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 POEMS : 
 
 NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE.
 
 POEMS: 
 
 NARRATIVE AND DESCRIPTIVE. 
 
 Utrittcn in (England attb Enbia. 
 
 BY THE 
 
 REV. EDWARD TEMPLEMAN, 
 
 RECTOR OF PITCHCOTT, AYLESBURY, AND CHAPLAIN OF SCHORNE COLLEGE 
 
 LATE VICAR OF HIGHAM FERRERS AND CHELVESTON 
 
 WITH CALDECOTE ANNEXED ; 
 
 AND CHAPLAIN RETIRED LIST H.M.I.S. 
 
 LONDON : 
 ELLIOT STOCK, 62, PATERNOSTER ROW, E.C. 
 
 1891.
 
 
 %o the 
 REV. S. B. JAMES, D.D., 
 
 VICAR OF NORTH MARSTON, BUCKS, AND WARDEN AND 
 
 FOUNDER OF SCHORNE COLLEGE, 
 
 TO WHOM HE IS INDEBTED FOR MANY ACTS OF KINDNESS 
 
 AND FRIENDLY CONSIDERATION, 
 
 THE FOLLOWING SELECTION OF DESCRIPTIVE POEMS, 
 
 MOSTLY WRITTEN MANY YEARS AGO, 
 
 IS RESPECTFULLY DEDICATED, 
 
 AS A SMALL TOKEN OF HIS GRATITUDE AND ESTEEM, 
 
 BY 
 
 THE AUTHOR. 
 
 8377;:
 
 PREFACE. 
 
 In publishing this little work, I am very conscious 
 that its contents will not endure the test of severe 
 criticism ; still, I venture to hope it will be read 
 with kindly interest by many friends who have 
 expressed themselves favourably of some of the 
 poems in the volume which they have read. Some 
 were published in India, whilst others have never 
 before been printed. It was my happy lot to be 
 educated at a school where the Bible and the 
 Prayer-book were carefully and devoutly taught, 
 most especially by a young and earnest master 
 and clergyman, who died at a very early age, and 
 whose death at such a time made a deep and 
 lasting impression on a schoolboy's mind. To 
 the example and teaching of this good young
 
 viii PREFACE. 
 
 master, I am indebted, I believe, for early re- 
 ligious impressions. During the last few years of 
 my life I have been engaged in similar work to 
 his, and, under the guidance of one who knows 
 well the value of God's Word for young and old 
 alike, and to whom, with much esteem, I have 
 ventured to dedicate this volume. I have been 
 endeavouring to interest schoolboys in the best of 
 all books, and the one which can alone be called 
 holy, and which, when its beautiful lessons are 
 brought home to our hearts by the Spirit of God, 
 can make us wise unto salvation through faith 
 which is in Christ Jesus our Lord.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SCHORNE COLLEGE 
 
 REMINISCENCE OF CLAYDON RECTORY 
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD 
 
 FRAGMENTS 
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES 
 
 LITTLE PRAYERS FROM LITTLE LIPS 
 
 MY PHOTOGRAPH BOOK . 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS ON THE DAY OF A CONFIRMA- 
 TION BY THE LORD BISHOP OF AUCKLAND, NEW 
 ZEALAND .... 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, REV. C. H. H. . 
 
 SPRING-TIME .... 
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT 
 
 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO A STROLLING VAN 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, M. M. R. H. 
 
 FAREWELL TO SIR HUGH ROSE, K.C.B., AFTERWARDS 
 LORD STRATHNAIRN . 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 3 
 6 
 
 12 
 
 18 
 
 28 
 
 3i 
 
 34 
 36 
 36 
 37 
 70 
 72 
 
 75
 
 SCHORNE COLLEGE.* 
 
 Near a small village in our happy land, 
 Nestled beneath an emerald grassy hill, 
 
 Uprose, as touched by wise magician's hand, 
 A college founded by the Warden's skill — 
 
 The school and home of many a gallant boy, 
 
 Moulded and trained by vigorous master's 
 mind 
 
 To love the pure, abhor the base alloy , 
 Reject the evil, choose the truth refined, 
 
 Pure as the water from Schorne's well-known well.t 
 The truth as found in Holy Writ is taught ; 
 
 And day by day at sound of chiming bell 
 
 The Saviour's praise is sung, His mercy sought. 
 
 * Schorne College is situated in the village of North 
 Marston, Bucks, a village (including the college, which has 
 greatly increased the population) of about 800 people, with 
 a beautiful church, in which her Majesty the Queen has 
 placed a stained glass east window. 
 
 ' There is a well in the village celebrated for its tonic 
 chalybeate water, and called Sir John Schorne's well. 
 
 I
 
 2 SCHORNE COLLEGE. 
 
 He who in wisdom first devised the plan, 
 
 And to completion brought his cherished work, 
 
 Has by his life taught boys to play the man, 
 And ne'er in honest toil or play to shirk. 
 
 Well disciplined in school, in pastimes trained 
 Hardness to suffer, temper to control, 
 
 In the world's fight Schorne boys have honour 
 gained, 
 In its keen race unfaltering reached the goal. 
 
 From many a land, across the pathless sea, 
 From office desks, from ship and regiment, 
 
 Old Schornians' thoughts flow back unceasingly 
 To the loved school where their best days were 
 spent. 
 
 Parents and boys to God will offer prayer 
 
 For him whose generous heart and purpose 
 true 
 By earnest thought and unremitting care 
 
 Oped learning's fields to them, and ' pastures 
 new.' 
 
 Long may Schorne flourish, and the master mind 
 Its vigour long retain to rule and guide ! 
 
 And long may scholars 'neath its rooftree find 
 Man's teaching, by God's Spirit sanctified !
 
 REMINISCENCE OF CLAYDON RECTORY. 3 
 
 REMINISCENCE OF CLAYDON 
 RECTORY. 
 
 June i, 1891. 
 
 The first of summer days, a season meet 
 
 For opening flowers, and the voices sweet 
 
 Of woodland nightingale and cooing dove, 
 
 Their songs upraising, and blue sky above. 
 
 Soothed and refreshed our souls, as once again, 
 
 Some by grassy lanes, others by train, 
 
 From Oxford's crowded streets their footsteps 
 
 bent 
 To this loved spot, where students oft have spent, 
 From studies freed, a peaceful afternoon 
 Beneath the beech-trees' shade in leafy June ;* 
 Spent hours of sweet communion, fervent prayer 
 To Him whose Spirit surely led them there : 
 Who guides the thoughts and moves the lips of 
 
 those 
 From whom pure thoughts and ripened wisdom 
 
 flows. 
 There first to welcome us, with others, came 
 The best-beloved, Sir Harry, still the same 
 
 * The Oxford Union for Private Prayer meets once a 
 year, generally on Trinity Tuesday, at Claydon Rectory, 
 close to the well-known seat — Claydon House — of the Right 
 Hon. Sir Harry Verney, Bart. 
 
 I — 2
 
 4 REMINISCENCE OF CLA YDON RECTOR Y. 
 
 In heart and purpose, God all-trusting, true — 
 The same brave soul as in past days we knew, 
 When well-nigh forty years ago we knelt 
 Near this same spot, and Christ's sweet presence 
 
 felt; 
 Never more loved, never more honoured, 
 Than now, when ninety snows are on his head ! 
 Our host, the Rector, 'neath the trees of yew, 
 Spoke words of counsel wise and wisdom true, 
 And from God's Book good lessons for us 
 
 drew. 
 Then one of India his experience told — 
 When lonely, in that far-off land of old, 
 The thought that prayer was offered by a band, 
 A brotherhood, in the dear Fatherland, 
 Would soothe his heart and nerve him for the 
 
 fight, 
 And cheer his spirit through the darkest night. 
 Another Senior of his brother tells 
 Who the same comfort felt in the Seychelles. 
 From bright Australia and New Zealand, friends 
 Unknown before, from the world's distant ends, 
 Had come to spend with us this happy day, 
 And earnestly entreated all to pray 
 For the lone wanderers in bush or track, 
 Lest they should faith and godly fervour lack. 
 Then last and late, but only not too late, 
 Came one his thrilling story to relate !
 
 REMINISCENCE OF CLA YDON RECTOR Y. 5 
 
 The life of him by whose wise thought and care 
 Our gathering for mutual help and prayer 
 Was founded ; who with brothers sought 
 Mutual aid, and to completion brought 
 This work which lasts, and with God's blessing 
 
 thrives, 
 Sustaining hope and strengthening anxious lives, 
 As was our Founder's, faithful to the end, 
 Striving with Mussulman and rallying friend !* 
 With deepest interest we heard how Trench had 
 
 toiled 
 For Jesus, and how Satan's power had foiled 
 In England and in India ; and how died 
 His only hope his Saviour crucified. 
 
 * * •* * * 
 
 Then as the summer sun sank in the west, 
 And Nature lulled herself to peaceful rest, 
 We homeward bent our way, praying that we 
 The lessons taught to-day so earnestly 
 Might by God's Spirit give us grace to try 
 Like saints departed live, and in Christ die ! 
 
 * Bishop Trench, late Bishop of Lahore, died of sun- 
 stroke at Muscat, where he had gone to preach to the 
 Mussulmans alone, after noble service again and again 
 renewed in India, the North-West, and Punjaub and Afghan 
 frontier.
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. 
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. 
 
 It frequently happened during the great Indian Mutiny, 
 in 1857-58, that the Sepoys broke into the English burial- 
 grounds and cemeteries and destroyed the gravestones of 
 those who had been buried there. This cruel act had been 
 committed in the cemetery of a station in which I was 
 chaplain towards the end of the rebellion. A lady, the wife 
 of a Major — whose little daughter had been buried in my 
 churchyard — was anxious to know if her child's grave had 
 been mutilated, whereupon I searched for it and found it, 
 the grave itself only slightly trampled on, which was not 
 always the case, but the little cross over the grave broken as 
 described in the following poem, which was founded on this 
 circumstance and published in the Anglo-Indian Magazine, 
 from which I now transcribe it. I am indebted to the good 
 Dr. Kaye, the late Principal of Bishop's College, Calcutta, 
 who was then acting editor of the magazine, which was 
 principally for soldiers, for one or two emendations he kindly 
 made for me. 
 
 PART I. 
 
 Our Lilian was our only child, 
 
 The nursling of a day ; 
 Upon our life she sweetly smiled, 
 
 Then gently passed away. 
 She was not given to cheer our life, 
 
 God took her back again 
 Ere sin or this world's cruel strife 
 
 Had ever caused her pain.
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIERS CHILD. 
 
 Oh, bitter trial with her to part, 
 
 The one child of our love ! 
 But the richest treasure of our heart 
 
 We know is safe above. 
 A soldier's child was Lilian ; 
 
 And, in our gallant band, 
 Full many a rough but honest man 
 
 Would lead her by his hand. 
 The favourite of our camp was she ; 
 
 With childhood's prattle gay, 
 Her cheery laughter merrily 
 
 Rang out the livelong day. 
 And I had brought her very far 
 
 Across the pathless deep ; 
 And I little thought the child of war 
 
 So soon would fall asleep. 
 We landed upon India's shore, 
 
 And thanked our Father God 
 That, our long voyage safely o'er, 
 
 Once more on land we trod. 
 And up we travelled many a mile 
 
 O'er bright and burning sand, 
 And Lilian would often smile 
 
 At the sights of this strange land ! 
 We journeyed on our slow long way 
 
 Until we reached the spot 
 Where, camping, Lilian's father lay — 
 
 The partner of my lot.
 
 8 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. 
 
 He clasped me closely to his breast, 
 
 Then fondled in his arms 
 His child ; she was the loveliest,' 
 
 The dearest of his charms. 
 Ah ! little did he know the fate 
 
 Impending o'er her head, 
 Nor could he see death's angel wait 
 
 Close by to strike her dead. 
 She was a babe in arms when he 
 
 Kissed her and said good-bye, 
 But now she reached up to his knee — 
 
 Had grown, he said, so high ! 
 None but a father's tongue could tell 
 
 His joy, as he smoothed her hair, 
 And none knew how his heart with love did swell 
 
 But those who have felt it there. 
 Soon came the heavy Indian scourge, 
 
 And full many swept away, 
 And for young and old a funeral dirge 
 
 Was wailed forth every day ! 
 Our Lilian with others fell 
 
 Beneath death's withering hand ; 
 But she is now we know full well 
 
 In a better, happier land. 
 When I think how sweetly in death she smiled 
 
 With tears my eyes are dim ; 
 But 'twas Jesus called our little child, 
 
 And we leave her now with Him.
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. 9 
 
 part 11. — Lilian's grave. 
 
 The red sun sank down in the west, 
 
 The heavy day was passed, 
 And I, most bitterly oppressed, 
 
 Half wished it were my last. 
 The day was gone, but with its close 
 
 My anguish did not cease, 
 Nor could kind words or the acts of those 
 
 I loved most give me peace. 
 They helped me well in my sad trial, 
 
 And led me to the spot 
 Where from their labours rest awhile 
 
 The dead and the forgot. 
 Upon his strong, stout arm I leant, 
 
 The bravest of the brave, 
 But the strong man's strength was almost spent 
 
 Beside his loved child's grave. 
 I felt him quiver in each limb 
 
 Like a frail aspen tree, 
 For sorrow's cup, filled to the brim, 
 
 Made the man womanly. 
 It was natural he should be my stay, 
 
 As he had been all along, 
 Through many a rough and stormy day, 
 
 When weak I knew him strong. 
 But when we stood in twilight gloom, 
 
 With hearts o'er-full to speak,
 
 io OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIERS CHILD. 
 
 Beside our darling's new-made tomb, 
 
 Both weak and strong were weak, 
 And when they lowered the cruel ropes 
 
 And the little coffin shell, 
 It seemed to us that all our hopes 
 
 Were buried there as well. 
 " Ashes to ashes, dust to dust" — 
 
 And must we leave thee there ? 
 God be our confidence and trust, 
 
 And let us not despair ! 
 Oh ! trial of trials, in a foreign land 
 
 To lose our brightest gem ; 
 Oh ! hope of hopes, that at God's right hand 
 
 She decks His diadem. 
 In a strange but hallowed spot she'll sleep 
 
 Beneath the mango's shade, 
 And watchful angels guard will keep 
 
 Where the soldier s child is laid. 
 And there are other graves beside 
 
 In that still sleeping place, 
 Of those who've died in manhood's pride 
 
 Or run a longer race, 
 So when she rises at the last 
 
 She'll not be all alone 
 To hear the archangel's trumpet's blast, 
 
 And stand before the throne ! 
 With thoughts as these we left her there, 
 
 To sleep in peaceful rest,
 
 OUR LILIAN, THE SOLDIER'S CHILD. II 
 
 Returning to a world of care 
 
 Resigned to God's behest. 
 Then o'er her grave a stone we placed, 
 
 And o'er the stone a cross, 
 On which a few fond words we traced, 
 
 Which spoke our hope and loss. 
 We wrote her age, her day of birth, 
 
 Her own beloved name ; 
 How soon her spirit left this earth, 
 
 Returning whence it came. 
 In holy words of Him we told 
 
 Who gathers in His arms 
 The lambs, and in His breast will fold 
 
 The little ones from harm. 
 
 ***** 
 
 Years rolled away. I came again 
 
 To the well-remembered spot ; 
 But who can tell the grief and pain 
 
 Which then fell to my lot ? 
 Both were destroyed, both cross and stone, 
 
 The sacred grave defiled 
 By those who ne'er had pity shown 
 
 To woman, babe, or child. 
 It matters not ; my memory 
 
 Retains that lovely face, 
 And no rude hand of enemy 
 
 Can tear it from that place.
 
 12 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 The following lines were published in the same magazine. 
 They will, I hope, be read with indulgence, as they were 
 written when the author had not yet reached his twentieth 
 year, and are selected from a poem of upwards of five 
 hundred lines. 
 
 I. 
 
 Who has not learnt that hoarded wealth 
 And all the treasures of this earth 
 Are in themselves but little worth ? 
 
 To keep the soul in perfect health 
 Should be our care ; to elevate 
 
 Our thoughts to joys above the earth, 
 And train them for a holier state ; 
 
 To seek bright jewels in the mine 
 Of virtue, love, and righteousness, 
 
 Treasures which will the clearer shine 
 When all else fades to nothingness. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Be this ambition's noblest aim, 
 
 Raise up thy soul nor linger here, 
 
 For tho' thou art a sojourner 
 Upon this earth, tho' from it came 
 
 Thy body, yet thyself, thy soul, 
 Is of a nature loftier. 
 
 Nor should this world its thoughts control,
 
 FRAGMENTS. 13 
 
 Since it to realms above may soar. 
 And to its home in thought can flee, 
 
 Speeding thitherward before 
 It leaves this world of mystery. 
 
 ill. 
 
 'Twill burst its prison bars at times, 
 Each thought of earth will cast aside, 
 And, upward soaring, swiftly glide 
 
 Far hence away to happier climes. 
 And holy thoughts wing it along 
 
 O'er distant lands and oceans wide 
 To that blest spot where sin or wrong 
 
 Have never left their withering trace. 
 Ah ! who has not imagined this ? 
 
 Who has not pictured such a place, 
 Where all is love and perfect bliss ? 
 
 IV. 
 
 He is a heartless, soulless man 
 
 Who does not often spend his time 
 
 In thinking of that happy clime 
 Where joy first was, and love began ; 
 
 For there our souls must seek their peace, 
 In homes above, in realms sublime. 
 
 Why dread we aught which can release 
 Our spirits from their home of clay ? 
 
 We should not dread Death's hand ; 'twill ope 
 Heaven's pearly gates — perhaps to-day — 
 
 And more than realize our hope.
 
 i 4 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 V. 
 
 How transient are the joys of earth ! 
 
 How soon its pleasures fade away ! 
 
 Our life is like an April day, 
 With hours of mingled pain and mirth ; 
 
 A brief while we may happy be 
 And feel in spirit light and gay, 
 
 The next borne down with misery. 
 Fast fleeting is our life below, 
 
 Where light is ever tinged with shade, 
 Each rarest joy is mixed with woe, 
 
 Where a daily debt to sin is paid. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Not so with things in heaven above — 
 
 They never change, nor die, nor fade ; 
 
 There all is life, and all is made 
 To shine and bloom perpetually. 
 
 Oh ! lift your thoughts to heaven, and know 
 That all things there are perfect made 
 
 As all was once on earth below 
 Till man fell from perfection, and 
 
 This world lost of its brightness then, 
 And sin's fell curse spread o'er the land 
 
 And brought disease and woe to men. 
 
 VII. 
 
 Is there the man who does not hope 
 In mansions of the skies to live?
 
 FRAGMENTS. 15 
 
 Breathes there a soul who does not give 
 His fond imagination scope 
 
 To think on spiritual life above 
 Where we in perfect joy may live ? 
 
 Will not your fancy sometimes rove 
 And picture scenes of endless bliss, 
 
 Of joy unmixed with grief or pain ? 
 Ah ! yes, we sometimes think of this, 
 
 But too soon turn to earth again. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Why are our thoughts so much on earth ? 
 
 Ah ! why not oftener fixed on heaven ? 
 
 Because our thoughts are too much given 
 To cling to aught of earthly birth, 
 
 Tho' it be stained with fault and sin. 
 Yet are there those who well have striven 
 
 Nature to conquer, who begin 
 1 To be not of the world '; and they 
 
 Find true joys here, since they alone 
 Look on this life as 'twere the way 
 
 To bring us to a better one. 
 
 ix. — SOLITUDE. 
 
 It may be strange, but I have found, 
 When wandering on some lonely hill 
 Or listening to the brawling rill, 
 
 My thoughts made peaceful by its sound,
 
 1 6 FRAGMENTS. 
 
 The purest pleasures earth can give, 
 
 And seem in happiness to live ; 
 As one who dwells in spirit-land, 
 
 And the feathered choir which round me'sing 
 Seem flitting like a fairy band 
 
 To waft off sadness on their wings. 
 
 x. 
 
 And it is not always solitude 
 
 Brings melancholy to our hearts ; 
 
 For sometimes lessons it imparts 
 Productive of the highest good. 
 
 'Tis then the mind, tho' hard as steel, 
 With gentlest, kindliest feelings starts, 
 
 And worldliest souls most deeply feel 
 The love they owe to Him who spread 
 
 The myriad beauties which they see 
 Around their path, who lifts the head 
 
 Of those sunk in despondency. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Oh ! how I love that peaceful hour 
 When twilight steals upon the earth, 
 And stars shine forth of heavenly birth ! 
 
 How sweetly sleeps each drooping flower, 
 Its leaves refreshed with evening dew ! 
 
 And every plant upon the earth 
 Is decked out in its gayest hue.
 
 FRAGMENTS. 17 
 
 The sweetest of all times to muse, 
 
 When thoughts will stray to noblest themes, 
 And fancy, uncontrolled, will choose 
 
 To lull our minds with pleasant dreams. 
 
 XII. 
 
 These are the hours when we have felt 
 The change from bitterness to peace, 
 And from oppression find release ; 
 
 Then we with thoughts devout have knelt 
 Before our Father, and outpoured 
 
 Our hearts to Him who gives us ease ; 
 
 These are the hours when we have soared 
 
 In meditation up from earth 
 To glorious mansions far above, 
 
 And then first known of that new birth, 
 A love for heaven, and heavenly love. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 As is it not when we have been 
 
 Passing our time in solitude, 
 
 Then most in meditative mood 
 Looking on Nature's loveliest scene 
 
 By mountain, rill, or rugged coast, 
 We've known that this world's vaunted good 
 
 Is worthless, if our souls be lost. 
 Is it not true that we have loved 
 
 To think of heaven as happiness ? 
 If by such thoughts we have been moved, 
 
 Let us thank God for loneliness. 
 
 2
 
 1 8 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 In the Christmas vacation of my first year at Oxford, when 
 not yet twenty years old, I wrote a poem for the Newdigate, 
 and although a better man gained the prize, the information 
 I acquired, in reading and research, was of much advantage 
 to me, and enabled me to take an enhanced interest in 
 Egypt, when in the providence of God I passed through 
 that country on my way to India. 
 
 As time flows on with restless stream each day, 
 
 He hurries fast our fleeting years away, 
 
 And sweeps us on to the unbounded sea 
 
 Till all is lost in vast eternity. 
 
 There has he borne past ages, thither rolled 
 
 Those who by might the ancient world controlled ; 
 
 There swept those heroes in whose breasts beat 
 
 high 
 The love of war and high-souled chivalry ! 
 Where are those potentates whose voice alone 
 Could marshal armies to defend their throne — 
 Whose countless warriors waited their command 
 To march and sweep the foeman from their land ? 
 Where are they now ? Passed to that silent shore 
 Where time had borne their noble sires before. 
 Bold though they were, and powerful to withstand 
 The foe in battle met, still by Time's hand, 
 Conquered, they fell ; like as the earliest flowers, 
 Ere they have oped their buds a few brief hours,
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAX THEBES. 19 
 
 By some rough blast are swiftly swept aside, 
 So fell these men, and vanished all their pride : 
 Their noblest works have shared the destined lot 
 All mortal things must have, each beauteous spot, 
 Though decked in splendour now, the power hath 
 
 not 
 To elevate the mind or charm the eye 
 It once possessed in ages long passed by. 
 Those cities once the glory of the earth, 
 Where heroes dwelt, who from their very birth 
 Had been imbued with courage to defend, 
 In danger's hour, their country or their friend, 
 Have fallen beneath Time's ruthless hand, Decay, 
 And of their splendour lingers but a ray, 
 Yet still remain their ruins to declare 
 What beauty and magnificence were there ! 
 O mighty Thebes ! when Homer sang of thee, 
 He then thy power extolled, and majesty.* 
 Of jewels laid up in palaces he told, 
 Of gifts of silver, ornaments of gold, 
 In rich profusion ; sang of warriors bold 
 Who through thy hundred gates, when war arose, 
 Drove out their thousand chariots to oppose 
 Those who had dared to lift a hostile hand 
 Against a Theban and the Theban's land. 
 And naught save Homer's muse, with tone sublime, 
 Can rightly hymn thy praise, whom envious Time 
 * Vide Homer, 'Odyssey,' Book iv. 125 : ■ Iliac,' !>;. 381.
 
 20 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 Hath not all conquered yet; still through the plain 
 
 On every side thy monuments remain, 
 
 To point to us how Egypt's bravery stood 
 
 Mistress of all beneath her power subdued. 
 
 Imagination tries, and tries in vain, 
 
 To justly sing the splendours of the plain — 
 
 To paint this 'wildering scene the loftiest mind 
 
 May contemplate each hallowed spot, and find 
 
 Its thoughts in wonder lost and solemn awe, 
 
 Until it deems the universal law 
 
 Of Nature rules not here, that all must pay 
 
 Its debt in full to time and waste away. 
 
 A thousand treasures' endless variety 
 
 Will here arrest the traveller's longing eye, 
 
 And he will gaze upon this spacious plain 
 
 And fancy those beneath the earth long lain 
 
 Still living, acting, worshipping once more 
 
 In temples where they sacrificed of yore 
 
 With reverence deep to gods of wood and stone, 
 
 With mystic rites to deities unknown. 
 
 Invoking Fancy's aid here for awhile, 
 
 We may behold the far-extending pile 
 
 Of mouldering ruins as they grandly tower 
 
 Each above each, mocking as 'twere the power 
 
 Of Time their foe : 'tis not a mass of stone 
 
 We here behold in wild confusion thrown, 
 
 But the vast ruins, far as eye can trace, 
 
 Are signal monuments of Egypt's race.
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 21 
 
 The countless fanes, the obelisks we see, 
 
 Are shrines where once, in vain idolatry, 
 
 The Pharaohs worshipped, in those alcoves there 
 
 Men offered to Osiris fervent prayer.* 
 
 Their once glad voices all the fanes around 
 
 Far-echoed in their shrines their joyous sound ; 
 
 Before those crumbling porticos now raise 
 
 No countless throngs their fervent songs of praise, 
 
 Nor to these sacred courts do priests draw near 
 
 To render sacrifice with hearts sincere. 
 
 Oh, that such fervour as was wont to fire 
 
 Heathens to worship false gods, would inspire 
 
 Christians to worship Christ revealed and known, 
 
 And come with contrite hearts before His throne ! 
 
 The Zodiac ceilings of the temples prove 
 
 Egyptian sages had been taught to love 
 
 And study heaven's bright orbits, and to prize 
 
 Far beyond earth the treasures of the skies : 
 
 They worshipped sun and moon, the day, the night, 
 
 But God, who by His word-power infinite 
 
 Created sun, moon, stars, earth, sea, and sky, 
 
 They worshipped not, slaves to idolatry. 
 
 The monolithic statues here displayed 
 
 In order regular are still arrayed 
 
 In adamantine armour, to oppose 
 
 The assaults of Time, the bitterest of foes. 
 
 * ' Exclamare litet, populus quod clamat Osiri 
 Juvento.' 
 
 Juvenal, Sat. viii. 29.
 
 22 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 An avenue of sphinxes seems to strive 
 
 The lapse of fleeting ages to survive, 
 
 Raise heads erect as if old Time to mock, 
 
 Who soon to dust will mould each granite 
 
 block. 
 And close by these, the sepulchre of kings, 
 Are frail memorials of all mortal things. 
 They teach the warning lesson that the fate 
 Of mightiest emperors, their pomp and state, 
 Their glory, power, like treasures of the earth, 
 Haste to decay and are of little worth. 
 Here monarchs lie who never left the field 
 In brave, retreat, who knew not how to yield 
 When battle raged most furious, men who fought, 
 As those who from their childhood had been 
 
 taught 
 To conquer in the struggle or to die, 
 But never from an enemy to fly: 
 They fought and o'erthrew nations in their pride, 
 But soon ;i mightier victor with swift stride 
 O'ertook them, and their fortitude defied. 
 Time stole a march on them, Death seized the 
 
 brave, 
 And soon laid low the conquerors in their grave ! 
 All must have felt, when gazing on a scene 
 Of greatness or of beauty, there have been 
 Feelings within the heart words fail to speak, 
 Thoughts lying deep for language all too weak —
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 23 
 
 Visions which flit across the Seer's brain 
 
 Too high, too noble for an earthly strain. 
 
 How shall I picture these ? The task is great, 
 
 And powers of the mind inadequate 
 
 To tell of these great monuments of stone, 
 
 The noblest all the world has ever known. 
 
 Here heroes' statues captivate the eye, 
 
 Figures colossal rising far on high 
 
 Above the palm-tree groves, and here the sight 
 
 Of many an old monotholite, 
 
 Engraved hieroglyphics, seems to speak 
 
 Of aeons bygone, and to bid us seek 
 
 From these broad pedestals the deeds of those 
 
 By whose skilled art these marvellous statues rose! 
 
 Here, far around, along the plains extend 
 
 Man's resting-places ; here we trace the end 
 
 Of those whose works triumphantly could vie 
 
 With all the world beside — their fate to die. 
 
 We learn from those engravings on the rocks, 
 
 Cut out with toil and care on solid blocks 
 
 Of hardest stone, and here in pride displayed 
 
 Beside the bodies mouldering, all that made 
 
 Life pleasant to them, all that ever gave 
 
 Pleasure to them, naught availed to save 
 
 Those princely rulers from the common fate, 
 
 Which every son of Adam must await ! 
 
 They little thought when by affection led 
 
 To build such noble mansions for the dead,
 
 24 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 That in revolving ages those would be 
 
 The abodes of men that love festivity, 
 
 And noisy mirth would hold her riot reign 
 
 Where the long-buried should in peace remain ; 
 
 Yet thus it was as Time went onward fast, 
 
 To dust he turned the bones men thought would 
 
 last 
 Through countless ages, and he brushed aside 
 The signs of splendour, and the marks of pride 
 Which still lie mouldering here. These tombs 
 
 afford 
 Dwellings and homes for many an Arab horde ; 
 The glittering mausoleum, where of old 
 The monarch's body and his crown of gold 
 With funeral obsequies in state were laid, 
 Is now the home of the lone shepherd maid ; 
 Now troglodytes these catacombs possess, 
 And here pass lives in quiet happiness; 
 Many a veteran Arab here has spent 
 His span of life, reared children, well content 
 In this abode — once royal — to live and die, 
 If thus surrounded by sarcophagi, 
 With embalmed bodies, haunted with the thought 
 That once their fathers lay here. They'd been 
 
 taught 
 To know the gift of happiness and bliss. 
 Oh ! why should we who better know than this
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 25 
 
 Our fleeting years in discontentment spend, 
 And life itself too oft with murmurs end ? 
 
 ***** 
 Here stands the noblest object of the plain, 
 On which the eye now looks and rests again, 
 Lost in astonishment to see where lay 
 Tanis, who once o'er kings themselves held sway. 
 Egypt has here her noblest powers of art 
 Put forth with all her grandeur to impart 
 Magnificence and glory, and e'en Time 
 Seems to have favoured well this work sublime, 
 And in his mercy spared it, for his hand 
 Has left this rich memorial in the land 
 Hardly defaced as yet. On either side 
 Six columns upward rise in stately pride 
 Toward the skies, the portico is there, 
 The inmost sanctuary, the shrine where prayer 
 From pious hearts was rendered, yet we see 
 The spot where priest and people bent the knee 
 In deep devotion, and we rightly feel 
 True sympathy for those here wont to kneel. 
 These are the sepulchres where monarchs lay ; 
 There stand the ruins of the homes where they 
 Reigned when alive ; those palaces have been 
 The witnesses of many a royal scene, 
 These lofty towers which still rise to the sky 
 Have echoed with the songs of revelry.
 
 26 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 
 
 The flag of victory has waved afar 
 
 When princes came triumphant from the war ; 
 
 From these proud heights the prince has often 
 
 scanned 
 With glist'ning eye the riches of his land ; 
 Here the seraglio rises in whose tower 
 The captive maid oft felt the tyrant's power — 
 Torn from her native shore to be the bride 
 Of haughty conqueror. There, too, they have 
 
 died 
 In bitter agony, whose hearts from grief 
 In death at length found their long-wished relief. 
 From these proud turrets oft the madding scream 
 Has echoed round, and oft the maniac's dream 
 Of hideous tortures piercing through his brain 
 Hath made him seek for death, yet seek in 
 
 vain. 
 There, too, maybe affection's dearest tie 
 Of mutual love, of holiest chastity, 
 Hath violated been, the broken heart 
 Of queen once loved hath felt the bitter smart 
 Of husband's perfidy, and there has died 
 In sorrows old the young and lovely bride. 
 
 *i- -*1* ~.\. xL» vL> 
 
 The shepherd when he sees the orb of gold 
 Down sinking in the west, his sheep will fold 
 Amidst Thebes' ruins, and will gaze afar 
 With silent reverence on the vesper star
 
 THE RUINS OF EGYPTIAN THEBES. 27 
 
 Which evening heralds : 'tis the star which shone 
 When Homer sang of Thebes. Homer has gone 
 To his long sleep — the evening star shines bright 
 To-night as then, when Homer sang of thee, 
 O mighty Thebes ! that star thy majesty, 
 Thy splendour saw and on thy glory smiled, 
 And o'er thy ruins shed its ray, fair child 
 Of ancient Egypt, and it still at night 
 From heaven's height illumes the noble site 
 Of tottering fabrics which seem yet to rise 
 As forest trees up to the starlit skies. 
 
 ***** 
 As years roll on these ruins will decay, 
 Their fame and splendour pass for aye away. 
 No vestiges of beauty will be seen, 
 No trace discovered e'en by glance most keen ; 
 E'en Hesperus shall lose its brilliancy, 
 And shine no more with lustre in the sky. 
 The great Creator who has all things made 
 Decrees the universe itself shall fade, 
 That earth and man's works all shall be no more, 
 That mortals life shall not as heretofore 
 Be mixed with grief and care, that they should 
 
 die, 
 And men be happy through eternity. 
 This shall befall when time has ceased to be, 
 And death is swallowed up in victory !
 
 28 LITTLE PRA VERS FROM LITTLE LIPS. 
 
 LITTLE PRAYERS FROM LITTLE LIPS. 
 
 Many years ago I was staying on a visit with others at a 
 sanatorium 7,000 feet above the sea-level, with the wife of a 
 good magistrate and collector, who had been shot through 
 the lung in the Mutiny and miraculously recovered, and 
 never forgot to whom he owed his new life. He was far 
 away in the plains doing his work in the hot weather, but 
 prayer was kept up in his family, and in such a remarkable 
 way as I had never, with a very wide experience, seen 
 before. At early morning family prayers, the mother (as is so 
 often the case in India) led the devotions till she came to 
 the Lord's Prayer — and then she made a marked and 
 striking pause — when a very little daughter, only five years 
 of age, with folded hands and reverent mien, in sweet, 
 childhood's accents, began to say, as I had never heard it 
 said before, the Lord's Prayer, the elder members of the 
 family and others following her sentence by sentence. This 
 interesting scene, which deeply impressed me, I have endea- 
 voured to preserve in the following simple lines. 
 
 I heard a little girl upraise 
 
 To God the matin prayer, 
 And heavenward lead the note of praise, 
 
 Above the pure mountain air! 
 ***** 
 I've heard the organ of the choir 
 
 Peal forth its sweetest strain, 
 Floating above till the angel's lyre 
 
 Seemed to waft it down again. 
 I've listened to a white-robed band, 
 
 Whose well-trained voices chant
 
 LITTLE PRA VERS FROM LITTLE LIPS. 29 
 
 God's praises in our fatherland, 
 
 In many a cloistered haunt ; 
 In fretted nave entranced I've felt 
 
 With psalms and holy song, 
 And raptured in the chancel knelt 
 
 Amidst the suppliant throng ! 
 But strains heard then did never reach 
 
 So deeply down my heart, 
 Or to my soul such lessons teach 
 
 As I learnt — from no skill or art ! — 
 When a little girl in ' Our Father Prayer ' — 
 
 Prayer of all prayers the best — 
 At her mother's side she had learnt it there, 
 
 Led the prayers of all the rest, 
 The others following word by word, 
 
 This simple common prayer, 
 *Then needed all it could afford 
 
 To soothe their pain and care. 
 She knew no trials who prayed it first, 
 
 For in childhood's guileless hours 
 The impending storm has not yet burst, 
 
 The path is strewn with flowers ; 
 Yet wise are they who earliest teach 
 
 Their innocents to pray, 
 For soon the time will come when each 
 
 Needs God's help every day ; 
 
 * It was a time of great trial and sorrow.
 
 jo LITTLE PRA VERS FROM LITTLE LIPS. 
 
 And as before His throne on high 
 
 Their angels God behold, 
 He'll hear their prayers acceptably, 
 
 And His succour not withhold ! 
 'Tis wise in childhood's years to train 
 
 The children's hearts to pray, 
 In after-years they know the gain, 
 
 Who have been taught this way. 
 When Sorrow lays her chastening hand 
 
 Upon the burdened breast, 
 Their thoughts will speed to the Better Land, 
 
 And only there seek rest. 
 When youth and childhood pass away, 
 
 And winter's gloom is near, 
 When the once fair locks grow thin and gray 
 
 And the leaf is in the sere, 
 The truths learned at the mother's knee 
 
 Will keep their freshness still, 
 And the soul with a glowing radiancy 
 
 And peaceful calm o'erfill ! 
 Thus Christians steadfast in prayer's power 
 
 Have the dark valley trod, 
 And victors in the crucial hour, 
 
 Through Christ found peace with God ! 
 I heard a little girl at prayer 
 
 In the steep Himalayan side, 
 And these are some thoughts I gathered there 
 
 With a little one for my guide.
 
 M Y PHO TOGRAPH BOOK. 3 1 
 
 MY PHOTOGRAPH BOOK. 
 
 The likenesses of friends, children and other relations are 
 of the highest value to dwellers in a foreign land, and are 
 again and again reviewed with fond delight. 
 
 Faces I loved so deeply, knew so well, 
 
 Come back to me turning these pages o'er; 
 I long to look on them, I ne'er can tell 
 
 If I shall see them, lovely as of yore — 
 Not all, for some have passed for aye away, 
 
 From the mixed scenes of this soon fleeting 
 life, 
 And early gone to join in bright array 
 
 Those who have ceased from trouble, trial and 
 strife. 
 One face, the loveliest, arrests my hand, 
 
 I cannot turn from it or pass it by : 
 She was the fairest of a youthful band, 
 
 And yet almost the first of them to die ! 
 'Tis often thus the sweetest flower which grows 
 
 Smiles all in vain upon the withering blast ; 
 Its loveliness it neither heeds nor knows, 
 
 But tears it from its roots and hastens past. 
 Changes are on the face so well defined, 
 
 It shows the traces of the rough world's care, 
 And looking carefully my eye can find 
 
 That lines of deep and anxious thought are there !
 
 3 2 MY PHOTOGRAPH BOOK. 
 
 Far from the fatherland we do not feel 
 
 How time rolls on with those we've left behind 
 As swiftly as with us in woe and weal, 
 
 Changing our friends in figure as in mind ! 
 We oft forget that, in the lapse of years, 
 
 The boy is man we left at home a child, 
 That she knows now a mother's hopes and fears, 
 
 Who then in all the bloom of girlhood smiled ! 
 That those who prattled at their mother's knee, 
 
 Thoughtless of us when we bid her good-bye, 
 Are now the pillars of the family, 
 
 And posts of trust and honour occupy. 
 
 ***** 
 
 I turn a few more pages and I see 
 
 Some likenesses of little boys and girls, 
 But these are strangers all unknown to me, 
 
 Though I before have seen such locks and curls ; 
 Their mother's looks were thus when she was 
 young, 
 
 And hers was then as now her daughter's face, 
 Whilst her dark tresses all so richly hung, 
 
 Though of her beauty hiding not a trace. 
 In you, her children, I can trace the dead : 
 
 May you to him the vacant place supply 
 Of the departed one ; and in her stead 
 
 Strive every wish of him to gratify ! 
 
 jjC *f* *}» *|> . *|*
 
 MY PHOTOGRAPH BOOK. 33 
 
 And other pictures here to me recall, 
 
 Of bygone years a well-remembered scene ; 
 And gazing fondly on them each and all, 
 
 To memory recall what once has been ! 
 I would not be without my precious book, 
 
 It has for me a pleasure fresh each day ; 
 I give it every night a lingering look, 
 
 And find it hard sometimes to turn away ! 
 And call it not a weakness ; is it weak, 
 
 Upon our memories the forms to trace 
 Of those we see no more, hear no more speak, 
 
 Themselves to us revealing face to face ? 
 Nay, rather 'tis a mark of vigorous mind, 
 
 Of strength of character and manly powers, 
 To keep our hearts with memories entwined 
 
 Of dearest friends in happy bygone hours ! 
 
 ■ki* *X» -Is «i» vL» 
 
 *T> «T* *T* *f* Jf%
 
 34 EVENING THOUGHTS. 
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS ON THE DAY OF 
 A CONFIRMATION BY THE LORD 
 BISHOP OF AUCKLAND, NEW ZEA 
 LAND. 
 
 The Bishop of Auckland was one of my dearest friends, 
 in India, just after the Mutiny, in which he bore an im- 
 portant part as chaplain with Sir Robert Walpole's brigade ; 
 he was appointed to Bareilly, to which station I afterwards 
 succeeded him, and I was appointed to Shajahanpur ; we 
 were forty miles apart, but the distance was not an obstacle 
 to our meeting from time to time. The Bishop came to 
 England, from New Zealand, in 1888, and paid me a visit at 
 the Rectory — we had not met for twenty-five years. The 
 Bishop very kindly held a confirmation, in my little parish, 
 in a church where the oldest inhabitant could not remember 
 a confirmation ever being held before. It was a lovely day 
 in June, and the scene from the beautiful hilltop, on which 
 the church stands, was most striking and impressive. The 
 following lines do but faintly describe it. 
 
 The evening shadows lengthen from above, 
 
 The summer sun sinks gently in the west ; 
 The nightingales trill forth their notes of love, 
 
 And weary nature seeks her daily rest ! 
 How hallowed seems to me this twilight hour, 
 
 How typical of that foreshadowed time 
 When mortals, changed by God's Almighty power, 
 
 Shall pass immortal to a happier clime ; 
 The better Canaan which, the waters past 
 
 Of this tumultuous life, we shall behold,
 
 EVENING THOUGHTS. 35 
 
 Gaining our haven long desired at last, 
 
 The sheep returning to the Shepherd's fold. 
 He * * * * 
 
 O Prince of Peace, I pray Thee, gently guide 
 
 Thy tender lambs along this trying world, 
 And ever be Thou present at their side, 
 
 Thy banner o'er their guileless hearts unfurl'd. 
 Teach them in peace the war of truth to wage, 
 
 To know Thy ways their greatest triumph be, 
 To trace with yearning heart, from sacred page, 
 
 The path which leads to heaven and to Thee. 
 Give to Thy pledged ones the undying peace 
 
 Which passes understanding, and the love 
 Which, while they live on earth, shall never cease 
 
 And never fail them in the realms above. 
 Oh ! take from them the worldling's heart of stone 
 
 And knit their spirits closer unto Thee, 
 Leading them daily to Thy sacred throne 
 
 As they draw nearer to eternity. 
 Help them to shun frivolity of mind, 
 
 To ask for seriousness in earnest prayer ; 
 And each day spent with Thee may evening find 
 
 Their hearts turned heavenward and their 
 treasures there. 
 Train them to live for others, give them light 
 
 To clearly comprehend Thy precious truth ; 
 Confirm their faith, give them Thy Spirit's light 
 
 To lead them on their path to age from youth. 
 
 ***** 
 
 3-2
 
 36 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, REV. C. H. H. 
 
 In his own churchyard which he loved so well, 
 Near by the sanctuary door where, week by 
 
 week, 
 For twelve years past it was his wont to seek 
 The presence of his Saviour and forth-tell 
 To those who worshipp'd with him of His love, 
 We laid him down to rest, removed, too soon 
 We thought, one sombre Autumn afternoon 
 'Midst sobs and sighs and unrestrained tears 
 Of friends, relations, and parishioners ; 
 But not too soon for Him who sums our years 
 And better knows than we our time for rest. 
 Resigned to God's decree we have no fears 
 For him who ne'er his choir will lead again, 
 But find a higher part amidst the angels' strain. 
 
 SPRING-TIME. 
 
 A FRAGMENT. 
 
 The joyous May has come once more 
 With all the flowers she used to bring, 
 And songsters who as gaily sing 
 
 As they were wont in springs of yore.
 
 8 
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 37 
 
 It seems not like the Mays to me 
 To which my heart would fondly cling, 
 
 Which still live in my memory. 
 Blest days of boyhood's innocence, 
 
 When cowslip, daisy, and bluebell 
 Had charms for me ! ye've fled far hence, 
 
 And much with you that I loved well. 
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 This poem was written by me just after my ordination, in 
 1857, when our hearts were saddened by the fearful tidings 
 which came from India, to which allusion is made in the 
 opening lines. When chaplain of Darjeeling, in 1863, I 
 sent it to Chcsson and WoodhaWs Miscellany, at Bombay, 
 in which periodical it appeared, and was very favourably 
 reviewed by an indulgent Indian press. 
 
 I. 
 
 My heart was aching, saddened by the tales 
 
 Of war and tumult which from India came 
 
 In those dark days when Britain's sons were 
 
 slain, 
 And wives and daughters died heroic deaths ! 
 I did not sleep, and yet I seemed to dream ; 
 It hardly yet was night ; the sun, though low, 
 Was shining bright with western splendour red ; 
 It was the even time, the hour of peace,
 
 3& THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 And day declined in autumn quietude, 
 
 While o'er the landscape lengthening shadows fell. 
 
 ***** 
 I seemed to wander thro' a forest wild, 
 A tangled jungle dense with towering trees, 
 Now shedding teardrops o'er the dying year; 
 A soughing wind their branches gently waved, 
 And gleams of fading sunlight flashing by 
 Formed myriad brilliant circles, rainbow-bright. 
 A stream of crystal waters, silver-tinged, 
 Meandered thro' the thicket ; on each bank 
 Grew forest flowers of various hues and tints, 
 Their drooping petals moist with evening dew ; 
 It was a lovely stream, its wavelets seemed 
 Clearer than those of earthly rills to me ; 
 The setting sun, the rising moon shone full 
 Upon it now and traced a glistening path 
 As far as I could gaze ; such have I seen 
 When sailing on the sea at sunset hour, 
 A bright track leading to some Arab isle. 
 By some all-powerful spell I seemed led on, 
 I could not linger nor my steps retrace, 
 But onward wandered, ever musing, where 
 The smoothly flowing stream my steps would lead. 
 I reck'd no danger from those furious beasts 
 Which Indian jungles haunt and men destroy ; 
 So happy in the present, I forgot 
 My bygone cares, nor thought of coming ills;
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 39 
 
 All power of thinking of what yet might be 
 
 Was taken from me ; an entrancing joy, 
 
 Soothing anxiety and undefinable, 
 
 O'erspread my spirit and my inmost soul 
 
 With its sweet influence ; thus I forgot 
 
 The world, its troubles and widespread distress. 
 
 What blest oblivion ! what surpassing bliss ! 
 
 To lull to sleep for only one short hour 
 
 The stern and bitter cares of toiling life, 
 
 To lose in sweet forgetfulness the thoughts 
 
 Sadly entwined around the mourning heart, 
 
 Reviving scenes of bloodshed, sorrow, woe ! 
 
 What happiness to be at rest awhile 
 
 Amidst the busy scenes of active life ; 
 
 In solitary mood to contemplate 
 
 The various deeds and actions of mankind ; 
 
 Taking no part in these, but viewing all 
 
 As angels might who see them from above ! 
 
 Asking the end, the object of all works 
 
 Which eager men assiduously perform, 
 
 Seeking the reason of incessant toil, 
 
 The cause and need of ever-labouring hands ! 
 
 Oh ! how I feel for those hard slaving ones 
 
 Who eat the bread of care and late take rest, 
 
 Too little loved, too seldom honoured here, 
 
 And trusting ever their best Friend above ! 
 
 Along the path I trod I saw no serf, 
 
 No hand as yet luxuriant Nature's growth
 
 4 o THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Had checked, a wilderness around, 
 Untrod by human step, untill'd, unknown, 
 Dank, wild, and gloomy ; yet my path was light, 
 And as I onward sped it brighter grew ; 
 A distant way I wandered, and the stream 
 A mighty river, Ganges-like, became, 
 Changing its course and issuing thro' the wood, 
 Meandered by a wide and fertile vale. 
 It was a valley lit with rays of light, 
 Dazzling beyond the splendour of the sun. 
 The trees beside the waters in full bloom 
 Bore leaves like emeralds, the flowers shone 
 As glistening diamonds on the river's bank ; 
 The stream itself was clear as crystal glass, 
 Its gentle wavelets softly murmured by, 
 And on their quiet surface I beheld 
 A snow-white sail fast fading to the west. 
 I wondered for what country it was bound, 
 And how its crew could meet the dazzling glare 
 Which now suffused and hid their sail from me. 
 Here was I terror-struck, and dared not move 
 Further along this bright mysterious path. 
 I shuddered when I thought how over-bold, 
 How rash I was to venture on this way, 
 And felt I was unworthy to pursue 
 The pathway thro' the valley ; there I thought 
 The splendour and the glory would eclipse 
 My feeble vision, and I seemed to think
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 41 
 
 I was not clad in raiment meet to join 
 With those bright beings who might enter there. 
 Deeply and sadly grieved I half resolved 
 My footsteps to retrace ; when, looking back, 
 I saw the path which led me was no more — 
 No track was visible, no foothold there. 
 Backward I could not, forward I dared not, move, 
 And, thus confounded, seemed for ever lost ; 
 Deeply I grieved and trembled to advance 
 To the bright realms beyond my ravished sight. 
 While thus perplexed there fell upon my ear 
 A voice both sweet and kind, yet so unlike 
 The voice of man, that I, tho' overjoyed 
 To feel that one however strange was near, 
 Trembled at listening to the words it spoke : 
 ' This is the way, and in it you shall walk, 
 When aught shall tempt you to the right or left. 
 These are the words of Him who is the Truth, 
 Strait is the gate and narrow is the way.' 
 Then nearer came the voice, and I knew well 
 Some noble being stood before my eyes ; 
 I felt as those of old who, when they saw 
 The glistening face of him who led them through 
 The wild and burning Wilderness of Sin, 
 That I must not behold his countenance, 
 When lo ! he nearer came and thus he spoke : 
 ' O wanderer, weep not nor cast down thine eyes, 
 Thou mayest enter yonder radiant land,
 
 42 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 And I will be thy guide. Come follow me.' 
 
 Cheered by his voice I ventured to behold 
 
 The form of him who spoke ; a spirit seemed 
 
 To move beside me from some better world. 
 
 His face shone brighter than the mid-day sun, 
 
 His raiment, white and glistening, fell in folds, 
 
 Encircling gracefully his noble mien 
 
 And yet impeded not his fleeting step. 
 
 He did not seem to walk, but glide along, 
 
 Like the swift summer bird whose taper wing 
 
 The air divides and leaves no trace behind. 
 
 I saw him cross a bridge whose arches spanned 
 
 The river's silver waters ; it was built 
 
 With sardius, chrysolite and beryl stones, 
 
 Its arches turned with sapphires, glancing light. 
 
 Amazed at all I saw, afraid to speak, 
 
 In silence crossed, following close my guide. 
 
 We now had entered on another shore, 
 
 The valley traversed I before had seen ; 
 
 And deemed myself unworthy to be there ! 
 
 Fairer and richer than Thessalian glades, 
 
 Adorned with lovelier flowers than grew of old 
 
 In Tempe's cultured groves and flower-clad dells. 
 
 Innumerable plants, none could reveal 
 
 Their various names ; as well essay 
 
 To reckon all the stars or calculate 
 
 The countless hosts of heaven. Some I knew, 
 
 The rose of Sharon here, was in full bloom,
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 43 
 
 And there I saw it, bursting from its buds. 
 
 There seemed no blasts of winter raging here, 
 
 But ever summer time ; no faded flower, 
 
 Nor one imperfect blossom could I trace, 
 
 Amongst the myriad lilies ; these I knew, 
 
 They were familiar all, and yet so changed, 
 
 As if no earthly sun had given them life. 
 
 These, I reflected, toil not, do not spin, 
 
 And yet royal monarch on ancestral throne, 
 
 Tho' clad in purple robes, is not arrayed 
 
 Like one of these sweet unpretending flowers. 
 
 Oh ! how I longed to lay me down in rest 
 
 Amidst the groves of this sequestered vale ; 
 
 How my heart beat to ask my unknown guide 
 
 What name was his and from what land he came, 
 
 Where I had wandered and whence issued forth 
 
 The strains of heaven-born music, which I heard 
 
 Floating around me like the hum of bees, 
 
 Or busy insects on a summer's day — 
 
 Anon resembling the full-chorused chants 
 
 Of nature's aviary in joyous May ! 
 
 And my desire was granted ; he divined 
 
 Or seemed to fathom all my inmost soul, 
 
 And lingering by me spake these wondrous words : 
 
 ' Who would not, wanderer, long like thee to rest 
 
 Beneath these towering cedars, and repose 
 
 For ever in this island of the blest ? 
 
 This is a happy land, the songs thou hearest
 
 44 THE ISLE OE LIGHT. 
 
 Cease never here ; anon shalt thou behold 
 Those who have charmed thee with their soothing 
 
 strains. 
 But rest awhile, as thou dost wish ; then ask 
 Whate'er thou wilt and I will not withhold 
 All that is meet for mortal frail to know.' 
 ' May I then ask,' said I, ' thy history ? 
 Much that is dark to me will then be clear.' 
 ' Thou may'st,' said he ; ' I am the Penitent. 
 I did not always wear these shining robes, 
 Made white for aye, the generous gift 
 Of Him I freely serve but once disowned. 
 In stranger garb I mingled among men, 
 For I have worn (with grief and shame I own) 
 The prisoner's chains and malefactor's badge. 
 I lived a life of madness, folly, sin, 
 From wrong to deepest crime I madly rushed, 
 First God forgot, blasphemed, then cruelly robb'd, 
 At length my wretched hands imbued in blood, 
 And 'gainst the innocent my dagger raised ; 
 Then, branded with the murderer's black badge, 
 They led me forth to die a felon's death. 
 My guilty conscience owned my sentence just, 
 Tho' I denied my guilt, afraid to die. 
 'Twas all in vain ; triumphant justice doomed 
 Another and myself to die ; but there was One 
 With us dragged cruelly to the place of skulls, 
 Whom envious despots suffered not to live. 

 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 45 
 
 He was most meek, more lowly than the sons 
 Of men earth-born; but none so foully mocked, 
 Despitefully entreated, and traduced, 
 As the most innocent and pure in heart, 
 Bearing His weight of woe and heeding not 
 The jeers and scoffs of roughest soldiery. 
 He gently passed where reverent women wept, 
 And daughters of the city wailed his fate. 
 The gibes He answered not, but like a lamb, 
 Unconscious of its end to slaughter led, 
 He suffered men to drag Him to the spot, 
 Where earth's off-scouring, wicked, crime-dyed 
 
 men 
 Passed thro' a fiery trial, in torture racked, 
 Outbreathed their souls in miserable death — 
 Here we were rightly, He unjustly, fixed 
 On cruel crosses one on either side, 
 But He was in the midst ; how little thought 
 The foes who bound us that by merest chance 
 Betwixt us twain His place was well assigned ! 
 Thus ever stood He, God be praised ! still stands, 
 The only Mediator-Advocate, 
 The innocent between the guilty placed. 
 Our sufferings were great, His heavier still, 
 The sweat of agony from His pierced brow 
 Kept issuing forth in heavy drops of blood. 
 The travail of His soul no voice, no tongue, 
 Has ever yet described, or can express.
 
 46 
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Far more than Man he suffered, for He bore 
 The weight of the world's sins; His wounded frame 
 Was more than ours bemarred. His thirst 
 
 intense 
 By no friend's hand was slaked; a cooling draught 
 From Cedron's gurgling brook was all He wished — 
 They gave Him gall and vinegar instead. 
 And, more than this, they foully struck His face, 
 Scoffing derisively they wagged their heads. 
 In mock humiliation, bowing down, 
 Paid empty homage to their dying King. 
 I cannot tell thee all the grief I felt, 
 (For here we scarce remember sorrow's hours), 
 When I beheld my fellow-suffering thief 
 Join in reviling this most righteous Man. 
 I thus indignantly met his rebuke : 
 " What ! dost not thou fear God, seeing that you, 
 In condemnation stand more just than He ? 
 And we indeed most rightly do receive 
 The sentence of our deeds, while this good Man 
 Hath never done amiss. Remember me, 
 Good Lord, in that blest day when Thou 
 Dost enter in Thy kingdom." Turning round, 
 And bending on me His soul-melting look, 
 He spoke these few consolatory words : 
 " In truth I say to thee, With Me to-day 
 E'en thou shalt be in Paradise." What joy 
 Thrilled thro' my soul ! I had not heard
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 47 
 
 One loving word for many a long-passed year 
 Addressed to me; my life began with those 
 Who lisped in oaths and curses, but in love 
 A word they breathed not. Like sunshine upon 
 
 snow 
 That voice fell on my heart, till then of adamant. 
 It soon dissolved, it beat with gratitude 
 And glowing love to Him who ever cheers 
 Returning sinners with a heavenly smile. 
 I turned to thank Him, then my eye meet His ; 
 When there shall be eternity no more 
 That gentle, loving look I shall forget — 
 But not till then. All heaven seemed to shine 
 Upon that bleeding face. I scarce had heard 
 A heaven there was above ; I saw it there, 
 Reflected clear as, on some river's wave 
 In winter's night, you see the twinkling stars, 
 Not really as they are yet shadowed forth. 
 Thus I enjoyed a shadow of the gift 
 I was to realize to-day, and I could trace 
 In that brief glance upon His countenance 
 Faith, hope, and love ; and I could trust 
 That voice I heard and He who spoke the words. 
 With Him I knew that happy I should pass 
 The bitterness of death my soul must taste. 
 Led by His hand, fearless I should surmount 
 The cross's agonies ; and triumphing, 
 Amidst the songs of angels joying o'er me,
 
 4 8 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 " Enter with Him the paradise of God." 
 If thou art weary, rest thee here in peace ; 
 Then further mysteries thou shalt perceive.' 
 
 II. 
 
 He spake, and vanished quickly from my ken, 
 Like some bright dream, half finished, 
 The happy sleeper summons back in vain 
 To hear its end. Thus I in solitude 
 Surveyed more closely those enchanted scenes 
 I had admired when listening to the words 
 My guide was uttering ; now I laid me down 
 Beside the watercourses, downward flowing 
 From mountain springs above, and thought of those 
 Which bards of Greece and Rome had sweetly 
 
 hymned, 
 Of their Castalia mused, and called to mind 
 The glassy, clear Bandusia, and I knew 
 That these, tho' worshipped by Apollo's sons, 
 Whose fame survives as yet in lyric strains, 
 Could not compare with those before my eyes. 
 A fountain clear of living waters this, 
 And they who from its sources drew one draught 
 Should never thirst again ; and, more than this, 
 A healing power, virtue miraculous, 
 Like some Siloam's pool, this stream possessed ; 
 And those who laved in it their halting limbs
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 49 
 
 Or body paralyzed were straight made whole. 
 When they emerged they other beings seemed, 
 In image and in nature new-created, 
 Cleansed from all stains and wholly purified. 
 Here I beheld a sight most marvellous — 
 The beasts of prey, which in the jungle roar 
 And one another kill and then devour, 
 Did not their enemies destroy or hurt ; 
 The timid lamb beside the ravening wolf 
 Lay sleeping peacefully, nor sought her dam 
 To shield her from a foe ; the dappled fawn 
 Dreaded not here the cheetah's certain spring — 
 Joined in their frisky games each friends with 
 
 each, 
 While on the same green bank their mothers fed. 
 What unseen power their savage natures changed ? 
 What more than human influence could com- 
 mand 
 Passive obedience from the untamed beasts ? 
 No power but one — the Infinite Divine. 
 I mused on this strange scene, half wondering 
 If men would thus grow wiser and renounce 
 Their evil passions, peace-destroying strife, 
 Or reap the fruits of bitter enmity. 
 As long as man was man, would nations learn, 
 Though differing in language, customs, laws, 
 To join in union, and with one accord 
 Profess a common faith, adore one only God ? 
 
 4
 
 50 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Would man in every climate 'neath the sun, 
 
 Where'er he lived, a brother's greeting find ; 
 
 And meet not through the world an open foe, 
 
 Or, worse than all, a false, insidious friend ? 
 
 Will our corrupted natures be renewed 
 
 By some bright spirit's renovating breath, 
 
 So that the words by which we now describe 
 
 All that is sinful, evil, or depraved 
 
 Shall be to those who hear them language dead ? 
 
 Oh, longed-for time! then earth will not be earth, 
 
 But heaven descended ; for what is heaven to us 
 
 But earth devoid of sin and its results ? 
 
 Oh, longed-for hour ! the universal reign 
 
 Of happiness and peace ; no golden age, 
 
 No fabled aeon, when the gods descend 
 
 From heaven to usurp the place of men ; 
 
 But that blest time when all men shall be free, 
 
 Enjoying social freedom, and no slave 
 
 To base pursuits or evil tempter's power. 
 
 'Tis true we're fallen beings, fallen far, 
 
 And maybe falling yet — still, not bereft 
 
 Of power and capacity ; of pinions strong, 
 
 Exerting faith in which we may arise 
 
 Higher immeasurably than we ever fell 
 
 If never so degraded. Happy they 
 
 Who such a metamorphosis behold 
 
 In human creatures ! Can such ever be ? 
 
 I heard, or seemed to hear, a voice reply
 
 THE ISLE Ob LIGHT. 51 
 
 In answer to my queries. Looking round, 
 Close by my side, approaching noiselessly, 
 Another spiritual being I beheld ; 
 He much resembled him who led me first 
 Into this happy isle, but elder seemed, 
 And yet, not old, so bright his countenance. 
 I looked on him with awe, and listened still 
 While thus he spoke : 'Thou wonderest, dear friend, 
 If fallen man in nature can be changed ; 
 If the depraved, corrupted, destitute, 
 Tainted with crime, contaminating sin, 
 Afflicted with base passions, uncontrolled 
 By conscience or by reason ; if men, cursed 
 With evil dispositions such as those 
 Whom Satan bound with iron fetters once, 
 Or whose sad spirits, blackened and defiled 
 With envious purpose or impure desires, 
 Conceive and perpetrate the schemes of hell ; 
 If these and such as these can be reformed, 
 As to resemble innocents new-born ? 
 Is this the problem which perplexed thy mind ?' 
 I answered him: 'Thou hast divined my thoughts. 
 And may I ask if thou hast power to solve 
 These theories too arduous for me ?' 
 Thus he : 'I can, and am myself a proof 
 Of all that thou wouldst know. I will unfold 
 The story of my life ; mark well its course, 
 And learn how, from a worthless, fallen man, 
 
 4—2
 
 52 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 A glad and happy being I became. 
 In life's springtime I left my father's home ; 
 A younger son, a wild and thoughtless youth, 
 I took my journey to a foreign land, 
 Indulging there in every vain excess, 
 In gross licentiousness I squandered 
 All the inheritance which fell to me. 
 I had exhausted every kind of joy — 
 Sensual, earthly, devilish. Then I felt 
 The pangs of hunger ; delicately nursed, 
 And cradled in the lap of luxury, 
 I could not labour ; glad was I to fill 
 My belly with the husks the swine did eat, 
 While those dear friends who joined my revelry, 
 Or shared the feasts my bounty freely gave, 
 No longer courted my companionship, 
 Or gave a single crumb to drive away 
 Starvation's famined phantom from my sight. 
 This is the worldling's dogma ; can he gain 
 Pleasure or self-aggrandisements from thee, 
 No one so friendly, none so loves thee then. 
 But lose thy power, thy influence or wealth ; 
 Thy once warm friend now coldly slinks away, 
 And, like some skulking cur from poor man's cot, 
 Seeks the lord's kitchen and the scullion's meal.' 
 ' Too true/ I said ; ' but how didst thou escape 
 Thy close impending fate and dreadful death ?' 
 ' Ah ! friend,' said he, ' I came unto myself;
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 53 
 
 Myself till then I never truly knew. 
 
 And what a vile, ungrateful wretch was I ! 
 
 What untold agony, what bitter tears, 
 
 Had I caused him who watched me from the 
 
 hours 
 Of prattling childhood with a father's care ! 
 What grief to her who gently me up-trained 
 From earliest infancy ! How cruelly 
 Requited I a dearest mother's love ! 
 This all flashed on me now, as we behold, 
 In some dark thunderstorm, the forked light 
 Discover in an instant objects wrapt 
 In black obscurity; so I descried 
 In one brief second hideous and black spots 
 On my past life. Thus I came to myself. 
 Oh, what a crushed and wasted wreck I felt ! 
 Methought some thick and gloomy blight had 
 
 spread 
 A life-destroying poison thro' my soul. 
 And then I sadly wept tears, bitter tears, 
 Of penitence and sorrow from my heart. 
 My thoughts reverting to my father's house, 
 I well remembered many menials there 
 Had food in plenty, while my pallid cheeks 
 Each day became more hollow, my frail frame 
 Daily declined and I drew nigh to death ; 
 A living man, I seemed not half alive. 
 Then I resolved I homeward would return,
 
 54 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 And seek once more the roof I had foresworn ; 
 
 Confess my base ingratitude and own 
 
 My deep-dyed sins, my evil purposes, 
 
 And falling on my face, heart-broken, sad, 
 
 Entreat my father's pardon and implore 
 
 His free forgiveness for my evil ways. 
 
 When I drew near our homestead I beheld 
 
 The good old man advance toward his son ; 
 
 Some unknown messenger the tidings bore 
 
 Of his lost one's return. I eager ran 
 
 To throw my arms around him, and confessed 
 
 I was unworthy to be called his son. 
 
 His tears with mine were mingled ; his of joy 
 
 And mine of sorrow — rain with sunshine mixed, 
 
 As 'tis in spring-time — I who ne'er had felt 
 
 The love a son should to his father bear, 
 
 The almost holy reverence and regard 
 
 Due from a youth to one whose silver hairs 
 
 Marked him entitled to a Nestor's claim 
 
 To honour and obedience from his child. 
 
 I, thoughtless, careless, little understood 
 
 A parent's fondness or a father's love 
 
 For one who is of all the youngest born ! 
 
 How oft the deep-fixed springs of earnest love 
 
 Had welled up from his heart whene'er he thought 
 
 In lonely hours of his lost, wandering boy ! 
 
 In many a sleepless hour his o'erwrought mind 
 
 Pictured his erring-one, 'midst scenes of woe,
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 55 
 
 Surrounded by vile comrades steeped in crime, 
 Enticing, tempting, leading far astray 
 Their younger dupe, whose all too pliant will, 
 Led captive at their pleasure, led him on 
 From sin to sin, till he at length became 
 A lost, depraved, and ruined prodigal ! 
 Or, when he slept, how oft in dreams appeared 
 The son upbraiding the indulgent hand 
 Which curbed not in his youth his strong self-will, 
 Nor checked his froward pride ! Thus, undeserved, 
 Himself he would condemn for negligence ; 
 But now, when locked again in his embrace, 
 I realized the sorrow I had caused 
 My loving parent, and myself reproached 
 With blighting his last days and bringing down 
 His hoary head with sorrow to the grave. 
 He would not hearken to my self-rebukes, 
 Nor leave me lying prostrate at his feet ; 
 He was my father yet, and I his son. 
 He gently raised me up, and, kissing me, 
 Led me once more beneath his happy roof. 
 Nor was this all, nor ended here his love : 
 His lost one was restored, his dead alive ; 
 He would not see his son in hireling's garb, 
 But clothed me in light raiment ; on my hand 
 He placed a costly ring ; the fatted calf 
 Was straightway killed, the welcome feast out- 
 spread,
 
 56 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Old friends were called to greet me, young ones 
 
 joined 
 The happy circle, young and old alike 
 Welcomed with joy the prodigal's return.' 
 ' Did you forsake your home again ?' I asked. 
 ' No, not for years, and then I could not stay ; 
 The hour was come — home was no longer home. 
 With gentle hand I closed my father's eyes, 
 I watched him tenderly as mother would 
 Her dying child ; no want, no wish 
 I left unsatisfied ; soon my hour came 
 To follow him, how changed I have described. 
 You see me bright and happy, the reward 
 Of deep repentance and a contrite heart. 
 This lesson learn, then, from my history : 
 Evil avoid, God honour and obey.' 
 
 in. 
 
 Thus ended, leaving me to ponder 
 
 O'er his weird history, his voice refreshed 
 
 My wearied soul ; in pensive mood I roamed 
 
 Further along the valley, and beneath 
 
 Lebanon's cedars' shade I trod a path 
 
 Which led to brighter regions still, and heard 
 
 The harmonious strains of thousand voices sweet 
 
 In unison combined, and there I saw 
 
 An aviary of songsters ; clearer far
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. $7 
 
 Than melancholy Philomel they sang 
 
 Their joyous notes ; there is no evening song, 
 
 For there is no night there, nor e'en the twilight 
 
 hour. 
 No setting sun or dark uprising clouds 
 Foretold a coming night or boisterous storm ; 
 Here all was light, and as I onward moved, 
 More perfect brilliancy, more perfect peace 
 Was all around diffused ; I ne'er had felt 
 Tranquillity till now ; my enraptured soul 
 Experienced more than language can define. 
 Like others, I had read the thoughtful works 
 Of old and new philosophers, had explored 
 Their varied notions of man's happiness. 
 But, oh ! how infinitely wisest sage, 
 Profoundest theorist and loftiest bard 
 Had failed to realize that perfect peace 
 Which now was mine ; I fondly wished 
 My dearest friends with me for one short hour 
 To share the joy that I now realized 
 What happiness is theirs who, in this world, 
 In frivolous excitement spend their days 
 Without a thought and scarce a wish beyond ? 
 Who never know an hour of peaceful rest ; 
 Their days of rest, Sabbaths unhallowed 
 Which should be holy but polluted are 
 Either by earthly work or schemes conceived 
 To be enacted in the coming week !
 
 58 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 How much of peace they lose could they have 
 
 felt 
 My present sweet retirement and repose ! 
 The heaped-up treasures of their busiest years 
 To purchase such a gem they would have given. 
 I could not comprehend why such sweet peace 
 More than elsewhere should here triumphant reign 
 Through all the fertile valley ; soon I heard 
 The problem troubling then my mind made clear. 
 I now had reached a place where two ways met, 
 And, doubting with myself which track to choose, 
 I looked around me, when, to my surprise, 
 One, beautiful as those I saw before, 
 Once more appeared in view ; he seemed at rest, 
 Yet not asleep ; his clear blue eyes met mine. 
 Perplexed and wondering he on me smiled 
 Sweeter than mother on her sleeping babe, 
 And then without an effort, undisturbed 
 By my abrupt appearance gently spake : 
 ' Thou seemst,' said he, ' to have lost thy way.' 
 Then I : ' Yes, lost am I, and know not whither 
 
 now 
 My footsteps should be turned, nor can I tell 
 Where I have wandered or this country's name.' 
 Then he to me : ' It would be passing strange 
 If thou couldst understand or comprehend 
 The deep mysterious secrets of this land. 
 These regions, more than any known to you,
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 59 
 
 Are the abodes of happiness and peace ; 
 
 The spirits who abide here interweave 
 
 A chain of love which ne'er can .be dissolved ; 
 
 Here it is fastened, but continued 
 
 By reverent hands to yet another clime, 
 
 And there it ends. I may not lead thee there. 
 
 Some holier One may guide thee if thy faith 
 
 Firmly holds fast His hand until the end. 
 
 I see, you long to know how I came here, 
 
 And by what title I am named and live.' 
 
 Then thus I answered : ' Thou hast divined the 
 
 thoughts 
 Which even now are passing through my mind.' 
 ' Then listen,' he responded. ' Long ago — 
 So many years it seems, I scarce know when, 
 So many asons have I spent since then 
 Of heaven-sent joy — I wore the beggar's garb, 
 The tattered rags of hated poverty ; 
 My wasted frame half-clad, they called me then 
 A beggar and a vagrant ; I was shunned 
 By woman, man, and child ; my poverty 
 A crime was deemed, as if I had been God 
 To overrule the ruthless hand of Death 
 Which seized my father, or could have prolonged 
 A loving mother's life who early slept 
 That sleep the lot of man ; an orphan boy, 
 Alone, unfriended in a cruel world, 
 And this not all my woe, I was infirm,
 
 60 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 My body paralyzed while yet a child, 
 
 And as I older grew I scarce could drag 
 
 My aching limbs along from house to house, 
 
 From town to town ; for years I wandered 
 
 And laid not down my weary head at night 
 
 On softened pillow, but my couch I sought 
 
 On the wild desert or the lonely wold. 
 
 Mine not to know the sweet, the holy charm 
 
 The blessed words " my home" to some suggest ; 
 
 No living hand pressed mine, no dear one's heart 
 
 To mine responsive beat ; no voices kind 
 
 Of sisters and of brothers sweetly mixed 
 
 Gently fell on my ears ; no joyous looks 
 
 Beaming with love or fond affection's smile 
 
 Met me returning home. Those who know 
 
 The sweet endearing comfort of a home, 
 
 Affinities existing in the souls 
 
 Of those who form a happy family, 
 
 Closely knit fast by links of brotherhood, 
 
 The happy interchange of family thoughts 
 
 Experienced when long-parted ones re-meet, 
 
 Know not the loneness of a wanderer's life ; 
 
 He looks on different faces every day, 
 
 But claims with none a kin ; they look on him, 
 
 Some with aversion, others pitying, 
 
 But all as if they felt slight interest 
 
 Or sympathy for him ; could they but scan 
 
 The story of his life, reveal one page
 
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 61 
 
 Of his untold misfortunes, they would learn 
 Man's chequered fate, the mutability 
 Of all things mundane; they would, maybe, reflect 
 That, though their lot is now an envied one, 
 The fakir,* crouching prostrate at their door, 
 May rise to their high place, they to his fall. 
 Such changes there have been, will be again. 
 How little ken the opulent of earth 
 The poor man's hardships or his bitter trials, 
 His great capacity for joy ; yet these 
 Were destined in this life to be his lot. 
 There are who think there is a wide gulf fixed 
 Between the rich and poor ; the unrefined, 
 Uncultivated masses they suppose 
 Shaped of other clay and formed from dust 
 Less rare and fine than that of their own mould ; 
 They do not think that those of meaner form 
 Possess the spirit, bright intelligence, 
 Or varied talents God has given them. 
 Delusive thoughts ! For all these precious gifts 
 To man are given by one impartial hand. 
 Some favoured with advantage others lack 
 Exhibit to the world their brilliant parts ; 
 These can display the genius which lies hid 
 In minds untrained yet still existing there. 
 There is no difference, save conventional, 
 Between the high and low ; the same good God 
 * Beggar in India.
 
 62 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Created all in His similitude, 
 And breathed into their souls like breath of life. 
 Why, then, was I an outcast ? — 'twas God's will. 
 Why borne about from house to house to crave 
 The crumbs which from the lordly tables fell, 
 I will make known and thus complete my tale. 
 Mine was a miserable life and full of pain; 
 Sometimes I rested by the temple gate 
 Which men called beautiful, and justly called. 
 With jewels and pearls inlaid, it brightly flashed, 
 As of the Taj Mahal* on Jumna's bank ; 
 And at the hours of prayer 'twas beautiful 
 To see the crowds press in to worship God ; 
 Day after day they came by families, 
 Fathers and mothers led their children here 
 To join the throngs of reverent worshippers; 
 And when these happy groups, joined hand in hand, 
 Passed by me through the court my loneliness 
 I felt acutely ; and then I could bless 
 Those children innocent, whose tiny hands 
 Placed in the poor man's bag their willing doles. 
 At other times I dragged me to the porch 
 Of one well known for his magnificence 
 And gorgeous luxury, in purple royal, 
 And finely-woven linen, Tyrian-dyed, 
 He fed most sumptuously ; I without could see 
 The daily banquet spread, and, starving, heard 
 * Tomb at Agra in India.
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 63 
 
 The servants staggering under loads of meat 
 Wherewith to deck the table of their lord. 
 He, wretched man (truly a miser he), 
 Thought little of the suppliant at his gate ; 
 His boon companions entering deigned not look 
 With pity or compassion on my sores. 
 And, when the feast was o'er, passed out again, 
 And, flushed with wine, him whom they spurned 
 
 before 
 Now mocked and cursed with awful devilry. 
 Though foully used I was not friendless left, 
 For, lo ! the dogs, more human far than they, 
 Sagacious creatures who would quickly rend 
 From limb to limb a villain or a knave, 
 By instinct licked the honest beggar's sores. 
 Mine was a life of woe ; see my reward, 
 And learn from me how deals a righteous God 
 With all His creatures. The just Father loves. 
 You have divined my name, 'tis Lazarus, 
 And Abraham's bosom is this holy place. 
 You see how changed my lot, and can explain 
 The changeless law and rule of Providence. 
 If e'er perplexed by His mysterious acts, 
 When at a loss to comprehend His ways, 
 When pondering why some creatures groan with 
 
 pain, 
 Or secret sorrows breaking down their hearts, 
 And dragging on a seeming woeful life
 
 64 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 Whilst others live in sunshine all their days, 
 Without one cloud of sadness on their path ; 
 Seek not to disentangle mysteries, 
 Deep as are these, but ever exercise 
 A steady faith in God. Remember, He 
 Has told us His best name of all is " Love." 
 That He does all things well for those He loves, 
 And though much to thy sight seems passing 
 
 strange, 
 To you unjust, or contrary to right, 
 Reflect ! when He comes, justice will be done 
 To all by Him who is our righteous Judge.' 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thus ending he departed, and I heard 
 The sound of holy voices floating down 
 The valley's gentle slopes. As on they came, 
 Nearer and nearer, the words I understood 
 They sweetly sung ; then once more lost the strain, 
 As I have heard on some bleak wintry day, 
 When village bells ring out their welcome peals, 
 What time the day draws near of Jesu's birth ; 
 From many towers sweet music, pealing forth, 
 Spreads over hill and dale, commingling now 
 In perfect harmony and erst recedes, 
 As if borne back by some rough wave of wind, 
 And only faintly caught by listening ear. 
 'Twas thus I heard the strain of this new song
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 65 
 
 The unknown voices sang : ' Worthy the Lamb — 
 The spotless Lamb — who died for us,' they cry. 
 Clearer and clearer yet these voices sound, 
 Nearer the music comes ; now I behold 
 The holy band approach, all children they 
 Whose lips with words of guile were never stained, 
 Whose feet in crooked paths had never trod, 
 Whose minds had harbour found for no ill 
 
 thought, 
 Whose hearts were ne'er corrupt with sinful lust ; 
 Pure, holy, undefiled. How beautiful! 
 What holy beings these ! And such as these 
 Were they who sang Hosannahs to our Lord, 
 Who graced His march triumphant, from whose 
 
 mouths 
 Praise is perfected ; well I understood 
 Those words of Him who spake as never man : 
 ' Of such is Heaven's Kingdom,' and as such 
 Must all be who would hope to enter there. 
 They, too, were clothed in robes of spotless white, 
 A crown of gold, enriched with sparkling gems, 
 Their brows encircled like a wreath of flowers ; 
 Their tuneful harps they carried in their hands, 
 And when one swept the chords the others seemed 
 By sympathetic love to do the same. 
 Then, as the sound of many waters, flowed 
 The streams of music which my soul entranced. 
 Amazed and lost, I would have given worlds 
 
 5
 
 66 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 To join their song, but this my voice refused. 
 My lips were moveless and the song was new, 
 By me not comprehended ; 'twas too deep 
 For human utterance, above mortals' ken. 
 The throng sped onward, and I strove to grasp 
 And treasure up their notes : the trial failed. 
 I then essayed to follow the bright throng : 
 The attempt was vain, they soon to sight were lost, 
 While I, spellbound and wondering, upward gazed. 
 No one I deemed had witnessed my surprise, 
 Or understood my thoughts I then supposed 
 The vision I in solitude had seen. 
 So perfectly absorbed, I noticed not 
 A bright one at my side ; I saw her now 
 Advancing to my side, as lovely she 
 As those I'd seen before, or lovelier, 
 For all were glorious here, and each I saw 
 Seemed to outshine the last in excellence. 
 Her name I asked, and ' Maty ' she replied. 
 Her history she told me, how of yore, 
 With tears of sorrow, she had laved the feet 
 Of One despised, rejected by mankind. 
 How He in love and sweet compassion looked 
 On her who felt for Him ; and how He spoke 
 Words sweeter far than honey to her soul — 
 How He forgave her sins ! those sins, how sad ! 
 Spread o'er a lifetime. What a harrowing tale 
 Did she to me reveal! She was forgiven.
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 67 
 
 Oh ! happiness ; how peacefully she passed 
 Her after-life devoted to her Lord. 
 Hers was a penitent and contrite heart. 
 She told me of repentance, sighs and tears, 
 Of soul bowed down with suffering for the past 
 But still buoyed up with hope ; the word despair 
 Her lips had uttered ne'er. There was no need 
 For sinners to despond, the vilest man 
 Might seek forgiveness at His feet where she 
 Had poured her grief, and find his perfect peace. 
 Her face as sunbeams shone when she disclosed 
 The holy influence which Jesu's words 
 Breathed on her breast, forgiving all her crime. 
 With animated eloquence she spoke ; 
 Language transcending all I'd heard before 
 Flowed from her lips in an unbroken stream, 
 Of which my spirit never weary grew. 
 It oft had been my lot to feel a charm, 
 Which seemed as magic spell my soul to bind, 
 When listening to some gifted orator. 
 A power mysterious. What a charmer he 
 Who can enchain the minds of listening throngs 
 As he descants upon some genial theme, 
 Employing language springing, as it were, 
 Like a clear rill, spontaneous from his heart ; 
 Most exquisitely chosen to describe, 
 As 'twere, without an effort, all his mind ! 
 Now o'er my soul some such enthralling power 
 
 5—2
 
 68 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 
 
 This holy one possess'd. From her I learnt, 
 
 To my request responsive, who were those 
 
 Who harped upon their strings the strains I heard : 
 
 ' For those sweet babes, those holy innocents, 
 
 Had many a mother wept a woman's tears ; 
 
 And hands, bloodstained, to carry out 
 
 The sinful purpose of a cruel king, 
 
 Had from their mothers' bosoms wildly snatched 
 
 These helpless ones ; their swords had done the 
 
 rest, 
 And early driven them to the infant's grave. 
 But mothers,' she continued, ' while they weep 
 For loss of such as they, should lay to heart 
 That little ones when taken from their sight 
 Are mercifully removed from ill to come. 
 Rough winds bear off the buds as well as flowers ; 
 For buds may flourish in God's Paradise 
 As do the full-formed flowers ; angels bright 
 Were children once, and harmless infants now 
 From innocency pass unstained to heaven. 
 You saw yon group of white-robed ones, and wept 
 When I made known to you their bitter fate. 
 Grieve not for these, behold their present joy, 
 A joy which man can never wrest from them ; 
 Nor care nor earthly sorrow marred their brows ; 
 No disappointment such as falls to us, 
 No tears for loved ones gone bedewed their cheeks, 
 No words of passion issued from their mouths,
 
 THE ISLE OF LIGHT. 69 
 
 No evil thoughts conceived ; pure, undefiled, 
 
 To heaven from earth they passed. For them 
 
 mourn not. 
 I spoke to you of sorrow-stricken ones, 
 Of men whose hearts would well-nigh break when 
 
 they 
 In sad old age reviewed their vanished lives, 
 And as they scann'd their chequered pages o'er 
 Would soon discover many a darkling blot 
 That they would fain erase ; grave, hideous sins 
 Committed thoughtlessly, bitterly recalled ; 
 They will look back on days and years long gone, 
 Misspent in folly and base wickedness, 
 And they will utterance give to words of grief, 
 Sad notes of penitence, regret, remorse. 
 These — what a contrast ! They such words knew 
 
 not — 
 To them no meaning bring ; their little life 
 Was one unclouded day of childhood's joy. 
 For these mourn not, and grieve not at the thought 
 That millions yet will join this happy band.' 
 She, ceasing, glided gently from my sight ; 
 I, musing, followed, wondering in my heart 
 What next I would behold, when suddenly 
 The village bells rang out the vesper chime ; 
 Their sound my dream dispelled, and worshippers 
 In various groups of old and young combined, 
 Pensive and thoughtful, to the house of God
 
 70 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO A STROLLING VAN 
 
 Their footsteps bent ; not spirits these but men. 
 Still men, who, by God's grace, shall angels be. 
 And musing thus I joined the pious throng, 
 And offered up with them our evensong. 
 
 A MIDNIGHT VISIT TO A STROLLING 
 
 VAN. 
 
 The jubilee clock in the gray church tower 
 
 Was slowly striking the midnight hour, 
 
 So cloudy the night, no silvery sheen 
 
 Of moonbeams fell light o'er the fields green, 
 
 And so still was the hour, that the shriek of the owl 
 
 Seemed loud on the hill as the jackal's wild howl, 
 
 As a messenger hurried with eager feet 
 
 Swiftly along the still village street, 
 
 To the home of the lady up at the hall, 
 
 The friend, when in need, of the villagers all, 
 
 Entreating her ladyship, without delay, 
 
 To visit a poor woman, passing away, 
 
 As they thought ; and the lady, though seeking 
 
 her rest, 
 E'er awake to the cry of the sad or distrest, 
 The messenger following, came to the scene 
 Where the woman was lying in a van on the green. 
 'Twas the village feast-day and the strollers were 
 
 there
 
 A MID AUGHT VISIT TO A STROLLING VAN. 71 
 
 Who wander about from race and to fair — 
 A strange folk are they, some bad and some good, 
 Who precariously gain in this way their food. 
 When the men drink and lie idle, alas ! the poor 
 
 wives 
 Know little of comfort or peace in their lives ; 
 And thus 'twas with her whose tale we relate, 
 Who implored the good lady to pity her fate. 
 Nor in vain, for a feeling of sympathy true 
 Touched her heart when of grief or sorrow she knew. 
 She climbed up the steps and entered the door 
 Of the van, and espied, in a bed on the floor, 
 By a dip dimly burning, the starving young wife, 
 Worn down with pain, hard gasping for life. 
 The experienced lady who by her side knelt 
 The comfort she needed instinctively felt, 
 And on good impulse acting, was quick to obtain 
 The nourishment needed the life to sustain. 
 A certificate, too, for the infirmary near 
 Was given and used, as was known the next year ; 
 And, how strange is the story, both woman and 
 
 man 
 Disappeared the next morn, and no trace of the van 
 On the green could be seen. And a year rolled 
 
 away, 
 Till once more came round the village feast-day ; 
 When, as the good lady was passing along, 
 And mingling freely amongst the glad throng,
 
 72 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 Here and there speaking kindly to young and to 
 
 old, 
 As was her wont, for to none was she cold, 
 A young woman, looking so cheerful and gay, 
 A low curtsey made as she passed on her way. 
 To the lady a stranger, ' Don't you know me ?' she 
 
 said ; 
 ' I'm the woman they thought that day would be 
 
 dead, 
 When your ladyship came in the dead of the night 
 And cheered my sad heart like an angel of light. 
 May God of His goodness every day bless 
 The good lady who helps the poor in distress.' 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, M. M. R. H. 
 
 DIED ^TAT. FIFTEEN YEARS, ELEVEN MONTHS. 
 
 Only an orphan girl — 
 
 Fatherless, motherless she — 
 Here, far from the noise and busy whirl 
 
 Of the world, sleeps peacefully. 
 
 Away from cities and towns, 
 
 O'erlooking Aylesbury's vale, 
 On to the Chiltern Downs, 
 
 Rich in our island's tale.
 
 IN UEMORIAM. 73 
 
 In our village churchyard is her grave, 
 Where, after sharp fever and pain, 
 
 We laid her to rest, and gave 
 
 Her soul ransomed to Jesu again. 
 
 Though no father or mother was there 
 
 To join in the last sacred rite, 
 Dear relations and friends joined in prayer, 
 
 Sad in the dull autumn light. 
 
 And her schoolmates and teachers, who knew 
 The child's worth or in vork or in play, 
 
 Came from far, her grave to bestrew 
 With flowers, their last offering to pay. 
 
 A good Bishop* from o'er the South Sea 
 With his brethren counsel to take 
 
 Came home, and willing he 
 
 For ' auld lang syne's ' friendship's sake 
 
 In India ; at our own request 
 
 Our loved Church's sacred rite 
 Of confirmation held, and blessed 
 
 The young children robed in white. 
 
 * The Bishop of Auckland was twice decorated for service 
 in the Mutiny, once after Lucknow, and again after the 
 Umbeylah or Black Mountain campaign; the author and the 
 Bishop were at the adjoining stations of Shajahanpur and 
 Bareilly, and the author was afterwards chaplain of Barcilly. 
 The two friends had not met for twenty-three years.
 
 74 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 And Minnie she was one of these 
 
 On whom he laid his hands, 
 Meekly kneeling on her knees 
 
 Amongst the white-clothed bands. 
 
 Two clergymen had watched and prayed 
 
 For her at home and school, 
 And readily her mind obeyed 
 
 The Church's law and rule, 
 
 So reverently with those loved best 
 
 In sweet communion came, 
 Obedient to her Lord's behest, 
 
 His promised life to claim. 
 
 For she believed that those who eat 
 
 In faith* His body given, 
 And drank his blood, He'd ne'er forget, 
 
 But write their names in heaven. 
 
 The clergymen who trained her soul 
 
 In spirit to seek God, 
 In vain their tears tried to control 
 
 As they laid her 'neath the sod. 
 
 And turning from the green grave's brink 
 One thus to the other said, 
 I ne'er knew one so young deep drink 
 Of God's spirit as this maid/ 
 
 * After a heavenly and spiritual manner.
 
 IN ME MORI AM. 75 
 
 Only a child, and yet so keen 
 
 And vivid was her sight 
 Of things above that the veiled unseen 
 
 To her seemed full of light. 
 
 * * * * * 
 
 L ENVOY. 
 
 Loved ones have placed, with tender care, 
 O'er her grave a pure white cross, 
 
 But her soul has soared to the heavenly air, 
 To her gain we know, but our loss. 
 
 FAREWELL TO SIR HUGH ROSE, K.C.B., 
 AFTERWARDS LORD STRATHNAIRN. 
 
 ' He was a man, take him for all in all, we shall not look 
 upon his like again.' 
 
 Our Chief has gone ! a soldier good 
 
 As e'er in battles fought ; 
 For none than he have sturdier stood 
 
 Where dangers could be sought. 
 God speed him on his homeward way 
 And land him safe from Dublin's Bay.* 
 
 * Sir Hugh was appointed Commander-in-Chief of the 
 Forces in Ireland in the Fenian troubles.
 
 76 FAREWELL TO SIR HUGH ROSE, K.C.B. 
 
 In India long will live his name, 
 
 His deeds few will forget ; 
 And many a tongue shall sound his fame 
 
 Of those unborn as yet ; 
 Who to the rescue came from far 
 When fierce roll'd on the tide of war. 
 
 The days were dark in fifty-seven, 
 E'en stout hearts quailed with fear, 
 
 And a long, deep wail rose up to Heaven, 
 For little help seemed near ; 
 
 And rare was nerve and head and hand 
 
 The subtle natives to withstand ! 
 
 And only here and there a man 
 
 Fit for chief rank was found, 
 To rule, to guide, or shape a plan, 
 
 And offer counsel sound : 
 Fit for the times up rose Sir Hugh 
 When others faltered, firm and true. 
 
 To Cawnpore up, from far Bombay, 
 
 With heroes brave on prest, 
 Through the angry torrent forced his way, 
 
 Nor thought of peace or rest, 
 Till he had fought, and not in vain, 
 The Central Indian campaign.
 
 FAREWELL TO SLR HUGH ROSE, K.C.B. 77 
 
 Nor burning heat, nor deadly stroke* 
 
 Of noonday's glaring sun, 
 Our hero's iron spirit broke ; 
 
 He toiled till all was won, 
 Nor sheathed his sword till dusky foe 
 Lay prostrate 'neath its crushing blow. 
 
 And those who saw the work well done, 
 
 To talk of its dash ne'er tire — 
 How to the front he wheeled each gun, 
 
 And oped a withering fire, 
 Or how the cavalry pursued, 
 And foemen right and left down-hewed ! 
 
 And when the bitter strife was o'er, 
 
 And perfect peace restored ; 
 When men went forth to fight no more, 
 
 And sheathed was sharpened sword, 
 The weal of those who with him bled 
 The Chief full well remembered !f 
 
 The soldier found him his best friend 
 
 His welfare to promote ; 
 To his wants a willing ear he'd lend, 
 
 To his cause his heart devote : 
 
 * Sir Hugh was twice in this campaign thrown from his 
 horse by sunstroke. 
 
 f It was the great desire of his heart to provide better 
 barracks for the men ; and this he succeeded in doing. His 
 best act was, perhaps, in diminishing the rum ration. 

 
 78 FAREWELL TO SIR HUGH ROSE, K.C.B. 
 
 Comrades in warfare bless the day 
 When first o'er them Sir Hugh held sway. 
 
 Farewell, brave Chief; e'en now we need 
 Thy counsel and thy skill in arms ; 
 
 But thou hast won of praise thy meed, 
 And England waits thee with her charms ; 
 
 And thither rightly should be turned 
 
 The warrior's steps, to honours nobly earned. 
 
 THE END. 
 
 Elliot Stock, Paternoster Row, London.
 
 \ 
 

 
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 1891