest
In lesser light than perfect morn,
Which is the sunshine of Thy Breast;
That whatsoe'er befalls the flesh
Faith can be fettered by no bond,
Or faileth to be born afresh
And find far higher heavens beyond.

118

April 5 THANKS-BUILDING

“Except the Lord build the house, they labour in vain that build it.”—Ps. cxxvii. 1.

Father, I thank Thee that I must
Expand the temple which I raise
For Thine indwelling out of trust,
And build yet nobler praise on praise;
That nothing fills me now or can
Compel to an enduring home,
Each moment magnifies Thy plan
And shows me purer bliss to come.

I thank Thee for the helpful flints
Which tear the feet with sordid aims,
And loving wounds that leave their prints
Upon the soul in grander claims;
When I would falter for a space
And dream of some poor false repose,
Or lose the vision of Thy Face,
If paradises here unclose.

I thank Thee for the purpose large
Which is a reflex of Thine own,
And carries me from marge to marge
To conquer still more worlds unknown;
That I shall nowhere anchor, save
Within Thine Arms which lift so high
My efforts now, and in the grave
When all seems lost are yet most nigh.

119

April 6 SPIRIT OF LOVE

“The fruit of the Spirit is love.”—Gal. v. 22.

Spirit of Love, in this Thine hour
Of pity and exceeding power,
Come to me like an altar fire,
And kindle in me growing grace
To look up in my Father's Face
With precious hope and pure desire.
O cleanse me from my clogging guilt,
And make me only what Thou wilt.

Descend—I cannot rise to Thee,
My will is wayward and not free
And now I have but broken wings;
Descend, in Mercy and in Might,
And raise me upward in Thy flight
To claim my heritage of kings.
Breathe into me the Living Breath,
Which cannot be except by death.

Spirit of Life, within me wake
A joyous wish for Jesu's sake,
To rise above this dust and dross,
And take each selfish thought of greed
Which biddeth not one soul “God speed,”
And nail it to the Blessèd Cross.
Wash me in Love, like burning flame,
Not all unworthy of Christ's name.

120

April 7 AARON'S ROD

“Behold, the rod of Aaron . . . brought forth buds, and bloomed blossoms, and yielded almonds.”—Num. xvii. 8.

Art thou, dear brother, a dry stem
Without one gracious and green shoot?
Then go in faith to Bethlehem,
And rest on the Eternal root;
There, in the Mercy of thy God,
Blossom and bud like Aaron's rod.

Then turn thee to a darker sky
Where all looks sacrifice and loss,
And seek at solemn Calvary
That life which floweth from the Cross;
There, in the seeming doom and dearth,
Spring streams that water the whole earth.

Then pass unto the rocky tomb
And see its portals opened wide,
To learn how from death's awful womb
Comes Resurrection in its pride;
And, in the Saviour's risen strength,
Thou too shalt rise above at length.

The stem so long and sadly dry,
Behold, it puts forth fruit and hangs
A head that bears eternity,
And wears rich promise from thy pangs;
For who can be a barren rod,
If held and used by Mercy's God?

121

April 8 LOST AND FOUND

“This thy brother was dead, and is alive again.”—St. Luke xv. 32.

I was deaf and dumb, and severed wide
From His Goodness, but still He was near;
In my weakness walking at my side,
Calling till I answered and could hear.
I was deaf and dumb and flying,
But He bade me live though dying.

I was left so long in exile far,
Till His Mercy sought me though through fire—
Healed my wounds, and clothed each cruel scar
With the beauty of His own attire.
I was left, but now dim places
Are the Heaven of His embraces.

I was blind, but vision came at last
When the darkness deepest on me lay;
And forgiveness blotted out the past
With the sunshine of Eternal day.
I was blind, but now my seeing
Takes its light from His own Being.

I was dead and am alive again,
I was lost but by the Saviour found;
For He loved, and death He did ordain
Was the door to resurrection ground.
I was dead, but now am living—
Both are of His grace and giving.

122

April 9 NOTHING GOOD

“There is none that doeth good, no, not one.”—Ps. liii. 3.

Nothing of good, dear Lord, is mine
That I may offer Thee the thrift
Of hoarding years a Heavenly gift,
Till great Love maketh it Divine;
But O the Goodness, that doth lift
Me to Thy Heart and there enshrine.
Nothing, dear Lord, of mine is good
Ere gathered to Thy Fatherhood.

And when beneath the Cross I bear,
Which rather carries me, I feel
Passion and pain and blindly reel;
Though bitter are the thorns that tear
My tortured bosom, as I kneel—
Yet worthless all the wounds I wear;
No merit is there in one pang,
If on the Cross I ever hang.

My sorrows cannot purge me so,
Nor lies there virtue in the nails
Whereto I fly, when purpose fails
And leaves me in my shame below;
But by these Grace Divine prevails,
And brings the peace Christ doth bestow.
My honour is to bless the rod,
And yield the glory but to God.

123

April 10 A FRAGRANCE OFFERING

[_]

Leviticus ii. 1, 2.

“I am the rose of Sharon and the lily of the valleys.”—Sol. Song ii. 1.

High Priest, greater far than Aaron,
Who art Priest and Offering too,
Light of Lily, Rose of Sharon—
Whom by many names we woo;
Though my will be wild and vagrant—
Yea, and though upon my knee—
Yet, O yet let me be fragrant
Always, only, Lord, of Thee.

When I toil for Thee or tarry
Idle among slothful men,
May each look and gesture carry
Something of Thy Perfume then;
May my heart and home be meeter
Even when evil passions toss,
And the world around be sweeter
For the anointing of Thy Cross.

Make me, Lord, a pleasant savour,
A memorial but to prove
Thy Forgiveness, with the flavour
Of that most exceeding Love;
Make me, Lord, a pure oblation,
Sanctified and full and free,
One whole-hearted consecration
Now and evermore to Thee.

124

April 11 TRUTH AND YOUTH

“And ye shall know the truth, and the truth shall make you free.”—St. John viii. 32.

I felt the burden once of age,
I felt the curse of toiling,
And on my weary pilgrimage
Time fell with dim despoiling;
My work no longer took the form
Of willing hands, grown strong from storm.

I sometimes halted on the road,
The thorn-prick seemed too pressing,
And pierced me like some grievous goad
That used to be a blessing;
And sickness, that was my best friend,
Now rose a blank and bitter end.

Then, as I dragged my weary way
Along the path appointed,
Arose, when I had paused to pray,
My Lord with grief anointed;
He said, “Thy burden is too light,
Uplift My Cross, all will be bright.’

But thus I knew I needed more
And not a less affliction,
For in His Cross I daily bore
I found my benediction.
Thence have I learnt the living truth,
The Cross of Christ alone is youth.

125

April 12 BOOK OF THE HEART

“Whose is this image and superscription?”—St. Matt. xxii. 20.

God reads us like an open book
And marks the writing on each page,
He values every fleeting look
As even the longest pilgrimage;
Beneath the pageant of the part,
He weighs the secret of the heart.

Though sullied may be every line
And not a letter meetly made,
He sometimes sees a note Divine
And Glory bursting through the shade;
The fruitless day, the feeble shoot,
May have in Him a deeper root.

He counts not much the gallant show,
The dazzle of a dying wraith,
But asketh what is writ below
And seeks the hidden love and faith;
For the poor dark and troubled years,
Are watered oft with God-like tears.

What of the creases or the blot
That blurs the outward fact or form,
When splendid lives are moulded not
Except by unknown fire and storm?
God readeth us, we guess not where,
But looks to see His writing there.

126

April 13 CHRIST'S THRONE

“I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto Me.”—St. John xii. 32.

Bring out, bring out the royal Cross,
It is the Saviour's Throne,
He counteth this nor shame nor loss
And He must reign alone;
For none can suffer so but He,
And mortal might not share
The Love that sets the Kingdoms free—
His universal care.

Bring out, bring out the royal robe
Of wounds and cruel thorn,
And let the nails of Passion probe
His Spirit tost and torn;
For every sin of every time
Upon Him now is laid,
And all the sorrows of each clime
Are His and dearly paid.

Bring out, bring out the royal price
He asketh for His part,
The body's living sacrifice,
The broken contrite heart;
Bring out, bring out your willing all,
The bitter and the sweet,
That if again ye faint or fall
It may be at His Feet.

127

April 14 GOD'S MEASURE

“God giveth not the Spirit by measure.”—St. John iii. 34.

There is a measure in all things,
The prophet's part, the singer's air;
And tyrants are not truly kings,
Who scorn the uses free and fair;
There is a measure for us each,
And life lies ever in our reach.

There is a measure unto which
The proudest and the wise must bend,
And wealthy reapers are not rich
Unless they seek the loftiest end;
There is a measure true and tried,
For those that have with Jesus died.

There is a measure we may prove
By every act of every hour,
Which limits us where'er we move,
And shows mere wishes are not power;
There is a measure bright and blest,
If we but on the Promise rest.

But there's no measure to God's Love
Though we abuse it sore and long,
It's higher than the Heaven above,
And sets the weeping world to song;
O there's no measure, when we give
Ourselves to Christ in whom we live.

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April 15 EASTER FIRE

“Your heart shall live for ever.”—Ps. xxii. 26.

My love is as a leaping fire
Which must run out its radiant course,
It points for ever to the Source
And loudly bids me yet aspire;
Go up, go up, it fondly sings,
And draw from the Eternal springs.

It burns within me a white flame,
It gathers fuel as it grows
From even the ill that round me flows,
And thrives by conquered sin and shame;
Go up, go up, it fondly cries,
Unto thine own infinities.

Consuming all the chaff it gives
New breath of being every hour,
It clothes me with the secret power
Of Love Divine through which it lives;
Go up, go up, it fondly says,
And leave the pretty primrose ways.

It cannot dwell with earthly dross,
It will not be by aught denied
Which keeps it from the Crucified,
It only pastures at the Cross;
Go up, go up, it fondly pleads,
And suffer where the Saviour leads.

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April 16 WRITING IN DUST

“Jesus stooped down, and with his finger wrote on the ground.”—St. John viii. 6.

God speaketh through His earth and sky
To all who have the upward look,
In His fair Nature riddlingly,
And bids us read its open book;
For every little leaf or nook
Is stamped with His Divinity,
Each thing we greatly fear or woo
Must be some line or letter too.

But ere we spell a single word
On the broad space with wisdom set,
And ere His message may be heard
Which in the tiniest blade is met,
We must first learn His alphabet
And have the hearts within us stirred;
But when we truly love and trust,
We trace His lessons even in dust.

For Jesus did not write in vain
The one Epistle, that He wrote—
It lasteth, and we read through pain
Its teaching in the smallest note;
Upon the ground, in stars remote,
We see its parables again;
In every spot alive or dead,
The shadow of the Cross is shed.

130

April 17 CHILD VISION

“Except a man be born again, he cannot see.”—St. John iii. 3.

O to be once again a child
And with round eyes of wonder look
Out into all, yet undefil'd—
Each page of beauty in God's Book!
O to stand face to face, content,
With Nature and its noblest forms
Not mapt and marred, and battle-rent
By ethnic strife and squalid storms!

O to be once again a child,
And as the Maker just to mark
The primal thought, that reconcil'd
His discords of the light and dark!
O to possess the immediate sight
Which is not angels' and to know,
Without dim steps that stumble right,
The meaning of this maze below!

O to be once again a child
As Jesus was, and behind law
To touch the truths whereon He smil'd,
Ere blurred by sin or craven awe!
O to drink in without a bar
The joy and essence of each thing,
The secret of the stone or star
At the one solemn blessèd Spring!

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April 18 SPRING

“I see a rod of an almond (wakeful) tree. . . Then said the Lord, . . . I will hasten (am wakeful over) my word to perform it.”—Jer. i. 11, 12.

The almond tree breaks into flower,
It feels the springtide's pulse and power
Through all its quickening frame;
Along each branch its blossoms run
And catch the kisses of the sun,
Bodied in bliss and flame.
And once more Aaron's prophet rod,
Blooms at the bidding of its God.

Lo, every bird is now a song
The fresher for its silence long,
And every leaf a lay;
The tiniest blade of trembling grass
Laughs as it feels the Spirit pass,
A green and living ray.
Up in its heaven of blue, the lark
Rains music from the dazzling dark.

Dear Father, may I feel Thy Spring
At heart, and in each upward wing
Of happy prayer and praise;
O make my soul burst into love
Rising to Thee my Home above,
And others with it raise.
Yea, let new shoots of stronger trust
Leap up, like altar fires, from dust.

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April 19 THE CONTINUAL FEAST

“Better is little with the fear of the Lord than great treasure and trouble therewith.”—Prov. xv. 16.

Give me no wealth to drag my spirit down,
But grant a little, Lord, though toil be rough
And thought must often be a thorny crown—
Thy modest minus is for me enough.
I dare not deem that Paradise is lost,
Because one Eden veiled its virgin skies
And closed the gates that never could be crost—
To happy hearts each place is Paradise.

The plus of others only is a care
Without the Blessèd Cross that hallows all,
And rank or riches were a blinding snare
Lacking the saving loss and helpful fall;
Christ is my goodly treasure and the gold
I carry with me when this life hath past,
Nor would I let the world with lying hold
Lure me to ruin, earthward, and earth-fast.

Fragrance for sight and soul in every spot,
Colour and glow, within, without, are mine;
I could not live in darkness even a lot,
Devoid of form and grace that are Divine.
If Thou in Mercy sealedst up mine ear
And I were banished from the heaven of sound,
If light fled from me, Love enthroned more near
Would bathe me still in beauty all around.

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April 20 PARADISE REGAINED

“Lo, the winter is past, the rain is over and gone; the flowers appear on the earth; the time of the singing of birds is come.”—Sol. Song ii. 11, 12.

Springtide has come with all the spells
That made the opening year so bright,
The mystic dance of shade and light,
The blooms that ring sweet Sunday bells;
No longer now by faith but sight,
We walk in Eden where God dwells;
Who builds, with happy tears and laughters,
His house of leafy walls and rafters.

But yesterday, it seemed, the snow
Lay on our gardens a white death
Or flew a sheeted shivering wraith,
And brooks refused to talk or flow;
We walked not then by sight, but faith
With looks above, yet feet below.
But here the birds like flowers are winging,
And there the flowers like birds seem singing.

God give us all the better choice
That ours may be the Mary's part,
Who learnt where every life must start
And blossomed at the Saviour's Voice;
God grant us springtide in the heart,
To bud and open and rejoice.
O may our love and life be vernal,
A Paradise of green eternal.

134

April 21 VICTORY OF FORGIVENESS

“There is forgiveness with thee, that thou mayest be feared.”— Ps. cxxx. 4.

We touched the human hem of Thee
In our creation, from the first;
At Calvary, Lord, we taste and see
The Fulness which can slake our thirst.
The Cross broke all our evil chains,
But, ah, the Mystery remains.

For O the guilt that cannot rest,
The sense of woe, the weary pain,
Are gathered to Thy healing Breast
And breathed on us in bliss again;
Thy Passion, which doth still atone,
Is suffered still by Thee alone.

Yea, Thou hast lifted each one whole
Into the Greatness of Thy Heart,
To purge His body, mind and soul—
By being of Him piece and part;
And Thou dost dwell in every one,
The secret Power, by service done.

Thine Order dim, yet so Divine,
Which I can hardly see but guess,
Contends with me to make me Thine
And raise to that dread Loveliness;
The centre of all life is loss,
And gains its virtue from Thy Cross

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The care for right, sweet cravings, draw
Me though a rebel up and on,
Through doubts and darkness, to Thy Law
Of Mercy, till the night is gone;
Justice doth then unveil its face,
And shows me but Thy boundless Grace.

Thy Passion yet in every man
Who sins and suffers must endure,
While aught is wanting to the Plan
Which rests not ere it is secure;
I bowed not to the Judge's part,
But O Thy pardon breaks my heart.

136

April 22 CRUCIFIXION

“I am crucified with Christ: nevertheless I live.”— Gal. ii. 20.

Nail me, dear Lord, I ask no other tie,
Unto Thy Holy Cross;
I cannot guess Thy Love unless I lie
Closer to Thee and daily, hourly die,
And in Thy torments toss;
Nought else will keep me ever at Thy side
And purge me of self-will and sordid pride,
A whole and living loss.

Nail me, dear Lord, by many a bitter pain
Of something done or tried;
Thy sorrows only do I reckon gain,
I count no bliss so precious as the chain
Laid upon lusts defied;
Nothing will bind my flesh except it hangs
Ever with Thee on Calvary, in the pangs
Of pleasures there denied.

Nail me, dear Lord, yet faster with the nails
Thy Love doth suffer still;
By every earthly light that faints and fails,
And every Wound of Thine that now prevails
In anguish or through ill;
Only Thy Passion may redeem this clay,
Making each thought a thorn along the way
That crucifies my will.

137

April 23 ROYAL SERVICE

“Him that loved us . . . and hath made us kings and priests unto God.”—Rev. i. 5, 6.

God doleth not to us His little things,
He sows the night with music till it sings,
He giveth crowns—He kneels to us as kings.

God thrusts us into mouths of swords that slay,
He tries us in the furnace night and day,
But first He takes the edge and wrath away.

God leadeth us by strange paths unto Him
And through deep waters that we scarce can swim,
O'er many a desert and by crosses grim.

God makes the sinner who found joy in mire
Go burn in his own hell of hidden fire,
To burn out the last stain of least desire.

God guides us to the Precious Blood at last
And there breaks every bondage of the past,
In Love without a shore where sin is cast.

God, if we stumble, lets us fall on God
And the great mercy of His healing rod,
That quickens souls dead as the graveyard clod.

God calls us to Him and He bids us hark,
Until we soar to Heaven as doth the lark—
All song, all light, and all one dazzling dark.

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God draweth us to Him through shade and shame,
He thus reveals the riches of His Name
And mouldeth us to life of tears and flame.

God kills us with the letter of His Law
To raise to Truth which angels never saw,
And quickens with the Wisdom that is awe.

God would we bear the burden of His Lore,
Which bruiseth men as wheat to make them more—
But, ah, the tale it crushed His Heart before.

God planteth thorns that in our lives have grown,
But none that He Himself hath not first known,
For all our sins and sorrows are His own.

139

April 24 GOOD AND EVIL

“The good that I would I do not, but the evil which I would not, that I do.”—Rom. vii. 19.

O Love, in mercy look on me;
Shall I not follow, and be free
To take the treasures Thou dost give?
But chained to this dead body lie,
A dying thing that cannot die—
A living thing that doth not live?
O break these endless links, the curse
That draggeth on from worse to worse.

What I have done is deadly blame,
But what I am is deeper shame
And adds the long entail of sin;
But Thou, who hast a Brother's heart,
Wilt never let me pine apart
When all my cares are so akin.
I ask no heaven, but just to be
Alone (though crucified) with Thee.

Save for Thy Cross I had not known
My God, nor found myself my own,
Nor burst the bondage and the yoke;
But the old nature with its fret
Still stirs at times, and would forget
That in Thine Agony it broke.
The world may whisper it is well,
I carry with me yet my hell.

140

April 25 COMMUNION OF SAINTS

“Our fellowship is with the Father, and with his Son Jesus Christ.”—i St. John i. 3.

Not into dark, the loved and lost,
Though they have vanished from our sight
Beyond the grave which must be crost—
Ours is the shadow, theirs the light;
Not in the dust our darlings lay
Those precious features that have fled,
Nor know they pangs of dim decay—
They are the living, we the dead.

They only drop the weakness down
Purged of their grossness, and the pain
Which falls alike on cross or crown—
Ours is the losing, theirs the gain;
They would not change their perfect lot
Of open vision there for this,
Such freedom for the yoke and spot—
Ours is the burden, theirs the bliss.

O they are nigher to us now
Than ever they have been before,
In Christ, the bond of every vow—
We trust, they see Him and adore;
And in the Banquet of His Grace
We touch each other if we part,
Our spirits feel no bar of space
In sweet communion heart to heart.

141

April 26 CHRIST CRUCIFIED AFRESH

“They crucify to themselves the Son of God, . . . and put him to an open shame.”—Heb. vi. 6.

O must I once again be born
As erst into thy mortal flesh,
And piercèd be by hatred's thorn
Or with denial scourged afresh?
O must I carry still thy yoke,
Wherewith this Heart of Mercy broke?

O must I yet again be left
By all my servants sad and lone,
Beggared of joy, of peace bereft,
And with no pillow but a stone?
O must I, for my cruel kin,
Be offered yet a “curse” and “sin”?

O must I stoop again to shame
And with a daily torment burn
In fires that do blaspheme My Name
And to a cold false world return?
O must I die because I love,
And strive to draw lost souls above?

O must I come to earth again
And raise once more my bitter cry
To suffer what thy deeds ordain,
Dear sinner, yet on Calvary?
O must the Cross be lifted there,
To shed its shadow everywhere?

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O yes, I would a thousand times,
If Love Divine could be so vain,
Suffer for all the coasts and climes
To bring one sinner home through pain;
O yes, such sacrifice were small,
Were I not Saviour now of all.

143

April 27 FALSE FRIENDSHIP

“Yea, mine own familiar friend, in whom I trusted, which did eat of my bread, hath lifted up his heel against me.”— Ps. xli. 9.

If it were possible, that ought
Could truly to My Love be done,
By men for whom I never wrought
Redemption—if there could be one;
The sorrow were not such to bear,
As this great grief I always wear.

Could strangers wreak Me wrong or slight
And stab with bitter wounds of pain,
The shame, the burden were but light
And all their injuries would be vain;
But thou didst in My Grandeur play,
From childhood—and dost thou betray?

Mine own familiar friend, so sealed
At birth and with My very Cross,
To whom I day by day revealed
The bliss and beauty, wrought from dross;
This is the cruel sting, that thou
My chosen dost deny me now.

If it were possible that I
Could value any sinner less
Than worlds, and not enough to die—
His wounds might hardly need redress;
But thou, of Me a living part,
O would'st thou break this bleeding Heart?

144

April 28 CHRIST THE OUTCAST

“He came unto his own, and his own received him not.”— St. John i. 11.

When Jesus came to earth below
To make men Godlike too and free,
And gave what Heaven could but bestow
On those blue hills of Galilee;
They thrust Him from them unto death,
Even in His own dear Nazareth.

Foxes had holes, the bird its nest,
The leper knew a corner dim
For weary brow and wounded breast—
His earth had nowhere room for Him;
Against Him strove the wind and wave,
He found no shelter but the grave.

Yea, though He simply sought men's good
And lavished on them Living Bread,
Who as our High Priest loved and stood
Betwixt the dying and the dead;
Yet they that felt His mercies most,
Drave Him an exile from their coast.

O shall He Homeless walk the lands
Which reap the blessings He hath sown,
And plead in vain with piercèd Hands
For that which always was His own?
Shall He, our Fountain from the first,
Be yet the only one athirst?

145

April 29 DIVINE PURPOSE

“According to the eternal purpose which he purposed in Christ Jesus our Lord.”—Eph. iii. 11.

Through the long ages drawing near
Thy Purpose dawned to dazzling scope,
O Saviour from all earthly fear,
O Saviour to Eternal hope;
My heart, that hath for Thee been thirsting,
With its great love in bloom is bursting.

Thou art so wonderful and true
I cannot mark the world for Thee,
Thou art my Heaven of cloudless blue,
Whatever is in Christ I see;
There may be gains, there must be losses,
My path is milestoned with Thy Crosses.

If but one sinner felt the load
Of conscious guilt upon him laid,
That one would be the Saviour's road
And bear Him swiftly unto aid;
Thy Cross is now my only measure,
My only trust, my only treasure.

With Thee my riches are the pains
Which wean the soul from earthly things,
Ignatius-like I kiss my chains
Until they grow to heavenly wings;
I would not other glory given,
Than on Thy Crosses to be riven.

146

April 30 DIVINE SYMPATHY

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

No word of mortal hath depicted
The sufferings which the Saviour bore,
In all affliction so afflicted,
In all our sorrow feeling more;
He was the World's Eternal Lover,
And now He wooeth us as well,
For day by day doth still discover
New love that makes a heaven of hell.

He was of old the great Refiner,
But He endured the most His flame,
And (if it could be) came Diviner
Out to fresh Glory from His shame;
The fires were fierce, the crosses cruel,
But (though for us) He tasted first
Each Passion and He was the Fuel,
And always for our love athirst.

He heareth now our fears and fretting
And with us stands in stormy flood,
If we forget Him unforgetting,
And offers still His Precious Blood.
No breach of law, no jot or tittle
Of wrong that troubles not our rest,
No least of sins however little,
But pierce with pain His bleeding Breast.

147

May 1 FRET NOT

“Fret not thyself because of evildoers.”—Ps. xxxvii. 1.

“Let not your heart be troubled.”—St. John. xiv. 1.

Fret not thyself, if sometimes now
The way uncertain seems and dark
And dangers face the venturous prow,
Thy battered boat is yet God's Ark;
For were the shadows ten times more,
Christ is the shelter and the shore
If thou would'st only trust and hark.

Fret not thyself, if round thee foes
Still rise like thunder-clouds and reach
Athwart a path of pains and woes,
And wound with many a bitter breach;
Not one, dear brother, could be spared—
All were by Love at first prepared,
And boundless blessings lie in each.

Fret not thyself, if trials toss
The spirit that would idly rest,
They are the drawing of the Cross
That lift thee closer to God's Breast;
The life thou seekest cannot come,
Unless thine be the way to Home
Through stormy straits but manifest.

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Fret not thyself if waves wax rude
And winds grow very rough and high,
For in thy dread and solitude
O then the Saviour comes most nigh;
He measures every throb and thorn
Which first He hath in pity borne,
And stands betwixt each blow and sigh.

149

May 2 THE RESURRECTION OF THE FLOWERS

“He feedeth among the lilies.”—Sol. Song ii. 16.

The seed was sown, perhaps in tears,
And then the miracle appears
Where once was only desert dearth;
And from a hidden realm and root
Leaps into life the tender shoot,
Out of its chambers in the earth;
It gathers grace of light and air,
And laughs to find itself so fair.

Ah, it may have a vision sweet,
Unmarked by us, of Holy Feet
Which are for ever passing by;
And washing these in dainty dew,
With kisses, it may thus renew
Its glories at eternity;
For when they break the scentless sod,
The flowers reflect the Face of God.

Each is a little word or line
Of the great Mystery Divine,
Each has a lesson in its look:
The varying hue, the virgin green,
To humble hearts that spell between
Are Revelation's open book;
And still the Spirit moves in might,
For those that have the secret sight.

150

May 3 CHRIST IN HIS FLOWERS

“Solomon in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these.”— St. Matt. vi. 29.

O every year on hill and plain
Christ in His flowers is born again,
As out of darkness and the dust;
And in their rainbow-petaled seat
His Resurrection they repeat,
And quicken faith to firmer trust;
In purity, however dim,
Their little cradles carry Him.

Their smile is His, their fragrant breath
Tells of the love that conquered death,
And conquers, if the church bell tolls;
Their garmenting is His and gleams
With other unforgotten dreams,
To which the world rejoicing rolls;
And in the beauty of each part,
We guess the goodness of His Heart.

By tender colour, modest curve,
He gently calls us when we swerve
Back to His own one resting-place;
That we may feel within us grow
The pledge of all our peace below,
His everlasting shoots of Grace;
Till we are for His garden meet,
Where He may walk with Holy Feet.

151

May 4 THE WORD AND THE MAN

“The words that I speak unto you, they are spirit, and they are life.”—St. John vi. 63.

Open mine eyes, to see the wondrous things
Which lie within Thy Law;
O Blessèd Spirit, break these foolish wings
With wise and holy awe;
That I may find what was forbidden kings,
And prophets never saw;
Here are high truths, whereto our faith hath clomb,
Sweeter than honey and the honeycomb.

Thy Word no letter is, but Living Man
Of very blood and flesh;
Here is the Christ, and God's all-perfect plan
To loose sin's iron mesh,
And show the prisoners what Love dares and can
To give them birth afresh.
God blinds us first to every lower sky,
That we may hunger for Eternity.

This precious book is big with dreadful lore,
Beyond the sage's sight;
Humanity throbs here, and meekness more
Than armies in their might.
And here all times renew their strength and store,
At the Eternal Light.
God lets us follow husks, for bread bruise stone,
And starves our hearts to feed on Him alone.

152

May 5 STRIVING AND PRAYING

“The spirit indeed is willing, but the flesh is weak.”— St. Matt. xxvi. 41.

I strive, I strive from early morn,
I pray, I pray till dewy eve;
The flesh is still a fretting thorn
Which Thou, Lord, only canst relieve;
The good I will I cannot do,
The ill I never would I must
And all my best is tainted too,
But yet in Thee I simply trust.

I rise with grand resolves to raise
My banner in the Blessèd Cross,
And build around the walls of praise
Within a heart all purged from dross;
And then when comes temptation's test,
The first least trial that may be,
I seek no refuge in Thy Breast
But fly to pleasures false from Thee.

Ah, take this treacherous will of mine,
Father, and blend it with Thine own,
And into this dark nature shine
With Thy full Love as yet unknown;
That when wild passions fain would pull
Downward my trust so sadly tried,
Filled with Thy Presence Beautiful,
I may in Thee be satisfied.

153

May 6 LOVE AND DEATH

“Having loved his own which were in the world, he loved them unto the end.”—St. John xiii. 1.

It cannot be that Love is dead,
Even if He suffered shame and loss,
And bowing low that sacred Head
Gave up His Life upon the Cross;
It cannot be that Love so high,
Although Himself He would not save,
Should pass away with the last sigh
And hide His Glory in the grave.

It cannot be that Love who built
A holy Temple for us all,
Who bore the ages' crimes and guilt
And laid in Blood each blessèd wall;
It cannot be that Love shall lie
For ever low within the dust,
And like these mortal bodies die
When charged with such a solemn trust.

It cannot be that Love is less
One moment than it was before,
Or quenched with its great Loveliness
The Light that lighteth sea and shore;
Nay, Love has triumphed over pain
And hell and every evil bond,
Our Brother died to live again—
Was lost to be for ever found.

154

May 7 SORROW

“Godly sorrow worketh repentance to salvation not to be repented of.”—2 Cor. vii. 10.

When sorrow came to me one day
I said, “O be my sister,
And with me hourly watch and pray!”
Then, stooping low, I kiss'd her.
And therefore in my heart she since has dwelt,
Fed at one table, at one altar knelt.

But, ah, she hath a different name
To me in secret spoken,
Heard not until with utter shame
My stubborn heart was broken;
I knew not what was lasting joy before,
But now with thanks I suffer and adore.

O she is very kind and sweet,
She bids me care for others,
And wash with tears the beggars' feet
As though they were my brothers;
She shows me awe and reverence are most wise,
And through the valley to the mount we rise.

She often does not tell me much—
I feel diviner motions,
A softer tone, a human touch,
Deeps opening in devotions;
She works in all I do like mystic leaven,
Her spirit seems the very breath of Heaven.

155

May 8 BENDING OF THE BOW

“When I have bent Judah for me, filled the bow with Ephraim.”—Zech. ix. 13.

O Master, daily should I bow
And stumble but for Thy dear sake—
Yea, even while speaking; hold me now;
For, in Thy Hand, I cannot break.
And if I stoop, may only toil
Compel me and no touch of sin;
When I would cleave the stony soil,
And only stoop with Thee to win.

If under Thy kind Cross I faint
And pass through many a bitter death,
Because of this sore fleshly taint,
I know Thy Mercy lies beneath.
And it is lovely, Lord, to find
Thy precious burden on me press,
And know (though I be often blind)
The Cross is Thy most sweet caress.

Ah, sometimes take me in Thine Arms
And with my weakness fill Thy Bow,
That I may dread no more alarms
And on Thy service speed below;
Yea, Master, I would dare to ask
To be Thy Bow in Pity sent,
If little for no little task,
And in Thy battles only bent.

156

May 9 LOSING AND GAINING

“What is a man profited, if he shall gain the whole world, and lose his own soul?”—St. Matt. xvi. 26.

It seemed that I had only lost
My earthly treasures and their trust,
When swelling Jordan's floods were crost
And left behind each earthly lust;
What in the purging had I won,
When the last sacrifice was done?

Upon the altar I had laid
My love and life and every breath,
And though my heart was sore afraid
I passed the shadow that is death;
Above the Cross, with awful arms,
Stood betwixt me and worldly charms.

Friends had forsaken me, and kin
Turned from me in my trial hour,
While sweeter ways and pleasant sin
Broke at my feet in scarlet flower;
What had I gained but cruel scorn,
Who gave the blossom for the thorn?

But ere the murmur quite was shaped
Or I had uttered the regret,
I saw the pit I had escaped
And how with Grace I was beset;
I found myself, my soul, my Love,
And offering all reaped all above.

157

May 10 NOT FOR MYSELF

“Jesus . . . who for the joy that was set before him endured the cross, despising the shame.”—Heb. xii. 2.

Not for myself, O dearest Lord,
Not for the glory or the gain
I clasp Thy Cross and welcome pain,
And lean my breast upon Thy Sword—
That it might smite and smite again,
Or give my heart a broken chord;
Not for the fame or finger pointed,
Am I by Thee with grief anointed.

Not for myself or even to swell
A brother's joy though that is dear,
I take from him the pressing fear
And carry mine with his as well—
Or wipe away the orphan's tear,
And bear the outcast's lonely hell;
Not for the world's poor passing fashion,
Dost Thou fill me with Thy compassion.

Not for myself or heaven and bliss
Or dread of future wrath and woe,
I hail a friend in every foe
And answer blows with but a kiss;
The petty thorn, the earthquake throe,
All pangs, can never come amiss;
I live, I die, I yield each treasure,
Because I love to do Thy Pleasure.

158

May 11 IS IT NOTHING?

“Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger.”—Lam. i. 12.

Is it nothing,
All ye sinners passing by,
I have given you food and clothing
While My shelter is the sky,
And a stone my bitter bed?
That this robe is Agony,
Worlds of sorrow bow My Head?
Is it nothing,
All forsake Me—all have fled?

Is it nothing,
That I loved you tenderly
And am Outcast now for loathing,
With no rest or remedy?
I who lived such daily loss,
Go to greater Agony
And the Passion of the Cross?
Is it nothing,
Hell and horror round me toss?

Is it nothing,
I who dying cannot die
Here must make my grim betrothing
With your grey mortality?
I immortal yield My Breath—
In Divinest Agony,
To the human touch of Death?
Is it nothing,
I for you trod Heaven beneath?

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May 12 IF I WERE GOD

“Shall there be evil in a city, and the Lord hath not done it?”—Amos iii. 6.

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil.”—Isa. xlv. 7.

It I were God, saith foolish man,
I would have made an easier road
And life itself a simple plan,
Without one dark or weary load;
I would not leave a tiny sting
Or thorn to give a moment's pain,
While every slave should be a king
And none disfigured by a stain;
The gold should have no clinging dross
To make the labourer but a thrall,
Nor would I let a single cross
Throw its dread shadow over all.

If I were man, I would despise
The slothful dream, that hopes to win
(But not by struggling) Paradise—
To open and to enter in;
I would not be content to take
Whate'er I could and pay no price,
And hold Eternity (the stake),
Not worth a tear for sacrifice;
I would not value what no loss
Achieved or care to call it mine,
Nor wear the crown without the Cross
Nor let man be less than Divine.

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May 13 FALLEN HUMANITY

“I could wish . . . myself accursed from Christ . . . for my brethren.”—Rom. ix. 3.

“The Lamb slain from the foundation of the world.”— Rev. xiii. 8.

Humanity in Adam fell
Though it was ever truly Mine,
And in a measure I as well
Had fallen were I not too Divine;
Yea, I for sinners so made Sin
Who hung upon the Cross as Curse,
That thus the new life might begin,
Could almost sin to save from worse.

From earth's foundation I was slain
Lest man eternally should die,
And felt from far that future pain
A living presence round me lie;
The Cross an awful Shadow then
Was flung upon Me from the first,
Ages of ages ere came men
For unborn souls I was athirst.

But could I very God not be,
And could I ever sin at all,
Then to set hopeless captives free
For man indeed his God might fall;
Yet how should evil wash out ill
And whence should splendid wrong make right,
A Sinner be a Saviour still
Or darkness lead one soul to Light?

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May 14 THE CUP

“O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from me, except I drink it, thy will be done.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 42.

There is a Cup, the Saviour drank,
Who drained it to the very lees,
We take from God and humbly thank
When shadow falls and sunshine flees;
The sorrow which doth make the king
Who would be crowned by suffering
And knowledge which alone is rank.

We all must deeply drink the cup
Of grief, if we would enter in
Christ's fellowship which raiseth up
The souls redeemèd from their sin;
And then, when we have tasted death
In Him and trodden it beneath,
With God Himself at last we sup.

If it be possible, we say,
Let this affliction from me fly,
And bid me walk some softer way
Than that of Christ's own Agony!
But there is Grace sufficient then,
For God is merciful to men—
And Heaven is opened as we pray.

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Himself in trial by us stands
And strengthens us to bear it all,
The Cup He holdeth in His Hands
And on His Bosom breaks our fall;
He drinketh too the bitter first,
And leaves the sweetness for our thirst—
Who gives the powers with the commands.

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May 15 A DEAD GOD

“Christ being raised from the dead dieth no more; death hath no more dominion over him.”—Rom. vi. 9.

If it might be, then God Himself could die
Of sorrow for our sin,
And in the grave of great compassion lie
For love of human kin;
As on the earth the Saviour took our stain
In His stupendous part,
Not by the spear or sharper mocking slain
But of a Broken Heart.

If it might be, God would in utter woe
At the long thankless Life,
Stricken to death by friends and by no foe
Stoop to His altar knife;
Rejected by redeemèd ones, dethroned
By children whom He wrought,
For whom through endless cycles He atoned
So often and for nought.

If it might be, God could deny the God
Or cast aside His crown,
And smitten by His Love's recoiling rod
Lay all His Glory down;
And in the ashes of each star and sun,
A fitting funeral dress,
He could entomb the work He has begun—
If He loved sinners less.

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May 16 THE VISION

“Wherefore I was not disobedient unto the heavenly vision.”—Acts xxvi. 19.

He that has once stood on the Mount of Vision,
And seen from there the parting of all ways—
Of nights and days;
And has made once for ever the decision
Which only comes to him who greatly wills
To do the right, that he in God fulfils
Humbly who prays;
He that has marked the watershed of things
And marges mortal,
Can feel no more the petty strife and stings
From that high portal—
For he has drunk of the eternal springs.

He cannot be the same, he holds God's measure,
The little now is little, and the great
His sole estate;
He may not honour aught or choose a treasure
Save truth itself, which is his daily trust,
And shows him jewels though within the dust
Not maculate.
He carries with him thus a secret light,
A clue of glory,
And cannot thence forget the solemn sight
For a less story
Than that which armours him in mystic might.

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Not disobedient to the heavenly vision,
He weighs the world in balances more fine
Because Divine;
And heeds no front of danger or derision
Which are to him the passing of a breath,
And at the last he fondly finds in death
Sweet discipline.
For he has seen the Truth unveiled and stood
High on the Mountain
With very Christ, and proved His Grace a good
And living Fountain—
Gathered to God in the One Fatherhood.

166

May 17 REFLECTED LIGHT

“And the children of Israel saw the face of Moses, that the skin of Moses' face shone.”—Exod. xxxiv. 35.

O when, dear brother, thou hast loved the Highest,
And been transfigured at the Cross's throne
That doth atone;
Then come what may (or life or doom) the nighest,
Still must thou bear the sacramental seal
Within thy heart, the light that slays to heal
In love alone;
And all thy work for ever has a touch,
A tone of splendour
Alien to others who have dared not such
A whole surrender—
For thou hast seen God's Face and lovèd much.

But, ah, the greater price shall yet be given
For this grand knowledge, if thou takest up
Christ's awful cup
And wilt in Sorrow's Fellowship be shriven;
There may endure no lower earthlier tie,
When thou with Him would'st daily live and die
And fasting sup;
For he that loveth most doth suffer most,
Not in vain seeming,
To rule by service in the saintly host
For hearts' redeeming—
And every path must be a Pentecost.

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For him no more the common and the meaner,
But still the larger look, the Peace untold,
The human hold
That leaves the world by his white passage cleaner;
And from his purer presence near or far,
In richer rays, shall fall as from a star
Light manifold.
Not for himself can he henceforward toil
But just for others,
He only gleans through losses Love's own spoil
That makes men brothers—
And with his life he feeds the holy oil.

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May 18 LOVE

“Love is strong as death.”—Song of Sol. viii. 6.

“Neither death, nor life, . . . . shall be able to separate us from the love of God, which is in Christ.”—Rom. viii. 38, 39.

There is no death for Love, the little word
Spoken by thee in tenderness and truth,
Unseen, unheard,
Yet in far ages shall renew its youth;
In other hearts and homes it travels on
A temple light,
And it shall shine when suns themselves are gone
Making earth bright.

There is no waste in Love, the little deed
Done for a brother is in him fresh life,
A golden creed,
Some day to strengthen thousands for the strife;
It is a pebble dropt in oceans vast,
And broadens out
Ripples that run (when falsehoods long have past)
To ransom doubt.

There is no loss by Love, the little thought
Or prayer that deems another's grief its own,
In heaven was wrought.
To conquer kingdoms if itself unknown;
The soul that loveth reigns and yet shall guide
Glories to be,
God ever rules by him, and at his side
Shapes kingdoms free.

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May 19 OVER ALL TIME

“He that loveth not knoweth not God; for God is Love.”— i St. John iv. 8.

There is no bound to Love; the little touch
Of this breaks iron doors and brazen bars;
And O for such
One moment here, and then beyond the stars!
It hath no root in earthly rest or space,
Heedeth no clime,
And sends the morning of its sunny face
Over all time.

There is no peace with Love; its little toil
Endures, while last immortal hopes to win;
It gathers spoil
Of stony natures, which have gems within;
The sterile bosom, though so blind to all,
An empty cup,
Opens wide windows to its gracious call
And blossoms up.

There is no death for Love; its little ways,
Like crimson threads, run through our deserts drear;
Sometimes it prays,
And sometimes drops in dust a fruitful tear;
None may oppose a waft of its white hands,
That bring heart's ease
Our children's children, and for unborn lands
And unmapt seas.

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May 20 THE SOLITUDE OF GOD

“O my Father, if it be possible, let this cup pass from me: nevertheless, not as I will, but as thou wilt.”—St. Matt. xxvi. 39.

O awful Sight that bids us veil the face
And darkly look through tears,
To see our Lord thus left alone in space
To burdens of all years;
Self-exiled from His Father for a while,
Because He loved so well,
As if the very Heaven forgot to smile
And earth tolled its last knell.
Homeless in His own world, denied the least,
Until His people found
Among their tenderer mercies to the beast
Room for His burial-ground.
O could men fashion a more cruel rod,
For their poor suffering solitary God?

Behold, the Maker by His creatures left
And to the utmost tried,
Of roof and rest and friend and faith bereft
Whether He lived or died;
Deserted by His dearest, torn and tost
By every mortal throe—
'Mid silence, doom, and growing darkness lost
In that grey Garden woe.
The stones arise and strike His wounded Feet,

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And the dim olive bough
Forsakes its use, as if it were more sweet
To buffet His dear Brow.
The very worms fret through the crumbling clod,
And crawl contemptuous round the Dying God.

The moon looks down in cold relentless glare
Upon the Lord of Love,
And even the rhythmic stars appear to stare
In scorn from bliss above;
The message of the wind so fair and fresh
Seems to afflict him more,
It falls like lashes on the quivering flesh
Which bleeds at every pore.
The merry bubble of the distant brook
Sounds mocking to His ear,
And shakes the Blessèd Form that never shook
In any human fear.
And the bright flowers, that burst the scented sod,
Bring altars but no incense to their God.

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May 21 THE AGONY

“It pleased the Lord to bruise him; he hath put him to grief.” —Isa. liii. 10.

Not only man, His friends that idly slept
Nor watched one little hour,
But all the sweets of nature which He kept
Fresh with His shine and shower,
Seem now against Him and deny the Hand
Which painted every hue,
As if in serried hostile lines they stand
When they do not pursue;
Nay, ghostly trees as prisoning bar and bolt
Seem drawing death-like round,
And still brute matter stirs in dumb revolt
On that grim battle-ground.
The very sandals, with which Christ is shod,
Feel fires beneath that would destroy their God.

But this were nought to many-centuried sin,
The troubles of all time
Which are and are not His, nor here begin
To add their curse sublime.
Wherever now in dreadful thought He turns
Some evil thing steps near,
And not a spot throughout broad Space but burns
A hell of guilty fear.
He sees a shadow in the cleanest life,
And in the cloistered saint
Shut out from earth and common sordid strife
Some secret leprous taint.
O each vile feeling falls, as if it trod
Down on the Heart of the Dethronèd God.

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May 22 THE TRIUMPH

“Be of good cheer; I have overcome.”—St. John xvi. 33.

Each wicked word or deed, that was or yet
Shall be in future days,
Weighs on Him—with their wrath He is beset,
Even as He pleads and prays;
Yea, all afflictions from their fiery seat
Their hate in Him enthrone,
The waves and billows of the darkness beat
Upon His breast alone;
He stands Himself and with no helper nigh
Betwixt men and their doom,
And not a tear and not a trembling sigh
But swells the growing gloom.
The sick world faints, the hills of Sion nod,
And the foundations fail their Outcast God.

Then draws an Angel near to comfort Him
Who wrestles with our shame,
When earth and Heaven in chaos seem to swim,
And Sorrow is his name.
His message is, that Christ must suffer more—
Must drink the cup of death
And drain the utmost lees of bane, before
He tastes the joy beneath.
And in that strength of purpose those blind Hands
Upraised to the blank sky
Clasp the great Cross whereon Creation stands
In conquering Agony.
And now becomes His blessèd staff, the rod
Which God in Love and Mercy lays on God.

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May 23 DAN'S PORTION

“A portion for Dan.”—Ezek. xlviii. 1.

“He is my defence; I shall not be greatly moved.”—Ps. lxii. 2.

Think not, dear brother, that no toil
Awaits thee in God's boundless Plan,
To win sweet harvests from the soil
And blossoms which no other can;
For He, who laboured and was Man
Like us, hath left thee greater spoil
Than ever He from niggard lands
Drew forth in Love with human Hands.

There is a work, which only thou
Canst do among the millions here,
Who trace more furrows on the brow
And breast than in their earthly sphere;
Ah, somewhere life is sad and sere,
Because thou may'st not o'er it bow;
And servants, whom no duties ask,
But mar thy one eternal task.

And at God's Table is a seat
Which none but thou canst truly fill,
Where with the Master thou shalt eat
Who mad'st His Pleasure just thy will;
From everlasting thine and still,
After the burden and the heat,
There is a corner nigh the Throne
For thee and thee and thee alone.

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May 24 GOD'S STRANGE WORK

“For the Lord shall rise up. . . . that he may do his work, his strange work; and bring to pass his act, his strange act.”—Isa. xxviii. 21.

God in His goodness makes us do strange things,
He drives us to the wilderness for bread
Or bids us from the rock find water springs,
And cries we cannot live till we are dead;
He saves us, through the flames we would deny,
From judgment only in it and thereby.

The shadow of his chastening is our sun
And pleasures that will last are born of pain,
The fancied end is pilgrimage begun
And from the husks of loss we gather grain;
The cruel wrong proves our most blessèd right,
And in the weakness of the Cross grows might.

God says, “Be emptied if ye would be filled,
And in the silence hearken to My Voice,
Cease working and My Vineyard shall be tilled
And out of sorrow learn ye to rejoice;
Yea, idly were each service by thee done,
Till every act is Christ and self is none.”

He leads us through the Passion to the palm
And by the desert to the land of rest,
Plucks from the tempest its white soul of calm
And smooths a pillow on the breaker's breast;
His choicest blessing is the hardest blow,
The gate of Heaven some little grave below.

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May 25 NOUS REVIENDRONS

“Return unto thy rest, O my soul; for the Lord hath dealt bountifully with thee.”—Ps. cxvi. 7.

Our spirits burn
Within us at the thought of Grace,
Which hath for every one a place
In the rich Plan which our Redemption brings;
We will return
To God who is our Dwelling-place,
Feeling the waft of more than angel wings
That bid us rise unto our right as kings.
There is no other
In whom our hearts can truly home and rest,
Than Christ our Brother
Who bare in John all lovers on His Breast.

We cannot spurn
The patience of that piercèd Hand,
The Kindness more than a command
Which fain would gather us from evil stress;
We will return
To God who is our Fatherland,
And only asks these little lives to bless
In the calm light of His great Loveliness.
O we have squandered
The precious years and walked by byeways dim,
But while we wandered
He yet was leading us safe back to Him.

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May 26 GIVE AND FORGIVE

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings, being made conformable unto his death.”—Phil. iii. 10.

Give us Thy Mercy whence we live,
The light whereby alone men see;
And of Thy goodness, Lord, forgive
The faithless prayers we lift to Thee.
That love, the dearest did withhold,
Pour out on them a hundredfold.

Give us Thy Wisdom whence we dare
To do our best and noblest things,
And tuck us under Thy broad Care
Which is more sweet than angel wings;
With loss, from which our darlings fly,
Bless us instead and crucify.

Give us Thy Justice and Thy Fear
That we may play a Godlike part,
In discords which we do not hear
Above the beating of Thy Heart;
And rest, which for us cannot come,
To others grant and be their Home.

Give us Thy Presence, without which
We are but dead or dying men,
That we may wax exceeding rich
And find Thy Grace sufficient then;
The joy, ourselves we would not ask,
Mete to Thy mourners at their task.

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May 27 RETRO AD CRUCEM

“Lest they should suffer persecution for the cross of Christ.”— Gal vi. 12.

Back to the Cross our place and power,
Back to the Fountain of our faith,
Where in its glorious crimson flower
Love triumphed over life and death;
There never was or would be hope,
Unless it climbed the Calvary slope.

Back to the great Obedience learned
Only in that exceeding stress,
By holy hunger which has yearned
To know the law of Holiness;
Back to the old eternal springs,
Where all who come are crownèd kings.

Back to the Judgment upon sin,
Back to the sense of something more
Than sorrow, if ye would begin
A brighter path than that before;
There are no lessons, like the nails
And thorns, through which the Truth prevails.

Back to the Cross, our proper place
Which reads its own great riddle thus,
When man exalted is by Grace
And God is humbled then in us;
Back to the Passion, till we feel
Christ's very wounds as there we kneel.

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May 28 OUR HABITATION

“Be thou my strong habitation, whereunto I may continually resort.”—Ps. lxxi. 3.

It is a blessed truth that all
In God's great Mercy find a place,
And no one ever was too small
Or could be outside His embrace;
For though His greatness hath no marge
And worlds on worlds within it dwell,
His Strength it stoops to childhood's charge
And shrinks the Ocean to the shell.

His awful Step that hath no bound
Keeps time and tune with baby feet,
And in the lowliest roof or round
He feels no frailty quite unmeet;
And, if he speaks in thunder, yet
His only is the still small voice,
Nor do we own one human debt
Which was not first His heavenly choice.

For to be Very Man He dared
Be something more than God while less,
And in our shadow which He shared
He breathed the light of Perfectness;
And thus the sinner in the mire
With him who holds the saintliest part,
Do hail one home and altar fire
In the white Sanctuary of His Heart.

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May 29 OMNIPOTENCE AND THE ASS

“An ass tied, and a colt with her: loose them, and bring them unto me . . . The Lord hath need of them.”—St. Matt. xxi. 2, 3.

Omnipotence came down in Love,
Forgat the royal robes, and then
Moved as an equal among men
To lead them from blind ways above;
God, in His boundless heavenly shore,
Still felt a want of something more.

Eternity had failed to fill
The greatness of His gracious Breast,
Which could not in its riches rest
And craved a touch of mortal ill;
Therefore the Potter sought His clay,
Just to be moulded to its way.

Infinity, that knew no bound
And dwelt in Light without a shade,
Stooped to the humblest thing He made,
And help in utter weakness found;
So the Creator in His grief,
Came to the creature for relief.

Perfection once confest a need,
And gathered of the very low
A blessing man could not bestow—
The service of a simple deed;
God, whom the world cannot contain,
Was by His beast throned God again.

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May 30 PRAISE-LIVING

“Praise the Lord, O my soul: and all that is within me, praise his holy name.”—Ps. ciii. 1. P.B.

Praise God for all that He hath given,
Praise God for what is yet denied,
Praise God for mercy to the shriven
That comes but to the crucified;
Praise Him for blessing and affliction
And the dear chastening of His rod,
For trouble's secret benediction—
Praise ever and praise only God.

Praise God for sweets that He hath taken,
Praise God for suffering from His Hand,
For storms by which our souls are shaken
And hourly shaped to His command;
Praise Him for good things and the bitter
Or what our blindness deems is such,
For pangs that leave us fair and fitter
To answer His expectant touch.

Praise God for precious fires of sorrow
And falls that prostrate powers to raise,
For sunny morn or sadder morrow—
If death your portion, be it praise.
Praise God for sickness or for healing,
Praise Him for refuge in the rod
Which is His Son's most blessèd sealing—
Praise ever and praise only God.

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May 31 TRUST

“Though he slay me, yet will I trust in him.”—Job xiii. 15.

If all the world were densely sown
With shadows dark and troubles deep,
And everywhere rose rocks unknown
Or bounds that bade the watchers weep;
A myriad bars, unopened out,
Would never breed a single doubt.

If on my way like lions stood
The wrongs wherewith the earth is rife,
To show the Father was not good
Nor heeded once our little life;
No cloud would dim my heavenly sky,
Though even Creation were to fly.

If the ten thousand foes that frame
This mortal path on either side,
Denied or mocked the Holy Name
And built new Babels in their pride;
While reason trembled on its throne,
I would believe though left alone.

If fear or learning gave the lie
To what my love and conscience prove,
And if in darkness I should die,
Faith would endure that nought might move;
For death, whatever were the pain,
Would only be new birth and gain.

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June 1 IS IT NOTHING?

“The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.”—Ps. cxlv. 9.

Is it nothing that sweet flowers
Are a-shining in the showers,
And the honey-bee is hidden by the shadow of the lime?
I can see the daisies grow
From their roots divine below,
At the shaping of the Spirit that is older far than Time;
Not a thistle, not a thorn
But is herald of a Morn
Which will come and now is gleaming on the dimness of our clime,
When the buttercup will be
Like an angel bright and free,
And the twitter of the sparrow one with the Eternal Chime.

There is meaning in the clod
As the dwelling-place of God,
And an awful air of mystery and passion in the least;
For a miracle in all
Whether bridal or a pall,
At the wedding of the moonbeams or the mating of the beast,
Glimmers forth on faithful eyes
Spelling those infinities,

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Which are present for the pure and a never-finished feast;
O a margin and a gate
Broaden in the lowliest fate,
Like the windows in our bosoms which are open to the East.

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June 2 SEEDS OF TRUST

“That which thou sowest is not quickened, except it die.”— 1 Cor. xv. 36.

Is it nothing that the dust
Cannot kill the seeds of trust,
And the midnight at its darkest carries yet a burning lamp?
For each burden has a rest
And a beauty in its breast,
Which bears signatures of Justice and the Deity's own stamp;
And the armies of the wind
From the Arctic unto Ind,
Are the forces of Omnipotence at play that round us camp;
While the Destinies yet share
With our common things and care,
And the pauper with his pottage and the beggar on his tramp.

I am sure the very shroud
Is a marriage robe, and cloud
But a garment of the Glory which has everywhere a trace;
In the murmur of the bee
And the dewdrops which the tree
Hangs as jewels from the branches by its gossamers of grace,

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I can read the riddle true
With the wonder of its clue,
While I bathe my soul in splendour and the roses blue of space.
For all nature is a mask
Of the Father at His task,
While we guess what is the fulness from the glimpses of His Face.

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June 3 MESSAGES

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time.”— Eccles. iii. 11.

Is it nothing that the wake
Of the butterfly or snake,
In their curves and in their colours bring a message more than sweet?
That no little leaf can fall
But upon my soul, and all
Is instinct with the Divinity around and at our feet?
That the earth and Heaven are nigh
As the bosom to the sigh,
And in even the form of squalor is an angel grand to greet?
While I may not, cannot flee
From the Presence fair and free,
Which the saddest and the solitary yet at last will meet?

If the sunsets are so fit,
There must be the Infinite
In another rising elsewhere and beyond the bounds of sleep;
I may gather from a part
What the whole enjoys at heart,
With the greatness of its compass and the ocean of its sweep;

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I shall measure it at length
And be mingled with that strength,
If I wait but till the morrow and a loyal vigil keep;
For I then shall waken up
With the bird and buttercup,
When I realise myself as God within the shoreless Deep.

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June 4 GOD IN NATURE

“The work that God maketh from the beginning to the end.”— Eccles. iii. 11.

Is it nothing that the lands
Now are cradles in the Hands
Of a Being and a Majesty which thrill throughout the globe?
That the Godhead standeth near
As the earring to the ear
Of the humble myosotis, with a dewdrop on its lobe?
That the trodden stones and dirt
Are with wondrous graces girt,
For the heart which has the courage and the eye the faith to prove?
And that o'er and under each,
As the waters on the beach,
Break the lightnings and the riches of the Maker's mystic robe?

I am well content to wait
In the bitter storm or strait
For the rending of the curtain and unclosing of the bars;
While my vision is but weak,
And the purple of the Peak
Is the sight that I behold above the battle and its scars;

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For the Peak itself lies hid
And yet adverse fates forbid,
When I grope amid the shades and feel the shock that rudely jars;
But I know the coming Dawn
If beyond is not withdrawn,
And although our little day be night it is a night of stars.

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June 5 THOU ART THE MAN

“Thou art the man. ... The Lord also hath put away thy sin.”—2 Sam. xii. 7, 13.

“Thou art the man,” the sinner thou,
Whatever be the masking shape
That hides the shadow on thy brow
Or opens pathways of escape;
No refuge veils, thou art the one,
This evil thou thyself hast done.

“Thou art the man,” the sentence thine
Which sent the Saviour to the Cross,
And spurned that Human Love Divine
For which the world were paltry loss;
Ah, deem no other could be worse,
But make thine own the bitter curse.

“Thou art the man,” and upon thee
The monstrous guilt must ever lie,
Until His Blood hath washed thee free
And thou within His grave dost lie;
He felt the rending nail and thorn,
But sharper was thy cruel scorn.

“Thou art the man,” but Jesus hung
On Golgotha for such as thou,
To bid the sin-old world grow young
And bring thee precious pardon now;
For here in Mercy, lo, He stands
And holds thee with his piercèd Hands.

192

June 6 CHRIST'S CHURCH

“Christ also loved the church, and gave himself for it; that he might sanctify ... and present it to himself a glorious church, not having spot ... but ... holy and without blemish.”—Eph. v. 25–27.

O if Christ's church one little day
Put off its earthly dower and dress,
And walked with Him throughout the way
Clothed only in His Righteousness;
If it but took His tender might,
The earth would be all glorious light.

If it just acted as He did
And simply for the briefest time,
Refusing what He would not bid
And hearkening to the Heavenly chime;
The earth would put on Angel powers,
Each road a pathway be of flowers.

If it were quite content to speak
As gently as its Lord in all,
And suffer with the poor and weak
Or languish where the weary fall;
No pain could have a moment's pang,
The earth would on its accents hang.

O if Christ's Church one little day
Remembered even the worst as kin,
Or with the outcast loved to stay
And bind the bleeding wounds of sin;
No evil more might ever grow,
The earth would be God's Heaven below.

193

June 7 SUMMER'S PARABLE

“The Lord is good to all: and his tender mercies are over all his works.”—Ps. cxlv. 9.

I see the ripple on the corn
Which runneth gaily to and fro,
And watch the rising of the morn
Or hear the noon-tide breezes blow;
The shadow rests on belfry walls,
I mark the nodding grasses raise
Their pennons when the wild wind calls,
And song-birds join the general praise.

The blossom blushes as it bows
Its head more humbly, and the dew
In pearls and diamonds decks those brows
It washes every night anew;
The keel grates on the golden beach,
The blue smoke riseth as a prayer,
And far off on the upland reach
Through red earth gleams the silver share.

I hear the pulsing of the wheels
And mighty springs that work Thy Law,
Father, and all my spirit kneels
To Thine in knowledge that is awe;
O Thou art beautiful and blest
In every flower and every tree,
For what is nature but Thy Breast
Which draws Thy children close to Thee?

194

June 8 SILENCE

“There was silence in heaven.”—Rev. viii. 1.

“A time to keep silence.”—Eccles. iii. 7.

I would not fall where others fell
Who craved to cross the bounding mark,
I am assured that all is well
And God is greater than the dark.
Ah, though I be for ever blind,
Love is before me and behind.

I would not thrust aside the cloud
That shuts me with kind shadows in,
The sheltered curtain were the shroud
Of sorrow that must follow sin;
Were I not barred by mortal sight,
That blessèd cloud would be my light.

Why should I battle with the bond
Of wisdom which besets my way,
And strive to push my steps beyond
The borders of the granted day?
I would not know the hidden God,
Except in paths that He has trod.

He is the Veil, the limit lies
Within His gracious guiding hand,
And better than forbidden skies
To walk with Him in twilight land;
If He refuse a larger lore,
Let me be silent and adore.

195

June 9 A HUMAN SAVIOUR

“Who can have compassion; .... for that he himself also is compassed with infirmity.”—Heb. v. 2.

Saviour, my blood was in Thy veins,
My heart beat in that human breast;
And all the beautiful, that reigns
Within me, was by Thee possest.
This weakness is to Thine most kin
Nor wast Thou from my sickness free,
And if they owned no master sin
The same wild pulses throbbed in Thee.

Saviour, my lightest loneliest fear
Still had a fellow in Thine own,
And not a mortal touch or tear
But was to Thee all truly known.
Thou lookedst once a Pilgrim out
On waves of passion dread to see,
And every human hope and doubt
Then found an earthly home in Thee.

Saviour, Thou art no different now,
For yet Thy bosom feels the same,
And painful thoughts that wring my brow
Carved upon Thine a common name.
Where hast Thou left no loving trace,
In tender joys or cares to be?
The blood of all the human race,
Ran as a homely tide in Thee.

196

June 10 GOD IS LOVE

“To know the love of Christ, which passeth knowledge.”— Eph. iii. 19.

It gathers still, it comes to me,
It flows about me like the sea
'Mid trouble and despite;
And all the music of the years
Is married to the joy of tears,
Eternal, infinite;
The ocean of God's boundless Love,
Beneath me, round me, and above.

I cannot see His face for Light,
Which is the secret of my sight
And kindles me to flame;
But yet the vision is the seed
And sign of every goodly deed
Betwixt my soul and shame;
And that abiding lamp shines on,
When earth's poor candle spark is gone.

It sometimes seems an awful thing,
This mighty overshadowing
Which shelters all my way;
But when my pillow is a stone,
And I at Bethel am alone,
It brightens as I pray;
And then the cloud to glory turns,
The breath of Heaven within me burns.

197

June 11 THE COVENANT

“I will remember my covenant ... between me and you and every living creature.”—Gen. ix. 15.

Why should I deem myself so grand,
When the Great Power that formed this frame
Fashioned the life of every land
With wisdom and in love the same?
It was one Father's Hand, that wrought
In butterfly and bee His thought.

The same sweet beauty gave to man
And midge alike a separate part,
Each insect entered in God's Plan
And came from boundless Mercy's heart;
Angel and bird he taught to sing,
And laid His law on every wing.

The same Compassion breathed through all,
Even if by crosses went the way
To bliss and but with many a fall—
Ere ant or king found holiday.
It was a common Maker's heed,
Which met and planted either's need.

The same rich Bounty sheds on beast
And baby weakness what is fit,
At one broad table sets our feast
And scatters treasures infinite;
O how should I more blessèd be,
Had not the Saviour died for me?

198

June 12 THE KNOWLEDGE THAT IS POWER

“Henceforth know we no man after the flesh.”—2 Cor. v. 16.

I know not evil now, for I am dead
To all its sin and sorrow;
The light of larger worlds shines on my head,
It asks no beams to borrow;
Henceforth I have no fetter in the flesh,
This soul has passed the grave, to rise afresh—
Mine is another morrow.

I simply know my Saviour, and the good
Whereto my hope is married;
I stand amid that blessèd Brotherhood,
For which He toiled and tarried;
How can I farther on my pilgrim road
Along His track still keep the guilty load,
Which on the Cross He carried?

I know old follies and soft vice no more,
Nor cruel mirth and madness,
My eyes behold the shining of the Shore
Beyond the surge of sadness;
For utter love I cannot feel my fears,
While at the very heart of bitterest tears
Springs up a fount of gladness.

199

June 13 NATURE'S GOD

“Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment: ... who walketh upon the wings of the wind.”—Ps. civ. 2, 3.

Mist of the mountain
Bird of the brake,
Laugh of the fountain,
Only partake
All of them sweetly,
All of them meetly,
Father, of Thine;
Purple and song,
Gladness belong
To Thee completely—
From Thee outshine,
In Thee Divine.

Blue of the ocean,
Broadness of space,
Heart of devotion,
Are of Thy Grace;
Earth would go groping
Blind and unhoping,
Love, without Thee;
Colour and shape
From Thee escape,
Up to Thee sloping;
In Thee, I see
Past and to be.

200

June 14 THE JOY OF SORROW

“They that sow in tears shall reap in joy.”—Ps. cxxvi. 5.

Tell me no more that sorrow rules the earth,
And life is all affliction
Bound fast by prison chains of doom and dearth,
Past reach of benediction;
I see below the surface brighter shoots,
And better joy with everlasting roots.

I know that man is born to burdens dark
That fall in sad surprises,
While sufferings on his soul do leave their mark
And slowly rest arises;
But through the longest desert lies a clue,
And hidden skies have roses ever blue.

There has not been one cruel pang that had
No balm or promise vernal,
And when the horizons looked most sere and sad
Shone out some truth eternal;
There is sweet meaning in the murkiest cloud,
And to climb higher are we humbly bow'd.

The loneliest track the Master's Love has trod,
His Hand in pain is pressing;
The surf of sadness beating at the Foot of God
Comes back in larger blessing.
And He, who formed the world so wondrous fair,
Hears every sparrow's note and counts each hair.

201

June 15 WORK

“My Father worketh hitherto, and I work.”—St. John v. 17.

Is God too busy now to smile
On me, and hath He other toil
Elsewhere for just a little while,
Perhaps, and tasks I must not spoil;
And so a shadow lingers now,
A moment on the Father's brow?

Nay, I must busy be, and then
I shall not see the tiny cloud,
Which seems betwixt His Love and men
But may be in a spirit proud;
I am too fond of foolish play,
And loiter often on the way.

The earth is busy, and the sky
Hath many blessèd things to do,
And if I really work or try
I shall find more of sunshine too;
The ants and bees, that never rest,
Are cradled on one Father's Breast.

All, all are busy, some so much
They gather honey in the night,
God works His sweetest way in such
And in their souls is secret light;
No wonder Heaven looks sadly down
On idle hearts, and seems to frown.

202

June 16 THE HEART OF JOY

“With joy shall ye draw water out of the wells or salvation.”—Isa. xii. 3.

O it were sin and utter sin
Here at the seat we summer in,
Where roses laugh so redly;
To let the life unheeded spin,
And only mark the deadly.
Why should we make the meaner choice,
And not like winds and waves rejoice?

For at the heart of Nature dwells
Gladness, with all those spirit spells
Which heal the sores of sorrow;
And in the woods and bubbling wells,
Grief only comes to-morrow.
Why do our lips not echo mirth,
Which clasps the ages in its girth?

O it is wrong and bitter wrong
When pleasure bids the weak be strong,
To fashion pain as fetter;
And not to hear the secret song,
Beneath the iron letter.
Why do we put on garments grey,
When every world is so at play?

203

June 17 THE BOOK BEAUTIFUL

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set eternity in their heart.”—Eccles. iii. 11.

I love it all, the varied sky,
The scarlet clouds that voyage by,
In common things the mystery
Where life sits hushed or hidden;
The winds that travel none know whence,
That awe which is the soul's defence,
And the Divine sweet effluence
Wherefrom I draw unchidden;
I love it all, and ever shall
Observe the secret festival.

I love it all, the bramble set
Betwixt the blooms an hourly fret,
Nor would I leave one prickle yet
Out of the toils and trials;
Dear to me is the honied cup
When I with unknown angels sup,
And untold bliss that bubbles up,
But dearer sorrow's vials;
For, all around me, laps and lies
The breath of Love's eternities.

204

June 18 SENSE OF SIN

“I have sinned.”—St. Luke xv. 21.

“Here am I; send me.”—Isa. vi. 8.

I am the sinner—yes, and I
Do bow most humbly to my God;
O pass me not like Ephraim by,
When Mercy holds the judgment rod.
Better a thousand times the blame,
Than ever to deny my shame.

I am Thy servant—bid me go
And bind the yoke upon my back,
Earth will be Heaven itself below
Since Thou hast trodden first the track.
Ah, do not make the burden less,
But give me more Thy Righteousness.

I am the sufferer—let me take
The anguish which a brother hath,
That he may rest while I awake
And walk with Thee the Calvary path;
Though every sorrow fall on me,
Thy Presence sets the children free.

I am the one—to work or wait,
To bear the sentence brought by ill
And struggle through the portal strait,
To carry others or be still;
But if Thy blessing o'er me shine,
The pain or service—be it mine.

205

June 19 SIN AND ITS SENTENCE

“The soul that sinneth, it shall die.”—Ezek. xviii. 4.

We need not wait for wanton errors
The sorrow that must come,
For close at hand are penal terrors
And in the bosom home;
We hear it now, the judgment knell
For each lewd revel,
And carry with us Heaven or Hell—
Our God or Devil.

We know the Word, the soul that sinneth
Shall suffer sore and die;
And now, at once, the ban beginneth—
Our graves around us lie:
For every vice there is a death,
The scorn has scourging,
And for the false or poisoned breath
Comes bitter purging.

God's Justice is not far or fable,
That folly may deride;
The outward doom, that fell on Babel,
Is now a doom inside.
There is the scathing, there the scar—
The dread impugnal;
There stands the felon at the bar,
His heart's tribunal.

206

June 20 SIN AND ITS REMEDY

“All we like sheep have gone astray; ... and the Lord hath laid on him the iniquity of us all.”—Isa. liii. 6.

I do repent of my repentance, Lord;
It stabs me like some unavailing sword
Daily as at Thy Blessèd Feet I lie,
And strive to kill the stains that cannot die;
Ah, it increases all the load of guilt
Which I these dim and dreadful years have built
Betwixt me and Thy dear unspotted dress,
The splendour of that awful Righteousness.

My sorrow is but sin, and hourly more,
Which yet Thy Passion in its fulness bore
For me in mercy that I scarce can claim,
While earthly still in every act and aim;
I fain would weep for tears that only blot
This bitter record worse and cleanse me not,
My praises seem to multiply the debt
And the remorse breeds but a vain regret.

In me is nothing good, my faith mere doubt
That dares no deeps, and never launches out;
My very love is cold as winter ice,
And all my offerings were no sacrifice.
Therefore I flee, despite the waves that toss
And adverse winds that blow me, to Thy Cross—
As to its nest at last the homing dove—
The measure of my guilt and of Thy love.

207

June 21 ALMSGIVING

“All things come of thee, and of thine own have we given thee.” —1 Chron. xxix. 14.

What present shall I make Thee, Lord,
That was not Thine before it came?
The bounty Heaven and Earth afford
Is but a bounty in Thy Name;
And blessings that I seem to win,
In Thee and in Thy Love begin.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
And thine the baubles that I have,
The wealth that is not really mine
And wears the shadow of the grave;
I cannot call one moment free,
Or say that ought belongs to me.

I offer Thee, dear Master, first
The honour that was ever due;
And Thou didst upon Calvary thirst
For loyal hearts and homage true.
I bring to Thee my very best,
That thus it may be repossest.

What may I now except or hoard
Of every comfort by me known,
When Thou hast given me bed and board
And each delight is still Thine own?
For in the shelter of the Ark,
These mortal treasures bear Thy mark.

208

I only render offerings vain,
Not mine nor ever to be more;
Thine is the whole, without the stain,
And I am stablished from Thy store;
Thine from the birth unto the pall—
Then take me, Lord, myself and all.

209

June 22 TRUE SERVICE

“I will shew thee my faith by my works.”—St. Jas. ii. 18.

Pray not, unless thy shoulder bears
The burden of a brother;
Nor pity souls, unless thine wears
His sorrow for another—
And thine the bitter truth, that tears
A wound no smile can smother.
For prayer were mockery and sin,
Which doth not at the Cross begin.

Praise not, unless thy tongue be dipt
In fire from God's own altar;
Yet judge not, though a sister slipt
While thy foot did not falter;
But when thou art by sorrow gript,
Let suffering be thy psalter.
For praises are yet worse than blame,
Till they be purgèd in the flame.

O first look in the Blessèd Face
Which on all sinners lightens,
And measure them by boundless Grace
Which broadens hearts and brightens;
For Love makes these its dwelling-place,
Its heaven, and with it heightens.
We let no sob go heedless by,
When we have come from Calvary.

210

June 23 CUTTING THE ROOTS

“Every branch that beareth fruit, he purgeth it, that it may bring forth more fruit.”—St. John xv. 2.

In the hand of the Lord is a pruning knife
Which though sharpened by love is keen,
For it severs the man from his wedded wife
And the dearest it falls between.
The great Gardener waits for the vintage yield
From the branches and budding shoots,
He has watered and drest the barren field—
And then deeper He cuts the roots.

He has tilled and broken the barren ground
And He grudged not a moment's care,
That the fairest of fruitage might thence be found
And the crops which we never bare.
Lo He comes in His Mercy and while we sleep
In a watchful and patient Might,
And His pruning knife it cuts hard and deep
That the roots may yet yield aright.

But He sendeth the light and the gracious dew
And the warmth of the ripening sun,
That the plant He hath smitten He may renew
Where the fountains of quickening run.
But the promise would fade and the harvest fail
And the vineyard be void of shoots,
If the Gardener's knife did not thus prevail
With the cutting that cleft the roots.

211

June 24 AT THE END

“I have seen an end of all perfection, but thy commandment is exceeding broad.”—Ps. cxix. 96.

I was at the unfinished end of all
The sweet and solemn things,
As if the frown of some forbidden wall
Froze up my ardent wings;
And the great secret springs,
Before full beauty, seemed to fail and fall.
And I too was the incompletest part,
God had not broken yet in Love my heart.

With pain I drew the passion of my breath
Trembling by its frail tie,
Each labouring pace I passed from death to death
And yet could never die;
Heedless, I yet did lie
Within the Hands which held the world beneath.
I was a pilgrim soul that could not stray,
Because where'er I went Christ was the Way.

Then great Love smote me with His chastening rod,
And laid me very low;
I seemed to touch and taste the graveyard clod,
And hear the grasses grow
Above me, at His blow—
Though gathered to the Mercies of my God;
And from the shaping of His Altar knife,
I rose when broken to the better life.

212

June 25 ALL IN EACH

“That they may be one, even as we are one: I in them, and thou in me, that they may be made perfect in one.”—St. John xvii. 22, 23.

Can I, a single soldier, face
The awful armies of the night
And do the thing that is delight;
Or flood with joy one famished place,
By leading a lost soul aright?
My strength is weakness, and my love
Though kindled at the founts above.

But O I am a living link
Within the Church of Christ, and stand
Not by my own unaided hand;
For with the thoughts of Heaven I think,
And gather might from God's command.
Not lonely through the dark I reach,
With brothers, in the power of each.

The blessèd Grace which binds in one
All members of our Holy Guild,
Whereby we sow and plant and build,
Flows like a sea through every son—
He with the total force is filled.
And I, though nought, in that defence
Am clothèd with Omnipotence.

213

June 26 PRAYER

“But we will give ourselves continually to prayer.”— Acts vi. 4.

Father, I cannot choose but pray
Because I do belong to Thee,
Thy child, though often far astray
In sunshine which I will not see;
And so my spirit rushes out
In words or with a simple cry,
Which feels 'mid all its darkest doubt
The presence of Eternity.

Father, I cannot choose but pray,
There is no other plea or plan
To guide me on the narrow way
And build me to the better man;
I must give forth in hopeful fear
Or silence which is more than speech,
Petitions none but Thou canst hear—
To prove the mercy I beseech.

Father, I cannot choose but pray,
It is the only language meant
For souls that nothing else can say,
And whereon all the world has leant;
Yea, and Thy Spirit will make up
My many blanks or even the blot,
And offer Thee the brimming cup
While cleansing every evil spot.

214

June 27 NOT WORTHY

“I am not worthy that thou shouldest come under my roof.”— St. Matt. viii. 8.

I am not worthy Thou should'st make
My little heart Thy mighty Home;
But yet in Love, for Jesu's sake,
Come to me, Holy Spirit, come;
O purge me through with heavenly fire,
And cleanse each impulse and desire.

I am not worthy to look up
A moment in Thy Blessèd Face,
But yet Thou biddest me to sup
With Thee, a guest of wondrous Grace;
For I may at Thy Table sit,
And prove the mercy infinite.

I am not worthy, Lord, to bear
My humble cross of woe for Thee,
But yet I may in service wear
The yoke that maketh man so free;
Nor is there glory like Thy dress,
Of pure and perfect Righteousness.

I am not worthy even to die,
For Thee, who givest me Thine all,
But yet within Thine arms I lie
Whenever I would faint or fall;
And in the very hour of death,
Thy kiss receives my latest breath.

215

June 28 CREDO QUIA NECESSITAS

“We cannot but speak the things which we have seen and heard.”—Acts iv. 20.

Eternal Father, Lord of Light,
How can I onward mount to Thee,
Unless I have that secret sight
Which makes the humble spirit free?
Ah, Thou wilt kindle in me yet
The rays that rise and never set.

I do look upward, though I still
Behold not the Eternal Day,
But I am weeded to Thy Will
And seek to walk Thy perfect Way;
For if Thou holdest tight my hand,
I shall be truly strong to stand.

I do believe Thee, and have found
The faithful fetter of Thy Love,
And with Thee even this earthly ground
Seems as the holy heaven above;
And if I else were sometimes faint,
I may not in Thy sweet constraint.

Necessity is on me laid
And I a willing servant am,
I cannot live without that aid
Which shepherds home each wandering lamb;
And in the greatness of my trust,
I cling to Thee because I must.

216

June 29 REVELATION OF THE VEIL

“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul, both sure and stedfast, and which entereth into that within the veil.” —Heb. vi. 19.

I thank Thee, Father, for the veil
Between me and the coming time,
That thus my faith may never fail
And love still keep its wedding chime;
I thank Thee for the blessèd bar
Which shutteth in my foolish pride,
That I need not go gazing far
Or wander from the Saviour's side.

I thank Thee for the one to-day
Which Thou hast granted to me now,
In Mercy which doth put away
The future thorns to press my brow;
I thank Thee that I cannot see
Beyond the vision that is best,
Each tiny step I take with Thee
Who art my Refuge and my Rest.

I thank Thee for the precious bound
Through which I venture not at will,
And for the lowly spot of ground
Which Thou hast suffered me to till;
I thank Thee I am often blind
To distant cares, and do not hear
Aught but Thy Voice, before, behind—
It is enough to know Thee near.

217

June 30 BEFORE GOD

“I am the Almighty God; walk before me, and be thou perfect.” —Gen. xvii. 1.

I stand before my God for ever,
I only see His awful Face,
And not a cloud can dim or sever
My spirit from His dwelling-place;
I live with Him in noontide night,
The perfect flower of lovely light.

The World's fair gifts that pass and perish
Or tempting gates of carven gold,
Let others choose to seek and cherish—
They are not charms which I behold.
For me there is no vision, but
The door which never shall be shut.

Around me laps the mighty ocean
Of everlasting Light and Love,
It moves in me and this devotion,
And under me and all above;
I bathe me in its boundless Grace,
And feel no more the earth's embrace.

Sweet views may come and go and vanish,
And still fresh fountains rise and run;
But from my soul no sight may banish
The glory of the Central Sun;
Thy Face in everything I see
And everything, O God, in Thee.

218

July 1 TESTIMONY OF NATURE

“Day unto day uttereth speech.”—Ps. xix. 2.

The earth hath many and many a voice,
And some are sad and some rejoice—
What are our wild winds saying?
The waters sob and surge on high,
And grasses in the graveyard sigh—
But everything is praying.

The little leaves are hung with tears
And mildew rests on unripe ears—
What is not sometime weeping?
Yet, life that's but a lonely cry
Fits into God's Eternity,
And watch with Him is keeping.

There's shadow in the morning's heart,
And death lies at the rose's heart—
What is not somewhere bleeding?
O famine sits on bud and breast,
But everything at last in rest
Comes to its God for feeding.

Is dust the end of mortal things,
That dims so soon the angel wings
White loves are somehow raising?
Nay, under even the dearth and dark
Each creature has a conquering spark,
And each its God is praising.

219

There's sweetness in the bitterest cup,
And Jesus asks with us to sup—
The Light of all our living;
God grants His blessèd face to shine
On us, and offers food Divine—
What are His children giving?

220

July 2 NATURE'S CHOIR

“The earth is full of the goodness of the Lord.”—Ps. xxxiii. 5.

Ere even the dying of the dark
God's bells are ringing,
God's birds are singing—
The early throstle and the lark—
Their Matins long, their Matins loud;
As if their breasts would burst with glory
From telling Love's new ancient story,
Beneath their temple-roof of cloud.
Then, with a music loud and long,
Each dear voice raises
A hymn of praises,
And calls the world to Evensong.

The earth is but a blessèd shrine,
Where choirs keep chanting
What God is wanting,
To make us feel we are Divine;
It's ever Sunday here and rest,
For those that find on mount and meadow
A heavenly light, a heavenly shadow
Which draw us to the Father's Breast;
And every little bird that says
Matins or Vespers
Though just by whispers,
In service joins and pipes and prays.

221

July 3 EARTH'S OFFERING

“Let the whole earth be filled with his glory.”—Ps. lxxii. 19.

Earth everywhere hath worship sweet,
Some holy leaven,
Some little heaven
That lies about the Father's Feet;
At noon goes up the incense bright,
Through night, and from the whole Creation—
God never needs a congregation,
And does not miss an altar light.
When beasts and wingèd words are mute,
Lo, from a thousand woods and rivers
Rings out the tale how Love delivers—
No leaf but is a tinkling lute.

O let us not disdain to do
Our best by living
Each day thanksgiving,
And chant with birds and breezes too;
That we may find in grateful parts
A balm for all our work and weeping,
While of His Goodness God is keeping
Perpetual summer in our hearts.
And we shall hear above our pain
In every bosom,
With hopes that blossom,
God's Sunday bells' eternal strain.

222

July 4 GOD OUR REFUGE

“The eternal God is thy refuge, and underneath are the ever-lasting arms.”—Deut. xxxiii. 27.

O God, our Refuge and our Strength,
A Fortress in the hour of need,
Though tardily we come, at length—
Be Thou a Hiding-place indeed;
The battle and the sword are Thine,
And Thou alone a shield Divine.

Tread on the wine-press of Thy wrath,
Should sin be only purgèd thus,
For kind and blessèd is Thy path—
If through our blood and over us;
Reap on the awful harvest red,
Till every root of sin is dead.

We do not ask to suffer more,
But would not have the burden less,
If broken on the saving shore
Of Thy great Love and Righteousness;
Each wound is just Thy solemn seal,
Which falls in mercy and to heal.

Dear Father, there is none but Thou
To whom we may in sorrow fly,
And here before Thy Feet we bow
In this our sore extremity;
O hear us when we humbly call,
And glorify Thyself in all.

223

July 5 MISGIVINGS

“If ye have faith, and doubt not, ... it shall be done.”— St. Matt. xxi. 21.

I darkly seek and dimly find
The God whose foot is rushing wind,
Whose voice is rolling sea;
His Mercy follows me behind,
He hears my unsaid plea;
And when I gain the sheltered shore,
It is His Love which I adore.

But for this trembling faith too dull
To see the flowers which others cull,
The light were leaping out;
All heaven would be in yon dead skull,
And scorn its empty doubt;
Till on His awful Grace I stand,
As on the sure and solid land.

But, ah, my venture is so weak
It will not bid the spirit speak,
As else it surely must;
I dare not climb the purple peak,
And falter down in dust;
Yet I do know, His Presence gives
My soul the sun whereby it lives.

224

July 6 LOVE AND DOUBT

“There is no fear in love; but perfect love casteth out fear.”— 1 St. John iv. 18.

O come, dear Saviour, closer still
And fold me in that perfect Will
Which sees the future now;
For all, alike the good and ill,
To one great issue bow;
And my misgivings then shall pave
Only a path, across the grave.

Whene'er I feel Thy faintest touch
And prove that Sovereign Love is such,
I shall not doubt again;
Nor would I be wise overmuch,
But choose what times ordain;
It is enough to learn my lore,
In what Thy Sufferings learnt before.

I humbly think these clouds, that rise
Betwixt my grave and Paradise,
Were only meant to teach;
Lest the full glory of surprise,
Should blast my petty reach;
And when the tardy wings can fly,
Their home will be Eternity.

225

July 7 REAL RICHES

The unsearchable riches of Christ.”—Eph. iii. 8.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis well;
But Thou art still the richest Mine,
Wherein all treasures dwell.
I do not ask for earthly wealth,
But only to be free—
To find my lasting hope and health,
In serving none but Thee.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis best;
They have no worth till made Divine,
And of Thy bounty blest.
I do not ask for precious ore,
Or pearls of goodly price;
But simply power to love Thee more,
A living sacrifice.

The silver and the gold are Thine,
Dear Father, and 'tis fit;
But Thou canst this poor heart refine,
And form it infinite.
So I may hear Thy faintest call
And yield Thee every breath,
Content and proud to offer all,
Though it be unto Death.

226

July 8 WEIGHTS AND WINGS

“I, if I be lifted up from the earth, will draw all men unto me.”—St. John xii. 32.

I asked for wings from Perfect Love,
That I might flee the world, above
Its many wants and woes;
I thought it hard to battle long
With carnal ease and royal wrong,
And dark and dreadful foes.
But, ah, God gave me earthly freights,
And only added to their weights.

Yet as I bore my burden up
And drank of passion's bitter cup,
The morning gleamed at length;
A softer light of sweeter day
Upon my mounting spirit lay,
And grew a hidden strength.
Lo, every cross and heavy load
Became a signpost on the road.

Till when I far had journeyed on,
I woke to see the trial gone
And trouble not a bar;
For faith had lifted me so high,
That Heaven and earth were now as nigh
As lustre to the star.
My cruel thorns seemed crowns for kings,
And hampering weights were only wings.

227

July 9 GOD THE FRIEND

“Ye are my friends, if ye do whatsoever I command you.”— St. John xv. 14.

I have no friend but God,
Nor need I more
To walk the desert which the fathers trod
Who fought their fight, and went that way before;
I ask no seat, because I have His throne
And hourly bear the burden and the heat,
Which He has borne who won, but not alone.
I crave no earthly gleam of light
Or love,
Beyond the blessing of the secret sight
Which lifts me as I look to peace above.

I have no friend but God,
Who guideth still
These erring footsteps with His patient rod,
Which is my staff of strength in every ill.
I am content
To suffer as my Lord
And know with Him the shadow of descent,
Although my passage be the bitter sword;
It is enough to feel that He
Is near,
Within the darkness (if I cannot see)
And under all the trouble and each tear.

228

July 10 THE DIVINE LEPER

“Christ hath redeemed us from the curse of the law, being made a curse for us.”—Gal. iii. 13.

“He hath made him to be sin for us, who knew no sin.”— 2 Cor. v. 21.

Once I lived only just to please
Myself and seized the moment flying,
The flower, though cankered with disease—
While all the joy when caught seemed dying;
The dew, the bloom, that sweetly shone,
Even as I tasted them were gone;
It came with laughter, went with crying—
And yet in pleasure I lived on.

At last unto the Cross I drew,
To find that I at heart did sicken
With leprosy that grimly grew,
The life that only death could quicken;
My soul, my will, my conscience felt
The poison that within me dwelt,
Wherewith I was so sorely stricken—
Until on Calvary I knelt.

But then I lifted up my eyes
And saw the Leper, who was married
Unto my doom, in darker skies,
Beneath the curse I should have carried;
And there before that Love made Sin
For me and in all points akin,
My sickness which so long had tarried
Fell off, and now new worlds begin.

229

July 11 NOT WITH WORDS

“Be silent, O all flesh, before the Lord: for he is raised up out of his holy habitation.”—Zech. ii. 13.

There is a time for Silence, when is won
The glory and the vision,
And face to face the Father meets the son
In faith's full clear decision;
Speech were profane at such an hour, when earth
Seems like a leaf to flutter,
And love has cast round it and Heaven a girth
Of joy it cannot utter.

There is a time for Silence, as we first
Stand in the Presence Holy,
While God reveals the truth for which we thirst
And wheels of life go slowly;
When we who gather at the solemn Feast
See that dear Body broken,
The Precious Blood's outpouring for the least—
O what could then be spoken?

There is a time for Silence, and to keep
Watch just at prayer's white portal,
Betwixt the rose of sunrise and the deep
Full light of the immortal;
Then humblest words were vain and all unfit
The breath of one petition,
When on the border of the Infinite
We wait the last transition.

230

July 12 THE MEASURE OF THE SOUL

“Not redeemed with ... silver and gold, ... but with the precious blood of Christ.”—1 St. Pet. i. 18, 19.

What am I worth? Not any gold
Or precious gems can weigh the price,
If ever man were bought and sold—
No mortal treasure could suffice;
Ah, count the cost of goodly things
And multiply it by the store
Of all the riches of all kings,
And yet a beggar is worth more.

What am I worth? Keep adding yet
Whate'er ye will, whate'er ye can,
Still worlds would never pay the debt
Of one poor Christ-redeemèd man;
Ransack the ocean's azure hall
And add the markets of the earth,
Throw in the universe and all—
That is no value of his worth.

What am I worth? Immortal souls
Cannot be judged or meted thus,
For we move on to God-like goals,
Eternity is housed in us;
My worth exceedeth every price,
Although that be God's very throne,
Because Christ was its sacrifice—
The Cross my measure is alone.

231

July 13 CONSTRAINING LOVE

“The love of Christ constraineth us; ... that they which live should not henceforth live unto themselves, but unto him.” —2 Cor. v. 14, 15.

Sometimes the burden presseth sore,
I almost think to lay it down,
But when I pray the Master more
He whispers that this is my crown;
He tells me I am carrying Him
If mine be but a bondage free,
And though the days are often dim
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

It may have been a little child
I had to bear along the way,
But when He closer drew and smiled
The Holy Child upon me lay;
It may have been a wingèd love,
Some wounded bird that scarce could flee,
But soon it seemed the Holy Dove—
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

So now when any load is mine,
And brothers' are to me the most,
I know they really are Divine—
A Calvary or a Pentecost;
And when I lift them bravely up
No more a burden can they be,
Or blessèd cross or bitter cup—
The Love of Christ constraineth me.

232

July 14 GOD'S CANDLE

“Thou wilt light my candle.”—Ps. xviii. 28.

I built a pretty house of praise,
It hath a door and handle
Which only Jesus knows to raise,
Who lights my little candle;
And late and early here He comes,
Though His are many hearts and homes.

And often in the lonely night
When watch I should be keeping,
He draweth near, who is my Light,
And sadly finds me sleeping;
But when my earthly dreams have fled,
I find Him sitting by my bed.

I do not alway sweep the room
Where He has time to tarry,
His piercèd Hands then take the broom
For cleansing I should carry;
The soil of days or sinful years
He washeth off with Holy Tears.

Sometimes He sees the candle out
Which He had sweetly lighted,
And everywhere the dust of doubt
Though faith I fondly plighted;
And then, to purge the evil stain,
He hangs upon my Cross again.

233

July 15 OBEDIENT TO DEATH

“Obedient unto death, even the death of the cross.”—Phil. ii. 8.

I do not ask a hero's powers,
Or human pride of place it scorns;
Give others, Lord, the fruits and flowers,
And let my jewels be the thorns.
There are so many who would reign
Or play the prophet in their turn,
And yet leave worse Life's tangled skein—
I am content to stoop and learn.

I do not ask an easier bond
Of service that is falsely free,
Nor would I care to look beyond
Each little step I take with Thee;
There are so many who aspire
And dig for others ready graves,
But have not passed themselves the fire
Nor swum in Jordan's swelling waves.

I do not ask one sorrow less
Nor would I beg one blessing more,
I take what comes nor idly press
The treasures that Thou hast in store;
There are so many who would lead
And force that gentle Hand of Thine,
Who never pause to pray or read
Their own poor human hearts Divine.

234

July 16 GOD OR THE WORLD

“Lord, what wilt thou have me to do?”—Acts ix. 6.

We dread not for ourselves the dangers
When we go on our wilful way,
But scorn of friends or frown of strangers,
The murmur for a week or day;
A little look, a quiet gesture
That marks the cavil though not heard,
The hand that closer draws its vesture,
Condemns—but not God's Word.

Why should we fear a passing sentence
Or flee the babbling tongue so much,
When He who loves us asks repentance
And pardons ere we yield Him such?
The world may blame us or acquitting
Receive us to its arms again,
But only Christ can give remitting
Of evil and the stain.

For us, who are redeemèd Brothers,
No flying Fashion's word or deed—
The judgment or the praise of others
As sinful—this we must not heed;
If every hour were all denial
And life one long and cruel way,
Yet what would Jesus do in trial
And what would Jesus say?

235

July 17 NARROW PLACES

“A narrow place, where was no way to turn either to the right hand or to the left.”—Num. xxii. 26.

Times are there when we cannot choose
This way or that or any load,
But must go forward if we lose
All but the terrors of the road;
These are the narrow places
Of pleading pallid faces,
These are the stormy narrow seas
Where life hath little rest or ease.

Conviction comes with awful stride
And stands across the straitened path,
The world which seemed so wondrous wide
Now shrivels to one cloud of wrath;
These are the narrow ledges,
Grim gulfs and fiery edges
Which we must boldly face or fall—
But Christ Himself hath crost them all.

Temptations, trials, start around
At every step and close us in,
They shut us from the Shining Ground
'Mid ghosts of old unburied sin.
These are the narrow quarters
Of perilous lone waters,
Through which we voyage in the dark—
Safe only in the Church's Ark.

236

And then the deep and dreadful gloom,
From which not even God can save
The souls that travel to their doom—
Now but the shadow of a grave.
These are the narrow places
With nought but tombs' embraces,
Which man must tread, and yet not dim
If Christ the Risen doth walk with him.

237

July 18 NOT WITH SWORD

“He took upon him the form of a servant, and was made in the likeness of men.”—Phil. ii. 7.

Christ did not come with girded sword
And terrible in mien and might,
He was our Brother though our Lord,
His weapons were but Love and Light;
He put no dreadful harness on,
But moved 'mid homely thoughts and things,
Men hardly knew till He had gone
He was the very King of Kings.

But after He had passed and done
The deed no other might, or told
That word which wisest was—the one,
The dross itself seemed turned to gold;
No dazzling Glory on Him lay—
If it did ever from Him shine
It was but through some shadowed way,
In great Humility Divine.

His was no Stoic calm, the strength
Of unimpassioned iron frost,
He lived in weakness and at length
Died with all but Salvation lost.
He builded not His rule by force,
But on foundations none could move,
And led all sinners to the Source
(Wherefrom He drank) of boundless Love

238

July 19 THE INCARNATION

“And the Word was made flesh, and dwelt among us.”— St. John i. 14.

Yea, God Himself hath Eyes and Ears
And human Hands and Feet like ours,
He hearkens to unuttered fears
And sees from far our failing powers;
He runs to each repentant son
Whose contrite breast with sorrow burns,
He marks the deed though yet undone
And meets him even before he turns.

Yea, God Himself is truly Man,
Bone of our Bone and very Flesh,
He hath the same sweet human plan
And daily dies and lives afresh;
His back is bowed with constant toil,
He hath each human pulse and part,
But all without the sin and soil—
Though our blood beats within His Heart.

Yea, God Himself is formed like us
To feel, to suffer, and to love;
For only thence and only thus
Could we be blest with Him above.
He weeps when sinners start aside
Like broken bows for some poor toy,
But if for Truth we do decide
He shares in Heaven a common joy.

239

July 20 FOR ME

“The Son of God, who loved me, and gave himself for me.”— Gal. ii. 20.

The Saviour truly lived and gave
His best, His all for every man,
Nor did He finish at the Grave
The glorious work which Love began;
O that such long and bitter pains
And watchful weary nights should be,
Before the breaking of the chains,
For me.

The Master truly lived and served
His thankless creatures to the end,
And not from one great trial swerved,
Nor did he for one moment bend.
Alas! that boundless Love and loss
Without a pause but prayer should be,
With each dark milestone but a Cross,
For me!.

Our Brother truly lived and died
(Though oft before) on Calvary,
And that dear Heart was crucified
To open us Eternity;
O shame and sorrow, yet O bliss,
That all such Agony should be
Beyond the farthest thought, and this
For me.

240

July 21 THE BURDEN-BEARER

“Every man shall bear his own burden.”—Gal. vi. 5.

“Bear ye one another's burdens, and so fulfil the law of Christ.”—Gal. vi. 2.

Cast thy burden on the Lord
Though the trouble be a sword,
Give whate'er He ask;
Cast to-day, its sin and sorrow,
On His Love and leave to-morrow
For to-morrow's task.
Cast from thee the clinging stain,
Christ is stronger than thy chain.

Cast thy burden, loss or lack,
Upon Him and take not back
What thou yieldest up;
Jesus felt Himself thy trial,
And in sweetness of denial
Drank its bitter cup.
Cast each tiniest fret or whim
Only, ever, all on Him.

Cast thy burden, if it be
Big in blackness as the sea,
Wholly on the Lord;
Cast each sadness and thy brother's
Which is thine and not another's,
Till in joy restor'd.
Ah, and knowing what Christ bare,
Cast thyself with every care.

241

July 22 ANGEL WORK

“Are they not all ministering spirits, sent forth to minister for them who shall be heirs of salvation?”—Heb. i. 14.

I may not be an Angel quite,
But I may walk with Thee in white
And live like Thee the infinite,
Sweet blessèd life of Love;
With Angel ways and Angel wings
And Angel thoughts and Angel things,
All that thou keepest for Thy kings
To reign with Thee above.

An Angel quite I may not be,
But I may minister like Thee,
Dear Lord, and though in twilight see
Yet something of Thy Face;
With Angel words and Angel deeds
And Angel joys and Angel creeds,
That sow the world with saving seeds
For golden times of Grace.

I may not be an Angel quite,
But I may speak in sin's despite,
And spare no evil appetite
That frets against Thy sway;
With Angel toils and Angel tears
And Angel hopes and Angel fears,
That lead the tired and yearning years
Unto the perfect day.

242

July 23 ALL FOR CHRIST

“They forsook all, and followed him.”—St. Luke v. 11.

Lo, I have followed Thee through night,
Dear Lord, and striven in awful stress
With powers of darkness and the might
Of the great hungry wilderness;
My tears have often washed Thy Feet,
While Thou didst let them freely flow
As if those bitter drops were sweet—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

And weary vigils have I held
With blessèd fasts, that are a feast
To famished souls, though I rebelled
Before and grudged Thy Love the least;
But, ah, Thy Patience was so good
And waited for my service slow,
It was the Rock whereon I stood—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

O I have passed through Jordan's waves
In swellings where I scarce could swim,
Though these were likewise passions' graves,
And fought with lusts like Anakim;
No precious idol have I spared,
Even if it cost the fiercest blow,
While Thou with me Thy Heaven hast shared—
Then shall I lightly let Thee go?

243

July 24 CREDO QUIA IMPOSSIBILE

“Which hope we have as an anchor of the soul.”—Heb. vi. 19.

Faith is the anchor of my life
Which moors me to the Eternal Shore,
Though many a day is dark and rife
With pain and care that gathers more.
Were I condemned past all reprieve,
No peace below, no Light above;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

Though death for ever dogged my path
And threw its shadow on each side,
Hope's rainbow through the clouds of wrath
Would burst in beauty and in pride.
If friends did nothing but deceive,
And not one blessing could I prove;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

If the great sun were blotted out
And left a mute and mourning sky,
I could not for a moment doubt—
Though heaven and earth shrank shrivelled by.
Should never aid or rest relieve
The sorrows, that I might not move;
I would, I must in all believe,
That God is only boundless Love.

244

July 25 VISION OF THE NIGHT

“I form the light, and create darkness: I make peace, and create evil: I the Lord do all these things.”—Isa. xlv. 7.

Thy vision of the day is much,
Thy vision of the night is more,
My Saviour, and I feel Thy touch
Dearer in darkness and its lore;
I had not learnt Thy Love, before
Finding the sweetest Cross was such.
I know the shadow, where I rest,
Is but the shadow of Thy Breast.

The revelation of the gleam,
Which ever guides my footsteps right,
Is not the dream within the dream
When the last star hath taken flight;
I have a leading more than light,
Which never shone on land or stream.
The revelation of the gloom,
Gives me Creation's inmost bloom.

There were no brightness in the morn,
Nor Mercy at the heart of things,
Were not Thy burden hourly borne
And joys won out of jangled strings;
We only prove that we are kings,
When leaning on some Cross's thorn.
Thy Love lies broadcast, but I mark
The shining fairest in the dark.

245

July 26 GOD'S BEAST

“So foolish was I, and ignorant: I was as a beast before thee.”—Ps. lxxiii. 22.

The Psalmist sang, and it is true,
That man the highest or the least
Can only claim a humble due,
And is no better than the beast.
Ah, well I know and must confess
The frequent fall and sordid lust,
That every hour I do transgress
And wallow in my native dust.

I am a very beast, O Lord,
In Thy pure Presence, and I feel
The judgment of Thy Cross and Word,
When I in guilt and sorrow kneel.
My heart is harder than the stones
Despite the blessings Thou dost give,
Who in the valley of dry bones
Breathest in might until they live.

If I a beast am, Father, use
My lowly service for good deeds;
No burden will I now refuse,
And Christ Himself had sometimes needs.
Then lay on me the heaviest yoke,
If Thine, and though the very least
Of all Thy thralls that ever broke
Thy halter, let me be Thy beast.

246

July 27 OUR HIDING-PLACE

“Reach hither thy finger, and behold my hands; and reach hither thy hand, and thrust it into my side: and be not faithless, but believing.”—St. John xx. 27.

I see at last my grievous sin,
And, O dear Saviour, let me hide
Away from all its woe within
Thy blessed Wounds and riven Side;
Thou art the Living Rock, and Thou
Wast broken that I should not break,
But might find ever there and now
Mercy for Love's most precious sake.

I would not hide as Adam hid
Afar from God, because he chose
The selfish path of pride, and did
The deed that had no earthly close.
As Thou didst cover Moses, stand
About me in Thine awful Grace,
And hide me in Thy sheltering Hand—
I dare not look upon Thy Face.

Nor would I as the Prophet hide
From duty in the desert shade,
Though he had drunk of Cherith's tide
And sat at feasts Thy Bounty made.
But like Nathanael would I rest
Beneath the fig-tree as he knelt,
Or lie like John upon Thy Breast
And live in shadow where he dwelt.

247

July 28 THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY

“For now we see through a glass, darkly.”—1 Cor. xiii. 12.

Now through a glass I see but darkly,
And shadows which are all my shine
Fall on the pathway they entwine,
And stretches round a dead world starkly;
Earth, like a riddle, opens out
Pages of mingled fear and doubt.

Above me is no open vision,
But glimmering blue and clouded sky,
And rays that lighten in derision
A muffled world of mystery;
The oracles of man are vain,
Increase the gloom, and add more pain.

Ah, who shall read the riddle clearly
And bid the mists about me fade,
But Love that loveth all so dearly
That He our Sacrifice was made?
He gave His Blood and dying Breath,
To read the riddle which was death.

And thus the shades for ever fleeting,
That round me gather gray and dim,
When at His Cross Christ gives me greeting
Grow blest and glorified in Him;
My troubles, as I gaze, have fled—
In His sweet Grave interpreted.

248

July 29 GOD'S FOOLISHNESS

“The foolishness of God is wiser than men.”—1 Cor. i. 25.

Dear Father, all the wisdoms vain
Of all the ages are but dross,
And idle work and weary pain,
Before the Wisdom of the Cross;
For now even death is made Divine,
And wonderful it is to see—
That this sweet Foolishness of Thine
Doth win so many hearts to Thee.

We build great arguments on high,
Babels of thought like lofty towers,
To bring Eternity more nigh
And mimic thus Thy God-like Powers:
But as in empty pride they stand,
They pass like breath upon the breeze
And perish—for, O Lord, Thy grand
Simplicity is more than these.

Ah, teach me then the better lore
And let me thus unlearn the old,
Till with the instructions in Thy store
I shall be very wise and bold;
And may the Knowledge that is Life
Show me the Cross alone can bless,
And he who loses in the strife
Is conqueror in Thy Foolishness.

249

July 30 PATHOS MATHOS

“That I may know him, and the power of his resurrection, and the fellowship of his sufferings.’—Phil. iii. 10.

The thorn must grow before the flower
And knowledge kill ere it is power,
Whilst we must fight the stone and thistle;
Yea, sorrow is the way to learn,
And darkness points to faith the turn
To light through rocks that bound and bristle;
The purging flame, the knife that probes,
Prepare our coronation robes.

The call that seems a threatening frown
May be our kingly cross or crown,
And open realms of royal chances;
The bars that like a coffin lid
Close round upon us and forbid,
May be truths more than all romances.
God lifts us to His loftiest end,
When first He maketh pride descend.

Earth looks so little and so dull,
Till to the places of the skull
At length our narrow pathway reaches;
But then at Golgotha we know,
That there and thus by stooping low
We gain the life that Calvary teaches.
And fill we must our fiery throne,
But we shall never reign alone.

250

July 31 TURNING-POINTS

“Turn thou me, and I shall be turned.”—Jer. xxxi. 18.

Dear Lord, those whom Thou dost anoint
With care or sorrow as a crown,
Find in some truth the turning-point—
Deeps into which they must go down;
Blank walls start up a stubborn prison,
Before their lives have rearisen.

They find no opening at the first,
No gateway through which feet may go,
No fountain that will quench their thirst,
No Altar fires with gracious glow;
But while they seem from God so banished,
At faith's bright touch the bounds have vanished.

Just at the one dim dreadful stop
Which looks the very close of all,
When weary flesh and blood would drop
In final shame and utter fall;
Then, like a cloud, the barriers lifting
Show roads of Glory through their rifting.

The end of everything was but
A fair beginning of the new,
The door in darkness grimly shut
Into God's Arms of welcome grew;
The loss was full free life's salvation,
The shroud our robes of coronation.

251

August 1 I PRAYED

“For this thing I besought the Lord thrice, that it might depart from me. And he said unto me, My grace is sufficient for thee”—2 Cor. xii. 8, 9.

I prayed the troubled night would cease,
I prayed for respite or release
From care with crucifying bond;
I looked into the dark and dust,
Nor lifted up my lamp of trust
Which bade me look from earth beyond.
I prayed for light that seemed delaying,
But, ah, my lips alone were praying.

I prayed, though I had mastered not
The lessons of my suffering lot,
Which Love in larger mercy gave;
I wanted to be strong and wise
And win an easy Paradise,
But not to lie within the grave.
The crown was all my poor petition,
Without the Cross its one transition.

I prayed in midnight murk of doubt
And deemed the shadows dwelt without,
When they were only in my pride;
I thought to take the splendid spoil
Escaping trials and the toil,
When the whole darkness was inside;
I prayed, but did not like the paying,
Till I had learnt that life was praying.

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August 2 THE CROSS OF PATIENCE

“In returning and rest shall ye be saved; in quietness and in confidence shall be your strength.”—Isa. xxx. 15.

What is thy cross, my brother?
To go through burning fire,
And wear the smoke and smother
As royal rich attire?
To lie in darkling trenches
Beneath an alien sky,
When not rain only drenches
Soldiers of Liberty?

What is thy cross, my brother?
To take the solemn vow
For Holy Church our Mother,
Sealèd with breast and brow?
Down in the grave-grey alleys
To plant the banner Truth,
While round it dimly rallies
Wreckage of age and youth?

What is thy cross, my brother?
Now to stand very still,
And see the while another
Enter thy field to till?
There is no cross like resting
Though safely in the Ark,
When thou would'st fain be breasting
The mountains of the dark.

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August 3 THE UNIVERSALS

“He hath made every thing beautiful in his time: also he hath set eternity in their heart.”—Eccles. iii. 11.

From dull particulars of sense,
The touch, the taste, and sordid fact,
O lift me, Lord, to the intense—
The soul within the word or act;
That I may see the living Light,
The universal, and be glad
That mine is too the mystic sight
All Brothers of the Cross have had.

Give me the calm of every saint
Who crushed the baser life below,
The peace that God can only paint,
Like faces of Correggio;
The tranquil gaze that looks beyond
Time with its dark and drifting sands,
And cannot doubt nor will despond,
But clasps the Heaven with praying hands.

Ah, let me if by travail pains
Learn by blest fear or upward fall,
That Love reveals but not explains
The message which it bears to all;
And precious truths we make our own,
Deeper than most abysmal things
And death itself, are never known
Save in their glorious vanishings.

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August 4 GOD'S REPENTANCE

“The Lord repented for this: It shall not be, saith the Lord.”— Amos vii. 3.

By whom shall faithful Israel rise,
Beneath the trial of the flame?
For he is small, and Paradise
Opens but to the Holy Name.
How shall a humble thing of shame
Contend with the eternities?
Ah, Lord, be merciful, and greatly
Deal with Thy souls that sinned so lately.

By whom shall faithful Israel stand
Before Thee in the day of strife,
And take the moulding of Thy Hand
Which slayeth but to give us life?
How shall he brook the pruning knife,
Piercing the heart at Thy command?
Father, he serveth at Thine Altar,
And if he stoops he doth not falter.

O faithful Israel shall rise up
When he through Calvary hath been
And drunk with Thee the bitter cup,
Saviour, and seen what Thou hast seen;
Thy Grace is large, Thy shadows green,
And at Thy Table he shall sup.
Dear Lord, ere he had felt the sentence
He found in Love and Thee repentance.

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August 5 PRESENT SALVATION

“The word is very nigh unto thee, in thy mouth, and in thy heart, that thou mayest do it.”—Deut. xxx. 14.

There are who found salvation near,
Betwixt the trouble and the tear,
But ere they felt the burden press
It proved Thy Hand's Divine caress;
The timid doubt, the foolish fear,
Died in Thy Love and Graciousness.
It was Redemption first they fled,
Which by the Holy Cross was shed.

There are who dreamed salvation far,
As dim and distant as a star,
Beyond the reach of utmost thought
And by long times of travail bought;
They deemed, with iron bound and bar,
Somehow at length it might be wrought;
Until they saw Redemption nigh,
Betwixt the sorrow and the sigh.

There are who still in sorrow pray
And lift their hands unto the day,
Or toil with fond and fruitless might
And lean upon the unlovely night;
Although their feet are in the way,
And follow Jesus in their flight;
They drink Salvation at each breath,
But think Redemption's life is death.

256

August 6 RECEIVING CHRIST

“No man can come to me, except the Father which hath sent me draw him.”—St. John vi. 44.

None can receive Christ in his heart
And grow unto the perfect man,
Where Christ is not already part
Of every power and every plan;
O we receive but what we bring,
Whether we weep for joy or sing;
And the great wellsprings only start,
If Christ the Fountain there began.

None can receive the inward ray
Who hath not got the kindled breast,
The sunrise of eternal day,
The radiant source, the Sabbath rest;
O we receive but what we are,
Or dusky cloud or dazzling star;
We have the blessing which we pray,
And the pursuit was first possest.

None can receive Christ who hath not
Shrined Him above his dearest things,
Unless Christ is his chosen lot—
The music of the secret strings;
O we receive but what we have,
Or endless life or awful grave;
We simply learn what we forgot,
And royal crowns come to their kings.

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August 7 MERCY AND TRUTH

“All the paths of the Lord are mercy and truth unto such as keep his covenant and his testimonies.”—Ps. xxv. 10.

All Thy ways Mercy are and Truth,
The light of life, eternal youth,
For those that walk in simple trust;
The darkest road is very bright
And sweet and sown with secret light,
Thy choicest gems are in the dust.
Jesus, Thy Love's most precious bound
Is never sought till it is found.

The pathway of the Cross is good,
And every step where Christ hath stood
Is right and beautiful and blest;
The mourning ground where tears are shed
And where we bury our dear dead,
Even as we bury them is best;
Gold gleameth where the world counts dross,
The inward gains are outward loss.

All Thy ways Mercy are and Truth,
For gleaners after Thee like Ruth
Who can be patient too and still;
For those that wait upon Thee, Lord,
Pluck sweetness from the martyr's sword
And purest peace from restless ill;
They see Thy Christly sway in all,
The crown, the Cross, the cattle stall.

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August 8 FETTERED AND FREE

“In that he died, he died unto sin once: but in that he liveth, he liveth unto God.”—Rom. vi. 10.

He is not crowned who never wears the cross,
Not were that life which was not utter loss
For Christ who is our only gain;
He cannot laugh who hath not learnt from tears
The secret that is riddled by our fears,
Nor plucked its blessing out of pain;
Love is not great, Lord, which would not be greater
Nor born that was not one with the Creator.

Joy goes to sorrow if it would be wise,
He stoops the lowest who doth highest rise
And leans upon the chastening rod;
Hope studies in the barren schools of doubt,
To find the faith that comes most fruitful out
And draw the nearer to our God.
He is not good, Lord, who would not be better,
He is not free who hath not still Thy fetter.

Ere we lie down we feel no upward pull,
Till we are emptied we cannot be full
Of Christ who only fills our hearts;
And in the setting of our earthly sun
We see new morn in the old eve begun,
And healing out of broken parts.
He doth not live, who is not always dying
And finds his burdens but the wings for flying.

259

August 9 THE HUMAN BOOK

“And a book of remembrance was written before him.”— Mal. iii. 16.

Dear Christ, Thou only hast one Book,
Wherein Thou readest night and day
And every moment of our way;
Though man hath many a wandering look,
And flies from flowers to weeds astray—
To empty wells from Cherith's brook.
Though sad the pages, dim the parts,
Thy literature is human hearts.

If blurred and blemished is each line,
And never a passage free from spot,
Yet Love finds beauty in the blot
And perfect Pity makes it shine;
The faults Thy Grace remembers not,
In joy to turn our deeds Divine.
However black the sin or doubt,
Thy falling tear will wash it out.

Ah, when there is some sadder stain
The Cross throws its sweet Shadow then
On what is writ by evil pen,
And in that Shadow vice is vain;
It quenches works of wicked men,
And we are hidden in its Pain.
It is Thy Book, and though I sin
Make me a living word therein.

260

August 10 CHRIST THE SEEKER

“The Son of man is come to seek and to save that which was lost.”—St. Luke xix. 10.

Thou art not seeking, Christ it is
Pursuing thee;
And wert thou not already His,
Vainly the soul would hark or see;
Thou art not thirsty, it is God
Himself Who asks
Thy love, and only bears the rod
Of sinners and their tears and tasks;
Thou art not weary, He is faint
In every saint.

Thou from Thy darkness fliest not,
But Christ alone
Doth bring the Light where'er thy lot,
And in the eclipse for thee atone;
Thou dost not feel the deadly guilt
Of wicked ways,
But He Whose Blood was freely spilt
And shrives the heart before it prays;
Thou hadst not known thy bitter loss,
Without the Cross.

Thou hast not sorrowed, it is He
Who beareth all;
He suffered for and dies in thee
Daily, ere even thy feeblest call;

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The Life it cometh to thy grave
With quickening breath,
And giveth what thou dost not crave,
Himself as thy redeeming Death.
The Saviour, by Whom Life was won,
Seeketh God's son.

Thou are not pleading, it is Christ
Praying for thee;
For yet He holds His awful tryst,
In every lot Gethsemane.
Thou art not needy, Christ is poor
Without each soul;
His Love keeps knocking at thy door,
Breaking the heart to make it whole.
He were not perfect unless thine,
Nor so Divine.

262

August 11 THE MEASURE OF RIGHTEOUSNESS

“He will magnify the law, and make it honourable.”— Isa. xlii. 21.

I wish to magnify Thy Law,
Dear Father, at the Saviour's Throne,
The blessèd Cross our hope and awe—
And thus I measure it alone;
There is no other way than this
To gauge its grandeur and no less,
Where Truth and Mercy meet and kiss
Within Thy rule of Righteousness.

O Thou the gentlest One of all
Didst bow in Jesus to the dust,
To save us from the frequent fall
And show Thy Love is likewise just;
There Thou for ever didst exalt
The dreadful Majesty of Right,
That none should question or assault
The fount and safeguard of our light.

And if I sometimes lightly deem
That Thou wilt pass my errors by,
And Grace is other than it seem,
Again I go to Calvary;
Unto the Cross my doubts I take
And find Love never Love might be,
If it could at no cost forsake
Its law and set the sinner free.

263

August 12 THE PRESENCE AND HOME

“She departed, and wandered in the wilderness. . . . And God opened her eyes, and she saw a well of water.”—Gen. xxi. 14, 19.

We look far forward and we strive
For something great, we do not know
What this may be or how arrive—
We catch a distant gleam or glow;
It must be something we have not,
We dream of wondrous times to come,
A better love, a broader lot—
When in their presence and their home.

To-day is but a petty bond,
For new horizons still we strain
And fancied Heaven that lies beyond,
Toward which we climb in grief and pain;
It must be something which we lack,
A temple with a grander dome
For Eden which it will bring back—
Though in its presence and its home.

To-morrow and to-morrow we
Shall capture that we prize so much,
The shining shadows as they flee
That we can never, never touch;
We think there must be something more
And dream of braver times to come,
Though Christ is standing on this Shore
Which is His Presence and His Home.

264

August 13 UNAWARES

“There standeth one among you, whom ye know not.”— St. John i. 26.

“Some have entertained angels unawares.”—Heb. xiii. 2.

“An altar with this inscription, TO THE UNKNOWN GOD.”—Acts xvii. 23.

There standeth One among us oft
Dearer than life and all our own,
His Words are sweet, His Hands are soft,
Yet is He unseen and unknown;
He giveth good, He shields from ill
And is our Shadow in the night,
But O He moves unhonoured still
Who sendeth His belovèd Light.

Sometimes a stranger in our roof
Is sheltered for a little while,
We welcome him, but draw aloof
And grudge each measured gift or smile;
We count the minutes till he goes
And deem our kindnesses are cares,
Then find with the returning woes
We housed an Angel unawares.

We build an Altar in the strife
And turmoil of our troubled days,
We offer this the bloom of life
And there the heart in secret prays;
We worship One, we know not whom—
He raiseth us by laying low;
But at the evening, through the gloom,
Christ comes in Glory and we know.

265

August 14 CHRIST THE WAY

“And in the fourth watch of the night Jesus went unto them, walking on the sea.”—St. Matt. xiv. 25.

Never a road but leads at length
Unto the Glory of Christ's Face,
Never a weakness but from strength
Divine may draw its daily grace;
Never a turning but must meet
The Saviour waiting by the way,
And find a welcome warm and sweet—
If we but pause awhile and pray.

Never a place, though small and dim,
Where one dear Footstep is not heard,
That is not large enough for Him
To drop some little saving word;
Never a time, though the last hour,
When He unwilling is to aid
Or grant the Peace that bringeth power
And bids us not to be afraid.

Never a sin that hath no balm
In the full pardon that He gives,
Never a storm without the calm
Wherein the Love (His Presence) lives;
Never a reckless road we take
That rushes on to utter loss,
But yet will by His blessing break
Into the barrier of the Cross.

266

August 15 CHRIST THE DREAM

“The desire of all nations shall come: and I will fill this house with glory, saith the Lord of hosts.”—Hag. ii. 7.

Christ was the Dream, the world's Desire,
The Hope of every age and lot;
But when He came in Love's attire,
And not with Power, men knew Him not;
Had He been robed in judgment fire
They would have seen, however dim
Their groping fancies, only Him—
In the black light of every blot.

Christ was the Prophet and the King,
The precious Priest who chose to be
The Sacrifice He had to bring;
He was the Bondsman, to make free
His earthly angel's fettered wing;
While sinners hugged their breaking bands,
With such deliverance in their hands,
And begged the blessèd Dawn to flee.

Open our eyes, dear Lord, that now
We may behold the Dream is all
And not its husk, nor idly bow
To sordid facts that pave our fall;
And hail the sunrise on Thy Brow
Though shadowed with the Cross of Love,
Nor wait fresh visions from above—
Till every heart hath heard Thy call.

267

August 16 A VOICE

“A voice of one crying in the wilderness, Make straight the way of the Lord.”—St. John i. 23.

Had I the pinions of a dove,
I would be just a wandering voice
And sing, dear Saviour, “God is Love—
O every Soul, rejoice, rejoice!”
Yea, I would ask for nothing more,
But sing the Cross Thy Mercy bore.

I want to lose myself in Thee,
And serving others as I can
To tell them only Grace is free,
And in the Message hide the man;
I would not be myself at all,
But simply Thy sweet trumpet-call.

Give me the burning wings of faith
And hope that I may upward fly,
Beyond the bars of sin and death,
And breathe Thine own Eternity;
Master, I dare not ask for less
To fill me than Thy Holiness.

But with Thy Goodness may I shine
Or not a further moment be,
That all may always thus be Thine
And nothing evermore of me;
I will not have another choice
Than only, Lord, to be Thy voice.

268

I would be like Thy servant John
The Baptist, with that single cry
Which through the ages echoes on—
“Prepare, for Christ is passing by.”
Nor would I utter even one word
Not hallowed by Thy Love, dear Lord.

269

August 17 LIFE AND DEATH

“To me to live is Christ, and to die is gain.”—Phil. i. 21.

I cannot live without Thee, Lord—
Thy Presence is my very breath,
And (like the sentence of the sword)
The separation from Thee death:
Thou art mine inmost pulse of being,
And Thou the sight of all my seeing.

Dear Christ, how terrible to go
Bound as in graveclothes through the years,
And 'mid corruption never know
The blessèd joy of bitter tears;
And not to find the one salvation,
Which only comes through tribulation.

Ah, show me Thy most precious lore—
Sin is its own exceeding curse,
The penalty of sin is more
And evil ways that go to worse;
We keep but what we spend by giving,
And till we die we know not living.

When I make shipwreck at the last
And meet the final shade and shock,
May I and every care be cast
Alone on Christ who is the Rock
And teach me Peace, when it is spoken,
Can only be if I am broken.

270

August 18 SIN

“If ye do return unto the Lord with all your hearts, put away the strange gods and A shtaroth.”—1 Sam. vii. 3.

Incarnate Sin, thou dazzling Death,
I now were lying in thine arms,
Had not the Holy Spirit's Breath
Unveilèd Love's eternal charms:
But he who once with opened eyes
Hath looked upon that Blessèd Face,
Can find no more a Paradise
In any mortal resting-place.

Thy beauty passeth with the flesh
And fashions of the world that fade,
But at the Cross I live afresh
And in Christ's image am remade;
His Glory fills the skies and earth,
It is the light of every hour,
Transfigures all the home and hearth
And is the impulse of each power.

I cannot see thy graces more,
But as within some optic glass
I mark corruption at the core
And bloom that withers like the grass:
Thou art to me a verdant grave
That shows, beneath the Spirit's Breath,
And on bright flowers that flush and wave
The skull and bones of dusty death.

271

August 19 TUUM MEUM

“Look not every man on his own things, but every man also on the things of others.”—Phil. ii. 4.

Take thou the burden of my love,
Dear brother, though it be but small;
And I will gladly bear and prove
The troubles that on thee do fall;
I will not ask for kindness back,
But to make smoother thy rough track.

Just let my tender thought of thee
Remove the darkness from thy way
To mine, that thus thou mayest see
In every shade a shrine to pray;
May it repose on thee like light,
Although I walk with God in night.

And all the burden that I bring
To thee, I wish were greatly more—
Love—to enthrone thee as a king,
And robe as from a royal store;
To crush thy lingering fear or doubt,
And compass thee with praise about.

O spare me not, dear brother, now
That I am longing but to rest
Within thy precious pains, and bow
Under their bondage and be blest;
For it is only in thy grief
I seek my refuge and relief.

272

August 20 COMMON BLESSINGS

“Truly the light is sweet, and a pleasant thing it is for the eyes to behold the sun.”—Eccles. xi. 7.

Is it not very much to love
And know the servant's life is sweet,
With the blue sky of God above
And all His Mercy at our feet?
O Lord, it is so very much,
That thou hast made Thy creature such.

Is it not very grand to think
Thy thoughts that fashion earth and sky,
And stand unfearful on the brink
Of Love's most awful mystery?
O Lord, it is so very grand,
To trace and hold a Father's Hand.

Is it not very much to see
The wonder and the grace of things,
Thy temple in the forest tree,
Thy step in glorious vanishings?
O Lord, it is so very much,
To feel in all Thy homely touch.

Is it not very good to pray
And be a child of portion blest,
That tired of long and foolish play
Falls back upon a faithful breast?
O Lord, it is so very good,
To rest on Thy great Fatherhood.

273

August 21 GOSPEL OF THE DUST

“Shall the dust praise thee? Shall it declare thy truth?”— Ps. xxx. 9.

“Awake and sing, ye that dwell in dust.”—Isa. xxvi. 19.

Lord of my life, sweet Saviour, come
In all Thy meekness and Thy might;
Wherever Thou art is my home,
And only there indeed is Light.
I cannot live, unless I see
Ever Thy Face and rest in Thee.

Reign over me and fill this heart
Full with the glory of Thy Grace,
And make my praises in each part
Meet for the Master's dwelling-place;
My will doth hourly pray and pine,
Till it is moulded more like Thine.

The world is very great and strong,
My spirit willing, Lord, but weak
To face the evil and the wrong
When I would in Thy service speak;
But here Thy chief salvation lies,
Just in these frail infirmities.

O glorify Thy Grace in me,
Magnify now Thy Holy Name,
Till all the powers of darkness flee
Because Thy Love is still the same;
Though I be dust beneath Thy Throne,
Yet let me flower and be Thine own.

274

August 22 “IF EACH SAID I”

“I it is that have sinned, . . . but as for these sheep, what have they done?”—1 Chron. xxi. 17.

If each said “I am guilty, Lord,
O let Thy sentence fall on me
And in me sheathe Thy judgment sword,
Which this blind soul refused to see—”
The day would wear a wondrous light,
And darkness be no longer night.

If each said “I am ready, Lord,
To go wherever Thou wilt send
And carry though through hell Thy Word,
Right onward to the utmost end—”
No heavy heart would more complain,
And Eden would be ours again.

If each said “I am willing, Lord,
On me this burden must be laid;
Bind with the sacrificial cord
Me only, for my brother's aid—”
Dull life would drop its every toy,
And almost die with utter joy.

If each said “I am bearing, Lord,
Thy blessèd Cross which yet bears me;
My foot would step but in accord
With Thine, whatever lot may be—”
The sorrowing lands would leave their sin,
Eternal bliss at once begin.

275

August 23 GOSPEL OF THE WORM

“I am a worm, and no man.”—Ps. xxii. 6.

From dust this fragile body came
Fashioned by Thee to live and learn,
To love and bless the Holy Name—
Unto its dust shall it return.
Yea, what am I in fleshly form,
Dear Father, but a worm that goes
The prey of every strife or storm,
And helpless with a thousand foes?

But O I have my little place,
Although a worm, and portion here
Shone on by my Creator's Face,
As truly as the mighty sphere;
I have my sun and brighter shade
When outward lights of earth have fled,
A glimpse of Glory when they fade
That folds and quickens even the dead

I am the cousin of the grave
And bound to every mortal thing,
Yet worthy that Thou shouldest save
And upward raise to be a king;
For still the weakest worm of all,
Unhonoured and unknown, nor meet
Except to mark Thy Steps, can crawl
To Christ's dear Cross and Blessèd Feet.

276

August 24 MY DEAREST

“His mouth is most sweet; yea, he is altogether lovely.”—Sol. Song v. 16.

Long I could not find my Dearest,
Though in service every day
I felt sure He was the nearest,
And the Light upon my way;
With me walking, with me talking
In my toiling, at my play.
For I somehow could not grasp Him
Close and to my bosom clasp Him,
Nor behold the Blessèd Face;
Nor, howe'er for Him I sought
In the palaces of thought,
Catch Him in some secret place.

But, at last, when earth seemed Christless
Full of empty sounds and glares,
And my fond appointments trystless—
If enriched with golden cares;
In the starkness of sheer darkness,
Lo, I met Him unawares.
And the night with its black portal
Opened to me the Immortal,
And I saw Him in undress;
Naked did He come and sweet,
Naked breasts and naked feet,
In His awful Loveliness.

277

August 25 EL SHADDAI

‘Behold, thou art fair, my love.”—Sol. Song i. 15.

When the evening drops its curtain,
And a silence and a rest
Do engarment the uncertain
Landmarks which elude my quest;
He in drearest gloom is clearest,
And divinely manifest.
Then His arms around me twining
Wreathe themselves with more than shining
And compel by quiet force;
Till I fly on sudden wings,
Where the grand eternal springs
Beat and bubble at their source.

Till in vision unarrested
I, though clogged with human frame,
Sink upon the Woman-breasted
God of the unuttered Name;
And the shadows' poppied meadows
Burst and blossom into flame.
All that virgin is and comely,
All the heavenly and the homely
Mix and melt in spirit space;
While the passion that is soul,
Past the senses' brute control,
Dies and lives in His embrace.

278

August 26 MY BELOVED

“I will seek him whom my soul loveth.”—Sol. Song iii. 2.

Still I can discern Him never
At the garish hour of noon,
Though I strive with all endeavour
For the Presence and the boon:
He is clouded and enshrouded
In the magic of the moon.
Yes, at winter time or vernal,
Does my Sweetheart the Eternal
God delight not in the day;
But when darkness drapes the light
With its mantle and its might,
He unfolds His perfect way.

Then, if stormy be the weather
Or a stillness and its charms,
Happily we live together
Tangled in each other's arms;
Sweetly married, softly carried
Into regions beyond harms.
And I drink the inspiration
Of unbosomed revelation,
Through my inmost life and blood;
At the secret fount of things,
Mystic joys and murmurings,
Bathed within the cosmic flood.

279

August 27 FOR POWER

“Peter and John . . . prayed for them, that they might receive the Holy Ghost: . . . then laid they their hands on them, and they received the Holy Ghost.”—Acts viii. 14, 15, 17.

Prayer is the hand that toucheth Thine,
Dear Saviour, in our darkling road
And makes a garment all Divine
The meanest and the heaviest load;
And prayer it is that openeth wide
The choicer channels of Thy Day,
And pours into our hearts the tide
Of tender Love—then let us pray.

Prayer is the key unlocking all
The doors of Heaven we close by sin,
Which raiseth us from every fall
To find a stepping-stone therein;
And it is prayer that to our eyes
Unseals the wellsprings by the way,
And shows the near eternities
Around us all—then let us pray.

Prayer brings the Blessèd Spirit down
On hungry hearts or thirsty lands,
When they that wear the suffering crown
Of service lift up holy hands;
O it is prayer that strips the gloss
And glamour from our pleasures gay,
Unveils the Vision of the Cross
Our beacon Light—then let us pray.

280

August 28 THE WINEPRESS

“I have trodden the winepress alone.”—Isa. lxiii. 3.

Who is this with blood-red raiment,
This that asketh no repayment
But the Cross and scourges rude;
He who, counting not Life dearer,
Cometh to His loved ones nearer,
Dreadful in His solitude?
It is He, whose royal dress
Is the robe of Righteousness.

Who is this that greatly travels
Deathward, and by death unravels
All the riddle of the years?
He who, asking no assistance,
Over even the Grave's resistance
Throws His Life above our fears?
He who, as upon a throne,
Walks the winepress thus alone.

Who is this, with garments sodden,
That untreasured yet hath trodden
By Himself the awful path?
Who on Calvary's grim foundation
Laid for ever our salvation,
And endured God's utmost wrath?
He who thereby made His own,
Sin He yet had never known.

281

August 29 WONDERFUL LOVE

“The love of Christ, which passeth knowledge.”—Eph. iii. 19.

It is too wonderful for me,
It is too wonderful to know,
That God, who made all Beauty be,
For us should still have suffered so.
He need not have created man
Nor put such glory in His plan,
For human eyes of joy to see;
That here we could yet higher grow
Than dust, whence this poor breath began

God might have moulded without will
A creature lacking power to bend,
Through the determined good or ill,
A jot from its appointed end.
Why did He lay the grandeur down
And set on us His very crown,
Or in our wealth His way fulfil?
He chose in darkness to descend,
Lest in our frailty we should drown.

God had enough, He could have been
For ever in His rapture lone,
Nor made the earth with gladness green
And clothed in grace the mossy stone;
He wanted nothing more, He stood
Possessed of all the great and good;
Nor dared one shadow step between
Him and the radiance of His Throne,
Until He bowed to Babyhood.

282

August 30 ALL GRACE

“Ye know the grace of our Lord Jesus Christ, that, though he was rich, yet for your sakes he became poor, that ye through his poverty might be rich.”—2 Cor. viii. 9.

God needed us, to share with Him
The wonder of His works and Power;
And Love ran over thus the brim
In earthly dress and mortal dower;
And the great passion of His Heart
No longer then could live apart,
He took a place and portion dim
To lend a brightness to the flower,
And bid the stream in lustre start.

It was His vesture that He took
And twined on our most fragile frame,
That when the storms of winter shook
We might be covered with the same;
He spared no splendour which He wore,
To find us gems and precious ore;
He robbed Himself to deck each nook
Of ours and hide its naked shame,
And of the treasure stript His store.

He grudged us nothing, and He gave
The life-blood from His riven Breast,
And toiled for us a willing Slave
That we might always have the best.
Ah, still He loves these human ties,
And in the bed of suffering lies;
He is our Fellow in the grave
Nor misses any tear or test,
And with our weakness lives and dies.

283

August 31 DIVINE RESPONSIBILITIES

“Righteous art thou, O Lord, when I plead with thee: yet let me talk with thee of thy judgments.”—Jer. xii. 1.

Creator, let me talk with Thee a while,
And pardon this dim voice;
Thou gavest me a life of tear and smile,
Wherein I had no choice;
Thou hast not made me as a passing breath,
For joys uncertain and then certain death.

Creator, Thou hast fashioned me most weak
Of trembling flesh and nerves;
And with a heart, on which all passions wreak
Great wrongs, that often swerves;
Thou hast not meant my love to suffer so,
And when it fain were rising sink below.

Creator, I am but of brittle clay,
But that is wholly Thine;
I would respond to nothing but Thy sway,
Till I am all Divine;
Deal gently with me, for I sometimes tire,
Lest this poor vessel break within the fire.

Creator, let me humbly dare to plead,
And as Thy creature woo;
Though I would follow Thee where duties lead,
God hath His duties too;
Thou knowest what my inmost heart would be,
Complete Thy work, and let me hide in Thee.

284

September 1 YET NOT I

“Yet not I, but Christ liveth in me.”—Gal. ii. 20.

“To me to live is Christ.”—Phil. i. 21.

I am not I—it cannot be,
Since all by God was bigger made,
And earth and Heaven revolve round Thee,
Dear Lord of sunshine and the shade;
Earth now is Heaven
And Heaven is earth,
Since Thou the Giver and the Given
Unitedst altar and the hearth.

I am not I—old nature died
When Jesus in the light of loss
Proved nothing ours or sanctified,
Till offered first upon the Cross;
Death now is living,
And living death
Which hath not learnt from free forgiving—
That Love is God's and manhood's breath.

I am not I—new Being came
And turned my heart His temple dome,
In Christ Himself who wrote His Name
On me because I was His home.
Now might is weakness
And weakness might,
For in me Christ who rules by meekness
Takes sin and all by Sovereign right.

285

September 2 SEEK NOT

“Seekest thou great things for thyself? Seek them not.”— Jer. xlv. 5.

Seek not high portions or the powers
Which dazzle dupes of false ambition,
And yet when they are conquered dowers
Afford no rest or real fruition;
Seek not for lofty place or sway,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not the joy that is denied
And which when won is but a fetter,
But for the Truth if crucified
Thank God and know that this is better;
Seek not for happy hours or play,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not the knowledge that is vain
And puffeth up but without building,
Nor yet rewards that are not gain,
Nor take for gold the tawdry gilding;
Seek not for treasures grand or gay,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

Seek not for triumphs that are good
Which lie beyond thy meed or measure,
Nor ask to stand where Passion stood
Which trod a wider world at pleasure;
Seek not for crown of thorn or bay,
Unless they meet thee by the way.

286

September 3 DISCIPLINE

“Thy rod and thy staff they comfort me.”—Ps. xxiii. 4.

They say this earth of ours might yet be fitter,
More garbed with bliss and gracious meetness;
But, ah, I know there lurks a blessèd bitter
Right at the very soul of sweetness;
And who would ask for other charm or choice,
When in mid sorrow still we must rejoice?

There is a better joy behind the sadness,
And crowned by grief my life is greater;
We sleep in woe, but hearts then wake to gladness,
In that dear Love our recreator;
And there are fuller streams that start and run,
When all our heaven is like a setting sun.

I am content to know there is a meaning
Within each trouble and its tangle,
And the whole world though dimly yet is leaning
Upon the Light beneath the wrangle;
It is enough to feel there is a way,
And in the darkness still to walk with day.

The winds and waves of time that seem so vagrant
Are gathered in the Father's Bosom,
And winters and rude weathers still are fragrant
With some white purpose like a blossom;
And from the Saviour's bleeding steps will rise,
To go before us, regained Paradise.

287

September 4 BURDENS

“I will go unto the altar of God, unto God my exceeding joy.”—Ps. xliii. 4.

It is too great the burden of Thy Love,
It weighs upon me like the very sky,
I seem to bear the heavens themselves above
In its most dread and sweet infinity;
O Lord, my little heart can never hold
The Love that fills the worlds it doth enfold.

It is too great the burden of Thy Truth,
It flows about me like the ocean large
In tides that give the earth a deathless youth,
Without a measure and without a marge;
O Lord, my little mind was never meant
To be the compass of a continent.

It is too great the burden of Thy Will
Which worketh in me through the day and night,
So wonderful and wise, and leading still
These purblind gropings up to perfect Light;
O Lord, my little nature scarce can see
Thy Glory as it toileth after Thee.

They are too great these burdens, yet I know
That Thou art nigh in every fear or fall,
Above me and around me and below
And with me in the battle and through all;
Yea, though with sins I wrestle as with death,
The burdens shall be wings to bear my faith.

288

September 5 DEO LAUDES

‘Not unto us, O Lord, not unto us, but unto thy name give glory.”—Ps. cxv. 1.

Only the faults and frailties—they are mine,
The imperfections and the wrong;
And if my error sometimes seems to shine,
'Tis but some little seed of grace Divine;
To Thee alone doth praise belong,
From Matin bells to Evensong.

Whate'er I do or say in touch with Truth,
Each barren twig that bursts in flower
Is of Thy loving Life which gives it youth;
My words were ugly and my ways uncouth,
But for Thy Presence and Thy Power
At night and in the noontide hour.

Only the evil, Lord, is mine—the stain
Which clings to all my holiest things;
For yet though hidden clanks the earthly chain
Which ties to sinful pleasure which is pain,
And clogs my mounting angel wings—
Though Thou would'st make us crownèd kings.

But when my pathway chances to be straight
And through the dark world glimmers white,
Yet should I totter on with trembling gait
Or turn aside for every tempting bait,
But for Thy Goodness—in despite
Of Love, Love, Love, Love infinite.

289

September 6 MIRACLES IN COMMON THINGS

“Put off thy shoes from off thy feet, for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground.”—Exod. iii. 5.

Ah, can I doubt Thee, Father dear,
A moment, or that boundless Love
Which is around me, is above
And in me, greater than my fear?
Each day its blessèd power I prove,
And ere my calling Thou dost hear.
The clouds are shadows of Thy wings,
Thy wonders work in common things.

The miracles of hourly grace
Are grander than my heart may know—
With breezes sing, with waters flow,
And on the desert leave their trace;
What is the highest, what below,
When earth and heaven reflect Thy Face?
Nought else I notice for that Light,
Wherewith the whole wide world is bright.

Open dark eyes, that they may see
Each bush with Thine own Glory bent
And every meal a sacrament—
Yea, the black night ablaze with Thee;
O make them pure and penitent,
And with Thy vision full and free.
Till they behold their all in God,
And God in all—though Mercy's rod.

290

September 7 OUR TRUTH AND TOWER

“Thou hast been a shelter for me, and a strong tower from the enemy.”—Ps. lxi. 3.

Eternal God, our Truth and Tower,
Whose Word is law, whose Will is power,
O hear Thy servants' humble cry;
Thine is the battle, Thine the sword,
Which cannot wound but in accord
With Thy great Love and Liberty;
We cast ourselves and all our care
Upon Thy Breast in lowly prayer.

We learn that man may never come
Unto that hope which is our home,
Save through the Red Sea's cleansing flood;
And we must suffer sore and press
Through the long weary wilderness,
To that Redemption wrought by blood;
Nor may we win, except with fire,
The freedom of our full desire.

We have no refuge but in Thee
And from ourselves to Mercy flee,
Though we may not escape the strife;
And yet we know our troubles fell
Upon Thee first, and all is well,
And only out of death grows life;
Ah, if Thou slayest us, we will
Trust on and ever in Thee still.

291

September 8 GOD'S PICTURE

“Behold, the bush burned with fire, and the bush was not consumed.”—Exod. iii. 2.

O let me look and look again
Through every day and every hour,
At this great picture world of pain
Which is Thy very Heart in flower;
It is so beautiful that I
Would bare before Thee these rude feet,
Ere, Lord, I venture to draw nigh
Where God Himself and glory meet.

O let me breathe each passing breath
In awe and wonder at the sight,
And lead me to the larger faith
Which marks Thee most in utter night;
The visions of Thy Law of Love
Beyond these strivings and the stress,
They lift me till I live above
A life of simple Godlikeness.

O let me gaze and gaze until
My soul is soaked in every grace,
And Thou and Thou alone dost fill
With Thy dread Light the dreariest place;
It is too beautiful to bear,
This garment through which Thou dost shine,
And of Thy Grandeur I may wear
My little robe and be Divine.

292

September 9 GOD KNOWS

“I die daily.”—1 Cor. xv. 31.

None ever knows or can the strife
Upon the battle-field within,
Fought for our very death or life,
That doth each day anew begin;
Outside is calm, while in us still
The storm unending beats and blows,
But if no other heeds our ill—
God knows.

We move about with measured smile
As if our every pulse were well,
But O we carry all the while
Inside a secret raging hell;
Passion that utterance could not speak
In fiery surges ebbs and flows,
But though this human flesh is weak—
God knows.

Ah, many a Calvary of the heart
With many a Cross is builded there,
Nor is one hour without a part
In death that meets us everywhere;
The awful struggle, that must be—
If life would live, by dying grows,
But all from our Gethsemane
God knows.

293

September 10 SAY NOT

“Grieve not the holy Spirit of God.”—Eph. iv. 30.

Say not it cost the Father nought,
That Jesus lived and died for us;
When the tremendous Act was wrought
At Calvary on the Cross, and thus
He paid as well the awful price,
And every pang His Bosom bore;
Yea, could Redemption not suffice,
He would have given to sinners more.

Say not a single word or deed
Of Christ's was born without a pain,
Atonement was the precious seed
In all and cleansed some earthly stain;
There lurked a Passion in each breath
He drew in that great conquering strife,
For were there not perpetual Death
In every step where had been Life?

Say not the Spirit doth not feel
And suffer with our sufferings yet,
Nor while before the Cross we kneel
Mourn with us in no mute regret;
There are no cares or mortal dowers
Wherein each Person hath no part,
And to the tiniest throb of ours
Beats back in Love God's very Heart.

294

September 11 TRANSFORMATION

“I saw a new heaven and a new earth: for the first heaven and the first earth were passed away.”—Rev. xxi. 1.

It never can be quite the same
Since first I felt Thy Presence near,
The whiteness in that Heart of Flame
Unstained by all reproach and fear;
Since I looked up into those Eyes
And heard the music of that Voice,
Which clothed the earth with bluer skies
And bade the barren fields rejoice.
It never can be quite the same,
Since first I leant upon Thy Name.

It never can be quite the same
Since I first in Thy Sanctuary knelt,
And from the earthly cloud of shame
Passed to the Glory where God dwelt;
Since I was offered at Thy Hands
The mystic Food of Life to eat,
And found fulfilling Thy commands
Within the Cross the Mercy-seat.
It never can be quite the same,
Since I did learn Thy secret Name.

Thy Names are many, Lord, and sweet—
The Holy Lamb, the Sacred Dove;
But all the truest, tenderest meet
In the one blessèd word of Love.

295

September 12 THE BLEEDING HEART

“They shall look upon me whom they have pierced.”— Zech. xii. 10.

I had a vision of a Bleeding Heart,
An awful unasked token
Of Death wherein I had a monstrous part—
The Body by me broken;
No word by Christ was spoken,
But yet the silence stabbed me like a dart;
And under the eclipsed accusing sky,
I reared again the Cross of Calvary.

I stood beneath it and by these red hands
The biting nails were driven,
While shadow fell on all the shaken lands
And the great rocks were riven;
Though I was there forgiven,
Ere I had burst from sin's bleak iron bands.
He sighed and said, “My brother, now arise,
And sup with Me to-day in Paradise.”

Some drops of His most Precious Blood then fell
Upon me from that Altar,
And raised me in the damning hold of hell
Ere faith had time to falter;
And like a solemn psalter,
His tender Voice (that told me all was well)
In Pardon breathed on me a blessing, more
Than earth with its enchantments ever bore.

296

September 13 THE MARKS

“I bear in my body the marks of the Lord Jesus.”—Gal. vi. 17.

He bade me take His bitter thorns and nails
To write on me each letter
And pierce this faithless heart, that often fails
Within the world's bright fetter;
For death itself were better,
Than life wherein the sordid flesh prevails.
He made me drink the dreadful cup so blest,
And stamped each stigma on my brow and breast.

Then I rose up in majesty of kings
By that dim door of sorrow,
I felt within me powers like angel wings
Nor needed ought to borrow;
There was no day or morrow,
For I had touched the very soul of things.
I see clear dawns now in the midnight darks,
Lit by the splendour of Christ's Wounds and Marks.

His own pure armour girds me in its Grace
And keeps my love yet lowly,
That I may look for ever on His Face;
And, if it be but slowly,
Still wax like Him more holy—
Conformed through fire and the stern steel's embrace.
For Christ is with me, and fulfils my part,
Who shrives His Brothers of the Bleeding Heart.

297

September 14 THE PRISONER OF LOVE

“I was in prison, and ye came unto me.”—St. Matt. xxv. 36.

What are my saddest, sorest pains,
The iron that enters in my heart
And holds it fast with hopeless chains,
When measured with Thy suffering part?
There is no bondage, Lord, like Thine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

I sorrow for a day or hour,
But Thou art never, never free
From that self-chosen dreadful dower
Which lays all burdens upon Thee;
For Thee no moment's rest may shine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

Our sins are gathered to Thy Breast
And shut Thee in like shadowy walls,
Each woe with which we are opprest
On Thee in endless Passion falls;
Our fears like fetters round Thee twine
O Prisoner of Love Divine.

For ever thus Thy Grace hath been
The bearer of our pangs or loss,
And in its Mercy stood between
Sin and the judgment of the Cross;
And yet what penance is not mine,
O Prisoner of Love Divine?

298

September 15 NO SADNESS

“In every thing by prayer . . . with thanksgiving let your requests be made known unto God.”—Phil. iv. 6.

These lips were given to us for praise,
Among ten thousand mercies sent;
And now we offer thanks, and raise
Our humble cry and penitent.
These hearts were made within for love
Which never even the angels had,
And larger than the heaven above—
How could a Christian then be sad?

These hands were moulded by Thy skill,
Dear Lord, as masters of their fate;
To work in concert with Thy Will,
As one with Thine own high estate.
These feet were meant for glorious things
To run Thine errands great and glad,
As borne on more than eagles' wings—
How could a Christian then be sad?

These lives were given as lamps to burn
In Thy sweet Presence and Thy hold,
With light and fragrance, and return
The beauty lent a hundred fold.
For we, whate'er we have and are,
By Thee alone are fed and clad,
And cross at length the harbour bar—
How could a Christian then be sad?

299

September 16 COMMUNION

“As often as ye eat this bread, and drink this cup, ye do shew the Lord's death till he come.”—1 Cor. xi. 26.

The last dear supper of the Lord,
Where He is sitting yet
The Priest, the Sacrifice, the Word,
Is still for Christians set.

And somewhere it was always spread
By spirits true and fond,
The outpoured wine, the broken bread—
One bright continuous bond.

For Love could never let its name
Or use in darkness lie,
The inextinguishable flame
Without which earth would die.

There wealth and poverty were one,
The world forgat its toys;
And, in that memoried Service done,
All shared commensal joys.

And now goes on the Holy Meal
Wherein we each have part,
Whate'er our place, and sets its seal
On every humble heart.

There is no time nor troubled mood,
To which it cannot give
Our needy souls the Blessèd Food,
By which alone we live.

300

September 17 VIA DUCIS, VIA LUCIS, VIA CRUCIS

“I am the Way, the Truth, and the Life.”—St. John xiv. 6.

There is only one true Way
Which the Christian soldiers tread,
If they would not blindly stray
To the pitfalls of the dead.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very strait and very steep,
And the single Via Crucis
Where the pilgrims walk and weep.

But the Master trod it first
Whom we always must adore,
He will quench our bitter thirst
With His Love, and goes before.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very hard and very high,
And the solemn Via Crucis,
Though the Comforter is nigh.

Let us therefore without fear
Hasten on the holy track,
If we sometimes drop a tear,
Never looking vainly back.
Via Ducis, Via Lucis,
Very stony, very rough,
And the thorny Via Crucis—
But the Presence is enough.

301

September 18 GOD'S VOICES

“And after the fire a still small voice.”—1 Kings xix. 12.

We hear it sometimes in the day,
We never miss it through the night
When souls with Jesus watch and pray—
The music which is all our might.
And on the beaten upward way
Which struggles dimly towards the Light,
The songs which are our sunshine play
About each little deed of right.

God's Voices how we know not start,
And as a wind upon a wood
Bow with a more than mortal art
The stubborn pride that adverse stood.
And while of every joy a part
They gather through the world their food,
And murmur softly in the heart
Whene'er we think a thought of good.

It's not enough that man is strong
Or all his acts are wise and clever,
With steadfast hatred of the wrong
Or honest aim and high endeavour;
Unless he hears the heavenly song,
From which no earthly gulf can sever
Our lives, that rolls the stars along
And haunts the human mind for ever.

302

September 19 GOD'S BURDEN

“O Lord, I am oppressed; undertake for me.”—Isa. xxxviii. 14.

Lord, Thou are pledged, I humbly pray
And plead with awful reverence,
In many a solemn word and way
Which fetter Thine Omnipotence.
And Thou hast freely curbed Thy Might,
To help our little path of pains;
With precious limits though of Light,
And blessèd bonds and glorious chains.

I thank Thee that I cannot lose
The comfort of Thy captive Will,
Which makes Thee mine, and Thou dost choose
To be our willing Servant still.
Thou hast not ever grudged one claim
To man, though he a rebel stood;
And his most selfish act and aim,
Yet magnify Thy Brotherhood.

Great Prisoner of Love, I kiss
The Hands by Thine own Mercy bound;
Which draws a new Diviner bliss
From making earth Thy prison ground.
I worship boundless Love, that bare
The burden of my sore distress;
And cast myself, with all my care,
On Thy dear great Responsiveness.

303

September 20 THE MARTYRS

“Of whom the world was not worthy.”—Heb. xi. 38.

It seemed their bridal as they went
On to the splendour of that fate,
Which opened a new continent
And drew down heaven to be their gate;
They did not prize the parting breath,
Because they were in love with death.

The stake was but a blessèd throne
Whereon they reigned as crownèd kings,
And in the fiery wreath alone
They felt the clasp of marriage rings;
For there they held a solemn tryst,
And thus were wedded unto Christ.

It was the Passion of the Cross
Which conquered earth and all its pride,
They deemed that love was only loss
Which kept them from the Master's side;
Whatever cruel pangs might come,
They simply bore them to their Home.

Why should we ask to suffer less
When Christ so fully paid the price,
And woe is but the wedding dress
Which makes us one in sacrifice?
In every willing pulse of pain,
New life flows from His Wounds again.

304

September 21 MY ALL OF LIFE

“Whom have I in heaven but thee? And there is none upon earth that I desire beside thee.”—Ps. lxxiii. 25.

My all of Life, my Blessèd Lord,
I ask no larger share of earth,
Than that Thou only canst afford—
Thou art mine Altar, Thou my Hearth;
I want no other world than Thine,
Thy Love, Thy Goodness, and the Grace
Which makes the humblest lot Divine—
Thou art my single Dwelling-place.

Rich past the grandest dreams am I
In the great Glory that Thou art,
For nothing ever was so nigh
As the warm beating of Thy Heart;
And every little drop of blood
Of me that in Thy Sweetness swims,
Like some deep river at its flood,
Just with Thy Godhead overbrims.

My Universe, my Soul of things,
I have no other Home than Thou
With all those mighty shadowings
Brighter than any sunshine now;
It is such awful joy to be—
Lapt in Thy Life from sordid stress,
While by a whole surrender free
And one with perfect Holiness.

305

September 22 THE OVER PLAN

“It is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.”— Jer. x. 23.

Better a thousand thousand times, that man
Be broken on the rock
Of God's grand holy Law and perfect Plan
And suffer doom and shock;
Than gain a cheaper comfort, at the price
Of outraged Justice and unpardoned vice.
Love weighs forgiveness, that it may be true
First to itself and all,
And dares not grant what is no sinner's due
Ere his repented fall;
Love lingers for the offering that must come,
From prodigals who seek their Father's Home.

The great and awful dark of Destiny,
Is more than any light;
For He, who set in hearts eternity,
Must lead those hearts aright.
And loss alone, by its pure teaching, paves
The narrow path that climbs to Heaven by graves.
That larger vision which surpasses fact
Comes but through common things,
And in the homely round of human act
We grow the angel wings.
But all, baptizèd in the Spirit's Breath,
Find each new birth a passion and a death.

306

September 23 LOVING CORRECTION

“Afterward it (chastening) yieldeth the peaceable fruit of righteousness unto them which are exercised thereby.”— Heb. xii. 11.

I see that suffering lies around us all—
The shadow's threatening shape
Weds birth and bridal to the closing pall,
Whence no one shall escape;
Yet sorrow, with its blessings, doth not come
Unless to lead us Home.

Yea, in the larger view, though virtue's best
Fragrant with faith as spice
And breathed in beauty from a prayerful breast,
Be just as jewelled vice;
Yet even the doubt, which trammels me in dust,
In Mercy's eyes is trust.

My failures have a side, however dim,
Which only God can know;
And they do alway turn that face to Him,
Who walks with us below;
And fear is still, while fainting on the slope,
Another name for hope.

He judges not as we, and His great Plan
Takes the whole measure in,
And marks His own Divinity in man
Whose crown's but golden sin;
For the worst error strays inside that Love,
Like the blue sky above.

307

September 24 EST DEUS IN REBUS

“A door was opened in heaven.”—Rev. iv. 1.

The red rose blushes and the white rose weeps
And far above we think the great God sleeps,
But yet He holds and feels Himself each thorn
And tempers darkness with the kiss of morn;
Yea, in the passion of mid thunder,
We know His Voice is heard thereunder;
And, from the dimness of the awful deeps,
Intolerable Light at last is born,
Which cleaves the gates of hell asunder.

The west winds murmur and the south winds sigh
And there is silence in the courts on high,
While the world's riddle ever waxes more
As waves of grief break on the upper shore;
For all around lie scenes of sadness
And all within the thought is madness,
Though awful Truth stands strong and very high;
Yea death itself has kindness at its core,
And in each pulse of pain throbs gladness.

The tear and laughter yet are closest kin
And holiness was never far from sin,
While love and hatred in the same true heart
Do grow together and dwell not apart;
Ah, the divine hath human leaven
And Judas joins with the Eleven;
We end not with the grave, but there begin
The brighter founts which still in Time upstart,
And earth is but the door of Heaven.

308

September 25 MY LITTLE PATCH

“The Lord God took the man, and put him into the garden . . . to dress it and to keep it.”—Gen. ii. 15.

I have a little patch to keep,
I have a little hoe,
And up and down while others sleep
I toil along the row;
What matter if my tiny plot
Looks mean and others love it not,
If it is better so?

I'm hoeing without wages,
I'm hoeing day and night,
And as through endless ages
I'm hoeing till the light.

The thorns are very sharp and stand
Around with bristling spears,
The hoe grows heavy in my hand
Beneath the breath of fears;
And though my labour does not match
My rivals', yet I love my patch
And water it with tears.

It's weary work the hoeing
And learning as at school,
But yet I wait the growing—
I am the Maker's tool.

309

September 26 DEEP UNTO DEEP

“Thy judgments are a great deep.”—Ps. xxxvi. 6.

Deep calleth unto deep and heart on heart
Though a full world apart,
And man for him who is his brother cries
Across the centuries;
And time and space are nothing to the soul
A ray of God's grand universal whole,
Which looks before and after
And heeds not tears or laughter;
But keeps the guiding clue which runs through all
The future, past, and present,
Which binds the sunrise to the seeming fall
And crowns at last the peasant.

Deep calleth unto deep and man on man
Within the wider plan,
And gentle spirits for their kin unseen
Whatever lies between;
They come from old Eternity's great womb
Which is at once their mother and their tomb,
And marries them in beauty
Of the same death and duty;
And morn and midnight shed a common light
Round heads that are anointed,
To carry in their breasts the secret sight
And walk the path appointed.

310

September 27 THE LARGENESS OF LIFE

“Thou hast enlarged my steps under me.”—Ps. xviii. 36.

This life is large—yea, larger than our dreams
And breathes through many a spiracle;
Heaven haunts the gloomiest with its virgin gleams,
And each step is a miracle.
We grow by lapses and arise by falls,
Misfortune moves us on with trumpet calls
By dusty goals and glorious,
Till Jericho goes down with its grim walls,
By sheer defeat victorious.
O it is blessèd that we always win
And the white saint comes whiter out of sin,
While death is life and hell to heaven akin.

This life is large—it broadens up and out,
With angel arts and devilries;
We plumb the depths of faith by awful doubt,
And fasts we read through revelries.
From world to world we pass in skiey scale,
And none can bind though with the widest pale
The spirit's inbred spaciousness;
For when we think to tell its final tale,
It mounts to higher graciousness.
With thoughts eternal, do we edge the knife
Of petty sufferings and each passing strife—
Heaven is akin to hell and death is life.

311

September 28 MY CRADLE

“So he giveth his beloved sleep.”—Ps. cxxvii. 2.

I often cannot sleep at night
From thinking, Lord, of Thee;
Rocked in that cradle of delight,
Thy Hand which holdeth me.
I feel Thee, like my mother's dress,
Or her sweet casing glove;
And then I know the awfulness,
Of Thy most Present Love.
It filleth me with holy fire
And wrappeth round my frame,
Till with the fulness of desire
I nearly die of shame.

No words can utter half the care
Of those unearthly charms,
Which have in every sweet a share
And girdle me like arms.
They soothe at once my peevish pout,
As even more than kin;
They fold me tenderly about,
And tuck me warmly in.
I often seem to sink and drown
In seas of rosy bliss,
And go for ever washing down
Its deep unplumbed abyss.

312

September 29 A DREAM

“Wisdom hath builded her house, . . . she crieth . . . Come, eat of my bread, and drink of the wine which I have mingled. Forsake the foolish, and live.”—Prov. ix. 1, 3, 5, 6.

I had an awful dream, that God
Himself stooped down to earth and died,
But first in human weakness trod
Our every path ere crucified;
For, what He suffered, was our fate—
Though, when He dearly paid for sin
And opened wide the heavenly gate
For us, He would not enter in.

But still He wanders to and fro
And up and down the weary lands,
While yet one exile dwells below
Who bows not to His piercèd Hands;
He points to rebel wrath and pride
In glory which none else could win
That door, though He must wait outside
Until all souls have entered in.

It simply was a dream, but then
I knew the vision came from God,
Who daily lives and dies for men
And first lays on Himself the rod;
Ah, brother, how shall Mercy come
Unto its own if now you sin;
Or Christ feel Heaven indeed His Home,
When you refuse to enter in?

313

September 30 WANTS

“Without me ye can do nothing.”—St. John xv. 5.

We want Thee, Saviour, for each hour—
Nay, for the moment as it flies;
That we may rest upon that Power,
Wherein or earth or infant lies.

We want the keeping of Thy Love
Between us and the storm to stand;
As closely as the casing glove
Doth guard from soil the lily hand.

We want Thee, at the trifling turn
Of work or pleasure's careless tide;
Until our hearts within us burn,
When Thou art at our very side.

We want Thee, Saviour, in the flame
Of trial which were never crost,
Without the Presence and the Name,
And even in faith that suffers frost.

We want Thee ever and in all,
For weakness that is fashioned thus;
If we are rising, if we fall;
And Thou hast likewise need of us.

We want Thee, and Thou art akin
To souls that bear this earthly brand;
And, for each dark besetting sin,
There is Thy dear besetting Hand.

314

October 1 BRUISES AND BALM

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

“With his stripes we are healed.”—Isa. liii. 5.

“He maketh sore, and bindeth up: he woundeth, and his hands make whole.”—Job. v. 18.

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.

315

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.

316

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.

317

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.

318

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.

319

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.

320

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.

321

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.”

322

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.”

323

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.”

324

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.”

325

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.”

326

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.”

327

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.”

328

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.

329

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.

330

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.

331

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.

332

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.

333

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.

334

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.

335

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.

336

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.

337

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!

338

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.

339

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.

340

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.

341

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.

342

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.

343

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.

344

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.

347

November 1 THE MARTYRS' BLOOD

“Who through faith subdued kingdoms, wrought righteousness, obtained promises.”—Heb. xi. 33

O Lord, who rulest fire and flood
And art a stronghold in our need,
We praise Thee for the Martyrs' blood
Which is the Church's saving seed,
And should it be through bitter death,
May we confess the Holy Faith.

We thank Thee that the Martyrs bled
And bore brave witness to the Truth,
That peoples might lift up their head,
And fainting lands renew their youth;
We love those glorious deeds and days,
And stand upon the ancient ways.

We bless Thee that the Martyrs died
Exulting in the gift they gave,
If but the creed which men denied
Sprang up in splendour from their grave;
We dare not doubt, we simply trust,
Fresh worlds will blossom from their dust

O Lord, the Master of our strife,
Who holdest all within Thy Hand,
Grant we may render Love and Life
With every joy at Thy command;
And though the waves of trial toss,
Cling only closer to the Cross.

348

November 2 MARCHING HOME

“Till thy people pass over, O Lord.”—Exod. xv. 16.

We are marching Home to God, who is Home and Heaven and all,
In the way our fathers trod, though they heeded not the call;
Though they knew not that He led, slowly, surely,
With the dying, with the dead,
By the bier or marriage bed, yet securely;
Onward to the blessèd Goal through the shadow and the shoal,
Murmurous wood and waters' brim—
To our final Peace in Him;
Tending to the mighty Ocean, as the rivers run at last
To their bridal with the sea,
In our doubt or calm devotion when the work of life is past
By each royal prayer or plea.

Yes, the vast creations prove, if by dark and devious course,
All together truly move upward to their hidden Source;
We obey the silent Voice, in our going
With the old eternal choice
As we weep or would rejoice, backward flowing.
In the wildest chance or change, still no humblest form can range
(Whatsoe'er the grief or goad)
From its predetermined road.

349

Should the fire be heated hotter and the beauteous vessel crack
Or forget awhile its grace;
Yet we know the Heavenly Potter guideth us along the track,
To His Love our Dwelling-place.

350

November 3 OUR NATIVE HEAVEN

“Thou shalt bring them in, and plant them.”—Exod. xv. 17.

Nothing can a moment stay, should it seem to linger long
With the trifles by the way, and the pleasure links be strong;
All are lowly working out, richly, really,
Destiny by battle shout
Or the scarlet lips that pout so ideally;
Each the purpose of its plan, since in time it first began,
Perfectly, divinely wrought
Out of archetypal Thought.
Nothing can be held or hasted, in the ordinance of things
Gathered to their primal Fount;
Nothing can be lost or wasted, in the due developings,
Towards the final full Account.

We are marching Home to God, who is drawing us with Love,
Though He chastens by the rod, and His flames are fierce above;
Whether we do live or die, sad or willing,
We are fettered to His tie
And our beings in it lie, spent or spilling.
Ah, the glory of this fate is beyond our fear and hate,
Moulding us by ill or good
To a broader Brotherhood.

351

So are we for ever marching, human hope and sordid shape
And the very stock and stone,
Through the Mercy overarching (which no devil can escape)
Till we rest in Him alone.

352

November 4 THE UNFINISHED BLESSING

While he blessed them, he was parted from them, and carried up into heaven.”—St. Luke xxiv. 51.

It was not finished
And never shall be while the earth endures,
That Blessing which for each new age assures
In the pure presence of its calm blue sky
Grace undiminished
From open doors of Immortality.
O in the wonder of its wide embrace,
Which grants free entry
To all who humbly stoop ere they step in
And seek of Love alone a dwelling-place,
Our God is Sentry
Above this human sorrow and the sin.

Yes, in the shadow
Of such stupendous Mercy do we live,
And learn that He who giveth can forgive;
Who makes a fresher world, with fairer mount
Or greener meadow,
By peace which flows from the perennial Fount.
We draw thereat the light which sweetly gilds
Our sterile starkness,
And sets our toil to a celestial chime;
While it secures the future, and rebuilds
Of splendid darkness
The dim white stairs and temple gates of Time.

353

November 5 IN THE LIGHT

“The Almighty, ... shall bless thee with blessings of heaven above.”—Gen. xlix. 25.

The broader Blessing
Hangs over clouds of care, a brighter Sun,
Wherein the saddest will rejoice and run
To find renewed their strength that can but fly
To God's caressing,
Lost in the awe of His Epiphany.
And yet full joy casts out our slavish fear,
Hushed on the meekness
Of infinite great Love, which gathers all
Unto its arms and wipes away the tear
From trembling weakness,
And answers faintest whisper ere it call.

Though death would sunder
The one bereaved from his twin tender heart,
It may not silence so and must not part
Life from its Life, for still the Grace shines on;
And stand thereunder
The peoples, when this heaven and earth are gone.
And every murmur, if it were in sleep,
Or each blind motion
Of fluttering faith or mere misgiving lies
Within the compass of that dreadful Deep
And kindest Ocean,
With thoughts that are the world's theogonies.

354

November 6 FAILURES

“My word: ... it shall not return unto me void.”— Isa. lv. 11.

Failures? By God, it shall not be—
There never was or could be time
Beneath the high Heaven's majesty;
When wholly man forsook His plan,
Nor beat back to the eternal chime
Some echo of its melody.
No work of God, no vilest creature
Might utterly and always fail,
Nor be a reflex in some feature
Of that great Truth which must prevail;
And, out of sordid lies and lust,
Arise Divinities from dust.

Failures? What, may the Maker's task
Be fooled or wasted by man's flaw,
Diskinged beneath a blotted mask?
Is rod or nail the sole entail
Of one who owns a larger law,
And was in Glory meant to bask?
No birth but somehow does its duty,
Though a mere cancer or a creed
Hell-dipt and with a demon's beauty,
Or fragile as a shaken reed;
The thing that just a moment stood,
A crying shame, hath yet been good.

355

November 7 THE UNFAILING

“The Lord thy God ... doth go with thee; he will not fail thee, nor forsake thee.”—Deut. xxxi. 6.

Failures? If not the trodden way,
Still by its very vice or fall
God wreaks His reason in the stray,
And though denied is glorified;
Some glamour rises over all,
And yields Him a redeeming ray.
The murderer—aye, the damned creation
Cannot conceal the parent height,
And in the deeps of degradation
Points to the loveliness of Light:
The wrong, the crime, the devil's part,
Hath something Christlike at its heart.

Failures? Betwixt the poison cup
And scarlet of the heedless lip,
A glimpse of angel wings goes up;
And he that feasts with savage beasts
Is one with saints in fellowship,
And yet with blessèd souls shall sup.
For though to our blind stupid seeing
So many lives are baulked or crost,
Its end is served by every being—
The greatest when it seems most lost;
And none, by good or ghastliest ill,
Can fail its purpose to fulfil.

356

November 8 OUR LAZARUS

“There was a certain beggar named Lazarus, which was laid at his gate, full of sores.”—St. Luke xvi. 20.

At every door some Lazarus lies,
As by the hand of Jesus laid
To bid us choose His chivalries—
One, brother, only thou canst aid,
Out of those sweet humanities
Whereon the earth itself is staid.
Then shall he pine, a lonely thing,
For lack of thy love-offering?

O there is always someone near,
Close to the tender heart and true,
Though severed by the ocean drear
In deserts wide without a clue;
Who needs the tribute of a tear
Or kindly word, in service due.
Such souls, when we in pity pray,
Kneel at our gate if worlds away.

But when thou openest thus thy breast
To take the needy sufferer in,
Thou also findest richer rest
And regained Paradise begin;
For Christ in him is manifest,
And heaven and earth are made akin.
Yea, stricken low our Lord by us
Lies at our door as Lazarus.

357

November 9 I LOVE THEE

“The Son of man must suffer many things.”—St. Luke ix. 22.

Not for Thy grand and glorious Light—
I cannot brook the blaze of noon,
And ask not for its perfect boon
When praise is swallowed up in sight—
I love Thee, Saviour, not for this,
And the unutterable bliss.
Not for the greatness of the Power,
Which crushes me with the defence
Of a most dread Omnipotence,
Though with the petal of a flower—
I love Thee, Master, not for this,
But for those Human Eyes that kiss.

Not for the ocean of Thy Truth
Which is the very air I breathe,
And doth illumine and enwreathe
The world with dower of endless youth—
I love Thee, Saviour, for Thy fears
And mortal doubts and mortal tears.
Not for the Mercy, which would spare
My rebel spirit in its pride
And plant a traitor by His side,
Or bid me in that Beauty share—
I love Thee, Master, for the meed
Which gave Thee all our earthly need.

358

November 10 HE LOVETH ME

“We have not an high priest which cannot be touched with the feeling of our infirmities.”—Heb. iv. 15.

Not for the might of Majesty,
Which clothes with thunder mountain peaks
And guides the battle when it speaks
On courses of eternity—
I love Thee, Saviour, not for such,
But for the Brother's tone or touch.
Not for the glory of a creed,
Which moulds a nation at Thy Hand
To gird the globe with its command
And gild by many a dazzling deed—
I love Thee, Master, not for such,
But for the Meekness that bears much.

Not for the miracles of Grace,
Which fall among us like the dew
Upon the hearts that they renew,
To be Thy goodly dwelling-place—
I love Thee, Saviour, most and first
Just in Thy Human thoughts and thirst.
Not for the vastness of the Law,
The breadth of that most tender bound
Which wraps the universe around,
And fills each humble crack and flaw—
I love Thee, Master, when so mild,
Because Thou wast a little Child.

359

November 11 BREAKING

“He breaketh me with a tempest.”—Job ix. 17.

Breaking, breaking—
As the minutes come and go
In their heedless onward pride,
And the shaping and the shaking
Of the inexorable tide,
Carrying lives of men below.
Yet it is a temple new,
Making, making
Out of troubles, out of tears
Wrung by burdens and their fears;
Fashioned of the bitter breaking
Into glory, bloom and dew.

Breaking, breaking—
Ah, dear body, thou must pass
As the sunshine on the stream,
With the tossing and the taking
Of the shadows, like a dream—
Like the blossom of the grass.
But it is, in every loss,
Waking, waking
Up to something fair and fresh
All of spirit, none of flesh;
By a precious balm in breaking,
At the moulding of the Cross.

360

November 12 OUT OF THE GRAVE

“Is not this the fast that I have chosen? to loose the bands of wickedness, ... and that ye break every yoke?”—Isa. lviii. 6.

Breaking, breaking—
But in glooming and in glow
Still I hear the better sound
Soft beneath my ills and aching,
Of the Worker who around
Builds again at each hard blow.
For it is besides a fount
Slaking, slaking
Thirsty lips that long for food
Meet for any hour or mood;
Only thus, with ceaseless breaking,
Can I truly higher mount.

Breaking, breaking—
Just the scaffoldings that fall
Which would hide in earthly cloud,
With a terrible forsaking
Of their birthright pure and proud,
Souls content with less than all.
Though I weaken, with a dull
Quaking, quaking,
Rises strong as heaven's blue dome
Up and out my blessèd home;
Resurrection splendour breaking,
From the grave and grinning skull.

361

November 13 FAITH

“Lord, I believe; help thou mine unbelief.”— St. Mark ix. 24.

I take the venture—
Lord, I cannot shrink
In natural human dread from the great leap
Over the awful brink;
Though wounds' indenture
Shows, that I hold this mortal life but cheap.
I dare the utter darkness,
Nor will fail
Now in the very grip of death to go,
If suffering's iron nail
To stony starkness
Would dash me (if it only could) below.

The ledge is little,
But my faith is large
As air's vast ocean or uncharted space;
It hath no earthly marge
Though flesh be brittle,
And asks no lamp but God's most lovely Face.
Behind my thought, the deepest,
And beyond
It journeys forth, and none shall bid it stay
Or even a while despond;
Yea, when thou sleepest,
O sense, it plucks from night eternal day.

362

November 14 THE LOVE LIGHT

“Whom having not seen, ye love.”—1 St. Pet. i. 8.

Faith lives and carries
Its own deathless light,
Into the dusk of sunless tombs and past;
And more than very sight,
At once it marries
Present to future and the first and last.
With faith I boldly travel,
If the rod
Yet sometimes falls on my poor erring road;
Still bathed in Heaven and God
I will unravel
The ray in gloom, the rest beneath the load.

God is my Haven,
When I toss afar
On the blind passions of besetting sins;
For then the Eden gates unbar,
And earth is paven
With flowers, and fair Eternity begins.
I never need to wander
From that hold,
Which (though with crosses) bears me to the crown;
For he must gather gold,
Whose heart is yonder
And has in trust laid worldly treasures down.

363

November 15 AN ANGEL

“If ye endure chastening, God dealeth with you as with sons.”—Heb. xii. 7.

In every house an Angel moves
Among the thorns of kindly cares,
And bringeth grief which first He proves,
Though oft He cometh unawares.
His face is hidden and His eyes
Reflect a peace that few may mark,
The glory of those bluer skies
Which blossom in the deepest dark.
He gives the back its bitter load
And binds us fast with many a chain,
Or scatters thistles on the road,
And leaves the precious sign of pain.

By every tomb an Angel stands
And folds it in His radiant wings,
To hide the cruel curse that brands
The outer husk of earthly things.
He weaves the shadows into rays
Rejoicing as they feel His touch,
And turns the very nights to days
For souls that sorrow overmuch.
He murmurs comfort in the ear
When every solace seems but vain,
And though He mingles hope and fear
He has no sweeter gift than pain.

364

November 16 A THOUGHT

“Behold, how he loved.”—St. John xi. 36.

There is a thought that cannot sleep
When flesh in slumber lies,
Borne upward from the awful deep
Of old eternities;
And in my dreams and without will
It is the Master's Presence still,
Above all chivalries;
The compass of its cosmic sweep
Scatters the cloud, that dares
Uplift a thunder throb of ill;
Within the heart of cares,
It hideth unawares.

It is the Thought of Love Divine
Which filleth far the lands,
And doth in mercy still entwine
Our world with holy hands;
The laughter of the summer sea,
The burden of the storm wind's plea
Express its dear demands;
And all the beauties that refine
The robe of Nature's rest,
Red passion of the poppied lea,
White dove upon her nest,
Are by it manifest.

365

November 17 COME TO ME

“Our God shall come, and shall not keep silence: a fire shall devour before him.”—Ps. l. 3.

Come to me, dread delicious God,
As Thou hast never come before,
And with that sweet and awful rod
Bid me be silent and adore.
I only ask to see the Might
And Majesty whose thought is pain,
Which blast with their excessive light
And kill us but to form again.
Thy boundless Love I cannot bear,
It makes me feel my penury;
O let me, like a garment, wear
The terrors of Divinity.

Come in Thine unveiled Pomp and Power,
Which never mortal eye may mark
Or live to tell the fearful hour,
And crush me in Thy dazzling dark.
Spare not one lightning look or ray,
Pour on me the grand total Sight,
If I may catch a gleam of day
'Twill glimmer through eternal night.
What though the Vision be my death,
And earth like vapour from me flee;
I do not beg one selfish breath,
For Heaven is just a glimpse of Thee.

366

November 18 MY TERRA FIRMA

“He set my feet upon a rock, and established my goings.”— Ps. xl. 2.

I stand on solid ground—but, no,
On something more than earth and sky,
Which are decaying and pass by
In all their grace and strength,
At length;
God is beneath me, and below
The greatness of Eternity.
And so I rest
On no dissolving heaven or land
Which fade as surely as they grow,
But on the Father's awful Breast
And in the hollow of His Hand.

I build on everlasting Rock,
Upraised by travail of the years
And channeled not by ages' tears;
Though systems round me lie
And die,
Yet not the shadow nor the shock
Of doom may teach the glorious fears,
Which are my breath.
I came from God, His awful womb
Sent me a spirit forth to mock
Time's conquests and the law of death,
And reign for ever on their tomb.

367

November 19 AMEN FOLKS

“Let your communication be, Yea, yea; Nay, nay.”— St. Matt. v. 37.

We are the Amen Folks of God and work His holy Will,
And wheresoever Truth hath trod we plough the land and till
Beneath His sky in honesty, through good report and ill;
We praise the Bounty which is Bread and never gives us nay
And is to all a table spread beside the desert way,
A bubbling well whereby we dwell, one Everlasting Yea.

We are the Amen Folks of God, and must confess His Name
By drawing from the very clod the pretty flowerlike flame,
Till darkest dearth upon the earth puts off the weeds and shame;
We deal to everyone his due and bear the burden sent
And to ourselves and each are true and humble and content,
While with glad tears and faithful fears we sow the long Ascent.

368

We are the Amen Folks of God and serving at His side
And leaning on that loving rod which chastens so our pride,
That He may thus be more to us who in His Mercy hide;
We do not ask for power or place, but simply to be low
And worthy vessels for the Grace which would through sinners flow,
That at His Feet we may be meet and like our Master grow.

We are the Amen Folks of God and seek no other crown
Than duty, though beneath the sod we lie rejected down
And only make for others' sake the future of renown;
It is enough to take the yoke which Christ Himself has worn,
If even the heart which for Him broke received no hire but scorn—
For each lost life is in the strife a ray of coming Morn.

369

November 20 THE CROSS FOUNDATION

“Other foundation can no man lay than that is laid.”— 1 Cor. iii. 11.

God before birth of sinning, God at the great beginning,
God in the unstoried past
Laid His broad bases deep beyond or death or sleep,
In the Eternal cast;
He might have strung the land and sea on iron bands
Which nothing more could shake,
He might have diggèd low nor suffered ebb and flow
Just for His Wisdom sake;
Or on a thought as thread hung Time's young bridal bed
And rounded it with bliss,
Till at the dreadful meeting of Power and Mercy's greeting
Light burst from the abyss.

God set not the foundation thus to His fresh Creation
Whence this our glory shines,
But in the broken Heart of Love from Love apart
He sought the solemn lines.
He took the simple Cross and married gain to loss
In a most tender bond,
And bade its Shadow fall on earth and sky and all
Unto the years beyond.

370

Nor did he flinch and fail, but drove one bitter nail
To reach the perfect rest,
Though ere that peace was given and ere those arms were riven
It piercèd His own Breast.

371

November 21 UNDER ALL

“It is sown in weakness; it is raised in power.”— 1 Cor. xv. 43.

O not in fire and thunder, but in the weakness under
Whence the pure fountains rise,
He sowed the scarlet seed of every kingly creed
Which opens Paradise.
From no mere common roots spring those immortal shoots
Which carry us so high,
And bridge the awful strait (where else we weep and wait),
To bring God very nigh;
The sources of sweet things, the upward waft of wings
Which make the spirit free,
Go farther even than praying, and have their inmost staying
Down in that Holy Tree.

Yea, here (for Love is cruel) he hangeth each rare jewel,
His goodly earth and sky,
Upon that primal form stirred not by any storm,
A blessèd Trinity.
He wrought no subtle charms, but to these awful arms
And from the single nail

372

He builded fair and fast the Present and the Past
And pomps that shall prevail.
For by our precious pain and out of bitter strain
Which daily we rehearse,
And in our living losses, we only show the Cross is
What bears the Universe.

373

November 22 AT THE GRAVE OF LAZARUS

“Lazarus, come forth! And he that was dead came forth.”— St. John xi. 43, 44.

They met above the fallen friend,
They stood across his grave;
The Shadow that no prayer would bend,
The Light that stooped to save.
For there was bound, in silent round,
Life like a frozen wave.

They met, and on the stricken shape
Death planted firm his feet;
Lest the poor prisoner should escape,
Loosed by that Presence sweet;
And his cold hands confirmed the bands
Of the pale winding-sheet.

They met, and, lo! the gracious Form
Looked at the rival Power,
As sunshine faces a grim storm
When it hath passed its hour;
As day, through night before its flight,
Falls on an opening flower.

They met in that unequal strife,
The spoiler and his Lord,
The dying Death, the living Life
That could not thus accord;
And, at His breath, discrownèd Death
Was slain by his own sword.

374

November 23 THERE MAY BE EARTH

“The kingdom of God is within you.”—St. Luke xvii. 21.

There may be earth—I cannot say,
For I was never in its hold;
There must be Heaven, because I pray
And hourly gather up its gold.
I am not sure of mortal things
That mock me with their dying day,
And seem but vapour vanishings
'Mid verities august and old.
Each human sense, the ear and eye,
Proclaim the rule of vanity;
They feel no waft of angel wings,
The magic and the mystery.

There may be hell, I cannot speak
Of what I have not truly known;
There must be Heaven, its mountain peak
Breaks through the clouds above me grown;
And every hour I climb its track,
Though flesh is false and purpose weak
And sometimes would in doubt turn back,
When angry winds are round me blown.
But yet I follow the white gleam,
Which lights no earthly land or stream;
And though the world's great bases crack,
I live the Truth within the Dream.

375

November 24 THE SCULPTOR

“The word of God is ... sharper than any two-edged sword, piercing even to the dividing asunder of soul and spirit.”— Heb. iv. 12.

The Sculptor took the mallet and He smote
Deep into throbbing flesh,
And with the grace of graving tools He wrote
My little life afresh.
He chiselled here the excrescence of a vice
And there an idle whim,
He counted nothing lost as sacrifice
To fashion me like Him.
And thus he drove the searching iron deep
Through rhythmic blood and brain,
It spared no folly in the dreadful sweep
Of the pursuing pain.
It polished, while it sternly entered in,
The body that should be
A temple of the Lord unsoiled by sin,
And with His Beauty free.
But yet I heeded not the blessèd tool
Nor its remorseless bite,
As in the scorching of that fiery school
My soul waxed infinite.
I felt the touch of something more than art,
As soft as sunset dew
And yet like steel and flame throughout my heart,
Which moulded all anew.

376

November 25 LIGHT AND SHADOW

“And the Lord went before them ... in a pillar of a cloud, to lead them the way.”—Exod. xiii. 21.

There is no joy without a shade,
Nor were it joy for souls unless
This out of very grandeur made
A cloud to hide its loveliness;
We could not brook that naked light
Which is a very ray of God,
So doth it gather of the night
And cometh dimly draped and shod.

I would not wish for brighter gaze
Than that which visits me at times,
When angels dwarf their burning blaze
Of splendour to unspacious climes;
I feel, I know the earthly bond
They wear is not for gladness free,
It hardly veils the heaven beyond
Of visions now we may not see.

I thank Thee, Father, for the sun
Which scatters broad and generous beams,
But in the depths of darkness run
More rich and more refreshing streams;
I thank Thee stars are stainèd white
And mist lies on the clearest coast,
For thus I trace the Infinite
And touch Thee in the twilight most.

377

November 26 NOT WORTHY

“I am not worthy of the least of all the mercies, and of all the truth, which thou hast shewed unto thy servant.”— Gen. xxxii. 10.

I am not worthy, Lord, to bear
The burden of one cross for Thee,
Nor join the Martyr throng and wear
The glorious fetters of the free;
But I may only stand afar
And catch a glimmer of the light,
Or Heavenly joy, through doors ajar—
Not enter into the full sight.

I am not worthy, Lord, to speak
A word for Thee in service high,
And yet unto the poor and weak
Thou in Thy Greatness art most nigh;
And out of frailty tried and tost
Thou lovest to be chiefly blest,
And when our Paradise seems lost
We find it on the Saviour's Breast.

I am not worthy, Lord, to live
One idle hour of sin and shame,
And take the bounty Thou dost give
But do so little for Thy Name;
Yet by infirmities which prove
The utter boundlessness of Grace,
This broken vessel holds the Love
Which holds the world in its embrace.

378

November 27 THE DIVINE SONSHIP

“Have we not all one father?”—Mal. ii. 10.

Almighty God, we cannot know
Much of Thy Grandeur and Thy Love,
When we are here so far below,
And Thou so very high above.
Yet we believe in Mysteries—
Thou art beyond our dreams of good,
And out of the Eternities
Hast given Thy gracious Fatherhood.

For Thou art wonderfully nigh
To us and every pulse of pain,
And not the feeblest sob or sigh
Is lifted up to Thee in vain.
And care, like Thine, can always hear
The faintest wish or farthest call;
Thy homely Heart and listening Ear,
Are hospitably wide to all.

We are Thy children at the last
And from Thy Blessing cannot fly,
For even in death we only cast
Ourselves on Thy great Charity.
And after each mad wandering quest
Which Thy dear Mercy hath withstood,
We lay us down in utter rest
Upon thine awful Fatherhood.

379

November 28 WEIGHED

“A just weight and balance are the Lord's: a just weigher of spirits is the Lord.”—Prov. xvi. 11.

Not with Thy scales and measures, Lord,
Weigh this poor little soul of mine,
But in the kindness of the Word—
That all the Grace may be Divine;
Though I be wanting in the flesh,
In Thee I'm daily born afresh.

A cup of water in Thy Name
Is like an overflowing fount,
A living sea, that puts to shame
The glory of the earth's account;
And faith, that doth the lowliest tasks,
Is fulness which Thy service asks.

It is Thy Merits, Lord, that make
Our offerings beautiful and sweet,
And every cross for Thy dear sake
Borne gladly brings us to Thy Feet;
Nay, lifteth us, and lets us hide
Within Thy precious wounded Side.

If I had riches of all lands
And laid them humbly in Thine Arms,
They would not answer those demands
Which seek for more than worldly charms;
In Thee, the crust, the widow's mite,
Reach to a grandeur infinite.

380

November 29 THE WATCHMAN

“Watchman, what of the night? Watchman, what of the night?”—Isa. xxi. 11.

Art thou watching, art thou watching,
For the dawn's first shadow bright?
See, the mountain tops are catching
From afar the coming light.
Endless vigils we must pay,
For the vision of the day.

Watchman, sleep not at thy post,
By false beacons be not led
When thy duty wants thee most,
Ere the morn break overhead;
Truth demands the dearest price,
Sleepless love as sacrifice.

Art thou watching, art thou watching,
For the freedom and its feast?
Soon will come the sweet unlatching,
Of the gateways in the East.
Liberty, that's won by strife,
Asks an ever-wakeful life.

Watchman, here we have no rest
Now before the night is past—
Until folded to God's Breast,
Which is Heaven and Home, at last.
Christ will have His offering whole,
Endless vigils of the soul.

381

November 30 NATIVE LIGHT

“The heart knoweth ... and a stranger doth not intermeddle with his joy.”—Prov. xiv. 10.

Eyes make the beauty that is theirs
And hearts the music of the need,
Our highest thoughts are only heirs
To hopes whereof we planted seed;
And what is any outward gloom,
While we can worship, Lord, and pray
And have in even the dreadest doom
A germ of Thine Eternal Day?

And but for the dear homely cloud
I could not ever catch Thy Light,
Which from the shadow of the shroud
Sends back a resurrection sight;
I could not prove my mortal dower
Is yet so merciful and kind,
Nor guess the greatness of Thy Power
Without the blessings of the blind.

Were I the sun itself, the shade
Would simply be my very floor,
A lesser brightness, till I bade
My fulness enter in earth's door;
And if I saw the perfect round
Of things so manifest to Love,
There were not mote or tiniest bound
Between this view and that above.

382

December 1 MARAH AND SILOAM

“They could not drink of the waters of Marah, for they were bitter: . . . What shall we drink? . . . And the Lord shewed him a tree, . . . the waters were made sweet.”— Exod. xv. 23–25.

They stand together side by side
As they for ever thus have stood,
The bitter and the cleansing tide
In blessèd mystic brotherhood;
And he that taketh of the sweet,
First in the other washed his feet.

We would leave Marah by the way
And lose the healing fount of tears,
But none may serve his little day
Who hath not been baptized in fears;
And would we miss the dreadful cup,
When Christ in Mercy holds it up?

Siloam could not seem so dear
Nor be so beautiful to drink,
Had Marah not been always near
And we not tasted at its brink;
The life would lack its very breath,
Did we not enter it by death.

O precious Saviour, Thou art still
Our Portion—we will have no less;
A saving Presence from each ill,
A wellspring in the wilderness;
With Thee we rise through Marah's grave,
To win Siloam's quickening wave.

383

December 2 THE ALABASTER BOX

“She hath done what she could.”—St. Mark xiv. 8.

She hath done what she could! And for the Master
Who granteth power to live and die,
She broke the box of alabaster
Which bound her to Him with a dearer tie;
But ere she gave it first her heart was broken
With sorrow for her past of sin,
And love more deep because unspoken
That He might set His vaster Love therein;
And thence the sweetness of that far-off fragrance
Hath filled the earth and every breast,
And stayed the act of lawless vagrance
In the calm Sabbath of eternal rest.

She hath done what she could! And so the pittance
Once offered with the widow's mite,
Still for all treasure was acquittance
And in its faith a fulness infinite;
She could not render more, who grudged God nothing
But poured her living at His feet,
And with her worship's pure white clothing
Arrayed the One whom she had come to meet;
She would deal nothing less, though that were little—
Too petty for a pauper's dole,
And she a vessel vile and brittle—
But yet it was her universe, her whole.

384

December 3 A CUP OF WATER

“Whosoever shall give to drink unto one of these little ones a cup of cold water only . . . shall in no wise lose his reward.” —St. Matt. x. 42.

She hath done what she could! And he that giveth
A cup of water to a child
For Jesus who in weakness liveth,
To Him is thus all sweetly reconciled;
And when he takes the burden of another
To be his own abiding guest,
He pays the service of the Brother
Who taught us how to sacrifice our best;
For all that sheds a ray on mortal blindness
Or smooths some weary pathway trod,
Is one more stone of human kindness,
And goes to build the Temple of our God.

She hath done what she could! And I for ever
May make no lower standard mine,
In goodly work or great endeavour
That lifts the meanest task to tops Divine;
I cannot keep back ought from Him who squanders
The riches of His Love on me,
And when my faithless footstep wanders
And stumbles it with His will closer be;
I only mete Him back what first He measured
To one who suffered many a fall,
And got from Him the wealth untreasured—
It may be little, yet it must be all.

385

December 4 EXEAT

“He shall return no more to his house, neither shall his place know him any more.”—Job vii. 10.

Would I recall it, if I might,
Who travail in this house of flesh
And suffer much and sin afresh,
Though toiling upward to the Light?
Would I, a rebel, grieve thereat,
And honour not with willing choice
The sentence of the Master's Voice,
That gives a schoolboy's Exeat?

Nay, if I could undo the call,
Which summons me at length to go
And leave my prison of clay below,
I would not be again its thrall.
Why should I tarry in a bond,
When round me rise more loving claims
With lasting links and higher aims
And the blue sky of Peace beyond?

I do not know my lesson now,
And there are deeper truths to learn
For which in better moods I yearn,
Yet to God's will I humbly bow.
Though others sit where once I sat
And time has been a wasted tool,
I am a pupil freed from school
And hail with joy my Exeat.

386

December 5 HOME-SICKNESS

“They that say such things declare plainly that they seek a country—i.e. native country or home.”—Heb. xi. 14.

I often wonder at the greatness
Thrust on me from the very first,
The sense of God's own grand sedateness
And powers that through my weakness burst;
The passion of an upward movement
Which rises on things dead and gone,
Through bitter lapse and blest improvement
For ever and for ever on.

I feel at work the pure Refiner
Within who moulds me by the flame,
To something vaster and diviner,
Above the shadow of a shame;
And yet it is no alien splendour
Which always just before me lies.
And nothing good I need surrender
In leaving earth to scale the skies.

It's but the law of my own being
Which lifts me forward and on high,
By trust which is more true than seeing
And draws the Infinite so nigh;
Ah, with a conscious heaven-born quickness
I turn to the Eternal Love,
Led on as by a sure Home-sickness
Unto my native land above.

387

December 6 TIMES OF VISITATION

“If thou hadst known, even thou, at least in this thy day, the things which belong unto thy peace.”—St. Luke xix. 42.

If thou hadst known, before it was too late
In this thy golden time,
And seen the Blessèd Porter at the gate
Or heard the Heavenly chime;
If thou hadst known, one hour of visioned youth
Had been enough to lead
Thy devious footsteps to the tops of Truth,
Which blindness well might read.

But now each lost day like some damning sin
Which never more may fade,
Throws on the better years which would begin
Their own accusing shade;
All, all my life seems burdened by the Past
And poisoned with its guilt,
On whose foundations though with prayer and fast
The branded whole is built.

If thou hadst known—my Lord, Thou knowest now
The frailty of my flesh,
Each light resolve, each lapse or broken vow
Dead ere full-formed afresh;
But though no mortal work can wash the stain
And neither fire nor flood,
Yet in each effort Christ is born again
And offers still His Blood.

388

December 7 NO SEPARATION

“I am persuaded, that neither death, nor life, . . . shall be able to separate us from the love of God . . . in Christ Jesus.” —Rom. viii. 38, 39.

Deem not, I can ever be too far
From thy one least sin or sorrow;
Nearer than the light is to the star—
Than the day is to the morrow,
I am unto thee in every care
Which I will remove at once or share.

Deem not that I sometimes hide My Face
Out of wrath from thee in darkness,
Or there are within My Love's embrace
Desert breadths of stony starkness;
It is always Bethel and the way,
For the soul that steps apart to pray.

Deem not thy petitions are unknown
Or unheard by Me till uttered,
When thy right request was first My own
Ere it in thy bosom fluttered;
It was I who gently led thee back,
From the error to the truer track.

Deem not that I ever can forget,
For a greater task or other,
Thee with all My mercies so beset—
Thou art Mine, and I thy Brother;
Loss to-day shall be to-morrow's gain,
Joy that dies is but reborn by pain.

389

December 8 WINTER

“When thou hearest the sound of a going in the tops of the mulberry trees . . . thou shalt bestir thyself: for then shall the Lord go out before thee.”—2 Sam. v. 24.

The elms are bowing in the wind,
But they are bowing, Lord, to Thee;
We think them stupid stocks and blind,
And yet they also serve and see;
Yea, in the blasts of wintry weather,
They know Thy Name and kneel together.

O as we watch them wildly sway
Their branches reach out giant hands,
As if they only ask to pray
And worship doing Thy commands;
Stript of their foliage greens and glosses,
Their stems stand up like Calvary crosses.

Father, they teach me that Thine earth
With all upon it holds and hangs,
Alike the altar and the hearth,
By one dread Tree and Jesu's pangs;
Life had not learnt memento mori,
But for that Shadow and its glory.

Ages before the birth of man
The precious Lamb of God was slain,
In His decree, and Time began
But with the foretaste of Christ's pain;
And, in the acts of dumb creation,
We find rehearsed our one Salvation.

390

December 9 EVENING

“And the city had no need of the sun, neither of the moon, to shine in it: for the glory of God did lighten it.”—Rev. xxi. 23.

Evening falls, the sun hath set,
Dew lies on the grassy ground;
But my Sun is shining yet,
In the heart and all around.
He, who to me is akin
More than man, gives light within.

Evening falls, the blossoms close,
Every little star that shone,
But not with them Sharon's Rose
Which through shadow shineth on;
And the fragrance of His Love
Draws my soul to Him above.

Evening falls, but glories rise
Better than the gleams that fade,
Open on me other skies
By a brighter Presence made;
All the earth becomes a cup,
Whence sweet incense goeth up.

Evening falls, but Heaven stoops down
And adjusts its step to mine,
Shrinks the grandeur of its crown
To the head that grows Divine;
Ah, and from the prayerful heart
Morning never can depart.

391

December 10 TO-MORROW

“Go to now, ye that say, To day or to morrow we will . . . Whereas ye know not what shall be on the morrow.”— St. James iv. 13, 14.

To-morrow shall my hand repair
The breaches in this house of dust,
When doubt is growing to despair
And I have nought whereon to trust?

To-morrow, did the Master say,
Come to me or whene'er thou wilt,
And do not trouble if to-day
Is burdened by a crushing guilt?

To-morrow shall I ask for grief
The comfort which is offered now,
Or take for sickness the relief
Which then no Mercy may allow?

To-morrow shall I fly the doom
Which overshadows all my way,
And breeds within a greater gloom,
When pardon comes to me to-day?

To-morrow shall I hope for life
When death is knocking at my heart,
And earth and heaven itself seem rife
With judgment that will not depart?

To-morrow shall I take the Hand
Outstretched to be my strength and stay,
And then wash off the bitter brand
When Love were cleansing me to-day?

392

December 11 GOD'S LEADING

“Thou in thy mercy hast led forth the people which Thou hast redeemed.”—Exod. xv. 13.

Thou leddest me, dear Father, long
Through many an evil storm and stress,
Yet always gavest me a song
Within the night or wilderness;
Yea, though I turned aside in doubt
And chose a less and lower part,
I could not shut entirely out
Thy secret music in my heart.

Thou leddest me by weary wastes
And up steep mounts that sternly rose,
To teach me thus sublimer tastes
And find some fountain at the close;
Even if I followed Thee from far
Or tried to break from Mercy free,
Still shone Thy Love a guiding star,
To bring me to myself and Thee.

Thou leddest me by distant climes
And devious roads that grew more dread,
Unto the broader and better times
Which all those years I vainly fled;
I cannot wander where I come,
I cannot from Thy judgment hide,
Except to Thee, my God and Home—
Except within Thy broken Side.

393

December 12 WAITING

“They that wait upon the Lord shall renew their strength.”— Isa. xl. 31.

“Sit still, my daughter.”—Ruth iii. 18.

Sister, thy lot more hardly falls
Than that of those within the fight,
To hear the tumult at the walls
And catch fierce glimpses as through night;
To know the awful power of sin,
The passion and the glittering bait,
But yet while eager to rush in
The strife to stand aside and wait.

Sister, it is not only deeds
Wrought in the battle which will count,
And sow for men immortal seeds
To swell God's truths and sweet amount;
There is no weapon forged by man,
Like Love, that though with trembling gait
Works gently out the Eternal Plan,
And is content to watch and wait.

Sister, thy prayers are precious too,
Thy kind thoughts help the Kingdom on,
They work what nothing else can do
And shake the walls of Babylon;
Thy quiet unseen toil is more
Than that which struggles through the strait
And storms to reach the farther shore—
Eternity can trust and wait.

394

December 13 SONGS IN THE NIGHT

“God my maker, who giveth songs in the night.”— Job xxxv. 10.

Come to me, Jesus, in the night
Of sickness, when my thoughts forsake
Their earthly paths and seek the Sight,
That opens but when hearts awake;
Now while I feel the sinking flesh
I will lie very meek and still,
To be in Mercy born afresh
And take the moulding of Thy Will.

The lesson may be hard to learn,
I only am a child and small,
But greater Truth for which I yearn
Cometh by pain or not at all;
I will lay down my foolish pride
And lean but on Thy Holy Name,
If Thou art standing at my side—
Though Thy best teaching be through flame.

Come to me, Jesus, hold me now,
I rest within Thy loving Hands,
Thy Cross I bear upon this brow
And on my heart write Thy commands;
Till I have found Thy quickening touch,
And, in the vision more than sight,
The shadow which I feared so much
Is but the shadow of Thy Light.

395

December 14 GRACE OF SIMPLICITY

“And the Spirit and the bride say, Come. And let him that heareth say, Come.”—Rev. xxii. 17.

Here at the utter end of all
I stand and commune with my heart,
Alone yet not alone;
But with the Brother, who took part
In every act and broke each fall;
Whom I now, with the dying year
As at its birth in faithful fear,
In thought and will enthrone.

This the great lesson I have learned
From toil and trouble and sweet pain,
How blest simplicity;
The little joys, the lowly gain,
The look that as the sunlight turned
In instant choice to cheer a friend,
The love that would with sorrow bend—
These live eternally.

It was the Holy Child in me,
The Christ for ever there reborn,
That raised my humble wings;
He breathed, into the lot forlorn,
The Spirit that made my service free;
And His the glory, for He gave
Blessing and beauty through the grave,
Grander than crowns of kings.

396

December 15 TREASURES OF THE SNOW

“Hast thou entered into the treasures of the snow?”— Job xxxviii. 22.

“Of purer eyes than to behold evil.”—Hab. i. 13.

God scatters freely many a gift,
His Grace no measure hath or marge;
One's vision sees the bright blue rift
Above, while others walk in night;
One hears the awful solemn charge,
To lead an erring nation right.
But to the favoured few below,
God gives His treasures of the snow.

Some let their unkind glances scan
The blots that should have love's defence,
And only blame the wrong in man;
These, working God's most Holy Will,
Are clothèd with the innocence
That knoweth yet would hide the ill.
Ah, for His Blest no outward show
God gives, but hearts of virgin snow.

They are so full of pity's power
And a most Christlike sympathy,
They guess behind the thorns the flower
And under barren lives good seeds;
They have the true Divinity,
Finding in all their own pure deeds;
For such, to nought but evil slow,
God keeps His treasures of the snow.

397

December 16 ALONE WITH GOD

“I am not alone, but I and the Father.”—St. John viii. 16.

Alone with God—
The shadows fell away,
The masks and fig-leaves of this mortal dress
With all the rags of false self-righteousness
Beneath His rod.
My good deeds seemed but growth of mere decay,
And I had nothing left but nakedness
To cheat the death which it could not delay.
My soul failed fluttering,
Like some wounded thing,
Which lifts to Heaven its uttering
On a broken wing.

Alone with God—
The mountains were a mist,
Dissolving at His Presence and His Power;
The storm lay still and low; trembling, the tower
Appeared to nod,
Just by the lurid sunset caught and kiss'd.
Then from the silence, as it broke in flower
With sweet half-lights of rose and amethyst,
Soft as snow driven
By a summer wind—
A Voice, “Thou art forgiven
Who hast greatly sinned.”

398

December 17 THE WAY HOME

“O Lord, I know that the way of man is not in himself: it is not in man that walketh to direct his steps.”—Jer. x. 23.

I murmured at the cruel dart,
And saw the grievous sin;
Though wounds, which broke my bleeding heart,
Had let the Saviour in.

But He stood there, and knocking loud
And knocking sometimes low;
But, ah, my spirit was too proud
To heed each loving blow.

But on He went and kindly wrought
With me and waited long,
Till suffering turned to holy thought
And made me wisely strong.

So now when trials dawn, I kneel
And thank Him very much,
For then I blossom out and feel
The Mercy of His touch.

But had I never learned to bear
The burden or the shame,
I were unshriven and could not wear
As mine His Blessèd Name.

And though for sorrows none would ask
I know, whene'er they come,
They angels are to share my task,
And draw me sweetly Home.

399

December 18 PATIENCE

“The trying of your faith worketh patience. But let patience have her perfect work, that ye may be perfect and entire, wanting nothing.”—St. James i. 3, 4.

I am content to watch and wait
For the unfolding of God's Will,
And in the storm or iron strait
To worship and be still.

How can I doubt His larger law,
And wisdom with its perfect sight?
I know the shadow and the awe
Are but o'erwhelming Light.

Why should I fear a moment space,
When Christ is nearer far than thought,
And I can look into that Face
That shines on me unsought?

It is enough to be assured,
He will not once deny His debt;
The promise, which has long endured
He may not now forget.

So, in His season, shall I find
His blessèd Truth established more;
Seeing that Love was all behind,
And all is Love before.

Then that repose which comes at last,
Even in the darkness before dawn
When skies are deepest overcast,
And will not be withdrawn.

400

December 19 SWEET BELLS

“In that day shall there be upon the bells of the horses, HOLINESS UNTO THE LORD.”—Zech. xiv. 20.

Sweet bells are ringing
And voices singing
In many a calm and cloistered place,
The message that is ever new.
And they that look in Jesu's face,
Know that Love droppeth like the dew;
The promise vernal
Of life Eternal,
Which gathers all in its embrace,
But seals for service high the few.

The shades are falling,
Worship is calling
The many from their labours long
For prayer and praise, that offer up
To crownèd Love serence and strong
Outpourings of the heart's own cup.
With heaven's they mingle,
Where joy is single
And Matins one with Evensong,
When souls at last with angels sup.

Sweet bells, in whispers,
Like secret vespers
Ring on within the grateful Word
Which makes and keeps us always young,
While we by living truths are stirr'd

401

As if by choirs celestial sung.
And may their measures
Abide our treasures,
Till the low parting prayer is heard
And the last evening bell is rung.

402

December 20 A SONG OF SLOW DEGREES

“Line upon line, line upon line; here a little, and there a little.”—Isa. xxviii. 10.

I often cannot choose but weep
To think my purpose is so brittle,
And I a watchman sometimes sleep
At duty's post and learn so little;
When Jesus, in His risen Power,
Says, “Brother, watch with Me an hour.”

I do but darkly what I ought
Or when he calls me dumbly follow,
And in my highest act or thought
I feel the richest fruit is hollow.
My feet go stumbling after Him,
And even my brightest hopes are dim.

The breastplate He has given is strong,
Harmless the bolts upon it rattle;
But yet I find the lesson long,
Though mine the prize and His the battle.
For He has done the cruel task,
And offers more than I can ask.

But, ah, I know His heavenly way
Is line on line, by jot and tittle;
Yea, if I loiter He will stay
To guide me step by step though little.
For in my blindness still he sees,
And tunes my song of slow degrees.

403

December 21 SEEDS OF GRACE

“By grace are ye saved through faith; and that not of yourselves: it is the gift of God.”—Eph. ii. 8.

Thus is Christ sowing in me seeds
Of grace, that I may plead with brothers;
This yet shall flower in faithful deeds,
And bear a harvest ripe for others.
He will not show the timid shoots,
Till in him centre all my roots.

Earth is a picture, fair and bright
Now, though it passed through dreadful stages;
Æons of shadows wrought our light,
And this green vesture grew from ages.
Grim centuries of fire and flood,
Went to shape forth one shining bud.

And He, who makes celestial blue
Of dust by dazzling transformation,
Will to my tardy work be true—
Though long He digs the deep foundation.
No prayers were wasted in my past,
To build God's temple that shall last.

And now I alway smile through tears,
For while my staff is poor and brittle
Yet He is stronger than my fears
And greatest when my love is little.
If hard the pathway be to trace,
I look up closer in His Face.

404

December 22 IN THE SHADOW OF CHRIST

“And immediately the ship was at the land whither they went.”—St. John vi. 21.

Dear Saviour, I am wearied sore
And now to Thee I lowly come,
As a spent wavelet to the shore
Which though it falleth finds a home;
I win, but by a broken heart,
The peace that never will depart.

I cannot journey farther on
Unless on Thy great love I lie,
And we remain in Babylon
Till in Thy quickening grave we die;
Ah, I am only risen and free,
When laid in burial low with Thee.

Take me and in Thy Presence hide,
As Nature doth in its green dress
The wounded things that seek its side
And gather to its graciousness;
Lift up a corner of that robe,
To cover me as all the globe.

The evening is Thy shadow, Lord,
And seems the veil upon that Light
Which were as dreadful as a sword,
If we beheld the perfect sight;
And those, that in the shadow rest,
Are gently cradled by Thy Breast.

405

December 23 THE DOOR AJAR

“And the Lord shut him in.”—Gen. vii. 16.

“Behold, a door was opened in heaven.”—Rev. iv. 1.

God came to me, a Father still,
But not in sunny shine;
And laid His loving rod, in ill,
On me for discipline.
He shut me in to shadow long,
It seemed a prison dark;
But even in night he gave a song,
The prison it was His Ark.

God spoke to me in solemn wise,
And bade me follow Him
Up rugged stairs that did arise
Each step an anguish dim.
He put a cross into my hand
And purgèd me from chaff,
But as I trod that lonely land
The cross became a staff.

God guides me yet His heavenly way,
Mysterious, strait, and steep;
But I have always room to pray,
And precious tears to weep.
For still he often walls me round
With many a pain and bar,
But when I reach the bitterest bound
I find the door ajar.

406

December 24 HEAVEN AND HOME

“If a man love me, he will keep my words: and my Father will love him, and we will come unto him, and make our abode with him.”—St. John xiv. 23.

Heaven was to all at first a dream,
The shadow of a shining vision,
Which lured us with a distant gleam
And yet when grasped proved but derision;
Until the Christ came down to say,
That Heaven was here—not far away.

He told us of His Father's Love
And many-mansioned House of Glory,
Till the below seemed the above
And Heaven at most earth's upper storey,
As if it only were God's Face,
That made a Heaven of every place.

He said that all who lovèd much
Would find a happy Heaven in Duty,
And those that owned the human touch
Of brotherhood walked in its beauty;
And if the Father made its worth,
The earth was Heaven and Heaven was earth.

And thus both worlds are really one,
There is no wall of separation,
And something dared or service done
Gives unto each its consecration,
For, since the Blessèd Christ has come,
Now Home is Heaven, and Heaven is Home.

407

December 25 MORE OF CHRIST

“Till we all come . . . unto the measure of the stature of the fulness of Christ.”—Eph. iv. 13.

More of Thy Sweetness, Jesus, grant
To us who truly know Thy Name,
But feel the sacred oil is scant
And burneth with a feeble flame.
We want its perfume and its power
To bathe our souls, like God's caress;
And overflow the life, and flower
In acts of gentle Christliness.

More of Thy Fulness, Jesus, give
The servants who would follow near,
Not by a worship fugitive
Nor with a casual sigh and tear.
Look on these little hearts and take
For precious use and parts Divine,
And fashion them for thee and make
Larger with blessèd discipline.

More of Thy Spirit, Jesus, mete
To all by worldly cares opprest;
That in Thy Peace and Joy complete,
Each wrong may grandly be redrest.
And let us only breathe Thy Grace
In whatsoe'er we do or seem,
Until the brightness of each face
Reflects the Love that did redeem.

408

December 26 THE BALANCE OF THINGS

“We know that all things work together for good.”— Rom. viii. 28.

I must believe that all is right
And God was ever good and just
To every one, nor can the night
A moment shake my rooted trust.
And though the surface is not clear
It is a surface and no more,
And if unfairness will appear
It doth not touch Creation's core.

I will believe, that for the best
The whole is ordered, and each part
Hath travailed in the Father's Breast
And cometh from His Broken Heart;
Whereby it gives to us the breath
Of beauty and the joy of strife,
And shall not perish even in death
Nor is embodied all in life.

I do believe, that in the End,
However this may fall or be,
Our Father will be proved our Friend
And with Eternal Truth agree.
While in the lowest place or loss,
If fortune is most brief or pent,
Yet whether by a crown or cross
Each hath his self-development.

409

December 27 QUO VADIS, DOMINE?

“Master, where dwellest thou . . . Come and see.”— St. John i. 38, 39.

It was nigh morning
And the grey glimmer of a sea of pearls,
When the great flag of darkness slowly furls,
And earth's adorning
Looks like the moonrise on a maiden's curls;
Who walks a Vestal
Forth from the gateways of some conquered sin
And vices festal,
And keeps like life the sacred fire within
And knows that only God is now akin.
Yet was I flying,
From the Lord's trust and Love and glorious dying.

Betwixt the gleaming
And gloom that faded back in sullen pride
With rolling waves of a reluctant tide,
But not in dreaming,
I was aware of Some One at my side.
An awful shimmer
Broke on the shadows of my faithless way;
The world waxed dimmer
Beneath another Light and better Day,
And the soft wind ceased from its prattling play;
A sudden vision,
Fell on my heart, that loathed its base decision.

410

And then the calling
Of my most beautiful and Blessèd Lord
Fell on mine ears, and touched a tender chord
With holy thralling—
And through my soul cut anguish like a sword.
For He had trusted
These hands to hold a precious charge for Him,
Not as I lusted;
Though in the swelling waters I might swim,
Or see new terrors waxing close and grim.
Yet at the trial,
I shrank in shame and offered but denial.

411

December 28 VADO AD CRUCEM

“And he bearing his cross went forth into a place called . . . Golgotha.”—St. John xix. 17.

No word was spoken,
But I had felt that still and piercing cry
Make in my heart a heaven of ecstasy,
His Presence token,
Which bathed me as in all eternity.
I answered dumbly,
“Quo vadis, Domine?” I only said,
And hearkened humbly
For that sweet Voice which was my inmost aid
And used to bid me serve nor be afraid.
“Vado labore,
Pro te et iterum in Cruce mori.”

At last I lifted
My prostrate brow to that most lovely Face,
I saw the cloud that had eclipsed His Grace
Was rent and rifted,
And in His sufferings I had found a place.
But that new being
Which His own Sorrow breathed into my breast
Was more than seeing
And made me with His knowledge brave and blest,
As though I shared the everlasting Rest.
By that strange giving
He drew aside the veil, and death was living.

412

December 29 GOD AND THE HARVEST

“I have planted, Apollos watered; but God gave the increase.” —1 Cor. iii. 6.

Hast thou, dear brother, toiled through many years
And seen no fruits, though thou hast freely sown
Thy life in labour and with watchful tears
Watered the soil yet none the richer grown?
Remember that the reaping is God's own,
And He can gather even of doubts and fears;
We only plough and plant our little field—
He is our Harvest, and His Love the yield.

Be sure, no kindly word or work may fail
To leave a blessing, if we know it not
And our poor efforts often err and ail,
While nothing that we do is without spot;
Christ stands Yoke-fellow, in the lowliest lot;
He is the light, and prayers at last prevail;
And, should thy service seem a wasted part,
It still shall blossom in some happier heart.

Not ours to finish tasks or seek the sight
Of precious increase and the praise of man,
But just to scatter seed in nature's night
And leave with God the issue of His plan;
He will complete what He in Grace began,
And order even thine errors all aright.
Thou wert well paid, whatever clouds do come,
If thou hast helped one wandering sinner Home.

413

December 30 WHO GOES HOME?

“Here have we no continuing city, but we seek one to come.”— Heb. xiii. 14.

Traveller, traveller, whither bound
On the journey thou dost tread?
Every clod is heavenly ground,
Or a graveyard of the dead;
As thou makest it by deed
Charnel roof or Church's dome,
Bleaching bones or blessèd seed—
Who goes Home?

Traveller, traveller, each new stage
Takes thee nearer to the close
Of thy mortal pilgrimage—
Dust of doom or Sharon's Rose;
Each new step is something lost,
Something gained, whate'er may come—
Soon thy Jordan must be crost—
Who goes Home?

Traveller, traveller, at thy side
Walketh Enemy or Friend,
But alone the crucified
Find the way is also end;
Hours and moments lightly flit,
God will shut thy earthly time
When the final page is writ—
Who goes Home?

414

December 31 FINIS!

“Of the increase of his government and peace there shall be no end.”—Isa. ix. 7.

Finis? Ah, no, it cannot be,
There is no earthly end to us,
Unbounded ages shall for me
And all redeem our errors thus;
For, in new methods marvellous,
We shall at length be truly free;
And man, with unspent virile force,
Shall yet run out his Godlike course.

This love, like a consuming fire
Which burns me sore but cannot kill,
And wraps the soul in white attire,
Must go on living, loving still;
And this divine unconquered will
Must somehow wreak its full desire,
And shall, though suns and systems fall,
Be all itself and one through all.

Finis? The full and closing page
Of the last chapter to my book,
May not be written on the stage
Which has the broadest human look;
Unshaken yet by storms that shook
Its path in many a previous age,
My heart, which is no mortal dole,
Shall help the Purpose of the Whole.

415

LAUS DEO

Epilogue

“Glory be to the Father, and to the Son, and to the Holy Ghost. —Amen.”

Speak humbly of me, shouldst thou speak at all;
But, if thou must, think kindly
And even a little blindly;
Yet, brother, praise me not in great or small.

What I have done betwixt my God and me
Rests for His final sentence,
Past now beyond repentance;
Nor would I that it otherwise might be.

And if I ever sang in tune with Him
A note of Love's long story,
To Him alone the glory—
He was the Music, I the mouthpiece dim.

For Him I chanted, and I had no choice
But to work out His pleasure,
Though in a modest measure—
I was a broken reed, a jangled voice.

No praise for me, I ask no earthly fame;
But merely to be shriven
By silence, and forgiven—
If not in word, by God's withholden blame.

416

BROKEN WINGS

My wings are broken, Lord, though they are wings
Yet that would upward fly;
It is not clogging doubt that to them clings,
But just the glory of their kindred sky.

For O the burden of Thy Love is such
They hardly rise to Thee,
Beneath the blessing of the sovereign touch
Which binds the closer it doth make me free.

Ah, still I know however I may droop
Upon Thy Grace I fall,
I bring to Thee, who wilt so humbly stoop,
My broken wings and weaknesses and all.

F. W. O. W.