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 THE 
 SERMON IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 
1 THE SERMON IN THE HOSPITAL " IS ALSO ISSUED AS A 
 PAMPHLET FOR DISTRIBUTION, PRICE THREEPENCE, 
 OR TWENTY SHILLINGS PER HUNDRED. 
 
THE 
 
 SERMON IN THE HOSPITAL 
 
 FROM THE DISCIPLES > 
 
 HARRIET ELEANOR HAMILTON KING 
 
 LONDON" 
 KEGAN PAUL, TRENCH, TRUBNER, & CO.^Lx? 
 
 1891 
 
( The rights of translation and of reproduction are reserved} 
 
THE 
 
 SERMON IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 
 NOW I heard 
 
 Fra Ugo Bassi preach. For though in Rome 
 He held no public ministry this year, 
 On Sundays in the hospital he took 
 His turn in preaching, at the service held 
 Where five long chambers, lined with suffering folk, 
 Converged, and in the midst an altar stood, 
 By which on feast-days stood the priest, and spoke. 
 And I remember how, one day in March, 
 When all the air was thrilling with the spring, 
 
8 THE SERMON 
 
 And even the sick people in their beds 
 
 Felt, though they could not see it, he stood there ; 
 
 Looking down all the lines of weary life, 
 
 Still for a little under the sweet voice, 
 
 And spoke this sermon to them, tenderly, 
 
 As it was written down by one who heard : 
 
 * "I am the True Vine," said our Lord, "and Ye, 
 " My Brethren, are the Branches ; " and that Vine, 
 Then first uplifted in its place, and hung 
 With its first purple grapes, since then has grown, 
 Until its green leaves gladden half the world, 
 And from its countless clusters rivers flow 
 For healing of the nations, and its boughs 
 Innumerable stretch through all the earth, 
 Ever increasing, ever each entwined 
 With each, all living from the Central Heart. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 
 And you and I, my brethren, live and grow, 
 Branches of that immortal human Stem. 
 
 Let us consider now this life of the Vine, 
 Whereof we are partakers : we shall see 
 Its way is not of pleasure nor of ease. 
 It groweth not like the wild trailing weeds 
 Whither it willeth, flowering here and there ; 
 Or lifting up proud blossoms to the sun, 
 Kissed by the butterflies, and glad for life, 
 And glorious in their beautiful array ; 
 Or running into lovely labyrinths 
 Of many forms and many fantasies, 
 Rejoicing in its own luxuriant life. 
 
 The Flower of the Vine is but a little thing, 
 The least part of its life ; you scarce could tell 
 
io THE SERMON 
 
 It ever had a flower ; the fruit begins 
 
 Almost before the flower has had its day. 
 
 And as it grows, it is not free to heaven, 
 
 But tied to a stake ; and if its arms stretch out, 
 
 It is but crosswise, also forced and bound ; 
 
 And so it draws out of the hard hill-side, 
 
 Fixed in its own place, its own food of life ; 
 
 And quickens with it, breaking forth in bud, 
 
 Joyous and green, and exquisite of form, 
 
 Wreathed lightly into tendril, leaf, and bloom. 
 
 Yea, the grace of the green vine makes all the land 
 
 Lovely in spring-time ; and it still grows on 
 
 Faster, in lavishness of its own life ; 
 
 Till the fair shoots begin to wind and wave 
 
 In the blue air, and feel how sweet it is. 
 
 But so they leave it not ; the husbandman 
 
 Comes early, with the pruning-hooks and shears, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. ] 
 
 And strips it bare of all its innocent pride, 
 
 And wandering garlands, and cuts deep and sure, 
 
 Unsparing for its tenderness and joy. 
 
 And in its loss and pain it wasteth not ; 
 
 But yields itself with unabated life, 
 
 More perfect under the despoiling hand. 
 
 The bleeding limbs are hardened into wood ; 
 
 The thinned-out bunches ripen into fruit 
 
 More full and precious, to the purple prime. 
 
 And still, the more it grows, the straitlier bound 
 Are all its branches ; and as rounds the fruit, 
 And the heart's crimson comes to show in it, 
 And it advances to its hour, its leaves 
 Begin to droop and wither in the sun ; 
 But still the life-blood flows, and does not fail, 
 All into fruitfulness, all into form. 
 
12 THE SERMON 
 
 Then comes the vintage, for the days are ripe. 
 And surely now in its perfected bloom, 
 It may rejoice a little in its crown, 
 Though it bend low beneath the weight of it, 
 Wrought out of the long striving of its heart. 
 But ah ! the hands are ready to tear down 
 The treasures of the grapes ; the feet are there 
 To tread them in the winepress, gathered in ; 
 Until the blood-red rivers of the wine 
 Run over, and the land is full of joy. 
 But the vine standeth stripped and desolate, 
 Having given all ; and now its own dark time 
 Is come, and no man payeth back to it 
 The comfort and the glory of its gift ; 
 But rather, now most merciless, all pain 
 And loss are piled together, as its days 
 Decline, and the spring sap has ceased to flow. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 13 
 
 Now is it cut back to the very stem ; 
 
 Despoiled, disfigured, left a leafless stock, 
 
 Alone through all the dark days that shall come. 
 
 And all the winter-time the wine gives joy 
 
 To those who else were dismal in the cold ; 
 
 But the vine standeth out amid the frost ; 
 
 And after all, hath only this grace left, 
 
 That it endures in long, lone steadfastness 
 
 The winter through : and next year blooms again ; 
 
 Not bitter for the torment undergone, 
 
 Not barren for the fulness yielded up ; 
 
 As fair and fruitful towards the sacrifice, 
 
 As if no touch had ever come to it, 
 
 But the soft airs of heaven and dews of earth ; 
 
 And so fulfils itself in love once more. 
 
 And now,, what more shall I say ? Do I need here 
 
I 4 THE SERMON 
 
 To draw the lesson of this life ; or say 
 
 More than these few words, following up the text : 
 
 The Vine from every living limb bleeds wine ; 
 
 Is it the poorer for that spirit shed ? 
 
 The drunkard and the wanton drink thereof; 
 
 Are they the richer for that gift's excess ? 
 
 Measure thy life by loss instead 'of gain ; 
 
 Not by the wine drunk, but the wine poured forth ; 
 
 For love's strength standeth in love's sacrifice ; 
 
 And whoso suffers most hath most to give. 
 
 I speak to those who suffer : they will know, 
 Better than I, the whole deep truth of it. 
 I who stand here complete in all my flesh, 
 Strong in the morning, sleeping fast at night, 
 Taking the winds of heaven as they blow, 
 Without a special sense, save joy in each, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 15 
 
 Am not so much as worthy to stoop down 
 And kiss the sacred foot-prints of my Lord 
 Upon the feet of any such a one 
 As lieth patient here beneath His hand ; 
 Whom Christ has bound on His own cross, to lie 
 Beside Him, till Himself shall give release ; 
 And that shall not be, many a one knows well, 
 Until his place knows him no more on earth. 
 
 The Living Vine, Christ chose it for Himself : 
 God gave to man for use and sustenance 
 Corn, wine, and oil, and each of these is good : 
 And Christ is Bread of Life, and Light of Life. 
 But yet He did not choose the summer corn, 
 That shoots up straight and free in one quick growth, 
 And has its day, and is done, and springs no more : 
 Nor yet the olive, all whose boughs are spread 
 
1 6 THE SERMON 
 
 In the soft air, and never lose a leaf. 
 
 Flowering and fruitful in perpetual peace : 
 
 But only this for Him and His in one, 
 
 The everlasting, ever-quickening Vine, 
 
 That gives the heat and passion of the world, 
 
 Through its own life-blood, still renewed and shed. 
 
 God said to Man and Woman, " By thy sweat, 
 And by thy travail, thou shalt conquer e. rth : " 
 Not, by thy ease or pleasure : and no gtod 
 Or glory of this life but comes by pain. 
 How poor were earth if all its martyrdoms, 
 If all its struggling sighs of sacrifice 
 Were swept away, and all were satiate-smooth ; 
 If this were such a heaven of soul and sense 
 As some have dreamed of; and we human still. 
 Nay, we were fashioned not for perfect peace 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 17 
 
 In this world, howsoever in the next : 
 
 And what we win and hold is through some strife, 
 
 Many are pains of life ; I need not stay 
 To count them ; there is no one but hath felt 
 Some of them, though unequally they fall. 
 But of all good gifts, ever hath been health 
 Counted the first, and loss of it to be 
 The hardest thing to bear : I do not speak 
 Of such imperfect passages of pain 
 As show us we are mortal, and should stir 
 Our hearts to greater diligence in life ; 
 But such long weakness, and such wearing pain 
 As has no end in view, that makes of life 
 
 ne weary avenue of darkened days, 
 ,e bitter darkness growing darker still, 
 
 'Vhich none can share or soothe, which sunders us 
 
 B 
 
i8 THE SERMON 
 
 From all desire, or hope, or stir of change, 
 
 Or service of our Master in the world, 
 
 Or fellowship with all the faces round 
 
 Of passing pains and pleasures, while our pain 
 
 Passe th not, nor will pass ; and only this 
 
 Remains for us to look for, more of pain, 
 
 And doubt if we can bear it to the end. 
 
 And furthermore, from any other ill, 
 Except it be remorse, can men escape 
 By work, the healing of divinest balm 
 To whomso hath the courage to begin, 
 Not yielding to the bitterness of grief. 
 Or if that tyrannously be denied, 
 And the soul languishes in utter loss, 
 Still hope of an immortal, better life 
 Is left to every suffering innocence, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 19 
 
 And love of every sweet and noble thing, 
 Though farther off than the far side of death, 
 And faith to feed upon, and keep the heart 
 Alive, through all the winter of this time. 
 
 But sickness holds the sick man in a chain 
 No will can break or bend to earthly use ; 
 Not only holding him in bond of space, 
 Fixed in a rooted vegetable lot ; 
 But bond of time, so that the Present makes 
 All his possession, and he has no part 
 In any other being, all his nerves 
 Gathered and fixed in one intensest strain 
 Upon the Present ; and no future bliss, 
 Nor harmony of past remembrances, 
 Can draw him from the anguish of the hour, 
 Or pay him back his loss, if loss it be. 
 
20 THE SERMON 
 
 Is it indeed a loss, or is it gain ? 
 
 His Life is Pain, and he has naught besides : 
 
 Most miserable must he be indeed, 
 
 If this be wholly evil, as it seems. 
 
 But if this be the hardest ill of all 
 For mortal flesh and heart to bear in peace, 
 It is the one comes straightest from God's hand 
 And makes us feel Him nearest to ourselves. 
 God gives us light and love, and all good things 
 Richly for joy, and power, to use aright ; 
 But then we may forget Him in His gifts : 
 We cannot well forget the hand that holds, 
 And pierces us, and will not let us go, 
 However much we strive from under it. 
 
 If God speak to thee in the summer air, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 21 
 
 The cool soft breath thou leanest forth to feel 
 Upon thy forehead ; dost thou feel it God ? 
 Nay, but the wind : and when heart speaks to heart, 
 And face to face, when friends meet happily, 
 And all is merry, God is also there ; 
 But thou perceivest but thy fellow's part : 
 And when out of the dewy garden green 
 Some liquid syllables of music strike 
 A sudden, speechless rapture through thy frame, 
 Is it God's voice that moves thee ? Nay, the bird's, 
 Who sings to God, and all the world and thee. 
 But when the sharp strokes flesh and heart run 
 
 through, 
 
 For thee, and not another ; only known, 
 In all the universe, through sense of thine ; 
 Not caught by eye or ear, not felt by touch, 
 Nor apprehended by the spirit's sight, 
 
22 THE SERMON 
 
 But only by the hidden, tortured nerves, 
 In all their incommunicable pain, 
 God speaks Himself to us, as mothers speak 
 To their own babes, upon the tender flesh 
 With fond familiar touches close and dear ; 
 Because He cannot choose a softer way 
 To make us feel that He Himself is near, 
 And each apart His own Beloved and known. 
 
 Sweet it is when a babe opens its eyes, 
 Blue, smiling, to its mother's morning kiss. 
 But thou, when waking to the morning light, 
 With unrefreshed and aching limbs, mayst feel 
 The heavy pressure of a constant pain 
 Upon thy forehead, and the weary brows 
 Throbbing beneath an unabated load. 
 Is it not God's own very finger-tips 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 23 
 
 Laid on thee in a tender steadfastness ? 
 The light and careful touches which to thee 
 Seem heavy, because measured to thy strength, 
 With none to spare ; and yet He does not fail 
 For thy impatience, but stands by thee still, 
 Patient, unfaltering, till thou too shalt grow 
 Patient, and wouldst not miss the sharpness 
 
 grown 
 
 To custom, which assures Him at thy side, 
 Hand to thy hand, and not far off in Heaven. 
 And when the night comes, and the weariness 
 Grows into fever, and thy anguish grows 
 Fiercer, and thou beseechest Him with tears, 
 " Depart from me, O Lord, and let me rest ! " 
 He will not leave thee, He will not depart, 
 Nor loose thee, nor forget thee ; but will clasp 
 Thee closer in the thrilling of His arms, 
 
24 THE SERMON 
 
 No prayer of ours shall ease before their time. 
 He gives His angels charge of those who sleep : 
 But He Himself watches with those who wake. 
 
 I know that some would here rebuke me, saying : 
 It is enough to live and move in God 
 With all Humanity, not seeking self 
 In any such exclusive special bond, 
 Which is not common to the whole of life. 
 And others would take from us even that : 
 Who deny God at all outside of us ; 
 Saying, There is no evil and no good, 
 Nor anything at all, except ourselves, 
 And self-created modes of our own brain, 
 For all the living universe of God. 
 The old false teachers, who at first seemed hard 
 To nature, bidding, Crucify the flesh 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 25 
 
 To save the soul, were merciful to these ; 
 For these would crucify the soul itself, 
 And stifle back upon itself the cry, 
 And deepest craving of the human heart, 
 That which drew Moses to the Mount of Fire, 
 That which shook David on his couch of tears, 
 That which upheld Dante to Paradise, 
 That which saved Byron through the depths of sin, 
 The unutterable thirst of man for God, 
 The immortal part of us, if such there be. 
 For me, I do not hold so hard a creed ; 
 Nor would refuse the comfort Christ implored. 
 
 I, in the midst of those who suffer so, 
 Who needs must somewhat share the daily pain 
 Which each of ye, Beloved, must endure, 
 Must also seek some comfort, and some strength 
 
26 THE SERMON 
 
 Of hope to live and suffer by ; and this 
 
 Hath God given me, Beloved, for your sakes, 
 
 To whom I fain would pass it. Bear with me, 
 
 While unto each I seem to speak, all ye 
 
 Who suffer ; and I see around me none 
 
 But suffers, but to whom, with reverence, 
 
 These words of mine, these hopes of mine, are due. 
 
 If suffering be indeed our Law of Life, 
 If this world, through our fathers' sin and ours, 
 May not be perfect any more until 
 The slow development of centuries 
 Do bring to birth a higher race than we, 
 It is so much the more a fitting school 
 Of patience, for the time we must remain, 
 Of charity towards fellow-wayfarers 
 Beside us bearing each his human cross, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 27 
 
 In secret or in sight, but each his own ; 
 And furthermore of hope, the unblamed hope 
 Of the new world wherein all things are new, 
 Where only their own works do follow them 
 Who rest from pain and labour, and by faith 
 And love have won a nearer step towards God. 
 Hope thitherward for this life's recompense ; 
 For here what one sows must another reap, 
 And children suffer for their fathers' sins 
 While they live here ; but in that other world 
 Shall each man reap his own inheritance : 
 Such heritage as he has left behind 
 For those who follow here, who are the worse 
 Or better for his sojourning with them. 
 
 But if it be the worse, if the foregone 
 Sin of thy parents or some other one's, 
 
28 THE SERMON 
 
 (For our lives here are mostly in the power 
 Of other lives, and each of us is bound 
 To be his brother's keeper), have made earth 
 Alien to thee, and poisoned at the fount 
 The natural springs of joy, and set within 
 The wheels of life a crook, that never more 
 Swiftly and smoothly they may turn, and bound 
 Weights on thy ankles, what is that to thee, 
 Who livest not for one time, but for all ? 
 God keeps account of that ; only take care 
 Those same pathetic haunting eyes of thine, 
 For which some soul doth suffer punishment, 
 Do meet thee not again in wife or child, 
 Or sick man at thy gates, or starving man 
 That wrought thy goodly raiment, or the brute 
 And ignorant fury of the brotherless, 
 Whose firebrand lights the roofs of palaces. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 29 
 
 Look not on thine own loss, but look beyond, 
 And take the Cross for glory and for guide. 
 
 For one star differed! from another star 
 In glory and in use ; and all are stairs 
 Of the illimitable House of God ; 
 And every one has its own name and place 
 Distinguished, and some special word is given 
 For each to utter in the mystic song 
 Which is not found in speech of humankind, 
 Which is not understood by human heart, 
 Even though heard by those caught up to Heaven, 
 Who heard and saw, but could not tell the things 
 Which they had heard and seen, which neither men 
 Nor angels, nor the conscious suns of space, 
 Nor anything created, hears in whole ; 
 But that grows fuller, clearer, as we grow 
 
30 THE SERMON' 
 
 Nearer to God, with Whom is neither part 
 Nor pause, Who gathers in one Infinite 
 All number, sound, and space, and light, and law, 
 Rejoicing utterly, eternally. 
 
 And when God formed in the hollow of His hand 
 This ball of Earth among His other balls, 
 And set it in His shining firmament, 
 Between the greater and the lesser lights, 
 He chose it for the Star of Suffering. 
 
 I think, when God looks down the ranks of Heaven, 
 And sees them, not as we see, points of fire, 
 But as the animate spirits of the spheres, 
 He doth behold the Angel of the Earth, 
 Stretched like Prometheus on the promontory, 
 (Upon the outermost verge of rocky seas 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 31 
 
 That sweep to shadow as they turn in Heaven, 
 
 Swept with the earth, but trembling towards the moon\ 
 
 Bound to a perpetuity of pain, 
 
 Willing and strong, and finding in his pain 
 
 God, and his one unbroken note of praise 
 
 In the full rush of cosmic harmony. 
 
 But we are men, not angels. We abide 
 Not on this earth ; but for a little space 
 We pass upon it ; and while so we pass, 
 God through the dark hath set the Light of Life, 
 With witness for Himself, the Word of God, 
 To be among us Man, with human heart, 
 And human language, thus interpreting 
 The One great Will incomprehensible, 
 Only so far as we in human life 
 Are able to receive it ; men as men, 
 
32 THE SERMON 
 
 Can reach no higher than the Son of God, 
 
 The perfect Head and Pattern of mankind. 
 
 The time is short, and this sufficeth us 
 
 To live and die by ; and in Him again 
 
 We see the same first, starry attribute, 
 
 " Perfect through suffering," our salvation's seal 
 
 Set in the front of His Humanity. 
 
 For God has other Words for other worlds, 
 
 But for this world the Word of God is Christ. 
 
 And when we come to die we shall not find 
 
 The day has been too long for any of us 
 
 To have fulfilled the perfect law of Christ. 
 
 Who is there that can say, " My part is done 
 
 In this : now I am ready for a law 
 
 More wide, more perfect for the rest of life " ? 
 
 Is any living that has not come short ? 
 
 Has any died that was not short at last ? 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 33 
 
 The ultimate symbol of Divinity 
 How can we dream of? we have got no sense 
 Whereby to seize it : but in Him we touch 
 The ultimate symbol of Humanity, 
 Humanity that touches the Divine 
 By some fine link, intangible to us, 
 Upon that side of mortal consciousness 
 That looks towards Death ; and we must pass the gates 
 Of Death, linked with Him, holding by the hand 
 Our Brother gone before, before we come 
 To the perception how our life is joined 
 To God's ; for we are now the Sons of God, 
 And know we shall be like Him there, but what 
 We shall be doth not yet appear ; but when 
 We see Him we shall know Him as He is. 
 And who shall be our Angels in the worlds 
 That lie before us, or what Words of God, 
 
34 THE SERMON 
 
 Unknown, unuttered, and undreamt of yet, 
 
 May meet us there, how should we know or guess ? 
 
 And shall we then be restless in the search 
 For other proofs and witnesses of God, 
 Before our hearts have rested on the One 
 He gave us in our very flesh to know ? 
 Impatient for the noonday, shall we miss 
 The sunrise we shall never see again ? 
 And all the tender colours of the dawn, 
 The vision of the crimson clouds that hang 
 Above us, and the lovely Morning-Star 
 That will be vanished when the sun is high ? 
 
 As children might, impatient of the school, 
 Despise the letters, longing for the songs 
 And stories that they catch the echoes of. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 35 
 
 The songs are written, but first, learn to spell ! 
 
 The books will keep, but if we will not learn, 
 
 We shall not read them when the right time comes, 
 
 Or read them wrongly and confusedly. 
 
 And each hour has its lesson, and each life ; 
 
 And if we miss one life, we shall not find 
 
 Its lesson in another ; rather, go 
 
 So much the less complete for evermore, 
 
 Still missing something that we cannot name, 
 
 Still with our senses so far unattuned 
 
 To what the Present brings to harmonise 
 
 With our soul's Past. For must we not believe 
 
 A soul, bred up in perfect rule of growth, 
 
 And of obedience to the Will Divine 
 
 Through all its stages, would be born in each 
 
 In physical and spiritual harmony 
 
 With that world's order as conceived by God ; 
 
36 THE SERMON 
 
 (However marred by time, and falling off, 
 
 By disobedience, into pain and sin, 
 
 Down to the actual order of the day) ? 
 
 And therefore Christ, conceived and born on earth 
 
 So perfect, through foregone obedience, 
 
 Came, and abode, and lived harmoniously 
 
 With all the occult powers, the holy springs 
 
 Unfallen of the waters and the winds, 
 
 And the miracles of life within the blood, 
 
 That at His voice or touch, still easily 
 
 Obeyed, through laws of sense and soul at one ; 
 
 And lived with God in such untroubled love 
 
 And clear confiding, as a child on whom 
 
 The Father's face has never yet but smiled ; 
 
 And with men even, in such harmony 
 
 Of brotherhood, that whatsoever spark 
 
 Of pure and true in any human heart 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 37 
 
 Flickered and lived, it burned itself towards Him 
 
 In an electric current, through all bonds 
 
 Of intervening race and creed and time, 
 
 And flamed up to a heat of living faith, 
 
 And love, and love's communion, and the joy 
 
 And inspiration of self-sacrifice ; 
 
 And drew together in a central coil, 
 
 Magnetic, all the noblest of all hearts, 
 
 And made them one with Him, in a live flame 
 
 That is the purifying and the warmth 
 
 Of all the earth even to these latter days. 
 
 But found one kingdom not in harmony ; 
 The sin and sorrow in the world, the stream 
 Of evil, gathering on from age to age, 
 With all its rocks and all its wrecks of life ; 
 And men's hearts hardened, and the tender lips 
 
38 THE SERMON 
 
 Of women loud in laughter, and the sobs 
 
 Of children helpless, and the sighs of slaves, 
 
 And priests with dead lies for the living truth, 
 
 And kings whose rights were in their people's wrong. 
 
 And looking, the miraculous tender eyes, 
 
 Upon these perishing and gone astray, 
 
 Lifted the hands of help, alone, unarmed, 
 
 Struck singly out, and dashed upon the rocks. 
 
 And in that shock did meet His human doom 
 
 Of suffering, and took it for a crown ; 
 
 The loneliness, the weariness, the strife, 
 
 The base return, the Passion and the Cross, 
 
 And the withdrawal of His Father's face. 
 
 So that for ever since, in minds of men, 
 
 By some true instinct this life has survived 
 
 In a religious immemorial light, 
 
 Pre-eminent in one thing most of all ; 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 39 
 
 The Man of Sorrows ; and the Cross of Christ 
 Is more to us than all His miracles. 
 
 And that most closely we may follow Him 
 By suffering, have all hearts of men allowed. 
 Is suffering then more near and dear to God 
 For its own sake than joy is? God forbid ! 
 We know not its beginning nor its end ; 
 Is it a sacrifice ? a test ? a school ? 
 The fruit of Evil ; yet what Evil means 
 None knoweth, though he spent his life to know. 
 We suffer. Why we suffer, that is hid 
 With God's foreknowledge in the clouds of Heaven. 
 The first book written sends that human cry 
 Out of the clear Chaldean pasture-lands 
 Down forty centuries ; and no answer yet 
 Is found, nor will be found, while yet we live 
 
40 THE SERMON 
 
 In limitations of Humanity. 
 But yet one thought has often stayed by me 
 In the night-watches, which has brought at least 
 The patience for the hour, and made the pain 
 No more a burden which I groaned to leave, 
 But something precious which I feared to lose. 
 How shall I show it, but by parables ? 
 
 The sculptor, with his Psyche's wings half-hewn, 
 May close his eyes in weariness, and wake 
 To meet the white cold clay of his ideal 
 Flushed into beating life, and singing down 
 The ways of Paradise. The husbandman 
 May leave the golden fruitage of his groves 
 Ungarnered, and upon the Tree of Life 
 Will find a richer harvest waiting him. 
 The soldier dying thinks upon his bride, 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 41 
 
 And knows his arms shall never clasp her more, 
 Until he first the face of his unborn child 
 Behold in heaven : for each and all of life, 
 In every phase of action, love, and joy, 
 There is fulfilment only otherwhere. 
 
 But if, impatient, thou let slip thy cross, 
 Thou wilt not find it in this world again, 
 Nor in another ; here, and here alone, 
 Is given thee to suffer for God's sake. 
 In other worlds we shall more perfectly 
 Serve Him and love Him, praise Him, work for 
 
 Him, 
 
 Grow near and nearer Him with all delight ; 
 But then we shall not any more be called 
 To suffer, which is our appointment here. 
 Canst thou not suffer then one hour, or two ? 
 
42 THE SERMON 
 
 If He should call thee from thy cross to-day, 
 Saying, It is finished ! that hard cross of thine 
 From which thou prayest for deliverance, 
 Thinkest thou not some passion of regret 
 Would overcome thee? Thou wouldst say, "So 
 
 soon? 
 
 Let me go back, and suffer yet awhile 
 More patiently ; I have not yet praised God." 
 And He might answer to thee, "Never more. 
 All pain is done with." Whensoe'er it comes, 
 That summons that we look for, it will seem 
 Soon, yea too soon. Let us take heed in time 
 That God may now be glorified in us ; 
 And while we suffer, let us set our souls 
 To suffer perfectly : since this alone, 
 The suffering, which is this world's special grace, 
 May here be perfected and left behind. 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 43 
 
 But in obedience and humility ; 
 Waiting on God's hand, not forestalling it. 
 Seek not to snatch presumptuously the palm 
 By self-election ; poison not thy wine 
 With bitter herbs if He has made it sweet ; 
 Nor rob God's treasuries because the key 
 Is easy to be turned by mortal hands. 
 The gifts of birth, death, genius, suffering, 
 Are all for His hand only to bestow. 
 Receive thy portion, and be satisfied. 
 Who crowns himself a king is not the more 
 Royal ; nor he who mars himself with stripes 
 The more partaker of the Cross of Christ. 
 
 But if Himself He come to thee, and stand 
 Beside thee, gazing down on thee with eyes 
 That smile, and suffer ; that will smite thy heart, 
 
44 THE SERMON 
 
 With their own pity, to a passionate peace ; 
 
 And reach to thee Himself the Holy Cup, 
 
 (With all its wreathen stems of passion-flowers 
 
 And quivering sparkles of the ruby stars), 
 
 Pallid and royal, saying, " Drink with Me ; " 
 
 Wilt thou refuse ? Nay, not for Paradise ! 
 
 The pale brow will compel thee, the pure hands 
 
 Will minister unto thee ; thou shalt take 
 
 Of that communion through the solemn depths 
 
 Of the dark waters of thine agony, 
 
 With heart that praises Him, that yearns to Him 
 
 The closer through that hour. Hold fast His hand, 
 
 Though the nails pierce thine too ! take only care 
 
 Lest one drop of the sacramental wine 
 
 Be spilled, of that which ever shall unite 
 
 Thee, soul and body, to thy living Lord ! 
 
IN THE HOSPITAL. 45 
 
 Therefore gird up thyself, and come, to stand 
 Unflinching under the unfaltering hand, 
 That waits to prove thee to the uttermost. 
 It were not hard to suffer by His hand, 
 If thou couldst see His face ; but in the dark 1 
 That is the one last trial : be it so. 
 Christ was forsaken, so must thou be too : 
 How couldst thou suffer but in seeming, else ? 
 Thou wilt not see the face nor feel the hand, 
 Only the cruel crushing of the feet, 
 When through the bitter night the Lord comes down 
 To tread the winepress. Not by sight, but faith, 
 Endure, endure, be faithful to the end ! ' 
 
PRINTED BY BALLANTYNE, HANSON AND CO. 
 EDINBURGH AND LONDON. 
 
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