mr> % M y< YK ta UC-NRLF $B IbS aoT in Digitized by tine Internet Arciiive in 2007 witii funding from IVIicrosoft Corporation littp://www.arcliive.org/details/flowerofpeacecolOOtynaricli TO LADY GROSVENOR WHO HAS ATTAINED gJ . ^rrureiJ ta tAe^ ^Jo^irvLi ' J/o//^r jbmjc . THE FLOWER of Peace A CoUedion of the Devotional Poetry of KATHARINE TYNAN " If thou can'st get but thither There grows the Flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy Fortress and thine Ease." Henry Vaughan. New York Charles Scribner's Sons 597-599 Fifth Avenue n^r Printed in England ^ CONTENTS BOOK I. "adveniat regnvm tvvm": p. 3. an old song re-sung i p. 4. the christmas babe i p. 5. the first nowell : p. 6. about the middle hour i p. 7. the christmas bird : p. 8. singing stars : p. 10. christmas eve in ireland: p. ii. BOOK II. EPIPHANY : P. 17. THE MAN OF THE HOUSE! P. 1 7. THE WEEPING BABE: P. 1 9. MATER DEI : P. 20. THE VISION OF JESUS : P. 21. BOOK III. SHEEP AND LAMBS : P. 25. BETHLEHEM : P. 26. ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS : P. 27. THE MAKING OF BIRDS : P. 29. THE abbot's bees: p. 31. THE birds' bargain : P. 32. V 454493 OF ST. FRANCIS AND THE ASS ! P. 33. THE ASS SPEAKS : P. 35. god's bird : P. 37. BOOK IV. THE GARDEN : P. 4I. INTROIT : P. 42. PLANTING BULBS : P. 43. THE TREE : P. 4$. LEAVES : P. 46. ROSA MYSTICA I P. 47. B O O K V. THE christening: p. 51. THE ONLY CHILD *. P. 52. LOVE COMFORTLESS : P. 53. LAMBS : P. 54. THE SHEEPFOLD : P. 54. THE NEW MOON AT CHRISTMAS : P. 55. THE CHILD : P. 57. BOOK VI. CHRISTMAS COMMUNION : P. 6 1 . AFTER COMMUNION : P. 62. THE PROUD LADY I P. 64. LVX IN TENEBRIS : P. 66. THE NIGHT COMETH ! P. 66. THE COLLOQUY : P. 67. VOTIVE OFFERING : P. 69. vi BOOK VII. MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL : P. 73. THE DREAM OF MARY : P. 74. OF AN ANGEL : P. 75. FOUR ANGELS I P. 77. THE LEPER I P. 78. GOOD FRIDAY I P. 78. THE WOUNDS : P. 79. EASTER : P. 80. APRIL IN IRELAND I P. 82. RESURRECTION I P. 83. SECOND SIGHT : P. 84. BOOK VIII. THE LITTLE PRAISES : P. 89. AN ECHO : P. 90. AN ANTHEM IN HEAT I P. 92. THANKSGIVING I P. 93. THE QUIET NIGHTS : P. 94. THE SERVANTS I P. 96. ALL IN ALL I P. 98. THE FLYING WHEEL : P. lOO. THE EPITAPH I P. lOI. ▼II BOOK I i|))THE FLOWER OF PEACE^ BOOK I "adveniat regnvm tvvm Thy kingdom come ! Yea, bid it come. But when Thy kingdom first began On earth, Thy kingdom was a home, A child, a woman, and a man. The child was in the midst thereof, O, blessed Jesus, holiest One ! The centre and the fount of love, Mary and Joseph's little Son. Wherever on the earth shall be A child, a woman, and a man, Imaging that sweet trinity Wherewith Thy kingdom first began. Establish there Thy kingdom ! Yea, And o'er that trinity of love Send down, as in Thy appointed day. The brooding spirit of Thy Dove ! 3 AN OLD SONG RE-SUNG I SAW three ships a-sailing, A-sailing on the sea, The first her masts were silver, Her hull was ivory. The snows came drifting softly, And lined her white as wool ; Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary, Thy cradle beautiful ! I saw three ships a-sailing, The next was red as blood. Her decks shone like a ruby, Encrimsoned all her wood. Her main-mast stood up lonely, A lonely Cross and stark. Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary, Bring all men to that ark ! I saw three ships a-sailing, The third for cargo bore The souls of men redeemed. That shall be slaves no more. The lost beloved faces, I saw them glad and free. Oh, Jesus, Son of Mary, When wilt Thou come for me ? THE CHRISTMAS BABE All in the night when sleeping I lay in slumber's chain, The Christmas Babe came weeping Outside my window-pane. The Christmas Child whom faithless Men turn from their hearthstone — My dream was dumb and breathless, The Christmas Babe made moan. The small hands beat impatient Upon my close-locked door. The small hands they have fashioned The world, the stars, and more. He heard no sound of coming. His cries broke wild and keen : The Christmas Babe went roaming For one to take Him in. A burning bush of splendour Enfolds the Christmas Child, Like some meek bird and tender In gold thorns undefiled. I listen long to hear Him Come crying at my door. Voices of night I fear them. And He comes by no more. THE FIRST NOWELL Was the Heaven dark then, Robbed of its light, When little Jesus came to men On a Christmas night ? Was it dark and dead ? Yea, lonesome to see : All for the little golden head That lay on Mary's knee. Certes, Heavenly folk Fled after Him w^here He lay amid the harmless flock In the stable bare. Certes, stars likewise Trooped from the sky. And when He oped His lovely eyes Sang Lullaby. Certes, Heaven was dim. Its lights all fled away. Yea, Cherubim and Seraphim Knelt in the hay. Powers, Principalities, Archangels in a band. Before the Baby bent their knees. Kissing His hand, 6 Who lay so small and soft, New from His Mother's womb. Since Heaven was in the cattle's craft Heaven was in gloom. ABOUT THE MIDDLE HOUR About the middle hour of night, When Northern streamers fly, Betwixt day-light and candle-light, Was heard the Babe's first cry. The ass said to the ox : Brother, Right honoured are we twain Who house the Babe and Babe's Mother Against the night and rain. The ox him answered : Yea, brother : Blessed our grass to yield To bed the Lord and Lord's Mother, Who else had lain afield. O, what is fast, and what is feast Where such sweet fare is spread ? The Baby at His Mother's breast, With her dear milk is fed. And now : Come kneel with me, brother. This goodly sight to see. Before the Child and Child's Mother, The twain have bent the knee. 7 And then : Come weep with me, brother, For stony hearts of men. For ruth of Babe and Babe's Mother, Their tears fall down like rain. With streamers in the Northern skies, While Bedlam slept in sin, The Lord hath opened Paradise And bade the beasts come in. THE CHRISTMAS BIRD As I went out a-walking In the dark of the wood, I heard a bird talking Wore a golden hood. Where he perched in the hollies It was holy ground. His cloak of gold feathers Shed glory around. I bring you good tidings, He sang, gentles all, Christ is born in stable. To lift men from thrall ! From death and God's anger By the holly tree ! I bring you good tidings Of salvation, quoth he. 8 I bring you good tidings — He rose like a flame — Christ is born in Bethlehem Of a right noble dame. His body was golden From the head to the feet, With Glory in Excelsis His praise did repeat. He was neither a linnet, Nor a robin redbreast : That was no golden eagle With a star for crest. He went singing and soaring From the holly tree : I bring you good tidings, O gentles, quoth he. As I went out a-walking In the holly shaw, I heard a bird talking, Great glory I saw. The dark shining holly. It was splashed with red. I bring you good tidings Of a Saviour, he said. SINGING STARS "What sawest thou, Orion, thou hunter of the star-lands, On that night star-sown and azure when thou cam'st in splendour sweeping. And amid thy starry brethren from the near lands and the far lands All the night above a stable on the earth thy watch wert keeping ? " " O, I saw the stable surely, and the young Child and the Mother, And the placid beasts still gazing with their mild eyes full of loving. And I saw the trembling radiance of the Star, my lordliest brother. Light the earth and all the heavens as he kept his guard unmoving. " There were kings that came from Eastward with their ivory, spice, and sandal. With gold fillets in their dark hair, and gold- broidered robes and stately ; And the shepherds, gazing starward, over yonder hill did wend all. And the silly sheep went meekly, and the wise dog marvelled greatly. ** O, we knew, we stars, the stable held our King, His glory shaded, That His baby hands were poising all the spheres and constellations, lO Berenice shook her hair down, h'ke a shower of star- dust braided, And Arcturus, pale as silver, bent his brows in adoration. " The stars sang all together, sang their love-songs with the angels. With the Cherubim and Seraphim their shrilly trumpets blended. They have never sung together since that night of great evangels. And the young Child in the manger, and the time of bondage ended." CHRISTMAS EVE IN IRELAND Not a cabin in the Glen shuts its door to-night. Lest the travellers abroad knock in vain and pass, Just a humble gentleman and a lady bright And she to be riding on an ass. Grief is on her goodman, that the inns deny Shelter to his dearest Dear in her hour of need ; That her Babe of royal birth, starriest, most high, Has not where to lay His head. Must they turn in sadness to the cattle byre And the kind beasts once again shake the bed for Him? Not a cabin in the Glen but heaps wood on the fire And keeps its lamps a-trim. II Now the woman makes the bed, smooths the linen sheet, Spreads the blanket, soft and white, that her own hands spun. Whisht! is that the ass that comes, on his four little feet. Carrying the Holy One ? Nay, 'twas but the wind and rain, the sand on the floor. A bitter night, yea, cruel, for folk to be abroad. And she, not fit for hardship, outside a fast-closed door. And her Son the Son of God ! Is it the moon that's turning the dark world to bright ? Is it some wonderful dawning in the night and cold ? Whisht! did you see a shining One and Him to be clad in light And the wings and head of Him gold ? Who are then those people, hurrying, hasting, those. And they all looking up in the sky this night of wondrous things ? Oh, those I think be shepherdmen, and they that follow close I think by their look be kings. 12 Not a cabin in the Glen shuts the door till day, Lest the heavenly travellers come, knock again in vain. All the night the dulcimers, flutes, and hautboys play. And the angels walk with men. 13 BOOK II EPIPHANY The Kings have brought Him ambergris, The Babe, whose one delight it is To creep and nest In the warm snows of Mother's breast. The Kings have brought him frankincense, Who hath no need, this Innocence, Of aught beside His Mother's milk in a full tide. O'er Mother's breast His fingers go. Constraining that sweet stream to flow. So soft and small. To whom that milky world is all. The Kings have brought Him gold and myrrh. This new-born thing whose Heaven's in her ; To make His bed In the sweet place from which He fed. Myrrh, spikenard, such precious things. The Kings have brought the King of Kings, Who, dronken-deep, Falls like a full-fed lamb asleep. THE MAN OF THE HOUSE Joseph, honoured from sea to sea, This is your name that pleases me, -^-^ " Man of the House." 17 B I see you rise at the dawn and light The fire and blow till the flame is bright. I see you take the pitcher and carry The deep well-water for Jesus and Mary. You knead the corn for the bread so fine, Gather them grapes from the hanging vine. There are little feet that are soft and slow, Follow you whithersoever you go. There's a little face at your workshop door, A little one sits down on your floor : Holds His hands for the shavings curled, The soft little hands that have made the world. Mary calls you : the meal is ready : You swing the Child to your shoulder steady. I see your quiet smile as you sit And watch the little son thrive and eat. The vine curls by the window space, The wings of angels cover the face. Up in the rafters, polished and olden, There's a Dove that broods and his wings are golden. x8 You who kept Them through shine and;storm, A staff, a shelter kindly and warm, Father of Jesus, husband of Mary, Hold us your lilies for sanctuary ! Joseph, honoured from sea to sea. Guard me mine and my own roof-tree, " Man of the House " ! THE WEEPING BABE She kneels by the cradle Where Jesus doth lie ; Singing, Lullaby, my Baby ! But why dost Thou cry ? The babes of the village Smile sweetly in sleep ; And lullaby, my Baby, That ever dost weep ! I've wrapped Thee in linen. The gift of the Kings ; And wool, soft and fleecy, The kind Shepherd brings. There's a dove on the trellis. And wings in the door. And the gold shoes of Angels Are bright on our floor, 19 Then lullaby, my Baby ! I've fed Thee with milk, And wrapped Thee in kisses As soft as the silk. And here are red roses, And grapes from the vine, And a lamb trotting softly, Thy playfellow fine. Wake up, little Jesus, Whom naught can defile ; All gifts will I give Thee An Thou wilt but smile. But it's lullaby, my Baby ! And mournful am I, Thou cherished little Jesus, That still Thou wilt cry. MATER DEI She looked to east, she looked to west, Her eyes, unfathomable, mild, That saw both worlds, came home to rest, — Home to her own sweet child. God's golden head was at her breast. What need to look o'er land and sea ? What could the winged ships bring to her ? What gold or gems of price might be. Ivory or miniver. Since God Himself lay on her knee ? 20 What could th' intense blue heaven keep To draw her eyes and thoughts so high ? All heaven was where her Boy did leap, Where her foot quietly Went rocking the dear God asleep. The angel folk fared up and down A Jacob's Ladder hung between Her quiet chamber and God's Town. She saw unawed, serene ; Since God Himself played by her gown. THE VISION OF JESUS " Sweetest Son, what dost Thou see ? In Thine eyes groweth the shadow. Dost Thou weary of earth and me While we wander in this sweet meadow ? " Flowers are springing all gold before My little Son, who shall be my Man ; Meadow grasses bow to adore The sweetest flower since the world began. " Little Jesus that turnest from me, What dost Thou grieve for, sad and apart 1 Thine eyes see something I cannot see ; Why art Thou mournful, little dear heart ? ' " Mother of mine, I look on a place And men asleep 'neath a darkling sky ; One crieth out with a stricken face. Oh ! Mother, I fear that man is L" 21 " Thou dream'st, small Son ! Is naught to fear. Sit and play 'neath the blooming bough. Here be thine angels, merry and dear. Thy Father will send Thee guards enow." " But, Mother, I see a rabble rout, And one among them is dragged to die. ^ Crucifige ! ' the voices shout. Oh ! Mother, I fear that man is I." " Peace, dear Lordkin ; here be Thy birds. The kid. Thy sweeting, the lamb, the dove ; Thy Father will send Thee a million swords Ere any harm Thee, my Baby Love." " Oh ! Mother, I see a man of grief Nailed to a cross on a hilltop high ; His head is bowed betwixt thief and thief — Oh ! Mother, I think that man is I." " Peace, little Birdkin ; they dare not do it ; Here runs little John to play with Thee. Rose of Sharon and Jesse's Root, I, Thy Mother, will stay with Thee." She kisses her Rose, His hands. His feet, " It was but dreaming, my Son so small." But over her heart, in the noontide heat. The shadows of three gaunt crosses fall. 22 BOOK III SHEEP AND LAMBS All in the April evening, April airs were abroad ; The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road. The sheep with their little lambs Passed me by on the road ; All in the April evening I thought on the Lamb of God. The lambs were weary, and crying With a weak, human cry. I thought on the Lamb of God Going meekly to die. Up in the blue, blue mountains Dewy pastures are sweet ; Rest for the little bodies. Rest for the little feet. But for the Lamb of God Up on the hilltop green Only a cross of shame Two stark crosses between. All in the April evening, April airs were abroad ; I saw the sheep with their lambs, And thought on the Lamb of God. 25 BETHLEHEM Whir E man was all too marred with sin, The ass, the ox were bidden in. Where angels were unmeet to come These humble entered Holydom. Their innocent eyes and full of awe Saw the fulfilment of the law. There in the stable with the beast The Christmas Child hath spread His feast. These gave their bed and eke their board To be a cradle for their Lord. Their honey-breath, their tears all mild, Warmed in the cold the new-born Child. These His adorers were before The Kings and Shepherds thronged the door. And where no angels knelt there kneeled The innocent creatures of the field. O simple ones, much honourW ; He who oppresses you indeed Oppresses His kind hosts that lay Once in the stable on the hay. 26 ST. FRANCIS TO THE BIRDS Little sisters, the birds : We must praise God, you and I — You, with songs that fill the sky, I, with halting words. All things tell His praise. Woods and waters thereof sing, Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, And the nights and days. Yea, and cold and heat. And the sun and stars and moon, Sea with her monotonous tune. Rain and hail and sleet. And the winds of heaven. And the solemn hills of blue. And the brown earth and the dew, And the thunder even, And the flowers' sweet breath. All things make one glorious voice ; Life with fleeting pains and joys, And our sister. Death. Little flowers of air. With your feathers soft and sleek. And your bright brown eyes and meek, He hath made you fair. 27 He hath taught to you Skill to weave in tree and thatch Nests where happy mothers hatch Speckled eggs of blue, And hath children given. When the soft heads overbrim The brown nests, then thank ye Him In the clouds of heaven. Also in your lives Live His laws Who loveth you. Husbands, be ye kind and true ; Be home-keeping, wives — Love not gossiping ; Stay at home and keep the nest ; Fly not here and there in quest Of the newest thing. Live as brethren live : Love be in each heart and mouth ; Be not envious, be not wroth. Be not slow to give. When ye build the nest. Quarrel not o'er straw or wool ; He who hath be bountiful To the neediest. Be not pufFed nor vain Of your beauty or your worth, Of your children or your birth. Or the praise you gain. 28 Eat not greedily : Sometimes for sweet mercy's sake, Worm or insect spare to take ; Let it crawl or fly. See ye sing not near To our church on holy day, Lest the human-folk should stray From their prayers to hear. Now depart in peace : In God's name I bless each one ; May your days be long i' the sun And your joys increase. And remember me. Your poor brother Francis, who Loves you, and gives thanks to you For this courtesy. Sometimes when ye sing. Name my name, that He may take Pity for the dear song's sake On my shortcoming. THE MAKING OF BIRDS God made Him birds in a pleasant humour ; Tired of planets and suns was He. He said : " I will add a glory to summer. Gifts for my creatures banished from Me ! ' 29 He had a thought and it set Him smiling Of the shape of a bird and its glancing head, Its dainty air and its grace beguiling : " I will make feathers," the Lord God said. He made the robin ; He made the swallow ; His deft hands moulding the shape to His mood, The thrush and lark and the finch to follow. And laughed to see that His work was good. He who has given men gift of laughter, Made in His image ; He fashioned fit The blink of the owl and the stork thereafter. The little wren and the long-tailed tit. He spent in the making His wit and fancies ; The wing-feathers He fashioned them strong ; Deft and dear as daisies and pansies. He crowned His work with the gift of song. "Dearlings," He said, "make songs for My praises ! " He tossed them loose to the sun and wind. Airily sweet as pansies and daisies ; He taught them to build a nest to their mind. The dear Lord God of His glories weary — Christ our Lord had the heart of a boy — Made Him birds in a moment merry. Bade them soar and sing for His joy. 30 THE ABBOT S BEES In the warm garden to and fro Goes Father Abbot, old and slow, And reads his breviary, lifting oft His mild eyes to the blue aloft. He lays his finger in the page. Sniffs at the sweets of thyme and sage. Pauses beside the lavender, Where bees hum in the scented air. Close by in the midsummer day His bearded monks are making hay. Murmuring as they pass each other, " Praise be to Jesu ! " " Amen, brother ! The bees hum o'er the mignonette And the white clover, still dew-wet, And in a velvet troop together Fly off* to rifle the sweet heather. The air is full of sleepiness. The drone of insects and the bees ; The summer day nods unawares As an old monk might at his prayers. The windows of the novitiate Are open ever early and late ; And hear the voices like the hum The bees make in the honeycomb ! 31 The tall lads, innocent and meek, Gabble the Latin and the Greek. " Now hear my bees in the clover-blooms ! ' He saith to the old monk who comes. " Do you not hear them, Brother Giles ? " Listening with side-long head he smiles. " Giles, do you hear the novices. That are the Lord's bees and my bees ? " Giles, do you hear them making honey All through the scented hours and sunny ? They will make honey many a day When you and I are lapped in clay." As though he heard the sweetest strain, He smiles and listens, smiles again. Monks in the meadow pass each other : " Praise be to Jesu ! " " Amen, brother ! " THE BIRDS BARGAIN . " O SPARE my cherries in the net," Brother Benignus prayed ; " and I Summer and winter, shine and wet. Will pile the blackbirds' table high." " O spare my youngling peas," he prayed, " That for the Abbot's table be ; And every blackbird shall be fed. Yea, they shall have their fill," said he* 32 His prayer, his vow, the blackbirds heard, And spared his shining garden-plot. In abstinence went every bird, All the old thieving ways forgot. He kept his promise to his friends, And daily set them finest fare Of corn and meal, and manchet-ends. With marrowy bones for winter bare. Brother Benignus died in grace : The brethren keep his trust, and feed The blackbirds in this pleasant place. Purged, as dear Heaven, from strife and greed. The blackbirds sing the whole year long, Here where they keep their promise given And do the mellowing fruit no wrong. Brother Benignus smiles in Heaven. OF ST. FRANCIS AND THE ASS Our father, ere he went Out with his brother, Death, Smiling and well content As a bridegroom goeth. Sweetly forgiveness prayed From man or beast whom he Had ever injured Or burdened needlessly. 33 C *' Verily," then said he, " I crave before I pass Forgiveness full and free Of my little brother, the ass. Many a time and oft, When winds and ways were hot, He hath borne me cool and soft And service grudged me not. " And once did it betide There was, unseen of me, A gall upon his side That suffered grievously. And once his manger was Empty and bare and brown. (Praise God for sweet, dry grass That Bethlehem folk shook down !) " Consider, brethren," said he, " Our little brother ; how mild, How patient, he will be. Though men are fierce and wild. His coat is grey and fine, His eyes are kind with love ; This little brother of mine Is gentle as the dove. " Consider how such an one Beheld our Saviour born. And carried Him, full-grown, Through Eastern streets one morn. 34 For this the Cross is laid Upon him for a sign. Greatly is honoured This little brother of mineJ And even while he spake, Down in the stable stall His little ass 'gan shake And turned its face to the wall. Down fell the heavy tear ; Its gaze so mournful was, Fra Leo, standing near, Pitied the little ass. That night our father died, All night the kine did low : The ass went misty-eyed. With patient tears and slow. The very birds on wings Made mournful cries in the air. Amen ! All living things Our father's brethren were. THE ASS SPEAKS I AM the little ass of Christ. I carried Him ere He was born. And bore Him to His bitter Tryst Unwilling, that Palm Sunday morn. 35 I was His Mother's servant, I, I carried her from Nazareth Up to the shining hill-country To see the Lady Elizabeth. The stones were many in my road, By valleys steeper than a cup I, trembling for my heavenly load, Went cat-foot, since I held It up. To me the wonderful charge was given. I, even the little ass, did go Bearing the very weight of Heaven, So I crept cat-foot, sure and slow. Again that night that He was born I carried my dear burdens twain, And heard dull people's insolent scorn Bidding them to the night and rain. I knelt beside my brother ox~ And saw the very Birth 1 O Love, And awe and wonder ! little folks May see such sights nor die thereof. The chilly Babe we breathed upon, Warmed with our breath the frozen air ; Kneeling beside Our Lady's gown His only comfort saving Her. I am beaten, weary-foot, ill-fed,^ Men curse me : yet I bear withal Christ's Cross betwixt my shoulders laid. So I am honoured though I'm small. 36 I bore Christ Jesus and I bear His Cross upon my rough, grey back. Dear Christian people, pray you, spare The whip, for Jesus Christ, His sake. GOD S BIRD Nay, not Thine eagle. Lord ; No golden eagle I, That creep half-fainting on the sward And have not wings to fly. Nor yet Thy swallow dear, That, faring home to Thee, Looks on the storm and has no fear And broods above the sea. Nor yet Thy tender dove. Meek as Thyself, Thou Lamb ! I would I were the dove. Thy love. And not the thing I am ! But take me in Thy hand To be Thy sparrow, then ; Were two sparrows in Holy Land, One farthing bought the twain. Make me Thy sparrow, then. That trembles in Thy hold ; And who shall pluck me out again And cast me in the cold ? 37 But if I fall at last, A thing of little price, If Thou one thought on me hast cast, Lo, then my Paradise ! 38 BOOK IV THE GARDEN / Our Lord, Christ Jesus, Son of God, Loved gardens while on earth He abode. There was a garden where He took His pleasures oft, by Kedron's brook. There in His uttermost agony He found a pillow whereon to lie And anguish while His disciples slept. Be sure the little grass-blades kept Vigil with Him, and the grey olives Shivered and sighed like one that grieves : And the flowers hid their eyes for fear ! His garden was His comforter. There to the quiet heart He made He came, and it upheld His head Before the angel did. Therefore Blessed be gardens evermore ! Christ Jesus in the sad world's dearth Lay three days in the lap of earth : And while He lay, stabbed through, one Wound, The garden waited, tear-bedrowned. Quiet from sunrise to sunrise. The widowed flowers had veiled their eyes ; No Canterbury bells did ring ; Nor rose lift her burnt-offering ; Nor primroses nor violets. Nor sops-in-wine nor mignonettes. But thought upon the thorns and spears And on the blessed Mary's tears. 41 All in a Truce of God, a peace, The garden rocked Him on her knees. But O ! in the beautiful rose-red day Who comes a-walking down this way ? Why's Magdalen weeping ? Ah, sweet lady, She knows not where is her Lord's Body ! Sweet Magdalen, see ! here is your Love ! Whom Solomon's-seal and the sweet clove Brush with their lips as He goes by ; And love-lies-bleeding and rosemary. Now bid His disciples haste ! Bring hither His Mother and St. John together ! But ^twas the Garden saw Htm rise. Wherefore she flaunts her peacock's eyes, Wherefore her birds sing low and loud. The heart that bore His sleep is proud. Because the garden was His friend. Blessed be gardens world without end ! Amen. INTROIT 'TwERE bliss to see one lark Soar to the azure dark Singing upon his high celestial road. I have seen many hundreds soar, thank God. To see one spring begin In her first heavenly green, Were grace unmeet for any mortal clod. I have seen many springs begin, thank God ! 42 After the lark the swallow, Blackbird in hill and hollow, Thrushes and nightingales all roads I trod, As though one bird were not enough, thank God ! Not one flower, but a rout All exquisite, are out : All white and golden every stretch of sod, As though one flower were not enough, thank God ! PLANTING BULBS Setting my bulbs a- row In cold earth under the grasses. Till the frost and the snow Are gone and the Winter passes — Sudden a footfall light, Sudden a bird-call ringing ; And these in gold and in white Shall rise with a sound of winging. Airy and delicate all. All go trooping and dancing At Spring's call and footfall. Airily dancing, advancing. In the dark of the year. Turning the earth so chilly, I look to the day of cheer. Primrose and daffodilly. 43 Turning the sods and the clay I think on the poor sad people Hiding their dead away In the churchyard, under the steeple. All poor women and men, Broken-hearted and weeping. Their dead they call on in vain. Quietly smiling and sleeping. Friends, now listen and hear. Give over crying and grieving. There shall come a day and a year When the dead shall be as the living. There shall come a call, a footfall, And the golden trumpeters blowing Shall stir the dead with their call. Bid them be rising and going. Then in the daffodil weather Lover shall run to lover ; Friends all trooping together ; Death and Winter be over. Laying my bulbs in the dark, Visions have I of hereafter. Lip to lip, breast to breast, hark ! No more weeping, but laughter ! 44 THE TREE When that man was cast away Out of Eden for his sin, God put by His wrath to say : " Now his sad time shall begin ; " My poor creature, made to walk By Me under forest trees. Made to walk with Me and talk When the evening brings much ease " Since a tree hath him undone. My poor creature that I planned, By a Tree he shall be won. Given again into My Hand." God took up a seed of life, Planted it in tear-wet earth : " My poor Adam and his wife Shall have shade and quiet mirth. "This, My tree, shall grow and grow Till its branches fill the air ; Not My groves of Heaven may show Princely fruit as this shall bear. " Hanging head and knees, alack. This shall bear a noble Flower, And My Tree will give Me back What I lost by Eden bower." 45 LEAVES Myriads and myriads plumed their glistening wings, As fine as any bird that soars and sings, As bright as fireflies or the dragon-flies, Or birds of paradise. Myriads and myriads waved their sheeny fans. Soft as the dove's breast, or the pelican's ; And some were gold, and some were green, and some Pink-lipped, like apple-bloom. A low wind tossed the plumage all one way. Rippled the gold feathers, and green and gray, — A low wind that in moving sang one song All day and all night long. Sweet honey in the leafage, and cool dew, A roof of stars, a tent of gold and blue ; Silence and sound at once, and dim green light. To turn the gold day night. Some trees hung lanterns out, and some had stars Silver as Hesper and rose-red as Mars ; A low wind flung the lanterns low and high, — A low wind like a sigh. Myriads and myriads, more in number than The sea's sands, or its drops of water wan, Sang one Name in the rapture that is May, With faces turned one way. 46 ROSA MYSTICA This rose so exquisite, So perfect, so complete, Beauty beyond all price, — With the hour it dies. God makes Him roses fast, With such magnificent haste. Multitudes, multitudes. In gardens, fields, and woods. The roses tell His praise Their little length of days ; Testify to His name Gold on gold, flame on flame. They are scarce here, scarce blown. But they are gone, are flown ; The gardener's broom must sweep them And in the darkness heap them. Drift of rose-leaves upon The garden-bed, the lawn : The exquisite thought of God Is scattered, wasted abroad. What of the soul of the rose ? It shall not die with those ; It shall wake, shall live again In God's rose-garden. 47 It shall climb rose-trellises Before God's palaces ; The Eternal Rose shall cover The House of God all over. She shall breathe out her soul And yet living, made whole, Shall offer her oblation Out of her purest passion. She shall know all bliss Where God's garden is : The rose drinking her fill is Of joy with her sister lilies. Where the Water of Life sweet Bathes her from head to feet, The River of Life flows — There is the Rose. 48 BOOK V THE CHRISTENING O CALL the child from some kind saint So quick to run and save, Not Deirdre with the griefs acquaint, Not Grania nor Maeve. Not Daphne, Phoebe, PhyUis, Prue, Nor any country Grace, Lest that your gossips prove untrue, In some most bitter case. In Heaven there stand carnations fair Beside our dear Lord's knee — Margaret, Catherine, Magdalen, Clare, Dorothy, Cecily. And all day long in the still place Their haloes fall and rise, Their faces turned to the one Face, The glory on their eyes. Or give the chrisomed child to keep To Mary of the Swords : The heart that held God's Son asleep Is soft to babes and birds. The world is set with many a snare Where evil things affright ; Give her a name that she may wear Like armour in God's sight. 51 Give to her little stumbling feet A help most sure and kind, That, when she cries, a foot so fleet Run to her like the wind. Give her a name that frights God's foes, The name one bears who is In God's rose-garden a tall rose Among the white lilies. Give her a friend who will not fail, Who walks in white so brave ; Not Deirdre of the sorrows pale. Nor Grania, nor Maeve. THE ONLY CHILD Lest he miss other children, lo ! His angel is his playfellow ; A riotous angel two years old, With wings of rose and curls of gold. There on the nursery floor together They play when it is rainy weather. Building brick castles with much pain. Only to knock them down again. Two golden heads together look An hour long o'er a picture-book, Or, tired of being good and still, They play at horses with good-will. 52 And when the boy laughs you shall hear Another laughter silver-clear, Sweeter than music of the skies, Or harps, or birds of Paradise. Two golden heads one pillow press, Two rosebuds shut for heaviness ; The wings of one are round the other, Lest chill befall his tender brother. All day, with forethought mild and grave. The little angel's quick to save, And still outruns with tender haste The adventurous feet that go too fast ; From draughts, from fire, from cold and stings, Wraps him within his gauzy wings ; And knows his father's pride, and shares His happy mother's tears and prayers. LOVE COMFORTLESS The child is in the night and rain On whom no tenderest wind might blow, And out alone in a hurricane. The child is safe in Paradise ! The snow is on his gentle head. His little feet are in the snow. O, very cold is his small bed ! Jhy noy Lift up your hearty lift up your eyes I 53 Jhy nOy Over the fields and out of sight, Beside the lonely river's flow, Lieth the child this bitter night. The child sleeps under Mary's eyes ! What Meandering Iamb cries sore distressed, Whilst I with fire and comfort go ? O, let me warm him in my breast ! Jhy noy *Tis warm in God^s lit nurseries ! LAMBS He sleeps as a lamb sleeps, Beside his mother. Somewhere in yon blue deeps His tender brother Sleeps like a lamb and leaps. He feeds as a lamb might, Beside his mother. Somewhere in fields of light A lamb, his brother. Feeds, and is clothed in white. THE SHEEPFOLD The Shepherd of the sheepfold leant Upon his crook, and saw within The fold his milky ewes content, His white lambs innocent of sin. 54 The milky mothers giving suck He saw, and merry lambs at play ; Yet, leaning on his shepherd's crook, His eyes, his heart, were turned away. His tender thoughts were turned apart To where his orphaned lambs cried on ; Their cries lay heavy on his heart — Poor milkless lambkins and undone. With tears he saw the milky dams Go dropping milk upon the grass ; These were the mothers of dead lambs. The mothers of dead lambs, alas ! O little lambs that would not live. Your milk runs all to bitter waste. Your milk that makes the Shepherd grieve Runs out like tears so hot and fast. O comfort, comfort then those sheep. Whose little lovely lambs are dead. The milk that makes the Shepherd weep Runs out like tears, and none is fed. THE NEW MOON AT CHRISTMAS The new moon at Christmas Is like a little boat That the winds out of Paradise Set sweetly afloat. 55 With the Star at its mast-head, Its sails of silver bright, The new moon at Christmas Brings home the world's Delight. The new moon at Christmas It brings in its wake Oh many a small boat sailing Upon the night's blue lake. The children who left us And never looked behind Come sailing swiftly homeward With a favouring wind. They sit down so sweetly By the hearth-fire warm, Like doves they come flocking From the Winter's storm. The mother's arms are round them, Soft cheek and shining curl ; Oh, many a mother's darling. Many a boy and girl. The new moon at Christmas Is a cradle small Where Mary sits rocking The King of children all. She croons Him a lullaby, Oh very sweet she sings. Shaking the snow-flake feathers For the King of Kings. 56 The cradle hangs sweetly In the starshine cold, And many an empty cradle Hath a babe again to hold. About the rosy hearth-fire Where two sit alone There come smiling so faintly The children long flown. The new moon at Christmas That shone when Christ was born Brings home the lost children To the hearts forlorn. They sit down by the hearth-fire Light as the falling snow — Lighter than snow their kisses — Till it is time to go. THE CHILD I AM Thy child, foolish and small. Content with things my fancy weaves ; Somewhere, behind the outer wall. The soul judicious sits and grieves. I grasp at toys and painted things. The rainbow bubble takes my eyes, I am fain of the butterfly's bright wings And every radiant thing that flies. 57 I am not wise : I grasp at toys, Poor passing things that break in air ; I am foolish with small girls and boys, Playing as a child plays even at prayer. Still when Thou comest I am fain To look away from Thee and run Back to my hoop and ball again, My pleasant playing in the sun. When wilt Thou say : It is enough ! Thou art grown : thou growest old : be wise ! Yet it was children Thou didst love When Thou didst come in mortal guise. What if my folly found Thee kind As Thou wast to the children then ? What if Thy kindness had no mind To break my foolish toys in twain ? What if Thou, knowing me vain and light, Should'st smile and say : So children be. Oh, if I might go clad in white. Carrying a young child's heart to Thee — Oh if my folly kept me small, Like lambs and children undefiled, I would not grow a man and tall. But be Thy child. Thy foolish child. 58 BOOK VI CHRISTMAS COMMUNION My heart a stable bare and hard, Not sweet with balm and spikenard, Was all I had to give Him when His love bade Him be born again. And yet His choice the stable is Before the splendid palaces. Beside the bed of starveling grass Whereon He would be born, alas ! Are two great beasts that hang the head : Ox of my appetite, my greed, Ass of my folly, gross and dull : Are these Thy courtiers. Beautiful ? Without, the Heaven a glory shows, Angels on Angels, rows on rows ; And stars on stars, all shine on shine ; And Kings fain to be serfs of Thine. Thou hast such adoration. Nay, Here wilt Thou come ? Here wilt Thou stay ? Bid me with ox and ass to lie Face downward in humility. And in a little truce of Heaven Know we are ransomed and forgiven. Bid us to weep, bid us to burn. From sin and ignorance to turn. 6i AFTER COMMUNION I CARRY now within my breast The Son of God ; His rest, His nest : As Mary's arms once cradled close Her Rose of Heaven, her golden Rose. I am the stable and the bed, The holy hay where He was laid. The angels stand at gaze to see What wonder hath been wrought on me. I am the House of Nazareth, Where Jesus drew His quiet breath, When He was little and a boy, His father's light, His mother's joy. I am the ass went carrying, Ere he was born, the Precious Thing ; The ass, whereof God's guard did keep The four little feet lest they should slip. I am the room wherein was set The Last Supper's most heavenly meat ; And I the platter and the cup He gave to them when He did sup. I am the Cross, whereon He lay, The rock-hewn grave cold as the clay ; But not the garden green wherein He talked with Mary Magdalen. 62 I shine beyond the fairest star, More than the constellations are, A little while : till He is gone, And all my lights die, one by one. I am naught but common clay, so hard. I bring nor balm nor spikenard ; Nor fling Him Magdalen's beauteous fleece. Nor shed her tears that win heart's ease. Yet am His Cup : no porcelain fine, Nor wrought silver, nor gold ashine : His choice : and shining by that bliss Beyond the heavenly chalices. n My soul, that's house-mate with my body. And finds the tenement too small. Frets at her vesture, white and ruddy. Would break the windows, scale the wall ; Would spread her useless wings, and flying Leave all her dull estate behind. To-day, with angels touching, vieing, She finds her prison to her mind. See now the prisoner's manumission ! And yet she hugs her prison still. Where shining heads and wings elysian Are crowding by her window-sill. 63 She sweeps her room and makes it festal, Flings a white cloth upon the board, And with a bridal heart and vestal Awaits the coming of her Lord. This is her hour. Enrapt, with Mary, She breaks her box of ointment rare, Kneels in her heaven. Love's sanctuary, And feels His touch upon her hair. Meanwhile her house-mate who shall perish One hour is glorified likewise ; Envied of angels, she doth cherish The Darling of the earth and skies. One hour, poor wench, her honour's over ; She, destined only for the earth. Fashioned for no immortal lover. Gives praise for crowns beyond her worth. No longer now the soul's in prison, Nor tethered by her useless wings ; Slips bonds ; follows her Lord arisen. And ere she falls by heaven's gate sings. THE PROUD LADY Myself will ne'er myself decry Nor count myself all base. Since that a noble Love have I Who stoops to my disgrace. 64 Though I be poor and small and mean, What matter so I be ? Still I am prouder than a Queen That He has chosen me. My heart is but a barren spot Cold as a stone, as hard ; The angels bring my arid plot Heaven's balm and spikenard. As He goes in and He goes out They envy still my bliss, Shaking the stars of Heaven about The nard and ambergris. As once upon the garden ground He rested His spent head, I set within my narrow bound Grey stones to be His bed. As once He lay within the tomb Stark in His three days' rest, A bitter, an unlovely room I make Him in my breast. And yet myself I will not scorn, And why indeed should I ? Seeing for me my Prince doth spurn The splendours of His sky. 65 LVX IN TENEBRIS At night what things will stalk abroad, What veiled shapes, and eyes of dread ! With phantoms in a lonely road And visions of the dead. The kindly room when day is here, At night takes ghostly terrors on ; And every shadow hath its fear, And every wind its moan. Lord Jesus, Day-star of the world, Rise Thou, and bid this dark depart, And all the east, a rose uncurled, Grow golden at the heart ! Lord, in the watches of the night, Keep Thou my soul ! a trembling thing As any moth that in daylight Will spread a rainbow wing. THE NIGHT COMETH Deeper and deeper grows the shade. It will be dark ere evening come. Yet shall my heart be not dismayed If Thou art with me in the gloom. What though the faces grow more dim. The kind and friendly faces all. If Thou, girt by the Cherubim, Should'st walk with me at evenfall ? 66 What though Thy hills die off in mist, Thy sky, Thy stars, Thy night. Thy morn- Though grey be rose and amethyst. And of earth's glory I am shorn ? What if Thy face should rise upon My starless night and I should see Its beauty more than moon and sun Lighting my darkness wonderfully ? What if this beauteous world Thou'st wrought Were but a maze where I should stray And lose Thee, — losing Thee have naught ? Let night fall on my world and day ! Oh, if in clouds of blackest night Groping I find Thy fingers kind. Thine eyes turn all my darkness light : Star of my blindness, be I blind ! THE COLLOQUY " In the crevice of the rock. Oh my sister, my dove, Show me thy face." " I the soiled of the flock ! Though I yearn. Thou wouldst turn From my disgrace." " But know you not (He said) When I died from My side Poured blood and water, 67 Water clear and blood red To wash white in death's despite Thy sins, daughter ? " " See my heart, shrivelled small. Cold as stone, cold and lone, Sad its story ! Why dost Thou come at all ? Here's no place for Thy grace. King of Glory." " It is hard, yet not so hard As the bed where I was laid For thy dear sake, In the balm and spikenard, In death's swound, all one wound Till third day-break." " My arms for Thy head And my breast for Thy rest, I, the unkind one ! Go higher ; in my stead Seek one white, ardent, bright Seek Thou and find one." He said : " Upon the Tree With content was I spent, I, the Lover ! I, who have chosen thee Warm thee through, make anew Over and over." 68 " In the crevice of the rock Then break me, re-make me After Thy fashion. I, the impure of the flock, Hold me, enfold me In the sea of Thy Passion.' VOTIVE OFFERING Hearts of silver and of gold Men had brought in days of old To Thy shrine for offering. Symbols of a holier thing. Lord, Lord, dear, adored ! Take my little candle, Lord ; Through the lights in Paradise Let my candle please Thine eyes. Hearts that ache and hearts that break. Hearts to shatter and remake, Here before Thy feet are laid, Where June's roses burn and fade. Lord, Lord, life is light. Flame a heart that burns to white ; As this flame mounts steadily Draw a heart that turns from Thee. For a cold heart all its days, Let my candle tell Thy praise , For a heart that's ignorant, Let my candle one hour chant. 69 Poor my candle is and small ; Yet Thou know'st the thoughts of all ; How my candle saith my prayer When my feet go otherwhere. How one thought I leave behind. Though my thoughts are hard to bind ; Though I go away, forget, Thou one hour o'erlookest it. 70 BOOK VII MICHAEL THE ARCHANGEL Not woman-faced and sweet, as look The angels in the picture-book ; But terrible in majesty, More than an army passing by. His hair floats not upon the wind Like theirs, but curled and closely twined ; Wrought with his aureole, so that none Shall know the gold curls from the crown. His wings he hath put away in steel. He goes mail-clad from head to heel ; Never moon-silver hath outshone His breast-plate and his morion. His brows are like a battlement, Beautiful, brave and innocent ; His eyes with fires of battle burn — On his strong mouth the smile is stern. His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth. Bearing him to the South and North, Neighing far off, as one that sees The battle over distances. His fiery sword is never at rest. His foot is in the stirrup prest ; Through all the world where wrong is done Michael the Soldier rideth on. 7a Michael, Commander ! Angels are That sound the trumpet, and that bear The banners by the Throne, where is The King one nameth on one's knees. Angels there are of peace and prayers, And they that go with wayfarers, And they that watch the house of birth, And they that bring the dead from earth. And mine own Angel. Yet I see. Heading God's army gloriously, Michael Archangel, like a sun, Splendid beyond comparison ! THE DREAM OF MARY " Mary, Mother, art thou asleep ? " " Nay, dear Son, but waking and dreaming." " Mary, Mother, why dost thou weep ? " " I saw Thy dear Blood flowing and streaming." " Mary, Mother, tell me thy dream." " Blessed Son, Thou wert trapped and taken, Scourged with stripes in a hall didst seem. Mocked with laughter, despised, forsaken." " Blessed Mother, thy dream tell all." " Blessed Son, on a Cross wert lying. While a black, blind knave from the hall Pierced Thy heart still warm from dying." 74 " Mary, Mother, thy dream is true ; True thy dreaming, sad Mother Mary, Whether the years be many or few. Still the hunters gain on the quarry." Over the hill, and a cold, cold hill, I saw Mary dreaming and weeping. Making a space betwixt souls and ill. Snatching men from hell and its keeping. OF AN ANGEL Never alone upon my way : Mine Angel's with me every day ; And all night long he sits and sings. Shaking the darkness off his wings. The wavering moonlight steals and slips From amber head to pinion tips, Bathing him in a silver sea That makes his eyes a mystery. When I am bruised and sad and sore, Have I not felt him leaning o'er. Kissing the heavy lids to sleep ? Yea, I have heard him weep and weep. In the noon-sun I see him stand. Rosy azaleas in his hand. His sapphire gown, his aureoled curl, His opal wings and mo ther-o' pearl, 75 And while this Angel walks with me I fear not all the ill I see, Though in the fruit a canker grows, And serpents harbour 'neath the rose. In noon-day gold, in moonlight snow, I know the precious things I know, Hidden not from my love-keen sight By dazzle of day and mirk of night. Mine Angel's praying hands and meek, The pure young outline of his cheek, His grave young mouth, his brow like snow. His everlasting eyes I know. Love lights his taper at those eyes, O stainless Bird of Paradise ! Love in your heart to Love divine Has built a temple and a shrine. O lips that bless, and eyes that yearn, And sometimes sad, but never stern. Dearest, my friend, my gift of God, Companion on my dangerous road. Stay with me, though the day be long. And Heaven is lonelier for your song ; Though I be sad, and all my plea Is only my sad poverty. 76 FOUR ANGELS Four great angels of the host Keep a world that else were lost, Sun, Wind, Rain, Frost, Breathings of the Holy Ghost. Sun the most glorious one, Power, Prince, Dominion, Whose full gaze all eyes must shun. Kindles life, gives fire to the stars. Wind that no mortal sees Walks the waters, the high trees. His cloak flies in the wild countries. An evil shape before him flees. Rain walks with silver feet Through a dry world dead of heat, Gives the field its rivulet. The sound of waters, many and sweet. Frost winged in gems and white Breathes on a starry night, Bids : Heart, sleep in life's despite. Grow strong, sleep, till day's in sight. Four great angels keep the earth Which to God is something worth ; One, with a most quiet mirth. Dreams now and laughs beside my hearth. 77 THE LEPER Not white and shining like an ardent flame, Not like Thy Mother and the Saints in bliss, But white from head to foot I bear my blame. White as the leper is. Unclean ! unclean ! But Thou canst make me clean : Yet if Thou clean'st me, Lord, see that I be Like that one grateful leper of the ten Who ran back praising Thee. But if I must forget, take back Thy word ; Be I unclean again but not ingrate. Before I shall forget Thee, keep me, Lord, A sick man at Thy gate. GOOD FRIDAY Good Friday is a heavenly day, So bright, so fair, so still ; They slay the King of all the world On a high hill. The birds sing sweet and low. With a most quiet mirth ; They scoop a hollow grave for Him, The holiest head on earth. 78 Good Friday is a heavenly day, New lights on earth and sky : The day the Saviour of us all Went forth to die. Sweetly it rose and fell, So calm, so light, so grave. Christ Jesus, sacrificed for men, Died — and forgave. THE WOUNDS God's son had Wounds five To save men's souls alive. Five Wounds, five Joys, Heartsease, That spring for man's release. The First Wound it pierced and struck The hand that blessed and broke. The Second stabbed with cruel smart The hand was next His heart. Of the Third Wound what shall be said Wherewith His side was red ? An Heavenly House, a Rosy Ark To house men from the dark. The Fourth and Fifth His feet did keep That followed after His sheep 79 Nailed to the Cross lest they should press On their high business. The Wounds of Love they throbbed and bled ; In Heaven they are not stayed. In Heaven they are red roses five That save men's souls alive. Five roses on a heavenly tree And Christ's men shall go free. Five roses, crimson-dyed In His hands, in His feet, in His side. Five roses set between God's anger and man's sin. EASTER Bring flow^ers to strew His way, Yea, sing, make holiday ; Bid young lambs leap. And earth laugh after sleep. For now He cometh forth Winter flies to the north. Folds wings and cries Amid the bergs and ice. 80 Bring no sad palms like those That led Him to His foes, Bring wind-flower, daffodil, From many a vernal hill. Let there be naught but bloom To light Him from the tomb Who late hath slain Death, and his glory ta'en. Yea, Death, great Death is dead, And Life reigns in his stead ; Cometh the Athlete New from dead Death's defeat. Cometh the Wrestler, But Death he makes no stir, Utterly spent and done And all his kingdom gone. Bring flowers, make holiday In His triumphal way ; Salve ye with kisses His hurts that make your blisses. Bring flowers, make holiday For His triumphal way ; Yea, fling before Him Hearts of men that adore Him. 8i APRIL IN IRELAND Upon the highest peak and dim Three Crosses idly stand ; They have taken my Lord and hidden Him- Ah, no, the Lord's at hand ! Here in this country soft and green Not here was He betrayed, Hung on a Cross, the thieves between, The while His grave was made. He is come forth from the grave's gloom. And o'er this shining plain. Until Ascension Day be come He walks and talks with men. Yet the three Crosses, cold and grey. Seem still the watch to keep Over the children at their play, The white lambs and the sheep. Oh, little happy vale and dear. Oh, mountains grey and dim. Here shall His little flock not fear, Yea, they shall run with Him. The innocent lilies, white and gold. The daisied pastures bright, Here He hath wattled in His fold All pleasant in His sight. The little river singing goes And spreads a shining pool, This April's sweeter than a rose, New washed and wonderful. Above the vale, on the highest hill, Three Crosses keeping guard ; With the windflower and the daffodil And the smell of spikenard. RESURRECTION After three days were over The Lord new-risen was. O Thou, of men the lover, Bring all men to this pass ! Thou who wast dead yet risen, Remember these and those : Bring all men out of prison Who died with Thee, nor rose. Because that Thou, Lord Jesus, Rose splendid after death. Oh, pity us and ease us, Who die with every breath ! Because for all our yearning These come not to our cry : Since there is no returning And since that we must die. 83 Lord Jesus, who hast won us, Pity Thy helpless folk ; Yea, lay Thy staff upon us, Thy mercy as a cloak. Thou who didst die before us. Thy three days quickly sped, Dear Lord, be sorry for us Who rise not from the dead. SECOND SIGHT " Sister," said blind Dara, "What do you behold?" Round her and St. Brigid Flowed the dawn's gold. " Sister," said blind Dara, " Would that I might see Veils of gold and silver Drawn on hill and lea ! " Over her and Brigid Carolled the lark. Hills were heights of Heaven, Though their feet were dark. Dew in the shadow Pearled the gossamer 5 Kine in the meadow 'Gan to low and stir. 84 Mists from the bogland Curled like silver smoke ; Young birds were singing In the spreading oak. To the east and southward Scarlet grew the world, And the sun leapt upward As a ball is hurled. Brigid, lost in praying, Touched her sister's eyes ; " O," she said, " my sister. Dove of God, arise ! Eyes no longer sightless. See His glory spread ! " Dara, with a loud cry. Lifted up her head. Saw the little rivers Glide through bogland brown. Where the yellow iris Flaunted her gold gown. Saw the sea of scarlet Flush on hill and wood ; Praised God's name, rejoicing That His works were good. " Yet," she said, " my sister, Blind me once again. Lest His Presence in me Groweth less plain. 8s Stars and dawn and sunset Keep till Paradise, Here His face sufficeth For my sightless eyes. " O ! " she said, " my sister, Night is beautiful Where His face is shining Who was mocked as fool. More than star and meteor, More than moon or sun, Is the thorn-crowned forehead Ofthe Holy One. " Haste," she said, " and plunge me Once again in night. Lest perchance I lose Him, Gaining my sight." Brigid, lost in praying. Touched her eyes once more, And the light went fading Off sea and shore. All His creatures praise Him, From daylight to dun. Stars and moon and cloudland, And Messer the Sun ; Seas and hills and forests, And the frozen waste : Dara in her blindness Praiseth Him best. 86 BOOK VIII THE LITTLE PRAISES Let others praise Thee in the height, With Holy, Holy, Holy ! I praise Thee as the cricket might, A chirping voice and lowly. Thou for Thy saints hast wrought great things, The angels chant Thy praises ; But I, as the grasshopper sings. Low down among the daisies. A cricket at the meadow's edge That chirps and is not quiet. Thou hast given me a field, a hedge. And dew and daisies by it. Some praise Thee for Thy heaven revealed : Thy glory's far above me ; My heaven is in a green grass field, A child, a man to love me. Oh, not one day of all my days Without Thy gift went over. My heaven is in the orchard ways, The meadow grass and clover. If a day brought me care and sighs. What comfort followed after ! O, still my tears rise for Thine eyes And for Thine ears my laughter. 89 Still was my shade dappled with sun And still my sun had shadow, And with glad eyes I gazed upon The hill, the grass, the meadow. Oh, not Thine angel, not Thy bird Singing Thy praises clearly. But a little voice on the green grass-sward That thanks Thee late and early. AN ECHO I LOOK and see the world is fair, And marvel much at what can move The Lord of Earth, the Lord of Air, To such extremity of love. Seeing we have so short a space To abide on this side of the tomb, We could have borne a barer place. An unadorned, but cleanly, room. Pilgrim am I and wayfarer. Sojourner one night at an inn ; What matter if the room is bare. So that the bed and sheets be clean ? But ah, dear Lord, this would not suit Thy love for me, impure, unkind ; Thou settest the daisies at my feet, Mak'st me the sky, mak'st me the wind. 90 Me doth ingenious love devise The mountains and the lakes and sea, All roses and the peacocks' eyes ; The sun runs round his course for me. For me the children and the lambs, For me the nightingale and lark. All fields and meadows and tall palms And the starred curtain of the dark. Yea, in Thine Image, I am given The eyes to look beyond our night, The love which makes of earth a heave n ; Yea, am I loved in my despite. Why should I try to tell them o'er, Thy mercies that will not be said. More than the sands on the sea-shore. More than the hairs upon my head ? Thou, Artizan and Architect, And Master-Lover, Master-Mind, With wondrous cunning Thou hast decked These walls for common eyes and blind. Since Thou dost such delights provid e For passing earth and sinful men. What can it be Thou settest aside For man when he is born again ? What is it that Thou hast reserved ? What glories on his sight will break, When he sits down by angels served And at Thy board his thirst will slake ? 91 Alas, my Lord, why wouldst Thou strive To make so fair a house of call, That there are some who here will live As though Thy lovely earth were all ? Yea, though we turn Thy gifts to ill, Make of Thy benefits our bane, Thy love, Thy love, transcending still Seeks us again, finds us again. AN ANTHEM IN HEAT Now praise the Lord, both rrloon and sun, And praise Him all ye nights and days, And golden harvests every one, And all ye hidden waterways. With cattle standing to the knees Safe from the bitter gadfly's sting ; But praise Him most, O little breeze That walk'st abroad at evening. O praise Him, all ye orchards now. And all ye gardens deep in green, Ripe apples on the yellowing bough. And golden plum and nectarine. And peaches ruddier than the rose. And pears against the southern wall : But most the little wind that blows, The blessed wind at evenfall. 92 O praise Him, hoary dews again, Drenching the meadows 'neath the moon, And praise Him, hidden founts of rain, And amber brooks singing a tune, And icy deeps of well-water. And each pellucid stream and spring ; But praise Him most, O wind astir, O blessed wind at evening. O praise Him now, ye burning days Of golden summer, hot and spent ; Planets and stars, see that His praise Be blown about the firmament. Yet praise Him best, O little wind That out of heaven wilt blow and call, Because, because our God is kind And bids us live at evenfall. THANKSGIVING O HOW good God is that He sends Stores of unfailing love to me. And work and prayer and praise of friends. Blackbirds and thrushes in the tree. And sheep-bells in the fields, and roses. And all the sweets of May and June, And lavender and dew and posies. And sun and moon. O how good God is that He sends Bean-rows in blossom, bees i' the hive, Grey dawns and golden evening-ends. And a glad heart to be alive ; 93 A grateful mind and quiet fancies, Shade from the sun and sleep at night. And clumps of brown and golden pansies, And lilies white. O how good God is that He sends A little child to be all ours. Mine and my dearest Love's, and tends Our blossom in the sun and showers, And bids His angels still keep near him Lest that the little feet should miss. And wings of angels still to bear him Ever in bliss. O how good God is that He keeps The child for ever and ever well. Above the tempests and the deeps, In joy no tongue can tell. Our little lamb of God goes straying. By daisied meadows, 'neath dappled skies Our little lamb of God goes playing Under God's eyes. THE QUIET NIGHTS Unmindful of my low desert Who turn e'en blessings to my hurt, God sends me graces o'er and o'er, More than the sands on the seashore. 94 Among the blessings He doth give My starveling soul that she may live, I praise Him for my nights He kept And all the quiet sleep I slept Since I was young, who now grow old. For all those nights of heat, of cold, I slept the sweet hours through, nor heard Even the call of the first bird. Nights when the darkness covered mc In a great peace like a great sea With waves of sweetness, who should lie Wakeful for mine iniquity. Cool nights of fragrance, dripping sweet. After the sultriness of heat. Amid grey meadows drenched with dew ; Sweet was the sleep my eyelids knew. Surely some angel kept my bed After I had knelt down and prayed. Like a young child I slept, until The day stood at the window-sill. I thank Him for the nights of stars, Bright Saturn with his rings, and Mars, And overhead the Milky Way ; Nights when the summer lightnings play, 95 How many a Milky Way I trod^ And through the mercy of my God Drank milk and honey, wrapped in ease Of darkness and sweet heaviness ! I thank Him for the wakening bird, And the struck hours I have not heard. And for the morns so cool, so kind, That found me fresh in heart and mind. Among the gifts of His mercy. More than the leaves upon the tree. The sands upon the shore, I keep And name my lovely nights of sleep. THE SERVANTS I HAVE six servants for my use, Two bear me wheresoe'er I choose ; Carry me through the v^^orld v^here'er I choose to be a traveller. Two, feat and nimble, do my w^ill. Write, play, sew, toilers tireless still. Serve me w^ith joy, serve me with love. And never cry, " It is enough," Two yet remaining ope for me The world of Art and Poetry, The dear delights of Nature spread That feast my soul like daily bread. 96 The feet that bear me long and well, Wonderfully wrought, a miracle : I praise God as I walk abroad For these strong, delicate works of God. Likewise my hands that toil and moil, Nor in my service fear a soil. Wonderful hands that still achieve So much between the morn and eve. Yet of my eyes what shall I say. That without any holiday. Year after year sans ease and rest, Work for me like the patient beast ? The eyes I have not thought to spare. Being a merciless task-master. Not careful of their strength nor wise, — I crave forgiveness of my eyes. When on one day account I shall Unto the Over-Lord of all For these my servants, I shall say, ** Well did they serve me in my day," And on that day of the Great Assize I pray my hands, my feet, my eyes Accuse me not. Ah, why should I fear These fellow-travellers, kind and dear ? 97 G These comrades on the heavenward road, Those cunning, wonderful works of God. Not servants ! Nay, but each a friend, For whom I praise God, world without end. ALL IN ALL Thou knowest, though still I fail and fall. Thy love is yet mine all in all — My health, my wealth, my joy, my law, Yea and the very breath I draw. As Peter said, I say the word : " Thou knowest that I love Thee, Lord ! " I, stained with more than his disgrace. And yet so bold before Thy face ! The hills, the vales, my words repeat — The solid earth beneath my feet. The sun, the moon, the stars at even. Yea and the listening saints in heaven. Bear witness now, ye leaping seas. And all ye woodland palaces. And Orient lands of spice and scents, And Northern ice-bound continents : In this hard heart, so cold and small, My Lord is still mine all in all ; And if He turn His face away, A cloud is on the face of day ; 98 And whitest day is blackest night If I am banished from His sight ; And if afar He lingereth, My life is living death in death. A heart so hard, so cold, so small, What wouldst Thou with this heart at all ? So weak, so poor, so like to stray, Breaking Thy mandates every day ! And yet though clogged with sin I be I fail not in Thy thought of me ; For on my heart Thyself hast writ Thy name and the sweet grace of it. And on my soul Thyself canst trace The pictured likeness of Thy face. Clear as of old Veronica Upon the blood-stained kerchief saw. No true and faithful lover I, Yet Thy poor lover till I die — And past the gates of death and birth, And the lost memory of the earth. So take Thou me and, if Thou wilt. Purge from me all my woe and guilt ; Show me to angels standing by Whiter than whitest purity. 99 See in Thy hands I lay them all — My will that fails, my feet that fall ; My heart that wearies everywhere, Yet finds Thy yoke so hard to bear. Yea, with all these my love that still Loves — for is love not hard to kill ? — Whose only grace it well may be Is that it loves so worthily. THE FLYING WHEEL When I was young the days were long. Oh, long the days when I was young : So long from morn to even fall As they would never end at all. Now I grow old Time flies, alas ! I watch the years and seasons pass. Time turns him with his fingers thin A wheel that whirls while it doth spin. There is no time to take one's ease, For to sit still and be at peace : Oh, whirling wheel of Time, be still, Let me be quiet if you will ! Yet still it turns so giddily. So fast the years and seasons fly, Dazed with the noise and speed I run And stay me on the Changeless One. I stay myself on Him who stays Ever the same through nights and days : The One Unchangeable for aye, That was and will be : the one Stay, O'er whom Eternity will pass But as an image in a glass ; To whom a million years are nought,— I stay myself on a great Thought, I stay myself on the great Quiet After the noises and the riot ; As in a garnished chamber sit Far from the tumult of the street. Oh, wheel of Time, turn round apace ! But I have found a resting-place. You will not trouble me again In the great peace where I attain. THE EPITAPH Write on my grave when I am dead, Whatever road I trod That I admired and honourW The wondrous works of God. That all the days and years I had, The greatest and the least, Each day with grateful heart and glad I sat me to a feast. loi G 2 That not alone for body's meat Which takes the lowest place I gave Him grace when I did eat And with a shining face, But for the spirit filled and fed That else must waste and die, With sun and stars replenished And dew and evening sky. The beauty of the hills and seas Brimmed that immortal cup ; And when I went by fields and trees My heart was lifted up. Lap me in the green grass and write Upon the daisied sod That still I praised with all my might The wondrous works of God. )^ )eC )8C )8C « }fiC )9C )8C )8C A A SSC V UNIVEESITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBEARY, BERKELEY THIS BOOK IS DUE ON THE iAST DATE STAMPED BELOW Books not returned on time are subject to a fine of 50c per volume after the third day overdue, increasing to $1.00 per volume after the sixth day. Books not in demand may be renewed if application is made before expiration of loan period. Ik ufi a I, -DEC 21 *a<^ 7979 iM^^^^ B^' UNIVERf ^^44 9 3 ^H 1 5ITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY ft