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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 4 ^. * V '^•r^r^ «R.'^.*/-<
 
 THE MORNING SONG
 
 THE 
 
 MORNING SONG 
 
 a Uinefonj praijje of Hobc 
 
 BY 
 
 JOHN WATKINS PITCHFORD 
 
 LONDON: ELLIOT STOCK 
 1883
 
 PR 
 
 \rv\^ 
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 BOOK 
 
 I The Song of Earth's Beauty 
 
 II. The Song of Life 
 
 III. The Song of Sorrow 
 
 IV. The Song of Human Life 
 
 V. The Song of the Past 
 
 VI. The Song of Incarnate Love 
 
 VII. The Song of Love's Triumph 
 
 VIIL The Song of the Militant Host 
 
 IX. The Requiem Song 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I 
 
 39 
 
 77 
 
 113 
 
 155 
 185 
 
 221 
 
 273 
 319 
 
 868780
 
 BOOK THE FIRST 
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY 
 
 B
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Object of the work set forth — Invocation — Love the language of the beau- 
 tiful — Beauty everywhere — View from the southern downs described 
 — Joy of existence prompting the inquiry — Difficulties of the subject 
 — Beauty of the night — A moonlight scene — Changes of light and 
 shade — Each clime its own loveliness — Woodlands in spring — View 
 of the sea from the downs in summer — Storm in the Atlantic — Moon- 
 rise in tropical seas — Beauty of the human form — Meaning of the 
 earth's beauty — Why this order, symmetry, grace? — Variety — The 
 seasons — Spring — The festival of flowers — The hay-field — Dusk in 
 the harvest-field — Golden September — Afternoon in the orchard — 
 Approach of winter — Frost work — The wintry landscape — Nature full 
 of instruction — Human life mirrored — The flush of the dawn — Early 
 morning village scene — Morning of life — The pause of noon — Life's 
 solemn noon — Approach of evening — The shadowed fields, hushed 
 village, darkened churchyard — Life's night — Whisperings of nature — 
 The cadence of life.
 
 BOOK THE FIRST. 
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 
 
 F Love I sing, the pure celestial stream, 
 Fountain of natural love, the fount of life ; 
 The loveliest of the graces, sovereign, 
 
 chief. 
 Throned in the mystery of divinity ; 
 Crown of all attributes, encrowned in God; 
 
 The fairest jewel of philosophy. 
 
 Enshrined in natural things, in providence, 
 
 In human life ; with purest lustre seen 
 
 In One, pre-eminently Son of Man, 
 
 Yet Son of God, whose love's constraining power 
 
 Has ruled the centuries ; and of that time 
 
 When the King's daughter glorious shall return 
 
 Th' accepted bride, in garments redolent 
 
 Of myrrh and cassia, heaven's high festival. 
 
 Majestic theme ! best fitted to the best, 
 
 Fitly adventured by angelic powers, 
 
 Sung by the brightest seraph, yet unsung,
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That passes understanding, heights and depths 
 Beyond the plummet as beyond the wing 
 Of loftiest reason, or ambition high : 
 Unworthy and inapt, yet with a heart 
 Attuned by gratitude, by impulse led, 
 Attraction irresistible of love, 
 I sine. Great effluence of the Father's love. 
 Thyself essential love, to Thee I turn, 
 And Thee invoke, not in dumb platitude 
 Of customary verse, but with desire, 
 And prayer sincere ; and Thee, O Spirit blest ! 
 Since 'tis Thy function to diffuse that love 
 Whose praise I now would sing, Thine aid bestow 
 Instruct, uphold, direct the aspiring thought, 
 And with Thy blessing sanctify the end. 
 The language of the beautiful is love. 
 Not in far distant worlds, systems remote, 
 Need proof demonstrative of love be sought. 
 Here is it found on our familiar earth ; 
 Nor here alone in choice peculiar scenes, 
 Landscapes whose loveliness is world renowned , 
 The snowy mountain range that piercing heaven 
 Wears for its mantle heaven's imperial blue ; 
 Or the high summits of the silver clouds ; 
 Cliffs towering high, mirrored in clear blue lakes, 
 The silvery cataract, the peaceful glade ; 
 Pacific coral reefs, 'mid purple seas. 
 Edged with white wavy lines of endless surf ; 
 Rivers that wind through woods their shining streams 
 Or golden oceans in the flood of noon ; 
 But everywhere are its rich treasures spread ;
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Few glimpses in the natural world but yield 
 That which we seek, the evidence of love. 
 
 No audible voice in this bright pleasant hour 
 Comes through the breezy silence to the ear. 
 The golden day, the all-embracing light 
 That curtains yon blue hills, the cadence full 
 Of varying and innumerable tones 
 In the great anthem of created life. 
 Whisper their message to the listening mind. 
 The eye looks forth from these steep grassy downs 
 Whose thymy slopes roll towards the cultured plain 
 That westward stretches to the Severn's flood 
 And the Atlantic, rich, well wooded, full 
 Of centuries of labour and of love ; 
 A landscape broad, well peopled, gardened well. 
 Floating o'erhead in summer's dazzling blue, 
 Majestical, as stately argosies 
 Upon calm southern seas, glide mounded clouds, 
 Towering like Alpine cliffs precipitous. 
 Snow-flanked, or icebergs in their southward drift, 
 Met by the gentle winds that breathe around 
 Bermuda, or the Azores, the warmer waves 
 Lapping their gelid flanks till masses fall 
 Dislodged, and vanish in blue ocean depths. 
 How grand a roof for this fair summer scene ! 
 Like heaven's own dome it seems, the vestibule 
 Sublime of the great palace of heaven's King. 
 Miles wide, extending to the horizon's edge 
 Where distant hills round off the fading view, 
 The peaceful landscape lies. Here, at the foot 
 Of these broad grassy bastions, harvest fields
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Unfold their golden treasures to the sun, 
 A sea of red ripe corn on which the eye 
 Rests with delight ; the rich brown billows sway 
 And whisper, as the wind breathes fitfully, 
 Throwing the laughing ripples o'er the field. 
 Like birds at play, o'er the broad cloth of gold 
 Cloud shadows chase each other, till once more 
 Unbroken sunshine slumbers on the grain. 
 Bordered with ragged and uneven elms 
 Fields beyond fields, orchards and groves are seen, 
 With glimpses of bright green among the woods 
 Mellowed by distance ; cornfields interspersed ; 
 Homesteads 'mid bowering foliage ; cottage smoke, 
 Rising in light blue columns through the trees, 
 Or film that floats above the far-off town ; 
 And thickening woodlands in the bluish haze 
 Of distance ; dotted here and there, far off. 
 Gray towers of ancient village churches rise ; 
 The fitful breeze coyly reveals the scene. 
 Then hides its beauties, as the drifting clouds 
 Pass and repass, and on the landscape throw 
 Islands of golden light. The summer wind 
 Blows softly o'er a thousand scenes like this. 
 Peaceful and bright, in our well-ordered land. 
 
 The peewit's call, the crow of farmyard cock 
 Far off upon the downs, scarce audible. 
 The low faint swish as sweeps the vagrant wind 
 Among the bents and clover blossoms near. 
 The sheep-bell's tinkle from the rambling flock 
 Are heard ; then, all is still. The silence quakes. 
 An arm's length round yields wealth of flowers abloom
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Ungardened in wild simple loveliness, 
 
 And unobtrusive ; cinquefoil, eyebright meek, 
 
 Or wild thyme clustered in its mimic groves, 
 
 Where the exploring ants run to and fro, 
 
 A fragrant world ! The orange tawny bee 
 
 Comes by on busy way with surly hum, 
 
 Fluttering the tremulous harebells in his path ; 
 
 The shining swallow in its rapid flight 
 
 Skimming the bents, shoots down the steep hillside. 
 
 And with its twitter startles from the corn, 
 
 The lark, who springs on high, drops a few notes, 
 
 And straight is still. The silent grassy mounds, 
 
 Earthworks with their forgotten history. 
 
 Are near, thrown up in anxious perilous times, 
 
 When breathless scout or spy told of the foe. 
 
 And set a thousand willing arms to work. 
 
 Building these ramparts. All deserted now ! 
 
 Nor bugle's call, nor sentry's challenge sounds. 
 
 Left to the foraging bee or clambering sheep. 
 
 The breeze that fans the brow, tossing the plumes 
 Of meadow grass, whispers its secret, peace. 
 A feeling of instinctive joy, pleased sense 
 Of living fills the breast ; of mere delight 
 To be in this bright hour, in this, God's world. 
 One of His creatures, sheltered by His care. 
 The mind is proud to know, to recognise 
 And give expression to the natural joy 
 Of being ; prouder far to look abroad 
 And by our rational intelligence. 
 The gift distinctive of our race, to pay 
 Its homage to the Intelligence Supreme.
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Come forth, O longing heart, pining to know 
 Life's true felicity, that fain would learn 
 How the Almighty is disposed to man. 
 And how to thee ; momentous question ! asked 
 Instinctively by thousands; whose reply 
 Decides grave issues ; brings perplexity. 
 That drops the anchor in the quicksands deep 
 Of endless doubt, there to abide the storm ; 
 Or, bright and happy hours of sunny love. 
 Of confidence divine, far-reaching thoughts 
 And lasting satisfaction, gratitude 
 That makes each hour a shrine, a sacrifice 
 Each good possessed, yea, even life itself 
 Ceaseless oblation. Blest reply ! faint heard. 
 Or, with conviction's deeper tones, borne in 
 Upon the mind, sweet memories thee await ; 
 Days filled with cheerful labours, peaceful nights, 
 Sorrow's submissive smile, a heart at rest. 
 Firm anchorage of the soul, conviction sure 
 Of an o'er-ruling Hand that safely guides 
 Our frail and lonely bark o'er life's rough sea. 
 Adventure forth and yield thee to the dream, 
 If dream it be, o'er which earth's best have mused, 
 Whose potency has nursed the strength sublime 
 Of martyrdom, and lit the face of saints 
 With calm, celestial light. No vision dim. 
 But glorious certainty, oft realised ; 
 Embodied in earth's ever-changing forms 
 Of natural loveliness, or sweetly sung 
 By voices countless as the ocean waves 
 Blending harmoniously ; a strain unheard.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 
 
 Unheeded, in the thickening din ; a good, 
 Like other excellencies of this life, 
 Disparaged, since approachable and near. 
 Oft dimly veiled by trivialities. 
 By dull familiarities and cares, 
 Yet life's best things, through lack of earnestness, 
 And resolution of the thoughtful mind, 
 Excluded, to th' impoverishment of life. 
 
 Much to perplex awaits the inquiring mind, 
 In this wide scene, much that must still remain 
 For the clear light of heaven's eternal day : 
 Yet, though with broken harmonies full oft, 
 And discords pitiful, that wake the soul 
 To echoes sympathetic, undefined 
 And desolate yearnings, hauntings drear of doubt. 
 Still may'st thou hear the grand harmonious psalm 
 Of nature, rising 'neath the azure vault ; 
 May'st hear, perchance, if that to thee be given 
 The keener spiritual sense that apprehends 
 Things spiritual, the inward harmony. 
 And blending of things natural with those 
 Of heavenly origin : thus welcoming peace, 
 The mild majestic sovereign of the heart. 
 
 As flows the evening light from tint to tint, 
 Quivering and tremulous through an endless scale, 
 Colour's gradations infinite, so flows 
 The tide of beauty, filling every nook, 
 Crevice, and cranny of this varied world. 
 The purple night unveils the starry sky. 
 Sublime, astonishing magnificence ! 
 The moon in mild tranquillity serene
 
 lo THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Riding alone ihc blue unclouded heavens, 
 
 Bathes with soft radiance hamlet, field, and wood, 
 
 Plain, hill, or shining river seen afar ; 
 
 Hushed is the silent world, save when the bark 
 
 Of distant house-dog borne upon the wind, 
 
 Or brawl of pebbly brook the silence breaks. 
 
 Night's starry concave wheels its grand array 
 
 All silently, from the dim shutting up 
 
 Of dewy eve, what time the noiseless bat 
 
 Flits 'mid the darkening trees on velvet wing, 
 
 Till the fair innocent face of morning smile, 
 
 Crowned with baptismal dew ; worlds upon worlds. 
 
 Each orb with rich appurtenance of life. 
 
 Worlds upon worlds scattered throughout the void ! 
 
 Far distant nebulae, resolvable 
 
 To suns and systems, planets numberless ; 
 
 Prodigious distances ungrasped by thought. 
 
 Here silent stand ! here think how grandly roofed 
 
 Is this familiar earth, this threshold dim 
 
 Of the star-paved infinity ! this speck 
 
 And unconsidered mote, amid the array 
 
 Of powdered star-dust, and unnumbered worlds. 
 
 Here from the open tent look forth ; hence gaze 
 
 Up boundless vistas, down the awful depths. 
 
 The confident mind trips forth, but soon is balked 
 
 Amid the infinite darkness, formless void, 
 
 Unstirred by pregnant ray, unmoved by voice 
 
 Creative, where dazed sense drops like a stone. 
 
 What explorations for the adventurous soul 
 
 Remain, when from the body freed, access 
 
 To these remoter spheres perchance is given,
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. ii 
 
 With powers renewed, excursive and reflective, 
 With ampler knowledge stored, hope fondly dreams. 
 
 The azure concave arching this wide earth 
 Seems like an ocean, where light's refluent tides 
 Flush the abyss. The darkly purple depths 
 Of night, star-shot, with luminous threads, as 't were 
 The woof of heaven's imperial robe, wide flung 
 Around the throne, give place to wonders new, 
 When the day dawns and the illumined clouds 
 Appear, like towers or campaniles, spires. 
 And fretted chantries, streaming sanguine hues, 
 Glimpses, 't would seem, of some celestial fane ; 
 Or rise black thunder-clouds like fortresses 
 Deep bastioned, charged with heaven's sulphurean fires ; 
 Or with light flecks, like Cytherea's doves, 
 Skimming the innocent blue ; aerial films 
 Trailed o'er the sky, cast by the hurrying wind 
 Round its imperious bosom ; light and shade, 
 Blending in numberless effects, produce 
 Endless magnificence in endless change. 
 
 Amid the wastes of desolate northern climes, 
 Icefields all mantled with untrodden snow. 
 Or towering icebergs glistening in the sun, 
 Ermined and capped, in regal state, and throned 
 Amid the frosty silence, even here, 
 In her severe and virgin purity. 
 The spirit of beauty dwells. The tasselled woods, 
 With odours resinous, the pleasant glades 
 Blue foliage of pines, the misty spires 
 Of heather tipped with purple bloom ; rivers 
 Submissive, 'neath the castled crag that sweep,
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Where through the quivering drowsy afternoons 
 
 The purple shadows sleep on golden hills, 
 
 And vineyards bask in the sun, by waters calm, 
 
 Calm, but when plash of slow and dripping oar 
 
 Wrinkles the shadows ; sunny southern shores, 
 
 Past where the pillars of Hercules renowned, 
 
 Iberian Calpe stands and Abyla, 
 
 Blue bays dotted with sails, far headlands dim 
 
 That fade in golden mists o'er golden seas, 
 
 White towers faint glimmering 'mid the orange groves, 
 
 That blow their fragrant perfumes far to sea. 
 
 Citron and jasmine from the Italian shores ; 
 
 These are her haunts ; or where 'neath tropic skies 
 
 The breeze fresh blowing o'er the margined foam 
 
 Lifts the fair tresses of the whispering palm, 
 
 When crimson western skies all deep suffused 
 
 Die o'er the darkening jungle depths to night. 
 
 The woodland scene invites forgetfulness 
 Of life, with all its cares. How calm, how still 
 These silent woodpaths, shadowy aisles of peace ! 
 Patches of sunlight on the mossy ground. 
 And quivering poplars with their sparkling leaves. 
 And oaks and laurels glistening in the sun. 
 And whispering trees that throw a spray of sound 
 Upon the balmy silence, then are still. 
 Allure the lingering not unwilling step. 
 The rabbit listening stops, but darts from view 
 Amid the adder-haunted fern ; now comes 
 The blackbird's startled challenge from the hedge ; 
 The frisking squirrel hears the passing step. 
 Squats on his bushy tail, with glistening eye
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 13 
 
 Peers round, and with well simulated fright 
 
 Climbs the smooth beech tree's bark, and refuge takes 
 
 'Mid the thick leaves. Wild pigeons softly coo, 
 
 Till startled from their love-song by the foot 
 
 Of the invader rustling in the fern, 
 
 With rapid and directed flight escape. 
 
 Needless alarm ! ye timid ones. The world 
 
 Is wide enough for all. No thoughtless act. 
 
 No sound of violence shall break the charm 
 
 Of nature's quietude. I would not hurt 
 
 One hair, ruffle one feather, or excite 
 
 One fear within your breasts. Will ye not give 
 
 Admission to your gentle company 
 
 Awhile ? Will ye not suffer us to watch 
 
 Your sweet wild innocent ways, or pause to hear 
 
 Your innocent songs ? Ye are God's creatures, fair, 
 
 Unfallen, not as man. Man well might seek 
 
 Silence and refuge in the wood's green light 
 
 To pour his heart's full song, his penitence, 
 
 The sorrow and the mystery of his life, 
 
 Feelings too deep for tears, thoughts beyond words. 
 
 And hopes too big for utterance ; or might learn 
 
 With unpremeditated gratitude. 
 
 To sing God's praises from a loving heart. 
 
 How lovely are the woods when spring first clothes 
 Their barrenness with beauty ! How the eye 
 Rests on the clouds of faint anemones 
 That flutter in the wind, or the steep banks 
 Blurred with a gauzy blue, where hyacinths breathe 
 Strong odours to the opening buds now glowing 
 In thc'ir flrst lustre, ThrouQ^h the emerald boucrhs,
 
 14 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Latticing the neighbouring fields, the sunbeams strike 
 
 Athwart the misty gloom like bars of gold, 
 
 Gilding the mimic wavelets of the brook, 
 
 That chatters as it goes. The coo of doves 
 
 Murmurs the whole day long, a sound of peace. 
 
 Of deep contentment burdened with its joy ; 
 
 A twinkling light of wings, a speck of blue 
 
 From the tipped feathers of the swift-winged jay, 
 
 That sweeps into the further cloistered gloom, 
 
 Crosses the view ; and then the querulous brook 
 
 Takes up its liquid melancholy tale, 
 
 And there's a o^entle hush that dwells amonpf 
 
 The million green-veined leaves ; one seems to hear, 
 
 Breathless, the very heart of nature beat. 
 
 The mossy-smelling wood-paths seem all filled 
 
 With faint fresh-growing odours from the trees ; 
 
 The grass with its innumerable spires 
 
 Seems listening, as the errant wind unfolds 
 
 The leafy portals, for the clover scent 
 
 Nimbly to trip with fragrant sandals down 
 
 The green arcades. Lakes of blue sky o'erhead. 
 
 Among the tree-tops, beautiful and bright. 
 
 Tell of the overspreading care of Heaven. 
 
 The sunshine, and the movement, and the peace, 
 
 Contentment breathe, breathe undisturbed repose. 
 
 My God ! In this dim grove I worship Thee, 
 
 This natural temple with its leafy aisles 
 
 Pillared around, as with cathedral columns 
 
 Sprung by no human hand. All redolent 
 
 With incense sweet is this Thy presence-chamber ; 
 
 Thy servitors vested to wait on Thee,
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 15 
 
 Discharge their several functions with delight ; 
 Spending brief life in duty ; while the song, 
 The loveliness, the fragrance all are Thine ! 
 
 The sea-shore has its beauty, with its fringe 
 Of creamy foam, creeping o'er yellow sands. 
 The southern downs with white and glimmering cliffs 
 Far visible o'er the waves, broadly unfold 
 Their thymy undulations to the breeze. 
 Reclining on the slope, whose cushion soft, 
 Woven with golden moss, yields to the form 
 Recumbent, with the peaceful hour well pleased, 
 The eye, ranges the ocean's vast expanse ; 
 The ever-broadening blue and level floor 
 Looks like a part of heaven, a shining plain, 
 Where, in the distance, sky and ocean meet. 
 In the wide belt of dreamy haze. Silent 
 And stately go the shipping by. A sail. 
 Like some white bird that lingering to alight 
 Drops on the wave with its upslanted wings. 
 With white reflection tapering to a point 
 Detains the eye. On the horizon's edge, 
 All ghostlike, vanishing amid the haze, 
 Some noble Indiaman, with canvas spread, 
 Catches the loitering breeze, appearing now 
 But a faint spectral shadow of her bulk. 
 Th' unclouded sun burns on the sapphire plain. 
 As if approachable by track of gold, 
 Molten and burnished like a heavenly street. 
 The hook-winged sea-gull mounts aslant, then sinks 
 Behind the cliff. How sabbath-like the calm ! 
 How absolute, as if the whole world slept.
 
 1 6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Pleasant the pure free air, pleasant the hour ; 
 The rain of light upon the whispering sea, 
 And the soft plunge of ocean's creamy marge ; 
 The slumb'rous surge wakens as from a dream, 
 Hurries the chattering shingle on the beach, 
 Then dozes in the sun. The restful air 
 Breathes forth a gentle inarticulate sigh, 
 As if of satisfaction deep, and skims 
 The sea, sweeping with flickering quivering lines, 
 As 't were in play, while colours come and go, 
 Violet and purple, amethystine blue, 
 Till ocean seems a vast mosaic, wrought 
 Of divers colours cunningly inlaid. 
 
 Such in her calmer moods ; but when the storm 
 Blows its defiance from the rifted clouds 
 The deep assumes a yet sublimer form 
 Of beauty, and majestic in its wrath 
 Destruction challenges. The yelling gale 
 Coursing o'er tortured leagues of hissing foam, 
 Summons gigantic forces from the abyss 
 To rise and struggle for the mastery. 
 How grand the billows in their onward sweep 
 Daring th' attack ; repulsed, in hissing foam, 
 Retreating, but to reinforce their strength. 
 Curling aloft, the pale green oily wave 
 Again advancing, crowned with cresting foam, 
 Thunders against the cliff as if to reach ,^ 
 
 Its yawning caves for sanctuary from the gale 
 That lashes it to madness. Inky black, 
 Dark heaven shuts in with wall impassable, 
 Th' brine-swept bark forlorn that staggers on.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 17 
 
 And plunges in the trough as if it sought 
 
 Its grave. Now from the pitchy gloom darts forth 
 
 The lightning's shaft, as if the tempest's sting ; 
 
 While bursts majestical the thunder's roar, 
 
 O'ertopping all the clamour of the waves ; 
 
 A cry of agony, or wrath, it seems, 
 
 Or disappointed vengeance, muttering far 
 
 In long reverberations o'er the foam. 
 
 Grandly sublime, the beauty of the storm 
 
 Tells of omnipotence, before whose might 
 
 Man's power is dwarfed to insignificance. 
 
 Moonrise at sea ! Night that obscures, reveals ; 
 Drapes the immediate neighbourhood with gloom 
 But opes the vistas of infinity. 
 Never does ocean wear a lovelier charm 
 Than when in southern latitudes the night 
 Spangles both sea and sky. O glorious sight ! 
 The ship, small fragment of man's busy world, 
 Seems hung suspended 'twixt two jewelled heavens. 
 Shot o'er the waters dark a tremulous ray 
 Attention wakes. With silvery lines the waves 
 Are tipped, as, slowly rising from the deep, 
 The moon's broad disc serene, undimmed by cloud, 
 Grandly appears, and mounts the silent heaven 
 To sit as queen. Her full-orbed splendour sheds 
 A wide effulgent pathway o'er the wave, 
 Silvering the masts, and sails, and spars with sheen, 
 Throwing the shadows to remoter shades 
 Of ebon blackness. From the bulwark's edge 
 The eye discovers in the ocean depths 
 A phosphorescent world, a mimic sky 
 
 c
 
 1 8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 All sown with living light. Far as the eye 
 May pierce, innumerable sparks of life 
 Shine in the nether depths. Here thought may range, 
 Upward amidst a wilderness of stars 
 Unnumbered, or, may downward seek the abyss 
 Of ocean, peopled to its farthest depths, 
 Yet find new beauties lavished all around. 
 Nor is the spirit of beauty to be sought 
 Alone in woodland scenes, o'er silvered waves. 
 Through Nature's works, through all her mighty web 
 The thread of gold appears ; in man God's hand 
 Has set its signet ; for the human frame, 
 Built wondrously, attests at once His power 
 And His benevolence. How skilfully 
 Have been concealed beneath the polished skin, 
 The smooth exterior, arteries and veins. 
 The valves, and ducts, canals, and ligaments, 
 And all the intricate machinery 
 Of this our physical frame. Nor this alone, 
 To matchless symmetry of parts, He adds 
 Peculiar graces that affect the soul ; 
 The witchery of form ; the nameless charm 
 That in the expression lurks ; the beaming eyes, 
 Where now love dwells, now sweetly pensive thoughts ; 
 The damask cheek where blushes come and go. 
 As their chaste mistress modesty commands ; 
 The coral lips, sweet portals rosy red ; 
 Dimples and smiles the heraldry of love ; 
 And the firm mouth where resolution dwells. 
 That beauty oft betrays, alas ! the world 
 Has learned too well ; too often has it proved 
 
 ■n.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 19 
 
 To its possessor, as to those most charmed, 
 A fatal gift ; yet is it but the sign 
 Of physical excellence, the expression due 
 Of healthful life, perfection, buoyant youth, 
 Of strength, sweetness of soul, of truth, of love ; 
 From these dissevered beauty but betrays, 
 Entraps the unwary, and at length becomes 
 The minister of lust, the slave of sin. 
 
 Fished from the deep Atlantic's oozy bed, 
 Dark wastes unvisited by straggling ray 
 Of daylight, comes the tiny shell, finished 
 To exquisite perfection, as designed 
 For man's intelligence ; hid in the fields 
 The rich red purple of the pheasant's eye, 
 Flower of Adonis, lurks among the corn 
 Or clover, 'mid the wealth of wild-flower bloom 
 An unconsidered thing ; coral that drifts 
 Upon the gulf-weed spray far out at sea, 
 Changeling of ocean, plaything of the waves ; 
 The fritillary on the sweet-pea bloom ; 
 The tiny beetle hastening through the dust, 
 Shielded and panoplied with lustrous mail 
 As warrior never was, all testify 
 To Nature's loveliness. Thought cannot range 
 Where beauty is not found. Placed 'neath the lens 
 The pimpernel plucked from amidst the corn, 
 Or bindweed's blossoms, veined with delicate pink, 
 Or roadside weed, marvels of beauty seem, 
 Built of translucent cells, all nectar-laden, 
 And tinged with pigments of intensest dyes, 
 But whence derived, how made, or how applied,
 
 20 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Science conjectures, but she cannot tell. 
 Even in the heart of dense and solid rock 
 Quarried deep down and by the hammer split 
 Wonders are seen ; compacted to the eye 
 Are lustrous particles, crystal arcades 
 Pervious mayhap to beings now unknown 
 To man, who, in these mimic halls, a world 
 In its own light, spacious and fair, enjoy. 
 Nay, in the caves of nothingness, new forms 
 Of beauty, by the optic lens, are seen ; 
 Far as the horizon of th' assisted sight 
 New types of beauteous life being still revealed. 
 
 Had chance the marshalling of these molecules 
 Beauty would rise but at rare intervals. 
 Dread chaos waits conceivably around. 
 Why should the wheel of life new forms evolve 
 Yet all endowed with beauty ? Whence are cast, 
 Where hidden lie, the monstrous and misshaped. 
 By Nature's plastic hand rejected, forms 
 Unfit to meet the gaze intelligent } 
 If Nature's loom throw only certain shapes, 
 And pictured patterns all of symmetry, 
 Then chance has had no part in this great work ; 
 Like to Amphion's lute, by which the stones 
 Were stirred to life and Thebes' city built 
 Intelligence has ruled with its quick force. 
 Has framed earth's exquisite machinery. 
 Fixed its due bounds and times, endowed with power 
 Of reproduction, given initial force. 
 And still sustains. Go tell the credulous 
 That chance in all its changes only makes
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 21 
 
 The beautiful, nor brings abortions forth : 
 Seems it not wilful blindness to deny 
 The Hand that works thus visibly around ; 
 To cheat with wretched trickery of words 
 Distinctions of causation, or the thread 
 Fine-spun of sequence or coincidence. 
 The expectant mind of its great heritage, 
 Making the ample fields of God's rich world 
 A dreary desert for th' inquiring mind. 
 Open around us is the treasure-house 
 Of Nature's wealth ; before us lies outspread 
 Creation's page, filled with its heavenly lore. 
 With heavenly lore all filled, and heavenly love. 
 Science, mayhap, will yet lift up her voice 
 Indip-nant, for her heart is reverent, 
 And, recognising the informing Mind 
 That in these natural scenes her wonder stirs. 
 Will yet protest against the attempt to exclude 
 Intelligent design from natural things. 
 
 Obedient to original command 
 The world of ordered life emerged at first, 
 Bearing the impress of primordial forms 
 Of beauty ; yet not rigidly enchained 
 But that development to higher modes 
 Were possible. But why such lavish wealth, 
 Bounty profuse, that he who would escape 
 Its soft allurements, must betake himself 
 To man's blank world, scant thoughts, utility, 
 In narrowest range of uniformity } 
 Beauty would seem correlative to life, 
 To life percipient, if not rational life ;
 
 2 2 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The mute expression of a fixed regard, 
 
 ThouQ-htful consideration for the wants 
 
 Of man's brief state, else too monotonous : 
 
 Mute witness of a kindliness divine, 
 
 The beauty of the universe appeals 
 
 To man's intelligence, a mute appeal 
 
 Yet eloquent ; a ladder to the skies ; 
 
 Heaven's golden pathway, as by Plato dreamed. 
 
 Once nobly dreamed, earth's beauty leading man 
 
 To the supreme, divinely Beautiful. 
 
 Few are the archetypal forms of beauty 
 
 But these in endless variation wrought 
 
 Develop ever changing, ever new. 
 
 All-varying shapes. Mark the variety 
 
 In form, dimensions, colour, number, time. 
 
 Modes of existence change and interchange 
 
 Incessantly ; the ebb and flow, full tide 
 
 Now poised a while, then flowing to dead neap ; 
 
 Procession and succession to strict law 
 
 Subordinate, and preparation sprung 
 
 Out of fruition's heart ; thus moves the world, 
 
 Yielding new pleasures in its ceaseless flow ; 
 
 Thus weaves for ever in its mighty loom 
 
 A varied pattern. Flashing in the sun. 
 
 The snow's pure crystals change to summer showers, 
 
 That from the awned grass and hedgerows drip. 
 
 And deck the drinking fields with broidered hues, 
 
 Kindle the fragrant flame of flowers, or make 
 
 The wood's grand canopy, or harvests brown. 
 
 Were time prolonged duration, nothing more, 
 Though fair, how dull would prove the unvaried hour
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 23 
 
 But from the cradle to the grave, from May 
 
 To flowery May again, from the dim dawn 
 
 Till eve, the ever-changing hour presents 
 
 New pleasures, gilds the fading past and decks 
 
 Th' oncoming hour with hope. The spring-time comes, 
 
 The fragrant, sweet, and acceptable spring, 
 
 And smiles relax the face of sullen death. 
 
 Coyly at first, the early blossoms come, 
 
 And timidly, scarce daring to unfold 
 
 Their shivering petals on the nipping air. 
 
 Forth from its grave the shrouded snowdrop comes. 
 
 First waked in Nature's resurrection fair, 
 
 While the bold crocus with its golden spear 
 
 Cleaves the hard sod, as if to ope the path, 
 
 Whence the fair sisterhood of flowers may pass 
 
 In glad procession on their odorous way. 
 
 With lengthening days 'neath balmier skies steals forth 
 
 The perfume of the violet, to waylay 
 
 The unconscious sense with its sweet violence ; 
 
 Fair plunderer ! that gives more than it takes ; 
 
 The tender primrose too, with pensive eye 
 
 Looks for your recognition, from the hedge ; 
 
 The young birds twitter on the soft spring air. 
 
 Day blends with day. Cowslips are in the fields 
 
 With freckled blossoms, bunched and breathing sweet, 
 
 As a child's kiss. There the lark nestles ; thence 
 
 Upsprings from out the gold green meadow grass. 
 
 Startled with his own joy, his speckled breast 
 
 Dew-wet, but tremulous, and fills the sky 
 
 With sweet shrill quivering strains that call the thoughts 
 
 To mount aloft the golden sunbeam stairs
 
 24 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 With their sweet music, grateful love and praise. 
 
 Then comes all-blossoming May. The lilacs stand 
 Fragrant with clustering spires ; laburnums droop 
 Their golden cascades o'er the dusty road ; 
 Orchards and hedges, decked in bridal white, 
 Are dressed as for a marriage festival. 
 By slow degrees and gently blending change 
 Scarce visible, spring into summer grows. 
 The cuckoo's shout echoes from grove to grove, 
 As if itself an echo, nothing more. 
 Meadows of mowing grass shine in the sun 
 And billow in the breeze, with sorrel red, 
 With glistening buttercups and meadow-sweet, 
 White clover bolls, and winged shepherd's clocks. 
 Now is the very festival of flowers. 
 Spiked lilies, roses blushing in their pride, 
 Quaint fluted columbine, with antique grace. 
 Pinks, stocks all built of fragrance, pansies meek. 
 Carnations pure that crowd and bask i' the sun. 
 From many a hedge where June's wild roses blush, 
 The clamb'ring woodbine hangs, flirts with each breeze. 
 And tells the passer-by how sweet it is. 
 
 In sultrier days the whetting of the scythe. 
 And its swift whistling rush through the deep grass 
 Are heard around. Warm breathes the hayfield broad 
 Full of the fragrance of the new-mown hay, 
 Strewn with fresh swaths, where the swart villagers 
 All kerchiefed from the sun, with pleasant chat. 
 And call that comes and goes upon the wind, 
 Cheer sweltering labour, till they leave at night 
 The glimmering meadow to the corn-crake's voice.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 25 
 
 Sickle on arm the sunburnt reapers pass, 
 Their faces goldened by the early sun, 
 Half-hidden in the rich brown umber corn, 
 That rustles in the August sun ; there toil 
 From the cool dawn till noon brings short repose. 
 Stretched 'mid the sheaves they watch the balanced hawk 
 Hovering aloft, and poised on moveless wing, 
 Fixing his quarry. So wears by their day. 
 Till from the churchyard elms the clock tells out 
 The evening hour, and in the fading light 
 The wearied labourers turn towards their homes ; 
 The partridge calls ; flickers the restless bat ; 
 The drowsy beetle heavily goes by 
 On buzzing wing ; the glow-worm lights his lamp, 
 While o'er the shoulder of the eastern hills 
 Rises the broad and ruddy harvest moon ; 
 Noiseless the white owl down the hedgerow flits ; 
 The last note of the busy day has dropped ; 
 Silent the world ; the toilers hushed to rest. 
 
 Then autumn comes with calm and misty airs, 
 Dreamlike and still ; bare stubble-fields festooned 
 By gossamer, beaded with hoary dew, 
 Where sniffs the pointer, and the sportsman's gun 
 Wakens the shattering echoes in the hills ; 
 With shortening days and slumb'rous afternoons. 
 Spellbound, the land sleeps in its golden haze. 
 Pleasant the orchards, red with dropping fruit. 
 Where the crooked mossy apple-trees stand forth. 
 As offering up with grateful hands to Heaven 
 The produce of the labours of the year. 
 Ere yet they strew it on the sward below.
 
 26 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The swallows twitter, on the lichened barns 
 Collected, garrulous perchance of flight 
 Impending, or of southern climes more fair. 
 Escaping from the swollen muddy streams, 
 Of dark November's chill and foggy days. 
 
 Slowly gray murky skies and empty fields 
 Usher old winter on the stage once more. 
 The tide of life ebbs fast. To secret cells. 
 Deep catacombs and crevices and nooks, 
 The million pensioners of summer life 
 Betake themselves, and safe protection find. 
 Beneath the mighty pent-house of the earth. 
 All muffled in its winding-sheet of snow 
 Blind, silent, shrouded, cold, the dead earth lies. 
 Misty the woodlands ; on the roadside banks, 
 Folded with smooth o'erhanging creamy edge. 
 Lie the soft-handed drifts ; vaporous the breath ; 
 Silent the footfalls ; from the belfry's tower 
 Come brooding echoes on the frosty air. 
 Now gleams the sunshine of our English homes, 
 The crackling fire, while innocent mirth defies 
 Winter's keen whistling winds and driving snows. 
 Yet beautiful, still beautiful the world, 
 In all its spotless loveliness arrayed ; 
 The fretted icicle, the snowdrift smooth. 
 All sown with diamonds glistening in the sun, 
 And soft as virgin breast of innocence ; 
 The hoarfrost's delicate lacework on the trees. 
 When the twigs crackled in the midnight frost, 
 As if some frisky sprites had decked the boughs 
 In honour of some natural festival.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 27 
 
 So grandly shift these ever-changing scenes, 
 All varied and all beautiful ; with storms 
 And calms, glimpses of sunshine, veiling fogs, 
 Clear skies, or drenching rains ; few days alike ; 
 Save when the summer broods with fervid ray, 
 And through the sultry hours a cloudless sky 
 Records no changes but the ebb and flow 
 Of daylight. Even then the eye discerns 
 Each day's progression slowly registered 
 In deeper tones of brown maturity. 
 Rigid with frost the winter oft will bind 
 Successive days in uniformity : 
 Dull cheerless scenes, bleak dreary wastes of snow 
 Where withered bents shake in the icy wind. 
 Or in deep rural lanes buried in drifts, 
 Where the tamed blackbird scratches in the hedge. 
 And on the frosty air the piteous bleat 
 Of sheep half-famished, borne in muffled tones. 
 Is heard. Each day bears its distinctive marks. 
 Cloudy and gloomy, cheerful, calm, and bright ; 
 Days of sweet quiet, days with tempest rent, 
 And buffeting winds, and pitiless drenching rains ; 
 Life's counterpart, with all its hopes and joys, 
 Despair and grief, perplexity and pain. 
 
 If not from love, from kindliness to man, 
 Whence can this principle of beauty rise ? 
 Why should the eye be pleased, why note the change, 
 The shifting, the succession, and the grace 
 Of nature, and in noting find delight, 
 As of some gift conferred ? Why should the ear 
 Find pleasure in the sweetly-blending strains
 
 ; THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of music, dropping as the honeycomb ? 
 
 The thought entranced, lingering upon the sound, 
 
 Or awestruck, Hstening to the echoes vague 
 
 That from the inward depths responsive come. 
 
 Is pleased, nor asks the cause. There here exists 
 
 A correlation to man's rational life, 
 
 A nice adjustment suiting ill with chance, 
 
 Fortuitous development, or drift ; 
 
 But well with harmony and plain intent ; 
 
 For how this were accomplished matters not ; 
 
 Whether at first man's nature were so framed 
 
 And moulded to the original make of things, 
 
 Or fitted by long processes, research. 
 
 And apprehension of the intelligent mind. 
 
 Taught to find pleasure in the symmetry 
 
 And beauty of the world. The fact remains. 
 
 Nor does variety alone delight, 
 Breaking the currents of familiar thought, 
 Grown languid, and by stimulus of hope 
 Quickening the pulses, but instruction too 
 This vast and ever-changing scene conveys. 
 Happy who hearkens thus to Nature's voice. 
 Unheard but by the patient listening soul, 
 Receives her accents grave, and does her will. 
 
 Would we behold an image of man's life, 
 Its brevity, its opportunities 
 Priceless, if used, t' ensure our future good ; 
 And large adventures with their large reward ? 
 Or, would we learn the clangers that surround. 
 The perilous drifts of circumstance, that lock 
 Their commonness in the character, clay built.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 29 
 
 Where marble was designed ; the onward flow, 
 
 The need for vigorous and large-hearted strain, 
 
 And the quick rendering forth of manliness, 
 
 Modest withal, yet earnest to attain 
 
 The height of honour, and to give account 
 
 Of our existence, not in words, but deeds, 
 
 Self-registered in kindliness and truth, 
 
 Spotless integrity, and loyalty 
 
 To all that truly makes us man : 
 
 Or would we in mute eloquent pictures see 
 
 The sad pathetic spending of our powers 
 
 And laws of irresistible decay ? 
 
 Look on the passing hours ; there we behold 
 
 In miniature our life ; in sw^eetest strains 
 
 The tale is told us, if we will but hear. 
 
 Fair is the dawning of the natural day. 
 Gently it comes, as if it feared to wake 
 The world's great family, curtained in sleep ; 
 The swallows twitter faintly in the eaves. 
 And then are still : now throb the eastern heavens 
 With tremulous liquid haze, soft innocent tints, 
 Which come and go, and modulate and merge, 
 Till bolder rays flash to the zenith, tinging 
 The crimson edges of the dappled clouds, 
 The harbingers of the bright king of day. 
 The splendid pageant moves. With amber, gold. 
 And saffron dyes, the new-crowned morn is robed. 
 As at some secret herald trumpet blast, 
 Night's barbican its dark portcullis lifts 
 To give admission to the king of day. 
 Mark him approach amid his bannered pomp,
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 How Nature curtsies to him, bending low, 
 The dew-washed daisies twinkHng in his glance. 
 The birds are mad for joy the night is past, 
 And with melodious welcome make the woods 
 Re-echo to their glee. The grass blades tipped 
 With diamond drops seem trembling with delight. 
 
 Now rest upon the ivied village tower 
 The sun's first rays, gilding the glittering vane. 
 Ere from the cottage chimneys faint blue smoke 
 Upcurls among the elms, the thrush begins ; 
 While from the mowing grass, drooping with dew, 
 Comes up the cuckoo's note. The barnyard cock. 
 With shrill and lusty crow, wakens the echoes. 
 Now the first signs of human life appear. 
 Clicking the latch the labourer leaves his home, 
 Curtained and still, shouldering his scythe ; 
 Along the dusty road the teamster goes. 
 With jingling harness glistening in the sun. 
 Whistling afield ; while in the orchard stand. 
 With wide-distended udders, patient cows. 
 Their sweet breath hanging on the morning air. 
 Waiting the fresh-cheeked milkmaid at the gate 
 With clinking pail. The forge is lit, and soon 
 The anvil rings ; the millwheel is at work ; 
 Voices of children sound ; the village wakes ; 
 The morning sun shines broad o'er all the land, 
 And labour's busy hands have grasped their work. 
 
 Sweet hour ! so bright, so calm, so fresh, so full 
 Of pleasant memories and nimble hopes, 
 That from the dewy hilltops of the past 
 Kissed the smooth brow of promised happiness,
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 31 
 
 Now thou hast won a fresh and magic power, 
 
 And whisperest from the sepulchre of night 
 
 Of larger hopes and ampler fields for love, 
 
 When o'er the darker night of death shall steal 
 
 The growing brightness of eternal morn, 
 
 And from the drowsy grave, with powers renewed, 
 
 The soul shall rise to an immortal day. 
 
 Morn is the hour for prayer : the soul draws near. 
 
 And to the Mind Supreme obeisance pays, 
 
 Not grudgingly, but with a grateful heart, 
 
 Blessing the Life-Giver for life renewed ; 
 
 Brings the fair tribute of its earliest thoughts, 
 
 High purposes, affections high, and waits 
 
 The benison divine, while the firm will 
 
 Braces its girdle for the coming fight. 
 
 Fair morning of our life ! what words can tell 
 The brightness of thy promised happiness ? 
 Just as the streamlet from the mountain crags 
 Spurns with its silver foot high solitudes. 
 Where screams the eagle, and the chamois leaps. 
 Gray rocks, and mists that brood among the pines, 
 Seeking below the friendship of the sun. 
 The company of flowers, the whispering grass. 
 And bending trees that crowd its fertile banks, 
 So leaped the brave young life to run its course ; 
 So love drew forth the energy of life ; 
 Hope with its magic pencil touched each scene. 
 Gilding the day ! How pleasant were the fields ! 
 The commonest flowers, the simplest pleasures wore 
 A magic charm, which time has filched long since. 
 The soul, as if with music dingily heard,
 
 32 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Was lured into existence ; pleasures thick 
 Lay strewn on every hand. 'Twas joy to live, 
 To feel the bounding pulse, th' untroubled mind, 
 And all the kindling energies of youth 
 Exultant, Happy they who wisely use 
 Life's earliest hours preparing for life's work ; 
 Who make the loveliness and joy of youth 
 To be the prelude of life's glorious psalm. 
 Happy who recognise the dignity 
 Of living well, and early make their choice ; 
 Who consecrate life's morn to life's great end ; 
 Choose for their lasting good, the Good supreme, 
 And in that choice find endless joy and peace. 
 
 By slow gradations, imperceptibly, 
 The day wears on to noon. The shadows move 
 Coincident, the bents upon the hills, 
 Poplars and elms, tell that the sun has neared 
 His southern throne. Now breathes a deeper peace, 
 Stillness profound brooding o'er all the land. 
 The quivering landscape blurred with hazy lines. 
 Pants 'neath the sun, nor cool retreat appears. 
 Save shaded hills, green woodland depths, or streams. 
 Where, 'neath the willows, the sweet-scented rush, 
 Or brooklime blooms. The cattle, fetlock deep, 
 . Stand in the brook, dreaming with half-closed eyes. 
 Whisking the pestering flies from off their flanks, 
 And ruminating with complete content ; 
 The glistening scythe rests on the deep-cut swath ; 
 Fresh smell of new-mown grass and meadow-sweet 
 Is on the air, while from remoter parts 
 The tedded heaps a deeper fragrance yield.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 33 
 
 Snatching a short repose, the mowers lie 
 
 Beneath the oak, that, Hke a patriarch. 
 
 Spreads his broad arms umbrageous, 'midst the 
 
 field. 
 The corn-crake's note, the grasshopper's faint trill 
 Have dropped : the drowsy world seems fallen asleep 
 
 So steal, by slow degrees, the hours of youth. 
 Till, mounting to the sky of noon, our sun 
 Reaches, all unaware, meridian height ! 
 Life being half-spent while yet we count us young. 
 Boast our to-morrows, and with kindling fire 
 Adventures great prepare, befooling self, 
 Again befooled, with oft-repeated pledge. 
 To redeem the promise of the morn of youth, 
 Playing the child, and paltering with our time ; 
 Till bitterly the imperious will demands 
 The reason of existence ? not content 
 With the dull beat mechanical of toil ; 
 To eat, to drink, to sleep, to pay the round 
 Of petty courtesy, to smile, and lisp 
 The scandal prattle of the passing day ; 
 On simpering folly wait, or dog the steps 
 Of mammon, while it shames one's secret self; 
 But hungering to acquit some manlier deeds : 
 Play left, to stretch the unaccustomed thews 
 Of resolution, act youth's noble dreams, 
 Embalm the earnest sweetness of our life. 
 In seeking to advance the common good. 
 By throwing on some darkened path one ray, 
 Though transient, and by wholesome influence, 
 True words, or, truer deeds life's quit-rent pay ; 
 
 D
 
 34 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Lest shamed of death, we sHnk into the grave, 
 As to a debtor's prison, self-condemned. 
 
 Now is life's hour of noon. As with full flood, 
 The shining tide rocks in the noonday sun, 
 So manhood's strength, in mounting to its height, 
 Has summoned all life's concentrated force 
 Till the full mark of possibility- 
 Is reached : now comes a pause. The sobered mind 
 Looks to the future, where time's refluent tide 
 Will sweep life's force. O solemn hour of noon ! 
 Life's midway height, whence the reflective mind 
 Turns to behold th' irrevocable past. 
 Knows it for ever past, then onward looks ! 
 Though mists and darkness o'er the future hang, 
 Happy, if years before, the precious seeds 
 Of diligence, thrift, temperance, piety, 
 That best of husbandry, in furrowed youth, 
 Had with a lavish hand been scattered wide. 
 Rich harvest will await, plenteous and full ; 
 The peaceful outcome of the good man's life ; 
 The field, where long we laboured, standing full 
 Of grain that whispers for the reaper's arms ; 
 Sense of accomplished work, of duty done, 
 Calm reminiscence, gentle thoughts of life. 
 Respect and kindly offices of love, 
 Gentle descent towards death, and cheerful hope. 
 And erateful friendliness to mother earth. 
 
 What heart, O peaceful evening ! welcomes not 
 Thy soft approach, when from the western sky. 
 Fragrant with sweetbrier, or the clambering bine, 
 With deepening hush, and gentle duskiness,
 
 THE SONG OF EARTH'S BEAUTY. 35 
 
 And dewy freshness, round thy graceful steps, 
 Gathering thine airy robes and breathing peace, 
 Thou com'st to still the clamours of the day. 
 All things rejoice, hailing thy glad approach ; 
 The trodden camomile, amid the dust. 
 Hears thy light footfall, to thy dewy kiss 
 Lifts its bruised head ; the birds renew their song, 
 All silent through the drowsy afternoon ; 
 High in the air the whistling swallows dive, 
 The sparrows chirp, the lagging crow goes by ; 
 The lengthening shadows on the golden grass 
 Die in the twilight o'er the level fields. 
 The calm white pool is lying ghostly, still. 
 In silent wonderment beneath the sky, 
 Moveless, save where the leaping fish make rings 
 Scarce visible, or clouds of dancing gnats 
 Brush the smooth surface. Now the water-hen 
 Leads warily her chicks among the grass ; 
 The beetle is abroad. The woodland's edre 
 
 o 
 
 Stirs with wild rabbits frisking in their glee, 
 Their white tails glimmering in the growing dusk. 
 O'er darkening coppice, o'er the silent fields, 
 The murmurous hum of drowsy day dies off; 
 Voices of village children at their play 
 Fade as in dreams. Lights twinkle here and there 
 In cottage windows ; wreaths of pale blue smoke 
 From cottage chimneys tell of evening fires : 
 Within, kissing the child upon his knee. 
 The tired labourer sits, his bright-faced wife 
 Busily spreading forth the evening meal. 
 The cottage hollyhocks are wet with dew ;
 
 
 
 6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Where the spiked lavender betrays itself, 
 
 Near by the garden hedge, with murmurs low, 
 
 The lingering bees come home. Now fade from view 
 
 Familiar scenes to indistincter gloom. 
 
 The trees seem black, and in the soft warm sky 
 
 And reddening haze shines with its quivering gold, 
 
 Scarce visible, the evening star. Now fall 
 
 Fast deepening shadows o'er the glimmering scene. 
 
 Darkness and quiet on the churchyard rest. 
 
 Night's thickening veil concealing from the view 
 
 The last low resting-places of the dead. 
 
 So whispers nature to the listening soul, 
 Rendering the lesson with sweet eloquence. 
 Of death's great cadence, and the winding up 
 Of this familiar, pleasing, painful life : 
 Which with avidity is seized at first, 
 Then held by right as indefeasible ; 
 Though solemnly admonished by grim death. 
 The unwelcome admonition oft ignored. 
 With clinging rootlets lingering to the last ; 
 Until old age accepts the time of clay. 
 And bears its faded graces to the tomb 
 Regretfully, yet wise to match the hour. 
 And with composure deck and gratitude. 
 Ripe wisdom from dear-bought experience culled. 
 Noble submission that so well befits 
 The mind acknowledging a will supreme, 
 Blend their sweet music in the cadence grand 
 Closing the anthem of a well-spent life. 
 
 Nor fear we thee, O solemn night of death, 
 Though thy concomitants appal the mind.
 
 THE SONG OF EARTIPS BEAUTY. 37 
 
 Thy menacing darkness, thy all-quenching cold, 
 
 Dreadful corruption, and the silent grave, 
 
 The aching gloom, home of the conquering worm. 
 
 With each recurring eve the great world dies ; 
 
 The day with its glad beauty, waving woods, 
 
 Blue sky and blossoming flowers, are buried deep 
 
 In the dark grave of night ; extinct all seem 
 
 And dead, till the fair morning comes, when all 
 
 Emerge again with fresher, brighter tints. 
 
 Bereft of bright free life, and faces dear, 
 
 And visible companionship, taught well 
 
 By Him who has unlocked thy fast-barred gate, 
 
 Hope looks within death's ebon garden walls 
 
 For paradise, refreshment and repose, 
 
 The cloudless blue of an unfading day ; 
 
 And well may bear ungrudgingly to toil 
 
 The last few weary miles of life's long road. 
 
 Such is the varied world we call our home. 
 Man finds himself the proud inhabitant 
 Of earth's most royal palace, whence the mind 
 Discursive, down the starry colonnades 
 May walk, and commerce with sublimest things ; 
 Divine relations form, purged of the taint 
 Of sin. Mark this great temple, built of God ; 
 What stones are here, how framed, how polished fair ! 
 Richly endowed and sumptuously adorned 
 Is this most noble fane, this wondrous world. 
 Built by the Hand supreme. Lo ! all around, 
 Graved on heaven's spacious dome in living light. 
 Or filling this huge element of earth 
 Woven in its tapestry of living forms
 
 38 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Embroidered in light tracery of cloud, 
 
 Flowers odorous, mighty forests bending low. 
 
 The choiring voices of the sapphire sea ; 
 
 Sung on the breeze in every wild bird's note, 
 
 With every soft caress of earthly love. 
 
 Comes the most welcome lesson, God is love ! 
 
 Summer with all its flowers hath naught so sweet ; 
 
 Nor autumn's golden store so rich a fruit. 
 
 The eye of gratitude sees endless proofs 
 
 And living witnesses of love divine ; 
 
 The love whence we have come and to whose breast 
 
 And everlasting welcome we return.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND 
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The theme a happy one — View of creation — The varied inhabitants of air, 
 earth, and sea — Living care everywhere shown — No trace of chance 
 — The world of flowers — Gratuitous pleasure — Beauty, colour, fra- 
 grance, all have a language — The melodies of birds — American forest 
 scene — The morning lark — The blackbird in the hedge — The song of 
 the thrush — The litany of the birds — Fruits in their variety, value, 
 and beauty — Orchards in May — Autumn scene — The feeding of God's 
 innumerable creatures — Nature's harvesting — Acorns, berries, seeds, 
 wild fruits — The rooks going forth — Evening scene — Preservation of 
 species — The joy of living — The child on its mother's knee — Birds 
 in the sunshine — The pulse of nature's life — Care for the young — The 
 golden thread of love — Birds and their nests — The tigress and her 
 young — The love lavished round a child — The mother's love — The 
 family life — What all these speak.
 
 BOOK THE SECOND. 
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 
 
 LOVE Divine, thy genial warmth calls 
 
 forth 
 My heart with inexpressible delight 
 To sing thy praise, and bask in thy bright 
 
 beams. 
 As in the summer morn the bees will fly 
 
 From flower to flower, headlong to dive and probe 
 
 The odorous canopies and painted cells 
 
 Where honey lurks, singing with murmurous hum 
 
 Of satisfaction deep and pleased delight. 
 
 Still revelling in the sweetness that they find, 
 
 So would my thoughts, in this the world's broad field. 
 
 Fly forth from proof to proof of heavenly love, 
 
 Haply some precious sweetness thence to bring. 
 
 Some truths of gentleness and tender power. 
 
 Which, hived within the honeycomb of song, 
 
 May cheer desponding hearts in gloomy hours ; 
 
 An ample recompense, although not all :
 
 42 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The simple joy of singing is my joy, 
 
 Though in rude tones, with unaccustomed skill, 
 
 Confiding in the melody of truth, 
 
 Mayhap unwelcome to fastidious ears. 
 
 Yet, if with native pathos rendered, sure 
 
 To find the heart's response ; pleased beyond words 
 
 To sing of the bright sunshine of the soul, 
 
 The spiritual fragrance and the inward peace 
 
 Of the Lord's garden, paradise restored. 
 
 There is a music of the heart, more sweet 
 
 Than ever thrilled the high ecstatic lyre. 
 
 Or voice e'er sung, heard by the inward ear, 
 
 Yet ever yearning to o'erleap the bounds 
 
 Of jealous silence, and with wandering strains. 
 
 Floating about this dull mechanic world, 
 
 To win an audience from the noisy crowds. 
 
 Life's fierce and jarring discords to reduce, 
 
 And hush its babblings with the ocean tide 
 
 Majestical, of God's great harmony. 
 
 Now in this silent hour of reverent thought, 
 Look forth upon the wide and varied scene 
 Of natural things, harmonious, beautiful. 
 Strangely impassive, unresponsive, slow. 
 Lost in its onward way, of busy man 
 Unmindful, as it seems, yet quick to teach. 
 And ready to impart its priceless truths 
 To every patient, humble, listening soul. 
 
 Who made, or making, who upholds intact 
 This mighty structure of the universe ; 
 Balanced these stellar spheres, restrained by check 
 And counter-check, each in its fixed place ;
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 43 
 
 Roofed this large world with soft ethereal blue, 
 Grateful to sense, and filled the world with life ? 
 No wild and aimless scene before us lies, 
 The theatre of chaos, field of chance ; 
 Order here rules. How simple, yet how grand 
 Are all the silent processes of Nature ; 
 From the ice crystal of the winter night. 
 To the majestic sweep of suns and stars. 
 If thou art willing but to learn the truth, 
 Truth will confront thee wheresoe'er thou look ; 
 The moving lips of zoophytes shall speak, 
 The crackling broom, the dandelion seed 
 That with light wings sails upon every wind. 
 Bring thee a message of most weighty truth. 
 The earth is vocal with her glorious psalm. 
 And by the inward ear, attentive still, 
 Nature's grand " Benedicite" is heard. 
 Give ear, and with great Verulam thou'lt hear 
 " The voice of God revealed in natural facts." 
 
 Why should the sea-bird's breast be clothed with down. 
 Or why the condor's wing with strength equipped 
 And amplitude, the monarch of the clouds 
 Aloft to bear, to scale the windy heights 
 Of the drear mountain solitude his throne ? 
 The tiger with lithe form and velvet foot 
 Glides through the thickest jungle like a snake ; 
 While wallowing in the turbid river depths. 
 Armed to the snout with thick impervious hide, 
 Leviathan will mock at death. Firm fixed. 
 As anchored to the rocks with toughest steel. 
 The tiny limpet clings, and safe endures
 
 44 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The surge's thundering and redoubled shock, 
 
 Secure, as is the frail translucent shell 
 
 Glued to the withered bent upon the hill, 
 
 That sways in every wind. The small-eyed mole. 
 
 Burrowing the dark dense earth to find a home. 
 
 The kestrel balanced on the viewless winds, 
 
 Or the fleet dolphin clad with burnished mail 
 
 That rides the blue and crested waves as steeds, 
 
 Live in congenial elements. For thus 
 
 God suits His creatures to their modes of life, 
 
 Their habitation and their needs ; equips 
 
 And arms them for their work ; their feebleness 
 
 Defends ; the pensioners of His bounty they, 
 
 Wards of omnipotence, are, in His care, 
 
 Tenderly kept and fed with open hand. 
 
 Behold the work of some far-seeing Mind ! 
 
 Considerate, generous, condescending too, 
 
 In details infinite of friendliness 
 
 To these uncounted humble servitors, 
 
 These poor dependants. Whether this were wrought 
 
 At the first calling forth of ordered life, 
 
 Or moulded since by force of circumstance. 
 
 The fruit of dearly-bought experience, 
 
 Vicarious death of millions that the few 
 
 Might live, the nice adjustment is the same : 
 
 The individual welfare is secured. 
 
 Earth, air, and sea, the various tenements 
 Of this great globe, have their inhabitants, 
 Tenants distinctive ; none unpeopled left. 
 The ocean's heaving and disordered waste. 
 Abounds with varied, ever-active life.
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 45 
 
 Beneath the waves, glistening in light, as clad 
 With silver sheen, unnumbered myriads glide. 
 Dive to the azure depths profound, and sweep 
 Through glassy caverns, grottoes, cells, weed-tressed ; 
 Not of one pattern all ; the ponderous whale 
 Whose spoutings and unwieldy gambols oft 
 Attract the mariner's eye ; the ashy shark 
 With villainous glance, that like a sheeted ghost 
 Darts through the dusk abyss ; the flying fish 
 Escaping from the fierce bonito's jaws, 
 That from the smooth green wave springs forth to drop 
 On quickly-drying wing ; all creatures strange, 
 Uncouth, and quaint, with eyes protuberant. 
 Restless antennae, frills, and scales, and shells, 
 Folds sinuous involved. With faint sweet tints 
 Bloom sea-anemones, as living flowers. 
 Orange and pink, flesh-coloured, throwing forth 
 Their wavy ever-moving filaments 
 In the transparent depths ; there seaweeds spread 
 Their crimson leafage, or with darker fronds 
 In mimic forests rise, and shelter give 
 To tiny nations. In the nether depths 
 Unreached by plummet, undisturbed, unlit 
 By straggling ray from this bright upper world, 
 What creatures herd, dragons or serpents huge 
 Wallow in darkness, and in deadly strife 
 Lock their gigantic strength amid the slime, 
 Science may yet discover, and reveal 
 Wonders undreamed : far as her light extends 
 Beneficent, she shows the work of God. 
 The vaster ocean of the upper air
 
 46 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Has its inhabitants. Birds of all form, 
 
 Colour, and song ; some for the mountain height, 
 
 Broad-pinioned, with a quick and piercing eye 
 
 That like a diamond burns, and power far off 
 
 To scent their quarry ; some with jewelled wings 
 
 To hover o'er the breast of tropic flowers ; 
 
 Some for the ocean's melancholy waste, 
 
 The lonely albatross, that sleeps on wing. 
 
 Or petrel, harbinger of coming storm ; 
 
 Some dive the foam, or poised upon the gale, 
 
 Toss their white wings against the gathering 
 
 gloom. 
 Exulting 'mid the turmoil and the din 
 Of elemental strife. Marshes and swamps, 
 The sedgy waste, with black forbidding pools, 
 And water-paths amid the peaty ooze. 
 Where nods the bulrush, and the desolate flag 
 Chatters upon the wind, have visitants. 
 Trailing aloft the melancholy crane, 
 Or bustard in remote recess, wild ducks 
 Heard by the reddening fires on winter eves, 
 Far overhead on their migrations dark. 
 When the wild goose's cry sounds faint far off. 
 High In the night ; or by the mountain tarn 
 Drenching their plumage, as the silvery drops 
 Sparkle like diamonds In the noonday sun ; 
 Or from the bright and ample fields of air. 
 The heaven of blossoming hawthorn, or dark copse, 
 Flinging abroad their pure delicious strains, 
 That pensive memory loves, and echo too. 
 Clasping them till the ravishing silence casts
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 47 
 
 To dull oblivion's vast and envious depths. 
 
 Here too a deft and loving Hand has shaped 
 The creature to its lot ; given it content ; 
 Endowed it with instinctive knowledge fit 
 To its capacity ; the circle marked 
 Of its small nest, which snugly lined with down, 
 Or moss, in nook of gray and lichened rock, 
 Hid in moist bank where early violets come, 
 And burly humble bees buzz in the grass, 
 Hammocked in whispering bents 'mid nodding flowers, 
 Or, anchored safe amid the swaying boughs. 
 Is home and cradle of its helpless young. 
 
 Mountain or plain, woodland or desert sands, 
 Each finds its own inhabitant, each range 
 Affords glad life, delightful occupation, 
 Scope for the exercise of natural powers. 
 The timid hare that crouches in the grass 
 With eye askance ; the branched stag that laves 
 Its heated flanks in the clear mountain pool ; 
 Or antelope, swift as the driving wind 
 To scour the plain ; the camel petulant 
 That finds endurable the burning sand. 
 And braves the dread simoom ; the elephant, 
 That crushes with loud trumpetings the jungle. 
 Uttering its boisterous joy ; or 'mid the rocks 
 The tawny lion with his playful cubs ; 
 Each creature is adapted to its lot. 
 Widely diverse, each finds contentment there. 
 He who is earnest, as the theme demands, 
 Solicitous with fixed concern to know 
 How God regards the creatures of His Hand,
 
 48 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Their welfare, and their future happiness, 
 
 Will mark this natural language, hear the voice, 
 
 As if of many waters, from the sea 
 
 Of wide existence, the significance 
 
 Of adaptation note, prescient of need, 
 
 Contingent, in God's creatures manifold. 
 
 Far as the eye can trace the particles 
 
 That build the living structure, tiniest points. 
 
 The dust life of the physical frame, is seen 
 
 This care provisional, beneficent. 
 
 He who piles up the protoplastic cells 
 
 In blade, or leaf, or animal fibre, shows 
 
 A living care. No trace of chance appears, 
 
 Caprice, or negligence in Nature's works. 
 
 All share a common love, a common care. 
 
 The happiness of everything that breathes 
 
 His love secures. Nor is the margin great. 
 
 For happiness from many factors springs, 
 
 Co-operate, converging to one end. 
 
 The culminating point, ultimate outcome. 
 
 Balance and crown of widely-varying powers. 
 
 Were He who formed man's frame indifferent 
 
 To human happiness, or negligent 
 
 To tune the varying strings whose concord makes 
 
 The harmony of life, or physical 
 
 Or mental, or the deeper chords profound 
 
 Of moral being, how vast His power to cloud 
 
 The life with pain ! How soon could He o'ertop 
 
 High clambering ambition, ruffle quick 
 
 The calm placidity that else would sleep 
 
 Beneath the shadow of the natural laws.
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 49 
 
 Seeking forbidden joys. Man's happiness 
 
 Is found where God has placed it : nowhere else. 
 
 The world of flowers invites the willing thoughts 
 To linger 'mid their loveliness, and cull 
 Diviner blooms, thoughts of God's kindliness, 
 Suggestions fragrant to the inner sense. 
 Whence comes the sweetness of the floral world ? 
 The nodding clover blossom blurred with dew, 
 The fragrant cyclamen on lifted wing. 
 Germander speedwell of the hedgerow side, 
 The white fringed daisy of the meadow, seem 
 All weighted with the tenderest thoughts of God. 
 Why should these graceful forms of loveliness 
 Encamp in sheltering nook, or nestle round 
 The homes of men, with more than regal pomp 
 And spotless virgin innocency clad ? 
 Why should the Unseen Hand scatter abroad 
 The freckled cowslip in the April fields. 
 Or purple heather o'er the breezy moor ? 
 We strew fresh blossoms on the churchyard path, 
 To meet the bride, betokening happy thoughts, 
 Or crown the merry prattling child with flowers, 
 Nor other meaning have than love and hope. 
 The primrose, 'midst the oak's brown fallen leaves. 
 Comes like a thought of cheerfulness and hope 
 After the winter's dank and dropping days. 
 Even the poppies in the harvest-field 
 Seem like its garnishing; God's generous Hand 
 Decking His largess. From their wild wood haunts 
 And lonely solitudes, transplanted near 
 Human abodes, with blushing gratitude, 
 
 E
 
 50 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And more exuberant loveliness, the (lowers 
 
 With their sweet gifts repay man's fostering care. 
 
 God's works serve many ends. That which delights 
 
 His creature man, may happiness confer 
 
 On other beings. Who but coldly sees 
 
 In these fair works of Nature, graceful forms, 
 
 Ravishing odours, tints of rainbow dyes, 
 
 Distinctive marks to attract the wandering bee, 
 
 And insects numberless, that find their food 
 
 In flowers, nor counts it worthy of his thought 
 
 That man finds pleasure there, must yet allow 
 
 These ends conjoined, a double purpose served, 
 
 And wisdom mingled with a larger care. 
 
 The fragrance of the honeysuckle borne 
 
 Upon the evening dew ; fair starry snow 
 
 Of jessamine, like modesty's own thoughts; 
 
 Syringa bloom, or jonquils' creamy discs ; 
 
 The bank of lemon thyme, or odorous nook 
 
 Where from green campanile of lush leaves, 
 
 The lily of the valley shakes its bells ; 
 
 Or lilac bloom scenting the air of May ; 
 
 Bushes of hawthorn, hooded violets, 
 
 Winking among the leaves, close bonneted, 
 
 As fearing lest the fingers of desire 
 
 Would filch their sweets ; or high and dazzling rose, 
 
 That in full sun courts every lingering breeze ; 
 
 Their mingling odours rise like incense sweet, 
 
 In fragrant streams invisible, and fill 
 
 This vestibule of earth, and court of heaven. 
 
 Had chance the shaping of these beauteous forms .'* 
 Why should the calyx with such elegance
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 51 
 
 Be rounded off, science in vain divines : 
 
 Or why with colours numberless should glow 
 
 The silken petals, freckled, fringed, or stained, 
 
 Or of one common hue, of spotless white, 
 
 Resplendent scarlet, purple, blushing pink. 
 
 When first did the adventurous molecules 
 
 In dumb succession, motion purposeless. 
 
 First leave the track, and from the coffers fetch 
 
 Of bounteous Nature, the rich living gold 
 
 That crowns the lily ? Whence the pigment bring 
 
 That blushes in the rose ? Has chance her hoards 
 
 Deep hidden in the dark and colourless earth ? 
 
 Distilled in what alembic, in what nook 
 
 Preserved, keeps she her jars of essences ? 
 
 Hath she invisible stores in the pure light 
 
 Around, and hath she taught these fragile forms 
 
 By living prayer, from the bright heaven to bring 
 
 The loveliness in which they stand arrayed ? 
 
 O myriad blossoming spires of May ! your breath 
 
 That makes the gadding breeze all redolent 
 
 With sweet perfume, a glorious anthem seems 
 
 Blending in silent harmonies of praise. 
 
 Colour and fragrance, perfect symmetry, 
 Thus superadded to th' organic life, 
 Seem but to speak of kindliness and care. 
 Plants might have germinated, might have come 
 To fruitage full, with blossoms colourless. 
 Or none. If, wandering down trim garden paths, 
 The eye, well pleased, observe on every hand 
 All flowers that in successive seasons bloom, 
 Parterres of dazzling scarlet, innocent blue.
 
 52 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Or bushes clustered o'er the velvet lawn 
 Covered with bloom, although no form be seen 
 Bending to dig the earth, to drop the seed, 
 Or plant the root, to lop, to prune, to stay 
 With friendly hand the weak and drooping branch, 
 'Tis known, that, though the agent be unseen, 
 An agent here has wrought ; this beauty comes. 
 And must have come from labour, from the aim 
 Intelligent to please. In this wide scene, 
 The garden of the world, appears design 
 Pleasure to give, or flowers would have no place. 
 The casuistic and unwilling mind 
 May reason as it please : spring's buttercups 
 Robing the emerald fields with cloth of gold, 
 The hawthorn hedge drifted with fragrant snow, 
 And gardens glowing with their living gems. 
 Will whisper still their gentle lore, and tell 
 To simple hearts, of God's goodwill to man. 
 How much the melodies of birds enhance 
 The sylvan scene, he knows, who in the woods. 
 The pathless forests of the Western World, 
 That border on the Mississippi's banks, 
 Where to the Mexique gulf the turbid flood 
 Makes devious way, flushing creek, bayou, pool, 
 Has wandered. Solitude intense ! How drear 
 The pillared columns, ghostlike, dreamy, still. 
 Diminishing in distance ! From the boughs 
 Hangs, like funereal tresses, drooping moss. 
 And through the lofty colonnades, forlorn. 
 The wind's faint sigh wanders as if 'twere lost. 
 A silence reigns like death ; the clattering jay,
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 53 
 
 Or brush of turkey-buzzard's carrion wings, 
 The alligator's roar, or croak of frogs. 
 Rustle of rattlesnake, or dismal splash 
 That for a moment stirs the mantled pool, 
 Or drip of paddle from the swift canoe ; 
 Perchance a crash re-echoing, loud, prolonged. 
 Reverberating through the sombre aisles, 
 Telling the downfall of some ancient tree. 
 The monarch of the forest, brought to death. 
 By slow decay, alone the silence break. 
 
 What time the level morning sun just tips 
 The emerald of the growing corn with gold, 
 Upsprings the speckled dewy-breasted lark. 
 The merry minstrel of the jocund morn. 
 On tremulous wing, rising yet higher and higher 
 Above the mists that trail the warm hillside. 
 Beloved sono^ster! to our English fields 
 Sacred by all the ties that bind the soul 
 To childhood's days. How often stands the boy 
 Shading with outstretched hand the well-pleased eyes 
 That losing it amid the dazzling blue, 
 Catches again the tiny tremulous speck, 
 Whose trill of ecstasy the echo seems 
 Of all the gladness in the youthful breast ; 
 At length, lost to the eye, the song remains 
 Although the songster 's gone. One with bright hours 
 Of freedom is it, the romance of life. 
 The nameless charm that lay on flower and bird, 
 Green lane, and pleasant field and primrose banks, 
 Fresh morn, the imagined happiness of life, 
 Th' clastic spring, lost in the rougher years.
 
 54 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Ye russet songsters of the fields and woods, 
 How do we love you, every one, and watch 
 Your sweet wild ways, your flittings to and fro. 
 Now o'er the clover-field, the cottage thatch, 
 The red ploughed furrows, or the hazel wood, 
 Or breezy hilltop, come your melodies. 
 The ruddy-breasted robin on the brier, 
 When hoar-frost glimmers through the ghostly fog, 
 All the dull winter day, with piercing strains, 
 Will make the silent snowy landscape live. 
 For very glee of heart the blackbird sings, 
 And from his golden bill, amid the hedge, 
 Fresh budding with the promise of the spring, 
 Will pour a flood of mellow raptured notes. 
 The thronging utterance of a soul of love. 
 Perched on the lichened orchard gate, the thrush 
 Seen in the green arcade, all interlaced 
 With golden sunbeams, from his speckled throat. 
 Warbles with tuneful bill the livelong day. 
 And revels in the music that he makes. 
 How cheerful, how inspiriting the sounds 
 Thus sprinkled on the air around our path ; 
 The ploughman following his team afield 
 Whistles light-heartedly, he knows not why, 
 Forgets his hard and ill-requited toil, 
 The cares that wait him in his cheerless home ; 
 The wayfarer with quickened step renews 
 His journey ; while the satcheled village lad 
 Loitering to school, sings too for joy of heart. 
 The Sabbath morning calls through daisied fields 
 The village folk to worship ; from the hills
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 55 
 
 Rises the singing of unnumbered larks, 
 Blending so sweetly with the pealing bells, 
 The listener scarce can tell the sweeter chime, 
 The mellow murmurs from the gray old tower, 
 Or lark songs from the belfry of the sky. 
 
 Thus onward, would I trace, O Lord, Thy will 
 In human happiness, caught by each fringe 
 And golden gleam, and added ornament 
 To this substantial frame, this spacious world, 
 The house for man Thou'st built beneath the sky. 
 No prison house, our earth, but home, and life 
 No drudgery, nor slavery enforced, 
 But the free service of our gracious Lord. 
 
 The quick-compelling appetite might find 
 In mere abundance gross satiety, 
 Lacking discrimination of the taste. 
 The elements that build man's physical frame 
 Exist, perchance, elsewhere than in our food, 
 Nor need digestion, nor the process slow 
 That with the lacking part assimilates. 
 The orchid from the circumambient air 
 Derives its nutriment, nor contact needs 
 With the gross soil. Yet God hath otherwise 
 Decreed for man, and honoured His decree ; 
 For that which wisdom saw as necessary 
 Love has made a pleasure of his life. 
 
 The downy peach upon some southern wall 
 Hiding its blushing beauty 'mid the leaves, 
 And taking on its soft and velvet cheek 
 The amorous kisses of the August sun ; 
 The burden-bearing vine with clusters rich
 
 56 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Dependent, liquid globes of nectar piled 
 In pyramids inverted, annual gift 
 That, like the spies from Eshcol, promise brings 
 Of inexhaustible and lavish gifts 
 In Nature's stores ; are these the gifts of chance ? 
 O rich and generous chance ! friendly and kind ; 
 That stor'st the barren universe with gifts. 
 Hiding within the dark unfathomed depths 
 Earth's treasures, metals, gems, concealing there 
 The ruined forest ; throwing to the light 
 Each year the blush of flowers, the bloom of fruit ; 
 Man hath mis-named thee, or thou hast forgot 
 Thy native wastefulness, thy heedless whirl. 
 The pagan nursed 'mid cruelty and blood 
 Brought the Idaean mother, turret crowned, 
 The Phrygian Cybele, his votive gifts, 
 Or Ceres or Pomona, nor could judge 
 That bounties so acceptable to man 
 Fortuitous could spring, but that they came 
 From some unseen but generous donor's hand. 
 What sight more lovely 'neath the April sky 
 Than that which meets the gaze where Vaga winds 
 Her devious waters through the pleasant woods. 
 And deep-grassed fields, past granges, cottage homes, 
 By Tintern's pile, to meet the surges hoarse 
 Of Severn's yellow foam. The ramparts blue 
 Of Cambria's ancient fastnesses look down 
 Upon the Mercian realm ; a wide champain 
 Of orchards all abloom, the faint pink snow 
 Of apple blossoms, as the land had drawn 
 Its innocent white kerchief o'er its breast.
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 57 
 
 Blushing as if in maiden modesty : 
 
 All fragrant is the still and sunny hour, 
 
 And populous with hum of myriad bees, 
 
 For them a paradise. When autumn comes ; 
 
 How changed the scene ! The landscape now puts on 
 
 Serener beauty of maturity. 
 
 Gray, crooked, mossy trunks, all gnarled and stained 
 
 And yellow lichened, ramify aloft. 
 
 And on the mellow autumn air put forth 
 
 Their juicy blushing treasures, ample gifts. 
 
 Each russet, streaked, or lemon golden globe 
 
 Burnished, as if in some clear fountain laved. 
 
 Seems witness of a thought considerate. 
 
 And eloquent of kindliness to man. 
 
 Unnumbered are the gifts the leafy world 
 Discloses with each slow revolving year ; 
 Th' enamell'd pomegranate with shining grain. 
 Or sunny apricot from Eastern lands. 
 Where Oxus, or Jaxartes rolls its flood, 
 Or Persian nightingales 'mid roses sing, 
 Wakening in breasts poetic sweeter songs ; 
 Golden bananas, on the rocking palm 
 The milky cocoa-nut, guavas, or pines. 
 Odorous of foreign marts. The colder north 
 Carpets with strawberries its forest glades, 
 And o'er its tree-tops spreads the bloom of plums. 
 Each country yields its own peculiar fruit ; 
 The date-palm waves above the arid sand. 
 Stirred by the dark simoom ; where moderate suns 
 Sleep on the trellised blue Italian hills. 
 Or Rhincland, with its mystic charm of song.
 
 58 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And antique fable, cliffs festooned with vines, 
 Grace with their blushing honours all the land. 
 Luscious and fragrant, cool, refreshing, sweet, 
 Clustered or bunched amid the shadowing leaves, 
 Gemming the ground, or crowning topmost boughs, 
 Each fruit that forms tells of the Unseen Love ! 
 
 Placed in a system intricate and vast, 
 Of operations numberless, beyond 
 The ken of reason, by a various host 
 Surrounded, beings lower in life's scale. 
 Inferior spirits, incarnated, brought near. 
 Whose nature and whose future are unknown, 
 Or subject or opposed to human will, 
 Wherefore thus placed ? Behold the commonest leaf, 
 How veined, how fringed, how folded with a skill 
 Divine, where through its labyrinthine cells 
 Life finds its way. Why placed with this grand scene 
 Contieuous ? But that the human mind 
 May see the workings of the Hand Divine, 
 Learn trust, obedience learn, and recognise 
 Man's high position, and as it beseems, 
 Yield his glad homage. Flowers bloom, plants thrive, 
 And in this spacious air winds come and go, 
 Nor is there found creature superior 
 To man, who with the offices sublime 
 Of reason, and of speech endowed, stands forth. 
 Servant of God, Nature's interpreter! 
 
 How intricate the scheme of Providence ! 
 In operation vast, and in detail 
 Minute. Myriads of creatures live, and look 
 To Him who formed them for their daily food ;
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 59 
 
 Nor vainly. From God's full yet open hand 
 
 Comes their supply, ample, ungrudged, and free. 
 
 Thine eye has wandered o'er the harvest-field 
 
 All sickle-ripe, with spires innumerable 
 
 Stippling the brown expanse ; thine ear has caught 
 
 The barley's silken rustling as the wind 
 
 Went by, or hush like satisfaction deep 
 
 Of whispering billowing corn, but hast thou thought 
 
 Of the great harvest-fields untilled by man, 
 
 Delved by the frost, God's plough, and broadcast sown 
 
 By the swift winds ? The selfsame showers that filled 
 
 The milky grain, the same warm generous sun 
 
 Whose heat matured the harvest-fields for man, 
 
 Nourished these casual growths. On moorlands high. 
 
 Where come and go the gossiping idle winds. 
 
 Heaths, wastes, and barren corners unimproved, 
 
 Wild corners where the gadding brambles bloom. 
 
 Nettles and burdocks, thistles, shepherd's clocks. 
 
 Grow and mature, are Nature's granaries. 
 
 The scarlet hip that decks the wild rose brier. 
 
 Or clustering berries of the hawthorn hedge 
 
 Gleaming like coral in the yellowing leaves. 
 
 Or ripening hazel-nuts in autumn's woods. 
 
 Where children's voices sound, harsh blackberries, 
 
 Or elderberries with their purple juice. 
 
 Capsules, and cones, acorns, and winged awms 
 
 That fly to meet the hungry : here is spread 
 
 Provision ample stored by Unseen Care 
 
 Against bleak wintry days, black, biting frosts, 
 
 And deep concealing snows. Count, if thou canst, 
 
 The Great Provider's guests, whom clear-voiced morn
 
 6o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Invites from out the shivering night to come 
 
 Into this fair and well-lit hall of day, 
 
 Heaven's banquet chamber ; not the shining ranks 
 
 Of life intelligent, angel or man 
 
 Godlike, though ruined, or enraptured saint, 
 
 But creatures insignificant to view, 
 
 Humble dependants on the Father's care. 
 
 Dwellers beyond the bourn of visible things, 
 
 In crannies, crevices, of this great earth, 
 
 Mark how the birds are fed ; bold trespassers 
 With saucy eye and ever-restless wing. 
 Improvident, and with each day's supply 
 Content. At morn, as at a bugle call, 
 Like an outspreading fan, they scatter wide. 
 The clamorous rooks rise from the surging elms 
 Circling aloft against the morning blue, 
 Seem like black specks from conflagration vast ; 
 Then to their feeding grounds pour forth in train, 
 Divide their forces in the outward track. 
 To left, to right, and through the day's long hours 
 Seek provender. Not all plundered from man, 
 Or filched from scenes of human industry. 
 The littered barnyard, where the sounding flail 
 Scatters through crevices or open door 
 Some casual grains, and where the barndoor cock 
 With his stout challenge makes the echoes ring, 
 Waiting with bold bright eye and head askance 
 The faint far-off reply ; or fresh-ploughed field, 
 Following the sower's steps ; or cottage door. 
 Where peasant maidens shake forth table crumbs. 
 With kindly thoughts for God's small pensioners :
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 6i 
 
 Larvae of noxious insects, grubs, and blight, 
 
 Rejected unconsidered particles 
 
 Flung from the world's full table, which would else 
 
 Return to earth's great laboratory, the dust. 
 
 Yield food. Finches, and linnets, sparrows pert, 
 
 With chirp incessant, flutter 'midst the corn. 
 
 Or, in the earlier weeks, hide 'neath the eaves 
 
 Or rick thatch, watching opportunity 
 
 To filch the bunching cherries, and to take, 
 
 As Nature's choristers, first toll of these 
 
 Free gifts of Nature, not for man alone. 
 
 By unknown means, in unknown ways, the host 
 
 Innumerable is fed, as ages since. 
 
 The Master taught on Galilee's sacred hill, 
 
 Pointing the moral of the uselessness 
 
 Of self-corroding care. The evening comes 
 
 To bird and beast, and through the growing dusk. 
 
 The ashen dusk of gray and silent eve. 
 
 The lagging crow on leaden wing sweeps by ; 
 
 The cricket chirps, the fluttering moth's abroad; 
 
 Silvering the dusky grove the rising moon 
 
 Looks from the purple balcony of the east, 
 
 Upon the dewy landscape, hushed and still. 
 
 With twitter scarcely audible, and chirp, 
 
 Or tiny rustle in the hedge, their heads 
 
 Buried beneath their wings, their wants supplied. 
 
 All sleep secure under night's dark concave. 
 
 The shade and mystery of brooding night. 
 
 As if beneath the all-covering Hand of God ! 
 
 O mighty Care! O all-surrounding Hand! 
 That through the teeming ages of the past.
 
 62 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The cataclysms, the rude imperious brunt 
 
 Gigantic of conflicting force, hast saved 
 
 Earth's frail and delicate forms of loveliness, 
 
 How through the stormy sea hast thou convoyed 
 
 Their gentle company. Mere power unchecked 
 
 Would soon have swept the stage of weaker life, 
 
 Leaving no cranny where the frail might hide, 
 
 And so find transport : but a gentler hand 
 
 Has interposed amid tumultuous change, 
 
 Barring dumb force, and claiming a due place 
 
 E'en for the weakest. In the strata dense, 
 
 Four hundred fathoms deep in the dark earth, 
 
 The miner finds th' embedded filament 
 
 Of weed, that once had waved in seaside pool. 
 
 Now solid stone, fern leaf, or stem, or branch 
 
 Coniferous, the counterpart of forms 
 
 Existent still. How long within its tomb 
 
 The fossil thus has slept, millions of years 
 
 By millions multiplied, let science tell. 
 
 Faith can take up the parable, and smile. 
 
 And trust unfalteringly the care Divine, 
 
 That this slight form through centuries past has kept, 
 
 In chain of living forms congenerous. 
 
 Can trust the soul to ferry o'er the straits 
 
 Of death, nor fear profound oblivion. 
 
 Whence, if not from Divine beneficence. 
 Springs the instinctive happiness of life ? 
 Existence is not so endowed with bliss, 
 That creatures claim of right the joy to live. 
 If the creative power alone had sought 
 Utility, man were mechanical.
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 63 
 
 Needless this thrilling frame, more sensitive 
 
 Than placid bosom of the mountain lake, 
 
 That takes the flaw that ruffles its smooth wave. 
 
 Or soft impinging shadows, rock, or pine. 
 
 Or antlered monarch of the heathery glen, 
 
 Or the steep mountain-side that slopes aloft ; 
 
 Needless his sentient and percipient powers ; 
 
 Then were the margin of his joy seamed o'er, 
 
 And to its narrowest dimensions clipped, 
 
 Unconscious, unrecipient, there were left 
 
 Nought but the dumb imprisonment of force. 
 
 But, as the sun, new-risen on summer morn, 
 
 Shines on the myriad spires of meadow grass 
 
 And freshened flowers, bedropped with gems of dew, 
 
 The benison of night, clay's coronal. 
 
 Each pearly globe as with a diamond light, 
 
 Sparkling and glistening with a blaze suffused ; 
 
 The orb of day, source of glad light, beholds 
 
 Its image in each drop reflected clear. 
 
 Till by th' attraction of its own warm beams 
 
 It gathers up its jewels to itself: 
 
 So in earth's joyous lives innumerable. 
 
 The Life Supreme has multiplied its life, 
 
 The Joy Supreme has multiplied Its joy. 
 
 Taking its tribute of earth's happiness. 
 
 Youth revels in the wine of life. The child 
 Kicking and crowing on his mother's knee. 
 Ere reason has awaked, or lively hope 
 Lured the gay spirit with its pictures bright ; 
 His innocent glee o'erbrimming from his eyes, 
 Or voiced in silvery tones, clear laugh, or song,
 
 64 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 In every limb, and look, and utterance, seems 
 O ermastered with delight ; the pattering feet, 
 Sweet music to the listening ear of love 
 Parental, echoing in memory still, 
 And to the vacant eye of brooding age 
 Bringing new light ; sunshine of golden curls, 
 And musical melodious voice, and ways. 
 Antics grotesque, yet strangely sweet, all make 
 The heart a willing captive, and inscribe. 
 Deep graved, their lasting characters of joy. 
 
 Nor is th' instinctive joy of living found 
 In man alone, the appanage of reason, 
 And gift of the Supreme Intelligent 
 To creatures likest Him ; the lure of life, 
 Grapes of a vintage never to be plucked ; 
 First burden of the memory, the first, 
 But oft the last. When the spring meadows show 
 Their earliest green, how frolicsome the lambs. 
 Leaping and frisking in their cowslip world. 
 And gamboling in the sun ; the lissom hare 
 Bounds down the hillside o'er the dewy bents ; 
 In the blue noon the pigeons dive and toss. 
 And sun their snowy feathers, or with curve 
 Fantastic show their iridescent necks ; 
 When blinks the landscape, in the noontide heat 
 Of the unutterable summer calm, 
 Come the low burdened tones of deep content 
 From wood-dove, hidden 'mid the tasselled pines ; 
 Now the red squirrel peeping through the leaves 
 Scampers from bough to bough, or diving swings 
 Upon the branches moving in the wind ;
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 65 
 
 Even the waters swarm with happy life, 
 
 In willowed brooklets where the long-tressed weeds 
 
 Wave in the threading current, minnows dart 
 
 And balance gainst the stream their silvery sides ; 
 
 Amongst the cool green cress the lamprey hides ; 
 
 The water-rat from out the bordering sedge. 
 
 Or flowering rushes, leaps into the stream ; 
 
 The kingfisher, a streak of living blue 
 
 Amid the willows, darts athwart the brook. 
 
 The busy dragon-flies course up and down 
 
 The hedgerow, on their gauzy crackling wings. 
 
 Whose sheen, sun -touched, gleams with unnumbered 
 
 hues, 
 'Mid buzz of flies zigf-zaQ-Qrinor in the sun, 
 Or murmurous hum of bees about the limes. 
 Plundering unchecked the fragrance of the spring ; 
 The earth resounds with life, exultant life. 
 'T would seem it were the world's high festival. 
 In the bright day, all circled round with night, 
 And from th' abyss of nothingness God's power 
 Had called these countless myriads forth to share 
 In glad existence ; brief the longest span, 
 Conjoined duration from creation's dawn 
 To the last spasm of an expiring world, 
 Nought but the shadow of a passing cloud 
 Across the azure of infinity. 
 
 The Hand that forged this mighty chain of life 
 Frames its successive links. Quickly the past 
 Becomes the present, while the present lays 
 Foundations deep and broad for future need, 
 Not on the sea of chance are set afloat
 
 66 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The seeds and germs of life to drift or drown, 
 
 But due provision, constant care are shown. 
 
 Within the narrow limits of the seed, 
 
 The fullest bloom and lustiest life that throbs, 
 
 Contracted in death's mighty systole, 
 
 Hide their diminished powers, their beauties fair, 
 
 Again to expand with fresh and balanced force, 
 
 Filling the utmost margin with the tide 
 
 Of a determined purpose. Nature e'er 
 
 Renews herself, retracts her ebbing strength. 
 
 Within the seed its ripened being casts, 
 
 And with short check resists the downward flow 
 
 To dissolution. In the cornered void 
 
 Of thought here stand, here watch the vanishing powers 
 
 Round off in death, forging the vital link 
 
 That binds each to the other, all to God. 
 
 The oak throws forth its sturdy vigour bred 
 
 Of wrestling storms that grind its lichened boughs, 
 
 Hot suns, and rains, and keen star-twinkling frosts 
 
 And, in the acorn dropped upon the sward. 
 
 Hides a potential forest. Here, enclosed. 
 
 Secure within the firm compacted shell. 
 
 Alike impervious to the sun and rain. 
 
 Till, buried in the soil, are felt within 
 
 The quickening impulses of mother earth, 
 
 Slumber imprisoned powers. So sheathed and wrapped 
 
 The innumerable germs of varied life, 
 
 Reductions of the glory of the past, 
 
 Wait with suspended force deliverance. 
 
 Nor care alone is seen but prescience ; 
 The dormant seed lies in a nutrient bed,
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 67 
 
 A tiny cabin stored with sustenance 
 
 For the frail voyaging life in its essay 
 
 Upon time's stormy sea. What power endued 
 
 The dusty butterfly, that flickers round 
 
 On primrose-coloured wings among the flowers, 
 
 With foresight, in depositing its eggs 
 
 To choose both time and place, that when its young 
 
 Should stir their torpid faculties, their food 
 
 May be at hand ? This were no habit formed 
 
 Of long continuance, acquisition gained 
 
 By the slow increment of tardy years, 
 
 And gradual moulding of the generations. 
 
 Or, gained, how was the experience transferred ; 
 
 And, being transferred, in instinct closely locked } 
 
 O'er the Egyptian fields the Mighty One 
 
 Hissed for the locusts, and their darkening swarms 
 
 Came at His call, to circumvent His foes ; 
 
 An army terrible, invincible. 
 
 Each year's decaying and putrescent mass, 
 
 Poisoning the springs of life, is quick removed. 
 
 Soon as decay, its banners in the grove 
 
 Holds forth in sickly tints, or on the air 
 
 The deadly gases, of corruption bred, 
 
 Bear their swift message, issuing forth appear 
 
 Nature's great host to clear and cleanse the stage. 
 
 Here instinct finds fit nidus for the swarm, 
 
 The progeny of air, next year to dance 
 
 Their brief existence in the sultry beam. 
 
 And steals the poison, finding wholesome food. 
 
 Care for the young, defenceless, and the weak, 
 Through all the tissue of existence runs
 
 68 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Like a bright golden thread. For this, strong ties 
 
 Are rent, Hke crackling tow before the spark. 
 
 Bosomed in blossoming thorn, the mother bird 
 
 Sits on her nest, ruffled in murmuring love, 
 
 The picture of an absolute content, 
 
 And dazed enjoyment ; while on neighbouring spray. 
 
 Her partner with his thrilling melody 
 
 Will make the echoes all applaud his joy. 
 
 Why should the russet pair contentedly 
 
 Forego the liberty they love so well ; 
 
 The ample fields of blue, the wood's green depths, 
 
 Sunshine and breeze, and flittings to and fro. 
 
 To sit and brood upon the mossy nest. 
 
 Guarding its speckled treasure ; thus to spend 
 
 Successive days in idleness enforced, 
 
 The willing captives of parental love ? 
 
 By what strange chance has this high passion come 
 
 To enshrine itself within these tiny breasts ? 
 
 Or how may we explain the sudden glow 
 
 Of love parental, self-denying, pure. 
 
 Worthy of creatures of a higher grade ? 
 
 Who taught these little architects to choose 
 
 Materials fit wherewith to build their nests. 
 
 The twigs, and straws, feathers, and thorn-plucked wool 
 
 And ligaments that bind their pendent home 
 
 Amid the moving boughs ; and these with skill 
 
 To interweave and form to fittest shape. 
 
 Lining the cradle for their helpless young 
 
 With softest down ? Who bid them patiently 
 
 Await th' appointed hour, when the faint chirp 
 
 Should tell the tiny prisoners set free,
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 69 
 
 And fill with busier cares their little life ? 
 
 Who taught to forage far and near, and feed 
 
 The yellow bills that upward reach for food ? 
 
 Can chance design ? For here design appears 
 
 Pre-eminent. Is chance then merciful, 
 
 As well as wise, and powerful to boot ? 
 
 Can dull reiteration mercy learn ? 
 
 Wisdom and power conjoin with tenderness 
 
 To shield the helpless. All that goes to prove 
 
 The being, proves the love of God. No ; 't were 
 
 But trifling with our reason to suppose 
 
 That aught except a Mind intelligent 
 
 Could frame intelligent results ; or aught 
 
 Than tenderness could tenderly contrive 
 
 To succour weakness, and to minister 
 
 To helpless want ; nay, with imperious will 
 
 To bend the rudest natures, savage breasts, 
 
 To mild access of gentle clemency. 
 
 The lion's whelps play with their tawny sire. 
 
 Gambol and frolic with his murderous paws ; 
 
 The merciless tigress lies amid her cubs 
 
 Fondling and purring, her ferocity 
 
 Forgotten ; from her fierce green eyes new light, 
 
 Affection's light, now beams. Natures that else 
 
 Were timid and unwarlike, win new strength. 
 
 Acquire unwonted fierceness, when their young 
 
 Demand for their defence severer front. 
 
 And all this tenderness this gentle care 
 
 Accumulates and culminates in man. 
 
 The mother folds her infant in her arms, 
 
 Kisses and lulls the little one to sleep.
 
 70 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Wakening, the tiny wondering eyes look up 
 To their first heaven, the gentle smiling face, 
 Sweet mother face, all mantled o'er with love, 
 Never so beautiful, as when it looks 
 With pity on the helplessness it shields. 
 
 Behold the welcome to the new-born babe. 
 Upon his entrance on this perilous life ! 
 A friend awaits him faithful, loving, true ; 
 A mother's kiss salutes him, sacrament 
 Of an undying love ; and all the depths 
 Of a fond, loving, woman's heart are his. 
 Or e'er the mind slow gathers in the mist 
 Intelligent thought, and consciousness of life, 
 Love pours around its lavish, costly gifts. 
 Low gentle words and sunshine of bright looks. 
 And ceaseless offices of patient care. 
 To her fond breast the mother clasps her child, 
 Entrusted to her fond parental care. 
 To love, to nurture, and to teach to live. 
 Rough the first steps of life, scanty the strength 
 Of the young traveller, all unequipped 
 And ignorant of the road, yet with him goes 
 Upon his pilgrimage Heaven's chosen guide, 
 A mother's faithful, self-denying love. 
 
 We sing in mournful elegies the tale 
 Of man's humiliation wrought by death ; 
 Thence eloquence her sharpest sarcasm brings, 
 There finds her sorrow for the mighty dead, 
 Now brought so low. Into the darkness pass 
 The great, the insignificant alike, 
 Dastard or brave, the ignorant, the wise ;
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 71 
 
 Death's dread antithesis ever confronts 
 The boldest most ambitious pride of man. 
 Yet well we know, that, though the house of clay- 
 Crumble to dust, virtue will yet defy 
 Destruction, passing from these wintry skies 
 To a congenial clime. But human pride 
 Finds man's most abject lowliness in birth, 
 And helplessness complete ; the tiny fist 
 That yet will grasp the sceptre, wield the sw^rd 
 Amid war's thunders on the lurid field. 
 Or stay the helm that struggles with the storm 
 Upon the yeasty waves, now scarce can grasp 
 Love's finger ; while the proud commanding voice, 
 Shrill as the winter cricket on the hearth. 
 Sounds like the cry of weakness audible. 
 Perfect in helplessness ! the senses shut. 
 Vacant the eye, the ear unskilled to note 
 The difference of sounds, pithless the limbs : 
 The child of sorrow makes its faint appeal 
 To pity, whilst its weakness is its strength ; 
 Its strength all concentrated in its cry. 
 Reason lies dormant, and the conscious mind 
 Not yet commercing with the external world 
 Is wrapped in sleep. Developed in due course 
 The faculties come forth ; nor is the child 
 Entrusted with himself until the eye 
 Computing distances shall aid the step. 
 Or hand that grasps more firmly for support. 
 Nature supplies its food, warm, pure, and light, 
 Commingled well by skilful chemistry, 
 Suited to build the form, tendons, and nerves.
 
 72 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Bones, muscles, sinews, and supply the needs 
 Of this most curiously compacted frame, 
 In due proportion all ; until the eye 
 Distinguish substances, the palate tastes, 
 Or the instructed sense of smell rejects 
 Obnoxious food. His wants thus slowly learned, 
 And mode of their supply, the child now stands 
 Prepared for less dependent life, makes known 
 His wants to others by articulate speech, 
 And slowly wakens to the mystery 
 Of all this varied and perplexing scene. 
 
 The helplessness that touched at first the fount 
 Of human pity now gives place to love ; 
 Not mutual at first. The months roll by, 
 And as the daybreak of the summer's morn 
 Throws o'er the eastern waves its feeble glow. 
 Its first faint twinkle touching them with gold, 
 So, o'er the infant's vague and wondering face, 
 Passes a look of meaning, and the smile 
 Of recognition breaks, the welcome sign 
 Of consciousness. Forth from the darkness comes 
 The sweet young love with its companionship 
 Immortal. How the mother gently woos 
 The flickering smile soon lost in vacancy 1 
 How tenderly the nestling is caressed ! 
 How lavish the maternal blandishments ! 
 Nor sight more beautiful, more innocent 
 On earth, than love thus going forth to meet 
 The dawning consciousness. To helplessness 
 Activity succeeds and waywardness, 
 Yet with its own protection, for the love
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 
 
 73 
 
 It brings kindles a growing love, and casts 
 A charm, a very sanctity around 
 The busy prattler's daily words and ways. 
 Like sunshine in the chamber, like the song, 
 Pure and delicious in clear melody. 
 That through the woodland rings, the beaming face, 
 The silver laugh, bring gladness to the home ; 
 And when the long and restless day is o'er, 
 Laid in its quiet bed so strangely still, 
 And death-like, with deep breathing scarcely heard 
 Till listened for, how lovingly the eye 
 Rests on the peaceful face, the white-clad form. 
 Notes the forsaken playthings, or the dress 
 Laid by, loved for the wearer's sake. How soon, 
 How tenderly forgiven are all its faults. 
 Its foibles, as on the sleeper's brow 
 Is pressed the kiss, the prayer to Heaven is raised. 
 With provident thought the gardener plants his flowers 
 Where they may flourish best, in friendly shade, 
 Or morning sun that lures their beauties forth, 
 Giving fit soil and tendence meet ; so God 
 Has placed the child where best the human plant 
 May thrive. The centre of a family, 
 This small community with interests linked. 
 Seeks for his good ; none could be found his faults 
 More readily to overlook, or give 
 More sympathy. An angel by his side 
 Could scarce more purely love, more patiently 
 Abide with waywardness, and steadfast seek 
 His highest good, than does the earthly mother. 
 Sweet mother face ! that through the past obscure,
 
 74 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The hardness and the roughness of the years, 
 Still looks on us, though death long since has hid 
 The dear reality, still do we turn. 
 Still cherish thy dear image, and our love 
 Reaches towards thee through the utter gloom, 
 With the fond hope that wheresoe'er thou art, 
 That thou art still, what thou wert long, our friend. 
 
 Will one await the disembodied soul 
 Upon its entrance to th' eternal world. 
 To love, to watch, and tenderly to guard. 
 As here the mother guards her helpless babe ? 
 For thus, O Lord, didst Thou appoint, thus send 
 True friends to meet us on the path of life, 
 With treasures in their hands, or wisdom's wealth 
 Pleasure's sweet cup, or dear companionship. 
 Those we deemed enemies, at Thy command 
 Experience taught, or patience, or, perchance. 
 Stirred to a loftier height our slumbering aim. 
 All were Thy messengers of love, O Lord, 
 Thy love, all sent by Thee, our tardy steps 
 To quicken in returning to our home. 
 And to Thy beatific presence blest. * 
 
 The family exists a microcosm, 
 A world in little, all the elements 
 That form the larger family of man 
 There finding place ; old age, enriched by time, 
 Though robbed of many a grace, maturity, 
 In the full vigour of its bounding tide 
 Of earnestness, its tensity of care. 
 And happy youth all brimming o'er with smiles ; 
 Rough manhood's fire, subdued to softer glow
 
 THE SONG OF LIFE. 75 
 
 By woman's self-forgetting tenderness, 
 
 And interlocked affections, mutually 
 
 Upholding and upheld. The laws that bind 
 
 In union close this small community 
 
 Developed in the general life, would make 
 
 Our world a paradise. Thus tended, watched. 
 
 The child grows slowly to maturity. 
 
 Love is its guardian. Couldst thou doubt the love 
 
 That sheltered thee, the mother's love that beamed 
 
 From mild fair eyes upon thine infant face, 
 
 The lips of love that on thine infant cheek 
 
 Pressed their fond kiss, the arms of love that bore 
 
 Thine infant form, and brought thee through life's press 
 
 To full possession of thy faculties, 
 
 To manhood's strength ? Thou couldst not. Canst 
 
 thou doubt 
 The further love that made the mother love ; 
 The all-embracing charity that flung 
 Round mother and child its deeper tenderness. 
 Loved in her loving, in her blessing blessed, 
 And filled the chalice of the human heart 
 O'erflowing with the royal wine of heaven }
 
 BOOK THE THIRD 
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The mystery of pain — Difficult to harmonise with Divine benevolence — 
 The shadow of doubt — Revelation's explanation — Perpetuity of life on 
 earth denied — How then shall the stroke fall ? — The leveret's skull — 
 Death no injustice — Possibility of happiness may involve possibility 
 of pain — Bells heard amid the city's din — Gratuitous pain nowhere 
 found — Pain the hedge of life — May be in highest degree preservative 
 — Pain as a punishment — God's angel sent to rebuke pride — Its 
 power to mould character — The real wants of man few — The happy 
 life like a woodland brook — Pleasure of labour — The pleasure arising 
 from the exercise of natural gifts — The labourer's evening rest — 
 Pleasure of change — The Alpine landscape — Sleep a gift of God — 
 Its mercifulness — The slumbering king — The vagrant on the barn- 
 straw — The condemned criminal — The judge — The merchant — The 
 sick man's dreams — The maniac lulled — -Man's nature tells of kindli- 
 ness — The king's highway — Reflection's power — Pleasure of memory 
 — The ruined temple by the Nile — Possibilities of human nature — 
 Happiness the end in view.
 
 BOOK THE THIRD. 
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 
 
 ET while I dream of happy faces, smiles, 
 And fond caresses of parental love, 
 Low tones, and gentle words, and sunny- 
 looks. 
 Another face presents itself to view ; 
 The face of pain, all troubled, ashy white, 
 
 With quivering lips, and dark and liquid eyes, 
 
 Like wells of agony, and mournful gaze 
 
 As though it searched the soul, faint querulous voice. 
 
 With intermingling sobs, that feebly asks, 
 
 " Have I a place in God's great world of love ? 
 
 Have I a place amidst the flowers, the songs, 
 
 The smiles and blandishments of tenderness ? 
 
 Lives there a purpose in affliction's sting ? " 
 
 O mystery of pain ! Enigma dark. 
 Thou sorrowful eclipse that drift'st across 
 The landscape bright ; O subterranean stream, 
 How have earth's wisest sons in vain explored
 
 8o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Thy caverns deep, still hoping where to find 
 Thy gloomy waters to the sunshine rise 
 Of an established purpose ! Though in vain, 
 We cast the plummet in thine awful depths, 
 By faith emboldened, and the sanction high 
 Of Holy Writ, from a sublimer state 
 We hope to see thy mysteries explained, 
 Thy waters brighten, and the purposes 
 Full justified of the omniscient love. 
 
 Turn where we may, the evidence of pain 
 Confronts the mind ; nor can we onward pass. 
 Ignoring with averted eyes the ills 
 That crowd life's path, engrossed by self, by hope 
 Unwarranted deceived ; not rare are they, 
 Alas ! tempting the speculative thought : 
 Too common ; for each nerve, each sense, each limb. 
 Of this most wondrous fleshly tenement. 
 May prove an avenue of pain. Not long 
 We sojourn unassailed. It well may be 
 That in the initial moment of man's life, 
 With the first troubled breath of vital air, 
 Pain claims him as its own ; and through life's course 
 The shadow is projected on the path, 
 At intervals, till, by the dying-bed. 
 Pain takes its last farewell ; or, whisper low 
 The dreadful thought, ushers the trembling soul 
 To other scenes, further developments. 
 And dim but dread contingencies of grief. 
 Surveying this vast area of woe. 
 Of human misery, these pallid forms. 
 And wasted faces on their beds of pain.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 8i 
 
 The question still will reassert itself, 
 Wherefore this dread concomitant of life ? 
 Is it original deficiency 
 
 In Nature's scheme, a mal-adjustment harsh 
 Of sentient life to changeless physical law ? 
 Bespeaks it negligence or helplessness, 
 Confusion in the government of things ? 
 Is order being evolved from chaos still, 
 Creation yet unfinished ? Through the mind. 
 Like night birds foul, dark thoughts unbidden fly. 
 
 The musing eye rests on the mottled hills, 
 Where play the shadows of the moving clouds ; 
 The skimming swallow sweeps the velvet fields, 
 The whispering of the wheat is on the air. 
 And in the sun a hum of happy life, 
 As in the fresh and restful silence comes 
 The dark conjecture of malevolence. 
 Comes to be negatived on every hand. 
 By every wind that blows, or flower that blooms, 
 Or thing that breathes. Reason revulsive turns, 
 And stern denial gives. All sentient things. 
 Rejoicing in the gift of life bestowed, 
 Proclaim their contradiction trumpet-tongued : 
 " The Ever-Blessed God hath made us well ! " 
 This is His world : He loves what He has formed. 
 No creature of His hand would He have made 
 If He had hated it ; and how could aught 
 Continue if it were not by His will .-* 
 Pain is none other than the accident. 
 Not of the substance of our mortal life ; 
 And from the prison-house of pain, full oft 
 
 G
 
 82 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Lies open many a door, before we reach 
 The evening twilight of all-restful death. 
 
 Can love be Nature's universal law ? 
 Why then the bloody fang, the serpent's sting. 
 The fierce green tigrish eyes, and murderous paw 
 That with its victim plays, delays the stroke, 
 To multiply the agonies of death ? 
 The pyramid of life rises deep-based 
 Upon the pediment of death. Whole tribes 
 Live by the death of others ; these, in turn, 
 Become the prey of yet more savage foes ; 
 Till onward through creation seems to roll 
 The endless ravage of the tide of death. 
 A system merciless, inexorable, 
 It seems, crushing the virtuous and the vile 
 Alike in its blind fury, when its powers 
 O'erstep the margin of life's narrow round, 
 And meet us unawares. E'en at its best 
 Man's life appears but disappointment, want. 
 Labour, vexation, anguish manifold ; 
 Until a double doubt assails the mind 
 That God is weak or heedless of man's woes. 
 
 As drifts the shadow of a passing cloud. 
 Dreary and chill, across broad sunny fields. 
 Thus o'er the pleasant theme of heavenly love 
 Drifts the dark shade of death, saddening the mind. 
 Awakening apprehension and the dread. 
 Lest, sinking in the unutterable void. 
 The cherished hope should to oblivion pass 
 And leave the soul tenfold more desolate. 
 
 To clear the awful mystery of pain.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 83 
 
 Trace to its roots in justice absolute 
 
 Innocent suffering, — hardest of all tasks ! — 
 
 Were hopeless, and a problem too complex, 
 
 Had we no light but reason. To our aid 
 
 Comes revelation with its lucid beam, 
 
 Not to disperse, indeed, all lingering doubt, 
 
 But for this intricate and endless maze 
 
 Affording general reasons, and the clue 
 
 To many a mystery, else unsolvable ; 
 
 Crushing life's dreary discords, like rich grapes, 
 
 Into the wine of perfect harmony. 
 
 Creation groans ; a burden on her lies ; 
 
 Her sweetest bells are jangled in their peals, 
 
 Her beauty fretted, and her lord dethroned. 
 
 The curse of sin rests on earth's fairest scenes. 
 
 Mildew and rust, and time with moss-grown stains, 
 
 Have the fresh beauty of the world defaced. 
 
 Corruption foul, of chaos latest born. 
 
 And the all-conquering dust that caps man's pride, 
 
 And buries in oblivion ; these have leaped 
 
 The broken hedge, and followed in the train 
 
 Of grisly death, and all his lictors dark. 
 
 His grim apparitors, sorrow and pain, 
 
 Disease of ghastly form and aspect wan. 
 
 And all the dismal retinue of woe. 
 
 The world is large ; the purposes of God, 
 
 E'en to our dim and purblind sight appear 
 
 T' accomplish many ends, far-reaching, deep, 
 
 Remote in their design and their effects. 
 
 Involving in their operation oft 
 
 Apparent contradiction, yet by man
 
 84 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Not easily to be impugned. Far off, 
 Beyond our ken, their full results may lie. 
 And their conjoined and interchanged effects 
 Cover too wide a field for us to scan ; 
 For life is brief, and human reason weak ; 
 This minor strain, discord forlorn and drear 
 Of death, may yet resolve to harmony, 
 Majestic, and eternal, and divine. 
 
 To none, not e'en to man. Heaven's choicest work, 
 Earth's king, similitude, and son of God, 
 Albeit estranged, is given perpetual life 
 Below the sun. The world is but the stage 
 On which men play their brief and hurried parts : 
 Then comes death's hour ; the actors pass from view ; 
 Vanish behind the scenes ; leave their gay robes. 
 And scattering in the blank and rayless night 
 Are lost in darkness. Life's a troubled flight ; 
 Youth's pleased awakening ; sorely-burdened trudge ; 
 Then grief to find the journey's end so near ; 
 And all is finished ; man, poor whimpering child ! 
 Tired with the day, lies down to sleep : death lulls, 
 Soothes with its anodyne his sharpest pangs. 
 Then lays his heated aching head to rest, 
 Upon the lowly pillow of the dust. 
 Our transitory home ! Behold 'tis writ 
 Full large and clear, and loudly trumpeted 
 On every wind that blows, lest we delay, 
 Counting this earth our permanent abode. 
 
 And not for man alone is this decree : 
 The giant pine in Californian vales. 
 Or tiny spore to unassisted sight
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 85 
 
 Invisible, to their successors yield. 
 
 The mightiest king that e'er the sceptre swayed, 
 
 Peopled the world with echoes of his fame, 
 
 And sighed beneath the heavy splendid load 
 
 Of his own greatness, to the self-same law 
 
 Submits as the poor infusoria 
 
 Dipped from the turbid pool. All things must die. 
 
 How shall the stroke descend ? What hand shall bear 
 
 The sword executive ? who from the field 
 
 Remove the cumbering dead, lest earth should prove 
 
 A reeking slaughter-house and charnel foul ? 
 
 So mused I, as I kicked all unawares 
 Amid the grass a leveret's tiny skull, 
 Lying all bleached amid the blossoming thyme 
 And nodding clover bolls. A group of ants 
 The cavities explored and eyeless cells. 
 And busy thought ran o'er the existence brief 
 Which here had left so mute pathetic trace. 
 Nibbling the milky corn, or sweet-juiced grass. 
 All wet with dew, with many a merry frisk 
 And gambol quaint, scampering in evening's dusk. 
 When the cold moon rose o'er these silent downs. 
 Or when the golden morning kissed the hills, 
 Its innocent life was spent. The keen-eyed hawk, 
 With fur upon his beak and bloody spur 
 Stood on the quivering form ; weasel or stoat, 
 Or fire-eyed ferret, in relentless chase 
 Attacked, and life was finished ; nought remained, 
 When Nature's scavengers had done their work, 
 But this poor glistening bone amid the grass. 
 
 Life is a boon full lavishly bestowed,
 
 86 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Millions of creatures struggle into life, 
 
 Sip the sweet nectar of existence, then 
 
 Withdraw in turn, and fall from out the view. 
 
 Yielding to new competitors to drink 
 
 With joy of life's bright stream. Why should we count 
 
 Duration necessary point of bliss ? 
 
 The insect dancing in the May-day sun 
 
 A few short hours, may find intensity 
 
 Of bliss, an exquisite delight, unknown 
 
 To him, before whose glazing eyes have passed 
 
 A hundred summers in their painted pride. 
 
 No charge against Divine benevolence 
 
 Have we, nor accusation, should it choose 
 
 To share its bounties, calling from the depths 
 
 New pensioners. Hath life perpetual fee 'i 
 
 Or is it claimed that where life once is given 
 
 Death were injustice ? Narrowness of thought ! 
 
 Shall we then count as matter of complaint 
 
 The misdirection of the appetite ? 
 
 Is this a fierce economy that arms 
 
 With mandibles and stings ? Or does the pang, 
 
 The agony of quick and violent death, 
 
 Outweigh the natural sufferings which disease. 
 
 Or feebleness of age entail ? The hour 
 
 Of separation, oft embittered sore 
 
 With pain, cannot annul past hours of joy 
 
 And healthy life, though in the dreadful gulf 
 
 Remembrance perishes. The joy of life 
 
 Is in the living, not in consciousness 
 
 Of having lived. Who gave the spark of life 
 
 Whene'er He will, withdraws the boon unblamed.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 87 
 
 Earth is no paradise. When man stood forth 
 In the bright hght of present Deity 
 Immaculate, unfallen, in Eden placed, 
 No thorns were there, nor pains, nor weaknesses, 
 Nor sullen death. But now gloom falls athwart 
 The sunshine, pain intrudes and drops its gall 
 E'en in the sweetest cup ; fierce passions rage. 
 Contend with reason, and too oft o'erthrow 
 Deep-seated purposes and great resolves. 
 Fears goad man to despair, and wild despair 
 Wails o'er his ruined hopes. For Nature armed 
 Takes sharp reprisals of her recreant son, 
 Nor suffers unavenged her broken laws, 
 While the severest stroke comes from her hand. 
 
 Perchance the very possibility 
 Of happiness, the possibility 
 
 Of pain involves. The fine-strung chords that yield, 
 If finely touched, divinest harmony. 
 Yield discord loosely strung or badly struck. 
 We in our imperfection prove but poor. 
 Unskilled musicians ; ours are broken thoughts, 
 Glimpses inadequate of this great world. 
 And all its inner harmony ; unknown 
 Our very selves, the limits of our powers ; 
 What best conduces to our happiness ; 
 How best to spend the energies of life ; 
 Poor captives to the semblances of things. 
 
 As one who walks the noisy peopled streets 
 Of some great capital, whose ceaseless din 
 Bewilders, harsh discordant cries, the roar 
 Of world-wide traffic, rumbling vehicles.
 
 88 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And prancing hoofs down echoing streets, perchance 
 
 May come anear some vast cathedral's pile, 
 
 And hear all unaware, or think he hear, 
 
 Strange sounds commingling of a sweeter sort, 
 
 Resolved at length out of the noise confused 
 
 To peals of bells in regular cadences ; 
 
 Till, nearer drawn, the full-toned organ hears. 
 
 And pure sweet singing of the clear-voiced choir ; 
 
 Smiles as he finds the uproar to enfold 
 
 Diviner thoughts and hidden harmony : 
 
 So 'neath the problem and perplexity 
 
 Of human suffering, the sweet surprise 
 
 Of many an explanation may await, 
 
 The unfolding clear of many a mystery. 
 
 Wherefore should happiness contingent rest 
 On pain ; or why so near at hand should lie 
 The instruments of mischief? Why is man 
 Unformed and weak, to peril thus exposed, 
 And heavily weighted in the race of life ? 
 Conjectures, airy speculations all ! 
 Two or three links we weave ; the chain then drops 
 From clumsy fingers ; far beyond our powers 
 The explanation lies. Yet, though afloat 
 Like mariners upon the pathless wave, 
 Seeking some distant shore remote, unseen, 
 Weeks pass, nor glimpse of distant land appears. 
 Mountain, nor promontory, towering peak. 
 Cloud-veiled, as Pico in the western main, 
 Or Teneriffe ; nor marks to tell how fare 
 The voyagers, but lengthening days or skies 
 More torrid grown : the needle points their way :
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 89 
 
 So, guided by some general truths, we steer 
 Across the dark, mysterious, sea of life. 
 Content to know the Judge of all the earth, 
 Despite our ignorance, will e'er do right. 
 
 Humanity hath fallen off from God, 
 Like some fair branch that withers on the ground, 
 Torn from its parent stem, weeping its life. 
 Man's sorrows have their deep significance. 
 Their noble origin. Yet even here 
 Goodwill is seen : the fallen are not lost ; 
 For He hath hedged the sinner's path with thorns, 
 Embittered the false cup of sinful joy. 
 And interposed to check the swift descent 
 To evil, lest that man should there find rest : 
 Surrounded life with pangs, restraints, and checks, 
 Making sin difficult ; ordaining too. 
 That when the soul 'gainst evil takes up arms 
 In blessed conflict, shall arise blest ends, 
 Noblest of virtues, sprung from death of self, 
 Determination of the will on truth, 
 Free choice of good, resolve, and high contempt 
 Of sin's gross pleasures that ensnare the soul, 
 Patience, obedience, loyalty, and love. 
 
 Within the natural world gratuitous pain 
 Nowhere appears, though opportunities 
 Stand all around ; for every moment's life 
 Is hedged by changeless laws inexorable. 
 Whose operation and accomplishment 
 Demand the balancing of particles 
 Minute beyond our thought, adjustment nice, 
 And delicate commingling. E'en the air,
 
 90 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Most salutary, whence supplies arc drawn 
 Of fuel for the hidden fires of life, 
 If but few atoms more or less be mixed, 
 Becomes mephitic, and death's messenger. 
 Science reveals that man, poor, feeble man, 
 With all his pride and boasted sovereignty. 
 Lies at the mercy of a molecule ! 
 
 Pain is the hedge of life ; the sentinel 
 Whose quick alarm wakens the garrison 
 To rally for the citadel's defence. 
 While hope remains : its function is discharged 
 I f hope to save th' organic structure fail. 
 The lethal injury that crushes through 
 The outworks of sensation, overleaps 
 The bounds of feeling. Is not here a glimpse 
 Of mercy in the ordinance of pain ? 
 Danger were armed with power ten-thousandfold 
 Had we not this resistance, and this frame. 
 This curiously-compacted tenement 
 Of clay, would open lie to many a stroke, 
 And, unexpected, yield to sable death. 
 At the first summons of its dreadful trump. 
 
 If in the physical frame preservative. 
 Highest ulterior moral ends are wrought 
 By human suffering. To save from loss, 
 From detriment, and depravation slow 
 Of higher spiritual powers, more wisely feared 
 Than injury to this material frame, 
 Howe'er severe, t' induce the love of truth. 
 And upward seeking of the mind that spurns 
 Short-lived advantages, may justify
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 91 
 
 The stern decree of pain. By Herod's throne 
 The unseen angel stood, and smote in wrath 
 The towering superstructure of his pride. 
 So pain, God's servitor of darkened face. 
 Unwelcome visitor, humbles the proud, 
 Lifts glory's splendid pall to show beneath 
 The crawling worm, the dusty ways of death. 
 The strong man whimpers as a girl ; the proud 
 Now groans as though he mocked his misery, 
 Forgets his full-blown vanities wherewith 
 He skimmed the deep before the prosperous gale. 
 Now derelict, stripped to bare poles and driven, 
 Lashed and accursed across the wintry foam, 
 Laughed at by every echo, and reduced 
 To the strait limits of the common lot. 
 Is it not well to disenchant the dupe, 
 Fortune's poor fool, the visionary led 
 By the deluding semblances of things ? 
 If the next life resemble this, no need ; 
 But if that man would know himself in truth. 
 Not walk in dreams but 'mid realities. 
 With life's all-potent facts concern himself, 
 The hand that tears the mask aside and shows 
 The truth of things, is still a friendly hand. 
 
 Pain is full oft the punishment of sin, 
 Mute retribution ; distant the offence, 
 Forgotten, or foreshortened in the past. 
 The misty background of our vanishing years. 
 In darkness of oblivion man would hide 
 His now rejected and corrupting dead ; 
 Dead sins, once loved, but now disowned and loathed.
 
 92 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 'Tis written, in the plainest characters, 
 
 That God must punish sin ; no frigid, blind, 
 
 Indifferent Deity is He, a God 
 
 Of truth and holiness, too good to spare 
 
 Th' unpurged, to tolerate iniquity. 
 
 Hence sends He sorrow on its dreaded path ; 
 
 Slow-footed Nemesis, laggard in youth, 
 
 Trips the swift fugitive, the fleetest runner 
 
 Balks, and in grip of pain the culprit feels 
 
 His self-wrought bitterness. Into his bones. 
 
 Shattering the physical frame, the vengeance goes, 
 
 And in the echoes dread the sinner hears. 
 
 All tremblingly, the doom retributive, 
 
 Unpurged transgression punished, punishing. 
 
 The handmaid of repentance, when it brings 
 
 Consideration just, contrition deep. 
 
 And upward turning thoughts to Him who bare 
 
 The bruise of our transgression, pain becomes 
 
 No longer pain but welcome suffering. 
 
 Life's duties left undone, the debtor quakes. 
 
 Fearing the solemn audit, the arrest 
 
 By stern, gray bailiff time, who claims man's goods, 
 
 His all, and will eject him in the night. 
 
 Death's bitter night, homeless and penniless. 
 
 Pain, like the sculptor's chisel, shapes the soul 
 To nobler form and fairer destinies. 
 Were it not thus, that by the pricks and stings. 
 Nettles and thorns, hidden entangling briers. 
 And numberless perplexities of life. 
 Our drowsy lagging purposes were galled. 
 Our earnestness were roused, loitering along
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 93 
 
 Life's road should we be found, too well content 
 
 With present satisfaction e'er to lift 
 
 The eye to future good, till life's brief day 
 
 Should darken ere our journey was half done. 
 
 The hand that from the growing sapling tears 
 
 The strangling parasite, acts to best ends ; 
 
 The knife, keen-edged, alas ! too keen, that lops 
 
 The rank exuberance of too lusty life, 
 
 And the maimed stock or the scarred branches decks 
 
 With richer clusters, is but edged with love. 
 
 When time has bruised its poppies o'er our wounds, 
 
 And lulled the sorrow of the grieving heart, 
 
 Even in the darkness of our pain we see 
 
 Tender consideration of our God. 
 
 Too well He loves the creatures He has formed, 
 
 Too carefully He gardens these fair plants 
 
 That grow within His paradise, to give 
 
 One pang of suffering gratuitous. 
 
 To prove, to hinder, to reform, such ends 
 
 Our sorrows serve, working our highest good. 
 
 Not stigmatising those who grieve, as marks 
 
 Of wrath divine : but are they gifts of love. 
 
 'Tis mercy all, though dimly seen, though hard 
 
 To be received ; the hand that mars our joy 
 
 Will yet be seen to be a hand of love. 
 
 The love compulsive that through suffering seeks 
 Man's good, and makes the evils manifold 
 And sharp that bristle round life's path conduce 
 To highest ends, designs our happiness. 
 Pleasure abounds on earth, if rightly sought. 
 And Nature's manifest intentions marked ;
 
 94 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Lies level to the common run of men, 
 Though sought in high romance ; for happiness 
 From duty springs, simplicity of life. 
 From virtue, source prolific ! thought and deed 
 Conjoined, to all accessible and free : 
 Not like the exotic, beautiful but frail, 
 Safe shielded from the common blasts that blow 
 Through this rough world, with shivering petals fair, 
 Nursed 'mid conventionalities and taught 
 To lean on every help, 'mid luxuries 
 Impatient, with its own dissatisfied. 
 Craving for that which lies beyond its reach. 
 Few are the real essential wants of man : 
 Plain, wholesome food, and vigorous exercise ; 
 The open air ; rest after honest toil ; 
 The free possession of our faculties. 
 Unhampered by disease ; to look upon 
 The open face of Nature in her smiles, 
 And feel her calming and subduing power ; 
 Oft from the noisy world to turn aside 
 To the Indulgence of sweet silent thoughts. 
 Commerce with beauty, and all holy things ; 
 Nor vintage like the sweet thyme-scented air 
 Upon the hills, bright sunshine, restful peace, 
 Whereof deep draughts the thirsty spirit drinks ; 
 The earnest diligence of active life ; 
 The temperate enjoyment of the good 
 That lies within the reach of every hour ; 
 These give the scope he seeks ; the strength he needs ; 
 Kind thoughts, kind deeds for others : thus speeds by 
 The happy life, that, like a hidden brook
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 95 
 
 Among the woods, singing a constant song 
 That with the pleasant forest echoes blends, 
 Where blooms the violet, and soft spring rains 
 Whisper their music in the growing grass ; 
 Refreshment brings through all its varied course. 
 Faithful to present duty, nourishing thoughts 
 Noblest and most ambitious, kindling hopes, 
 Celestial aspirations, larger aims 
 Of which the world knows not ; with things divine 
 Humbly familiar, though with chastened awe 
 And reverence profound ; upheld by grace, 
 And the disposing of entrusted powers, 
 Faithful expenditure of talents given. 
 So with composure he can watch the light 
 Slow fading in his peaceful western sky, 
 Watch the oncomino- of death's solemn nioht. 
 
 Labour, man's primal curse, may blessing prove ; 
 Set to due limits, and by thoughts redeemed 
 Of higher destinies and nobler ends ; 
 Its coronal of sweat, and aching limbs. 
 Tired thews, and weariness, and rub of use, 
 Wrestlings incessant with the stubborn soil, 
 Or passionate ocean with its treacherous strength, 
 Work ends beneficent, enriching life. 
 Inaction brings its punishment; the powers 
 Unbraced by conflict or endeavour keen, 
 Unpurgcd by exercise, will lose their force, 
 And waste their energy ; till, like the stream 
 That from its banks wanders in miry wastes, 
 Finding base sluggishness, corruption, death, 
 The croaking marsh, polluted waters foul,
 
 96 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Home of all slimy and unsightly things, 
 
 The life of sloth will contradict its end. 
 
 Man owes the world his toil : forming a part 
 
 Of this great scheme, the labouring winds, rain-clouds, 
 
 That trail their hair-like tresses o'er the fields, 
 
 The hurrying streams, or delving frosts, or dews 
 
 All copious 'neath the mantling drowsy night. 
 
 The secret ministry of light and heat, 
 
 The quick prolific agency that strikes 
 
 Through the dull womb of earth these sparks of life, 
 
 Upward to meet the sun with flowers and fruit. 
 
 Claims he to take his place at Nature's board, 
 
 To quaff the sparkling cup of joy, and feel 
 
 The farthest fibre of his frame to thrill 
 
 With joy of being ? Nature claims his strength, 
 
 And calls him to take part in this great scheme 
 
 Of glad activity, earnest to fetch 
 
 The fee of life. Heaven's usury, from his toil ; 
 
 To fill unthinkingly the passing hour. 
 
 Pour from the deep recesses of his soul 
 
 The refluent tide of energy, that moulds 
 
 To profitable ends of fruitful thought 
 
 Or honest labour. Nature scrupulous 
 
 Repays the sluggard in his own base coin 
 
 Of sluggishness, starves him 'mid plenty's hoard. 
 
 And to the weevils and the maggots gives 
 
 The store of earth's abundance it denies 
 
 To avarice. Pleasure on labour waits. 
 
 The brisk and perfumed hours of morn, with flowers 
 
 All redolent, that from night's dewy cells 
 
 Have brought new fragrance, melodies of birds
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 97 
 
 Ringing from hedgerows, coppices, and woods, 
 Red tilth, or cowslip fields, or orchards white. 
 In re-attempted songs, as hopeful yet 
 To reach the culminating point of joy, 
 The glow of life, the sense of peace and strength, 
 And all the morning's fresh and fragrant bloom. 
 With song of lark and glitter of the dew, 
 And acquiescence in the ordinance 
 Of Nature, these are his who early spurns 
 The couch luxurious, and the dull suspense 
 Of powers bemused in sleep's uncertain world. 
 And goes with gladness forth to welcome toil, 
 Devising, or with vigorous resolve 
 Effecting what th' inventive mind commands. 
 The labourer girt to work, finds buoyancy 
 And relish of exertion, he knows not, 
 Society's domestic, who has toiled 
 The livelong night in the gay ballroom's glare, 
 To find enjoyment in the giddy dance. 
 And found it not. Work, honourable toil, 
 Moves the machinery of the physical frame, 
 Clears the phlegmatic humours from each sluice. 
 Drives from the sky of care its gathered clouds ; 
 The flaccid muscle soon regains its tone, 
 The nerves lost vigour, while through ducts, canals. 
 Innumerable, that irrigate the field 
 Of physical life, now swifter currents fiow, 
 Bearing due sustenance to every part, 
 And lending to the whole free, vigorous power, 
 Gracing the action of th' informing life. 
 Blessed be God who hath created toil ! 
 
 li
 
 98 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 There is a pleasure in mere exercise 
 Of natural gifts, strength physical, or power 
 Creative, shrined in mystery of life. 
 That hails exultingly the dawning thought, 
 And moulds it to completion's perfect shape ; 
 To build aloft some orlorious fane of sons: 
 To shape a nation's ends ; or deep imprint 
 Upon the mind and memory of the race 
 Thoughts luminous, prolific of high deeds, 
 Deeds of stern mastery, bring solemn joy. 
 The arm that swings the forest-clearing axe, 
 Or hand that checks amid the gathering storm 
 The jerking helm upon a whitened sea. 
 Reins in the steed, or through the furrow drives 
 The ploughshare, thrill the mastering soul. 
 
 Toil sweetens rest. Through the hot quivering day. 
 With legs astride, swinging the crooked scythe 
 The mower plies his task ; but evening comes, 
 And in his cottage porch where roses climb. 
 He sits at dusk, his youngest on his knee. 
 While, overhead, within its wicker cage 
 The thrush, eyeing the crimson west, pours forth 
 Its last and sweetest song of all the day. 
 There is a pleasure in cessation, in 
 The pause of absolute rest, that soft unlocks 
 The muscles tense, the strained and o'erwrought nerves, 
 Not less unwelcome than the glad rebound 
 With which the spirit plies a welcome task. 
 
 Nor is man's life one dull unvarying tramp. 
 Pleasure is linked with change ; variety. 
 New sights, new sounds, awake new interests,
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 99 
 
 Expand, and with instruction store the mind ; 
 And all insensibly. The eye that long 
 Has grown familiar with some well-known scene 
 Of quiet English beauty, hedgerows, fields 
 With daisied undulations, or of plains, 
 Meadows with bordering elms, or furzy heaths, 
 Seems like another sense, when now it looks 
 On alpine landscapes, towering mountain heights. 
 Snow-clad, ethereal against the sky, 
 Blue lakes, torrents that from the glacier steal 
 And with wild echoes every valley fill. 
 Pastures of dazzling green, and fringing pines, 
 Heights, depths, where death and desolation dwell. 
 
 Sleep is the gift of God, the gift of love, 
 Sabbath of sickness, anodyne of pain. 
 How beautiful the mild forgetfulness. 
 Brief, temporary death, oblivion short. 
 That with its placid waters makes each day, 
 Howe'er perplexing and laborious. 
 An island rounded off with gentle peace. 
 With gentle peace enclosed in gentlest guise. 
 Were it not thus, the overburdened mind 
 Bearing its fast accumulating cares 
 Would sink beneath the load ; the heart o'erwrought, 
 Eager to reach the goal of its desire, 
 Like the spent steed, would fall this side the mark. 
 The priceless opportunities of life 
 Are slowly measured to us, piece by piece, 
 That we more carefully may mark and gauge 
 The character and texture of our work, 
 Amend its errors, and adjust its aims.
 
 loo THE MORNING SONG. , 
 
 The day is closing with its sanguine skies, 
 
 Like shining petals of the evening flower 
 
 Shutting in gloom : art thou dissatisfied 
 
 With this brief section of thy mortal life ? 
 
 Few can reflect with pleasure unalloyed 
 
 E'en on so short a fragment as a day. 
 
 Amendment waits repentance ; help is near. 
 
 Turn with regret sincere, in strength Divine 
 
 Frame thy resolves, determine yet again ; 
 
 Beneath night's brooding shadow rest awhile ; 
 
 Thy former ineffectual attempts 
 
 Forget, and aims imperfect, true, though foiled : 
 
 Wait thou in patience the blue hours' return, 
 
 And strive once more. The Observer of thy path 
 
 All-merciful, like some fond parent seems, 
 
 Who to the staggering child he dearly loves 
 
 Sets but a journey of a dozen steps. 
 
 Short stage, with many a cherupping word, sweet smile, 
 
 And fond encouragement : so for thy good 
 
 The little life of twelve short hours is given. 
 
 Use well thy chance, nor stain the spotless page 
 
 Of that brief register, with thy mistakes. 
 
 With murmuring, and petulance, and sin. 
 
 O'er the wide world, on good and bad alike, 
 Descends the mercifulness of gentle sleep. 
 Impartial night, that shrouds with low-browed gloom 
 The cloaked assassin, shrouds his victim too. 
 O shadowy land ! where the unworthy rests 
 Unconscious of his guilt, the wicked soul 
 Is stripped of its poor rags of wickedness. 
 And in the innocence of sleep is dressed.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. loi 
 
 The king forgets the majesty of state 
 
 Wherewith his pride is robed, nor of his throne, 
 
 Ambition's pinnacle, nor sceptre dreams, 
 
 Nor sweeter sleeps upon his bed of down, 
 
 Within his palace, watched by sentinels. 
 
 Than the poor vagrant on the barn straw laid, 
 
 Who, all unconscious of his neediness. 
 
 Has slept a-hungry, and of banquets dreamed. 
 
 And dreamed himself a king. The judge puts off 
 
 His ermine, and unbends the heavy brow 
 
 That weiofhed a mortal's fate. The criminal 
 
 Condemned, who watched with anguished eye the light 
 
 Fade from the thick-barred windows of his cell. 
 
 Looking with apprehension to the dawn, 
 
 A temporary refuge finds in sleep. 
 
 The cleft of night's great rock, dreams of the past, 
 
 Of innocent boyhood dreams, mayhap, of hope, 
 
 Of self-respect, and liberty free-limbed. 
 
 The merchant from the tempest of his cares 
 
 Has harbour found, and sees before the gale 
 
 Ride prosperous his safe-returning fleet. 
 
 With sails gold-burnished in the evening sun, 
 
 Though the tusked rocks and churning foam have torn 
 
 And swallowed up entire his venture fair ; 
 
 Unconscious one ! Over the mighty crowds. 
 
 The sorrowing, toiling millions, master, man, 
 
 The tyrant and the slave, a sabbath rest 
 
 Falls with the night. The voice of harsh command 
 
 Ceases awhile ; the taskmaster has dropped 
 
 His biting thong ; the anvil rests silent, 
 
 Unsmitten, and the plough unyoked, nor flics 
 
 bi
 
 T02 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The busy shuttle through the clattering loom. 
 
 Even the sufferers are still ; for sleep 
 
 With gentle hand has soothed the sick man's pain, 
 
 And in his dreams, in rude and sunburnt health 
 
 Of lusty youth, again he bounds along 
 
 The thymy hillside, hearing, as of yore, 
 
 The shining swallow twittering in the sun. 
 
 The brooklet's fall, the hum of bees. Their pains 
 
 Awhile forgot, the sufferers moveless lie. 
 
 As snowdrifts on the wide and wintry plain. 
 
 Now rests the wounded heart that through the day 
 
 Has dragged a numbed existence wearily, 
 
 And wished for death ; the desolate soul bereaved, 
 
 O'erwhelmed with grief, its loss first realised. 
 
 Finds Its beloved in the world of dreams. 
 
 Forgets for a brief space bereavement's pangs. 
 
 Forgets its hot salt tears ; its pain is dulled ; 
 
 The sympathetic touch of gentle sleep, 
 
 Like to a mother's kiss, has smoothed the face, 
 
 Unfolded every wrinkle, hushed each sob. 
 
 Even the maniac rests ; the stormy brain 
 
 Distraught by terrible fancies, from its depths 
 
 Calls forth no more its images of dread : 
 
 The moonlit corridors are still ; no shriek, 
 
 No sob, startles the ear or chills the soul. 
 
 Ah ! beautiful is sleep, sweet, kindly sleep, 
 Respite, brief death, the hollow of God's hand. 
 Balmy forgetfulness mild restful ease, 
 Dusky seclusion, reason's twilight dim. 
 Each day's Hesperia rich in golden fruit. 
 Around whose mystic shore old Nereus throws
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 103 
 
 His vexed waves with echoes all in vain, 
 Dim-veiled majestic night, thy handmaid, waits, 
 O sleep, thine almoner, to go with thee, 
 Soft-sandalled on thine embassy of love, 
 To wipe the bitter tear, to lull the breast, 
 Befriend the friendless, and the mourner cheer. 
 Sleep builds the waste, the battlements of life 
 Pulled down by busy care's destructive hand ; 
 Sleep with its full and rocking tide flows in. 
 Obliterates the hoof-marks of despair. 
 Commits to vast oblivion's depths our shame, 
 And gives the morn the smooth and shining strand. 
 
 Among the proud traditions of our race 
 The proudest runs that man was made like God. 
 Over his primal beauty there have passed 
 The blight of sin, the baleful shade of death, 
 Till man is but a ruin of himself ; 
 Yet ruined, desolate, still yielding proof 
 Of high original. Here in the book 
 Of human nature the reflective mind. 
 With clearness, like to that which rests upon 
 The page revealed, can read what man has been, 
 What God would have him be ; how He regards 
 The creature He has formed in His own image. 
 Wondrous unfathomable mystery ! 
 The creature man, our own familiar selves : 
 Involving contradictions infinite; 
 Ambition vast, yet grovelling as the mole ; 
 At once a god, and yet the slave of slaves ; 
 The servitor of passion, reason's judge ; 
 Truckling with Satan, yet with bended knee
 
 I04 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Fealty declaring to the Will Supreme ; 
 
 Pawning for wretched sops his noblest pride, 
 
 Buying earth's tinsel, yet relinquishing 
 
 Without a sigh his brightest jewel hopes. 
 
 The heir of immortality, time's slave ! 
 
 In virtue affluent, or, pitiful, 
 
 The pauper soul, that from its tyrant lusts 
 
 Begs for an alms, nor feels its own disgrace : 
 
 How capable of power, of happiness. 
 
 Invested with the faculty divine 
 
 Of reason, and the upward-seeking thoughts 
 
 Of purity with their severe constraints. 
 
 Yet welcome as the path to godlikeness ; 
 
 For though we oft complain of life's sore loads. 
 
 And the strait limits of our narrow path, 
 
 Wishing that we might choose our lot, might rise 
 
 And shake us free from these sore Pfallinof chains 
 
 o o 
 
 Of present circumstance, yet Thou, O Lord, 
 Hast given, if not the choice of fortune, choice 
 Of character, what persons we would be ; 
 In highest form and effort of freewill, 
 How good, how godlike, merciful, and true ; 
 Nor limits hast Thou set to this grand range 
 Of goodness, truth, fidelity, and love : 
 Man's truest beauty as his truest wealth. 
 For commerce with a world of things external 
 Husk, frond, and scarf, outward betokening 
 Of inward life, not yet the essences. 
 The hidden life equipped to know, first steps 
 To ampler knowledge of sublimer sort 
 And intimate acquaintance with pure truth,
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 105 
 
 Immediate blending, energy transfused, 
 
 Moulding the soul to issues ultimate : 
 
 Our life not in one single function spent, 
 
 But with resources of our being ample ; 
 
 Here placed in this dim tenement of clay 
 
 Wherein may stream, through media interposed, 
 
 The effluence and imaofes of thino-s 
 
 Remote, at best but indistinctly seen. 
 
 Yet potent to awake the slumbering powers, 
 
 And fashion to immortal destinies. 
 
 Here pass, as through the portals of the mind, 
 
 If wisdom and discrimination true 
 
 Keep sentinel, the riches of the world. 
 
 Best things of earth, and free to all earth's sons. 
 
 The tribute of this wide material scene 
 
 To Heaven's vicegerent paid, the gold of truth. 
 
 Fine gold, uncankered, incorruptible. 
 
 And the rich harvestings of beauty's fields, 
 
 Pearls from reflection's depths, gems from the mine 
 
 Of wisdom, by incessant labour won ; 
 
 Here traitors pass, if prurient fancy yield 
 
 The king's highway, a heart that loves too well 
 
 The night of ignorance, too readily gives 
 
 Ingress and welcome to suggestions, sights. 
 
 Forbidden to the purer spiritual eye ; 
 
 Foul traitors of the soul, temptations dark, 
 
 Though vested as the messengers of light. 
 
 Alas ! that through the soul's high temple porch. 
 
 Lust's foul incentives, hateful forms of sin. 
 
 Or aught that might not swell the choiring powers, 
 
 Or kindle to diviner height the tlame
 
 ro6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of true devotion's ecstasy, should pass, 
 To desecrate the temple of the soul. 
 
 Yet man, this speck of insignificance, 
 This tiny emmet on the world's huge mass, 
 Itself, amid the universe of worlds, 
 A twinkling point, yet man down angel paths 
 Can gaze, and to the human eye is given 
 So glorious range, to see the endless maze 
 Of worlds unnumbered, yea, a universe. 
 To the tent door the voice of God still seems 
 To call the mind reflective, thence to gaze 
 Into the glorious starlit gulf of night, 
 And from earth's threshold insignificant 
 The greatness of infinity survey. 
 
 Quick to distinguish form, graceful or rude, 
 Gigantic or minute, the difference 
 Of varying colours, how the ready eye 
 Reaps its swift harvest in the changing field 
 Of wondrous vision, now with distant worlds 
 Conversing, then with earth, compacted fair 
 Of wide extremes, built up of kindly love ; 
 The twinkling dewdrop's prism upon the bent, 
 Or glowworm with its sphere of gold green light 
 Amid the dewy grass, or giant pine, 
 Wrestling with merciless and ruffian blasts, 
 Or the red lightning in the quivering clouds ; 
 The ear that serves without being asked, and 
 
 notes 
 The cricket's chirp, or thunder's cavalcade. 
 As movement of innumerable hosts. 
 Swift to obey, as messenger of thought,
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 107 
 
 These bring significant echoes from without, 
 And patient sit and wait at reason's door. 
 
 Reflection's magic faculty conjoins 
 With the perceptive power, enriching life. 
 The scene removes, its loveliness remains. 
 The wizard mind calls from the past abyss 
 Dead thoughts again to tread the silent stage. 
 React their parts, with voice inaudible 
 And shadowy action of the pithless limbs, 
 Tricked in brave colours of reality, 
 Then move in slow procession to the bourn 
 Of things forgotten, or detained before 
 The gaze contemplative ; the grossness gone, 
 Reality's keen edge and commonness 
 Removed, a tenderness is flung o'er all, 
 A grace th' original had not, or, perchance, 
 Not guessed, from superficial view concealed. 
 Thus gifted to review in stern assize 
 Past actions, of their quality to judge. 
 The motive gauge and its sincerity. 
 To see in juster light life's meaner acts, 
 Unworthinesses indistinctly seen 
 In heat of action, or perhaps despised. 
 To hold to inward reprobation stern, 
 Gather the slackened reins with firmer grasp, 
 And reattempt the goal with steadier eye, 
 Seems it not merciful to put the past 
 I n fee to fallible mortals ? thus t' afford 
 A glimpse, ere the inexorable page 
 For ever close from view, that from regret 
 Resolve may come ? What sign more evident
 
 io8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of thoughtfulness, than that which would prolong 
 The pleasures of the past in shadowy form, 
 That the reflective soul might chew the cud 
 Of meditation, and extract from thence 
 The lurking sweetness unperceived at first. 
 
 Thus musing on the awful power that hides 
 Within the secret cells, recesses dark 
 Of our mysterious being, all the words. 
 The facts of life inextricably part 
 Of human character, by recklessness 
 Imported, or by culpable default, 
 Inwoven by the loom of things, the powers 
 Mechanical, agents that work around 
 Unconsciously, and unsuspected shape 
 To other ends, the doubt may gather form. 
 Whether a greater love would not have sought 
 To obliterate past inefficiency. 
 By dropping in th' abyss follies and sins 
 Unregistered. This, Lord, is known to Thee, 
 And all our future all unknown to us. 
 And Thou 'st in wisdom otherwise decreed. 
 We are but shadows of our former selves ; 
 We are but shadows of our future selves ; 
 The thwartinof hand of sin has fallen across 
 The spiritual mechanism, and has turned 
 The higher capabilities of man 
 From their original. Dimly we guess 
 What heights sublime man might unfallen have reached, 
 Had not the daring eager wings been clipped 
 Of his most godlike power, imprisoning him 
 To base and lower uses of the world.
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. 109 
 
 The soul unspotted, undefaced by sin, 
 In memory would have found a treasure-house 
 Of all the choicest pleasures of the past. 
 Now, unillumined by celestial light, 
 That ray benignant from a farther shore, 
 The trembling consciousness too often shrinks, 
 Nor dares the portal of the catacombs 
 Of memory, the graveyard of the past. 
 
 Like to some ruined temple, such as give 
 To Nile's green marge or Libya's yellow sands 
 Pathetic beauty ; columns, architraves 
 Stupendous, capitals and pediments 
 All strewn as if an earthquake's hand had wrecked 
 Their symmetry ; by their own ruins dark. 
 Or dimly seen, the narthex yet intact, 
 Or by the torch's lurid gleam, or ray 
 Of noonday sun made visible, where gleam 
 Paintings grotesque and quaint, in pigments fresh. 
 Of dread Anubis crowned with jackal's head 
 Leading dead souls to great Osiris' bar. 
 Defunct conventionalities, revealed 
 But meaningless, yet clothed with sanctity, 
 As having once expressed the deepest thoughts, 
 Strange and unspeakable, the hopes of men. 
 The faith, the fears of the forgotten dead 
 Now tombed in pyramid, or mountain-side, 
 Or desert sand, sleeping beneath the crook 
 Of stern Osiris, Thoth, or Horus fierce ; 
 Ruined man lies. Is Lethe but a dream ? 
 Or shall the soul through death's lustration rise 
 Purged of defilement in the memory ?
 
 no THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Yet, even now, in this disjointed state, 
 
 When like a wayward child the errant will 
 
 Gathers its useless weeds and wayside flowers, 
 
 And in forgetfulness the petals picks 
 
 And strews them to the wind, the virtuous glean 
 
 Rich golden ears in Nature's bounteous field, 
 
 To bear their patiently collected sheaf 
 
 When peaceful evening calls them to their home. 
 
 For happiness, Thy creatures Thou hast formed, 
 O God, and when this great design they miss, 
 'Tis by traversing the conditions plain 
 That shape their lot. Still art Thou found on earth. 
 Not 'mid the verdant glades of Paradise, 
 But in this gloomy sin-disordered world, 
 Too oft Thy blest propinquity unknown. 
 For life is full of sweet divine arrests. 
 Love's gentle hands, 'gainst which we dare not strive. 
 Yet like the sighing of the autumnal wind 
 Through yellowing woods, so through the lettered world 
 Escapes the sigh of disappointment. Man 
 Knows not his proper good. Thou art our good ; 
 The path of Thy commandments is the path 
 Where man may meet with Thee ; and he who seeks 
 With resolution firm and filial care 
 Shall find, amid familiar common scenes 
 Of modern life, all too mechanical, 
 'Mid Nature's shifting ever-pleasant gleams. 
 Him who has made us and who loves us well ! 
 For we are Thine, O Lord, and like the flowers 
 That offer up their beauty to the sun 
 That called them into beinof, these our lives
 
 THE SONG OF SORROW. iii 
 
 Should we to Thy great honour dedicate. 
 
 The burden that majestically rolls 
 
 Down the long colonnade of bygone years, 
 
 The anthem of the generations past, 
 
 Experience of the wisest and the best, 
 
 The worthiest of our race, religion's theme, 
 
 And theme of Nature's psalm : " To every man 
 
 The Lord is loving ; tender mercy rests 
 
 O'er all His works," Love everywhere has writ 
 
 Its mystic language ; this fair spacious world, 
 
 Blue canopied, and the all-glorious sun. 
 
 And sweeping wind, and fresh reviving air. 
 
 The leaping wave that sparkles in the light. 
 
 Night's solemn spectacle of fretted fire. 
 
 The imperial azure of infinity, 
 
 Each star that shines, each note of sweetness dropped, 
 
 Each flower that blooms, with simple eloquence 
 
 Tell their evangel, and to listening souls 
 
 Proclaim our God to be a God of love ! 
 
 *-*^A, '■■^:^ J%'J>'' 
 
 i?*#f>? gk;*>) s^i^''- 
 
 T -^5' T
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH 
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 Whence came love's natural ties ? — The pleasant land of childhood — Early 
 associations with the dawn and springtime — Man changes but the 
 natural scene remains — Boys' voices at play — The child spirit lives — 
 Sweetness of life — Deliberate aim in life necessary — The mountain 
 path — What has man to do upon the earth? — Emptiness of life 
 without purpose — Our life is what we make it — The noblest style of 
 life — Nature's neutrality — The noontide surge of trees — The ruined 
 banqueting hall — Friendship — The spectre of evil example — The 
 foam track of the ship at night — Married love — The wife's jewels — 
 Love's paradise regained — Home touches the heart — The calm 
 mountain lake — The Canadian emigrant — Home always beautiful — 
 Round the hearth — Winter evening home scene — Sickness — The face 
 of the dead — Grievousness of death — The pillars on which home 
 happiness rests — Religious associations with home — A summer 
 Sabbath remembered — Sweetness of the children's love — Angel faces 
 through the dusk — Influence of children on their parents — The 
 bereavements of time — Where are the children gone ? — Love of 
 country — English miserable homes — What may be done — Appeal to 
 Christian statesmen — The golden dream — Time a second deluge — 
 Good deeds engraven on most enduring material — Time saps man's 
 strength — The cliff undermined — Great law of change — The closing 
 scene.
 
 BOOK THE FOURTH. 
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 OW will I sing of things all beautiful ; 
 Of fair humanity and its bright hopes 
 And brighter promises ; of human love, 
 The sweetest fruit of earthly paradise, 
 Prolific source of human happiness, 
 The proof and pledge of a sublimer love, 
 
 Which, all embracing in its tenderness, 
 
 Looks through each glance, speaks through each gentle 
 word 
 
 Of soft endearment, tells in each caress 
 
 Of a diviner tenderness and care. 
 
 O dear mysterious bonds, that link the soul 
 
 To kindred souls in blest captivity ! 
 
 The attractions of this mortal life ye bring, 
 
 And compensation for woes manifold. 
 
 Whence came these natural ties ? What chance produced 
 
 These tender charities ? This loving care, 
 
 And yearning sympathy of human souls,
 
 ii6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Clinging affection and confiding trust, 
 
 Sprang they from savage instincts dumbly led 
 
 To these high issues ? Nay ; from love love came, 
 
 Man's tenderness from tenderness divine ; 
 
 For Thou, O Lord, wouldst win our lingering love 
 
 By the soft words, the smiles, and gentle tones 
 
 Of those we dearly love ; Thy gospel this 
 
 That Thou wouldst have us read, Thy blest evangel. 
 
 For it is love alone that can unlock 
 
 The mysteries of love ; the summer blows 
 
 For love, for love the world its brightness wears. 
 
 And all its varied prospects give delight. 
 
 Wakening our busy hopes. The frosty heart, 
 
 Dimly discerning through its own cold gloom, 
 
 Finds desolation, neither can perceive 
 
 The sanctity and glory of our life, 
 
 With its divine relations. Give, O Love 
 
 Supreme, the seeing eye, the accepting heart. 
 
 O pleasant land of childhood, fairy realm, 
 The Eden of the individual life. 
 How oft to thee fond recollection turns 
 In its far exile with but vain regrets ! 
 The bounding pulse, the spirits glad and high. 
 The nimble fancy in its vivid play, 
 That from materials slight would build a world 
 All beautiful, these wrought their charm. Bright hope 
 O'erarched the path of life with rainbow hues. 
 Life was a holiday, and gentle peace 
 The welcome pillow smoothed for sweetest sleep ; 
 Not yet had care wrinkled the brow, nor cast 
 O'er the fair morning sky a sullen gloom,
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 117 
 
 Nor pale disease so filled with boding fears 
 
 The present moment till that life but seemed 
 
 An endless vista darkening into nieht. 
 
 The hurry and the bustle and the tramp, 
 
 Anxieties, responsibilities. 
 
 The ceaseless exigence of barking cares 
 
 Not yet had trooped to exclude the larger thoughts, 
 
 Thoughts beyond earth, and yearnings indistinct 
 
 Earth cannot satisfy. Fair was the world 
 
 With its new pleasures opening up around. 
 
 Sights, sounds, familiar grown, now trivial. 
 
 Had then peculiar charm. The opening dawn. 
 
 In all its glorious golden mystery, 
 
 That through the curtained chamber windows crept ; 
 
 The crow of early morning cock ; the song 
 
 Of carolling lark mounting aloft to heaven ; 
 
 Fresh smell of cowslips, or the primrose faint. 
 
 Or daisy with meek look of wonderment ; 
 
 And all the pleasures sweet and new what time 
 
 The budding lilacs and the cawing rooks 
 
 Told that mild spring with lengthening days was 
 
 near; 
 The mossy nest with its blue spotted eggs. 
 Seen in the hawthorn hedge ; or crow's hoarse note, 
 Heard o'er the furrows of the fresh ploughed field ; 
 Or corncrake in the crimson glimmering eve, 
 Heard in the mowing grass, or whirring wings 
 Of startled partridges among the corn ; 
 A happy world it seemed and framed for joy. 
 Keenly alive, the quick intelligent mind 
 Was conscious of the beauty all around,
 
 ii8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Not threadworn, faded, and familiar grown, 
 But the fair vesture of the daily life. 
 
 Thus onward move our days ; thus moves the world, 
 In fluctuation fixed ; all unimpaired 
 The beauty of the natural scene remains. 
 Years pass ; the cock still by the hillside crows ; 
 Morn dawns, eve dies, the rustling autumn comes ; 
 The furze-bush crackles in the midday sun ; 
 The blackbird flutes upon the fitful breeze. 
 And the white-breasted swallow skims the fields ; 
 The sunlight from the dewy clover drinks, 
 And still the world is fresh, still bright and fair. 
 The past becomes the pathos of the present. 
 Now through the trees, boys' voices at their play 
 Are heard, recalling boyhood's days. Once more 
 The listener is a boy again. Once more 
 The arm swings the swift cricket bat, the feet 
 Scarce touch the dusty sunburnt grass ; the heart 
 Thumps like a hammer ; still the crown of sweat 
 Circles the scarlet brow, and the shrill joy 
 Of boyish victory makes the echoes ring. 
 Amid the crowd of customary things 
 Lives the child spirit ; while the fire of youth 
 Lingers and smoulders 'neath the ashes dead 
 Of years gone by, of passions long extinct. 
 Though by conventionalities engirt. 
 Familiar with the world, the willing mind 
 Still loves the clover and the violet. 
 The hedge-rose in the sighing days of June, 
 And pleasant ministry of natural things. 
 Sweet is the clean hillside blown of west winds,
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 119 
 
 Where the white road is edged with sparkling grass 
 
 Washed by the slanting shower ; and sweet the thyme 
 
 That blossoms in the sun upon the hills, 
 
 Where hum the orange velvet bees their tune ; 
 
 And the warm fragrance of the new-mown hay, 
 
 And sweet the fresh clean smell of rustling wheat 
 
 Crackling in th' August sun ; the glorious air, 
 
 The purple hills, the winding river's light, 
 
 Our life, O God, is good, and sweet it is 
 
 To live in this Thy bright and pleasant world. 
 
 As when one climbing some steep mountain side. 
 Where winds the track past yellow-lichened rocks. 
 Or through the blossoming broom and golden moss, 
 Wild mountain lake splashed with the stormy light. 
 Gray desolate slopes where ragged mists updrive 
 And the poised eagle screams to echoes wild. 
 Upward to voiceless heights where mounded clouds 
 Fleecy as wintry snow, surround the path, 
 Reaches at length the gateway of the cliffs. 
 And sees far spread below a prospect wide 
 Of shining stream, dark wood, pasture, and tilth, 
 Where lies his course, pauses to note with care 
 Whither his steps will tend ; so, wisely, youth. 
 Pondering the future with deliberate choice. 
 Seeks the best path ; refusing through the world 
 To go like paltry pedlar with his wares, 
 Selling his powers for earth's poor small returns. 
 But fired with quick ambition, or to know 
 Or do things worthy of his manliness ; 
 Not with the surfaces of things content. 
 But mingling with their meanings, well assured
 
 120 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That Nature does not fool her progeny, 
 
 But to each life assigns its proper end, 
 
 Co-working with the mind intelligent 
 
 That blends its individual purposes 
 
 With her more general aim ; so Nature teaches. 
 
 Stirring the mind, resolving to refuse 
 
 To rustle in the straw of low content, 
 
 In misconception of the rational life, 
 
 But on broad wing to rise, and spend its strength 
 
 To worthiest ends ; like the well-feathered dart 
 
 That flies straight to its mark, the energy 
 
 Of youth must choose and keep its end ; not like 
 
 The drifting leisurely sail, that with the wind 
 
 Goes gadding o'er the crinkled deep, or stops. 
 
 Coquettish like, to dream upon the wave, 
 
 Over her mirrored beauty, helpless toy 
 
 At mercy of the elements. To man 
 
 Is given the power to reach the loftiest ends. 
 
 Ends unperceived but by the thoughtful mind, 
 
 That through the crowd of ordinary things 
 
 With settled purpose makes its steady way. 
 
 Despite necessity, whose towering cliffs 
 
 Oft seem to bar the access to the prow 
 
 Adventurous, till farther vistas ope. 
 
 For in the silence of reflection's hour 
 
 The clamorous voices of distracting cares 
 
 Die off, and duty's solemn voice is heard 
 
 Admonitory ; to the inward eye 
 
 Rise in their due proportion life's great claims, 
 
 Pleading discharge, or to the recreant will 
 
 Give stern rebuke, and prick our negligence.
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 121 
 
 For what hath man to do upon the earth ? 
 To sleep, to eat, to propagate his kind, 
 Dress and undress, to burrow Hke a mole 
 In learning, throwing rubbish heaps to mark 
 The life-track ; seek for poor and trivial joys. 
 Amusement, gold, feather and ribbon aims ; 
 Equipment seek for life, brass for the face, 
 And hinges for the knees, wallet for gain, 
 Destroy the simple wholesomeness of life. 
 And by dull repetition blunt the edge 
 Of fancied happiness grown wearisome ; 
 Get gold, and in the winning spend bright life. 
 Drudge like a mule and blows for labours take ; 
 Beneath a burden nigh intolerable 
 To groan and sweat, yet patiently endure ; 
 Bearing the slow procession of the days. 
 Then, like the autumn sunflower, rot on the stalk ? 
 Had not man's hi8:her nature worthier ends 
 Life were a snare, a bitter mockery. 
 
 Be it for him to seek life's noblest style, 
 Nor grudge to walk the muddy common ways, 
 Bating all niceness, with the end in view ; 
 A life of purity and upward aim, 
 Silent, unconscious as the meekest flower 
 Of its own fragrance and its loveliness ; 
 A life not spent in selfish indolence. 
 Unnerved by soft indulgence, castled round 
 By wealth from all true knowledge of the woes, 
 The common sufferings of our race ; at hand 
 The key of luxury, temptation sore. 
 Perhaps the sorest, and to live for self,
 
 122 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That wretchedest of tasks, to yearn and pine, 
 
 And know not how to spend the golden hours ; 
 
 To have a heart eaten with sinful pride, 
 
 Dissatisfied, that never knows its wants, 
 
 Pride nourished by distinctions brief at best, 
 
 Oft undeserved, that in its selfishness 
 
 Counts it a condescension but to know 
 
 Poor human nature, poor even at the best, 
 
 And sorely needing all the kindliness. 
 
 And all the sympathy that each can give. 
 
 To thine own self be hard ; duty exact. 
 
 And self-denial the concomitant 
 
 Of duty ; but to others lenience show. 
 
 Thus going forth in Christ-like charity. 
 
 True chivalry of soul, by thine own life 
 
 To better this rough world ; not to be served, 
 
 But serve ; and, humbly bending the proud neck, 
 
 Discharge the lowliest duties of thy life 
 
 With highest motives and a meek content, 
 
 Well pleased to serve though but in humblest guise 
 
 Master so great : this were t' enrich the world ; 
 
 Kind, generous, as the silent labouring tide 
 
 That, all unasked, Sweeps on its breast all craft. 
 
 Navies steel-panoplied, or rich galleons. 
 
 Pleasure's light skiff, or the proud merchantman. 
 
 Give to the world a pattern ; there are minds 
 
 With high ambition smit, and fond desire 
 
 To lead a life of purpose, to infuse 
 
 Into the dull familiar daily round 
 
 The highest thoughts, who patterns seek, too oft 
 
 Swayed by the ineffective lives of such
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 123 
 
 As, grasping not the dignity of life, 
 
 Brave the ideal of an office high, 
 
 Complacent, and their narrow round who fill 
 
 With dull familiarity, nor feel 
 
 The observant gaze of yearning minds that crave 
 
 Loftier ideals ; nor in conscience stirred 
 
 Surpassing self to spend on loftier ends 
 
 Life's energies, that die to fructify. 
 
 We mould our life. For thus we are our own. 
 
 And this our life is to us as we make it, 
 
 Full of divinest meaning, or a tale 
 
 Vapid and dull, a spending of the years, 
 
 An unresisted drifting on the tide, 
 
 Swept onward to a destiny unknown. 
 
 For what makes life ? The sweet, the smart ; or pain 
 
 Or pleasure brief; gain, loss ; neglect or care ; 
 
 Reverence, contempt ; hope, fear, or sore regret, 
 
 A tangled web, yet oft with golden threads. 
 
 That through our fingers shape their pattern fair. 
 
 Instant decision life's great purposes 
 
 Demand from early youth, immediate care ; 
 
 Not sowing memory with the seeds of sin, 
 
 Sure there to germinate, and harvest yield. 
 
 Or soon or late, of utter misery. 
 
 Nature revenges on the sluggish powers 
 
 That rise not to her mastery, and show 
 
 Their heavenly origin in their use of earth. 
 
 Fair snow of daisies powders all the sward. 
 The wakening breeze wafts on its gentle wings 
 The smell of hawthorn 'neath the chestnut's bloom. 
 Soft suri^e of trees is swelling to a roar
 
 124 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That dies upon the wind again to rise ; 
 The finch's twitter and the Hnnet's lay- 
 Short broken on the silence of the noon, 
 An oasis of sound, break the still hour. 
 Now art thou one with nature, for the mind, 
 Recipient, lends itself full willingly 
 To all the enchantment of the passing hour ; 
 Anon, the charm is gone, and loneliness, 
 Nature's neutrality, relentless, cold, 
 A drowsy sleepiness, give no response. 
 Nature appears a world far off, distinct, 
 Unsympathising with the sentient mind; 
 Ongoings unconcerned, on which man looks 
 A passing visitor and nothing more. 
 Walk on the sunlit grass, feel the warm beams, 
 And meet the cooling breeze, while treading down 
 The daisies under foot, and think how soon 
 Within death's darkness thou thyself must lie 
 Inactive, though successive Mays shall blush, 
 And breathe their fragrant odours o'er the land. 
 Virtue nor power can battlements upthrow 
 To exclude the invasion of all-conquering time. 
 Rank nettles crowd where ruddy hearthfires gleamed ; 
 And through the ruined banquet-hall of kings 
 The chirping sparrow flies, or, straw in beak, 
 'Mid the groined Gothic builds its ragged nest ; 
 The spider casts its web ; in oriel high. 
 Refulgent once with the ensanguined pane, 
 The vine-stock sways in the wind ; towers, palaces, 
 The glory of the realm, lie in the dust ; 
 Given to the flickering bat and hooting owl.
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 125 
 
 Friendship to youth its choicest pleasures gives ; 
 Nor friends are found Hke to the early friends, 
 Bosom companions, of most secret thoughts 
 Partakers with completest sympathy, 
 Trusted implicitly, though since the heart 
 Oft disappointed, slowly gives its troth ; 
 Like as the early blossoms of the spring, 
 The snowdrop and the hiding violet. 
 Or shivering primrose on its southern bank. 
 That with too ready confidence appear 
 At the first glimpses of the sunbeams warm, 
 And find a bitter welcome in the wind, 
 The dry and chilling air. True friends are found. 
 And from this source, O Lord, hast Thou ordained 
 Some of the purest pleasures of our life 
 To spring. Pathos of love ! the clinging fast 
 Of human souls in the abyss of being. 
 Blending of lives, the interlocking trust, 
 Sense of dependence, and the flow of heart 
 In sympathising with the need of those 
 Framed like ourselves ! Nor thus alone to help. 
 But by most potent force of influence 
 To mould the character and destiny. 
 Kindly to care for all the retinue 
 By Nature chosen to surround our path. 
 And these to love ; for none are locked in sin ; 
 The sad crushed blossom of a wasted youth 
 May bloom again, and yield most precious fruit, 
 For in God's universe the amplest room 
 Exists for good intent, for upward aims, 
 All true ambitions of our native worth,
 
 126 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 For truth, for tenderness, for simple faith. 
 
 For weakness, insignificance ; but none 
 
 For malice, selfishness, and avarice ; 
 
 For hatred, that from ignorance e'er springs. 
 
 None for deceit, and none for tyranny. 
 
 These are permitted by mysterious will 
 
 Of Providence, yet only for a time, 
 
 And in their train the miseries they bring 
 
 Stamp their true character and work their end. 
 
 Not from the moonlit churchyard's solemn shade. 
 Nor midnight's thrilling hour of quaking gloom. 
 Nor aisle, nor catacomb, deserted vault. 
 Come the most dreaded spectres ; fear we more 
 The effects of ill example ; influence past, 
 The shadows of our former selves, old sins 
 Thought lightly of, yet in their hour endued 
 With perpetuity, with power to lure. 
 To entrap unwary souls, and lead the way 
 Down hell's dark path to everlasting woe. 
 O dreadful shades ! mocking our bitter tears, 
 Haunting life's pathway with your purpose fell. 
 Have ye no form, no vulnerable parts } 
 Come forth to light of day that we might see, 
 Might dread you more than gibbering ghost, blue haze 
 Of nightmarsh, skeleton form, or relics drear 
 Mattocked from out the earth ; come forth, and teach 
 How we may curb your fatal influence ; 
 May put a period to your vengeance dread. 
 For as a ship that ploughs the midnight sea 
 Will leave behind a track of foaming light, 
 So in good deeds we live a second life ;
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 127 
 
 Pure influence and works of high intent, 
 
 And tender charities and Godward thoughts 
 
 Will troop to encamp and fill the vacant place 
 
 From whence their author has departed, there 
 
 His memory to cherish, there embalmed 
 
 In lives redeemed, in souls from ruin snatched, 
 
 Dejection, or the sinful weariness 
 
 That wastes the precious energies of life. 
 
 To build for him most glorious sepulchre. 
 
 Friendship's ideal and most perfect height 
 Is reached in love connubial, the type. 
 The emblem pure of a diviner love. 
 A woman's love comes forth to perfect man. 
 Clinging with fond tenacity, she guards 
 His name from shame, his inward soul from loss, 
 From secret unobserved declivities 
 To grossness, harsh and sordid views of life ; 
 Keeping his home in peace and sanctity : 
 And as the vine that clings around the elm 
 Shields the rough trunk, and the protecting boughs 
 Enriches with its clusters, while it decks 
 Their barrenness with beauty, so the love 
 Of woman perfects and enriches man, 
 Perfects itself, filling its nascent orb 
 Else dim, with a serene, all-golden light. 
 Such the ideal life ; oft reached, when reached, 
 A heaven on earth. A life of sympathy. 
 Of mutual confidence, respect, and care, 
 Mutual consideration, in the tide 
 Of life, not chafing 'gainst each other's faults. 
 But helpful ; of each other's weaknesses
 
 128 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Indulgent, to each other's faults most mild, 
 
 Each proves a guardian angel in disguise ; 
 
 Nourishing the generous thought, the noxious weed 
 
 In the fair garden of a trusting heart 
 
 Uprooting, and implanting in its stead 
 
 Heavenly desires, the seeds of purity. 
 
 With what is manly and true womanly. 
 
 Filling their days with truth and trustful love, 
 
 Life's changes sweetly verge towards the end 
 
 Of happiness. A life so privileged 
 
 Lies within reach. Hast thou, O man, declared, 
 
 In the glad nuptial hour, clasping the hand 
 
 Perchance now worn, upon whose finger thin 
 
 The wedding-ring moves loosely, thou wouldst love 
 
 And shield thy wife ? Thou art to her next God ; 
 
 She is but mortal, frail, and fallible. 
 
 And thou must be her best and truest friend, 
 
 Till thou present her faultless at God's throne. 
 
 Love is the key of every human heart : 
 
 Should it be so that time has stolen youth's charms, 
 
 Beneath a faded harsh exterior 
 
 Waits for affection's call a woman's heart. 
 
 Stand, as thy Lord, and knock. Renew the tones. 
 
 The gentle words, and deeds of earlier years, 
 
 And by thy side thy past ideal will come, 
 
 An angel as companion of thy life. 
 
 Kind silences and kindly tones disarm 
 
 Resentment, wooing timid confidence. 
 
 Thus shalt thou prove how hidden in mortal breast 
 
 Lie the unfathomed depths of holy love. 
 
 Hast thou, O wife, thine earlier vows forgot,
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 129 
 
 And now familiar, grown unmindful too 
 
 Of him thou lovedst once ? Thy help he needs ; 
 
 He is but frail ; and in this hard rough world 
 
 Is tempted sore ; thou art his nearest friend, 
 
 And thou canst be to him God's minister. 
 
 Put on thee thine apparel Heaven bestowed, 
 
 And in the beauty incorruptible 
 
 Of gentle goodness clad, woman's true garb, 
 
 More beautiful than samite, cloth of gold, 
 
 The Tyrian purple, byssus, or the floss 
 
 Of finest silk, his heart will follow thee : 
 
 Put on thy jewels, meekness, quietness, 
 
 In God's sight precious, as in sight of man ; 
 
 Give him thy love gifts, tenderness in thought, 
 
 In word, and deed. His heart will answer thine. 
 
 Waken the rational soul to self-respect 
 
 With gentleness, that mightiest power with man ; 
 
 Conquer rude violence, the energy 
 
 Teach to develop in a nobler field. 
 
 For in the breast of each, how cumbered o'er 
 
 With necessary cares, by negligence 
 
 Forgot, and with its quick intelligent life 
 
 Crusted with covetousness, or vice, exists 
 
 The better soul with all its sympathies, 
 
 Glorious ambitions, tender shrinking hopes, 
 
 Sweet flower that waits to burst the encumbering clods, 
 
 And bless the kindliness that sets it free. 
 
 But as the mountain lake reflects heaven's blue 
 That arches it, now flecked with snowy clouds. 
 Drifting across the azure canopy. 
 Or, with the effulgence of the sun ablaze, 
 
 K
 
 I30 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Rendering on earth, although in miniature, 
 The sky's vast ampHtude ; so is God's love 
 Nowhere more clearly seen than in the calm, 
 The blest retreat of home. Abode of love, 
 The refuge of the heart wearied with care, 
 Deceived, and disappointed with the world ; 
 There find we peace when all without is storm ; 
 There find we rest from labour's heaviest loads ; 
 Home keeps its smile when all the world's a frown ; 
 Home still confides when even friends distrust. 
 Blest pole star of the heart ! constant to thee 
 Turn fondest thoughts and sad remembrances. 
 The lonely emigrant upon the deck 
 Leans o'er the moonlit bulwarks wistfully 
 Gazing upon the sea, the thought of home 
 Smites his stout heart, and melts him into tears. 
 Amid the silence of Canadian woods. 
 In his log-hut, axe, rifle, laid aside. 
 The exile rests. The Sabbath calm has brought 
 Thoughts of his home far o'er the eastern wave, 
 Thoughts of past days. Once more, as in a dream. 
 He hears the swallow twittering in the thatch, 
 The goldfinch singing in the orchard trees. 
 The hum of bees about the hollyhocks. 
 Or leisurely chiming of the old church clock ; 
 And thinks he sees those he will see no more ; 
 Feels gentle kisses from fond lips that ne'er 
 Will press again his lips in tenderest love. 
 Alas ! for this fond, trusting heart of man, 
 That, loving, loses its most treasured joys. 
 The traveller, pausing on a distant shore.
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 131 
 
 Bethinks him of his home, and with bright face 
 And quickened step, resumes his onward course, 
 Glad to anticipate the joys that wait 
 To welcome his return. All love their home ; 
 Peasant or peer, the monarch on the throne. 
 Or the tired labourer that at set of sun, 
 Shouldering his tools, trudges the homeward path. 
 Smiling as he bethinks him of the child 
 That, 'neath the honeysuckle porch at dusk. 
 Lifts for her father's kiss her sweet brieht face. 
 
 For home is always beautiful. At dawn. 
 When the pale morning to the casement bears 
 Fragrance of flowers, grave musk and blushing rose. 
 Sweet pea of delicate and piquant smell, 
 As gentle voices, rousing slumbering sense, 
 Giving good morrow to the loiterer. 
 The birds are on the wing ; the clamorous crows. 
 The streams of cawing rooks flow to the hills, 
 Or jackdaws hiccuping across the fields. 
 The smiling sun peeps 'neath the eastern elms, 
 As if right glad to welcome yet again 
 The odorous fresh-cheeked flowers, his daughters fair. 
 Kissing their dewy lips. The amorous wind 
 Toys with the tresses of the lady birch, 
 Whose bright leaves glisten in the golden sun. 
 Upon the dew-wet lawn, hoary, festooned 
 With gossamer threads, the birds with bold bright eye 
 Alight, throwing their shadows o'er the grass. 
 Or, in the hush of sultry summer noon. 
 When, through the lattice and the open door. 
 The languid breeze comes laden with perfume.
 
 132 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 From drooping flowers, scarlet parterres abloom, 
 Blown o'er a drowsy land of whispering woods ; 
 Or, when the daylight fades with gentle hush, 
 Mantling the silent hills in deepening shades, 
 And evening's holy sky, placid, serene, 
 Broods as forgiving all that man has done. 
 What time the heron sweeps in gathering dusk, 
 Low on the darkened marge of woodland lake, 
 And the last gleam of light fades lingeringly 
 O'er the calm wave, in quiet glimmering peace ; 
 Then in the home glad voices come and go. 
 And notes of song, and merry laugh are heard. 
 But chiefly shines the pleasant light of home 
 When all without is drear, and the cold world 
 Forbidding, or when winter's frosty breath 
 Has dimmed the brightness of the landscape broad. 
 Shrouding the fields with snow, and the chill air 
 With foggy vapours filled, or blinding drift ; 
 When night without is dark with storm and rain. 
 And roving winds that set the trees aroar, 
 Shaking each casement, then the blazing fire 
 Within the warm and closely-curtained room 
 Shines with its ruddiest lustre. By the hearth. 
 His youngest prattler climbing to his knee. 
 The father sits ; and in the lamplight soft, 
 Comeliest amid her blooming daughters fair. 
 The mother, seated by the table, plies 
 Her busy needle, calm and well content ; 
 Extended on the hearth-rug one bright child 
 Plays with the lively kitten, brisk as he ; 
 The chessboard's mimic field engages some,
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 133 
 
 All silently, Intent with glistening eye, 
 With busy thoughts discussing the next move. 
 The progress and the chances of the game ; 
 Meanwhile deft fingers from the ivory keys 
 Bring forth sweet music, and with pure clear voice 
 The singer sings of pleasant summer days. 
 Of hope, of love, pathos of human life ; 
 And all without is darkness, wind, and rain, 
 And all within warmth, harmony, and peace. 
 
 Abode of calm ! the haven of the soul, 
 Where troubles cease to vex, and fretting cares 
 Will vanish as the morning's rising mists ; 
 Affliction comes ; prosperity's bright hour 
 Is clouded, for a temporary shade 
 Eclipses the bright noon. A sufferer lies 
 In the hushed chamber ; quick affection's ear 
 Keeps listening through the hours of awful night 
 For moan or cry that from the loved one comes 
 In the dread struggle, moan, unconscious cry, 
 Betokening the outflowing of the tide 
 Of health, towards the ocean vast of death ; 
 Quick sympathy flows forth in gentle word 
 And tender act, better than oil and wine 
 For sorrow's wound. The ministry of love 
 Is sorrow's best medicament ; the hand. 
 The soft low voice, the loving thoughtfulness, 
 That hastens to assuage the sufferer's pains, 
 Brings God's sweet anodyne of sympathy. 
 
 Ah me ! by what sore bonds are human souls 
 Linked to each other ; in what fires severe 
 Are forged those links. The darkened room, chill fear.
 
 134 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That trembling finds its omens all around ; 
 
 Vigil of anguish, bitter lonely hours, 
 
 Prolonged suspense, the agony of hope, 
 
 When apprehension scarce will let hope live, 
 
 Watching and grief with mighty hands to mould 
 
 This poor humanity's unyielding clay : 
 
 Then comes death's awful fact, inexorable ! 
 
 We stand upon the low dark marge of life, 
 
 And cry in desolate grief, " Come back, come back !" 
 
 Yet hear we no response from out death's night. 
 
 The face beloved changed with a mortal change, 
 
 The icy kiss laid on the marble brow, 
 
 The iron sleep, the rigid, moveless form, 
 
 And the strange stillness haunt the grieving mind ; 
 
 The empty room, the vacant chair, the voice 
 
 Once known so w^ell, so loved, now heard no more. 
 
 The hour returns, but not the well-known step, 
 
 For which love's ear expectant listens still ; 
 
 The table's spread, the chair placed by the hearth, 
 
 The dear familiar face is seen no more ! 
 
 Then live we in a dream, bruised, numbed, and sore, 
 
 With constant miserable sense of loss. 
 
 Of missing one, long loved, haunting the thoughts ; 
 
 Deadness to everything ; time's flight unmarked, 
 
 Or strangely magnified, that when an hour 
 
 Had passed since the dread cruel blow it seemed 
 
 An age, till time's revolving weeks recalled 
 
 The past in all its freshness ; from the life 
 
 Something has gone that ne'er can be replaced. 
 
 Again, and yet again, the pining mind 
 
 Goes o'er the story, picturing all afresh.
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 135 
 
 Feeding on grief, and jealous of the hours 
 That bear us from the irrevocable past, 
 Nor stay ourselves but on the hand of God. 
 We build our poor philosophy, and rest, 
 Yet at the sight of some familiar thing, 
 Garment once worn, handwriting known too well, 
 Chance utterance of the cherished name, start back 
 As wounded, and the dark o'erwhelming flood 
 Returns in all its bitterness once more. 
 Ah ! Lord, how grievous is this dreadful death 
 That haunts our earth ; how sorely it afflicts 
 Our sorrowing hearts ; no single penalty 
 But manifold, for, in the death of those 
 We love, we taste afresh death's bitterness ; 
 Yet from the depths of our great troubles come 
 The pearls of confidence, of hope, of love, 
 And all the tenderness that springs from grief. 
 And soft allowance for another's faults. 
 And ready sympathy with others' woes. 
 
 Neither on riches nor on rank depends 
 The happiness of home. Its corner-stone 
 And its foundation firm is love ; which wanting 
 All else were mockery and empty show. 
 How specious e'er, rich, cultured, or refined. 
 Like the best things of life, the joys of home 
 Lie near at hand. Good temper, thoughtfulness. 
 Mutual consideration and good sense. 
 Contentment, these combined, still more than these. 
 Religious principle, the fear of God, 
 And in its farthest and most secret shrine 
 The love of God. Fond memory will recall
 
 136 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Past days of calm serenity and peace, 
 When on the Sabbath air the Sabbath bells 
 Sang their sweet music through the resting land. 
 Still shines the sun in lingering memory's sky. 
 All breathes of peace, of restfulness, and calm. 
 The fields seem resting ; 'neath the willow's shade, 
 The farmer's horse, respited from his toil, 
 Stands dreamily with long and bushy tail 
 Whisking his shining flanks. The balmy air. 
 The wind that blew across the daisied fields, 
 Reviving, fresh, as if it breathed the love 
 Of Him whose kindliness ordained for man 
 The holy day, how did it rest o'er all 
 Like to a benediction on the land. 
 Smooth waters round their wooded islands gleamed, 
 That gave 'mid drooping boughs glimpses of green 
 Goldened with buttercups ; swans glided by, 
 Like mimic clouds upon the nether blue ; 
 Onward the river flowed ; the bells chimed on ; 
 And, as beneath God's smile, the land had peace. 
 
 As on a cloudy day when mists enfold 
 The city's wilderness of spires and towers, 
 Faintly distinguished in the common haze, 
 A casual ray will touch some lofty fane. 
 That with its gilded cross mounts far on high. 
 Revealing it all white, ethereal, 
 The sunbeam pointing to the house of God, 
 So in the mist and maze of life Heaven shows, 
 As with the finger of the sunbeam's light, 
 Religion, man's chief end, his duty chief. 
 
 Most prominent amid the welcome thoughts
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 137 
 
 That make of home a fragrant memory 
 Are the remembrance of devotion's times, 
 The cloistered silence of the hour of prayer ; 
 Gathered for worship, then the father's voice, 
 Both priest and shepherd of his little flock, 
 Was heard in solemn, reverent tones to read 
 The sacred page, and on the mute bowed heads 
 Of those who knelt around t' implore God's grace. 
 To equip them for the day, or through the night 
 To guard them in the helplessness of sleep. 
 
 Here, in the narrow precincts of the home. 
 Here, wouldst Thou have us learn, O Lord, the way 
 From earth to heaven ; here live the highest life. 
 The life of purpose and self-sacrifice ; 
 Silent fruition of unuttered thoughts. 
 And grateful non-occasions for discourse, 
 Wherein the mind recruits its flagging powers ; 
 The living in most near and intimate view 
 The life that by its silent teachings moulds 
 The life of others, shaping them to forms 
 Worthiest of man : nor only by the deed, 
 But by the thoughts that in the saying come 
 Edged with their virgin freshness, quick to form 
 The plastic mind, and to the opening powers 
 Alluring ; precious husbandry that sows 
 True thoughts, dropped in the mind of youth as seeds, 
 Whence spring the love of truth, of constancy, 
 Pureness, sincerity, unselfishness. 
 The fairest flowers that grace humanity ; 
 To watch them grow, to prune, to train, direct 
 The aspiring thought to ends commensurate
 
 138 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 With man's high origin and destiny, 
 Would seem a task worthy of Paradise. 
 
 But who may tell the simple joys of home, 
 And all the sweetness of the children's love, 
 Clinging like tendrils round the parent's heart ; 
 Clear ringing laughter, and the footsteps light 
 Of busy feet, that patter on the stairs, 
 Bright looks of sunshine, arch and merry eyes. 
 And fond parental names though feebly lisped, 
 Though feebly lisped, yet with deep fondness heard. 
 How, at returning eve, child faces watch. 
 Sweet angel faces through the dusk they seem, 
 All radiant with delight, and eyes of love 
 Search through the gathering gloom to welcome him. 
 Clinging around his neck twine little arms. 
 And soft warm kisses press upon his cheek, 
 Cold with the blowing of the outer wind, 
 While on his bosom rest bright golden curls ; 
 The hearthfire burns for him a ruddier light, 
 And every flickering shadow in his home 
 Bids him a welcome from the cold, dark world. 
 
 Like some young grove planted towards the north. 
 That, growing, shields the home from wintry blasts. 
 Children arise, and guard him with their love ; 
 For him the lifted hands, the lisping tongues 
 Of innocence, oft plead in simple prayers ; 
 Nor can I find that Heaven will disregard 
 The intercessions of a little child. 
 The gifts of love, that like fresh flowers best please 
 In their first freshness, these are likewise his : 
 Upon the learner's meek inquiring face
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 139 
 
 To look, and satisfy the mind with truth : 
 
 Warn of Hfe's treacherous sea, where most we fear 
 
 When that prosperity's full gale blows fair ; 
 
 The timid heart dreading each moment next 
 
 Lest, plunging on some hidden rock, its hopes 
 
 Find utter wreck, the lurking peril show ; 
 
 By precept and example, pointing out 
 
 The better way, careful as well to teach 
 
 How that with velvet touch the wasp of sin 
 
 Will sting the soul, and of false teachings warn. 
 
 Of base philosophy that ever brings 
 
 On nations as on individual man 
 
 A devastation worse than floods or fire. 
 
 But as the summer sky long time will show 
 A settled fairness, day succeeding day 
 In golden beauty, though no other change 
 Betokens the sure steady lapse of time. 
 Than deepening hues In wood and harvest-field, 
 Blue mists upcurling o'er the mellowing oaks, 
 And coral berries gleaming in the hedge. 
 Whirr of brown sparrows in the stubble fields, 
 And hazy landscapes, though in nooks retired, 
 Green nooks, the heart of woods, foxgloves still bloom, 
 With silvery ferns spangled with dew of light ; 
 Until by slow gradations autumn comes, 
 Closing at length earth's mighty portals dim, 
 The treasure-house of Nature's plenitude : 
 So fade the brightness and the joys of home : 
 The past becomes Irrevocably past. 
 
 Home has Its plunderers. Not death alone, 
 But stealthy and slow-pacing time, bereaves,
 
 I40 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 In changes oft, each change howe'er unmarked, 
 
 A death without the bitterness of death, 
 
 Gentle bereavement welcome e'en to love. 
 
 For love well pleased will note the youthful frame 
 
 Develop into broader lineaments, 
 
 Stalwart, of manlier build, or sweet new grace 
 
 Of dawning womanhood ; the golden curls, 
 
 Shorn from the ampler brow, not without sigh, 
 
 The lisping utterances of youth exchanged 
 
 For deeper tones ; and oft the heart will cry, 
 
 Where are the children gone ? Revisiting 
 
 Familiar scenes, the home of earlier years, 
 
 Insensibly the mind shrinks from each change 
 
 That seems to block our access to the past. 
 
 Where fancy wanders back beguiled. Still shines 
 
 The pleasant glint of sunshine on the brook 
 
 In wavy lines ; still open lies the path 
 
 Along the fields where once the children played ; 
 
 Soft hush of slumberous leaves is on the air ; 
 
 Low piping wood-notes of the summer day ; 
 
 Short heather songs in the blue quiet noon ; 
 
 Echo, still listening, waits among the hills. 
 
 Still cries the heart. Where are the children gone } 
 
 The love of country from the love of home 
 Develops. While a sanctity exists, 
 And reverence due to universal man. 
 That knows no bounds of climate, class, or time, 
 Yet must the link that to our native shore 
 Binds willing souls be reverenced ; for the man 
 That thrills not at his country's name is cold ; 
 That at the sound of the familiar speech,
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 141 
 
 Perchance o'erheard upon some foreign shore, 
 
 Lends not a wihing ear, is sure a son 
 
 Unworthy of the land that gave him birth. 
 
 The Swiss in exile, for his native land 
 
 Pines secretly ; glimpses of snow-clad heights, 
 
 The chalet on the glorious mountain's side, 
 
 Blue lakes, and fringing woods his vision haunt. 
 
 Old Scotia binds her sons with links of steel ; 
 
 Calls willing thoughts from earth's most distant shores 
 
 To her gray-lichened rocks and heathery slopes ; 
 
 And thou, our England, home of liberty, 
 
 Mother of many nations, art enthroned 
 
 Within our hearts ; and should the call arise, 
 
 Thousands were ready to avouch that love 
 
 Even to death. Linked with the mighty past. 
 
 As a rich heirloom, the historic fame 
 
 Of this rude island fixed 'mid stormy seas 
 
 Is theirs. Yet England's greatness sprang, and still 
 
 Must spring from out her people's homes. Here grow 
 
 The principles of strength and purity 
 
 That make a nation great : thence men come forth 
 
 God-fearing, armed with simple truth, with love 
 
 Of rectitude, justice, humanity. 
 
 Alas ! too oft the sacredness of home. 
 
 And all its genial kindly influence. 
 
 For thousands of our people are but dreams. 
 
 Its happiness a figment most unreal. 
 
 Are we content such thinors should be } Content } 
 Nay ! This hath touched the sorrow of my soul. 
 For I have lived amid the teeming throngs. 
 Have known their wretchedness, and (clt their woes :
 
 142 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Suffered the pangs of disappointed hopes, 
 
 Th' apparent failure of remedial schemes, 
 
 Or slight success, and sorrowfully yearned 
 
 O'er the great mass of human misery. 
 
 England, my country, Christian England called. 
 
 Rich art thou, populous, renowned, and great, 
 
 Yet are ten thousands of thy people steeped 
 
 In iofnorance and vice ! This must not be ! 
 
 Greed builds our crowded cities : avarice, 
 
 The worst and meanest spirit from hell, throws up 
 
 These dismal streets, thronged with their noisome dens 
 
 Called homes of men, men stabled worse than kine. 
 
 Where, 'neath dense canopy of smoke, the crowds 
 
 Breathe the foul air, and herd like beasts, and die. 
 
 These are our brethren : these have natural rights 
 
 To breathe God's air, feel the warm sun, to see 
 
 The pleasant face of Nature, and to know 
 
 The kindliness that sweetens human life : 
 
 These have inherent right higher to rise. 
 
 But scarce have chance to live. To lie, to steal, 
 
 Blaspheme, corrupt each other, fight and work 
 
 And die ; these may they do, but are debarred 
 
 From much that elevates and honours man. 
 
 Yet God's creation these, yea, even as they 
 
 Of finer mould ; for 'neath the exterior rough 
 
 Of many a horny-handed son of toil 
 
 Are found the elements of truest man ; 
 
 Kindness, a spirit generous, unselfish, 
 
 And capable of true and gentle deeds, 
 
 Manhood sincere. By what accursed fate. 
 
 What social exigency fell, have these
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. .143 
 
 Been thrown 'neath mammon's cruel chariot wheels ? 
 
 At the slaves' cry the heart of England woke ; 
 
 She broke their fetters, she proclaimed them free. 
 
 But these our slaves at home, our countrymen. 
 
 By thousands told, born thralls, condemned are they 
 
 To lifelong struggle, that they may but live. 
 
 Who pities them, who hears their weary sighs ? 
 
 O dismal beating of the weary feet 
 
 Along the stony deserts of our streets ! 
 
 O pale-faced workers, whose pathetic look 
 
 But says, " To-day we work, to-morrow die !" 
 
 These are the general mass that throngs the streets. 
 
 Ordinary, who feel the curse of labour's curse. 
 
 The overdriving that excludes the hopes 
 
 That help to dignify humanity. 
 
 Making this life more than mechanical. 
 
 And man than worms' meat ; the incessant toil 
 
 That makes them barter for the passing hour 
 
 Of pleasure, things of highest worth ; 
 
 Plucks from the cheek of modesty its rose, 
 
 And robs the spirit of its spur of fame ; 
 
 Till, driven and worn, at length the wearied soul, 
 
 Losing its hope, drags life, like some spent horse, 
 
 Crook-legged and spavined, from whose withered flanks 
 
 The whip has scourged the last and lingering strain. 
 
 And what can life for these twice-banished do, 
 
 Who find not in religion's holy calm 
 
 Refuge, and sanctuary from the noisy world ; 
 
 Rich mingling harmonies, uplifting thoughts ; 
 
 Glimpses of angels, and the spotless hope ; 
 
 Who scarce can hear amid the horrid din
 
 144 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The holy music of the good man's life. 
 
 Theirs hard and common drudgery unredeemed : 
 
 Even Nature's sanctuary to them denied, 
 
 Refuge to find from loud intrusive cares, 
 
 Refreshing silence in the open air, 
 
 Or the dim solemn gloom of ancient woods, 
 
 Or salt sea breeze like cool hand on the brow : 
 
 Nature's sweet ministry to wearied minds ; 
 
 But toil instead, privation, squalor, noise. 
 
 Shame on complacency that tolerates 
 
 Existent evil, calm to allow such ills ; 
 
 Suffering the rankling wounds to go unhealed ; 
 
 Counting the present a necessity ; 
 
 That thinks the poorer classes must exist 
 
 With all their miseries unremedied. 
 
 Exist they must ; but not as some would deem, 
 
 Like a fermenting and corrupting heap 
 
 On which the flowers of pride and swollen pomp 
 
 May grow ; the refuse heap on which the shards, 
 
 The cuttings, and the superfluity 
 
 Of selfishness be thrown as charity : 
 
 This were unmeet : but what in truth they are. 
 
 Society's smirched hands and toiling feet, 
 
 Foundations of the national edifice. 
 
 O Christian statesmen! if the sacred name 
 Ye bear have a compulsive force ; 
 If ye the great Redeemer would obey, 
 Rendering His gospel in your calling high. 
 Forget not the great brotherhood of man, 
 The charity sublime the Saviour taught : 
 How Christ the poor befriended, and their cause
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 
 
 Upheld, commiseration taught, pity, 
 
 A tenderness and mercifulness extreme, 
 
 Taught that the meanest and the worst of men 
 
 E'en at their worst estate, were sons of God, 
 
 Though fallen and lost; and that for this He came 
 
 To rescue them. For His sake be their friend. 
 
 Even if the instincts of humanity, 
 
 Though exigent, and to the inward ear 
 
 Clamorous, assail not in their earnestness. 
 
 A nobler work invites your energies 
 
 Than common statecraft, and a nobler fight 
 
 Than that for party victory. A name 
 
 Illustrious among the brightest names 
 
 Enriching our proud annals may be won 
 
 By him who would befriend the struggling crowd, 
 
 Against the unnatural conditions plead 
 
 Of social life, plead for the children's rights, 
 
 The friendless and obscure of human kind. 
 
 Our people are your care, your first, your chief; 
 
 Ye are the shepherds of the national flock ; 
 
 See that it be not wasted, worried, torn, 
 
 By human covetousness, by ignorance. 
 
 Let your great power be interposed to check 
 
 Insatiate mammon, that, like dragon old 
 
 In legendary tale, its victims claims ; 
 
 Poisons the air that all perforce must breathe ; 
 
 Pollutes the water all perforce must drink ; 
 
 Disfigures the fair face of mother earth, 
 
 Blasts vegetation, taints the running stream ; 
 
 Corrupts man's food ; the healing properties 
 
 Of natural druQfs adulterates, and cheats 
 
 145
 
 146 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The dying of their hope, while it condemns 
 To pale faced servitude the struggling crowds. 
 With what intent ? That but a few, and they 
 Already rich, might heap up greater wealth. 
 Our people, not our money, makes us rich. 
 
 Vice, like some blight, some baneful canker-worm 
 Frets the fair flower of national industry, 
 Gorging its fill. Upon the nation lies 
 The curse of drink, Britain's disgrace, the cause 
 Of unimagined woes, which, if unchecked, 
 Seem to forecast the national overthrow. 
 Nor should remedial measures rest untried 
 As costly, doubtful, or e'en dangerous ; 
 Danger oft proves danger's best remedy. 
 Knowledge outruns slow-paced morality ; 
 We boast us of our scientific lore. 
 What marvels electricity unfolds ; 
 But the new blaze of science only sheds 
 A ghastlier light on man, revealing painfully 
 His meagre increment of moral good, 
 Faint as the earth-shine of the crescent moon ; 
 Wiser, has man become more dutiful. 
 More generous, considerate, and true ? 
 What boots it to have harnessed all the powers 
 Of nature, distance to annihilate, 
 And net the throbbing globe with human thought ; 
 To fill the world with echoes of the fame 
 Of England's prowess, if our people fail, 
 If there remain a base residuum 
 Beneath the glitter of the national wealth. 
 The poor down-trodden, ground to dust, in vice
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 147 
 
 Nurtured yet banned : abuse unremedied, 
 
 Because antique ; and frightful evils borne 
 
 Under the pitiful plea of social use. 
 
 Who makes society ? Who gives it laws ? 
 
 Is it some dumb and blood-smeared fiend that claims 
 
 These victims, helpless innocence and youth, 
 
 The feeble, and the friendless ; that exacts, 
 
 And stints, and starves, and works, till life becomes 
 
 Dismal and wretched slavery, and the poor 
 
 Fly to strong drink for refuge from their woes ; 
 
 Or death ? From the appealing drowned face 
 
 Wash off the dreadful river's muddy waves ; 
 
 From graves of shame ten thousand spectres rise 
 
 To impeach a deaf and avaricious age 
 
 Whose god is gold, whose end but wretched self ; 
 
 Of cruelty, of quickness to forget 
 
 The duty owing to our fellow-men. 
 
 Still goes the law, armed with her sword and rope, 
 
 To enforce her dumb and dreary negatives. 
 
 As men were brutes, restrained by dint of force ; 
 
 Still flows war's torrent red, the hand of man 
 
 Is stained and crimsoned with his brother's blood , 
 
 While over all dense night of ignorance hangs. 
 
 Is there no hope ? Must life be spent in dread 
 And we as criminals condemned, but wait 
 The passing hours, and snatch our furtive joys ? 
 Must we but sorrow o'er our brethren's woes. 
 Wanting a moral lever ? Hope remains ; 
 For in our Christian faith the potency 
 Of a most orlorious future lies enshrined. 
 
 Heartsore, appalled, I dreamed me a fair dream,
 
 148 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The golden future of humanity, 
 
 When God's great law of love shall rule the world ; 
 
 When manliness shall godliness become, 
 
 Brute force not reverenced first and chief as now, 
 
 But lashed behind the wheels of reason's car ; 
 
 When to the general man shall be applied 
 
 In the uplifting of the general life, 
 
 The laws that rule the Christian family, 
 
 The appeal to reason, gentleness, and trust ; 
 
 When what is right, and just, and merciful 
 
 Shall be the canon of all human deeds. 
 
 Then rising in her might the Christian Church 
 
 Clad in pure charity, her fairest robes. 
 
 Shall the corruption in her alms cast forth, 
 
 The price of blood, condoning avarice. 
 
 Shall stretch abroad her ample loving hands 
 
 To lead the nations in God's path of love ; 
 
 Then shall be exorcised that baleful shade. 
 
 Spectre unreal, that haunts the visible Church, 
 
 Rigidity of form, or unctuous phrase 
 
 And guise of earnestness with heart of dust. 
 
 Presenting her great evidence, good deeds, 
 
 That noblest ritual of the Christian Church, 
 
 Then shall she teach the sacredness of man. 
 
 The world his fatherland, and heaven his home. 
 
 Still must abide faith in humanity : 
 An upward path for all. None is so poor, 
 So weakened and so hampered by the past. 
 Filled with remorse and shame, lying hard bound 
 In chains of habit, forged in long past years ; 
 Life's daylight ebbing, and the spirit worn
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 149 
 
 With bitterness of disappointed schemes, 
 Yet still bright hope remains ; deliverance 
 Comes of repentance, happiness and peace 
 Too long delayed may yet be called his own. 
 The hand of God is strong ; His strength is ours. 
 O time ! that sparest not man's proudest works, 
 But spreadest in low ruin of the dust 
 The tower, the citadel, palace, or arch 
 Triumphal, or sky-piercing pyramid, 
 Thou sparest not their authors, for they pass 
 Like shadows on the wall, and leave no trace. 
 The greatest feel thy power, the strongest fail. 
 Little has earth to offer as the lure 
 Of our ambition, for oblivion comes, 
 A second deluge, with wild wasteful flood 
 E'er creeping higher on the heights of time. 
 Submerging 'neath its black and hungry waves 
 All, yea all, though counted strong or great, 
 O'erwhelming e'en the relics of the past. 
 Here wouldst thou build ; but canst thou not obtain 
 Material to endure ^ The granite crumbles. 
 The solid marble yields like drifting smoke ; 
 For as the stealthy centuries hold their course. 
 The most substantial masonry gives way ; 
 Mouldering and envious time with venomous tooth 
 Gnaws the sepulchral brass, blackens, corrodes ; 
 Blurring the brightest, wrecking loftiest hopes. 
 Man is the noblest monument of man. 
 In wholesome influence, godlike charity, 
 In rescuing to self-respect, to hope. 
 And by example to a purer life
 
 I50 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Leading the way, here in amended Hves, 
 
 Thy virtue all insensibly will grave 
 
 Its record in undying characters ; 
 
 The sun will fade, the solid earth will yield. 
 
 And from their spheres the stars be shaken forth, 
 
 Ere these decay, throughout eternity 
 
 With lustre shining that can never pale. 
 
 By slow degrees life's noon at length is passed. 
 And the oncoming shadows of the night 
 Darken around ; the soul confronts the thought 
 That life's bright fire at length shall slowly fade. 
 Flicker, and in the total gloom expire. 
 Nor is the thought, though sorrowful, unwelcome ; 
 Nor can I hold that life's best things come first. 
 And that the virtuous must, as years pass by. 
 Drop their choice treasures, youth, and strength, and 
 
 friends. 
 And stripped of all to death's grim portal stoop 
 All desolate ; nay, but the best comes last. 
 Goodness is beauty and perpetual youth. 
 The ripe results of age, experience. 
 And tenderness, wide-hearted charity, 
 And all the virtues won in blessed strife 
 Are but the first-fruits of a life to come. 
 The equipment and the promise of the skies. 
 Who to the sunrise look, upon whose face 
 The glory of the coming brightness shines 
 Can with complacency observe the flow, 
 The outward ebbing of the tide of life. 
 Happy who realise the night is near. 
 Who recognise their age, nor lag behind
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 151 
 
 With early weaknesses, frivolities, 
 
 And show of youth, but put on them the garb 
 
 Of silent gravity and self-command, 
 
 That, fitting, governs best the present hour ; 
 
 Content to accept the facts of life, oft dumb. 
 
 Inexorable ; and with theories scant 
 
 To meet the inevitable with constant hope 
 
 Justice supreme will life's mistakes construe 
 
 In mercy, and the intention own, despite 
 
 Of opportunity, or in default 
 
 Of knowledge acquired. For every age Is good : 
 
 And sail we ever on a deeper sea, 
 
 And with more flowing wind to farther shores. 
 
 Time saps the strength of man. Like some white cliff 
 That jutting seaward rears its glistening front. 
 Seen by the mariner out many a mile : 
 Flowers bloom around its brow, the clover blows. 
 The grass sinks its bright tresses in the wind ; 
 While far below, against its base, long years 
 The sea with sullen and resistless plunge 
 Has broken ceaselessly : days change and pass. 
 Days when through fog and driving mists it looms 
 Ghost-like, and o'er the black and weedy marge 
 Of the spent tide, the gusty storm-blasts lash 
 The creeping serpents of the hissing foam ; 
 Or, when through wintry and tempestuous nights 
 The fierce white surf tears up the hollow bays, 
 Thundering with spouting foam against the clifTs, 
 Thence sweeping to the wild and wasteful deep ; 
 Or, when the summer broods in utter calm. 
 And the white silent ships all motionless,
 
 152 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Deep laden merchantmen that point afar, 
 
 On distant voyage bent, are dimly seen 
 
 Upon the horizon's blurred and misty edge ; 
 
 Or breathes the wind across the moving plain, 
 
 Crisped billows of the fresh and breezy sea : 
 
 The cliff erect, as ramparting the land, 
 
 Stands firm ; emblem of strength and permanence ! 
 
 At length change comes ; through fissures unobserved 
 
 The trickling rain, or secret driven spray, 
 
 Finds lodgment, and the midnight frost congeals ; 
 
 Then when the morning sun, with the new strength 
 
 Of the returning spring, smites with warm beams, 
 
 The icy wedges yield, and the huge mass 
 
 Falls prone with sound of thunder on the strand. 
 
 Around us all are perishable things 
 With their monitions constantly renewed. 
 The hills remain unchanged ; the streams flow on ; 
 The forest trees outlive man's little span : 
 'Tis true. All other things run their swift course ; 
 The favourite steed, the placid kine, the flocks 
 That browse the pastures round about the home. 
 The old man looks upon his dog grown old. 
 Long his companion, friend for every mood, 
 Than many a friend more faithful, frisking round 
 Through many a year in daily customed walk. 
 Now feeble grown, moping and deaf and blind ; 
 Some morning shows him stretched upon the sward 
 Beneath the pine, his black and rusty hairs 
 Beaded with dews of night, and strangely still. 
 No more to answer to his master's call, 
 And with mute eloquence the moveless form
 
 THE SONG OF HUMAN LIFE. 153 
 
 Tells with all simple unconsidered things 
 The common fate. In the dead quiet fall 
 The yellowing leaves. A subtle power goes forth, 
 Writes on the reddening woods and misty skies 
 " Behold !" Earth's beauty, like the expiring flame 
 That trembles in the socket, dies away 
 To utter loneliness of wintry death. 
 The world is full of waning, fading life. 
 Changes, departures, sorrowful farewells, 
 As Nature whispers in her gentler tones, 
 Speaking through dumb and inarticulate mouths 
 To instruct the patient and submissive mind, 
 That fights not with the simple facts of life. 
 But of them makes its constant lasting friends, 
 The seasonal changes of this transient world 
 Accepting, using them to highest ends. 
 Making dull time subservient to man, 
 The wasting and the wearing of the years, 
 As instruments of wisdom well designed 
 To further the great ends of rational life. 
 
 Give place, give place, and yet again, give place : 
 Such is the law of this our mortal life ; 
 And petty circumstance awaits the hour 
 How bright or brave ; custom aweary grows, 
 And lusty strength now lagging halts afoot ; 
 Life's glory tarnishes, its brightness fades. 
 Old faces change ; new faces crowd the scene ; 
 And other interests engage the mind. 
 And other masters rule the passing hour. 
 Time onward creeps ; invades our sanctities ; 
 On our seclusion deep the daylight brings.
 
 154 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 So fares life's great debate ; so flies the hour, 
 So goes the day ; the longest day goes by, 
 Growing and fading in the changing sky, 
 Till all our days unnoticed glide away ; 
 The evening comes, old age sits down to count. 
 And counting finds the number fully told. 
 Like one outwearied with a day of toil, 
 O'erwrought, exhausted, longs for utter rest, 
 To lapse in brown obscurity of night. 
 And for a while become one with the world 
 Of things inanimate in deep repose ; 
 Grateful for having lived, and glad to drop 
 Into the welcoming arms of restful death. 
 So man draws to his end, so longs for rest. 
 
 Thus runs the circle brief of human life 
 With changes few, each change accompanied 
 By new developments of love, new bonds ; 
 Daughters and sons have grown around him, formed 
 By his example, by his precepts led : 
 And as his spirit nears death's shadowy bourn 
 Their hands of love sustain like angel hands. 
 His loved ones ofather for the last farewell 
 Around his bed : then comes life's solemn close. 
 Love's accents linger last upon the ear : 
 Love smooths the pillow, holds the cooling draught 
 To the parched lips, or fans the heated brow ; 
 Clasps his now feeble hand, with tender words 
 Whispers of hope, and, smiling 'midst its tears. 
 Commends the loved one with a last fond kiss 
 To God's unfathomed love and blessedness.
 
 BOOK THE FIFTH 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The abysm of the past — Nature's scriveners — Theories of the earth's origin 
 - — The geological epochs — Primeval man — Cave dwellers — Other 
 views — The golden age — How is the enigma to be solved ? — Former 
 races of men — Revelation's light — Paradise — Our first parents — 
 Perfect humanity — The fall — The retinue of sin — Thence sprang 
 need of revelation — Genius the gift of God — Architectural power- - 
 The sculptor's power— Beauty slumbering in marble — Divine philo- 
 sophy — Poetic genius — The pastoral, lyric, tragic, epic muse — The 
 dreams and deeds of art — The glowing canvas — Musical genius — 
 The sphere of art — Great cities of the past — The chosen land — The 
 pastoral scene — How the chosen race was educated — Morn at Sinai 
 — The great revelation of human duty to love God.
 
 BOOK THE FIFTH. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. 
 
 MIGHTY past, thou fathomless abyss! 
 
 Within whose depths profound the 
 mightiest deeds 
 
 Of mightiest men have vanished, on 
 whose bourn 
 
 And dim horizon, fading fast away, 
 Linger the glittering pageantry of time 
 To blend, dissolving as the summer clouds, 
 Or unsubstantial spectres ; all the fame 
 And the proud triumphs of the past lie hid 
 In thy embracing and Cimmerian gloom, 
 Beyond the flood of this most cheerful light 
 And pleasing consciousness of life. There lie 
 Millions unnumbered, powerful and great, 
 The good, the beautiful, master and slave. 
 All insignificant alike ; the tramp 
 Of war resounds in history's great march ; 
 Clamour of labour and loud trumpetings
 
 158 T]IE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of fame that challenged the dull power of death, 
 
 With all past worthy deeds unchronicled, 
 
 Are, like mid-ocean's sounds, all hushed : the waves 
 
 That break upon the shore of the quick present 
 
 As the spent surge alone are heard. Life's deeds 
 
 Have registered themselves with diamond pen 
 
 In Nature's archives, deeds of excellence, 
 
 Or deeds of shame, in her dread muniments 
 
 By jealous hands engraved, by jealous eyes 
 
 Close-sentinelled for vindication clear. 
 
 Earth is an auditorium, where the winds, 
 
 The waves, light, heat, and air, God's scriveners. 
 
 Hear and inscribe life's busy doings, words, 
 
 E'en shadowy flickerings of the nimble thoughts. 
 
 Or bold presentment of unchallenged deeds. 
 
 Though trenched with graves, the field of ocean sown 
 
 With that which once was man, old earth becomes 
 
 A sepulchre ; yet unresponsive all 
 
 To man's fond questions, silent as the grave. 
 
 How the great fabric of this earth was formed. 
 Launched by the Almighty fiat in th' abyss, 
 Or sprung from nucleus ethereal. 
 Which in the swirlings and the eddyings 
 Of forces vast, unknown, that ever stream. 
 Grew by agglomeration, until smit 
 By kindly solar heat, alternating 
 With pulse of day and night, the germs of life 
 Were cherished to their full development. 
 Dimly we guess. A mighty hand engraved 
 In jagged coast lines, serrate mountain tops 
 That climb and dent the empyrean blue,
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST 159 
 
 And fundamental strata deeply laid, 
 
 Full evidence of weird primeval days, 
 
 When the great natural powers, now slumbering, 
 
 Slipped from the leash at the Almighty word, 
 
 Clashed in gigantic conflict, and from thence. 
 
 Confusion dire, rose this great edifice, 
 
 The home of man. Imagination sees 
 
 Wild chaos as in scaldic lore, vast depths 
 
 Of gathering gloom, dark wastes of thick-ribbed ice, 
 
 Whirlwinds of mist, fogs, snowstorms dense, the breath 
 
 Of Niflheim, and sparks and flakes of fire. 
 
 Wind-driven, the volcano's lurid glare 
 
 With crimson hues lighting the enfolded gloom 
 
 Of primal night, as yet unvisited 
 
 By the beneficent and genial day. 
 
 The lash of oceans and convulsive throes 
 
 Of earthquakes with broad continents in grip ; 
 
 Or grinding ice-floes toppling in the waves, 
 
 Rending of mountains and upheavals vast. 
 
 As when with his stern crew Enceladus 
 
 Tore the Thessalian hill from its deep roots 
 
 To scale from Pelion's height the walls of heaven. 
 
 Whole cycles pass, where there were none to mark 
 Nor hand to chronicle time's changeless flow. 
 Monsters uncouth shielded, with tusk and barb, 
 Or pterodactyl, dinotherium huge. 
 Or mastodons of vast unwieldy bulk 
 Wallowed in slime, or with contortions grim 
 And bellowings loud, struggled for mastery. 
 Basked on savannahs green, or hung their folds 
 Round the great conifers, whose rugged trunks
 
 i6o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Slumber in stone, or carboniferous, 
 
 Splutter their gaseous jets of welcome flame 
 
 To light the happy faces round our hearths. 
 
 O'er these vast forests centuries as years, 
 
 And days as hours, went by, and all unmarked, 
 
 With silence undisturbed, but when the wind 
 
 Tore for itself a path, or slow decay 
 
 Brought from its towering height the giant pine, 
 
 Wakening the echoes in these solitudes. 
 
 And autumns came, sepulchral autumns wan, 
 
 Strewing the garniture of continents 
 
 Upon the ground, and autumn rains bedrenched 
 
 Earth's russet pall. Thus slowly, if we read 
 
 The story of our globe aright, the world 
 
 Assumed its aspect now familiar. 
 
 The stage was cleared for man, whose mighty deeds 
 
 Heroical should consecrate the rocks. 
 
 The mountain-pass, the streams, the very dust 
 
 On which the actors trod, mute witnesses 
 
 Of the high virtues that ennoble man. 
 
 Here roams the wistful thought still bent to find 
 In heaven or earth, impatient of delay, 
 Fresh evidences, if forthcoming still, 
 Of a paternal love. When man appeared. 
 Our primal sire, how looked he, in what garb 
 Arrayed, how gazed abroad on this strange world, 
 His new-found realm, without competitor. 
 Earth's lord and king, science would fain discern. 
 Caverns low-browed, in whose remoter gloom 
 Hyenas shrank, whence savage eyes gleamed forth 
 In ages past, of wolf, unwieldy bear,
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. i6i 
 
 Or tigress lithe, crouching on velvet paw, 
 
 Were these the home of the primeval man ? 
 
 Sheer down the face of cliffs precipitous, 
 
 Past where the choughs and yellow-footed kites 
 
 Wheel circling, past the gray, old, lichened rocks 
 
 That cap the beetling front, and over which 
 
 The streamlet tinkles, swinging in the wind, 
 
 Dashing its powdery spray to rainbow dust 
 
 That glistens in the sun, half-down, where sways 
 
 The bramble, while the browsing kine below 
 
 Seem small as sheep, fissures and crevices 
 
 Are found in which a page of history 
 
 Rude chronicled appears. The torch has gleamed 
 
 On floors of ancient caves, the mattock turned 
 
 Shingle of river beds, and from the soil 
 
 Relics of earlier times have been unearthed. 
 
 Hatchets, flint arrow-heads, and knives of stone, 
 
 Charred embers, fibulae, and polished bones. 
 
 Upon whose surface smooth rude art has limned 
 
 The forms of animals ; human remains, 
 
 Interred mayhap with ceremonial slight. 
 
 Or, dreadful thought ! the relics of a feast. 
 
 The cannibal instincts of their rude compeers 
 
 Have left ; these seem to show humanity 
 
 In undeveloped wild original. 
 
 Well might the thought appal that man has sprung 
 
 From savage loins, from fugitives, half clad, 
 
 With matted locks peering amid the trees. 
 
 Who in the forests dark in ambush lay, 
 
 Blew with a silent puff the poisoned dart 
 
 With murderous intent, then clubbed their foes, 
 
 M
 
 i62 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And in the cave, cleaving their victims' bones, 
 Their horrid Thyestsean banquet held ; 
 Tradition's faint and fleeting voices speak 
 Of a degraded era in the past, 
 Ere man knew fire ; then digged he in the earth 
 For roots as food, sought what the forest gave, 
 Acorns, crude berries, unripe fruits, and made 
 His cheerless home by burrowing in the soil, 
 Till the great son of Japetus from heaven 
 Brought in his fennel rod the nimble flame, 
 X Mother of arts, and life of industry. 
 
 Yet in the picture dark are other lines. 
 Tradition with a consentaneous voice 
 Tells of another age, when Vingolf rose. 
 Or Gladsheim, turreted with shining gold. 
 Where the All-Father sat and reigned as king ; 
 The age of gold, when mild Astrsea ruled ; 
 Saturnian days, ere chains were forged to bind 
 The lawless, when the balances were held 
 In equipoise. Earth then had rest, nor pain 
 Nor grief were known ; calm seas, and fertile fields 
 Goldened with harvests, smiled 'neath cloudless skies. 
 
 How read we the enigma ? Is our race 
 Advancing from a dark, degraded past. 
 Emerging from brutality's thick night, 
 From savage instincts, bestial lusts, and vice. 
 And superstitions base, or have we here 
 The evidence of some catastrophe 
 That has befallen the onward march of man ? 
 Oblivion hides full soon the monuments 
 Of human greatness ; the all-conquering dust
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. 163 
 
 Drifts o'er man's glory, and Its brightness dies, 
 While mighty empires, proudest dynasties, 
 Pass from this terrene stage, nor leave behind 
 Posterity scarce other evidence 
 Than a few potsherds, or an obolus 
 Dropped from the greasy wallet of a slave. 
 
 Primeval earth in ages long remote, 
 Under conditions similar to ours 
 Climatical, through centuries untold, 
 Shedding husked fruits, ripening its yellow grain, 
 O'er widespread fertile acres, might have been 
 The home of beings similar to man, 
 Not dowered so high, yet with compelling hand 
 Ruling the earth, and all unconsciously 
 Forerunners, yet the servants of our race. 
 Fighting with savage beasts, the forest dense 
 With flinty hatchet, or o'ermastering fire 
 Reducing to the sun, these might have cleared 
 The stage for man's more highly favoured race. 
 Apart from revelation all remains 
 Ambiguous. Misleading voices come, 
 The utterance and the echo Intermixed, 
 From the deep cave where time conceals Its spoils. 
 The doubtful mind still hanging In suspense 
 Judgment refuses, waiting ampler proof. 
 
 As when the night, calm, merciful, but now 
 Divinely vengeful, threw o'er Egypt's plains 
 A pall of tangible gloom, horror, and dread, 
 Goshen had light ; so in the page revealed, 
 'Gainst the dark background of th' oblivious past, 
 The sunshine sleeps o'er Eden. God's chief work —
 
 1 64 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 No monster, strange, disfigured, man appears 
 
 When first he treads earth's stage, grovelHng with beasts, 
 
 In reason's twihght, but as perfect man. 
 
 Serene, majestic, consciously endowed 
 
 With hkeness to his Maker, hkest Him 
 
 In free determination of the will. 
 
 And gifted with all knowledge requisite 
 
 For gift so perilous ; Nature's rich crown, 
 
 And ultimate purpose of creating love. 
 
 There blooms the garden fair. Masters of song. 
 Who with no trembling hand, inapt, have touched 
 The sacred lyre, but with strong confidence, 
 And glorious consciousness of facile power. 
 Have told the loveliness of Paradise, 
 Building their stately edifice of song ; 
 Our own Mseonides, like his compeer, 
 Who, by the ^gean sunned life's dark abyss 
 With dreams ecstatic, mused in lonely gloom 
 The splendid vision. Matchless melody, 
 With proud triumphant majesty of song, 
 And long-sustained sublimity, his thoughts 
 Have mingled with the national renown. 
 He, musing on God's Paradise, has sung 
 Its peerless beauty, and its joys undreamed ; 
 How love decked its gay bowers, and from the waste 
 Fenced off this choice, peculiar, scene of bliss. 
 All that could stimulate, or gratify. 
 All that could pleasure give, ravish the ear, 
 Delight each sense, was there. A spacious scene 
 Diversified of hill, and vale, and grove, 
 The glistening river, and the moveless lake
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST 165 
 
 Where shadows brooding slept, the brooklet's fall, 
 Or covert fount ; glades where the eye might rove 
 Discursive, nearer glimpse of thickets, copse, 
 Or the dim grove, odorous with fragrant plants, 
 Or blossoming trees ; arrayed in loveliness. 
 All flowers were there, the children of the sun. 
 Not yet the curse, had earth's prolific power 
 Stunted, nor thorns, nor weeds, nor cankerworm, 
 Mildew nor blight, had nipped th' aspiring life. 
 Fruits of all kinds hung pendent from the boughs, 
 That drooped beneath their fragrant generous load, 
 Not green and immature, but blushing ripe 
 Amid the leaves, or on the verdant mead 
 Lay for acceptance. Here, on every hand, 
 The arching boughs cloistered the fragrant shade. 
 Nature's exuberance of flowers and fruit. 
 All that could please the mind, delight, allure. 
 Told of the Unseen Donor, and the thoughts 
 Called forth in glad acknowledgment and praise. 
 Not in pleased sense, most rapturous embrace, 
 Nor quickening to the intensest height the frame 
 Material of sensibility 
 
 Is man's true good. These are but channels, ducts, 
 To feed the lamp of reason. Higher source 
 Has he of happiness, accordant more 
 With natures rational and immortal framed. 
 Bowered 'midst Eden's unimagined bliss 
 Were our progenitors, the original pair 
 From whose prolific loins the mighty stream 
 Of human life has flown, covering the earth : 
 They in perfection stood, pure, beautiful,
 
 1 66 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Modest, in virgin innocence arrayed, 
 
 Sin and its daughter shame aHke unknown ; 
 
 No image from the clear, unruffled soul 
 
 But the Divine reflected. Sin's foul breath, 
 
 Like to the canker on the flower that mars 
 
 Its blushing beauty, sapping vigorous life, 
 
 Not yet had blighted the ethereal grace 
 
 Of perfected and pure humanity. 
 
 Nor statelier swung aloft the towering palm, 
 
 In fruitful pillared life, than our great sire ; 
 
 Nor early summer rose in blushing pride. 
 
 Hiding beneath its veil of glistening dew, 
 
 Was e'er so sweet as his fair consort, decked 
 
 In purity, in wisdom, grace divine. 
 
 Pleasures around them smiled on every hand ; 
 
 No broken lights were there, pain's anguished sob. 
 
 Nor sigh, the utterance of the burdened soul. 
 
 Nor interrupted cadences of joy. 
 
 Death lurked without, and all his horrid brood, 
 
 Sorrow and disappointment, wretchedness 
 
 And bitter woe. Nor was life's chief delight 
 
 Awanting ; thither came celestial guests, 
 
 Th' Ineffable Presence, too, not corporal. 
 
 Nor visible, but to the listening ear 
 
 Announced ; awful propinquity ! When eve 
 
 With evening's star, her faithful servitor, 
 
 Lighting its lamp above the dusky grove. 
 
 Gleamed in the thickening shades came the Supreme ; 
 
 Man new-create, and in the image formed 
 
 Of Deity, divine companionship 
 
 Enjoyed, favour divine, and love, whose bliss
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. 167 
 
 All unimagined by our feebler thought, 
 
 Eternity must show. O happy pair ! 
 
 Guileless, all unsuspecting the dread change 
 
 Already imminent, with sore distress. 
 
 How have your children 'neath the sad entail 
 
 Of your offence groaned heavily ; the offence 
 
 That from our race diverted the full stream, 
 
 And fructifying river of God's love; 
 
 How have they their sore banishment bewailed. 
 
 Turning with lingering gaze towards Paradise, 
 
 As the poor exile on the pathless deep. 
 
 When night falls on the sea, thinks of his home. 
 
 And fondly looks where yet the sunset's gold 
 
 Lights faintly the far-distant mountain-tops 
 
 Of the dear fatherland. Thorns strew our path, 
 
 Darkness envelops us, and doubt and fear ; 
 
 Yet e'en the blank and vacant countenance 
 
 Of grief will smile as think we that our race 
 
 Was cradled in the tenderness of God. 
 
 Man fell. So runs the oracle. God's will 
 In greater matters or indifferent, 
 Explicity declared, no parley waits. 
 Unworthy hesitation, but demands 
 Alacrity, instant obedience. 
 The absolute surrender of man's will 
 In things or great or small. Presumption grew 
 Too daring, and forgot the sole command 
 Of the Great Author of life's happiness. 
 If burdened with restrictions numberless. 
 Or hard the task, surpassing human power, 
 With tension long protracted of the will,
 
 1 68 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 A plea in mitigation might be urged. 
 'Twas a light burden, 'twas an easy yoke 
 That the rebellious will of man disdained. 
 
 Now o'er the original brightness of earth's sky 
 Gathered disastrous gloom, and boding change, 
 Fell consequence, when the deliberate hand 
 Plucked sin's dread fruit ; yet was the worst unseen 
 Slow gathering in the process of the years. 
 The night of God's displeasure dark closed round ; 
 And as the light ebbs from th' ensanguined west, 
 The sun departing bearing all the grace 
 That beautified the land, the hues of flowers. 
 With play of light and shade, variety 
 Of colour or of form commingled hid 
 In brown obscurity and deepening gloom ; 
 So were the manifold delights withdrawn 
 Of the lost Paradise ; then hither trooped 
 A grisly horde, to claim these derelicts ; 
 Grim, shadowy death his skeleton hand put forth 
 Demanding ; coward fear, with joints unlocked. 
 Slunk to the citadel, there lay entrenched ; 
 Enthroned within the bright and daylight hall 
 Of conscience, sat despair, the worst of sins ; 
 And ignorant envy came with hellish leer, 
 Cunning, with eyes askance, and white-lipped rage. 
 And dark revenge, and feverish, panting lust, 
 And red-eyed grief, and pain with quivering mouth : 
 Thus passed sin's retinue. Dogging their heels, 
 Diseases came, a foul and fetid host. 
 Trembling, or with contortions dire convulsed, 
 Pale feeble dolorous crew, and 'mid them care.
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. 169 
 
 That hungered on its food and barked for more ; 
 
 And weary age, decrepit, footing slow 
 
 The dusty path to death. These claimed their own. 
 
 Alas poor exiles ! whither must they flee 
 Whom God has banished, whither flee from Him 
 Whose presence fills all bounds of space and time ? 
 Or where escape His constant awful frown ? 
 The refuges of lies no shelter give, 
 Distance, nor darkness, nor the farthest star 
 That holds its outpost on the verge remote 
 Of dark infinity, nor murkiest hell 
 Can them conceal from dread Omnipotence. 
 
 Why the hot thunderbolt of wrath divine 
 Suspended hung, nor with extinction smote ; 
 Or why to millions yet unborn, the sins 
 Of their progenitors by strict entail, 
 Descending with unmitigated force, 
 Disaster brought, remain mysterious, 
 Though generations numberless have passed 
 Since that sad day. The world's great history 
 Spanning ten thousand times ten thousand lives, 
 Slow moving centuries, all time may be 
 But a mere speck in vast infinity, 
 The eternity to come, where God will show 
 The riches of His grace. Then may be seen 
 In its true grandeur, ample symmetry. 
 Redemption's scheme ; what compensations rich 
 Balanced the perils of this mortal state ; 
 Then, in far-widening scenes will be displayed, 
 More visibly, the equity divine. 
 
 Though lost, yet not irrevocably lost
 
 170 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Was the Creator's love ; though forfeited 
 The high distinguishing regard that crowned 
 Existence, hope remained to cheer man's gloom. 
 Were it impossible to scale the heights 
 How miserable were man ! Existence then 
 Would but a curse have been ; the excluded soul, 
 Despairing 'neath eternal banishment 
 By absolute decree, might have reproached 
 The power that gave it life, and cursed the boon. 
 Thee must we bless for ever, O our God ! 
 Thou didst not thus ordain. The sonship lost, 
 Lost too, the pricelesss co-relationship 
 With heaven's immaculate hosts, the beauty lost 
 That purity bestows on rational souls. 
 And inward self-respect, and consciousness 
 Of rectitude, guerdon of patient hearts 
 Affiant of the truth, but chiefly lost 
 God's sovereign love. Yet with the punishment 
 Came hope, and the dark thunder-cloud was edged 
 With silvery light. Henceforth must man's offence. 
 With its concomitants of death and pain, 
 Guilt and unrest, determine how the tide 
 Of Heaven's benevolence must earthward flow. 
 To leave the yearning heart all urappeased. 
 Unsatisfied, to ignore these deep-laid wants. 
 And the bewildered reason to desert. 
 Upon its perilous and darkened way, 
 Leaving the guilty conscience all unshriven, 
 This were no proof of love. To these deep wants 
 Nor bowers, nor glistening streams, nor flowerets 
 fair,
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. 171 
 
 Extensive prospect ravishing every sense 
 Could minister, or happiness bestow. 
 
 How far in the original scheme of things, 
 Man's reason might have read beneficence 
 Divine, vocal each breeze, full eloquent 
 The myriad tongues of new-created life 
 Emerging from the abyss, all jubilant. 
 Each crannied separate nook in this vast frame 
 Rich stored with latent proofs, suggestions deep 
 To stir prolific thought, we but surmise. 
 Henceforth, alas ! the splendid page was blurred. 
 Nature's grand, faded palimpsest requires 
 Interpreting, to fill the void, and clear 
 Th' evangel of its ambiguity. 
 As on a stormy day the fringing light 
 Will shoot betwixt the clouds, and in the haze 
 And nebulous expanse the noonday sun 
 A faint and ineffective disc appears, 
 Scarce visible, and soon again obscured ; 
 Thus o'er the heavens of God's unclouded love 
 Drifted the darkness, while base earth-born mists 
 Climbed high, and jealously assayed to quench 
 Th' ineffable brightness of the love supreme. 
 
 From Thee, O Lord, and from Thy glorious love, 
 As from life's fount the splendid gifts have come, 
 Of human genius ; all the loveliness. 
 The beauty, and the goodness, and the power. 
 That have adorned our frail humanity, 
 Its aim exalted and its commonness 
 Redeemed, taught it self-reverence, nobler hopes, 
 To reprobation all its vices held,
 
 172 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And witnessed for the beautiful and true : 
 Glances from Thy perfections, these, O Lord, 
 And lingering traces of the godlikeness 
 In which Thou madest Thy frail creature man. 
 
 The fertile brain, and quick compelling hand. 
 That with unhesitating sweep obeys 
 The will's behests, the comprehensive glance 
 Of inward vision, with perfection's charms 
 Enraptured, sought the desert to reclaim, 
 Enriching life. From the constructive mind 
 Majestic temples rose, by slow degrees, 
 Towering to heaven in all their stateliness 
 Dome, cupola, or spire, or minaret. 
 Noble entablatures that met the gaze 
 Like a celestial vision, rose to view. 
 The snowy marble mounting to the sky. 
 Parts manifold in symmetry conjoined, 
 Embodied aspirations of the soul 
 That, dreading chaos, sought with earnest aim 
 The world's Great Architect to imitate. 
 
 Genius from marble catacombs called forth 
 Visions of loveliness, embodied thoughts 
 Of purity, that modest shrank, as shamed 
 Beneath the awful blue of spotless heaven ; 
 Statues that glimmered 'mid the olives gray 
 Calm in perpetual serenity ; 
 Placid, in beauty's most alluring grace. 
 Stood womanhood, with modesty arrayed, 
 With modesty defended ; manhood grave. 
 Bearded and stern, with power in every line, 
 Excised all trace of weakness, meanness, lust.
 
 THE SONG OF THE FAST 173 
 
 And in his noblest frame expressed, quiet, 
 
 Bold, resolute, and kind. Seized by its art, 
 
 The movement and the mirth of days gone by, 
 
 The quick and thrilling life congealed to stone. 
 
 With flowing drapery and prancing steeds. 
 
 And laughter whose last echo has just died, 
 
 The conqueror's triumphs, arms, and spoils of war, 
 
 Processions bacchanalian, satyrs, fauns 
 
 That with the merry antics of the glade. 
 
 Under the thyrsus, crowned with vine leaves, played. 
 
 In the deep pathos of perpetual grief 
 
 Mourns Niobe, or locked in anguish fast 
 
 Wrestles Laocoon in endless strife. 
 
 Divine philosophy haunting the grove, 
 All powerful to mould life's energies. 
 In its seclusion sought the dignity 
 Of man to exalt, to wean from antique fable, 
 And childish faith that in its loneliness 
 Peopled the cloudy mountain-top, the woods, 
 With vanishing forms of loveliness and grace. 
 Nymphs whose bright hair spread o'er the golden 
 
 wave, 
 Green ocean depths, the subterranean world, 
 Lurid with swarthy Vulcan's sounding forge, 
 Commerced with hiofher themes and worthier man, 
 More consonant with reason, native lode 
 Of truth, deep lying but approachable 
 By patient thought. Here reasoned Socrates, 
 With caustic speech, and nobler Plato dreamed, 
 And built him commonwealths of thought, and reigned, 
 Pacific sovereign, all of wisdom crowned ;
 
 174 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Or, like some eagle, to the topmost heights 
 Of speculation soared, on tireless wing ; 
 Of gods, of men, of nature, of the frame 
 And the substantial essence of the world ; 
 Musings of death, that death itself might spare, 
 Wisdom profound, too rich to strew the wastes 
 Of dark oblivion. Or, his scholar great, 
 Keen-witted Stagyrite, whose lynx-like eyes 
 Tracked error to its cave, causes explored, 
 Surveyed the wide domain of human lore, 
 Its limitations, and its boundless stores. 
 
 Not from the rocks sprang the poetic soul, 
 Ilissus, or Castalia's charmed wave. 
 Or the Lebethran fount, where dreams in death 
 Eurydice's lorn mate, while nightingales 
 Bewail him with their golden-throated songs ; 
 The haunting presence of the pastoral muse 
 Scattering white violets o'er the shepherd's tomb, 
 Bewept the fate of Daphne, early lost, 
 And shrined his memory in melodious verse. 
 The grasshopper in Sicily's hot fields 
 That chirped at noon, the browsing goat that cropped 
 The vine's young tendrils, or the meadow flowers, 
 Waving their shining floss upon the wind, 
 Caught in the amber of poetic verse 
 Live in immortal beauty, with the love, 
 And fresh delight of centuries long past 
 That ne'er can die ; this testified of power 
 Sprung not of man ; for in the breezy pines 
 That rocked on Pindus came no other sounds 
 Than natural echoes. Dripping water grots,
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST 175 
 
 And bosky dells, all interspersed with glades, 
 
 Blue glimpses 'mid the hills, and shivering reeds 
 
 Fringing the vagrant streams else desolate, 
 
 Or clear cold springs in valleys far remote. 
 
 Were but by fancy peopled, musing thought 
 
 That framed a world within the visible world. 
 
 Fair pleasant dreams, but dreams, and nothing more. 
 
 The passionate rapture of the lyric soul, 
 Pindaric strains, Anacreon's golden string, 
 Wanting full oft the stop of reason's palm, 
 Yet towering to the height of ecstasy ; 
 The tragic muse treading the breathless stage 
 Strewn with Cilician saffron, while at hand 
 Panchsean odours smoked, oppressed with woe 
 Lamented in her sad majestic strains 
 Prometheus' endless pangs, dread brooding fate 
 Of Agamemnon's line ; or brighter yet, 
 Conspicuous, the prime singer of the dawn. 
 Whose martial soul exulting in the strife 
 And clash of arms, sang forth his pictured strains, 
 All thrilling with the conflict resolute ; 
 Sparks from the fire Promethean, rich gifts, 
 From a divine and all-enrichinof mind. 
 
 But not to ancient days alone, the gift. 
 And impulse irresistible of song. 
 The solemn joy of the creative hour. 
 The masterful endeavour, and the glow 
 Of soul, conceptions clamouring to the birth, 
 The swift accomplishment, th' embodied thought 
 That asks not for permission to come forth. 
 But claims of right existence, and with power
 
 176 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Unchallenged, wide acceptance finds unsought. 
 The spirit of beauty, like the breath of spring 
 Passed o'er the human world ; the canvas glowed 
 With high imaginings, all radiant 
 With hues of Nature's choosings, landscapes wide, 
 Swimming in golden sunlight, cradled lakes 
 Among the hills, peaceful and blue, or woods. 
 Or sounding strands, ocean's white fringe of foam. 
 And rainbow spray blown on the damp sea breeze ; 
 Or the rapt musings of th' enthusiast soul, 
 Visions of heaven and heavenly faces sweet, 
 Radiant of peace, of confidence and love ; 
 Heroic deeds that breed heroic souls 
 All self-forgetful, and the canvas moves, 
 The speaking marble thrills with noblest life. 
 
 The words of power that made the senate ring, 
 Persuasion's silvery accents, and the force 
 Compulsive multitudes to sway, and urge 
 To action swift in thrilling sympathy, 
 The deeds that glorified the battlefield. 
 That gave to Marathon, Thermopylae, 
 Or Salamis, their grand undying fame. 
 Immortal fame of which the world is proud. 
 All that the patriot soul could dare or do, 
 These were, O Lord of victory, Thine own. 
 
 And Thine the strains that float majestical 
 Out of the ancient caves of silence, called 
 By the creative mind in passing pomp 
 Of sound, deep-folded harmony all built 
 On undisturbed repose, from conflict sprung, 
 Resolved to blending concords which conduct
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. \ii 
 
 The soul to musing rest, on ample wing 
 Mounting the heaven of heavens, zenith of hope, 
 Then like the stricken eagle falling low 
 To depths despairing, wanderings forlorn ; 
 The soul-compelling volume on whose breast 
 Subordinate feelings play, as changing lights 
 Suffusing gild the high and towering clouds, 
 Awakening longings deep and undefined. 
 Thoughts half developed, and suggestions high 
 Too high for words,' pleased melancholy rapt 
 In her own sweetness to a willing trance, 
 Enraptured in the twilight of its grief. 
 Delightful art ! the language of the soul 
 In its pathetic tenderness. Now leads 
 The simple child-like strain, in willing bonds. 
 The captive thoughts, won by its innocence, 
 And from their cells tumultuous feelings rush. 
 And hidden tears, and longings of desire, . 
 To hear the passing sweetness. Like the roar 
 Of chariot wheels unnumbered, battle driven. 
 Or shifting thunders rolling far to die, 
 Or ocean's mighty diapason, rise 
 The massive chords that tell of deep-built trust. 
 Of endless love, of absolute repose. 
 
 These are Thy gifts, O Lord ; nor these alone. 
 All that redeems from savage rudeness, all 
 That can subdue to order, decency, 
 And self-possession, prize oft dearly won 
 In nations or the individual life, 
 By self-denial, and stern mastery 
 Of will, all that can add to life new grace, 
 
 N
 
 178 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Or loveliness, or zest, can elevate 
 
 Or deck the roughened path with smiling hope. 
 
 Are all Thy gifts ; Thine too, fair liberty, 
 
 Of justice born, and resolution high. 
 
 Pride of strong nations, guerdon of the brave ; 
 
 Thine gentle peace that woos brown labour's toil, 
 
 And firm compacted bonds of brotherhood 
 
 That nations make, firmer than tensest steel, 
 
 Consideration mutual, patriot love. 
 
 Thine all that makes man strong or great or good. 
 
 Thus, as the landscape with its varied lights. 
 Here cloudy, dark, there interspersed with gleams 
 And sullen shade, while in more favoured spots 
 Dart the slant beams of the effulgent sun, 
 So, o'er the landscape of the historic past, 
 Rested these transitory gleams of love, 
 Soon to expand to universal noon. 
 
 Great cities with the hum of multitudes 
 Astir, in plenitude of power and wealth, 
 Sat by the Mediterranean waves, and flecked 
 Its crisped waters with their snow-white sails. 
 Girding her loins, imperial Babylon 
 Reigned as a queen, proud Egypt's dusky realm 
 Beneath its palms ; fertile and populous, 
 A hundred cities in their towered pomp 
 Of temples, palaces, and pyramids. 
 Grew to its splendour : o'er the desert far 
 Of tawny Libya, Ethiopia swart. 
 Or mystic Seba of the torrid south. 
 Her sceptre stretched. Not to Assyria, 
 Ancient of empires, or the Median realm.
 
 THE SONG OF THE FAST 179 
 
 Cathay, or distant tribes of golden Ind, 
 
 The benediction came of Heaven's high love. 
 
 But on one family, the seed elect, 
 
 Chosen and segregate for highest ends, 
 
 Whence was to spring the visible pledge of love, 
 
 Messiah, Prince of Peace, Incarnate Love, 
 
 Concentred the divine, all-kindling rays. 
 
 The pastoral scene invites ; sweet-smelling fields 
 Extending far beneath the open sky ; 
 Rich ample pastures where from morn till night 
 The shepherd wanders with his browsing flocks. 
 That, thirsty, bleat at eve beneath the palms, 
 Shading the well ; the breezy tent door cool. 
 Where by his tufted spear the chieftain sits ; 
 'Mid scenes like these the choice of Heaven appears. 
 Nor came the Deity as abstract spirit, 
 Mysterious Presence unresolvable 
 By man's dim faculties, but in the guise. 
 The form accessible of man, addressed 
 With human speech ; to Enoch thus, Noah, 
 To Abraham, sublime old patriarch. 
 The friend of God. Called from his couch at night 
 By audible voice, to his tent door the sire 
 Went forth, and 'neath the starry canopy 
 Heard speak that awful Voice, whose are the stars. 
 And whose this varied all-containing earth, 
 In dread proximity, communion holding 
 With th' Unseen. 'Neath Mamre's oak at noon 
 The patriarch hailed the mystic Travellers, 
 And ancrels entertained. As friend with friend 
 Converses, Abraham conversed with God,
 
 i8o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Revealing thus the quality of man 
 
 Whom God dehghts to honour, and on whom 
 
 Divine beneficence descends : fearless, 
 
 Manly, and generous, and in simple faith 
 
 Unstaggering, life's fee ungrudgingly 
 
 He paid to God, the tribute of his trust. 
 
 Thus was revealed th' Almighty Fatherhood, 
 
 Defending, caring for, not weighing down 
 
 With th' abundance of earth's luxuries, 
 
 And lavish store of this world's passing wealth, 
 
 Himself imparting, richest prize of all. 
 
 The chosen seed, now to a nation grown. 
 Are moulded by vicissitudes foretold ; 
 Their greatness straitened, their ambition checked 
 By harsh oppression. Here the captives learned 
 The might of love's deliverance ; not for them 
 To be a sentiment inoperative. 
 Gilding captivity, slowly deduced 
 From patient processes of reasoning, 
 But fact acknowledged in its potency. 
 Their chains were severed by th' Almighty hand ; 
 Yet in the fires of their affliction sore 
 Links binding to each other and to God 
 Were forged, closer than consanguinity, 
 Born of one sorrow to one common hope. 
 Wrenched from their dire captivity at length. 
 His outstretched arm wrought for their liberty. 
 For them no arduous and exhaustive strife. 
 Bought with expenditure of tears and blood. 
 And disappointment's oft-repeated stroke ; 
 The gates of night swung back their portals dim
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST. i8i 
 
 Exit to give, and merciless death, abroad 
 
 Upon the shuddering wind, palsying their foes, 
 
 Shrank at the measured tramp of their great host. 
 
 No blow was struck but by Omnipotence, 
 
 Nor was their path engirt with serried hosts 
 
 Of Heaven's battalions summoned for their aid ; 
 
 Forth to the desert marched their harnessed ranks, 
 
 While in their van blazed as a cresset fire, 
 
 Shekinah, with its unextinguished flame ; 
 
 Not yet their danger passed; before them yawned 
 
 The Red Sea waves, more tyrannous than man. 
 
 While in their rear, locked fast within the hills. 
 
 Thundered the chariot wheels of Egypt's hosts, 
 
 Pursuing, with fell vengeance armed. The sea. 
 
 Obedient to command omnipotent. 
 
 Heard Amram's son, and 'neath his potent rod 
 
 Parting its billows, owned its God, and fled ; 
 
 And through the echoing night betwixt the waves, 
 
 The hurrying stream of fugitives passed o'er, 
 
 Till on the farther strand triumphantly 
 
 They sang deliverance. Thus, in the fires 
 
 Of national trouble fused, welded by blows 
 
 Of fierce adversity, they stood prepared 
 
 To accept the mandates of their Heavenly King. 
 
 Morn broke on Sinai's peopled wilderness. 
 Where in their tents the chosen people lay, 
 Expectant of the vengeance of their King. 
 Nor slight the offence ; the first of God's behests. 
 Writ by the Almighty Hand, had been transgressed 
 With high afi"ront. Called by a voice divine, 
 In the gray dawn, climbing the lonely mount,
 
 1 82 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Moses had gone, and all around him fell 
 The cloud, the presence-chamber of the King ; 
 In awful solitude the Lord passed by, 
 With circumstance of majesty, as later 
 The rugged Tishbite in his mountain clift 
 Heard the strong wind that tore with giant grip 
 The solid rocks, or felt the earthquake's spasm, 
 Or saw the lambent tongue of lightning glance ; 
 Then, 'neath the shadow of these terrors dread, 
 Was heard in human speech the still small voice, 
 As man to man addressed, proclaiming thence 
 The style and dignity of the Supreme : 
 "Jehovah, Lord, gracious and merciful, 
 Longsuffering, and in truth and goodness e'er 
 Abundant." Thus would He reveal Himself, 
 By kindly attributes, not by the blaze, 
 O'ermastering of unapproached light, 
 Of absolute perfection, Light of Light, 
 Within whose circle dread none dare intrude. 
 Whom none can see and live. Love speaks in 
 
 love. 
 The gentleness of Nature now has voice, 
 And with the loftiest sanction comes to man 
 In audible speech ; now is the groundwork laid 
 Whence duty may arise. Were God but power, 
 Mere power, nay, dreadful thought, malevolence. 
 Or wisdom pure, unmixed with tenderness, 
 Neglectful of the creatures of His hand, 
 This must determine the approach. But love 
 Demands our love, spring of life's worthiest deeds, 
 Perpetual sentinel within the breast.
 
 THE SONG OF THE PAST 183 
 
 Bright efflorescence, fairest flower of man, 
 
 Itself most fragrant, and like twilight dew 
 
 That calls forth fragrance from the grateful flowers, 
 
 Love covers with its sweetness meanest things. 
 
 Thus making them acceptable to love ; 
 
 Love is life's primal duty, Heaven's light yoke ! 
 
 Bind it as wristlets on thy hands, O man ! 
 
 Thus consecrating labour ; on thy brow 
 
 Wear it as crown, thy privilege, thy joy ; 
 
 As frontlets 'twixt thine eyes let it be placed 
 
 Ever to tell that thou art not thine own, 
 
 And this to be life's object ; in thy home 
 
 To be the gracious soul of all thy life. 
 
 Thy commerce intimate with those most dear. 
 
 Give life's chief duty the chief prominence 
 
 In all thy thoughts, and bear where'er thou goest 
 
 Our life's first law : " The Lord is God, one Lord, 
 
 And thou shalt love the Lord thy God with all 
 
 Thy heart, with all thy soul, with all thy might ; " 
 
 So runs the message, worthy to be writ 
 
 Upon the dome of heaven in living gold ; 
 
 So down the generations comes to us. 
 
 As through some minster aisle come anthem strains 
 
 Majestic, with the full-toned organ's voice. 
 
 O happy day ! when first was heard by man 
 
 Command so glorious, privilege so great, 
 
 The privilege of being, fairest crown 
 
 Of life, and of life's joys. How dark the heart. 
 
 Blind and insensate to its truest good. 
 
 That turns from such a rendering of life. 
 
 Turns from ideal so su])llmc]y high,
 
 1 84 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Counts it impossible, or, graver charge, 
 Writes it as insignificant for man. 
 
 Thus, through the revelation of God's love, 
 More necessary through man's fallen state, 
 The broken lines of nature, now no more 
 A paradise but garden run to waste, 
 And desolation, having lost their power 
 Directive, and their continuity, 
 Runs like a thread of gold the promise fair 
 Of restoration, paradise regained, 
 Embodied in the embodiment of love. 
 This cherished hope, chief heirloom of our race. 
 Was jealously transmitted, age by age, 
 Across the chasm, the vast abyss of time, 
 And grave of nations. Intimations new 
 At intervals were given, new types whose lines 
 Wore to distincter shape as years rolled by. 
 Oft misconstrued, the ethical meaning lost, 
 And the bright promise of the future merged 
 In present greatness. Centuries thus passed 
 Noiseless and unobserved. Then, in due course. 
 The promise was redeemed, Messiah came, 
 Emmanuel, God with man, and God was love. 
 The startled heavens resounded to the joy 
 Of angel harmonies, " Goodwill to man."
 
 BOOK THE SIXTH 
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The advent of Christ — The land of Galilee — Appearance of Emmanuel — 
 Why thus disguised ? — The Mount of Beatitudes — Teachings of the 
 Fatherhood of God — The prodigal son — Christ's life of sublime charity 
 — His lightning-like glance — Christ unknown — Return from Perea — 
 Blessing little children — Gadara's crowds fed — Midnight storm — 
 Christ walks the waves — Fruitless toil of the fishers — Morning on 
 the Capernaum coast — The draught of fishes — Nain and its life — The 
 widow's friend — Death rebuked — Bethany and its hallowed associa- 
 tions — The grand revelation of life after death — Thus passed Christ's 
 ministry.
 
 BOOK THE SIXTH. 
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE^^LOVE. 
 
 HEE, Bethlehem, amid thine olive groves,' 
 And thy sweet fields where once the 
 
 angels sang, 
 Cradle of Christ, my pilgrim thoughts 
 
 would haunt ; 
 Thee, Nazareth, with consecrated calm 
 Brooding around, upon whose sunlit hills. 
 When the doves murmured in the orange groves, 
 And spring with emerald tinctured all the fields. 
 The Youth Divine once strayed, thee would I seek. 
 My heart leaps forth to sing Emmanuel's praise, 
 Not coldly, or perforce, but with deep fervour. 
 By gratitude impelled, and love's constraint, 
 Pleased in the throbbing pulses of my song, 
 Though all unmeet, to assay so high a theme. 
 Again, O Holy One, Thine aid I seek. 
 Pure Spirit of truth, to whom belongs to take 
 The things of Christ, Himself the Truth, to man
 
 1 88 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Revealing wealth untold, unsearchable, 
 
 Possessed through faith's clear vision by the soul ; 
 
 As mortal feebleness may bear, fibres 
 
 Thin spun of mortal strength, direct my song. 
 
 Heaven's ecstasy alone can reach the height 
 
 Fully to celebrate the King of Heaven. 
 
 Rank above rank 'neath th' empyrean dome 
 
 Cerulean, upward from the peopled floor, 
 
 The amethystine pavement, crystal sea. 
 
 The thousand thousands raise their endless song. 
 
 Exalting this great Saviour of the world. 
 
 Ambassador of Love, and Friend of man ! 
 
 Mortals full well might dread with hasty thought. 
 
 Or daring vagrant fancy to invade 
 
 The precincts bright, supreme Intelligence 
 
 To affront, to reach with sinful hands to strike 
 
 The unpolluted lyre. Distinctly limned, 
 
 Majestical, before the inward eye. 
 
 Give the forthtelling power, befitting speech, 
 
 Marshalled with melody of thought, pleased strains. 
 
 The music of the soul, anguished full oft. 
 
 Inadequate, yet lest my song should droop. 
 
 Uphold, exalt, O breath, infuse new life, 
 
 Fitly to celebrate so grand a theme. 
 
 Not yet returned, in thine acknowledged might, 
 O Warrior King, thou com'st from victory. 
 Where with Thine arrows sharp, Thine enemies 
 Transfixed, have known Thy power ; not yet in robes 
 Of majesty arrayed, Thy sacred head 
 Bedropped with oil of gladness, aloes, myrrh, 
 And cassia from Thy garments all diffused.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 189 
 
 And by Thy side, redeemed from jealous death, 
 
 Fair purchase of Thy love, Thy royal Bride 
 
 Triumphant led ; but in Thy lowliness ; 
 
 Stranger 'midst earth's illusions unconfessed, 
 
 Acknowledged but by few. No star bedecked 
 
 Thy regal brow, no halo lingered round 
 
 With visible brightness, afterglow of Heaven 
 
 Attendant, but as man with men to dwell, 
 
 Though chief of men, yet lowliest 'mid the crowd. 
 
 Not Thine the palace with its gilded roof, 
 
 Nor couch of silken ease, nor deference, 
 
 Obsequious pomp and homaged stateliness, 
 
 Deep reverence, and awe that relegates 
 
 From thought or act, from too familiar touch, 
 
 The consecrated King. Unrecognised, 
 
 Obscure, amid the common throng Thy walk ; 
 
 Thy life the common life, mingling with all, 
 
 And undistinguishable 'mid the throng. 
 
 Sprung amid poverty with poverty 
 
 Familiar, Thy manhood slowly shaped 
 
 Itself, developed 'mid the lowliest things 
 
 To loftiest issues. On the mountain-side, 
 
 Beneath the imperial azure of the night. 
 
 Thou prayedst, or on a stony pillow slept. 
 
 Though unacknowledged, King of kings, uncrowned, 
 
 Unsceptred, till the hour of anguish came. 
 
 And daring hands Thy world-wide purpose mocked 
 
 Derisively. Unroll, thou curtain dark ; 
 
 Rend, O thou veil, that hidest from our view 
 
 The sanctuary of Christ's most holy life ; 
 
 Show what the centuries have wrought, thrones wrecked,
 
 I90 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The up-piled loftiness of human pride 
 Levelled to dust, empires decayed, the lust, 
 The tyranny, strugglings unchronicled, 
 And agony, appealing loud to Heaven, 
 Or mutely borne ; unclose, O ravening dark ! 
 And to the eye of faith once more present, 
 Amid His compeers on the Syrian strand, 
 The Sinless One, God manifest in flesh ! 
 
 Fair smiles the light on pleasant Galilee, 
 On hills, and ripening plains, blue lake's expanse. 
 With ever-whispering waves and smiling shores 
 Rolling in fertile uplands from the sun, 
 Where white-towered cities dream beside the wave, 
 Or flanked by Gadara's precipitous cliffs. 
 Like summer's glistening swaths before the scythe. 
 Successive generations here have lived. 
 Here flourished, and to dark oblivion passed. 
 Warriors have fought, and to their stripling sons 
 Retold their tales of former bravery ; 
 Women have plied their necessary cares 
 Domestic, children played, and weary age 
 Waited death's summons 'neath the trellised vine. 
 A scattered feeble folk possession hold 
 Of this renowned stage. The centuries 
 Have told their musing tale, the contents brief 
 Of history's varied page, harsh din of war. 
 The trumpet's challenge, victory's brazen shout, 
 Or lullaby of drowsy peace. Unchanged 
 The land remains, from Lebanon, snow-crowned, 
 To the fierce blasted wilderness, El Ghor ; 
 Esdraelon's plain, where oft embattled hosts
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 191 
 
 Have glittered In the sun, now with spring flowers 
 
 Bedecked, or golden breadth of tawny grain : 
 
 From Carmel's mount, where the great prophet dwelt. 
 
 Or Tabor's shadowing oaks, to Jordan's stream 
 
 Escaping from the oleander groves 
 
 That fringe Gennesareth, the tamarisks. 
 
 Or palms, unrolling through the sweltering gorge 
 
 To blood-stained Masada, the leaden depths 
 
 Of th' asphaltic lake, Jordan, whose wave 
 
 Baptismal crowned the Son of God. Stands yet 
 
 Upon its rocky heights, Jerusalem, 
 
 Though smitten with the mace of war full oft, 
 
 Whose ramparts long the foeman's battering ram 
 
 Resisted, down whose echoing streets the tramp 
 
 Of armed men resounded, whence the shriek 
 
 Of agony uprose, or victory's cry. 
 
 When volleying through the cedar roofs the smoke, 
 
 Red-spotted, licked the beauty of God's house. 
 
 Zion forlorn remains ; still at its feet 
 
 The wintry Kidron murmurs of the past, 
 
 Tells of Gethsemane and all its love. 
 
 The anguish of its dark mysterious pains. 
 
 The scene remains : the human element 
 Has changed. Yet here once dwelt, once breathed, 
 
 once walked 
 Earth's paragon, noblest and chief of men, 
 Once spake serenest words of wisdom, clear, 
 Yet deep, surpassing all that man e'er spake, 
 Here harvested more precious truths than all 
 That diligent hands earing the spacious field 
 Of knowledge through past centuries have gleaned.
 
 192 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Here stood the Son of God, but how disguised ! 
 
 Subh'me concealment ! not pre-eminent 
 
 Was He in form, with power terrific armed. 
 
 Nor as transfigured on the midnight mount, 
 
 Or when to John, in Patmos' lonely isle, 
 
 Revealed. A man in the integrity 
 
 Of perfect manhood, dignified, and grave. 
 
 Gentle, and unobtrusive as the dawn, 
 
 Yet in the stillness of His nature firm, 
 
 Deliberate, unyielding as the rock, 
 
 Spotless in purity as Lebanon's snow. 
 
 And armed with all the awful force of truth. 
 
 In Him a noble all-commanding grace 
 
 That won the confidence and ruled the soul. 
 
 Keen was His glance, and lightning-like His scorn, 
 
 Hypocrisy rebuking, awful, stern 
 
 In wrath, yet to the sad, the sorrowful. 
 
 His voice was full of brooding tenderness. 
 
 Soft as the mother dove's in summer shade. 
 
 Eyes of divinest tenderness, a heart 
 
 Had He to sorrow in the sorrow of our race : 
 
 No blanched recluse, no timid fugitive 
 
 From the dark wrestlings of life's bitter field, 
 
 But resolute, a victor in the fray ; 
 
 Before His generation stood He forth. 
 
 With gaze unblenched, a witness for the truth ; 
 
 Clad in the peasant garb of Galilee, 
 
 His hands disdaining not the peasant's task. 
 
 He daily wrought. Entering a human home. 
 
 He consecrated the thrice-blessed ties 
 
 That bind and elevate humanity.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 193 
 
 Kissed by a mother's tenderness, the hands 
 Of fond affection stretched His infancy 
 To guard, He grew : the fihal tie He owned. 
 Loved and was loved, discharged with gentleness 
 From day to day the duties of a child, 
 And to a fair and gracious manhood rose. 
 Tasting of youth's delights, and with a heart 
 All unrebuked, of bounding sympathy, 
 Thus from the arid ground of poverty, 
 Swept by the bitter wind, nipped by the frost, 
 Yet blooming in perpetual loveliness. 
 The mystic root its noble blossom threw, 
 Manhood's serene, unfading, perfect flower. 
 
 Why thus disguised ? Why level thus with man ? 
 Or doubtful or ambiguous to the gaze 
 All-wondering : with no accoutrement 
 Of extreme power, or, if, invisible, 
 Subordinate, at intervals displayed, 
 Perceived by reason only, and the eye 
 Reflective, that but moral greatness notes ; 
 With no caparisoned pomp, no retinue 
 Of earthly greatness to arrest the glance 
 Inconstant, or convince the common mind. 
 Thus might the unreflective crowd pass on 
 Unnoticing, and to forgetfulness 
 ConsJQfn Him with life's trivialities. 
 Sublimely negligent of blatant fame, 
 Christ dropped the passing opportunity. 
 Silenced the outgoing echoes of the deed 
 That clamoured for renown, and onward walked 
 In His majestic silence unobserved. 
 
 o
 
 194 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 God several ends by single means effects ; 
 Christ's life was typical ; He sinless lived, 
 Condemning sin, and teaching man to live. 
 Not for the rich, the wise exclusively, 
 Or great He lived, but gave for general man 
 The splendid lesson of a sinless life. 
 He came to seek and through His love to save 
 Man lost, that through His interposing love, 
 Self-sacrifice, the mediatorial end 
 Might be secured. The stamp of poverty 
 Was thus impressed upon His life ; He stooped, 
 And disarrayed Himself of heaven's bright robes, 
 The russet garments of man's lowliness, 
 Man's lowliness in its most lowly guise. 
 To wear. Heaven's Messenger, the Royal Son, 
 Ambassador of Love, Christ's mission threw 
 Its greatness round life's commonness, redeemed 
 Life's poor externals, and to loftiest height 
 Exalted human hopes, as round on man 
 It cast a new and consecrating light. 
 To promulgate Heaven's latest law He came. 
 The law of love. Himself the evidence 
 Convincing, and irrefragable proof. 
 There stood He forth before the eyes of men 
 The embodiment of Love. Love spake through Him, 
 Love taught, the Love of God went to and fro 
 To seek its lost. Love wrought its tenderness 
 In tenderest deed. Love bowed the thorn -crowned 
 
 head. 
 For man Love died, and passing through the tomb, 
 Sits crowned, divine, and everlasting Love.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 195 
 
 Approach, O doubtful yet inquiring heart ! 
 Still yearning for a higher sympathy, 
 If sympathy there be higher than man's, 
 Yet shrinking apprehensive, lest it find 
 That passionless fate compels our destiny, 
 Commands the lives of men, or casual drift 
 Fortuitous, determines man's well-being, 
 As forming part of this machinery 
 Of nature, with our lot assigned, an end 
 Discharged in action, till this conscious self 
 Be blown to nothingness and vacancy, 
 Extinct. List to th' Ambassador of Heaven. 
 
 While the stars glimmered on Gennesareth's wave, 
 All through the night, upon the mountain-top 
 The Saviour knelt in prayer, no sound to break 
 The silence of His oratory lone. 
 But flitting night-bird's cry, or jackal's howl ; 
 All night He knelt upon the dew-wet grass ; 
 The night wind as it swept heard pleadings loud. 
 Mayhap voices mysterious, not of earth, 
 As Christ communed with His eternal Sire, 
 Afresh commissioned, fortified by prayer. 
 Forth from the dark pavilion of the night 
 The Master came, when morninof like a smile 
 Broke o'er the world : Himself the Light of Light, 
 Great Sun of Righteousness and Life of men, 
 Now dawning on the world with His first beams. 
 Gathering around Him multitudes drew nigh 
 Who from the white-towered cities of the lake. 
 The nestling villages, the olive groves 
 Of northern Galilee, or coasts remote
 
 196 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of Tyre and Sidon, Hebron, Salem came, 
 Judea's ancient cities ; seated round 
 Upon the grassy slopes, not for themselves 
 Alone they heard, but that the world might hear. 
 Then opened Christ His mouth. Blest utterance ! 
 Translation of the mystic characters 
 Graven on the natural world, oft dimly guessed, 
 Which to the wavering and uncertain thought 
 Gives rest. The all-embracing Soul of things. 
 The Spirit animating this wide scene, 
 That life infuses and supports this frame, 
 Upholds and guides, Christ solemnly proclaims 
 To be the Father of the souls of men ; 
 Exalted far beyond all mortal thought 
 In unimagined glory, yet towards man 
 Loving and tender, merciful and kind : 
 His the all-glittering sun that shines alike 
 Upon the evil and the good, and His 
 The shower that nourishes the milky stalk. 
 Though far removed from earth's distractions loud 
 Misleading shadows, disappointing hopes, 
 Yet e'er beholding from the secrecy 
 Of His divine existence, this vast stage 
 Of human life, noting the part well played. 
 The purpose owning, and the upright deed, 
 Befriending virtue howsoe'er obscure, 
 Reading the motive and the varying phase 
 Of inner life, hearing the secret prayer, 
 Though gently whispered ; His the sustenance 
 Of these His creatures in their every want. 
 The observance of each life His constant care.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 197 
 
 Wild birds that wheeling in the sunshine play, 
 Diving and balancing and with pleased song 
 Spending their little lives, are fed by Him, 
 Though sowing not nor garnering their food. 
 Fair regal lilies in their silken robes, 
 Perfumed, and canopied, as king ne'er was. 
 Spread o'er the landscape with a lavish hand, 
 Are all arrayed by Him. The Father's care 
 That decks this house, our earth, with flowers, that feeds 
 Its poorest servitors, will not deny 
 His children food, will not from them withhold 
 Secret support, most blessed intercourse, 
 Friendship, and hidden sympathy, and love. 
 So ran the echoes : and like music since, 
 Sweeter than e'er discoursed from pipe or string, 
 Or human voice intelligent, descend 
 These glorious truths to this remoter age. 
 Oft faintly apprehended by the soul, 
 But in the stress, the agonising wrench 
 Of some great trouble, then, beyond all price. 
 Like to a child awakened by sweet strains. 
 That, wandering through the secret avenues, 
 Arouse the slumbering thoughts, so gently touched 
 That the pleased sleeper smiles and sleeps again. 
 Again to wake, as pleased, yet knows not why, 
 Opening fair innocent eyes as if afraid 
 To break the spell that bound it, thus the soul. 
 Pleased beyond words to find the page revealed, 
 Presents so dear a truth as God's great love. 
 Clearly expressed, still hesitates to grasp 
 And for itself to hold the truth as true.
 
 198 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Yet in immortal words the Saviour told 
 The path to God accessible ; to none 
 Denied, but who themselves by negligence 
 Exclude, or dark despair, or unbelief, 
 That worst of sacrilege and first of sins. 
 
 Forth from his childhood's home a younger son 
 Set out. — So taught the Saviour of mankind. 
 With luminous simplicity. — The world 
 Was full of smiles, false promises, and hopes 
 Delusive ; to its brighter skies turned then 
 The prodigal, forgetful of the love 
 That sheltered him ; untrue to home, to love 
 Untrue ; reckless, extravagant, his all 
 Spent he on sin, and, 'neath a different name. 
 Bought wretchedness. At length his sin came home 
 To him in self-rejection, bitterness. 
 An exile, penniless, in misery 
 Degraded, clad in rags of beggary, 
 He fed the swine of aliens ; with swine's food 
 Allayed his hunger ; penitent at length 
 And hunger-bitten to his boyhood's home 
 He turned his wistful eyes, yet scarce dared hope 
 That his unnatural ingratitude 
 Would pardon find : yet trusts the father's love. 
 And in his sorrow homeward turns his face. 
 
 The path of his return is watched. An eye. 
 The father's eye, still looks along the road, 
 The father's heart yearns o'er his missing child, 
 Till now, far off, his long-lost son he sees, 
 With instant recognition. Forth he runs, 
 He falls upon his neck, and kisses him,
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 199 
 
 Scarce listening to his sobbing utterance, 
 Rejoicing that the wanderer has come. 
 No stinted joy, no cold and stern rebuke ; 
 The home flings wide its doors to welcome him, 
 Ringing with echoing glee. The son is found ! 
 The son is more than all. Love finds her own, 
 And love with its beloved must rejoice. 
 Robed, honoured, feasted, all the bitter past 
 Forgotten, this triumphant welcome home 
 Tells of the warmer welcome of the soul 
 That turns in penitence and faith to God ; 
 The joy of angels, and the Father's kiss. 
 
 Yet more. As God in Christ incarnated, 
 The Saviour lived the lesson He had taught 
 In a divine all tender charity, 
 A gentleness divine, allowance making 
 Ample and swift for the poor erring will. 
 Yielding encouragement to effort weak. 
 If but sincere, and preaching by His deeds 
 The creed sublime of pure humanity. 
 Nor would He have His people show their faith 
 By empty shibboleth, or lifeless rites. 
 But by a care for all their fellow-men. 
 Reverence for forms of reverence, nor by thought 
 Or unconsidered word t' affront the faith 
 Of the devout ; the purer faith display 
 In widest charity, in sympathy, 
 And the sweet lesson of a blameless life. 
 
 As perfect man He meekly bowed Himself 
 To grief's sore tyranny ; with sweat His brow 
 Was oft bedewed ; the tear-drop in His eye
 
 2 00 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Glistened and fell ; refreshed was He by sleep ; 
 Fatigued by labour, and to all restraints 
 Of this our burdened weak humanity 
 Submissive. To and fro the Saviour went 
 'Mongst men, mingling in all the scenes of life, 
 Pleasant, or painful to His higher sense. 
 He came unto His own, yet by His own 
 Was He rejected, and at birth and death 
 Disowned ; the cratch His cradle, and His grave 
 A borrowed tomb ; His throne usurped ; His claims 
 Fiercely derided and His purpose mocked. 
 
 The grand old patriarchal faith which found 
 The heavenly world contiguous, and maintained 
 Angelic intercourse, or, nobler yet, 
 Enjoyed divine companionship, had died. 
 Now Salem's temple desecrated stood ; 
 God's priests but minions of Rome become, 
 Firebrands or fanatics, who sought alone 
 The nurture of revenge, blind, headlong zeal, 
 That served the altar with its blood-stained hands. 
 To this degenerate, disloyal age 
 Lowly, and all disguised, came the Divine. 
 Like Edom's shepherd, when the blazing thorn 
 Spoke from its tongue of flames, felt they not near 
 The Lord of heaven and earth, nor recognised 
 Beneath this frail exterior a power 
 Omnipotent ? Though curbed with self-restraint. 
 Flashed forth His indignation like the bolt 
 Of summer lightning from the angry sky. 
 For sin to Him was loathsome, vile, and rank, 
 And not as it appeared to blunted sense
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 201 
 
 Of dull familiarity. Who turned, 
 
 With eyes of lightning glance, keenly to note 
 
 The Asian churches, searched He not His age, 
 
 The chosen people with their hopes and fears. 
 
 Pretensions, subterfuges, prejudice. 
 
 Their mercenary spirit, bigotry, 
 
 Rankness unpruned, intolerance, or pride. 
 
 And foul corruption, bred of long neglect ? 
 
 The darkest plots, though tenfold dark and deep. 
 
 Shrouded in hatred's black obscurity. 
 
 Were known to Him ; and pityingly He gazed 
 
 On the blind bond-slaves of iniquity. 
 
 His eye noted the thronging worshippers, 
 
 That swept with flowing text-embroidered robes 
 
 The marble steps, He searched their secret hearts, 
 
 Ready to recognise the right and good 
 
 Wherever found, yet swift to reprehend 
 
 With stern rebuke loud-tongued hypocrisy. 
 
 O Son of God, Most High, the King of kings, 
 Balanced upon whose will lie heaven and earth 
 With all their agencies, the universe. 
 Wider than widest thought of mortal man, 
 Who curb'st the forces of the human world, 
 Uprooting dynasties, and to the throne 
 The beggar elevating from the dust. 
 How little wert Thou known ! Nature confessed 
 Her Lord; and at His glance terrific shrank, 
 The hoary sea, the deafening waves grew still. 
 Obedient to His word ; while at His touch 
 Disease and death of all their terrors stripped, 
 Acknowledged Him ; hell's opposition fled,
 
 202 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Though buttressed in Its pride ; Divinely armed, 
 Thus stood He In omnipotence complete. 
 How the Divine incarnated below, 
 As man with men, demeaned Himself on earth, 
 What deeds proceeded from those gracious Hands, 
 What words, and with what spirit accompanied ; 
 How the eternal goings forth of Love 
 Enshrined themselves In noble act or word, 
 The loving, grateful heart still pines to know. 
 
 From the Perean wilds the Saviour turned 
 In stress of spirit to Jerusalem, 
 To accomplish the great function of His life ; 
 Around Him multitudes had thronged to bid 
 Their last farewell, where He had healed their sick. 
 Fond mothers come, bringing their babes to Him 
 That He might bless them ; lingering, though rebuked, 
 Till Interposed, the Master's voice forbids 
 The prohibition harsh, sweetly Invites 
 The little ones, taking them In His arms 
 And blessing them. O glorious spectacle ! 
 Incarnate God the shield of Infancy, 
 The lover and protector of the weak ! 
 Angels had sung above the darkened plains 
 Of startled Bethlehem, "Good will to man." 
 Good will to man shone in Christ's every act, 
 Accompanied His daily steps, and marked 
 His daily speech. He saw the human soul 
 Groping in darkness, burdened sore, and faint. 
 And seeing pitied, binding up its wounds. 
 
 A shade had passed across the calm divine 
 Of Christ's serenity, the shade of death,
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 203 
 
 And, troubled to His being's inward depths, 
 
 From man He turned. The fearless speaker, John, 
 
 Witness for Christ, as for the purity 
 
 Of God, had been by Herod foully slain. 
 
 Capernaum was thronged. The Saviour calls 
 
 His tired disciples, wearied with the toil 
 
 Of their great mission late returned, embarks 
 
 And passes to the silence of the lake, 
 
 Far out of ear-shot of the busy hum 
 
 Whose turmoil sacrilegious might invade 
 
 The stillness of His grief. All silent now 
 
 The din contentious, tramp of restless crowds, 
 
 Passion's unholy clash, or forwardness 
 
 Of empty simulation, or the tongue 
 
 Of thoughtlessness, that, with incautious words, 
 
 Pricks the dull sorrow to the quick, with names 
 
 Too fondly cherished. From the peaceful cells 
 
 Of Nature's quiet their tired spirits drink 
 
 Needed repose : the large free air of day, 
 
 The fresh cool wind, the crisped waves that bear 
 
 With soothing undulation their frail ship, 
 
 Wait with their orentle ministration round. 
 
 The grassy uplands on the farther shore. 
 
 That by gradations from the blue lake's strand 
 
 Receding rise, offer desired retreat. 
 
 Yet, ere arrived, the eye, the gathering crowds 
 
 Discerns, that break the wished-for solitude : 
 
 From the surrounding hills and open fields 
 
 The tiny sail by thousands had been watched 
 
 Of those who having heard Christ's precious words 
 
 Desired His further presence, and on foot
 
 204 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Had coasted round upon the farther shore 
 
 To give untimely welcome. Nor didst Thou, 
 
 Compassionate Redeemer, this refuse, 
 
 Nor access e'er deny to suppliants, 
 
 Though inconsiderate their earnestness, 
 
 Their plea inopportune. Far otherwise ; 
 
 Our breasts to individual griefs respond, 
 
 Thou to the crowd ; the multitude awaked 
 
 Thy sympathy. Like to a flock they seemed 
 
 Unshepherded and scattered on the hills, 
 
 Defenceless, and Thou yearnedst over them ; 
 
 Nor did compassion rest in sentiment, 
 
 But its expression sought, to ameliorate 
 
 Their sufferings and to minister support. 
 
 Thus wore the day towards eve, the hours being spent 
 
 In high discourse, or act of curative power. 
 
 The westering sun stooping from mid-day's throne, 
 
 Shrank behind Carmel, and with reddening ray 
 
 That burned across the lake, long shadows threw 
 
 Over the sward, while the crisp evening air 
 
 As parting day gathered its flowing skirts, 
 
 New vigour brought, with soft refreshing dews. 
 
 Upon the crowd Thy glance, O Lord, was turned ; 
 
 As far from home, night near, hungry, footsore. 
 
 And travel-wearied, still they lingered by. 
 
 Christ would not empty send the hungering throngs 
 
 Away. They, labouring first at His command. 
 
 To acquire the imperishable bread had left 
 
 The perishing : not loath, thus honours He 
 
 The precedence, and satisfies their wants. 
 
 No adequate supply had they to feed
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 205 
 
 A hungering crowd. Faith ever has enough, 
 
 Though the last handful, to obey its Lord, 
 
 And to obedience comes a full supply. 
 
 Five barley loaves, two fishes, these the store 
 
 The apostolic larder yields, scant fare 
 
 For those for whom provided, but for these, 
 
 A famished multitude, but mockery. 
 
 The hand of Christ was plenty's copious horn. 
 
 Forth at His word the blushing seasons pour 
 
 Their lavish treasures rich, recurrent gifts. 
 
 The plenitude of nature, wealth untold. 
 
 Exuberant, of flower, or fruit, or grain. 
 
 Who called the quails upon the desert wind, 
 
 The manna rained from heaven upon the sands, 
 
 Or bade the flinty-hearted cliff yield streams. 
 
 Could have commanded on the hillside green 
 
 Sumptuous repast, by hands angelical 
 
 Thoueh all unseen administered. The stones 
 
 That idly lined Gennesareth's chiding shore. 
 
 Might have become, at His all-powerful word 
 
 Bread for the multitude. Thy blessing makes, 
 
 O Saviour, our abundance, while Thy frown 
 
 Is life's most barren dearth. Scarce had the words 
 
 Of holy benediction passed His lips 
 
 Than power went forth ; the scanty food increased. 
 
 And grew within the hand that carried it, 
 
 By distribution multiplied. His will. 
 
 His word, sunshine, and dew, and rain obey. 
 
 In operation instantaneous, 
 
 And all their kindly influences blend. 
 
 There sat the needy multitude as grew
 
 :o6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The evening dusk, and 'midst them rose the form 
 Subhme of Him who every want suppHes, 
 Of every heart, Himself the Living Bread. 
 
 Constraining His disciples to embark. 
 The Master tarried to dismiss the crowds ; 
 Hastening ere yet the oncoming storm should break 
 Upon them shelterless. Then solemn night 
 Darkened the sea. The Master was alone. 
 And on the mountain-top again in prayer • 
 Refreshment sought, though all the world was dark, 
 Lonely, and drear. Soon burst the gathering storm. 
 And vacant winds swept o'er the gloomy hills 
 With drenching rains. The lightning's sudden blaze 
 Cleaving the night, showed where the Watcher knelt 
 In all His awful earnestness of prayer. 
 Yet through night's darkness, trebly dark with storm, 
 Christ saw far off His timid trembling few, 
 Storm-tossed, and drenched, saw where the labouring 
 
 bark 
 Out on the lake staggered amid the waves. 
 
 Lonely had been the night since evening's dusk 
 Had hidden from their view the Master's form. 
 In long fierce conflict with the elements 
 The hours had passed ; nor came He when the storm 
 Swooped like a vulture on their foamy track. 
 But when thick midnight lay upon the waves. 
 And grim despair was piloting to death, 
 Regretfully their thoughts flew to the night. 
 Not long before, when on the selfsame lake 
 The storm from out its mountain eyry flew ; 
 When greedy for their death, tumultuous waves
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 207 
 
 Clambering the bulwark sought for easy prey ; 
 Then was the Master with them ; stretched in sleep, 
 He lay, till wakened by their urgent cries, 
 He from His slumbers rose, and with a word 
 Rebuked the storm. Were He but present now. 
 How glad were they, how safe ! Useless regret ! 
 Yet though death threatened them on every side, 
 Yawned in each wave, menaced in every blast, 
 Hurled his bright lightning shaft before their eyes, 
 Deliverance came, though in the darkest hour ; 
 The fourth watch came, and with extremity 
 Help unexpected ; for across the foam 
 A luminous form appeared, unearthly, weird, 
 And indistinct, yet was it their great Lord. 
 Misunderstood ! to their untutored minds, 
 An apparition seemed He from the tomb, 
 A ghost which walked upon the restless waves. 
 The spirit of the storm : till from the din 
 Came the clear w^ords, " 'Tis I, be not afraid ! " 
 Now indistinct, till nearer seen, their Lord 
 Came treading down the echoing halls of night. 
 As on a marble floor, diffusing wide 
 His radiance far o'er the tumultuous waves. 
 Nor arrowy rain, nor tumbling mountain waves. 
 Nor javelin-thrust of hasty lightning's gleam, 
 Nay, nor ten thousand deaths though ravenous 
 As famished wolves, shall keep the Saviour back 
 From His imperilled ones. Hither He comes, 
 From crest to crest of the proud billows borne, 
 With high imperiousness and firm resolve, 
 Not with vain show of superhuman might.
 
 :o8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 But for the succour of His own, the joy 
 Of His immediate presence. When reduced 
 By hunger in the wilderness saw they 
 How that the Master from the unseen stores 
 Of His creative might, brought sustenance ; 
 Henceforth His people know that from the brink 
 And edge of death, how that His hand can snatch 
 From direst peril the confiding soul, 
 Now learn they that amid the storm's wild stress, 
 'Mid sorrow's blackest night He walks abroad, 
 Walks through the turmoil of the tempest fierce. 
 Unhindered, walks to rescue those He loves. 
 Christ makes the calm, Christ's presence makes our 
 heaven. 
 
 Nor did benignity alone appear ; 
 A gracious friendliness thus intertwine 
 With the great purpose to disclose and give 
 To mortal thought, far as may be disclosed. 
 Subjects divine, those dear and cherished hopes 
 Which, reason as we may, must e'er remain 
 Man's truest comfort, as his truest wealth. 
 Christ's life exemplified in overt act. 
 Divine procedure brought to nearer view ; 
 Silvering the clouds of gloomy providence. 
 
 Hoisting their sails, eastward the fishers turned 
 Their prows. The night was darkening on the wave, 
 And evening's golden dusk lay on the hills 
 Of Galilee, deepening to purple gloom. 
 To these rough, humble, Jewish fishermen. 
 Bred to the lake, the landscape was well known, 
 The sloping shores, the distant mountains gray.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 209 
 
 White towns that glimmered o'er the shining wave, 
 Towered and still, with lights like fireflies ; 
 Familiar the ever-varying lake. 
 Lovely alike in storm, or calm, all times. 
 Or when the morning flushing Hermon's snow, 
 Whitened the silent wave with flooding glow. 
 Or midniofht's moon threw o'er its wrinkled floor 
 A path of light, or noontide's quivering blaze. 
 Capernaum was their home. God-fearing men. 
 Serious and earnest, as the night fell fast 
 Upon the lonely lake, might they have sung 
 Some grand old psalm of peaceful confidence. 
 Or raised the prayer that Israel's God, who sleeps 
 Nor slumbers not, would them in safety keep. 
 
 Accustomed to their task, the night wore by. 
 As hopefully they plied their fisher craft ; 
 The ruddy torch that shed around their skift 
 Its useless glare, abandoned, now their lines 
 And nets they cast, yet at each venture met 
 By disappointment, labouring but in vain. 
 The hours with conversation were beguiled, 
 Nor topics wanted they, far nobler themes 
 Than tackling, boats, and sails, and fish, the change 
 Of wind or moon, or market's variation. 
 Not long returned from Jordan's sacred fords, 
 Disciples of the Baptist, we may deem 
 Their talk ran in its 'customed groove, of him 
 The stern recluse, son of the wilderness, 
 How to his desert eyes their life appeared, 
 How as the lightning flash opens the night 
 Conviction had disclosed their inmost hearts 
 
 P
 
 2IO THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And conscience, like the hammer of the Lord, 
 Accused. Like flowers towards the sun, their thoughts 
 Turned to the Coming One, greater than John. 
 The glistening wave of Jordan had becrowned 
 In baptism, the head of One whom John 
 Declared the Son of God. To two of these, 
 As Jesus walked, the Baptist had exclaimed, 
 Pointing to Christ, " Behold the Lamb of God ! " 
 The whispering wave of midnight well might hear, 
 With labouring of the oar, or casting out 
 The net, converse on topics such as these. 
 
 Night passed, and Gadara's mountain -crests stood 
 black 
 Against the pale fair primrose sky of dawn. 
 The eastern stars, floating in crystal haze. 
 Grew dim, as weariedly the fishermen 
 Turned homewards, disappointed in their toil. 
 Now grew the light of morning overhead ; 
 The birds, winging their way with chirp and song, 
 Welcomed the dawn ; and the broad sun arose. 
 Flooding the hills of Bashan orange gold, 
 Gilding the wave-tops of the glittering lake, 
 Capernaum's towers, and white Tiberias, 
 The Tarichsean stronghold, Magdala, 
 With fields, the woods, the roads, and pleasant homes 
 Of busy Galilee ; drawing near shore. 
 The eye discerned the early labourers 
 Forth to the cornfield bound, or bleating flocks. 
 Led by the shepherds from their nightly fold 
 Pasture to find, or where the olive groves, 
 Or fig, or pomegranate, or statelier palm
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 211 
 
 Moved in the morning breeze. Life was astir : 
 The fisher folk upon the shining strand 
 Hauled up their boats, mended or washed their nets ; 
 Women with water-pitchers on their heads 
 Came from the well ; hard-handed country-folk 
 Entered the town ; and from Tiberias' walls 
 Might come the glance of burnished helm or spear 
 From Roman sentinel upon his rounds. 
 Now to the synagogue the worshippers 
 Wended their early way with reverent thought 
 To rest awhile beneath God's vine of peace. 
 With grating keel upon the pebbly beach, 
 The weary fishermen make fast their boats. 
 And standing in the cool translucent wave, 
 Washing their nets, prepare for future toil. 
 All the night long, all the long night in vain, 
 So runs the story of unnumbered lives, 
 Effort prolonged, endeavour stoutly plied, 
 Yet all in vain, for disappointment still 
 Confronts the aim, and ill requites life's toil. 
 O human heart, alive with noble hopes, 
 Weighted with weakness and infirmity. 
 How oft has grim necessity compelled 
 Submission, yielded all unwillingly ! 
 Fishers of men, Christ's ministers have oft 
 Wrought through a night lifelong in sorrow, pain, 
 And fruitlessness. Darkness, and buffeting storm 
 Have waited on their pains, and few results 
 Or none, till rendering up their solemn charge 
 Into Christ's hand in deep humility. 
 Have solemnly confessed, " The work, O Lord,
 
 212 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Is Thine, and Thine the ultimate result, 
 Success, or what to mortal vision seems 
 Failure, Thine, too, the ample recompense." 
 The fishermen knee-deep in water stood. 
 Washing their nets, when now a crowd drew nigh 
 And with them One who stood conspicuous. 
 As shines the moon amid the stars of night. 
 To avoid the throng Christ enters Peter's boat. 
 And bids him thrust a little from the land, 
 Then sat Him down to teach. Upon the shore 
 The crowd expectant stood, or on the bank 
 Up-sloping from the lake reclined, then leaned 
 To hear the voice of Him who spake as man 
 Ne'er spake ; and in the morning calm, broken 
 By plash of passing oar, rustle of leaf, 
 Or chirp of bird upon its hasty flight, 
 Christ's voice was heard. Now glancing on the crowd, 
 The sun-browned faces of the fishermen, 
 Who all attent sat by with folded arms, 
 And listening countenance, the Master spoke : 
 No tedious prettiness, nor rabbi's tales 
 Explaining nothing, disquisitions deep 
 On points minute, what Rabbi Shammai loosed, 
 Hillel, or Eleazar bound ; Christ's texts 
 Were found near home, glistening upon the thorn, 
 Or fluttering in the wind, the upturned soil. 
 The cornfield birds, the sower's measured stride, 
 White villages far seen upon the hills, 
 The callow raven brood, children at play, 
 The net upon the shore, these gave Him all 
 He sought, the key to unlock the minds of men ;
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 213 
 
 And soon with firm and kindly hand He grasped 
 
 Their souls. Gracious was He ; and from His eyes 
 
 Gleamed the pure fire of human sympathy ; 
 
 His words, all luminous, were mirrored clear 
 
 Within the mind of every auditor, 
 
 Like midnight's stars upon the placid lake. 
 
 The sermon ended ; then the Saviour rose, 
 And by display of power miraculous 
 Would clench the truth proclaimed. Thick fogs and 
 
 clouds 
 Of prejudice obscured His hearers' minds; 
 These by far-darting beams of energy 
 The newly-risen Sun of Righteousness, 
 The brightness of the eternal glory, pierced. 
 Turning to Simon, " Launch into the deep," 
 Said He, "and for a draught let down your nets." 
 So spake great nature's Lord, whose piercing eye 
 Surveys old ocean's caverns vast and dark. 
 Though thousand fathoms deep, shrouded and dim. 
 Where gliding monsters twine, where scattered lie 
 Pearls 'mid the slime, as in derision spread ; 
 So spake whose voice commands the underworld. 
 The net rope rattled o'er the vessel's side. 
 Its hidden meshes to the surface threw 
 Their tiny air-bells, and full soon the power 
 Of Christ was evidenced, for now the lake 
 Gave forth its glistening treasures in the sun. 
 So soon canst Thou our disappointment turn, 
 O Lord, to brimming and complete success. 
 
 A gentleness of soul, a kindliness, 
 And pure compassion tenderer far than man's,
 
 214 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Christ manifested, and in tenderest form. 
 
 The tale of Nain's sore-stricken widow Hves, 
 
 And all her grief ; the love that glorified 
 
 Her sorrow, and its halo threw around 
 
 Her darkened home, form now a treasured theme. 
 
 Not far from wooded Tabor's outline dim, 
 
 Quivering in heat above Esdraelon's plain. 
 
 Stood Nain among the hills, rural, obscure. 
 
 Now consecrated by the love of Christ. 
 
 Its flat-roofed houses and white walls peered forth, 
 
 Seen by the traveller miles across the plain. 
 
 One day, one hour in the vast years gone by. 
 
 Has made its name immortal. Through the gate 
 
 Passed and repassed townsfolk and villagers ; 
 
 The gossiping women to the well-side bound, 
 
 Or bridal parties with their noisy joy ; 
 
 With their attendant retinues, rich Jews, 
 
 Turbaned and jewelled ; from the neighbouring tombs 
 
 Out on the steep hillside, the mourners came ; 
 
 Peasants to labour went, or from their walk 
 
 Across the hot and dusty plain beneath 
 
 Came wayfarers. Inside the walls went on 
 
 The business of ordinary life. 
 
 The trader sat, cross-legged, and watched his scales, 
 
 The keen-eyed merchant knowing well the world, 
 
 Measuring his textures from the costly bales, 
 
 Gossip and quarrel, chaffering or the shouts 
 
 Of children at their play, or from the school. 
 
 Conning their task in sing-song monotone, 
 
 The moan of sorrow mingling with the din 
 
 Of active life. Trouble and grief were there,
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 215 
 
 Too frequent denizens of human homes. 
 
 Now down the rocky street comes mournfully 
 
 A funeral procession ; common sight ! 
 
 Yet this was with a deeper pathos robed, 
 
 This hushed the noisiest, touched the coldest heart, 
 
 A widow following her only son 
 
 To his last resting-place, a son whose death 
 
 Had robbed her of her last, fond, cherished hope. 
 
 Emerging from the gate now comes to view 
 
 The funeral train, with solemn steps and slow, 
 
 Presenting death in saddest mystery, 
 
 Grief without palliation. From the plain 
 
 Approaching, Christ and His disciples come. 
 
 The Saviour looked upon the widow's grief, 
 
 Quick, suffering to detect, howe'er concealed, 
 
 Deeply compassionate, and drawing near 
 Stopped the procession, as He touched the bier ; 
 Then stanched He with a word the mourner's tears. 
 
 Christ is unsought by her, she makes no prayer. 
 
 And no request by word or look prefers. 
 
 Her sorrow and her desolation plead, 
 
 In silent intercession with her tears ; 
 
 Nor ineffectual their plea. We stand 
 
 Helpless before irrevocable loss. 
 
 Helpless to minister to those bereaved. 
 
 Muttering our scraps of poor philosophy, 
 
 Though feeling as we speak their worthlessness, 
 
 Thou dost not mock, O Christ, with empty words. 
 
 Nor vainly counsel to conceal the grief 
 
 That gnaws the heart. Thine was the word of power, 
 
 That in full flood subdues and banishes
 
 2x6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Sorrow's imperious fears. He touched the bier ; 
 
 The bearers stood. Rigid beneath the pall 
 
 Lay the uncoffined face, no index now 
 
 Of busy thought or feeling's changeful play, 
 
 But with death's impress fixed, solemn and still. 
 
 Christ to the dead man speaks : " Young man, arise." 
 
 A flush of life thrilled the pale ashy face, 
 
 A tremor quivered through the ice-cold clay, 
 
 And, swathed and shrouded for the grave, the youth 
 
 Sat up and spoke. Descending from the bier, 
 
 The dead rejoined the living, and once more 
 
 The mother clasped to heart her dear lost son. 
 
 Thee, Bethany, and thy seclusion dear, 
 Sacred to friendship and to grief divine. 
 My willing thought would seek ; there linger near 
 What time the glimmering eve brought home the flocks, 
 And o'er the olives shone eve's dewy star 
 Full peacefully, when down the rocky slope 
 Came One whose wearied feet hallowed each path 
 They trod. There, in the favoured home, to sit 
 With those meek souls, amid the deepening gloom. 
 In awful, though most blest propinquity 
 To Him who was the origin of life, 
 To listen to the Voice that made the world, 
 Attuned to friendship, sweet humanity, 
 Not pregnant with destructive power. 
 But linked with gentle wisdom's offices. 
 Instruction, and the moulding of the soul. 
 But chiefly on that memorable day, 
 By the sad grave of buried Lazarus 
 To hear the dead believer called to life.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 217 
 
 Summoned from far by love's imperious cry 
 Of wistful earnestness, the Saviour came. 
 While hope remained the sisters' longing eyes 
 Down the steep slope that led to Jericho 
 Had turned, yet turned in vain. Jesus delayed, 
 Not casually or by constraint, but moved 
 By end deliberate ; now would He show 
 Before men's eyes a lesson for all time. 
 In solemn words had the Redeemer taught 
 The power of faith, how that believers live 
 Though they be dead, and on the grave's mouth He 
 The jealous stone, O glorious living truth, 
 That who believe in Christ shall never die ! 
 Come up, O Saviour, from the Perean wilds, 
 Assure our hearts ; this mountain hamlet make 
 The pulpit for so world-renowned a theme ; 
 Show death Thy vassal, show Thy power to save, 
 Touch the rock portals where Thy loved one lies ; 
 Put through the hole of death's all gloomy door 
 Thy hand of love, the jealous latchet lift, 
 That hides man from eternity's wide day. 
 
 Now goes the Saviour forth, stands near the tomb 
 Whose are the keys of Hades and of death, 
 About to unfold those iron leaves. Within 
 His servant lies, moveless, and on his brow 
 Gathers corruption's dew. Can the dead live } 
 The dead in Christ, are they in safety kept, 
 Urned in deep silence and chill vacancy. 
 Though reft from love, and light, and this warm life "i 
 The echoless night of death gives no reply. 
 Go not, O Master, O Thou pitiful One,
 
 2i8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Touch not the veil that hides what death has done 
 The sisters plead. The stone is rolled away ; 
 Before the grave's mouth stands the Lord of life, 
 Stands at the portals of the realms of Death. 
 From far and near, O all ye sons of men, 
 Through the far centuries, hither turn your gaze. 
 Behold Christ's attestation of the truth, 
 Sanction sublime of our high gospel hopes ! 
 "Lazarus, come forth !" and as the mighty word 
 Pierces the cavernous gloom, the dead man hears ; 
 Stirs in His sleep ; before their frighted eyes 
 The sheeted form, with face cloth bound, recumbent 
 Rises, and from the tomb comes forth. Life's fire 
 Burns in the vacant eye, the pallid cheek 
 Is mantled o'er with the warm flush of health, 
 And strength revisiting the pithless limbs. 
 Once more he mingles with the living world. 
 
 Thus passed Christ's ministry; thus were His days 
 Filled with wise words and all with gentle deeds 
 Of pure beneficence and kindliness. 
 From Cana's wedding to the last sad feast 
 In Salem's upper room, a golden chain 
 Of deeds of mercy and of loving words. 
 Not casually but constantly displayed. 
 And pictured revelations in kind deeds 
 Of the great truths that shape our destiny. 
 Yearning for human souls, the lost He sought, 
 As seeks the shepherd on the hills his sheep, 
 Nor yet desisting till the strayed be found : 
 Came to the wayside where the beggar sat, 
 And broke th' immuring silence of the deaf.
 
 THE SONG OF INCARNATE LOVE. 219 
 
 His life was spent not in the cloister's shade, 
 In bookish leisure rapt in pensive thought ; 
 The highways and the hedges were His haunts, 
 The open fields His minster, and the heavens 
 His clerestory, His pulpit was the street, 
 The country roadside, or the green hill-slope. 
 While in the home of sorrow did He stand 
 To give the bread of joy, the wine of love. 
 
 For wouldst thou know the gist of that Christ came 
 To teach to man ? Then listen to His words. 
 Come as the Pharisee who stole by night 
 To the lamp-lighted room to question Him. 
 Imagination hears the golden speech 
 Of Him who was the Truth : God's love set forth 
 In plainest words of most delightful power : 
 God's love declared to be revealed to man, 
 Not in the splendours of the natural world. 
 Large gifts to burdened sense, or wide display 
 Of generosity of this world's goods, 
 But all concentred in one priceless gift, 
 God's Son, — to live, to love, to die for man. 
 Hence, paralysing doubt ! No room exists 
 For busy questioning, for lagging will ; 
 Now from Christ's lips the golden gospel comes ; 
 Love is the law of life, life's origin 
 Is love, love is the atmosphere it breathes, 
 Love its directing force, and love its end. 
 
 O wondrous breath ! O wonder-working arm ! 
 Majestic spectacle of Heavenly Love 
 Clothed with omnipotence, seeking man's good, 
 And pouring in humanity's deep wounds
 
 220 
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 A better balm than Gilead ever wept ; 
 The hand of kindness to the bhnded soul 
 Held forth to cruide it to eternal rest. 
 O fairest dream of all the ages past ! 
 Sweetest of stories, love incarnated !
 
 BOOK THE SEVENTH 
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The perfect death — Marshalhng of the powers of evil — The path to the 
 Garden — The assault of evil — The picture of sin's results — Treachery — 
 The arrest — Dawn of that most memorable of days — In the Prs- 
 torium — The coronation song — Ave Imperator ! — The curse removed — 
 Sentenced to die — The Via Dolorosa — The crisis of time — The deed 
 of death — Noon darkness — Why this deed of violence and shame — 
 The final hour — Death's victory — The procession to the tomb — The 
 garden — Where the dead lie — The tyranny of death — The silent 
 realm — The catacombs of dust — The treasures in the dust — The 
 adventure of Alcides — Love's adventure — Triumph in Hades — Sabbath 
 with the dead — The Sabbath night — Morning — The Lord of Love and 
 Life arises — The women — The resurrection song of triumph.
 
 BOOK THE SEVENTH. 
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 
 
 RAY olives silvered by the Paschal moon, 
 Black pools of shade, and caverns dark of 
 
 night, 
 Ye gloomy colonnades where sorrow 
 
 dwells 
 And silence fills with ineffectual sighs. 
 
 Here let me hide ; here rest in welcome gloom, 
 Who sing the dying sorrow of my Lord, 
 Darkling, yet hopeful by assistant grace, 
 'Mid heavenly sunshine, 'neath serener skies, 
 Before the Beatific Presence high 
 To fall and pour the heart's full gratitude. 
 
 Who through the weary stage of thirty years 
 Had onward travelled o'er the sharded roads 
 Of life's humiliations, and had taught 
 By holy precept, by example fair, 
 The perfect life, the perfect death essays : 
 Not death illumined by the light of love,
 
 2 24 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Its ruggedness austere softened, subdued 
 
 By sorrowing affection, fond caress, 
 
 Lineerins: farewell, but with all circumstance 
 
 To aggravate the natural pang, and throw 
 
 Its jutting horrors into bold relief 
 
 By persecution, by injustice fell 
 
 That cried for swift revenge, hounded to death. 
 
 Thy followers have stood at judgment seats, 
 
 On crimson sands of amphitheatres, 
 
 'Mid blazing piles, and looked to Thee, and learned 
 
 To die. Lesson sublime ! For Thou didst teach 
 
 How that man's nobler spirit may surmount 
 
 Earth's last and worst indignity, and rising. 
 
 Snatch the red triumph of the martyr fires. 
 
 The keen-edged sword, the lion's fangs defy. 
 
 Upborne amid the jealous ocean waves 
 
 May find Thy love can make e'en death itself 
 
 A trysting hour. Die though Thou wouldst, O Christ 
 
 Thou didst not choose the euthanasia 
 
 Of weary age, its burdens slowly loosed. 
 
 With gradual bereavement of decay ; 
 
 Nor wert Thou, like Beth-Peor's hoary chief, 
 
 Invisibly convoyed by angel guards, 
 
 From the dim precincts of this changeful life. 
 
 Around the hour of Thy untimely death 
 
 Were grouped in dread array, all that could daunt. 
 
 For in Thy death was more than nature's debt ; 
 
 The accumulated debt of sin Thou paidst. 
 
 Concentring its grim horrors on Thyself; 
 
 The woes not of one life, but myriad lives, 
 
 Each with converging weight of anguish drear ;
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 225 
 
 Load self-imposed, a very world of woe ! 
 
 In the abysses of Thy sorrow vast 
 
 Much may remain that mortals cannot know. 
 
 Pardon, O merciful One, what love misreads 
 
 Unwillingly, or with feigned personage. 
 
 Or circumstances feigned, presents ; the pomp 
 
 Of Thy redeeming woe, love's tragedy 
 
 Must yet remain eternally unsung. 
 
 The hour, the power of darkness, now had come, 
 When by inscrutable decree, the world 
 Was yielded to the dominance of sin. 
 The Prince of this world came ; not to the eye 
 Were visible night's vast embattled hosts, 
 In serried phalanx, gonfalon, and spear ; 
 No shade darkened the Paschal moon ; no sound. 
 Rustling of dragon wings, nor hissings loud 
 Were heard of the roused serpent brood of hell. 
 To excess of malice wrought in their attempt 
 Supreme. Invisible, inaudible 
 
 Th' approach. From the warm lighted room where sat 
 In holy calm the Saviour with His band. 
 Went forth the traitor ; th' occasion sought. 
 Now found, nor needed his malignance more. 
 Forth went he from companionship with Christ, 
 From holy fellowship with Christ's redeemed, 
 To endless shame, to execration dire. 
 And miserable scorn, the traitor's doom. 
 Scarce had the echoes of his footsteps died 
 Along the street, when from the upper room. 
 Rose in commingling strains of grateful praise 
 Thf; eucharistic hymn, thoiii^h with hushed voice.
 
 2 26 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And tender thoughts of Him, their Master, loved, 
 
 Though now o'erwhehiied with grief, and wounded sore 
 
 By treachery, keen barbed ingratitude. 
 
 The Htde group, descending to the street. 
 
 Stand in the moonlight. Through the city gate, 
 
 Adown the rough declivity they pass 
 
 To where, when swollen with the wintry rains 
 
 That lashed the olive groves, Kedron's hoarse stream 
 
 Its turbid waters swept; wonted retreat, 
 
 Seclusion of Gethsemane's deep shades. 
 
 Secret pavilion, where, unseen by man. 
 
 Heaven's pursuivants, cherub and seraph, came, 
 
 Attendant oft, before their veiled King 
 
 Rendering meet service, or deriving thence 
 
 Authority for enterprise more vast, 
 
 Exploit more dangerous, or mission high, 
 
 To their proud loyalty most welcome task : 
 
 And midnight brooded o'er the city's towers. 
 
 Silent the dusky world : the temple courts. 
 
 Silent the crowds who during busy day 
 
 Chaffered and wrangled in the noisy streets, 
 
 Or thronged the temple steps ; the fanatic 
 
 And lawless herd, armed legionaries, scribes, 
 
 Or furious zealots with their eyes of fire ; 
 
 All silent in the holy truce of night. 
 
 And, 'neath the olive groves whose mounded shade 
 
 Covered the farther slope of Olivet, 
 
 The Saviour prayed, wrestling in anguish drear. 
 
 The sacred sorrow of Gethsemane. 
 
 But who may tell the dark forbidding path 
 That Thou, O Christ, didst tread, our souls to win ;
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 227 
 
 Here let me stand, within this nook obscure, 
 Listening to catch some echoes faint, far off, 
 Sweet strains that tell the sorrow of Thy love. 
 Yet who may fitly sing the theme sublime, 
 The sorrow and the triumph of that love. 
 The mighty stress and conflict infinite ; 
 Who show hell's phalanx marshalled to confront 
 And Thy chivalric enterprise to daunt ? 
 
 Perchance, unseen by mortal eye, came fiends 
 Of horrid shape, uncouth, with flaming eyes. 
 Tongues edged with blasphemy, menaces dire, 
 And fearful sounds that smote the spiritual ear 
 With terror, agencies unseen but dread^ 
 Of evil summoned to the great assault ; 
 Monsters, mayhap misshapen, grim, that writhe 
 Upon the floor of hell, behemoths huge 
 That wallow in the fiery nether depths, 
 And, from the lurid pool of Phlegethon, 
 Serpents of monstrous bulk all intertwined 
 With scaly folds, malignant, from whose orbs 
 Shot baleful rays, and with them dragon forms 
 To assault the Great Invader of these realms 
 Of ancient gloom, or e'er the portals grim] 
 Our Champion reach, relinquishment to effect 
 Of His great purpose. Shrouded in the night. 
 Wrestled the Saviour with His unseen foes; 
 Kneeling He prayed, or prone, now with loud cries 
 Of agony extreme, and now with tears. 
 O wondrous agony that bought the soul ! 
 Sorrow divine, unfathomable depths 
 Of grief, medicament and sovereign balm
 
 2 28 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of human woe ! With anguish was the soul 
 Immaculate of the Redeemer pierced ; 
 Affliction such as ne'er had overwhelmed 
 The greatest sufferer of man's suffering race. 
 
 Perchance there rose, in that lone dreadful hour, 
 Before Christ's view, the hideousness of sin 
 Unveiled. Before His sympathetic gaze, 
 His tenderness divine, passed in review. 
 All scenes of human wretchedness and woe. 
 To Him uplifted hands made mute appeal, 
 Faces convulsed of myriad sufferers. 
 Pleading their wretchedness ; unfriended hope, 
 And anguished innocence, dumb helplessness. 
 And beauty fretted by the cruel worm ; 
 And lusty youth, dragging disabled powers ; 
 And many a death-bed with its nameless dread, 
 Mortal distress that wildly stares, and rocks, 
 And beats the air with cold and bony palms. 
 Chiding the tardiness of pitiful death ; 
 Distracting pain that in each fearful spasm, 
 Ground theclenched teeth, cursedlife, and wooeddespair ; 
 And madness, with bright tearless eyes that burned 
 In their dry sockets, laughed with hideous laugh 
 Mocking its misery ; dumb sorrow bent. 
 Drowned in its grief. To Christ's all-sentient mind 
 Were present both the future and the past 
 With all their dismal uniformity : 
 The slaughter dire of bloody battlefields, 
 Collisions of inflamed and angry souls ; 
 Civil contention and domestic strife ; 
 And all were His. For in that awful hour
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 229 
 
 He bore the heavy load of human grief, 
 
 And all the guilt of man, sin's bitter pangs. 
 
 Rebukes of conscience, stern remorse, whose fang 
 
 Gnaws out the heart of life ; the wrestlings, doubts, 
 
 And haunting fears that dog the sinner's steps, 
 
 And on the threshold of eternity 
 
 Hold him in grip ; and all sin's dire account 
 
 Stood to the Saviour's charge, charge self-imposed ; 
 
 O love unparalleled ! Nor these alone : 
 
 The dreadful future of unpardoned sin. 
 
 Assailed His pitiful most loving soul, 
 
 Flames punitive, weeping and wailing dire, 
 
 That echoed from the prison of the lost ; 
 
 With these o'erpowered, o'erwrought, the God-Man sank 
 
 Upon the ground, staggering beneath His load! 
 
 Now to His blessed lips the chalice of death, 
 
 Essential bitterness and dregs of woe. 
 
 Was pressed. With meek uplifted eye Christ prayed 
 
 That, if 'twere possible, the cup might pass ; 
 
 Yet all submissive, sorrowful to death. 
 
 Now o'er His righteous soul immaculate. 
 
 Flowed sin's dark torrent worse than Stygian pool, 
 
 Or drear Cocytus. Terrors thronged Him round, 
 
 And evil in most formidable shape. 
 
 The blood piacular from every pore. 
 
 As by ten thousand agonies drawn forth, 
 
 Rushed as anticipating the rude nails, 
 
 And vengeful spear ; and the Redeemer rose 
 
 Clothed in the vesture of His sacred blood. 
 
 Alone the wine-press of God's wrath He trod, 
 
 Disputing to the utterance with these,
 
 23© THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Our bitter foes. Yet would I sing, O Christ, 
 
 Thy love triumphant over every pang ; 
 
 Most glorious theme to chant the praises high 
 
 Of the victorious love that trod on death. 
 
 Fierce the assault and vengeful the attack, 
 
 Yet firmly didst Thou stand, the shock repulse. 
 
 The dark abysses of Thy grief, O Christ, 
 
 We may not know ; Thy love we know ; blest theme 
 
 For everlasting gratitude and joy. 
 
 Treachery hath done its worst, and the false kiss 
 Delivered Thee to death. New echoes fill 
 These midnight groves now bright with torch-light red ; 
 Tramp of armed men, voices, and din confused 
 Tell that a crowd draws near. There in the midst, 
 Bound as a robber, as a robber led. 
 Art Thou, O Holy One ! Pale moonlight ne'er 
 Hath gleamed on sight more pitiful than this, 
 Nor crime more vile been cloaked by gentle night. 
 With glint of spear-point, helm, and burnished shield. 
 They pass ; the traitor in their midst : and near, 
 God's priests, Messiah's witnesses, ordained 
 To stand, to announce when first Messiah's star 
 Should crown the brow of time to usher in 
 Eternal jubilee, yet, now, alas ! 
 Apparitors of hell are marshalling 
 The Prince of Peace along the road of death. 
 
 Veil your meek eyes, ye midnight stars, with clouds. 
 Bury, O midnight streets, the soldiers' tramp. 
 Rabble of voices in oblivion deep. 
 In tenfold silence of unbroken night ; 
 Nor let the dismal secret hence go forth.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 231 
 
 From world to world in God's wide universe ! 
 
 The Lord of Life through Salem's streets was haled 
 
 As if a malefactor, by the crowd 
 
 That cursed Him as He went, and for His blood 
 
 Thirsted like wolves. Forsaken by Thine own, 
 
 O Christ ! false love or timid, that on stress 
 
 Of circumstance could yield Thee unto death. 
 
 Onward, alone, Thou wentest to Thy doom, 
 
 Nor meaner blood nor meaner agonies 
 
 Might mingle with Thy sacrifice sublime ; 
 
 Alone the onslaught fierce, alone the brunt 
 
 Malevolent of earth and hell conjoined. 
 
 Thou didst sustain, and welcome to Thy breast 
 
 Man's utmost violence, as thence to win 
 
 The souls of Thy redeemed to endless love. 
 
 Now in the hall of Caiaphas, ere morn 
 Of that most sorrowful of days had dawned. 
 Stood the Redeemer, whilst the conclave sought 
 His innocent life, in form of justice sought, 
 Injustice absolute, endless disgrace, 
 That with foul blot and ineffaceable 
 Should human annals smirch with endless stain. 
 Meekly, all silently He bore Himself, 
 Though from the perjured lips of witnesses. 
 Suborned, faltered the lie, like poisoned dart 
 Aimed at His life. In conscious innocence 
 Serene, the calm and pitiful Observer 
 Of these malevolent designs, replied not ; 
 No word in self-defence, no protest deigned, 
 Nor confutation uttered. O'er the sea 
 Of passion driven, rudderless they swept.
 
 232 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 At length, by adjuration bound, Christ's Hps 
 Were opened to declare Himself Messiah. 
 Rending his priestly robes, with flashing eye 
 And angry brow, strode Caiaphas, and hurled 
 The accusation dark of blasphemy 
 Against the Spotless One, who stood arraigned 
 Before the elders of the chosen race. 
 
 Over the eastern hills broke the fair dawn, 
 The innocent morn of that most dark of days, 
 Most guilty, yet most glorious of time's chain, 
 The day that brought salvation, wrought with woe ; 
 There, in the courtyard, stood, as Jesus passed. 
 His recreant apostle ; on his face 
 Perplexed, irresolute, the firelight gleamed. 
 Already from his craven lips had passed 
 Denial of his Lord, already burned 
 Remorse with its slow fires, a memory 
 To be lifelong of faithlessness. Christ turned. 
 With pitiful gaze upon the apostate looked, 
 Yet with reproach, a look that broke his heart. 
 
 On through the streets, stirring with waking life. 
 To the Prsetorium, from Caiaphas, 
 Close-guarded, the Illustrious Prisoner 
 Is sent to stand at Pilate's judgment bar. 
 Sent to His doom. Gleamed in the morning sun, 
 New risen o'er Olivet, the temple front, 
 A cloud of marble fretted o'er with gold. 
 The fountains glistened with their spangled plumes 
 Swayed in the wind, and restless flocks of doves 
 Tossed their white wings, or on the greensward played 
 Amid the marble colonnades the glint
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 233 
 
 Of spear, where paced the sentinel was seen. 
 Bound as a criminal the Victim passed 
 The marble steps, beneath the cedar roof, 
 Where robed in purple with insignia 
 Begirt of his high office, as beseemed 
 Rome's majesty, Caesar's vicegerent sat. 
 Worn and disfigured by the bloody trace 
 Of the dark conflict of Gethsemane, 
 The Saviour stood, helpless, yet with a might 
 Omnipotent endued ; for at His beck, 
 To avenge His quarrel, legions stood attent. 
 All conquering, who the bright glaive would bare, 
 And with a righteous indignation fired, 
 Would burst the visible bourn, to aid their Lord. 
 Silent the Prisoner stood though clamorous shouts 
 And adjurations loud from envious priests 
 Came from the colonnade, with gestures fierce, 
 Accusing Him. Not now, "Art Thou the Christ.-*" 
 Asks the proud Roman, but, "Art Thou a King .'*" 
 With wondering scorn at His poor retinue. 
 Waiting the issue of the desperate throw, 
 Supreme adventure of iniquity. 
 Now roused, now militant upon the stage 
 Of things mundane, and to its dreaded hand 
 Large possibilities brought near, Christ gazed 
 On all the pitiful turmoil seething round, 
 Wrapped in majestic silence, yet intent 
 Through personal insult or yet deeper pangs, 
 Or unimagined labours, to unlock 
 The gates of sin. Yet deeper depths await. 
 And a severer stress of that resolve
 
 234 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Magnanimous. A robber was preferred, 
 
 As worthier life than He who was life's Lord. 
 
 Now through the judgment hall strange sounds are 
 
 heard. 
 Alas ! the furrowing scourge now seams and tears 
 His sacred back. O shameful spectacle ! 
 From which the startled thoughts unbidden turn, 
 And pale reflection summons up the blush 
 For our disgraced and fallen humanity. 
 The coronation of my Lord, I sing, 
 Dolorous yet blessed theme ! From Pilate sent. 
 The Saviour stands, at Herod's judgment bar, 
 His back all bleeding, and His sacred face 
 Disfigured by the spitting and the grief, 
 And cruel blows of mercenary vice. 
 Before the haughty Asmonean prince. 
 With blood familiar and bred in sin. 
 Though questioned oft, the Spotless One spoke not, 
 With word nor work of power. Again returned ; 
 The guilty hand of Pilate moves the veil 
 That hides the past, and to our view reveals 
 The sorrowful picture. There, with purple robed. 
 Is seen the Saviour, crowned in mockery. 
 Bitter and pitiless, crowned with sharp thorns. 
 Rude violence upon His sovereign brow 
 Serene, planted this diadem of pain. 
 Unconscious all, in this their daring guilt. 
 That on their mockery and cruel spite, 
 The eyes of millions would henceforth be turned, 
 With reprehension grave. Not helplessly 
 Relinquished to their will was Christ, nor throvv'n,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUAIPH. 235 
 
 By force of circumstance within their power ; 
 Love moved His heart ; victim indeed was He, 
 Yet not with earthly weapons He contends ; 
 Swords, staves, the dagger, battle-axe, and spear, 
 These were but coarse, rude implements to break 
 The stubborn will. Unarmed, yet fully armed, 
 And all caparisoned our Champion was. 
 In His celestial mail ; salvation's helm, 
 With shield impervious of omnipotence, 
 And sword two-edged of an all-conquering love ; 
 Triumphant Victim, Conqueror though conquered. 
 Not with coarse violence, reason's despite. 
 Would He, as they were wont, dishonour men ; 
 Nor count them jungle beasts to be subdued 
 By force, the errant will to be regained 
 By the disabling of its fleshly shrine. 
 Passion He meets with reason's placid force, 
 Error with truth, and brute ferocity 
 With gentleness that shames the modesty 
 Of rational intelligence. Nor curse, 
 Nor malediction dire, nor thunderbolts 
 Are His artillery 'gainst His cruel foes. 
 Deluded ignorant men, but sighs, and tears 
 Compassionate, and friendly words, and prayers. 
 From point to point the daring sinners fly, 
 Yet love pursues, and where iniquity. 
 Wrought to the height of passion's turbulence. 
 Threatened with menace loud, o'erpassing love 
 Checked its advances with a mightier force ; 
 Like as the surges of the wasteful flood, 
 Threatening with gaping billows to engulf
 
 236 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Th' imperilled shore, yet calmly break to rest 
 Upon the sunny beach of yielding sand. 
 
 O pitiless jest ! unconscious irony 
 That mocking mocked itself, mocked man e'en set 
 In highest state. Enthroned in merriment, 
 Arrayed in sport, was He, with laughter hailed. 
 And served with mock alacrity, deemed king 
 Of some faint shadowy realm of frenzied thought ; 
 Yet King of Kings, in very truth, by right 
 Unchallenged, save by puny rebel man ; 
 The King upon whose brow might justly rest 
 The crown of heaven, and whose all-mastering hand 
 Might grasp the sceptre of the universe ; 
 Yet, as a Galilean bandit haled. 
 Red-handed in his crime, poor fanatic, 
 Or maniac from the tombs, mocked, set at naught. 
 To be the plaything of the hour, the butt. 
 And target of their ignorance and crime ; 
 As vilest slave of commonest rights denied. 
 Supreme dishonour of heaven's majesty. 
 And ineffaceable ; insult whose sting 
 Might justly rankle in the eternal breast ! 
 
 Yet calmer reason holds the mockery 
 Ill-placed, the subject wrong. The thorn -crowned 
 
 King, 
 Exalted, wears sublimity undreamed, 
 And rising from the visionary realms. 
 The cloudy grandeurs of the past, still reigns ; 
 Allegiance from the living present claims. 
 And happy loyalty. Not majesty 
 Divine they mock, but earthly majesty.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 237 
 
 Misplaced derision ! for on earthly state 
 
 They pour the vials of their bitter scorn. 
 
 For what is earthly pomp but as the gleam 
 
 And restless ripple of the summer fields, 
 
 Or glitter on the ever-moving waves ? 
 
 And what its grandeur but the baseless dream 
 
 The short-lived fancies of the fickle hour ; 
 
 All unsubstantial as the summer clouds 
 
 That ride the noonday sky in silent pomp, 
 
 And melt before the gazer's eye, nor leave 
 
 Nor speck nor stain to tell they once had been ? 
 
 Death mocks the mightiest king ; from out his hand. 
 
 Pithless, the sceptre falls, though sown with pearls, 
 
 Crusted with rubies, or with diamonds lit. 
 
 The crown of earth's most famous monarchy. 
 
 Is but a crown of thorns set thickly round 
 
 With harassing fears, ambitions, doubts, or cares 
 
 That gall and vex, not for a few brief hours, 
 
 As on the morning of that tragic day. 
 
 But for a lifetime. Mightiest of names 
 
 Linger in human chronicles awhile ; 
 
 Their greatness dropped, then comes oblivion's hush, 
 
 And tired fame gives o'er her weary charge. 
 
 Soon fades the conqueror's palm ; the laurel wreath 
 
 Droops ere the day of victory is done ; 
 
 Chaplets of flowers though dripping all with dew, 
 
 Die in their smiles, and on the fainting wind 
 
 Soon languishes the loud Hosanna. Earth 
 
 Provides not for immortal victory. 
 
 Like dying echoes of a distant surge, 
 
 All former greatness breaks upon our shores
 
 238 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Passing away, and all the pageantry, 
 
 The pride and pomp of man glide from the view. 
 
 Across the wreck of nineteen centuries, 
 The loyal subjects of the thorn-crowned King 
 See regal chairs o'erset, proud dynasties 
 Once potent as divinity, brought low ; 
 Yet hail Christ monarch still. Pilate departs, 
 Though by centurions hedged and conquering spears. 
 Eagles and fasces, lictor, praetor all. 
 All disappear, and the imperial Caesar, 
 Buttressed in all solidity of power 
 And portliness of fame, himself has gone ! 
 No more Rome's galleys lash with servile oars 
 The Mediterranean foam, nor merchant fleets 
 Laden with orient wealth, crowd on the wind. 
 The imperial realm in all its stateliness 
 Has vanished like a thin and airy dream. 
 While this, our thorn-crowned King, though crowned 
 
 in scorn. 
 Reigns still : His sceptre of weak reed has proved 
 Earth's mightiest sceptre ; His derided power 
 An ever-widening sway, beneficent. 
 Millions to Him their glad allegiance own. 
 And hail Him, as they throng the road to death, 
 Ready to die for Christ their Conqueror ! 
 
 Yet find we in this sad pathetic scene 
 A meaning new. Crowned with His diadem 
 Of cruel thorns, bedewed with sweat of blood, 
 Our second Adam bears th' original curse 
 Of Paradise ; His diadem of woe 
 Tells of vicarious pangs. Amid the thorns
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 239 
 
 No jewel gleamed, but the red drops of blood, 
 
 More precious than the costliest gems that hide 
 
 In dusky India's breast, or deck the brows 
 
 Of royalty, or beauty in its pride, 
 
 Were the rich jewels of our monarch's crown ! 
 
 His pains are ours. There stood the accepted King, 
 
 Accepted in rejection, set at naught, 
 
 Yet welcomed King supreme of human grief. 
 
 Now on Thy pilgrimage of love, O Christ, 
 Steadfast Thou sett'st Thyself; nor can the crowds. 
 With their fierce cries demanding instant death. 
 Nor treachery, nor cruelty, nor hate. 
 Fiendish and causeless, daunt Thy firm resolve. 
 Steep was the path to death, death in its last 
 Most terrible aspect, intensified 
 By pain extreme, embittered by the woes 
 From which men shrink, unreasoning violence. 
 Exposure, ignominy, bitterest sense 
 That stings the soul, injustice armed with hate ; 
 Nor may we know what pangs awaited Thee 
 Within the gates of death ; hatred tenfold 
 From spiritual foes unseen by human eye, 
 Malice unclogged, and by consentient flesh 
 Inert, unhampered, wrought by hopelessness 
 To desperation, and the fierce revenge 
 That finds the only respite from its woe 
 In plunging others in the depths of pain. 
 
 The sentence is gone forth ; now art Thou doomed, 
 O Christ, to die ! and wicked men would lay 
 By their free act upon Thy righteous soul 
 Death as a punishment, binding round Thee
 
 240 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The self- same chains, galHng humanity, 
 
 Thou cam'st to break. Hell moves to marshal Thee, 
 
 And urge Thee on the road to bitter death. 
 
 Wash thou thy hands, O Roman governor, 
 Protest with thy white lips and faltering tongue, 
 Then do the ill thou dread'st ! Mock king art thou, 
 The bruised reed befits thy palsied hand 
 As sceptre ; for thine abject weakness gives 
 This life most precious to the dogs of death. 
 Blind victim, thou, who the All-Just could yield, 
 And with Him sacrifice thy manliness. 
 Honour, and truth, for tenure of high place, 
 Present convenience, miserable self- ease. 
 
 Through narrow crowded streets to Calvary 
 Sets the procession forth. Brief time had passed, 
 A short four days, since welcoming crowds had met, 
 And hailed with loud hosannas their new King, 
 Whom now they lead to death. With stalwart tread 
 The Roman soldiers hedge their victim round, 
 Clearing the path, that the condemned may pass. 
 Last ignominy! for the Holy One 
 A murderer was preferred, and now with Him, 
 The soul of purity, of truth, of love. 
 Are linked two malefactors doomed to death. 
 Around His path the perjured, and the false. 
 The cruel scribe, and leering Pharisee, 
 Exulted in their cheap revenge of death. 
 There too were women, tearful in their love 
 And faithful tenderness, timid disciples. 
 Who by the sweetness, wisdom, gravity 
 Of the rejected Teacher had been drawn.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 241 
 
 As by attraction irresistible, 
 To indulge in loftier hopes. Bearing His cross, 
 The Saviour staggering bends. Slow, dreadful hours 
 Of agony, the scourging and the blows, 
 Bitter contention, sleeplessness, had sapped 
 His physical strength. Another bears the cross. 
 Out through the gate they pass to Calvary, 
 Name of sad import, but hence consecrate 
 'Mid earth's most sacred places by the blood 
 That bought the soul. The hour at length has come, 
 The crisis of the world's great history, 
 Climax and topmost peak of centuried time. 
 Which, like the gilded cross that gleams aloft, 
 Capping the spire of some cathedral old, 
 High in the windy air 'mid drifting clouds, 
 O'er battlement and pinnacle and tower, 
 And kneeling worshippers and white-robed priests. 
 Echoes of prayer and blended song of praise. 
 Pre-eminent stands. Sprung of the past, the fruit 
 And outcome of precedent years, yet quick 
 To influence approaching centuries. 
 Keystone of time's great arch, stands Calvary's hour, 
 The Saviour's crowning hour of sacrifice. 
 Be dumb, ye echoes, tell it not abroad. 
 What sounds then smote the ear, as cruel hands 
 The hammer swung ; thou universal light, 
 Reveal not to the gaze the tragic scene 
 When the Lord's tabernacle of the flesh; 
 Was by the gusts of human passion rent 
 And fiendish hate, and prostrate laid in death. 
 Now lift your cross, ye cruel-handed men, 
 
 R
 
 242 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Expose your pitiful deed, ere the swift night, 
 Haste anguish-stricken from her ebon cave 
 To shroud the form convulsed, the awful face, 
 Of our dear Lord. O cross of agony ! 
 Symbol of infinite compassion, love 
 Untold, how dost thou rise above the waves, 
 Stormy and dark of life's tempestuous sea, 
 The beacon of the soul, safety to show ! 
 
 Now is the stress, the tension dread of pain. 
 Now is the crucial hour, when on the soul 
 Of Christ is laid man's sin ; and now He speaks, 
 Pathetical, not from sunlighted ease. 
 And peaceful circumstance, direction, choice, 
 And satisfaction deep, but when, if e'er 
 His thoughts might justly be engrossed with self, 
 Without rebuke, when outraged and betrayed. 
 With insults bitter the indignant soul 
 Might refuge find in silence, or invoke 
 A just revenge ; life's tide was at its full ; 
 Torn was His back ; fresh from the cincturing thorns 
 His bleeding brows, and all His bodily powers 
 Not in dim twilight lulled of dreaming death. 
 But quick with resolute force, armed to resist 
 The mortal foe. The crimson stream leaped forth 
 From envious wounds, new-trenched, river of life, 
 Purgation of the soul. Sublimely calm, 
 With absolute forgetfulness of self, 
 Christ looked upon the faces of His foes. 
 Thoughts had He then for others, none for self; 
 No flaming eye, denunciation fierce. 
 Nor passionate outburst, sorrowful lament,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 243 
 
 But pity's lingering glance, and gentle words 
 
 For these misguided creatures who would make 
 
 Iniquity their friend, evil their good. 
 
 O passing glimpse of tenderness divine ! 
 
 Discovered by the violence of man, 
 
 As the spring storm that tears the russet sheath 
 
 Shows the hid flower. The love of Christ shines forth 
 
 Fair as the moon among the rifted clouds 
 
 Of midnight storm, calm in the tumult, fixed 
 
 Amidst the hurrying and unquiet rack. 
 
 Behold the Intercessor, Spokesman, Friend 
 
 Even of the worst ! But a few hours before 
 
 With His disciples in the upper room 
 
 He stood, taught His great sacrament, and prayed 
 
 For those His friends. Though racked with agony, 
 
 His interceding voice the silence breaks, 
 
 Talking in darkness, as th' advantage swift 
 
 He seized to pray for these His cruel foes. 
 
 With unrelenting hate as hounds of death, 
 
 Had they pursued, had seized their innocent prey, 
 
 And in the darkness of death's threshold stood 
 
 With purpose fell to cast Him forth, and shut 
 
 Upon that life of pure benevolence 
 
 The iron gates. Lives there henceforth a heart 
 
 That can despair of mercy ? Sin had reached 
 
 Its tide's full height, and all its savage weaves 
 
 Engulfing this fair promise of the world, 
 
 Bright hope, and high ennoblement of man. 
 
 Rose in their wrath to culminating height, 
 
 And clapped their hands as by fierce tempest driven. 
 
 Dashing with hellish fury round the cross.
 
 2 44 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 As if they would submerge this miracle 
 Of heavenly love, until man's quickening hopes 
 Into the pulseless and original gloom 
 Relapse of dark despair. Who dared to touch 
 With sacrilegious hand the ark that shrined 
 Glory ineffable ; who held supine 
 The sacred form, or who the hammer swung, 
 Or pierced with cruel nails the sacred palms 
 Of those most blessed hands, or who the cross 
 Uplifted with its throbbing load, we know not : 
 Yet this we know, Christ had forgiven them all, 
 And for their pardon prayed with dying breath. 
 O love divine, that like the setting sun 
 That breaks the cloud-bank of departing storm, 
 To tell a glad to-morrow, thy bright beams 
 Irradiated these most tragic scenes ! 
 
 Thy thoughts, O Christ, fled from the noisy hour 
 Shouts, maledictions, gibes, and looks of hate. 
 And agonising spasm, and burning thirst, 
 And weary weight of woe, to Paradise, 
 Garden of God, whose cool and peaceful shades, 
 Fragrant retreats, allured th' escaping soul 
 To fly for sanctuary ; yet Thou wouldst not stay ; 
 Back to Thy cruel cross Thou earnest, to him 
 Thy fellow-sufferer, hanging by Thy side. 
 Respite to bring to the rejected man, 
 All broken in his misery, who looked 
 With last imploring glance to Thee for help ; 
 Nor looked in vain : for soon Thy gentle voice, 
 Assurance gave that Thou wert strong to save, 
 And, e'en in dying, that Thou couldst unlock
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 245 
 
 The gates of Paradise, ingress to give 
 To this Thy late returning penitent. 
 
 The day wore on till noon ; such noon had ne'er 
 Possessed the mid-day throne, since Egypt shook 
 In terror 'neath her sable pall, nor will, 
 Till in the peopled heavens the sign appear 
 To tell the Judge has come. Night veiled the land. 
 Shrouding Siloam's glen, Hinnom's dread gorge, 
 Sepulchral Tophet, and the wooded slopes 
 Of Olivet, where stood, watching afar, 
 A group of Christ's disciples; the wide scene, 
 Temple and palace, pinnacle and tower, 
 The rocky bastions and the shadowy hills, 
 Faded and sank, till Calvary's cross lay hid, 
 Buried in gloom. Hushed now the ribald cries, 
 The execrations deep ; awe-struck the crowd ; 
 And for a while the mocking tongues forgot 
 The moveless Sufferer, as deep darkness fell 
 Of premature night, starless and blank ; night 
 
 reigned 
 Unbroken, save perchance when lightnings gleamed 
 With momentary shudder through the gloom. 
 For three long hours of mortal agony 
 Thus Nature cloaked the anguish of her Lord. 
 Silent He hung. Here would I stay, my Lord, 
 Here by Thy cross in woeful sorrow stand. 
 And here lament Thy pangs unspeakable ; 
 Or, in the stillness, listening to the sigh. 
 The agonised moan, or feeble groan that told 
 The conflict sore within ; and here protest 
 With all the energy of this poor heart.
 
 246 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Craving, if e'er, for power of utterance, 
 Against earth's deep dishonour of her Lord. 
 
 Here would I fill the echoes with my plaint. 
 And bid them through the changing years arraign 
 Those felon hands that wrought Him this despite. 
 No exigence of state called for His blood ; 
 Nor criminal and forfeited life was His. 
 The fair presentment of that holy life 
 Their malice had misread ; through coming time 
 Astonishment shall grow at this foul deed. 
 Holy Christ's life had been, beneficent, 
 And full of the divinest tenderness. 
 Eyes was He to the blind, feet to the lame. 
 Protector of the helpless, and of all 
 The friendless, friend. Not in the tawdry robes 
 Of earthly fame, the meretricious dress 
 Of thin veiled selfishness was He arrayed ; 
 In purity austere, unsullied worth. 
 Wisely and modestly through life's rough path 
 He bore Himself, gentle and affable, 
 Yet with majestic loyalty to truth. 
 Whom had He wronged, defrauded, or oppressed, 
 Or whom unjustly treated ? When He spoke 
 His words were as a spring, a living stream 
 Pure as the mountain brook, wisdom unmixed, 
 Truth's winnowed grain, not mingled with the dust, 
 But for the furrow fit, the quickening cause 
 Of all that dignifies humanity. 
 Of happiness prolific, hope and love. 
 The truth He taught, not hesitatingly 
 As human teachers, but with certainty,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 247 
 
 Unfaltering assurance, gravity, 
 
 And sweetness, as ne'er dropped from human lips. 
 Bring forth, ye cruel scribes, ye craven priests. 
 
 And hireling guards, bring forth His deep affront. 
 
 Why smote ye Him, so noble and so true ? 
 
 The shadow of an accusation bring. 
 
 Smallest offence that in the well-poised scale 
 
 Of absolute justice calls for punishment. 
 
 Yet Him most perfect, gentle, tender, wise, 
 
 The innocent, the noble, and the good, 
 Unparalleled Son of earth and excellence, 
 
 Fair flower of man, of teeming millions chief, 
 Him truculent hands assail, Him they degrade, 
 For Him prefer a robber, through a path 
 
 Of coarsest violence and shame pursue : 
 Him with the mocking finger they deride. 
 Spit in His face and strike upon the mouth. 
 Blindfold and buffet Him in hellish sport. 
 Pluck from His beard the hair, and with the scourge 
 Furrow His sacred back ; with thorns they tear 
 His brow, they bind His hands, and, as the worst, 
 The vilest of our race, doom Him to death. 
 There hung in pain, the Sufferer sublime. 
 Hung silent as the tomb. What thoughts possessed 
 His dying hour, what agonies extreme 
 When steadfastly confronting man's last foe. 
 Mortals know not. Mayhap around His head, 
 Thorn-crowned, swept in obscure and midnight gloom 
 Legions of hell, permitted thus to vex 
 His parting moments with their vengeful spleen. 
 No angel forms, as in Gethsemane,
 
 248 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Upheld His weary head, or to His Hps, 
 
 Parched with death's fever, gave the cooling draught. 
 
 Left with His foes to wresde till the last, 
 
 Who sought to drive Him from His purpose fixed ; 
 
 For with His slight volition all were changed, 
 
 And all resistance would before Him melt, 
 
 And this dread scene, with all its horror clothed, 
 
 Into the rapturous glories of the skies 
 
 Would straight dissolve. Christ's love, all-conquering 
 
 love. 
 That laughed at death, upbore Him as He trod 
 The billows dark and reached the farther shore. 
 
 Six hours the Sufferer hung, in darkness three ; 
 Beneath the pall that o'er the city lay 
 Cowered the multitude ; some to their homes 
 Repaired, and to the temple some, as now 
 Drew near the hour of evening sacrifice. 
 And in the sacred fane the golden lamps 
 Shed their soft lustre on the frighted throng. 
 Now from that noblest altar. Calvary, 
 With darkness curtaining the crosses three. 
 By glancing lightnings shown, came the strange cry, 
 God had forsaken His expiring Son. 
 Mysterious utterance ! Our sins had wrought 
 Their worst, had brought their utter bitterness. 
 And sense of God's estrangement had produced 
 In the God-Man, unlocking those close links 
 Of intimate complacency divine. 
 And now from depth to awful depth He sank 
 Of pains vicarious in death's dread abyss. 
 The worst was passed. To His parched lips that cried,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 249 
 
 Moved with compassion, or mayhap awe-struck 
 
 By preternatural gloom, one to His lips 
 
 The sponge of wine upheld. And now returned 
 
 The natural light, as o'er His awful face 
 
 Drifted th' eclipse of death. He with last breath 
 
 Commends His spirit to His Father's hands. 
 
 Exclaims, " 'Tis finished;" bows His head, and dies. 
 
 'Twas at the hour, when, in the temple courts, 
 The low faint bleat of dying lamb was heard 
 That Christ, extended on the cross, expired ; 
 And, as His all-atoning life went forth. 
 From its rent tabernacle, wondering eyes 
 Awe-struck, beheld the temple veil down rent 
 By hand unseen, displaying to all eyes 
 The holiest with its golden mercy-seat, 
 Fit emblem of the yet auguster fact 
 That th' expiring Christ had passed within 
 The veil, the Holiest of the universe, 
 Making our earth the vestibule of heaven ; 
 And through triumphant love a living way 
 Opening from this poor anxious sorrowing life 
 To everlasting blessedness. Stone cold 
 Upon the tree of death the Saviour hangs. 
 Yet the great sacrifice completed stands, 
 And the dead Christ bears off the key of life. 
 
 Now is thy hour of victory, O death ! 
 Now reignest thou ! Awhile upon the cross 
 The sacred form, pallid in death, now hangs, 
 The trophy of the victory of sin, 
 Till friendly hands remove. Hot tears of love 
 Beweep the sad descent. Full reverently.
 
 2 so THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 As well becomes the corporal shrine where dwelt 
 
 God manifest in flesh, now humbled low, 
 
 Forth from His blessed hands the nails they draw, 
 
 And feet once busy on love's embassage. 
 
 His five poor bleeding wounds they wrap from view, 
 
 And veil His awful face from common eyes. 
 
 Bear Him full tenderly, ye loving ones ! 
 
 Him whom we love ; who loved us all to death ; 
 
 For us bedew His form with tears, and kiss 
 
 His wounded feet. O Head, crowned in disdain, 
 
 O marble brow, with crimson lines deep-seamed, 
 
 Thorn-rent and scarred, sublime, severe in death, 
 
 Thou gazest 'through the past, O face divine, 
 
 With pitiful reproach that breaks the heart. 
 
 And in the breast of all thy faithful stirs 
 
 Deep reprehension, tender sympathy. 
 
 Sense of humiliation that Heaven's Lord 
 
 Should suff"er such untold indignities. 
 
 The stormy evening light withdrawing smote 
 Athwart the three dread crosses as in wrath, 
 Hasting to curtain o'er earth's darkest deed, 
 And close its darkest day with deepest night. 
 With scant procession to the grave they bore 
 Our Master ; but with obsequies unmeet. 
 With what funereal honours, sable pomp 
 Shalt Thou, O Christ, be borne unto Thy grave .-* 
 If angels made the midnight sky resound 
 With their glad songs t' escort Thee to our earth, 
 Round Thy poor manger bed to stand attent 
 At Thy first sleep, shall not the darkening eve 
 Usher through eastern portals, draped in gloom,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 251 
 
 White bands of angels issuing thence, to troop 
 Beneath night's cresset fires, in shadowy pomp, 
 Following their Lord in sorrow to His tomb ? 
 Earth but a meagre ceremonial yields, 
 Scant retinue. Yet centuries unfold, 
 And as each passing year renews the tale, 
 Nay, each revolving hour, the sorrowful path 
 That from the cross conducted to Christ's grave, 
 Wants not for mourners, but is thronged in thought 
 With His redeemed, who tenderly bewail 
 The deep dishonour of their Master's death. 
 
 Now in Thy grave at length to rest, O Christ, 
 Thou'rt borne. The haven of repose is reached. 
 Without Thy rocky bulwarks malice, hate. 
 Wrought like tempestuous waves. In death's deep calm. 
 Far from the tumult Thou art now removed. 
 Tears for man's woes Thou hadst, O merciful ! 
 For Thine own sorrows none. Led as a lamb 
 Unmurmuringly, Thou gavest Thy murderers 
 Thy life that they might live. Before the storm 
 Like some tall mountain pine before the gale. 
 Meekly Thou bowed'st. Thy sword omnipotent 
 Slept undisturbed, though provocation oft 
 Tempted revenge. O soul of tenderness ! 
 And love compassionate. Thou kindly wise, 
 Full were Thy hands of gifts. Thy heart of love ; 
 Beneficent Thy life ; Thy cruel death 
 A mystery was of mercy fathomless ! 
 Shame on man's shameful recompense of love, 
 Ingratitude abhorred, rebellion foul, 
 Unnatural, sprung from hell's nether depths.
 
 2 52 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And by Satanic enmity inflamed. 
 
 Anear Thy tomb the grateful heart would mourn, 
 
 And tenderly recall Thy excellence. 
 
 One loving hand in life broke o'er Thy head 
 
 The precious unguent mingled with sad tears, 
 
 Of gratitude unspeakable the pledge ; 
 
 So, as Thou liest within Thy rocky tomb, 
 
 Hushed in the silence of the last dread sleep, 
 
 The generations of Thy people haste 
 
 Fondly to watch around their slumbering Lord. 
 
 Christ's tomb was in a garden. Pleasing thought 
 It was of antique piety to strip 
 Death of its aspect terrible, and place 
 In scenes most fair and grateful to the sense, 
 Th' expectant grave. Some in the mountain gorge, 
 Laid their loved dead, 'mid cloudy solitudes. 
 Or cliff deep scarped, with niches honeycombed, 
 Or, sepulchred in flame, gave to the winds 
 In airy vapours, while the scanty dust. 
 Immortal, was inurned by sorrowing love; 
 Millions of dead, forgotten, slumber yet 
 In unctuous churchyard clay, o'ergorged and rank. 
 Fretted with nettles, desolate, o'ergrown, 
 Round which the swirling tides of anxious life 
 Beat ceaselessly ; in ocean's solitude ; 
 Or quivering waste of burning desert sand ; 
 These in seclusion sweet. Where slept at noon 
 Umbrageous cedars sweeping low around 
 Dependent boughs that drooped with resinous shade, 
 Or where the citron shook fragrant perfumes 
 With songs of birds and soft melodious lapse.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 253 
 
 Or surly hush of streams in bosoming woods 
 Where roses clustered, camphire, spikenard sweet, 
 Or fragrant reeds and spices, born of the sun, 
 In bark, or dropping gum, or quivering leaves, 
 From whose invisible censers wandered forth 
 Wafts of refreshing fragrance on the air, 
 Upon the languid breeze in alleys dim ; 
 Or where flecked sunlight slept on golden grass ; 
 Through interlocking boughs the grave was found ; 
 The shadow in the sunshine, death in life. 
 
 No sky is there so blue but clouds deface. 
 No calm so absolute but storms will rise. 
 No scene so fair but change will drape with gloom ; 
 Noon wears to night, and through the rifted clouds 
 The silver-handed morn night's curtains ope, 
 Fair day will dawn ; adversity is ne'er 
 So near at hand as when the heart unmoved 
 Rests in contentment with its purpose gained. 
 Amid the garden's pleasures lay the grave ; 
 Was it to sweeten death, or balance life 
 With needed seriousness ? Or, since man fell 
 In Eden's garden, lingered there a hope, 
 But half concealed, that through the tomb's dark gate 
 The soul again might pass, recover yet. 
 When death's dread sentence had been undergone. 
 Favour divine, and through the open gate 
 Unchallenged entrance find to Paradise } 
 
 O tyranny of death ! Enigma dread 
 Plaguing our mortal brain, ambition's leash. 
 Blank night of thought that walls the eager mind. 
 Love's sorest penalty, of bright-eyed youth
 
 2 54 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The dreaded nightmare haunting every hour, 
 Thou spectre grim that hold'st persistently 
 Joy's precincts, and the steps of good intent 
 Persistent dogg'st ; armed hke the cherubim, 
 Barring the access to the tree of Hfe, 
 Thy merciless sword stretching athwart our plans, 
 How cunningly devised, how well concealed. 
 Quick to derange ; breathing with icy breath 
 O'er the piled blossoms of our blushing hopes, 
 'Tis as the nipping frost, bitter, severe, 
 That leaves but desolation in its track. 
 We eye askance death's iron sceptre, armed 
 Of dark necessity, and yield perforce. 
 
 Like him who tills, with labour infinite, 
 Some desert patch, reclaimed, and, now abloom 
 With the fair promises of future good. 
 Where creep the secret irrigating streams. 
 Where droop rich clustering vines and later suns 
 Embrown the whispering corn ; in one dread hour 
 The robber horde makes desolate ; the sword 
 Garners the precious fruits of toil and makes 
 A dreary wilderness. Dumb as a cliff 
 That inaccessible towers to the heavens, 
 Death utters no reply, though oft invoked 
 With passionate adjuration ; dread abyss ! 
 And voiceless, peopled but with echoes faint 
 Of human earnestness. No glimmering light 
 Arrests the wistful gaze that longing peers 
 Into the blank expanse. Necessity 
 Mysterious, man's inexorable doom! 
 Wert thou but life's long night, whose sleep profound
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 255 
 
 The firm-gripped muscle would relax, would smooth 
 
 Deep-furrowed brows by long endurance set, 
 
 Pour into troubled souls, grieving, perplexed, 
 
 The balm of ease, composing wearied limbs, 
 
 Fain would we welcome thee, O fearful death, 
 
 And thy repose ; at evening wait thy call, 
 
 And, drowsy with life's day, yet hope to find 
 
 Within thine ebon cave soft-breathing peace, 
 
 The unbroken stillness of eternity ; 
 
 Peaceful retirement in thy dreamless sleep, 
 
 Though in that long last sleep should never come 
 
 Revisitings from this brief fevered life, 
 
 Th' embrace of love, the kiss of children's lips, 
 
 And all the beauty of this changing world, 
 
 With free command of these dear powers of life. 
 
 Ah ! menace of corruption's fingers dark, 
 
 Pollution foul, humiliation dread ! 
 
 Dismemberment and dissipation e'en 
 
 Of man's original componental parts, 
 
 And doom of irreversible decay ; 
 
 These meet our gaze, with apprehension fill 
 
 The questioning mind, fearing the total check, 
 
 Arraigned by conscience, grim apparitor. 
 
 To meet the future with life's great account 
 
 Unready, and uncertain what awaits ; 
 
 The merciful construction of the life, 
 
 At best imperfect, or th' exaction hard ; 
 
 Justice unjust! the uttermost farthing wrenched 
 
 From beggared nature by an austere judge. 
 
 Perplexed and apprehensive, doubtful, sad, 
 
 Man broods upon the mystery of death,
 
 156 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Sore burdened, wishing that he ne'er had borne 
 Life's heavy load, trudging the weary years ; 
 That never had his conscious being emerged 
 From the deep primal quiet of the past. 
 To limp thus painfully life's sharded road. 
 Bereaved affection gazing o'er the sea 
 Where her most cherished treasures lie engulfed. 
 Pathetically cries, " Give back my dead ; 
 Restore, devouring ocean, those once loved 
 Too tenderly, lent for too brief a time." 
 Nought but the inarticulate surge replies. 
 That ceaseless breaks upon th' eternal shore. 
 
 O shadowy realm of dread all-powerful death, 
 Covering our earth, yea e'en to distant worlds 
 Extending far, thy vastness checks our thought. 
 Thy far-extending puissance appals 
 The sentient mind. The world is one vast grave. 
 The pyramids amid the desert sands ; 
 Barrows beneath the thyme ; rock chambers scooped 
 Near ruined cities, up whose marble steps 
 Lions now slink ; or, silent catacombs 
 'Neath thronging cities' crowds ; or, forests dark. 
 Where twisted boughs in dewy solitudes 
 Embrace mossed capitals, or, mouldering stones 
 That once proclaimed the sleeper's final bed. 
 His name, his title, his renown perchance 
 All perished, swallowed in oblivion's maw ; 
 Or, 'neath the surging elms and cawing rooks 
 Of quiet village churchyards, thorn-bound graves, 
 With flowers bedecked, and words of sweetest trust ; 
 Or, in the ocean's vast sarcophagus,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 2 si 
 
 Where passionate winds and sad complaining waves 
 
 Chant requiems o'er forgotten myriads, 
 
 The dead He sepulchred, and sleep their sleep, 
 
 No sound to break, no trouble to disturb, 
 
 The grand and holy silence of the dead. 
 
 Vast are the catacombs of dust, the world 
 Whence Nature brings her elements resolved 
 And purified by death. Sleep's portals twain 
 Of weariness and strength, find counterpart 
 In this domain immense. Through mists, thick rains. 
 And sallow shattered leaves, stripped from their boughs, 
 We to thy postern stoop, low-browed, so low 
 That hope scarce dares to pass. The gate of life 
 Beyond uprises stately, fair. Low dawns, 
 And tender skies, and twittering birds, and flowers 
 Bid welcome to the early travellers. 
 Who can compute life's cyclings numberless, 
 Comminglings, periods of rest, who tell 
 The mazy dance of atoms, or what time 
 Th' informing spark of life begins to burn. 
 Or the essential spirit gathers round 
 Its cunningly-devised environment. 
 Organic tissues of this solid frame ? 
 In the vast storehouse of the dust e'er lie 
 Unnumbered particles, inert, that wait 
 The imperious word of all-consuming life. 
 Urned in deep silence, yet the scanty dust 
 Condition of responsibility 
 Becomes to man, and burden sore of ills. 
 Under whose weary load he groans and sweats. 
 Freighted with life, like Charon's boat, the dust 
 
 s
 
 :58 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Ferries man over to eternity 
 
 With its momentous dooms : too weakly deemed 
 
 As insignificant that builds up life, 
 
 Masters man's arrogance, how towering e'er, 
 
 And lying nearest to the hand of God. 
 
 Material forms change ceaselessly, and yield 
 To love and hope scarce foothold, though despair 
 With her twin sister sorrow firmly tread. 
 In death's grand exodus spirits return 
 To God the giver, central Fount of life. 
 And final resting-place ; matter remains, 
 Sweeps its low arc, its declination finds 
 Its nadir in humility of dust, 
 Ambition's grave, mockery of human pride. 
 And solemn hiding of God's power. Frail man ! 
 Discrowned, dishonoured, dust ! Whether beneath 
 The clouds and free winds of our English hills. 
 Or smoky torchlight by swart Arabs flashed 
 In dark Egyptian pyramids, or where 
 Lamps perfumed throw their golden light around 
 Over the Escurial's marble glories dim : 
 To dust returned ! O bed of weariness. 
 Sleep's consummation, labour's ultimate sum ; 
 The strength of metals and the shock of war, 
 Fierce harvest sun, and stubborn glebe, and pith 
 Of corrugated oak, tire but the clay ; 
 And this, released from the commanding will, 
 Durance, and servitude of tireless life. 
 Inactive rests. How choice the treasures love 
 Has in the dust irrevocably lost ! 
 Sweet faces vanished in the dusk of death, 
 The golden locks of children, bright-eyed grace,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 259 
 
 Fair shapes of comeliness, vermilion cheeks, 
 
 Soft tinctured with the ruddy hues of health ; 
 
 Strength, manhood's pride, and beauty, woman's charm, 
 
 Familiar presentments fondly clasped, 
 
 All vanished, as the clouds of crimson dawn. 
 
 Leagued with the slower fires of sun, wind, rain, 
 
 Jealous, omnivorous time, have thither passed 
 
 The spoils of art and architectural pomp ; 
 
 Marble facades, and snowy minarets, 
 
 Spires, cupolas, and pinnacles that fret 
 
 The emulating clouds, and battlements. 
 
 Bastion, and fortress, by stern hand of war 
 
 Up-piled, and palaces magnificent. 
 
 Slowly have passed. The mouldering capital, 
 
 Pillar, with architrave, or pediment. 
 
 Of all the splendour of the past remain. 
 
 For nature's dissipating powers have seized 
 
 And scattered far upon the empty winds, 
 
 And restless waves, the pomp of centuries. 
 
 Sternest equality bids pride of blood 
 
 Its ancestry deduce, not from the page 
 
 Heraldic, cobwebbed vaults, cathedral crypts ; 
 
 These later links, but archives more remote, 
 
 The winds and waves of pre-diluvlal times. 
 
 The great Alcides by Mount Tsenarus 
 Found access to the regions of the dead ; 
 With unassisted force dragged the cursed hound, 
 Reluctant Cerberus. Nor force alone, 
 But love, though fabulous, has dared t' invade 
 The silence and the mystery of death. 
 Orpheus bereft sought his Eurydicc.
 
 :6o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Sorrow awakening to its sweetest strains 
 His wistful lyre, till lurid Phlegethon 
 Checked its drear waves, and rugged Pluto wept ; 
 While from her trembling hands, Proserpina 
 Let fall her yet unfinished cypress wreath, 
 Narcissus, maiden hair, woven for her lord ; 
 The plaintive song of pining human love, 
 Subduing iron breasts, made death relent. 
 
 The generations not unwillingly 
 Their graceful fables kept ; and unsubdued 
 Saw in the awful pyre the golden gates 
 Of immortality ; yet nobler hopes 
 Of nobler deeds begotten, claim the thoughts ; 
 Not visionary, sprung of sick desire. 
 Faint images projected on the sky, 
 By hope engendered, but more firmly based 
 On fact historical, record divine ; 
 No vague and shadowy myth of ancient days 
 Dim antique fable of the morning mists, 
 And golden dawn of man's generic life. 
 Thy name, O Christ, name above every name, 
 We celebrate. Led by all-conquering love 
 Thou didst invade the tomb ; the Breaker, Thou, 
 Of death's dark battlements, a living way 
 And portal to the temple of the skies, 
 Thou gav'st to man ; Thyself the Conqueror, 
 Thyself the way ! To win Thine own from death. 
 Thy Church beloved, stooping Thou didst disrobe, 
 And in mortality's poor gear Thyself 
 Array ; bowing Thy sovereign head to die, 
 Thou in th' invisible didst claim Thine own.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 261 
 
 Though faint and fainter in Thy dying pains 
 Upon the cross, Thy voice at length was lost 
 To mortal ears. Yet when the Sabbath dawned 
 Above the silence of the garden tomb, 
 First Sabbath of the dead, Hades had heard 
 Those silvery accents sweet, wondering to hear ! 
 What hopes were wakened in the chastened breasts 
 Once disobedient, stands not revealed. 
 Nothing in vain Thou dost ; too good to mock 
 The irrevocably damned with mercy feigned, 
 To hold a shadowy chalice to the lips 
 Of those beyond the reach of pitying love. 
 
 High converse with the blest in Paradise, 
 On that most glorious Sabbath, when Thou dwell'dst 
 'Mid their exultant company. Thou hadst ; 
 The prophets that with rapt seraphic fire 
 Told of Thine advent, hailing Thy glad day ; 
 The long array of priests whose spotless robes. 
 Sprinkled with blood, told Thy redemptive work, 
 In holy function, sacrificial act ; 
 The countless multitude of faithful souls. 
 Who meekly resting in the promises 
 Of grace assistant, strength, and peace, and rest, 
 Had dove-like nestled in the Saviour's breast. 
 Rapturous the welcome of Salvation's King, 
 Bearing the pledge of resurrection life. 
 To these His loved ones. By His side there stood 
 Th' ignoble one, last loved, on Calvary, 
 Just found, the dying thief compassionated, 
 Plucked from the burning by Christ's power in death. 
 Last trophy of the might of conquering love.
 
 2 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Now is He welcomed, His blest presence hailed, 
 
 By dearest names invoked, new risen sun, 
 
 Adding new splendour to the balmy light 
 
 Of Paradise, and to the ravished hearts 
 
 Of His redeemed, seeming as heaven begun. 
 
 Meanwhile, upon earth's distant noisy shore, 
 And meretricious stage of pompous show, 
 Masked piety, anointed violence, 
 And empty ceremonial, yet of sin, 
 Alas, too real, disastrous in effect, 
 The guilty actors had withdrawn, and now 
 Stand dressed in other garb. Blood on their heads, 
 In the rash moment of their mad revenge. 
 Had they invoked, guilt ineffaceable. 
 Blood of the holiest that unpurged would draw 
 Vengeance in weltering floods upon their race. 
 The sated mob, slunk to obscurity, 
 'Shamed of their deadly work. The priests of God, 
 Of God in name, but ministers of hell, 
 Victims and dupes of Satan's power led on 
 To heinous deeds of sin, though cloaked with good, 
 Now robed in priestly dress approach the shrine. 
 The altar of the outraged Deity. 
 Dread mockery, profanity untold ! 
 To approach the fount of justice absolute, 
 With fat of lambs, and unctuous smoke that climbed, 
 Blotting the heavens, and innocent victims' blood, 
 With due formality of priestly act, 
 Yet guilty of the darkest, foulest crime. 
 How must the sacred blood on Calvary's height. 
 Yet crimsoning the earth, have louder cried
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 263 
 
 Than Abel's, each accusing drop full-voiced 
 
 In protestations from th' ensanguined ground. 
 
 The winds that sighing swept, the rocks that rent, 
 
 The empty graves yielding their sheeted dead, 
 
 With this most solid universal earth, 
 
 Would find a tongue in their dumb mouths to arraign 
 
 The wickedness of man. The sacred corse. 
 
 Plain evidence, too plain, of sin's fell work. 
 
 Lying extended in the dewy gloom, 
 
 Mutely invoked stern justice to impeach 
 
 Before God's bar, the murderers of truth. 
 
 Of gentle pity, spotless innocence. 
 
 True manliness, and all too tender love. 
 
 Blood on the priestly vestments, blood that cried, 
 
 Blood on the priestly hands, not purgative, 
 
 But damnatory ; on the shield of Rome 
 
 The blood, a blot whose tarnish would remain 
 
 Unhidden by her glories yet to be. 
 
 Splendour of victory, or laurels proud 
 
 Of the world-empire in its conquering might. 
 
 Nature resumed her sway full peacefully. 
 Her troubles passed. As paralysed with dread 
 To see her agonised and dying Lord, 
 With darkness had she shrouded Him. The night, 
 Jealous, from nether caves had sprung to hide 
 And shroud from common view, from mocking eyes, 
 The awful tragedy, shrank to its realm ; 
 Nor blot remained, nor lingering brooding shade, 
 Nor quivering spasm in rocky flank of earth. 
 Back flowed the light, and in its wonted course 
 The stream of thincrs created onward flowed.
 
 :64 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Now second evening came, and duskily 
 Shrouded the guilty city. Broad and calm 
 O'er Olivet, once more the Paschal moon 
 Silvering the olive groves, shone bright and full, 
 Edging with light, hill-tops and parapets. 
 And swelling domes, high battlements and towers, 
 The silent temple, or the querulous stream 
 Of glistening Kedron, mourning as it flowed 
 Past sad Gethsemane. A deeper hush 
 O'er the secluded garden now prevailed. 
 That brooded with its world of mystery. 
 Eternal burden of unuttered woe. 
 Before His tomb, His royal bed of death, 
 Where from redemptive labour Christ reposed. 
 Second creation, making of a world, 
 And second Sabbath kept, by jealousy 
 And fear fast sealed, firm locked, paced to and fro 
 The Roman sentinel, holding his watch ; 
 And as the hours of midnight now drew on, 
 Till the third dawn the Prisoner had named 
 When living, as His resurrection time. 
 Strictly their guard they kept. All through the night. 
 With deepening silence, as the vast concave 
 Wheeling with stars innumerable swept round, 
 As if heaven's host their funeral torches held 
 Round night's great catafalque, honouring their Lord. 
 All night ; nor rustling leaf, nor stir of bird 
 Nocturnal 'mid the dewy trees, footfall. 
 Nor early cock-crow on the morning air. 
 Unnoticed passed. Ears had they for such sounds 
 But none for th' angelic footfalls light.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 265 
 
 Of the celestial guards who drew anear 
 
 The visible bourn, attendant on their Lord, 
 
 And all unseen by mortal eye approached, 
 
 Since now He rested from redemption's task. 
 
 Watching the Sleeper, if mayhap to note 
 
 The first faint tremor of returning life 
 
 Thrill through the shrouded form, the covered face ; 
 
 To hail the first far-darting beams of life 
 
 Shootinof athwart the darkness of the tomb, 
 
 To celebrate His power who came to snatch 
 
 From envious death, and claim the mournful gage, 
 
 The trophy of an all-enduring love. 
 
 And sad memorial of His passion ; pledge 
 
 Of everlasting union with man, 
 
 His wounded clay! by mediatorial power 
 
 A second incarnation to assume. 
 
 O great High Priest, whose loins were girt with love, 
 Whose flaming eyes outshone the lightning's gleam. 
 And burning feet seemed as the fiery brass ; 
 None saw the lifted veil, none heard Thy voice, 
 As sound of many waters, when Thou gav'st 
 Thy salutation to our sin-struck earth, 
 When from the Holiest Thou cam'st to bless 
 And seek Thine own. In Bethlehem's crowded inn, 
 Thy first faint cry of human feebleness 
 Was heard, and in Thy virgin mother's arms 
 Thine infant form was laid, for thy first sleep. 
 
 No mortal eye saw now the cerements burst, 
 Secret, as when at th' Almighty word, 
 The pulse of life within the slumbering earth 
 Begins to stir, and in ten thousand spires.
 
 266 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of emerald velvet of the budding woods, 
 Or blossoms blushing as the cheek of youth, 
 Nature arising from her wintry tomb 
 Renews her beauty. Thus, all secretly, 
 The Saviour rose, thus silently assumed 
 His outraged clay. In mockery of man. 
 Who as with vaporous clouds had sought to quench 
 The sun, and with the dewy-beaded cobwebs 
 To bind the lusty morn, rising, Christ passed 
 The rocky barrier of the tomb. To Him 
 As ineffectual shadows were the stone. 
 The seal, the guard with intercepting spears. 
 The stony portals and the rampart dense 
 Of living rock faded as vapours touched 
 By the new-risen sun. The dusk of dawn 
 Was on His face. The earthquake was His herald ; 
 With tremulous pangs as apprehending wrath, 
 Shivered the coward earth to know Him nigh. 
 The stone was roll'd away ; the sentinels 
 Lay as if dead, while through the open gate, 
 And blackness of the tomb, a radiance gleamed. 
 While snowy angels hovered round the scene. 
 In the gray morn the faithful women come, 
 First visitants, disciples these, with one 
 Whom gratitude had brought in loving haste, 
 To anoint Him, dead, whom living she had loved. 
 Forgiven much ; nor terrified by death. 
 The quaking dawn, deserted garden paths, 
 Nor ghostly silence of that garden tomb. 
 The hour unmeet, unguarded company, 
 Love bore its light and in that light they walked.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. =67 
 
 Upon the mournful crucifixion eve, 
 Sitting apart, these noted where the Lord 
 Was laid, and watched the place, despite the guard. 
 Bearing their fragrant spices to anoint 
 Their buried Master, down the dewy paths 
 They went confidingly, with loving speech ; 
 Anear the sepulchre troubled they stand. 
 Perplexed, not knowing to remove the stone 
 That blocked the tomb. O feebleness of faith ! 
 Thrice had the Saviour plainly prophesied 
 His resurrection ; e'en the time was named, 
 The third eventful day. How had their grief. 
 Tempestuous wrought, submerged the argosy 
 Of this so glorious hope ; yet, desolate. 
 From memory's ocean depths how plucked they not 
 The pearl of so great promise to redeem 
 Bitter bereavement ? Offerings for the dead 
 Crowded their hands, unguents and sweet perfumes ; 
 No glimmering hope, offspring of faith remained. 
 Him dead, irrevocably dead they deemed, 
 Bewept, immured ; to the voracious past 
 Resigned, the shadowy bourn, th' abyss dreaded 
 Of pitiful love. Had they but hoped to greet 
 Their risen King, according to His word, 
 Joy scarce had tarried till the laggard dawn, 
 Should bring its incense from the glowing east, 
 Ere swift of foot to meet Him had they fled ; 
 There in the star-lit vestibule of night 
 Impatiendy to tarry with their gifts. 
 Eager to welcome their returning Lord. 
 
 So fared the women. Having reached their goal,
 
 268 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Astonishment befell them. From the tomb 
 
 Was rolled away the stone, and on it sat 
 
 An angel clad in garments white like snow ; 
 
 His face as lightning shone. From angel lips 
 
 The glad intelligence at first was given 
 
 To man of the Redeemer's birth : and now 
 
 From angel lips the glad assurance comes, 
 
 The Saviour lives ! and from death's caverns deep. 
 
 Loosening the grave-clothes, through the open gates 
 
 Comes to revisit earth. O glorious news ! 
 
 Floating like some proud banner on the air, 
 
 Perpetual message, pledge of victory, 
 
 As rose, for generations yet unborn. 
 
 The full-orbed gospel of redeeming love. 
 
 Now dawned immortal day ; now as each year 
 Slowly revolves in festival of spring, 
 Emerging from her wintry tomb, fresh-clad 
 In beauty Nature comes to hail her Lord 
 Triumphantly returning from the dead ; 
 All strewn with flowers His path, a tenderer blue 
 The sky assumes ; and on the fragrant air 
 Ten thousand blossoms pour their innocent lives. 
 The sun fresh brightness wears, his virgin lamp 
 New trimmed, as summoned by the midnight cry 
 To meet the Bridegroom, come to claim His Bride. 
 Life stirs, throbbing and pulsing through the maze 
 Of things created ; nature's tide 's aflow, 
 Ocean of wealth and beauty, with glad waves 
 Lifting their voices multitudinous. 
 O glorious festival ! O spring-time fair ! 
 For ever consecrated to the hope,
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 269 
 
 Thrice-blessed hope of Immortality. 
 
 Nature and grace combine to bring the world 
 
 This new evangel of Christ's victory 
 
 O'er death, man's sullen and relentless foe. 
 
 Now through the temple of the universe, 
 
 These outer courts, dim, distant, smitten with sin, 
 
 Welcomes resound hailing the King returned. 
 
 Once dead, but now alive for evermore. 
 
 Break into singing, O ye blossoming fields. 
 That glistening in your dews with freshness shine, 
 Filling the balmy hours with odorous joy ; 
 Lift up your voices, O ye woods and groves. 
 Ye meadows green and echoing woodlands dim, 
 And carolling birds, and gently whispering winds. 
 And glistening streams with your melodious flow ; 
 Thou vault of blue to the crisped ocean give 
 Echoes redoubled, let the messenger wind 
 Glad burden carry to earth's distant shores ; 
 O feeble heart, fly forth, though feeble winged, 
 Sing thy surprise, sing of thy risen Lord, 
 Rise to the greatness of the lofty theme, 
 Joining the world's great anthem of delight. 
 Heaven's music blesses earth; now through the aisle 
 Of centuries long drawn, receding fast, 
 Christ's Holy Church, His chosen Bride, exults, 
 Robed in the righteousness immaculate 
 Of her dear Lord, lifts the immortal song, 
 Full-cadenced, sweet, as ocean's deep-voiced waves, 
 Pure adoration, gratitude, and love : 
 
 "Thee we adore, O Christ, Redeemer Thou, 
 Incarnate Love, twice-born on earth, yet now
 
 2 70 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Immortal in the energy divine 
 
 Of mediatorial power, acknowledged Head 
 
 Of the whole family in heaven and earth ! 
 
 To slender faith, unbalanced yet to mount 
 
 Th' empyrean of celestial love, 
 
 Cowering 'mid visible things with broken wing, 
 
 Thee, in Thy mystery of humility, 
 
 Too slow are we to hail, bemused, perplexed, 
 
 Beclouded, blinded with excessive light ; 
 
 True man, of very manhood perfected 
 
 By suffering, till the veiled divinity 
 
 Blended in trviest sympathy with man. 
 
 This was Thy gospel confident, and this 
 
 Thy pledge, when pointing to Thy tomb Thou bad'st 
 
 Man watch the bursting of the bands of death. 
 
 Thy tomb of living rock close sentinelled 
 
 Withdrew its jealous bolts at Thy command. 
 
 And to the vast pretensions of Thy life. 
 
 Crowned with the grand pretensions of Thy death, 
 
 Gave absolute assurance. From Thy tomb 
 
 Forth stepp'st Thou, Conqueror, upon this earth. 
 
 Sin-ruined, and Thy victory achieved. 
 
 Betokened by no desolations wide. 
 
 And miserable circumstance of war, 
 
 Cities in smoking ruins, homes of men 
 
 Blackened and roofless in the pitiless wind. 
 
 Fields wasted, vines uptorn and trampled corn. 
 
 The battlefield's dread agonies, the cry 
 
 Of brave men in their anguish, the appeal 
 
 Of sobbing orphans, or of widowed love, 
 
 Not these the adjuncts of Thy victory.
 
 THE SONG OF LOVE'S TRIUMPH. 271 
 
 With man's dread foes Thy might omnipotent 
 Was measured, sin, all-prevalent death, Satan 
 Th' usurper old ; these felt the might, these bowed 
 Before the sceptre of our conquering King ! 
 Ride on in power, O Mighty One, ride on, 
 Take to Thyself the kingdom Thou hast won 
 All worthily ! Forth issuing from the grave, 
 Forth from the dreaded grave by man abhorred. 
 As through the gate of immortality, 
 Come Thy redeemed ; no lingering taint of death, 
 Nor trace of ashy paleness on the face. 
 Nor apprehensive fear, paralysis 
 Of will, but sunshine there, and light of love 
 Immortal. Mighty host, ten thousand times 
 Ten thousand told, and thousands numberless. 
 Washed in Thy blood, O Lamb of God, and clad 
 In robes of everlasting righteousness 
 Purchased by Thee, these follow in Thy train. 
 And to heaven's golden gates turn joyful steps. 
 
 " But chiefly Thee we praise ; and glad accept 
 Salvation's pledge. Thy grand and perfect work. 
 With faint and dying lips Thou didst declare 
 Thy task was finished. Finish'd the array, 
 The preparation slow and full detail 
 Of truth revealed ; faint shadows acted oft 
 Unconsciously, dumb picturings of truth, 
 Yet making known with sweet simplicity 
 The great transaction of vicarious love ; 
 Complete Thy work, complete Thy sacrifice ; 
 Then, in humility sublime. Thou bowed'st 
 Thy sacred Head, hanging in pallid death.
 
 272 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Three days of silence passed, no voice proclaimed 
 Thy sacrifice accepted ; now Thou com'st 
 Through the rent veil, Jesus, our great High Priest 
 Thyself the Apostle of new life and love. 
 Our grisly foe. Thy minion death, withdraws 
 The sable curtains of the tomb and shows 
 The world its great Redeemer, now no more 
 To die. Thy coming forth in trumpet tones 
 Proclaims the sanction of almighty love. 
 Unhindered, now we claim the priceless boon 
 Accruing from Thy blood ; now unabashed, 
 Gaze on heaven's sunlit battlements, nor deem 
 The upward path as inaccessible. 
 Ours the deliverance, Thine the bitter pain ; 
 The spotlessness oft craved brought nigh by Thee, 
 And priceless benefits of grace divine. 
 
 " Salvation's King ! our blest Redeemer hail ! 
 Forth from the secret silent tomb Thou com'st. 
 The firstfruits of the dead, the promise fair 
 Of harvest yet to be, when from the dust 
 Thy quickening word will call the sleepers forth. 
 Our life is bound in Thine, in Thee we died, 
 And rising, rise with Thee, Great Federal Head. 
 Death brandishes in vain o'er Thy redeemed 
 His pointless spear; his terrors are no more, 
 His menace vain, for Thou, O Conqueror, 
 Hast captive led captivity, and robbed 
 ■ The spoiler of his spoils, making our foe 
 Our bondman, and Thy tributary slave !"
 
 BOOK THE EIGHTH 
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The Alps — March of the nations — Rome's zenith — The catacombs and 
 their inhabitants — Life of the persecuted — The pangs of martyrdom 
 — English village church — Peaceful Sabbath described — Thoughts of 
 trials of early confessors and martyrs — The Coliseum — The Christian 
 martyrs — Night on the arena — Address to martyrs— Their glorious 
 testimony — Persecution in vain — Inroads of heresy— The pacific 
 march of Christ's Church — Influence of Christianity on art, laws, 
 manners — The Bible — Rise of crusading enterprise — Motive pure — 
 The going forth of the host — Failure of the enterprise — Knightly 
 orders — Chivalry — Missionary effort — The Master's command — Rise 
 of the new philosophy — Each country has its heroes — Modern effort 
 — Ultimate triumph.
 
 BOOK THE EIGHTH. 
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 
 
 GLITTERING Alpine peaks that climb 
 
 the heavens, 
 Piercing the azure with your snowy cliffs, 
 Titanic battlements of living rock ; 
 Or, somewhile seen, as apparitions faint. 
 Startling and shadowy, as that once ye died 
 
 And passed into your state of endless rest ; 
 
 Saintly, removed, ye seem, and on the point 
 
 To vanish as I gaze ; the purple hills 
 
 Crouch round your throne sublime ; the misty vales, 
 
 Where wandering echoes of the avalanche. 
 
 Or diapason of the thunder's roar 
 
 Prolonged, is heard, recede in silent gloom ; 
 
 The notched and fringing pines with sweeping boughs 
 
 'Gainst the pure ermine of perpetual snow. 
 
 Or mounded clouds, or the cerulean sky. 
 
 Stand forth distinct : a peace sabbatical 
 
 Breathes in the air and broods upon the lake.
 
 276 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 That slumbers, like a nether sky, below, 
 
 And fills your ancient solitudes, removed 
 
 Far from the turmoil of man's busy world. 
 
 Ye have a sanctity, ye sunlit peaks, 
 
 A majesty and power to elevate 
 
 The soul, to stir within us noblest thoughts, 
 
 Whispering ambitions worthy of our race. 
 
 Withdrawn in your proud loneliness, your voice. 
 
 Silent withal, yet penetrates the soul. 
 
 Crowned are ye with your icy diadems, 
 
 And caped with snow ; round your imperial thrones 
 
 The bloom of distance like a purple robe 
 
 Is flung, across whose amplitude, the storm 
 
 Retreating, weaves its jewelled rainbow hues. 
 
 The glorious pine-woods with their myriad spires, 
 
 Sky-pointing, clothe your nether slopes, sheer cliffs, 
 
 Gray-lined, precipitous, and jagged rocks, 
 
 With emerald patches where the sunlight sleeps ; 
 
 Yours the majestic movements of the clouds. 
 
 That in the mid air form before the eyes. 
 
 And drifting upwards trail their rustling skirts, 
 
 Or in procession march and countermarch 
 
 Till the breeze casts them as a filmy veil 
 
 Over the landscape ; with consentient voice 
 
 Of God ye speak, of that primeval day 
 
 Of sounding darkness, when the Almighty Hand, 
 
 Moving with plastic energy divine, 
 
 Framed this great world with all its ordered parts ; 
 
 When the vast natural powers, now slumbering leashed, 
 
 Slipping their bands, tore continents in twain. 
 
 Upheaved those mighty bastions, and the depths
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 277 
 
 Of these low vales delved with the glacier's plough ; 
 Of God, who built your fastnesses, ye speak, 
 Who, still upholding earth's majestic frame, 
 Pillars its strength, and binds its myriad links, 
 Breathes in its life, and in its beauty smiles. 
 Rears your vast forms, beneath the awful sky 
 Your frozen solitudes outspreads, snow-wastes, 
 Hushed in deep silence, where the eagle's scream 
 Disturbs the loneliness, regions of clouds. 
 Of brooding mists, and ever-restless winds. 
 And desolation of the dreadful prime. 
 Of God ye speak, with voices eloquent. 
 Whose echoes find their echoes in our breast, 
 Prompting the homage due to One so great, 
 Reverence, and deep humility, and trust, 
 That in the shadow of His greatness rests, 
 With absolute submission and content : 
 Him ye proclaim as chief, who, justly chief. 
 Holds the pre-eminence, and your high theme 
 Fills the live echoes with the truth sublime. 
 
 Yet have ye too a voice full eloquent 
 Of man, amid his m.utability, 
 Immovable ; of confidence ye speak. 
 And duty, aspirations sprung of truth ; 
 Of the yet loftier path, that mounts above 
 Your towering peaks, a path the eagle knows not. 
 Nor the vulture scans, which wisdom treads. 
 To us, O lofty and aspiring heights, 
 To us the informing spark, kinship divine, 
 August, and daily made more intimate 
 With Him who made you, and whose sovereign love
 
 278 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Called us in being, and for us, this frame 
 
 Of universal things existence gave, 
 
 With its fair garniture. His love enshrined 
 
 In our mortality, frail walls of dust. 
 
 Is the sublimest fact in man, the life 
 
 Of life, of love the love, guerdon and crown. 
 
 Firing th' ambition that with gaze unblenched 
 
 Mounts to the zenith on its pinions bold, 
 
 Seeking the favour of th' Omnipotent. 
 
 Yet once more, O ye snow-clad witnesses ! 
 I bid ye testify, as well ye may. 
 Of that exalted, conquering, spirit in man 
 That dwarfs your vastness, and our pettiness 
 Redeems. Frail as the moth that flickers o'er 
 Your pasture flowers, or, for a moment brief. 
 Lights on the rock to spread its painted wings. 
 Then flutters on, — man seems. Before your thrones. 
 Have passed the generations in their pomp. 
 Like the slow march of evening's golden clouds. 
 And ye have seen the outcome ultimate 
 Of slowly-working principles in life 
 That baffle nearer scrutiny. Man's pomp. 
 His majesty, and far-resounding fame 
 Passed like an echo on the passing wind. 
 Perchance have come t' invade your Sabbath calm, 
 Cries manifold of human agony, 
 Ambition foiled, and disappointment sore, 
 And tyranny that drives to bitterest ends 
 Its victims, war's alarms, and vengeful cries 
 Blown on the wind, the litany of woe, 
 Or when in fateful moments stalked abroad
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 279 
 
 The demon persecution, as from hell 
 
 Sent on dread mission, when your grassy slopes 
 
 Were dabbled with the blood of innocence, 
 
 And flames shot through the crackling roofs of homes 
 
 Made desolate : from your snow-shrouded heights 
 
 That look o'er Leman's wave, Waldensian vales. 
 
 Or northward, where the broad and willowed Rhine, 
 
 Amidst its islands, shines in evening's sun. 
 
 Like to a river of heaven, Alsatian heights. 
 
 And Taunus faintly blue, skirted with vines, 
 
 Dark forests, peopled towns, and ample streams 
 
 Of Germany, where stalwart nations clasped 
 
 The truth of God ; or, southward o'er the plains 
 
 Of Italy, and her historic fields. 
 
 Have ye not seen amid the centuries 
 
 The onward march of Christ's great militant host ? 
 
 Have ye not seen the exalted spirit rise, 
 
 That treads beneath its feet death and its pains ? 
 
 Have ye not seen the testimony given 
 
 From flaming piles, arenas, scaffolds red. 
 
 That counts truth paramount, and stands prepared 
 
 To die in attestations of its claims ? 
 
 Like to the gloom of doubt, e'en as I muse, 
 
 The night has fallen, hiding you from gaze ; 
 
 A pall of darkness covers this fair scene ; 
 
 But from behind your peaks, the lightning's flash 
 
 With instantaneous blaze opens the night, 
 
 Reveals your shrouded forms, and forth ye stand. 
 
 Majestic in your awful grandeur shown ; 
 
 While down the echoing colonnade of night 
 
 The long reverberating thunder rolls,
 
 2 8o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 As if ye uttered in a voice sublime 
 Your attestation grand : " We testify !" 
 
 Had but Thy love, O Christ, been quenched in death 
 No exequies our sadness could show forth. 
 The bitterness extreme of such dread loss 
 And sore bereavement ; to serener skies 
 Thou mountedst by Thy blue aerial paths, 
 And reign'st invisible ; loved by Thy Church, 
 Thou lovest, and over all her destinies 
 Presiding, watchest with a jealous care. 
 Lingering on earth Thy love incarnated 
 Itself in those Thou lov'dst, in faithful breasts ; 
 Not from the dull inaction of the tomb. 
 The shackles of the tyranny of death, 
 Alone Thou winnest us : to our cold hearts 
 Thou teachest nobler, more enduring hopes ; 
 Called from earth's clinging damps, chill airs, low skies. 
 And fluttering autumn leaves, and hopes divine, 
 Thy Church, pure bride, dowered with Thy tenderness. 
 Must care for those to whom Thy love went forth, 
 Perpetual witness of the love divine. 
 
 Rome now had reached the full meridian height, 
 The zenith of her power ; victorious, 
 Her arms had borne her proud triumphant name 
 From the parched deserts of the torrid south. 
 Northwards, to where Arcturus' chilly ray 
 Burned high above the Hercynian forests' gloom ; 
 From stormy islands in the western main 
 To Parthia. Empress of nations, throned 
 By lordly Tiber, the proud city rose 
 Magnificent, with temples, palaces,
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 281 
 
 Imperial mansions, columned porticoes, 
 
 Proud amphitheatres, worthy the realm. 
 
 Philosophy, had reached its manhood's prime, 
 
 And, with unfaltering voice, sought or to teach 
 
 Submission to th' inevitable stroke, 
 
 Or, with Epicurus, swiftly to seize 
 
 Th' immediate pleasures of the passing hour, 
 
 Envious of fate ; to this the balance turned, 
 
 And luxury, that nicely crops the flower 
 
 And yet the thorn avoids, that wins the crown 
 
 And top of joy, present delight, made life 
 
 Indulgence, and the worthier powers obscured 
 
 With fumes of grosser pleasures, darkening hope. 
 
 Mansions of marble ceiled with fretted gold, 
 
 Ivory and cedar, light of precious gems, 
 
 And Seric robes woven in Coan looms, 
 
 Banquets with crowns of roses, unguents rare, 
 
 Massic, Setinum, and Falernian wines, 
 
 Obsequious slaves in stately retinue. 
 
 All that could minister to pomp and pride 
 
 Crowded life's day, till merciful death stepped in, 
 
 And closed the wearied pleasure-seeker's eyes : 
 
 Forth was he borne through the Capenian gate. 
 
 There proudly urned in marble sepulchre, 
 
 Silent companion of the historic dead, 
 
 The great Metelli, or the Scipios, 
 
 Or the Servilian house, or, where outspread 
 
 The Appian way, grim avenue of tombs, 
 
 That with its solemn marge curbed Rome's bright 
 
 stream 
 Of varied life ; chariots with prancing steeds.
 
 282 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The kiurell'd cohort decked with glistening arms ; 
 
 The criminal by lictors led to die ; 
 
 The merchant, with his bales of silks and spice, 
 
 Fresh from the Adrian waves, or sailors swart ; 
 
 The gilded litter of the rich and great ; 
 
 Beauty and youth with equipages gay ; 
 
 Or gangs of slaves all sweltering in the sun. 
 
 Brown-handed peasants, wine carts, jingling mules. 
 
 Passed and repassed from morn to crimson eve. 
 
 Scorned, disallowed, beneath the busy feet 
 Of all these thronging crowds, a people dwelt 
 That shrank from view in gloomy catacomb, 
 And subterranean vaults, a living grave, 
 Poor fugitives, 'mid darkness, hunger, fear. 
 And deprivation of life's chief delights. 
 Spending their days, bereft of home, love, friends, 
 Ease, good opinions, pleasant intercourse 
 With their compeers, worldly advancement, wealth,- 
 There cherishing in poverty and gloom 
 Sublimest hopes, confessing purest faith. 
 Strange fugitives ! Strange hiding-place for truth, 
 Destined for wide diffusion, future rule 
 Among the nations, foremost place to assume. 
 Between th' unthinking, powerful upper world, 
 Unconscious of the subtle influence. 
 The shadowy fingers that would mould the fate 
 Of the imperial realm, and those who crouched 
 Beneath their feet, antagonism had sprung ; 
 The armed hand of Rome was 'gainst them turned. 
 Proud ignorance that would not deign to learn 
 Was theirs, injustice, source of cruelty
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 283 
 
 Prolific, and inveterate prejudice. 
 
 Affronted by the calm exclusiveness 
 
 Of this new creed, that silently dismissed 
 
 The august pantheon of the national faith, 
 
 Jove of the Capitol, Saturn, and Mars, 
 
 Bacchus with vine leaves crowned, and Terminus, 
 
 Lemures, lares of the sacred hearth. 
 
 As but mere dreams, a rabble crowd, unreal, 
 
 Mere baseless fancies sprung from mythic lore, 
 
 How reverenced, or by customary faith 
 
 Held venerable ; resentment in them sprung. 
 
 Yet with a loftier philosophy 
 
 That in its ethic purpose, high intent, 
 
 O'erpassed man's dreams. Stoic, or Academic, 
 
 Socratic, Cynic, or the Italic sect. 
 
 These fanatics taught that to one Deity, 
 
 Supreme and only God, pure Spirit, of life 
 
 Th' essential life. Observer unobserved. 
 
 Omnipotent, was human fealty due : 
 
 That other worship was but mockery. 
 
 Or worse, dishonour to the King Supreme. 
 
 Though silently advanced, such tenets roused 
 
 Deepest resentment, unrelenting hate, 
 
 That sought full soon expression. None had seen 
 
 An altar that the Christian sect had reared, 
 
 Nor in their temples found image, nor shrine. 
 
 Statue, objective form. Hence rose the cry, 
 
 And accusation fierce of atheism : 
 
 And they who most had sought the rule supreme 
 
 T' acknowledge and t' obey, must now perforce 
 
 Confront a charge wounding their inmost souls.
 
 2 84 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Slander's envenomed tooth poisoned their fame. 
 Some recreants by torture driven, or fear, 
 Assailed their reputation with reports 
 Of immorality ; slaves who had joined 
 In Christian worship, apprehending not 
 The sacramental mysteries, falsely told 
 Of Thyestsean feasts at midnight hour ; 
 That, at their banquet dread of human flesh, 
 Was given to each a cup of human blood. 
 Maligned, treated as outcasts of their race. 
 And enemies of man, they shrank from view. 
 While holding forth as their apology 
 A blameless, pure, and heavenly-minded life. 
 
 There, at the midnight hour, when overhead 
 The city's busy crowds were hushed to rest, 
 Gathered a trembling few, gathered in fear. 
 Where the dark tunnel ways converging formed 
 Rude subterranean chapel, consecrate 
 By faith and bolder love, where timorous art 
 Not yet had ventured, there Christ's faithful few 
 Listened, as by the ruddy torch's light. 
 Their minister read from the sacred scrolls. 
 Then thought they of their dear and martyred Lord ; 
 Thought of the crown to faith triumphant given, 
 And the bright world that lay behind the walls 
 Of sullen death, its liberty and peace, 
 Its gardens fair, and never-fading day. 
 With brightened eyes ; and oft the whispered prayer 
 Arose for patience and confirming grace. 
 Oft as they sang their sacramental hymn 
 In tones subdued, with rapt uplifted face.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 285 
 
 Resting their souls in confidence on God, 
 
 The persecutor's footfall smote the ear ; 
 
 Then scattered they in darkness ; soon was left 
 
 Silent and dark their oratory rude. 
 
 Not always thus the murderer's sword was balked : 
 
 Surprised, rudely dispersed, the wounded fled. 
 
 In dark and distant passages to die : 
 
 Thence borne by reverent hands to their last bed, 
 
 Hollowed from out the subterranean rock, 
 
 There, 'mid the faithful, were they sepulchred. 
 
 On their cold lips the kiss of peace was laid ; 
 
 Spices were piled within the narrow grave, 
 
 And, with the prayers of Christ's Church militant, 
 
 The sainted dust was to its slumber left. 
 
 Till the last trump shall call the dead. Thus grew, 
 
 As persecution's sickle reaped Christ's fields. 
 
 The martyred host. Upon the coffining rock 
 
 Were carved once cherished names, and laurel wreaths, 
 
 Rude crowns, emblems, and sacred monograms, 
 
 Mutely to tell of a yet nobler fame 
 
 Than that snatched from earth's noisy battle-fields. 
 
 O death, thou sleep of peace ! haven of rest, 
 With Thee these tempest-tossed and shattered barks 
 Have refuge found. Time's long and heavy night 
 Not yet has passed, fraught with disastrous deeds, 
 Events that shake the nations. O'er the heads 
 Of these calm sleepers have the tides of war 
 Swept and reswept with their destructive force : 
 Proud dynasties, legions invincible, 
 With glancing arms and fluttering pennons gay, 
 Hedging the mightiest thrones, have passed as dreams,
 
 !86 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 A silent unsubstantial pageant filed 
 
 Along death's dusty road ; fierce battle-cries, 
 
 The tramp of armies, and the clash of war 
 
 Disturbed them not. Not yet the Lord has come ; 
 
 And we, who dwell upon the golden edge 
 
 And margin of the dawn, are one with these 
 
 In the rich promise of the coming morn. 
 
 The pangs victorious of Thy servants claim, 
 O Lord, my song : glories of martyrdom 
 Exalted strains demand, and loftier fire. 
 Countless Thy martyrs stand, true witnesses ; 
 The sword, the axe, the consecrated cross, 
 Wild ocean waves, or hungry flames for them 
 No terrors bore : despite their violence, 
 A way they found through sorrow to the stars. 
 Gladly exchanging man's unreasoning hate 
 For the perpetual guerdon of Thy smile. 
 The voice of song has stirred the human heart 
 To rapture at the call of love, and struck 
 From harp-strings their divinest melodies. 
 Not of angelic symmetry of form, 
 Of coral blushing cheek, or tangled tress. 
 Tender low tones, and gentle blandishments, 
 But of sublimer passion, highest love. 
 Compulsive of man's energies I tell. 
 The upward drawing through this perilous world 
 Of hearts, smitten by love, rendering their all. 
 O Heavenly Bridegroom ! bid us hear awhile 
 The awful music of triumphant souls. 
 Who, o'er the weakness of humanity 
 Uprose, mastering their agonies extreme.
 
 THE SONG OF THE All LIT A NT HOST. 287 
 
 Brave servants of our God ! a happier lot 
 Has fallen on us in these the latter clays, 
 Though one with you in love to our dear Lord. 
 Cradled in Christian homes from earliest years 
 Nourished in holy faith, parental care 
 Guided our infant thoughts till holy things, 
 Ere conscious knowledge of this life had dawned, 
 Familiar grown, another nature seemed. 
 The Christian faith ye held comes to our age 
 Not banned, proscribed, or illegitimate, 
 But national, august, most venerable. 
 Renowned, and richest heirloom of the past, 
 With all the highest glories of our land 
 Linked indissolubly. In our calm days, 
 When persecution seems a faint far dream, 
 Not easily we comprehend the stress 
 That on you lay in the rude days of old. 
 We sit at ease, not shrinking in the gloom 
 Of dreary catacomb, but, unrebuked, 
 Professing the dear faith for which ye died : 
 Yet must we think of you, O faithful ones ! 
 
 The summer sunlight broods in holy calm 
 Broad o'er the land ; the whispering summer breeze 
 Quivers with mellow peals of Sabbath bells, 
 Ringing from ivied towers, 'mid village elms, 
 O'er field and wood, from hill-slope, vales remote, 
 Where but the tinkle of the sheep-bell sounds. 
 In cawing quiet of the country morn ; 
 Brown homesteads buried 'mid their orchard trees, 
 Around the village church : beloved fane ! 
 Lichened and gray, made sacred by the hopes,
 
 2 88 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And prayers of generations, sorrows, fears, 
 
 In silent passage of soft-breathing time ; 
 
 Abode of Sabbath calm, where in the noon 
 
 The blue fly buzzes in the Gothic pane ; 
 
 The mottled sunlight on the chancel floor, 
 
 That quivers through the pictured windows dim. 
 
 At play, like a pulsation comes and goes, 
 
 Restless mosaic, as the uncertain wind 
 
 Tosses the churchyard trees. As in a dream, 
 
 Twitter of birds among the churchyard elms 
 
 Is heard, rustle of leaves, soft organ tones. 
 
 How grateful is the holy Sabbath calm ! 
 
 How absolute the peace that broods around ! 
 
 Here, from the fulness of our privilege 
 
 Of you, O holy wrestlers in the past, 
 
 We think, whose dedication absolute, 
 
 And stern resolve counted all loss for Christ, 
 
 And life's supreme concerns. Amid the wreck 
 
 Of centuries, Rome's Coliseum stands, 
 
 Magnificence of ruin, gaunt, sublime, 
 
 As if itself the martyrs' monument. 
 
 Abiding trophy of heroic faith. 
 
 Enthusiasm's divinely-kindled fires, 
 
 More glorious than the spirit that subdued 
 
 Barbaric nations, or upreared vast piles 
 
 Of architecture towering to the skies. 
 
 Where the owl hoots and the blue moonlight streams. 
 
 Thousands once sat. Once more, tier upon tier, 
 
 I see them rise, till where the awning's marge 
 
 Edges the dazzling blue. From topmost rank, 
 
 To basement crowded with unnumbered throngs.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 289 
 
 Whose laugh and jest and loud hilarious talk 
 Fill up the pauses of their holiday. 
 A mighty, varied, ever-moving crowd, 
 With flash of jewels, gleam of colour, arms, 
 Streamers, and bannerets, and carpets gay, 
 Silk canopies, bright clothing, waving plumes. 
 The charms of beauty, all the pomp and pride 
 Of the great city were collected there 
 To see our brethren die. And ere the hour, 
 Bright eyes are to th' arena turned to watch 
 Where stalks the gladiator in his pride, 
 Wielding with brawny arm the gleaming blade ; 
 Or retiarii with deadly mesh ; 
 Or flash the glittering spokes of chariot wheels. 
 There, in the basement cells, Christ's faithful ones 
 Await the crucial hour. Torn from their homes, 
 Half-scared, and fainting, through the unfriendly streets 
 By rude hands borne, hither they came to die. 
 Them wife and child, parent and friend besought, 
 With bitterest tears their faith to abjure, and fill 
 Again their darkened homes with welcome light : 
 In vain. The passionate kiss, bitterer than death, 
 Love's last request refused, the pleading light 
 In love's fond tearful eyes, the last embrace, 
 Cleft their poor hearts in twain. The Master's voice 
 Bade them be faithful even unto death. 
 The death of martyrdom. Now they await 
 Th' unbarring of the door between whose chinks 
 Glimpses of terraced crowds are caught, and cries 
 Of combatants in mortal struggle heard ; 
 And ever and anon the hoarse, low Gfrowl 
 
 u
 
 290 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Of hungry lions that with flaming eye, 
 Claw their imprisoning bars with fruitless rage. 
 Now in this hour of expectation dread, 
 The captives raise their manacled hands in prayer. 
 Th' upholding power of faith is realised 
 If ever, now. Once more within their reach 
 Dear life, and all that makes life dear, are brought ; 
 Sweet liberty, and home, and love's caress. 
 And children's kisses, friendship, and the round 
 Of dear familiar life once more are theirs. 
 For one short word, for one submissive sign. 
 That may imply denial of their Lord. 
 Faithful they stand. The bolt is backward shot ; 
 Hailed by the jeers of the vast concourse, come 
 The trembling captives, come to bear for Christ 
 Their attestation glorious. For a while 
 They stand, as from their pallid quivering lips 
 Escapes the prayer for grace, when now the roar 
 Is heard, the flashing eyes of lions seen, 
 Loosed from their den and bounding o'er the sand ; 
 Upward the glance confidingly is turned, 
 The soul by one deliberate act resigned : 
 The dizzy brain grows faint ; the strength gives way ; 
 This visible frame of mortal things all fades ; 
 One moment brief of awful agony, 
 The crisis dread is past ; eternity 
 Dawns on the faithful and victorious soul, 
 And the bright crown of martyrdom is won ! 
 The lingering thought unwilling to depart, 
 Tarries around the place now consecrate, 
 What time the crowds retire, and the day dies.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 291 
 
 The silent amphitheatre is left 
 
 To echoes vague. Evil has done its worst. 
 
 The blood-stained sand is strewn with holy dead ; 
 
 Night falls, and overhead glimmer the stars ; 
 
 Then, through the dusk, the light of lions' eyes 
 
 Is dimly seen, and lean and swaying flanks 
 
 Scarce visible, slip past on cushioned paws. 
 
 And prowl among the dead, or, couching near, 
 
 Keep their grim watch. Now is faith's testing hour. 
 
 No vengeful whispers, no angelic forms 
 
 Girt for reprisals come, or, o'er the slain. 
 
 Vigil to keep ; but silence, vacancy. 
 
 The steadfast shining of the distant stars, 
 
 The dread neutrality of brooding night : 
 
 And to the wondering mind the query comes. 
 
 What profit in such death, ruin complete, 
 
 Self-abnegation ; where the merit lies 
 
 Of martyrdom ? Reason, that clings to sense, 
 
 Balked with the visible defeat, is checked ; 
 
 But faith takes up the challenge, firm entrenched 
 
 Amid God's promises, and looks with joy 
 
 To the reception of the martyr's soul 
 
 'Mid heaven's felicities. O martyr love! 
 
 That, in sublime forgetfulness of self, 
 
 Mounts to the heaven like some majestic peak 
 
 Of Alpine snow, piercing the noontide blue ; 
 
 O martyr faith ! more glorious than the roar 
 
 Of mountain torrent, or swift avalanche. 
 
 Whose noonday voice sounds like the voice of death, 
 
 Or lightning red flushing the cloud's dark heart 
 
 Like to a blossoming flower ; O martyr trust !
 
 292 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Sweet confidence in God, that safely rests 
 In God's omnipotence, like the blue lake, 
 That, cradled in the mountains, calm reflects 
 The giant bastions towering all around : 
 Earth has no loftier, no sublimer sight. 
 Than the free mounting of th' ecstatic soul. 
 Faithful to God and loyal to His truth. 
 That spurns the pleasures brief of life's short day, 
 And makes of earth the stepping-stone to heaven. 
 
 To you, O martyrs and confessors true, 
 I turn, and hail you, on your heights sublime, 
 Great army of our God ! Rough was the path, 
 And difficult, ye found, to follow Christ, 
 Climbing the lofty heights whence now ye look 
 On our dwarfed lives, and by your dying teach 
 How we should live, and, by your sacrifice, 
 Your loss supreme, enriching our brief life. 
 And consecrating earth. The agony 
 The shame were yours, the anguish of rent ties, 
 And dread abandonment of life's delights ; 
 Ours the great benefit. Yet, when once past, 
 The crucial hour of your dire sufferings. 
 Ye won your glorious crown. How firm your faith, 
 How deeply bastioned in the living rock. 
 Anchored immovable, that could resist 
 The onslaught of the storm, and, bear unscathed, 
 The thunderbolts of hell ! Truth realised 
 Was yours, not lightly held, remote, and faint ; 
 We, balanced in contentment, hesitate. 
 And with the truths that mould the present life, 
 And make the next maintain but commerce scant,
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 293 
 
 Resistance slight but make ; suffering false shame, 
 
 That fears the approaching footstep as a foe. 
 
 We have your dungeons still, gray ancient towers, 
 
 Weed-grown and ruined where ye lay for Christ 
 
 In darkness, weakness, loneliness, and cold. 
 
 The bolts that shackled your brave limbs remain. 
 
 The chains that robbed you once of liberty. 
 
 We point our children to the spot where once 
 
 Your holy blood crimsoned the cruel earth : 
 
 An age mechanical, irreverent, 
 
 And cold of heart, a church by faction torn. 
 
 Forget the lessons ye once nobly taught, 
 
 And emphasised with death. Yet, not in vain. 
 
 Your agonies, O martyred ones, nor vain 
 
 Your constancy. A base philosophy 
 
 May, in the name of science, pauperise 
 
 The race, and human duty analyse 
 
 To what may seem material elements, 
 
 Reduce the choicest products of the heart 
 
 To chemical formulae, may teach man's love 
 
 Man's highest aspirations to be vain 
 
 And evanescent as the hedge-rose bloom, 
 
 Man's life the casual result of force, 
 
 To be resolved at death to nothingness ; 
 
 Yet on the horizon of the past ye stand. 
 
 Protesting witnesses, at once for God, 
 
 And for the dignity of man. Your lives 
 
 Ye counted not as dear, for ye had found 
 
 Yet better things than life could give, how cloaked. 
 
 Caparisoned with circumstance of wealth ; 
 
 Not yours dumb yielding to necessity,
 
 294 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Cheap virtues of spent souls emasculate, 
 
 Temptation's force being spent. Beneath, your feet 
 
 Treading earth's choicest gifts, ye patient climbed 
 
 The heavenward path, whence now on us ye look, 
 
 Rebuke our ease, and our ambition fire : 
 
 Potent your great example will remain. 
 
 Till from the peopled heavens the Lord shall call 
 
 Angels and men, the living and the dead ; 
 
 Before whose presence He will recompense 
 
 Those who relinquished home for Him, or friends, 
 
 Or life. Till then, look from your lofty seats. 
 
 Inflame our zeal and animate our fight, 
 
 Till we with you are by the Saviour crowned. 
 
 In vain the attempt, measures extreme or harsh, 
 The endeavour vain to break the fixed resolve, 
 Or cramp the Church's growing energies. 
 For still the holy flame of quenchless love 
 O'erleaped the bounds restrictive of man's hate ; 
 And, like a smouldering fire among the woods. 
 Which, in the calm, scarce visible token gives 
 Of life, if down the steep ravine the wind 
 Sweep in its course, the slumbering spark is caught. 
 And soon the mountain-side is wrapped in flame : 
 So grew the Church, from hidden sources fed. 
 Her fervour quickened by the very breath 
 That threatened her destruction ; by the storm 
 Upheld, and upward borne to loftier heights. 
 The fury of the persecutor swept, 
 Vexing the Church ; and many a darkened home 
 'Mid the Calabrian hills, the terraced vines 
 And tawny harvest plains of Syria,
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 295 
 
 Or the Bithynian woods, mourned for its dead 
 
 Triumphantly. Ten times the storm burst forth 
 
 Nero, Domitian, Diocletian, 
 
 Or, higher names, Aurelius, Hadrian, 
 
 Sought to eradicate Christ's sacred vine, 
 
 Branding with an undying infamy 
 
 Their names, and, foiled, desisting from th* attempt. 
 
 Scarce had the storm of persecution ceased, 
 Which in its pitiless fury raged around 
 The infant Church ; scarce from the opening clouds 
 Had beamed the sunshine of prosperity, 
 Than the divine simplicity of truth 
 Was jeopardised. The worm of heresy 
 Fretted the clusters of Christ's chosen vine, 
 Indifference sicklied the once vigorous life. 
 Stately basilicas enriched with gems, 
 With porphyry, lapis lazuli agleam. 
 Marble and gold arose ; the catacombs, 
 The caverns, moor, and mountain solitudes, 
 And subterranean chambers whence had shrunk 
 Christ's faithful from the world's unfriendly gaze, — 
 Were now exchanged in the full face of day, 
 For golden smiles of power. No more proscribed, 
 Outlawed, discredited, the Church came forth 
 To find prosperity more perilous 
 Than persecution's dark and baleful hour. 
 The summer sun more withering than the frost. 
 Quick-growing seeds of heresy within 
 Demanded from the Church a vigilance. 
 And an intenser form of loyalty, 
 Not in the external militant act expressed,
 
 -96 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 But in the patience and humility 
 
 That seeks for truth, nor from the search desists 
 
 Till found, accounting it more dear than life. 
 
 To them Christ left the treasure of the truth, 
 
 Sacred deposit to enrich the world, 
 
 With an undying, uncorrupting wealth. 
 
 As from the marsh the pestilential breath. 
 
 Born of corruption rank, mephitic air, 
 
 Poisoning the salutary wind, is borne, 
 
 And creeps by unsuspected avenues 
 
 Into the home of health, past the fresh flowers, 
 
 The blossoming trees, and over velvet sward. 
 
 There misery and weakness to implant. 
 
 And lingering death ; so in the fair domain 
 
 Of Christ's own Church rank heresies arose. 
 
 And with them brought the bitterness of sect, 
 
 And internecine hatred, cruelty, 
 
 Blindness that will not see, dull bigotry, 
 
 False generosity that in the name 
 
 Of peace, will barter fundamental truth, 
 
 And by concession, part with all most dear. 
 
 Full well the apostle on Miletus' shore 
 
 The Ephesian elders warned, and prophesied 
 
 That grievous wolves should ravage Christ's fair flock. 
 
 The slow unrolling of the centuries 
 
 But verified the words prophetical. 
 
 From heated conclave, 'mid contention sharp. 
 
 Or from seclusion of the wilderness, 
 
 Or rocky cell, calm, earnest voices came 
 
 Of those who, testifying to God's truth 
 
 In its divine simplicity, rebuked
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 297 
 
 The heretic. Ye champions of the faith ! 
 Stout-hearted shepherds, who through densest night 
 Of ignorance and vice, repulsed the wolves 
 That would attack the flock ; how deep the debt 
 To you we owe ! To us the heirloom comes 
 Untarnished in the passage of the years, 
 In value undiminished, powerful still 
 T' enrich, illuminate, and strengthen life. 
 
 The grand pacific march of Christ's great host 
 Amidst the nations now arrests the thoughts, 
 No empty spectacle, dazzling the eye 
 With blood-stained chariot and ensanguined sword, 
 But with high influence to bend the mind. 
 To fructify, exalt, enrich man's life. 
 Conquering the heart. From porch, or learned grove. 
 Oft had gone forth the secret power of thought 
 To rule the world. From Galilee's sacred hill. 
 Or Salem's room, by Pentecostal fires 
 Once consecrate, spread nobler influence. 
 The Magian star, chief in the Eastern sky, 
 Told of new dawn, new day, beneficent. 
 For Christ hath put new dignity on man. 
 Hath honoured him, and opened to his view 
 The boundless prospect of eternity. 
 Now poverty its bitterness hath lost, 
 Since truest wealth lies within reach of all ; 
 Exalted to a higher range, the soul 
 Finds freer sky and an unhampered flight. 
 
 The liberties of nations then were born 
 When Christ was born, and, travailed to the birth 
 Strong peoples, with their high heroic deeds.
 
 198 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Pandects and codes justiciary were thrilled 
 
 By Christ's humanity, as wintry earth 
 
 Feels the spring sun. The dove of heavenly peace 
 
 Lighted upon the sceptre, and earth's kings 
 
 Learned clemency, their delegated power 
 
 Accepting as vicegerents of heaven's King. 
 
 Christ's gentler spirit to the battlefield 
 
 Went forth, and, 'mid the crossed and clashing swords, 
 
 Taught mercy to the vanquished, fixed the reins 
 
 Within the jaws of hot imperious lust, 
 
 Marshalled sweet peace and Industry t' achieve 
 
 Their victories. Children have since been loved 
 
 With a new tenderness, the orphan found 
 
 Protection, and the destitute relief ; 
 
 Woman to her true place is lifted, friend, 
 
 Most dear companion, not the slave of man ; 
 
 The sick hears of immortal health, the serf 
 
 Of higher liberty ; the aged smile 
 
 With thought of endless youth, vigour regained ; 
 
 The poor, the wretched, find in Christ their friend ; 
 
 For He hath ta'en the poor man's place, and taught 
 
 His people, when to parched lips they gave 
 
 The cooling draught, the hungry fed, or clad 
 
 The naked, to the prisoner pity showed, 
 
 That He Himself was the poor destitute, 
 
 That He accepted all as done for Him. 
 
 Art felt the glow, and sprang to nobler life ; 
 
 For, better taught, no more the chill of fate 
 
 Palsied the cunning hand, since now the sky 
 
 Of heavenly beauty glowed with heavenly love ; 
 
 While that the sense of beauty to the heart
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 299 
 
 Found easy way, and the expanding hopes, 
 The aspirations of ecstatic souls, 
 Blossomed in noble architectural piles, 
 Cathedrals, minsters old, enriched by art. 
 
 Now to mine inmost ear there come the strains 
 From myriad souls exultant, thousand thousands, 
 Ten thousand told, who, of the benefits 
 Of Christ have known, sweeter than all the strains 
 Of summer's anthem, quiv'ring wind and stream. 
 Whisper of piny woods, hush of plumed fields, 
 The blush and glow, the sunshine, and the song, 
 All the sweet sounds enshrined in summer's noon ; 
 The lyric of the lark, the wood-dove's coo. 
 And the low tones from distant thunder-clouds ; 
 All sweetness of all sweetest, noblest sounds ; 
 So rises the great anthem of Christ's Church, 
 From hearts unnumbered gladdened, and from homes 
 Where sorrow has been soothed, and grief assuaged, 
 The lonely visited, the helpless cheered. 
 Where peace that passes knowledge, and where love 
 Have like a river flowed, deep, constant, full. 
 
 Shall we not love Thee, O Thou tender Heart, 
 That felt for all and filled our world with joy, 
 That taught so grand a lesson, and that gave. 
 In Thine own death, example so sublime ! 
 The ages were Thy tilth, and all abloom 
 They stand, with promise of maturing grain, 
 As ripens the great purpose of the world. 
 
 O Book of God ! the light, the lamp of life, 
 No light have we but that which thou dost give ; 
 Instructor grav(^ whose unimpassioned voice
 
 300 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Sounds through the generations ; happy they 
 Who, guided by thy beam, direct their steps; 
 On either hand pitfalls and snares abound, 
 And those most perilous but ill observed, 
 Or not at all, till thou dost show the path ; 
 Fountain of wisdom, from whose living source 
 Come life's best things ; O salutary stream, 
 Cool and refreshing to the thirsty soul. 
 Garden of God's redeemed, new Paradise, 
 Where blooms the tree of life yielding its fruit, 
 With many a promise sweet as morning flowers. 
 And steadfast as the stars of midnight's sky ; 
 The chart art thou for us poor voyagers 
 On life's wide ocean, o'er whose trackless depths 
 None safely find their unassisted way ; 
 The guide of nations, churches, families, 
 To be consulted oft and heeded well. 
 Wrong are we if thy voice proclaims us wrong. 
 Though all the world applaud, and flattering vaunt 
 Our goodness to the skies, and right are we 
 If thy calm voice assurance gives of right, 
 Though with consentient voice millions condemn. 
 Sublime amid the shiftings of the world, 
 'Midst its impurities immaculate. 
 Rising, as in the morning's stainless blue 
 The snowy mountain peak uprears itself 
 Majestical, thou standest unimpaired 
 Amid all mortal fluctuation fixed. 
 
 But now, far other scenes invite. Christ's love, 
 Whose all constraining power in holiest breasts 
 Meetest expression found, moved other hearts
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 301 
 
 Sincere, yet often to excesses led, 
 And of Christ's precepts and example mild, 
 Forgetful. Thus the Master taught His kingdom 
 Not of this world ; and hence the sword forbade. 
 
 With slow and stealthy foot, though surely, pass 
 The centuries, weighted with all their woe, 
 Unutterable ; and as the Church kept watch, 
 Expecting the return of her dear Lord, 
 Deep sleep crept o'er her energies. Faith died. 
 Then came to prominence the engrossing thought 
 Intolerable, that o'er the Land of Christ, 
 Ruled the proud Saracen ; the land whose hills, 
 Mountains, and lakes, and plains, were but the shrine 
 Of the Redeemer's life : this sacred land 
 Was by the Paynim held, the foe of Christ ; 
 And those most holy spots, identified 
 For ever with the wondrous history, 
 Bethlehem's manger, sad Gethsemane, 
 Or Calvary robed in awful mystery. 
 The Holy Tomb, and Bethany, where last 
 The Saviour's wounded feet pressed earth's green sod, — 
 That this fair land down-trodden should remain 
 By pagans, were a thought insufferable. 
 As seeds beneath the earth long time remain 
 Ungerminate, until the April sun 
 With friendly warmth give resurrection note. 
 While soft spring rains seek out the loitering life, 
 And call it to the fragrant glimpse of day. 
 So among Christendom desire had lain, 
 Waiting the clarion summons, which at length, 
 Was heard from fanatic lips. From altar steps.
 
 302 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Road-side, and market cross, where men most throng, 
 
 The hermit's voice spoke forth its clear reveille ; 
 
 And as the summons through the nations rang 
 
 Men stood attent to hear ; quarrels were healed ; 
 
 The pleasures of the banquet lost their charm ; 
 
 Hushed was the voice of song, the din of trade ; 
 
 Through thick monastic walls its challenge passed, 
 
 Down echoing cloisters, yellow-lichened, gray 
 
 With sunny turf, where slumberous piety 
 
 Made friends with death; unchallenged passed the moat, 
 
 Summoning to arms. Then the proud baron doffed 
 
 His hunting gear, and his jessed falcons left. 
 
 Led forth his dancing cavalcade to war 
 
 In knightly armour cased, pennon and plume, 
 
 And banneret and spear, stern pilgrims bound 
 
 For Holy Sepulchre. His gauntlet hand 
 
 Resting upon his charger's mailed flank, 
 
 The warrior turned to look his last farewell. 
 
 Even the throne felt the advancing wave, 
 
 E'en kings put off their robes of sovereignty, 
 
 Visored and fenced in steel, not loath t' exchange 
 
 The cares of governm.ent, the peaceful charge, 
 
 And shepherding of men, to face grim death, 
 
 In sieges, sallies, and the clang of arms, 
 
 The incidents and chances of the field. 
 
 From various lands slow gathered, now set forth 
 In pomp of glorious all-glittering war 
 This great adventure to redeem Christ's land. 
 Proud war-steeds champing restlessly the bit, 
 And pawing as impatient for the strife ; 
 With silken gonfalons whose rich, soft folds
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 303 
 
 Of crusted gold, courted the noon-day sun, 
 
 Jewelled caparisons, and saddle-cloths, 
 
 Morion and cuirass, battle-axe and sword, 
 
 And crests with gems aflame, and waving plumes, 
 
 With shining mail, embossed and chased in gold, 
 
 And shields emblazoned with devices quaint. 
 
 Heraldic purple, crimson, blue, and white, 
 
 With flying dragons in gold arabesque, 
 
 Lions, and eagles, and the savage pard ; 
 
 While from th' unnumbered spears the noonday sun 
 
 Flashed like the meadow grass when every spire 
 
 Is with a dewdrop as a diamond tipped. 
 
 So swept the tide of war, with roll of drums, 
 
 And clarions shrill, and trumpets' angry blare, 
 
 Uttering high challenge to the foes of Christ. 
 
 Proud was the burden the smooth ocean bore, 
 As eastward steered the cross-distinguished fleet ; 
 Dromon, and buss, and galleys numberless, 
 That stirred with vigorous oars the ocean foam, 
 Gaily adorned with streamers, pennons, arms. 
 And brightly painted shields around their prows, 
 Were blown before the wind in cloudy pomp. 
 
 But when the wished-for strand at length was reached, 
 The holy soil of Palestine, with tears 
 And earnest adjurations to their task 
 Did they betake themselves. By day the host 
 Marched onwards, broad displaying in their van 
 The cross, the symbol of their dearest hope ; 
 And when the evening came, and evening's sun 
 Kissed with its reddening beams their banners' gold, 
 Softly enfolding with its purple mists
 
 304 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The wearied host, a herald through the camp 
 Exclaimed, " Help for the Holy Sepulchre ! ' 
 And warrior voices echoed the glad cry. 
 And warrior hands smote on the hauberk's mail. 
 As reofisterinof afresh their holiest vow. 
 
 Too often led by motives secular, 
 Love of adventure, or the love of fame, 
 The military instinct that would seek 
 For perilous risk, and glory snatch from death ; 
 Or influenced by grovelling avarice ; 
 Unworthy of the symbol that they bore, 
 Yet were there those whom loftier motives ruled. 
 High sense of duty, born of knightly vows. 
 Nerved many an arm, and many a hero fired 
 To deeds heroical ; and, higher yet. 
 True piety inflamed by heavenly zeal. 
 Expression sought for gratitude and love. 
 Richard of England, Lion-hearted King, 
 Who danger sought, and by his prowess gained 
 Endless renown ; Godfrey of Bouillon, 
 Tancred, and Baldwin, and ten thousand more 
 Of Europe's knightliest train whose names are lost, 
 Went forth for Christ. The sad Selesian wave 
 Ouench'd the bright zeal in closing o'er the head 
 Of Barbarossa, bravest of his race, 
 Who, with proud confidence, though smit with age, 
 In single combat would the conflict bear. 
 Challenging the Saracen : never had death 
 Veiled purer eyes, never its anodyne 
 Had borne to heart more sorrowful. From life. 
 Of gentle piety St. Louis went.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 305 
 
 Unfitted as the dove to meet the hawk, 
 
 Yet ready, in the holy ransoming. 
 
 To lay down life. On Dorylaeum's field, 
 
 Entrenched by Antioch, or 'neath the walls 
 
 Of Tyre, or sacred Salem, in the heat 
 
 Of conflict, in the battle's din, or worn 
 
 By hunger, or by deadly fever smit. 
 
 Whole armies perished, perished as in vain. 
 
 For though they gained Jerusalem, its king 
 
 Declined the regal title, and refused 
 
 To wear a crown where Christ had worn His thorns ; 
 
 The prize was held but with a feeble grasp. 
 
 As if the Master had again declared 
 
 His kingdom not from hence, disaster came 
 
 Redoubling on disaster, as to show 
 
 How vain the attempt to check God's purposes 
 
 Retributive. Down-trodden must the land 
 
 Remain until the fulness of the Gentiles : 
 
 And powerless as the mist against the rock 
 
 Was man's attempt t' arrest the avenging Hand. 
 
 Foiled though in purpose, yet the cross-led hosts 
 
 Gave proof of their devotedness to Christ. 
 
 Bootless ambition and unworthy views, 
 
 Inadequate conceptions of the Church, 
 
 And of Christ's spiritual rule, led them astray, 
 
 Yet lavish in their high chivalric deeds, 
 
 Profuse were they in sacrifice of love. 
 
 From failure of man's loftiest schemes oft springs 
 Undreamed success. Through unseen ways God leads, 
 By secret providence the o'erflowing stream 
 Of human energy to irrigate 
 
 X
 
 3o6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Remoter fields. Orders of knighthood rose, 
 
 And the chivalric spirit that inspired 
 
 Crusading enterprise enshrined itself 
 
 In other forms, tinged with romantic hues, 
 
 Yet of the essence of the Christian life. 
 
 Self-sacrifice, ambitious purity. 
 
 Romantic tenderness, that sought to shield 
 
 The innocent, the helpless to befriend. 
 
 Defenders of the pilgrims on their march. 
 The Hospitallers held the van ; the rear 
 Knights Templars, and on many a hard-fought field 
 Their flag was borne, their war-cry raised " Beau 
 
 Seaint ! " 
 Displaying oft their prowess terrible 
 Sprung of pure motive, winning rightfully 
 The guerdon of success ; nor faintest blur. 
 Film of suspicion o'er their purity 
 Was cast. Christ's soldiers bore the blood-red cross 
 Upon their mantles white, and standard spear, 
 Bright oriflamme, that, in the thickest fray. 
 Rallied their energies. Such were they once. 
 In the first prime and lustre of their fame. 
 Their purest era ; but an age ensued 
 Degenerate, when from their height sublime. 
 Lured by the love of power, or listless ease. 
 Or siren voice of the enchantress fame. 
 Or greedy avarice, the curse of wealth. 
 Swerving from their high ends to lower grooves, 
 Their strength was spent. In the fair Cyprian isle. 
 With regal state, lodging in palaces. 
 Lived they full sumptuously. But luxury.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST 307 
 
 Sure foe to all or good or great in man, 
 Sapped their proud superstructure secretly ; 
 Malignant calumny, of envy born, 
 Poisoned their fame. With accusation foul 
 They stood impeached ; falling in one short day 
 To the chill dungeon's ignominious shame. 
 The rack extorted from unwilling lips 
 What recantation often soon denied, 
 Protesting to the last their innocence. 
 Before the towers of Notre Dame, slow fires 
 Consumed the sufferers. 'Midst his agony, 
 Their leader cited with his dying breath 
 Clement the Pope, Philip the King to appear 
 At the supreme tribunal, whither both 
 Followed ere one short year had filled its round. 
 
 Yet not with these died the chivalric fire. 
 But in an age deep sunk in ignorance, 
 By violence o'ermastered, in the gloom. 
 Where the prolific energy of vice 
 Festering in darkness its dread mischief wrought, 
 Amid corruptions foul, like some fair flower, 
 The Christ-like spirit rose, and justified 
 Its presence by its native loveliness. 
 Not yet had come the hour when men would deem 
 Themselves the waifs of chance, mere withered leaves, 
 Like straws, and stems, swept on the turbid stream, 
 Uncounted in the universal wealth. 
 
 True witnesses were found that to the aee 
 Spake in its language, bodied in the forms 
 Best comprehended by the passing day, 
 The imperishable truth, forms strange and quaint ;
 
 3o8 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Much we might reprehend, yet breathing still 
 
 The spirit of honour, quick to countervail 
 
 The turbulence of power, rapacity. 
 
 That made of many a proud baronial hold 
 
 A den of thieves ; high duty recognised ; 
 
 God's claim supreme on man's allegiance ; 
 
 Rebuke of luxury, and manlier aim 
 
 Than the poor pleasures of the passing day ; 
 
 Pleasures removed above the reach of chance, 
 
 Perpetual, worthy of man's rational frame. 
 
 Manhood had scarcely thrown its deepening shade 
 Of thought across th' unwrinkled brow of youth. 
 Ere came the call to bear the knightly sword, 
 And through the world to quit himself as man. 
 There, in the darkened chancel all the night. 
 In silence and humility, the youth. 
 Kept his lone vigil, at the altar's foot > 
 Laid down the unbraced and dedicated sword ; 
 In dark and lonesome meditation mused 
 Of death, of life, and of the loyalty 
 Supreme to duty, till the morning dawned ; 
 Then girt him on his sword, the knightly vows 
 Accepted, and went forth professedly 
 Christ's soldier, to defend the true and right, 
 The weak to champion, and th' oppressed to free. 
 Each age its own peculiar character. 
 Its type of the religious life produced, 
 Prosaic or romantic, while beneath 
 Flowed the unvarying stream of heavenly love. 
 Lightly we deem, in this mechanic age, 
 The quaint romantic figures of the past.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 309 
 
 And quick dismiss the chargers, challenges, 
 
 The nodding plumes, the gay and gallant deeds 
 
 Of chivalry, forgetful that the Lord 
 
 Works out by ways obscure His purposes. 
 
 Distributing to each particular age 
 
 His gifts, as to the individual life. 
 
 And surely working out His sovereign will. 
 
 As when fair odorous morn dripping with dew, 
 E'en to its nether skirts, comes from night's tent 
 And dusky tabernacle, for its work 
 Accinct and consecrate ; the sky's aglow 
 With fervid trembling light o'er the fresh world ; 
 The blue lake smiles as if a nether sky ; 
 The climbing pines that fringe th' aspiring hills 
 Shake from their tasselled boughs their fragrance sweet; 
 On rapid twinkling wing the birds sweep by ; 
 The bees are working 'mid the clover bolls, 
 And peace her sabbath keeps on all the hills ; 
 The land is peace ; reviving, pure, the air ; 
 The torrent's voice sounds hushed, far off, at times 
 Inaudible, then like a whisper faint 
 Heard in a dream ; the glistening of the scythe 
 Comes from the dewy swathe, while on the wind 
 The sound of voices tells of human toil ; 
 So, in sweet silence, furtive beauty, stole 
 Christ's day among the nations, when that Thou, 
 O Sun of Righteousness divine, didst mount 
 Earth's lower sky to dissipate our gloom ; 
 Beneficent to visit this dark earth, 
 And with Thy genial light and friendly warmth 
 Give endless summer to the souls of men.
 
 3IO THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Chief 'mid the Lord's behests remained the charge 
 To be the heralds of the world's great King, 
 Ambassadors of God in distant lands, 
 To bear the message that the angels bore 
 To startled Bethlehem, of a Saviour's love, 
 The many-sided message for all time. 
 The new divine philosophy appeared, 
 Rising like some tall peak amid the clouds, 
 'Mid doubts that brood above the sea of life. 
 And, towering, darken the clear face of day : 
 Vague philosophic systems, theories, 
 The dance atomic of Epicurus, 
 That weird and awful dream, vortex of fate, 
 Sweep of eternal motion, iron rule 
 Of passionless inexorable force ; 
 Systems deduced with patience infinite. 
 But baseless as the cloud-wreaths of the dawn. 
 The flame which burnt within the heart now fired 
 Christ's missioners with high enthusiasm 
 To win the world for Him. On, like the tide, 
 Swept their unlettered earnestness ! North, South, 
 East, West, their message sped. The forest aisles 
 Rang with glad echoes in their piny glooms ; 
 And sea-washed islands of the western main, 
 Shrouded in stormy mists, heard of Christ's peace ; 
 Upon the darkness of the savage mind 
 Dawned heaven's new light ; and, at the voice of truth, 
 The dim dread visions of the night like shades 
 Lifted and vanished. Woden, Frega, Thor, 
 Like spectres shrank, and in the savage deeds 
 Of their deformity stood at rebuke.
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 311 
 
 Southward and Eastward, where the quivering pahn 
 
 Faints in the torrid ray, the Orient strange, 
 
 Prolific mother of fantastic dreams. 
 
 Magic, and charms, and necromantic arts, 
 
 Where, in the credulous and primal age, 
 
 Fable and myth, like tropic undergrowth, 
 
 Each other choked with their fertility, 
 
 The simple tale of love was borne ; the seed 
 
 Sown 'midst the jungle and forgotten oft. 
 
 And fruitless, as it seemed, yet not in vain, 
 
 Was by a later harvest justified. 
 
 In the obedience of Thy Church to Thee, 
 Fain would I trace Thy Church's love, O Lord. 
 Thy parting charge was to evangelise 
 The nations, true crusade to win men's souls 
 For Thee, from the heart's citadel to drive 
 Th' usurper, yielding Thee Thy blood -bought throne. 
 High theme for song ! If all the glittering host, 
 And mechanism dread of savage war. 
 Can stir the pulses of the slumbering lyre, 
 The changing fortunes of the deadly field, 
 The ambitious stratagem, the alarm, the attack. 
 The stout resistance, the severe repulse, 
 The cries of victory, and large results 
 Of peace, security, and widening fame ; 
 Yet worthier is this enterprise sublime. 
 To win the world for Christ, man's highest good 
 To ensure, to advance the interests of truth, 
 And freedom give to the born thralls of vice. 
 The pomp of bannered legions and the blast 
 Of trumpet told not of their going forth :
 
 312 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Silent and undemonstrative, yet sure 
 Of the inherent power of that they bore, 
 The presence of their King, and victory. 
 
 So went the gospel like the mountain stream 
 That from the glacier steals, dallying awhile, 
 Now torn by jutting rock, or flung in foam 
 Down th' abrupt, till rockier channel reached, 
 Internal eddies, boulders interplaced. 
 Will lash its turbulent, hoarse -sounding waves 
 As if to agony, until at length 
 The torment of the foam is lost to view 
 In the dim silent pines, where, reaching now 
 The plain, its fertilising waters in the sun 
 Glitter and shine like as if molten gold. 
 
 Each country has its witnesses to tell 
 Of those who for their Lord toiled, suffered, died. 
 Taught in the majesty of Christ's great name. 
 In Libyan Kephro, Dionysius, 
 Or, in Iberia, by Mount Caucasus, 
 The captive Nunia, by the power of prayer, 
 Brought souls to Christ. The Gallinarian monk, 
 Martin of Tours, led through Mid Gaul aflame 
 His fierce monastic host to wreck the fanes. 
 And break the idols of that pagan realm ; 
 Or Ulphilas, who, 'mid the Gothic tribes 
 That on the frosty slope of Hsemus dwelt, 
 Or where blue Danube rolls its pictured flood, 
 Unfolded to their view the priceless Word. 
 Kindling his evening fire symbolical, 
 Patrick of Tara hailed the greater Light. 
 Columba, 'mid the savage Pictish tribes,
 
 THE SONG OF THE AH LIT ANT HOST. 313 
 
 Lived Christ in saintliest life, till, worn by years, 
 
 At midnight, in lona of the main, 
 
 Kneeling before the shrine, breathed forth his soul. 
 
 And, as the bees in summer swarm abroad. 
 
 Making new hives, so from the western isles, 
 
 Or Lindisfarne, new missioners went forth, 
 
 Virgilius, Columbanus, Kilian. 
 
 Augustine's band, led with uplifted cross. 
 
 Made Thanet and the Kentish Weald resound 
 
 With holy song. In the Thuringian wilds 
 
 The stalwart arm of Winfrid swungf the axe 
 
 Defiantly, to smite the sacred oak 
 
 Of Thor, and his deluded followers won 
 
 'Neath milder heavens. The forest's dusk arcades, 
 
 As Sturm of Fulda urged his lonely way, 
 
 Heard his loud prayers for Christ's poor scattered tlock. 
 
 The gentle Ansgar bore the glad good news 
 
 To Scandinavia and the chilly north. 
 
 Teaching the power of Christ -like gentleness. 
 
 The seed of truth to the Slavonic tribes 
 
 That bordered on the amber- bearing strand 
 
 Of Prussia and Livonia, by the blood 
 
 Of brave Adalbert was enfertilised ; 
 
 While, 'neath the palms of torrid Africa, 
 
 The Balearic Raymund sought to win 
 
 The Saracen ; there lived, and loved, and toiled ; 
 
 Then died a martyr. Sancian's barren isle 
 
 Saw Xavier kneel a suppliant at the gates 
 
 Of China. Like a wasting flame, his soul 
 
 Burnt to the socket of his toil-worn frame, 
 
 And in his palm branch hut upon the strand
 
 314 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Hushed by the murmurous surges of the deep, 
 Folding his long and wasted hands, expired. 
 Prayer from the wigwam of the Indian rose. 
 As, down the cedar aisles and hemlock gloom 
 Of the American woods, there wandered forth 
 The silvery echoes of Christ's tale of love. 
 Sweeter than trill of bird or cascade's fall. 
 The blossoming prairies shone in newer light, 
 As Eliot's prayers subdued hard hearts to love. 
 Greenland's blue world of ice and dazzling snow. 
 And savage rocks up -piled, sterile and bleak, 
 Was by the heroic love of Hans Egede 
 And the Moravian band, a faithful few. 
 Invested with new lustre. Loving Christ, 
 There are who readily have sacrificed 
 For Him their all ; for Him have wandered forth 
 To the most distant and degraded tribes 
 Under the cope of heaven, to tell His love ; 
 Excluded from the world, to alien tribes 
 Consigned, alien pursuits and solitude : 
 Nor can the page historical present 
 Loftier devotion. Here, nor public stage, 
 Th' applause of multitudes, nor private gains, 
 Nor the rewards that crown th' adventurous toil 
 Of military prowess, could allure. 
 
 Smit with Christ's tenderness, the Church has stretched 
 Her hands of love to the dense multitudes 
 Of eastern lands, to India's dusky throngs, 
 A continent of nations, or the expanse 
 Of China's fields, or palmy Africa, 
 Immersed in silence and obscurity.
 
 THE SONG OF THE AH LIT ANT HOST 315 
 
 Thither Christ's soldiers in their great campaign 
 
 With trust heroical, have bent their march ; 
 
 Thither as labourers but to find the field 
 
 By the thick growth of centuries matted o'er 
 
 With errors rooted deep, and prejudice, 
 
 Poisoning all wholesome life. Thither went forth, 
 
 In the first hour and dewy prime of youth. 
 
 The saintly Martyn, leaving all for Christ, 
 
 Attacked undauntedly the falsities, 
 
 The superstitions that o'ershadowing life 
 
 Had plagued the millions. Under Tanjore's palms 
 
 On the Carnatic, Schwartz, in earlier years 
 
 Had lived and taught, and, by the dignity 
 
 And uprightness of Christian life, compelled 
 
 The unwilling lips of enemies to break 
 
 Their silence in his praise. And Africa, 
 
 Teeming with unknown millions soon shall learn 
 
 New songs. By loving hands borne to his rest. 
 
 The pioneer of Christ's great army lies 
 
 In Westminster's proud abbey, who, consumed 
 
 By the fierce inward fires of holy zeal. 
 
 Had sought to win a continent for Christ ; 
 
 Looked on the swelling uplands and the plains. 
 
 Vast lakes, and shining streams of that wide land. 
 
 And coveted to bind in willing bonds 
 
 These dusky tribes of strange and foreign speech ; 
 
 Saw, through the coming years, till thence should 
 
 rise. 
 Climbing to heaven, the Incense cloud of praise ; 
 Restless to spread before his fellow men 
 The page unknown, and point the heavenly way.
 
 31 6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 By toil exhausted, prematurely old, 
 
 Death found him kneeling in the act of prayer. 
 
 East, West, North, South, the labourers have gone, 
 Amid the coral reefs of southern seas, 
 The peopled cities of the Eastern world, 
 America's vast plains and hunting fields. 
 India, and China, Africa, Japan, 
 Scattering the seed over the world's broad tilth, 
 With what results the future must disclose. 
 Now Christian hymns are heard, and Christian homes 
 Blossom already 'mid the heathen wilds, 
 And Christian churches in their first fond love 
 Unfold a promise of abundant fruit. 
 Since on the sward of Olivet Christ's feet 
 Rising have pressed, though centuries have passed 
 Slow toilsome centuries of bitterness. 
 Rancour and strife, calamities untold. 
 And the slow increment of knowledge won 
 Of slow research, yet through its long career 
 The initial love of Christ its victories 
 Has won. Yet greater far remain. We faint ; 
 We fall ; the work proceeds, and wins its way, 
 Widening, beneficent as light of morn, 
 Not on the individual life dependent, 
 And with none bound up. A clearer aim 
 Works through our purposes and animates. 
 Albeit unconsciously, our wavering thoughts ; 
 A greater strength sustains our enterprise 
 Than aught we dream of, and our discord blends. 
 A glorious future comes. The word remains ; 
 The kingdoms of this world shall yet become
 
 THE SONG OF THE MILITANT HOST. 
 
 317 
 
 The kingdoms of our Lord and of His Christ, 
 
 And He shall reign! Soon, through the gathering mists, 
 
 Christ's spiritual temple, built of living stones. 
 
 Unfinished now, shall lift its front sublime ! 
 
 From walls of separation soon shall spring 
 
 The arch of union, and the common din 
 
 And noise of preparation shall die off 
 
 In the grand anthem of Immortal praise.
 
 BOOK THE NINTH 
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG
 
 THE ARGUMENT. 
 
 The noon-day rest — Wherefore Heaven's gift ? — Love enshrined — The Life- 
 Giver's agency — The life of the world — Fragrance in the temple — 
 The whispered fears — The testimony of the Word — The golden thread 
 of hope — The world within the visible world — The quiet hour — 
 Paradise of prayer — Death menaces — Yearnings and questionings — 
 The soul's path — The further future — Love irradiating life — Requies 
 asterna ! — Earth's pleasures transitory — The summer of life past — 
 Glimpses of future bliss — Echoes in the crypt — Earth's beauty pointing 
 forward — Glorious hope of immortality — The marble effigy — Clouds 
 o'er the future — Ruins of the past — The horoscope of nations — Con- 
 jectures as to the earth's future — Utterance of the Word — Safety of 
 the redeemed — Heaven seen afar — Its beauties — The pleasant land — 
 Glorious fellowship with saints and angels — The presence of Christ — 
 "With Christ !" — Love has regained her own.
 
 BOOK THE NINTH. 
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 
 
 S one, who toils along a mountain road, 
 Sunbaked and quivering in the glowing 
 
 noon, 
 Comes to a deep ravine where winds his path 
 Amid the shade of whispering fragrant 
 
 pines, 
 
 Sequestered, cool, and through the boughs deep-fringed 
 
 And lace-like tracery overhead discerns 
 
 Blue sky, or, downward through the underwood 
 
 And purple distance, glimpses of the lake 
 
 That slumbers far below, resting, well pleased. 
 
 Will pause and listen to the streamlet's fall. 
 
 Diminished now to a few silver threads. 
 
 That leap from rock to rock and fill the air 
 
 With dewy dampness of their rainbow dust, 
 
 Falling around upon the lush green ferns, 
 
 A gauzy veil ; here, in the cool green light 
 
 He sits, and rests awhile, awhile drinks in
 
 322 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The grateful silence of the quivering noon ; 
 
 So travelhng on this rough, hard road of Hfe 
 
 We find a refuge in Thy love, O Christ, 
 
 Find deep delight ; the thought refreshment brings, 
 
 And quiet satisfaction and repose ; 
 
 Surprised at our own happiness, afraid 
 
 Lest the next moment should dispel the charm. 
 
 And bring again the hard prosaic facts, 
 
 The common places of our daily life. 
 
 We are, O Great Creator, in Thy hands. 
 
 And Thou, O Lord, art greater far than we ; 
 
 And Thou canst make the river of our peace 
 
 To flow with constant and o'erbrimming tide ; 
 
 And Thou canst make the harpstrings of our souls 
 
 Breathe to Thy breath divinest harmonies. 
 
 Responsive, and unutterably sweet. 
 
 Made for Thyself, alone in Thee, we find 
 
 Our happiness. Glad as a bird at dawn. 
 
 My heart rejoices thus to sing Thy love ; 
 
 To tell th' enshrinement of that precious gem, 
 
 Pearl of uncounted price, in truth revealed. 
 
 Provisions for the spiritual good of man. 
 
 Religious forms in their simplicity 
 
 August, expressive of our deepest hopes. 
 
 Gift of the Father's love, Thee first and chief, 
 O Christ, we celebrate ! Auguster theme 
 Nor human nor seraphic joy e'er stirred. 
 Amidst earth's broken lights these discords harsh. 
 And windy storms of doubt, this tangled maze 
 We turn, we look to Thee, and doubt no more. 
 Immaculate, Thou stand'st, O gracious One,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 323 
 
 And with divlnest tenderness endowed, 
 
 To ratify our else too daring hopes : 
 
 Yet not, O Christ, for mere display Thou earnest ; 
 
 Not on the azure dome of heaven, Thy hand 
 
 Wrote its evangel, or the emerald earth ; 
 
 Hadst thou so chosen every wind that blows, 
 
 Freighted with joy, might have the message borne, 
 
 Each wave of restless ocean found a tongue, 
 
 Till all creation with consentient voice 
 
 Had joined in singing of so grand a psalm, 
 
 To showThylove. Thou might'st have strewn life's path 
 
 With jewels, laden every tree with fruit 
 
 Ambrosial, from the golden sky rained wealth 
 
 Upon the neediness of man : Thou gavest 
 
 What most he needed, though he knew it not. 
 
 Nor felt his want, that worst of poverty. 
 
 As Saviour of the lost Thou camest, true Friend : 
 
 Blest Friend ! to effect what none could e'er attempt, 
 
 And in this function absolute of love 
 
 Thee would we recognise, Thee glad accept ; 
 
 And hold Thine honour tenderer than life. 
 
 When tempted most t' attach our mortal lot 
 
 With blame, in lonely miserable thoughts, 
 
 Counting ourselves but waifs of destiny, 
 
 There shines against the darkness of the past 
 
 The form divine with arms around a child, 
 
 Pathetic rendering of God's shielding love ! 
 
 Emblem of God's protecting tenderness ; 
 
 Thy voice sounds like a brother's in the mist. 
 
 Long o'er the story of Thy wondrous life 
 
 We muse ! Love there finds voice in every line,
 
 324 THE MORNING SONG.\ 
 
 Finds sacrifice of self in every act, 
 
 And when we see Thee give on Calvary 
 
 Thyself, out of pure sympathy for man 
 
 We wondering ask. Wherefore the awful gift ? 
 
 O mystery of the unknown Christ ! That Thou, 
 Heaven's best beloved, the King of kings, shouldst stoop, 
 Shouldst silently assume a place 'midst men, 
 And the small functions of our mortal life 
 Meekly discharge ! to each succeeding age 
 That Thou shouldst come, and to each separate soul 
 Present Thyself, with all the benefits 
 Of Thy pure life, Thine agonies unknown : 
 And Thou art not perceived ! Thy locks are wet, 
 O Bridegroom of the soul, with dews of night. 
 As patiently Thou knockest at the door, 
 Where wrapped in drowsy slumbers of sin's night 
 The obdurate lies, nor hears Thy kindly voice. 
 And all is love ; for through the opened door. 
 Of the awakened and believing heart. 
 Stooping to its low portal, Thou dost come 
 To second incarnation ; Thou dost bring 
 The infinite peace, and there enshrined, O Christ, 
 Thou dwellest, making Sabbath in the soul. 
 With a perpetual sunshine ; Thy approach, 
 Thy coming. Thy indwelling, all is love. 
 
 Would we behold the evidence of love ? 
 In the forgiveness of the penitent 
 Most clearly is it shown. Unseen man's sin, 
 Unrealised, until the inward sight 
 Is from on high illumined ; then the abyss 
 Yawns deep and vast beneath the yielding foot ;
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 325 
 
 As when the lightning in the midnight storm 
 
 Reveals the jutty and precipitous heights 
 
 That rise from misty depths of cloud and gloom, 
 
 A mountain mast scaling the very heavens. 
 
 The love that in forgiveness lies enshrined 
 
 Is priceless, offered with such tenderness, 
 
 Such forms that must subdue the loftiest pride, 
 
 The heart most obdurate. This paves the way 
 
 For future intercourse, opens the path 
 
 To everlasting bliss ; initial act 
 
 That in the abyss of its own tenderness 
 
 Engulfs past accusation, as the morn 
 
 Rising in gentleness above the waves 
 
 Engulfs the night. Pardon embodied holds 
 
 An everlasting all-enduring love, 
 
 Real though not obvious ; mere sentiment 
 
 Were like the pomp of clouds that fill the heavens. 
 
 Which, at the touch of the sun's wizard beam, 
 
 Melting, dissolves in boundless azure depths. 
 
 For love upon foundations deep erects 
 
 Religion's pillars twain, of faith and love, 
 
 Of true belief and true obedience. 
 
 Were not Almighty justice there involved 
 
 And satisfaction of the eternal pact. 
 
 Quittance direct, our peace might baseless rest, 
 
 And at the mercy lie of each dread shaft 
 
 Hurled in temptation's hour. God's pardoning love 
 
 Springs from the fountain of redeeming love. 
 
 Christ for the sinner died, supremest pledge 
 
 Of love, that in its earnestness would burst 
 
 The chains of death. Thus ran the covenant ;
 
 326 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 The substitute came forth, to bear man's guilt, 
 And on the milk-white page of His pure soul 
 Were written all sin's accusations dark. 
 Counted His own, accepted, by His death 
 Piacular. Love stooped to suffer, bleed, 
 And in the place of the beloved, die. 
 
 Like when the thunder-storm long time has raged. 
 And in its fury lashed the tortured boughs, 
 Drenching the swimming pane, as from the sky 
 The gale flings forth the slanting sheeted rain ; 
 Then comes a pause ; a cleft amid the clouds, 
 A patch of blue like to a smile appears. 
 The clouds divide, the rains trail their dark skirts 
 Along the mountain-side, with rainbow hues 
 All richly dappled o'er, the sun comes forth. 
 Now from the dripping coppice near at hand 
 Jewelled with rain-drops from its ev'ry thorn, 
 A solitary bird begins his song ; 
 The flute-like melody wakes other strains 
 From many a grove and glistening hedgerow near, 
 Of sweet-concerted music. Now the sun 
 Makes the fresh landscape glad, and the blue sky 
 Breathes heavenlier peace and fresher glory wears. 
 So from the gloom of penitence the soul 
 Emerging rises to the life renewed 
 Of God's forgiving love. The storm is passed : 
 How fair, how pleasant, the familiar life ; 
 How beautiful the world that God has made, 
 Place of brief sojourning, not final home ; 
 How full of interest the daily task ! 
 'Tis life to live beneath the smile of God ;
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 327 
 
 Essential love its most essential life, 
 
 The power of love, with bliss ineffable, 
 
 And God-ward turning of this heart of dust 
 
 From a poor world of shadows, dreams, and husks. 
 
 And unsubstantial joys that mock the soul, 
 
 To the enduring substance, best of things ; 
 
 The power life's duties to discharge, and make 
 
 The daily path an avenue of heaven. 
 
 Now to the soul new-born, offspring of love, 
 
 Old things are passed away, all things are new. 
 
 Habits, by long indulgence vigorous grown 
 
 As the gnarled oak, at length relax their grasp. 
 
 The past is past ; no more it drags the soul 
 
 With shadowy hand the dreaded nether path ; 
 
 But as an eagle shakes a serpent free 
 
 That round its talons has entwined itself. 
 
 Hindering its flight, and to the zenith mounts. 
 
 The soul delivered from the serpent twine. 
 
 The serpent fangs of sin, exultant rises, 
 
 And in the empyrean spreads bold wing. 
 
 As in some Gothic fane, hoary with age. 
 The streaming light of centuries will rob 
 In its slow passage all the fresh bright tints 
 From eastern windows filled with glass rich stained. 
 Till in the gloom antique the taper's ray 
 Is necessary, even though without 
 Shines the effulgence of the noon-day sun ; 
 So the plain gospel truths, plain with intent 
 Divine, as suiting best this rude rough world. 
 Where the great crowd must needs have simple truth 
 Or none at all, may be obscured by rites,
 
 328 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 By o'erwrought symbolism, or hollowness, 
 
 That eats the heart of fruitful piety. 
 
 Oft in the secret individual life, 
 
 Familiarity with truth deprives 
 
 The truth of all its vivifying power, 
 
 Till darkness finds a home within the light. 
 
 Thee too we celebrate. Spirit Divine, 
 O Holy Comforter, the Paraclete ! 
 Too scant our reverence, too slow are we 
 In this Thy world to yield Thee Thy due place, 
 To recognise Thy functions ; deeming Thee 
 But the faint effluence of divinity, 
 The channel of activities divine ; 
 Not personal God. These are Thy mighty works 
 O Mighty One ! Upholder Thou of earth, 
 Wrapped round with wondrous living tapestry, 
 That from the loom of life comes ever forth. 
 Mystic and beautiful, a changing web 
 Of loveliness, colour with colour blent : 
 Thine is the fair broad day, the sapphire sky, 
 And the serene magnificence of night. 
 The balanced moon 'mid the clear blue abyss. 
 The fire's wild fringe, and the white wings of light, 
 The purple amphitheatre of hills, 
 And distant mountains on the horizon's line ; 
 The world is full of Thee, Life-maker, Fount, 
 And never-failing Spring of energy, 
 From deity's abysmal depths e'er fed. 
 The breathing of the low soft summer wind, 
 The forest's dappled shade, the sunlight's gold, 
 The glistening insect buzzing on the wing.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 329 
 
 Wild woodland melodies of answ'ringf birds, 
 Plumed field flowers blossoming, uprising streams 
 Of fragrance from innumerable spires 
 Invisible, all life, variety. 
 
 Are Thine ; the ceaseless changes, endless forms 
 Commingling of earth's never-resting life, 
 Bent ever to remoter excellence : 
 And in our human world, Sovereign Divine, 
 Thine agency appears, dark world, unformed, 
 Or slowly rising from th' enshrouding clouds 
 Chaotic, over which, O Spirit of life, 
 Thou hoverest, and their potencies obscure 
 Renderest prolific, calling thence a world 
 Of ordered beauty indefeasible. 
 Mysterious agency, whose work oft lies 
 Beyond the compass of our feeble thoughts, 
 Evolving life from death, prosperity. 
 From what to us adversity appears. 
 Thine is it, O reviving Breath of God, 
 To breathe upon the slain, armies to call 
 To light and life from their low bed of dust. 
 Thou shedd'st Thy friendly light, as on the road 
 Which erst Thy chosen through the desert trod : 
 T' instruct the reason and support the will. 
 But more, with manna of the heavenly love 
 To feed, and from the smitten spiritual Rock 
 To give to drink ; to nourish secretly 
 The mystic bush of life, as Moses' thorn ; 
 Filling the heart, Thou fillest this fair world 
 Till all things speak of Thee. Truth to disclose 
 Is Thine, O Blessed One, and truth t' apply ;
 
 23° THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 To take the things of Christ, rich treasury, 
 Most precious things, and show them unto us, 
 Else dark, though needed, and with pining sought. 
 On the blest page by inspiration penned. 
 Itself Thy gift, to throw the inward light, 
 Perception give and apprehension clear. 
 Unseen, unfelt beside. There Christ is seen, 
 Christ in the sweetness of His character, 
 Christ imaged, symbolised, or plainly read ; 
 For as the priest entering the temple swung 
 His golden censer till the fragrant clouds 
 Rising aloft filled the whole edifice, 
 So Thou, O Spirit of holiness, dost come, 
 And entering the mean temple of our hearts 
 Sheddest the love of God, fragrance untold ! 
 More sweet than myrrh, or storax of the hills, 
 Or desert frankincense from eastern lands ; 
 That the blest soul may shed rich perfumes round 
 Its daily path of holy love and hope. 
 But chiefly, O Thou utterance divine, 
 In this great ministry of love Thou show'st, 
 And testifiest to the sons of God 
 Their sonship ; giving them assurance glad 
 Of pardon and acceptance through the blood. 
 Bold in the confidence inspired, the soul 
 Rises to own and tremblingly to claim 
 The privilege, and with its prayer draws near 
 Pleading with child-like trust ; then comest Thou, 
 And all unseen, the utterance of faith 
 And new-born love Thou tak'st, and with Thine 
 own
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 331 
 
 Most potent intercession dost present 
 Before the throne of Majesty Divine. 
 
 But as the eye, in some cathedral old, 
 Notes how the piety of centuries past 
 Enshrined itself in generous, lavish gifts, 
 Withholding nought that deft and cunning hands 
 And minds alive with thought sublime could do ; 
 The towering column and th' aspiring arch, 
 Windows of richest hues, marble and gold. 
 Bosses, and capitals, and lines recessed, 
 Vastness with glorious symmetry combined ; 
 Proofs everywhere of pious ends in view, 
 Desire to honour God, of thoughts devout 
 And the aspiring hopes of human kind, 
 Pathetic, mute expressions of deep faith ; 
 So in the structure of the truth revealed. 
 This noblest fane of thought upreared by love, 
 Firm seated as the hills, whose glories fair 
 Outshine earth's fairest, o'er whose mystic charm 
 Time has no power to sift sepulchral dust, 
 Or rob its beauty of one particle, 
 The good news of God's love is sweetly told. 
 
 O God, to Thee we tell our dreary fears : 
 Changelings of destiny, poor counters we 
 In this vast system of created things. 
 Vortex of being in its ceaseless whirls, 
 Uncounted items in the total vast. 
 And unconsidered. From its troubled depths 
 The desolate soul, lonely, cries out for light. 
 Cries out to Thee. For thus the drear thought comes; 
 We are as nothing, and no friendly hand
 
 332 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Is through the darkness stretched to shield Hfe's flame, 
 
 Flickering, defenceless, or no friendly eye 
 
 Observes ; and when we lapse in death we drop! 
 
 Into the vast abyss of nothingness. 
 
 Whence we at first emerged, and leave behind 
 
 Of all our trouble and our endless care 
 
 But a few bubbles on the moving wave, 
 
 To tell that once we were. Voices are heard. 
 
 Misleading voices, whispering through the gloom 
 
 That we are but electric mockeries, 
 
 The outcome of the elemental strife. 
 
 And victims. Like the fringing northern lights 
 
 That in the freezing starlight dance a while. 
 
 And then relapse to a profounder gloom ; 
 
 Awhile we stay, then are for ever lost. 
 
 Far other is the utterance of Thy Word ! 
 By golden links the soul redeemed is bound 
 In new relationships, and, by the blood 
 That consecrates the bonds, a citizen made 
 Of heavenly Zion, city of the skies. 
 O city of our God, home of the soul, 
 Whose glories rise above the heights of time 
 In their sublime undying loveliness ; 
 Visions of sunset, or the sanguine dusk 
 Of the awakening dawn, earth's noblest scenes 
 Of towered capitals, with colonnades 
 Withdrawn, spacious and stately halls, and spires. 
 That with their fretted pinnacles sublime. 
 Dare the aerial blue ; or natural scenes. 
 Far distant headlands smit by. slanting beams. 
 And shining summer seas, blue hills remote,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. zzi 
 
 And golden pastures sleeping In the sun, 
 
 Red harvests quivering in the hazy noon, 
 
 Or dusky woodlands gay with foxglove spires, 
 
 The gorgeous vesture of the ample light, 
 
 Across whose airy woof the sunbeam's warp 
 
 Weaves ever-changing loveliness ; still lakes 
 
 Where hawking swallows dip and leave their rings. 
 
 Or where the early stars mirror their gold : 
 
 Earth's fairest scenes suggest thy lovelier charms. 
 
 Dreams come to us immured in this dull life, 
 
 Along whose miry ways with weary steps 
 
 We trudge our daily march, glimpses far off; 
 
 Even in the world of sleep the sick desire 
 
 Broods o'er thy beauty, city of our God, 
 
 And on the sullen black expanse of night 
 
 Paints its bright hopes in hues too fugitive. 
 
 One with the saints, of that bright company 
 
 We dream, earth's perfected and virgin souls, 
 
 Whose love, fidelity, and holiness. 
 
 Made round their daily path a little heaven. 
 
 Of you we muse, ye servants of our God, 
 
 And of your high pursuits, bliss that remains 
 
 At God's right hand, yet strive we still in vain 
 
 To image forth the glad surprise of death, 
 
 Curbing our eager and too resdess hopes. 
 
 Christ's soldiers militant we lift our hearts 
 
 And bless our God, and bless the bond most dear 
 
 That links us to your glorious company. 
 
 Assured Thou wilt, O Lord, make good the word 
 
 In which Thou causedst us to put our trust. 
 
 Secure we build, smile at misfortune's storm,
 
 JJ" 
 
 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And wait impatiently the dawning day, 
 Courting the future, deeming it to hide 
 Priceless advantage, treasure manifold ; 
 Impatient as the prodigal in rags. 
 For the best robes wherewith the son is dressed. 
 The kiss we have, the reconciling kiss, 
 And through eternity must cherish still 
 The memory of forgiveness ; yet we wait 
 The investment of the wedding garment fair. 
 With which arrayed at heaven's high festival 
 We may appear unblamed. What human love 
 In its sweet peace and tenderness can do 
 We partly know, and find contained therein 
 The promise and the pledge of endless life. 
 
 Hope is the golden thread whose brightness runs 
 Through life's vicissitudes, bringing its peace, 
 E'en when despondency with sullen gloom 
 Bows down the soul, or the fierce doubt besets 
 That we are waifs, abandoned of the skies. 
 One with the family of God ! the fact 
 Waits not until its force be realised 
 To yield its benefits. We play with truth. 
 But dimly apprehending at the best 
 Its deep significance. God's purposes 
 Lie far beyond the reach of mortal ken. 
 By virtue of this golden link the soul 
 Access now finds, and with the voice of prayer, 
 In confidence serene, makes known its wants. 
 
 There is a world within this visible world. 
 Real and undreamed of, life within this life, 
 Whose freshness, peace, and beauty are untold ;
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 335 
 
 The life of holy love, where God sole reigns, 
 
 And with His peace unspeakable, the heart 
 
 Safe garrisons. No dream fanatical. 
 
 Dim vision of some weak disordered brain. 
 
 That gathering up its wrecked and broken hopes, 
 
 A refuge from its own distraction builds ; 
 
 A world where reason humble, reverent, finds 
 
 Life's infinite mysteries around it spread. 
 
 And rests beneath the shadow of the niofht ; 
 
 A world where love, unmenaced now by death, 
 
 Seeks her lost treasures confident to find. 
 
 And cheerful goes to meet the infinite love. 
 
 Eye hath not seen this world, nor ear hath heard 
 
 Its sweet and deep-infolding harmonies ; 
 
 Where, entering by the door of prayer, we find 
 
 Stillness and refuge from the worrying crowd 
 
 Of earthly cares, with hunger unappeased ; 
 
 Thence from the presence chamber, come refreshed, 
 
 Strengthened and armed for this our earthly fight. 
 
 Blest privilege ! in this rude world to find 
 
 Refuge so near, and sympathy so blest. 
 
 And in such form conveyed that the dumb heart 
 
 Speaks but in tears ; oft lacerated sore, 
 
 Oft burdened heavily, and with its load 
 
 O'erwhelmed, ashamed of self, of effort past 
 
 Rejectful, yearning still for better things. 
 
 Prayer breathes upon the spirit sabbath peace, 
 
 Stills with the tide of love care's babbling streams, 
 
 Heals deepest wounds and ebbing strength recalls. 
 
 Fair paradise art thou, O quiet hour, 
 To which we flee, and from the tree of life,
 
 336 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Pluck the ripe clusters, there enjoy repose, 
 While listening to the flow of time's great flood, 
 And hearinof unalarmed the voice of God. 
 For, in that silent hour, the soul draws near, 
 And with its Maker high communion holds. 
 Thou art, O God, our good ; in Thee we find 
 True happiness, as Thou dost give Thyself. 
 Birds in the element of air rejoice, 
 Diving and tossing with uplifted wings, 
 Ocean's blue depths to glistening shoals afford 
 Capacious home, while in the sunshine basks 
 Th' exultant insect on his jewelled wings ; 
 Thy favour is our element, O God ! 
 Our sun, our air, our all-supporting main, 
 And in the sunshine of Thy love alone 
 Blooms to perfection the fair flower of man ; 
 For man is fair when Thou dost make him so. 
 Drawn near, accepted in the Well Beloved, 
 As the condition of Thy love, life wears 
 Value supreme, for then alone we live, 
 And, with that glad experience satisfied, 
 Might on extinction smile. The chaliced heart 
 Thou fillest with Thy sacramental love, 
 Not for our passive joy, but to ensure 
 The swift discharge of life's entrusted powers, 
 And earnest diligent spending of ourselves. 
 
 Red morning sun shines from the crimsoned east 
 On dewy pasture and well-cultured field, 
 Blue haze of grain waiting the ripening beam, 
 That o'er the landscape makes its fervour felt. 
 Gilding the tree-tops of the mounded woods,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 337 
 
 Until the brooklet seems to run with eold. 
 The piercing stimulating ray matures, 
 Refreshes, strengthens ; with its golden wand, 
 Beneath the matted leaves of last year's fall, 
 The withered twigs and cones, touches the earth, 
 Silent and slumbering, bidding it awake ; 
 So, from celestial love, comes all that makes 
 Man useful, good, or great, stirring the will 
 To reach the highest use of all his powers. 
 As children when returning home at eve, 
 Stand at the entrance to the forest depths. 
 When day is darkening and the storm abroad, 
 Doubtful, alarmed, uncertain of their road, 
 Down where the woodpath leads to thickening gloom, 
 Look wistfully, and wish and yearn for home ; 
 So we. Thy children, Lord, wandering and lost, 
 Amid the awful lone immensities, 
 Cling to each other with pathetic grasp, 
 Whispering our doubts, and fearful of our hopes ; 
 The mind though fortified, fully matured 
 By the calm teachings of philosophy, 
 Stands balked, doubtful of what may yet remain 
 Behind the veil of death ; for though our fears 
 May fail to verify themselves, times come 
 When the reluctant soul must leave its best, 
 Finding its loftiest most ambitious schemes 
 Thwarted, as o'er some precipice abrupt. 
 The mountain stream leaps from some rocky height 
 To wave in mist upon the gusty wind. 
 Life casual seems, disjointed in its parts ; 
 Then comes the fear lest that the future hold
 
 338 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Unseen contingencies, disasters new ; 
 
 So tarry we th' unrolling of the years. 
 
 The assurance yet abides that He who made, 
 
 Who led from infancy to this quick hour, 
 
 Knows all, and looking from perfection's height 
 
 Sees where the life stream flows and whither tends, 
 
 Torn with what rapids, bosomed in what gloom, 
 
 Or by what shelving steps to spend itself 
 
 On the wide glimmering strand where ocean lies, 
 
 The low waste foreshores of advancing age. 
 
 Frail as the moth upon the evening wind, 
 
 Soon broken, in the hand of God alone 
 
 Safety is found and guardianship divine. 
 
 We cannot deem our life fortuitous, 
 
 Reasoning on human duty, nor can think 
 
 The human soul as irresponsible 
 
 As is the lightning of the summer clouds. 
 
 Or shimmering ignis-fatuus of the marsh. 
 
 As one who wandering in the night's dark shade, 
 Perplexed and hesitating often turns, 
 Now to the dun sky looks, scarce visible, 
 Or darker earth, nor knows where one false step 
 May lead, what danger unsuspected lie 
 Close to the path, doubts of his every step ; 
 If but the moon behind the eastern hills 
 Emerge, like some broad golden shield, and throw 
 Her placid light o'er the black tangled scene. 
 His heart revives : against the illumined sky 
 In bold relief stands forth each tree, till where 
 The foliage veils the moon's bright mottled disc. 
 But not conceals, rendering each branch distinct,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 339 
 
 Each separate twig and leaf in outline clear ; 
 
 His path the traveller sees, discerns the cliff, 
 
 And hearing unalarmed the torrent's voice, 
 
 Renews with confidence the homeward path. 
 
 So doubts no longer the illumined soul, 
 
 When once the love of God serenely shines 
 
 About life's path, but through the wilderness 
 
 Pursues its way ; no child of destiny. 
 
 Offspring of chance, where life's main problems seem 
 
 But doubtful, in an unresponsive world, 
 
 Where to the soul that on the good alone 
 
 Determines, nature speaks with low soft voice. 
 
 Unheard, unheeded by th' unwilling heart, 
 
 And lends its guidance to th' imperilled hope 
 
 By chances numberless surrounded, armed 
 
 With fullest powers to slay our loftiest aims. 
 
 In one brief moment, with enduring gloom 
 
 To obscure the future, through the up-pointing spears 
 
 Of dangers passing, and to that exposed 
 
 Which reason justly fears, self-degradation, 
 
 And by disuse impoverishment of powers, 
 
 Or sapping of our faith, by slow approach, 
 
 And the entrenchment in the citadel 
 
 Of unbelief, the agnostic's cheerless creed. 
 
 Perplexed, full oft, how life is to be spent. 
 The motive wanting that with high constraint 
 Would marshal forth the concentrated powers 
 To attempt a high deliberate aim of life ; 
 Like mariners at sea, without or port 
 Or object of their voyage. Or, to merge, 
 Counting these higher yearnings as but vain.
 
 340 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Into the natural world, to recognise 
 
 The essential oneness in essential things 
 
 Of man and nature, cease this weary strife 
 
 And vain attempt to bear the heavy load 
 
 Of this vast, dumb, and inarticulate world, 
 
 Or understand the mystic frame of things, 
 
 One with the lichened tree moved in the wind. 
 
 Or sharded insect twinkling in the grass, 
 
 Birds' voices in the woods, the distant moan 
 
 Of thunder long prolonged among the hills, 
 
 Like inarticulate utterance of a soul, 
 
 That found but disappointment, where it hoped 
 
 For pleasure ; listening to these voices faint. 
 
 To yield the vantage ground of reason's height. 
 
 Content the individual self to lose. 
 
 And onward drift with time's resistless flow ; 
 
 Or, to retire, taking our patient stand 
 
 In the distinctiveness of rational life. 
 
 And vainly wrestle with life's problems vast 
 
 That mock our feebleness, and in the cave 
 
 Of meditation, quiet divine of thought. 
 
 Blaspheming voices hear, unguarded, rash, 
 
 O'erweening speculations ; dismal choice, 
 
 To still the inward cry for sympathy, 
 
 Hardening the sentiment, compelled to accept 
 
 A blind fatality, forget the past. 
 
 And from the future nothing hope, but drift 
 
 Unquestioning, whither the current bears. 
 
 To primal gloom, blank of unconsciousness 
 
 Whence we emerged, slowly to know ourselves 
 
 And know we were, darkness intense, unmoved,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 341 
 
 A darkness in whose all-enclrcling gloom 
 The Hght of Hfe wasting upon its wick 
 At last expires, nor re-illuming knows. 
 
 Whither shall this poor anxious spirit glide 
 What time the soul, like some white sail, shall round 
 Death's mighty promontory, silent, dusk, 
 And to the ocean of eternity 
 Head its lone prow, on unknown voyage bound ? 
 Will then the conscious sentient life prolonged, 
 Incorporal, more sensitive become. 
 The organs of sensation being removed. 
 And to a more immediate contact brought 
 With the substratum and essential life 
 Of natural things, with clearer vision see ? 
 The tenant of the grave ! ah ! dreadful thought, 
 Conscious of its dark prison and the worm ; 
 Or, haunting still earth's dear familiar scenes, 
 Unrecognised, observant, in the gleams, 
 Moments transitional, or shadows dim 
 Of twilight, or unheard, with footfall light. 
 Treading night's portico of sullen gloom ; 
 Or habiting, mayhap, some shadowy realm, 
 With its faint echoes of this thrilling life. 
 This tangible frame of things, to live again 
 The pleasures, joys, pursuits, or hopes, or fears. 
 Of this material world in semblance dim. 
 
 And, of the further future, more remote, 
 Awful abyss and dread engulfing void. 
 Where plunges to its rest time's mighty stream ; 
 What strange developments await the soul, 
 What new experiences, mutations new,
 
 542 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Puzzle the mind, and tire the restless thought. 
 Hath man undying flames, that, like the bush 
 In Edom's wilderness, burn undestroyed ? 
 That when the earth by slow consuming fires, 
 Erosions of its elemental strife. 
 Grown aged shall expire, or its firm bands 
 Relapsed, upon the eddying whirls of space 
 Its vast solidity be scattered wide ; 
 Or, when the sun's high-leaping fires shall fall, 
 And on their ashes slowly flickering die, 
 Shall man still live, and, living, in what sphere. 
 Environed by what circumstance, swept through 
 The infinite void mere prey of destiny, 
 Abandoned, bodied in some form undreamed, 
 Borne on the whisperings of the summer breeze, 
 In the light flutter of the summer leaves, 
 Careering in the tempest that o'er leagues 
 Of sheeted hissing foam sweeps its dread path, 
 Or, harnessed to the incessant lightning's blaze 
 Shimmering around the world, or, to the depths 
 Unfathomed flung, e'er falling through the abyss, 
 To wander through the azure starry depths. 
 Pathways of worlds unmarked, or, pausing watch 
 The world with its dimensions vast sweep by, 
 Balanced on nothing, sorrow-laden, dim, 
 With spotted silvery disc, mountains or seas, 
 Diminish in the distance to bright speck ; 
 Or, in the underworld imprisoned fast. 
 Dungeoned in solid rock, restrained, reduced 
 To utter exiguity of being, 
 The lowest ebb of barest consciousness,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 343 
 
 That ever hovers on the brink of pain ; 
 
 Or, at the mercy of the elements, 
 
 Now denizened ten thousand fathoms deep 
 
 In ocean's caverns, 'mid the ooze and sHme, 
 
 Where dwell unearthly forms with staring eyes, 
 
 And giant serpent shapes that twine and glide 
 
 Through glassy depths profound. And this how long ? 
 
 Thus questions this poor child of man, O Lord, 
 Forgetful of Thy Word and will revealed. 
 Thus frets his mortal hour, afraid of self, 
 And timid of existence, with the sense 
 Of strangeness of this life, and its conditions 
 And beaten by the task, like weak-winged bird 
 That, hastening from the storm, attempts to cross 
 A mountain ridge whose lofty rampart hides 
 Serener skies, but helpless falls again. 
 Too weak to rise. And we are children. Lord, 
 Poor ignorant children, yet, too oft, without 
 The childlike spirit, and too confident 
 Upon forbidden ground to walk, to wrest 
 By dint of intellect, the mysteries 
 Thy mercy hides. Yet, humbled, when we yield 
 To the sweet invitation of Thy love. 
 And humbly seeking Thee in patient faith 
 Find Thee in Christ, and prove all things made new ; 
 Yea, life itself a higher nobler thing. 
 And full of music as a summer's morn ; 
 New voices now are heard when Thou dost speak ; 
 The wind's fresh breath, the mottled shade of clouds. 
 The sunshine red, the pleasant face of day, 
 The beauty and the fragrance of our earth.
 
 344 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Perfumed with breath of flowers, by quiring birds 
 
 Filled with melodious echoes, give new charms. 
 
 As the responsive soul thrills with delight 
 
 To know its God. This is Thy world, O God, 
 
 And all its beauty seems marks of Thy favour, 
 
 Its pleasures charged with messages of love. 
 
 We are Thy servants. Lord, unwilling oft, 
 
 Oft blind, yet ours the happy privilege 
 
 To fill each little day with happy toil ; 
 
 O happy day, too short to tell the love 
 
 That makes a pleasure of each weary step, 
 
 To show in willing deeds the gratitude 
 
 Of a forgiven soul. O happy life 
 
 In such sweet service spent, to work, to wait. 
 
 To serve so kind, so good, so true a Lord, 
 
 So condescending to accept the gifts 
 
 That mortal frailty brings. O happy world, 
 
 Irradiated by the love divine. 
 
 Become the secret banquet house of love, 
 
 Within whose chambers hang proofs ever new 
 
 Of the great love wherewith our souls are loved ; 
 
 Adventurers no more on life's rough sea, 
 
 Freighted with destiny, exposed to loss 
 
 And ruin irretrievable, that fate 
 
 And envious time may bring. The days are linked 
 
 With golden bands ; purpose divine gives life 
 
 Its unity, its object, and its peace ; 
 
 Made willing, and in acquiescence glad. 
 
 One with the system of the universe, 
 
 Content with what the Power Supreme adjudge 
 
 To be our lot, desiring but to merge
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 345 
 
 Our frail and erring wills in His, and know 
 
 None other law. To live, to work, to rest, 
 
 To suffer, or to die, these all are His 
 
 T' appoint or to deny, ours to submit ; 
 
 And from this secret spiritual harmony 
 
 Springs peace, our peace with God, and with ourselves. 
 
 Nor longer now the eager need to clutch 
 
 Life's opportunities of happiness. 
 
 Nor stand defensive as if nature armed 
 
 Menaced the faithful ; now an unseen shield 
 
 Surrounds them, and how long, how short, how vast, 
 
 Or how obscure and insignificant. 
 
 The task assigned, until the work be done 
 
 We live : then turn from earth and homeward go. 
 
 God hath all uses for His instruments, 
 
 Known and unknown, yet in the readiness 
 
 We manifest to do His sacred will, 
 
 He manifests His purposes. With this, 
 
 Supreme all-comprehensive fact, will come 
 
 The blending of the discords of our life, 
 
 Its inner harmony, from thence proceed 
 
 Its sweetest cadences. Oft in the gloom 
 
 Profound of grief the star of hope shines forth ; 
 
 Oft from low valleys of humility 
 
 Rises the life to a sublimer height 
 
 Of snowy purity else unattained. 
 
 To recognise God's hand, to own His power, 
 
 To trust Him, though in darkness, and to love 
 
 Unseen, though richly seen in loving gifts, 
 
 This the grand lesson, this the privilege 
 
 Of mortal life. Whither our life-stream tends
 
 346 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 We faintly guess, or fondly vainly hope ; 
 As when one walking in the moonlioht clear, 
 The vast dusk velvet landscape dimly seen, 
 In shadowy outline sloping far below, 
 Hears how the torrent down the steep ravine 
 Falls to the restful stillness of the lake, 
 Hears, but sees not, till onward a few steps 
 Advanced, discerns below the silvery thread 
 On which the moonlight strikes, winding its way 
 To its near resting-place : glimpses we have, 
 And know that rest awaits our restlessness. 
 And peace at length will heaviest trouble lull. 
 Were this but all, this were enough to give 
 The Christian life value unique. But more, 
 And higher far, remain. The evening dressed 
 In the rich promise hues of crimson cloud, 
 Forms but the prelude to eternal day. 
 Stripped of the blessed hope that gilds death's gloom, 
 Though with the background of oblivion dark, 
 The Christian life would even then present 
 The highest style, the happiest mode of life. 
 The Gospel, the divine philosophy, 
 Gives armour against fate, prepares the soul 
 To meet with magnanimity, unblenched, 
 Th' inevitable, to endure the petty stings. 
 The thorns and vexing troubles of this life, 
 With equanimity ; to crop the flower 
 Of pleasure and avoid its sting, bereaved. 
 To find in hours of loneliness and pain 
 Companionship, and consolation deep. 
 As ne'er the academic grove could teach ;
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 347 
 
 Sweet honey of truth, sweeter than Hybla's store ; 
 These have we ; but yet more, the blessed hope 
 Of new developments of love unknown 
 Lifts our glad hearts and stirs our energies. 
 Now through the lattice of this mortal life 
 Glimpses we catch of the delightsome land. 
 The future of our hopes, God's paradise. 
 Earth's music falls and dying fainter grows, 
 But to faith's ear a loftier anthem comes ; 
 The seen, the tangible drift off like clouds ; 
 The eternal, the invisible remain. 
 Hope's better and enduring substance grows 
 As earth decays, draws near as earth recedes. 
 And with an ever brightening lustre shines. 
 
 "Rest! rest! O Lord, eternal rest!" so cry 
 Thy wearied ones, while stretching forth to Thee 
 Imploring hands ; for Thou alone canst give 
 The satisfaction craved : for Thou alone 
 Canst smooth the wrinkles from the furrowed brow, 
 And breathe upon the soul Sabbatic peace. 
 Cares, like a red-mouthed hurrying pack, have driven 
 The hunted soul, till, like a tired stag 
 That seeks with lagging limbs some glade to rest, 
 Or pool deep-shadowed where to lave its flanks, 
 It refuge seeks in these inspiring hopes. 
 The restless life craves rest. Now the spent wave 
 Folds its smooth curve upon the peaceful shore. 
 The rack drifts from the clearing evening sky ; 
 And all the storm tints drear and cold now blend 
 In crimson promise of a summer morn ; 
 Bright on the toilers' faces as they come,
 
 348 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Returning homewards, shines the evening sun. 
 Welcome, O peaceful eve ! welcome the star 
 Ushering the solemn splendours of the night, 
 Dark archway to the dawn, all studded thick 
 With constellations, like night's avenue 
 Leading to endless day. What is there here 
 To daunt the flight, or clog the nimble step.-* 
 Ambition waits the glad release of death. 
 
 Thy will be done, O Lord, not ours ; Thy will 
 Our will shall be. Here, in this battlefield, 
 Thy people stand. Some wield the sword for Thee, 
 Defenders some, some sentinels to guard, 
 And pace the weary hours of darkness through. 
 Thou art our Captain, and at Thy command 
 We come, we go, we stand, we stay. Wanting 
 Death's consecration, if unmeet, forgive 
 The half-concealed desire, should it appear 
 Disloyal, or to lack submission true ; 
 Suffering unblamed our frailty to indulge 
 The glad anticipation of a hope, 
 That, like the smile of morning, gentle breaks 
 Over the dark forbiddinof face of death. 
 
 Bright eye of youth, elastic step, quick pulse, 
 The fulness and the freshness of life's morn 
 Pass like the early dews, nor know recall. 
 The spring time comes brightening the spiritless earth. 
 Covering the hedgerows, orchards, groves, with gauze 
 Of snowy odorous blossoms, earth's fair veil, 
 Bringing the chirp of birds among the trees, 
 New decked with opening leaves of liveliest green ; 
 Making it seem a new-created world.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 349 
 
 Yet like a dream its brightness passes by. 
 
 Life's pleasures in the using perish ; cheat 
 
 The jaded appetite, mocking the mind 
 
 That stoops to make its home in meaner things 
 
 Than are provided in its proper range. 
 
 Home joys are sweet, yet transient as the gleam 
 
 That gilds the passing ripple on the lake. 
 
 The mother's voice no more is heard, the rine 
 
 Of children's laughter, while on floor and stairs 
 
 Patter of little feet grows strangely still, 
 
 And in the drowsy lonely silence dies. 
 
 The well of knowledge inexhaustible 
 
 Appears ; the well is deep, the strength is small. 
 
 The ardour which in earlier days impelled 
 
 To self-repression and self-sacrifice. 
 
 That suffering smiled, now flags. The heart grows 
 
 old. 
 Yet like some hidden spring whose waters run 
 Below the parching sands, the quivering breath 
 Of torrid noon, so, deep below the change, 
 And dull familiarities of life. 
 Rise living waters, secret sure supplies. 
 Though faded now the blossoms that were strewn 
 Over life's earlier steps, the open air 
 Still breathes its gentle blessings, Nature speaks 
 In graver tones, answering the inward thoughts. 
 And when the solemn noon of life is passed 
 Few flowers are scattered o'er the traveller's road 
 But those that in the paradise regained 
 Of God's own word have bloomed. Apart from Thee, 
 Apart from Thee, apart from light and love,
 
 ;5o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Great spring of joy! how poor are earth's delights, 
 
 How quickly fading, and how mixed with pain ; 
 
 Dull repetition with decreased desire, 
 
 Handfuls of chaff and dust. Youth scarce has passed, 
 
 Before we find the emptiness of life ; 
 
 To get us gold, to win a fleeting name. 
 
 To beat with weary foot the same dull tramp, 
 
 Or pleasure seek in sensual delights. 
 
 And ministering cloyed appetite in vain, 
 
 Unworthy seems. The soul seeks freer range, 
 
 And like an eagle mewed and moping sits. 
 
 With bright eye glancing through its prison bars 
 
 To the blue sky or lofty mountain-tops, 
 
 Longing to spread its wing and heavenward soar. 
 
 How beautiful the summer plat abloom. 
 With dew-washed roses sleeping in the sun ; 
 The sisterhood of flowers, carnations, pinks. 
 White lilies breathing out their beauty sweet, 
 Embodied thoughts of spotless purity. 
 The trumpet honeysuckle on the wind 
 Its perfume blows, the jessamine's white stars, 
 Or modest mignonette, pour fragrance forth 
 Like grateful prayer ; all interlocked they stand 
 With clasping tendril, overshadowing leaves. 
 As if they loved each other's company. 
 Bees come and go at buzzing hour of noon ; 
 The lark is in the sky ; the misty hills 
 Seem distant, dreamlike ; brooding silence reigns. 
 Days come, days go ; then autumn's voice is heard. 
 Hoarse in its anger, shrieking in loud gales ; 
 Choke-full the brook, swirling the red leaves round ;
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 351 
 
 The sward is sodden, and the ways all mire. 
 
 The flowers are gone. Ah me ! our flowers have gone, 
 
 And taken summer with them ; loved too well, 
 
 Too fondly clasped, too soon, alas ! removed. 
 
 The dear ones slumber 'neath the mossy turf. 
 
 White marble glimmers, and the chirp of birds 
 
 Is heard, and early violets steal, where lie 
 
 Hopes fondly cherished, and affections deep : 
 
 Now musing mouldering time greens their low bed. 
 
 Death breaks our links, the closest links that bind 
 
 Dear kindred souls, and carries to the skies 
 
 Our best beloved to allure us there. 
 
 As on some foreign shore, perchance, one hears 
 The tolling of a solemn deep-toned bell 
 From ancient tower, that calls the soul away 
 To thoughts above the differences of men ; 
 A sound with which the deepest hopes have blent 
 Of unknown thousands in the unknown past. 
 The tongue of time, joy, grief, devotion's call : 
 So in thought's silent hour religion's claims 
 Waken suggestions of most solemn things, 
 Of human life in bare simplicity. 
 The fundamental duties of our lot. 
 Nature's demands, God's claims, no austere Judge 
 And the great world of things outside man's life : 
 For round us are suggestions manifold, 
 That lure the watchful hope ; analogies. 
 Inwoven in this visible frame of things ; 
 Like crimson clouds of sunset, foreign, far, 
 As if belonging to another world. 
 That lift the rapt beholder out of self.
 
 352 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 With sense of vacancy, with thoughts of things, 
 
 And distant worlds far different from our own. 
 
 As those who wander in the gloomy crypt 
 
 Of some cathedral pile hearing stray sounds, 
 
 Snatches of blended song, deep organ tones, 
 
 In solemn sweetly-dying cadences, 
 
 Faindy vibrating through the charnel vaults. 
 
 Echoes of worship rising overhead. 
 
 If never seen, but faintly could conceive 
 
 The lofty aisle, the many-coloured light, 
 
 The white-robed priests, the chanting choristers, 
 
 And exaltation of the worshipping throng ; 
 
 So, in this crypt-like earth, we dimly dream 
 
 Of the all-glorious worship of the skies. 
 
 Without Thee, Lord, life seems a dread abyss, 
 And utter loneliness ! Without Thy love 
 Time is a dreary ever-widening waste, 
 An enigma unsolvable, a maze 
 Bewildering, a tale soon told but full 
 Of pathos infinite. For Thou dost give 
 Those seeking Thee fresh interest in life, 
 Gilding their earthly work with heavenly aim ; 
 To stem the tide of sin, earnest to stand 
 As witnesses for God, or reaching forth 
 With Christ-like tenderness t' assuage the ills. 
 The sorrows mitigate of man, or bind 
 The broken heart and stanch the bitter tear, 
 Befits us well, becomes our noblest powers. 
 
 Time's shadows lengthen with the closing day, 
 And evening comes, the wished-for peaceful eve. 
 Hushed are earth's noisy echoes, faint and far,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 353 
 
 Dying away. No more the chiding voice 
 
 Of blame unmerited is heard, harsh words 
 
 Of fierce disparagement, or insult rude. 
 
 Now false applause, detraction's ceaseless bark, 
 
 The sting of self-dissatisfaction, or 
 
 The hiss of envy, biting though it dies. 
 
 Passion's constraint, temptation's dangerous lure, 
 
 The clamour and the turmoil of the crowd, 
 
 And all the noisy goings on of life, 
 
 All merge ; then break as billows on the shore 
 
 Of the eternal silence. Trouble ends. 
 
 As one who throuQfh the fields delis^hted roams 
 In golden glory of the summer's day. 
 Beguiled from step to step with prospects new. 
 Along mossed wood-paths dim where foxgloves blow. 
 In the green quiet of the woods, with hush 
 Of drowsy trees above the dappled fern, 
 If through the opening of the hillside boughs 
 He catch a glimpse of meadow, field, and town, 
 Or far off river shining in the sun. 
 Yet all subdued by distance, till they seem 
 Parts of some heavenly landscape bathed in light. 
 Anon he turns, indulging the charmed gaze. 
 Well pleased to listen to the wood dove's coo, 
 The trill of linnet, or the blackbird's note ; 
 Before him like a dream -a lake expands, 
 Bosomed in trees, poplar or silvery birch 
 Responsive to the wind ; no ripple breaks 
 The mirrored calm, in tender light subdued, 
 Of the smooth wave; peace reigns, and calms the soul 
 So, through the dim and shadowy things of earth, 
 
 2 A
 
 354 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Hard and prosaic, with restricted view, 
 
 The eye of faith looks forth to heavenly things. 
 
 To thee, O land of bliss, O future home, 
 Insensibly we turn, quickened by hope, 
 And restless with desire. Earth's beauty points 
 To beauties unconceived, a widening range 
 That upward slopes, passing our mortal ken. 
 Ah ! beautiful is earth ; th' aspiring thought 
 Of art, delighting in the beautiful, 
 Mounts ceaselessly, endeavouring to grasp 
 These fleeting forms of earthly loveliness. 
 And fix them in its rapt and silent world ; 
 Yet the great stream of beauty ever flows ; 
 Fresh faces, graceful forms, and colour gleams, 
 Expressiveness that ever waits the eye 
 Observant, forming one vast moving scene 
 Of varying loveliness, beneath, around. 
 Above, the broad and sapphire sky of day. 
 Imperial dome of night ; the emerald earth 
 Enamelled fair, or ocean fathomless, 
 Dim waste of quivering blue with ceaseless plaint. 
 Like some great scroll unrolled before our eyes, 
 With combination strange and novel grace, 
 New pictures are disclosed, pleasing or drear. 
 All that is in the earth, fecundity, 
 Beauty, forgetfulness, and kindliness, 
 The generous hand, that, to the giver gives 
 A hundredfold ; dark wondrous caves of power, 
 Whence issue, vested in their loveliness. 
 Snowdrop, or hyacinth of fragrant breath, 
 The primrose meek, or dancing daffodil,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 355 
 
 Or lurking violet, with gentle lore 
 To instruct, admonish, and encourage man ; 
 Earth's beauty is unsung ; poets have dreamed, 
 Rendering their glorious vision in high song. 
 Always inadequate, full oft far short 
 Of that which thrilled within th' ecstatic breast. 
 Snatched earth's brief dream of beauty ere the veil 
 Of blindness fell, or death's oblivious gloom 
 Darkened the stage, as apprehensive lest 
 There were no better things beyond the tomb : 
 Then vanished in the all-surrounding dark, 
 And, unexhausted left the brimming fount. 
 
 Yet is earth's beauty marred. Beneath her shades 
 Death menaces with awful brow, malignant. 
 The lightning flashing from the angry sky 
 Gleams like the sword of guarding cherubim. 
 Death is there in the sun, mildew in shower, 
 Ravage in fulness, and corruption rank 
 In mere quiescence, on perfection's marge 
 Hideous deformity and slack decay, 
 Tarnish and rust, the sickle keen of time, 
 The feebleness of age, and over all 
 The spell of change. Nature's imperial pall. 
 Crusted with gems and stiff with cloth of gold, 
 Like regal mantle cast about a tomb. 
 Conceals the crawling worm, defacement, dust. 
 Like to some ancient proud domain, once trim, 
 Its lord long absent, fallen to decay, 
 Forlorn misuse, neglect, and barrenness ; 
 The flowers run wild, the arbours pleached with care, 
 Or shady avenues, fruit-gardens rich,
 
 3 56 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Grown ruinous ; the hold baronial tressed 
 
 With weeds forlorn, where once the banner waved 
 
 Defiance to the foe, now feebly plumed 
 
 By yellow wall-flowers fluttering in the wind ; 
 
 Towers ivy-mantled, rusted gates, and moat 
 
 Dry, or with scum of vegetation rank. 
 
 Thus seems our earth, from its original height 
 
 Run down, and working in a lower groove, 
 
 Beneath its powers. If human care may raise 
 
 The wildings of the thicket till they yield 
 
 Rich juicy fruits, or fragrance new impart 
 
 With glowing colours to the wayside flower, 
 
 What potencies in nature may remain 
 
 Waiting the summons of the Will Divine. 
 
 Built of few elements this wondrous frame, 
 
 Material, might assume far other forms ; 
 
 And He, who, in the ocean's caves remote, 
 
 Tints the bright shell and hides the lustrous pearl, 
 
 Lavishing beauty where no human eye 
 
 Observes, may well display in larger scenes 
 
 A loveliness and glory now undreamed. 
 
 O glorious hope of immortality, 
 Whose music floats about our dull, cold world, 
 As angel music, sweet but faintly heard ; 
 Even in the blank untuneful hours of life. 
 With lowering troubled sky, near view, unrest, 
 And hard environment, through which the soul 
 Finds no escape, your soft sweet strains will rise ; 
 Yet are there hearts insensible and dead, 
 Unheeding as the marble effigy, 
 Warrior, or maiden, or anointed king.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 357 
 
 Belted and crowned in stone, or palmer, worn 
 
 With pilgrimage to holy soil, now lying 
 
 In the cathedral aisle, clasping its hands 
 
 In prayer, where fall the many-coloured hues, 
 
 Rich beams of rainbow light from pictured pane ; 
 
 Stirring the solemn silence, music comes, 
 
 With its sweet pathos, winning gentleness. 
 
 The plaintive human voice thrilling the heart, 
 
 With the grand harmony and swelling peal, 
 
 Melodious thunder of the organ's tone ; 
 
 The music dies, the statue slumbers still. 
 
 Weak human nature with its purposes 
 
 Oft crossed unwillingly, its instincts blind. 
 
 Its highest aims, persistent energies 
 
 By unsuspected influences warped 
 
 To fell ambition, and its virtues high 
 
 Basely transmuted by the touch of earth 
 
 To selfishness, or unsuspected pride, 
 
 Twice deaf to disregard the voice of love. 
 
 Twice blind to turn aside from love's own hand. 
 
 Then rise, fond heart, in contemplation high 
 Survey in thought so fair a realm of hope. 
 This heritag^e divine. See from afar 
 The beauteous light of heaven's eternal day ; 
 No effluence of the sun, nor moon's blue ray ; 
 God is its light ; serene and mild the flood 
 Of radiance that fills heaven's dome sublime. 
 O sky, more tender than spring's tenderest blue, 
 O'erarching, all-embracing as the love 
 Divine, where tempests never sweep, nor storms 
 Yelling with fury through the vast concave,
 
 358 THE MORNING SONG: 
 
 Distracted, thunder-driven, can strew with rack, 
 
 Nor fading eve, nor sable night shall drape 
 
 In dusk serenity. The luminous tide, 
 
 Like to a summer sea of glory, broods 
 
 Over the land. Shall Eden be adorned 
 
 With foliage deep and verdant meads and glades, 
 
 And pleasant rivers sparkling in the sun. 
 
 Moist dells, or shady nooks, or sunny slopes. 
 
 Where flowers up-spring, as if the earth had smiled. 
 
 And tuneful birds their sweetest carols pour. 
 
 Where perfumes breathe from odoriferous groves, 
 
 And bounteous nature spreads her golden fruits. 
 
 Shall nought more beautiful than this exist ? 
 
 This the spent effort of creative will ? 
 
 Nay ; adumbrations faint are these ; dim types 
 
 Of heaven's realities. New flowers there bloom. 
 
 Mayhap, of undreamed beauty, fragrance rare, 
 
 And unimagined forms, not as on earth, 
 
 Rare visitants, spring's gentle harbingers. 
 
 Summer's gay crown, and autumn's pomp and pride, 
 
 Frailest of earth's frail things, perennial there, 
 
 As promises of fruitage unconceived, 
 
 Fruits that may spring from out the exuberance 
 
 Of generosity divine, new modes 
 
 Now unimagined, yet endowed to lure 
 
 And satisfy celestial appetites. 
 
 New and strange forms of life we may conceive 
 
 Existing there, and with new loveliness, 
 
 New creatures, rational, intelligent. 
 
 Who have attained by other paths than ours. 
 
 Earth's ways of sorrow, heaven's high eminence.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 359 
 
 Kindred with us in sympathy or form, 
 
 Gifted with other powers. The mind, well pleased, 
 
 Broods o'er the possibilities, where love 
 
 Will lavish its choice treasures to enrich 
 
 The home of the redeemed. What glad surprise 
 
 Shall wake the sleeper from death's heavy dream. 
 
 With ravishing prospects of those sunny plains 
 
 Of Sabbath rest, and occupations new, 
 
 Pleasures disguised in sweet variety, 
 
 When from this narrow world of sight and sound 
 
 The soul shall pass, entering a world unknown. 
 
 Escaped from sin's alluring perilous dreams, 
 
 Finding delights, pleasures more exquisite 
 
 Than aught that earth affords. Drawn nearer now 
 
 The central Fount of being, heightened sense, 
 
 May gain more intimate and fuller view 
 
 Into the inward mystery of life, 
 
 Far ampler knowledge, closer intercourse. 
 
 Clouds o'er the future hang, a darkness deep 
 Shrouds the fast coming years with sombre pall. 
 On through its orbit whirls the unquiet earth. 
 Bearing throughout the deep and sounding void 
 Its mass of woe, its mingled joys and griefs ; 
 Veil the great orb of sorrow, O ye clouds. 
 With all its breaking hearts, its broken ties, 
 With all its desolate homes and ruined lives, 
 And graves deep-trenched ; ye infinite depths of space. 
 Bury earth's miserere, dismal plaint, 
 That like the moan of morning constantly 
 Circles our globe. Change upon change succeeds ; 
 Good slowly grows ; new forms of vice upspring,
 
 36o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Entangling with a fell perversity 
 
 The ardent footsteps of the coming age. 
 
 The mystery of sin, dread mystery, 
 
 Appals the soul, this second deluge vast, 
 
 That lifts its horrid and engulfing waves 
 
 In awful clamour, threatening to drown 
 
 In woes remediless the souls of men. 
 
 And in the picture dark few gleams appear ; 
 
 There are dumb yearnings, instincts of the race, 
 
 A leaning and a growing to the light. 
 
 Broadening of view and general advance ; 
 
 Then comes a backward movement as the tide, 
 
 With reinforcement of the hindward wave, 
 
 Swirls its huge mass again to ocean depths. 
 
 The national spirit stirs, the national strength 
 
 Stretches its growing limbs, and forward sets 
 
 To ventures high, yet round its ardent steps 
 
 The dogs of hell, rapine, and avarice, 
 
 Ambition, lust, will ever sniff and slink, 
 
 Ready for their dread work, ready to check 
 
 These nobler movements of the human race ; 
 
 And all the fondest dreams of largest minds. 
 
 Peace, reverence of truth, humanity, 
 
 A great uplifting of the general life. 
 
 Are in one moment dashed to utter wreck. 
 
 Yet through the drifting and unquiet clouds 
 
 Ring on the Christmas bells, as if Christ's church. 
 
 Patient through prescience, with a heaven-born trust. 
 
 Clings to a hope so priceless to the world. 
 
 New systems of philosophy will rise 
 
 To mock their predecessors, then in turn
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 361 
 
 Betake themselves to dark oblivion's paths. 
 New waves of thought will sweep the human world, 
 New movements and new masters of the race 
 Rule their brief hour : new victims yet unborn, 
 Suffering, shall curse their fate and yearn for death. 
 Nations shall rise and fall. The world is full 
 Of ruins, and each ruin mutely stands 
 A prophecy to all that dominates 
 The present, how commanding, strong, or brave. 
 In halls of state the savage lioness 
 Suckles her tawny whelps ; the asp up-coils ; 
 The bittern and the jackal haunt and prowl 
 Where crowds once dwelt by the Euphrates' stream ; 
 And desert sands rustle o'er marble floors 
 Where royalty in perfumed pride once passed ; 
 Gaunt ruin, hollow-eyed, possession claims 
 Of palaces, and owls now hoot and mope 
 Where kings once reigned. Heaps, pools, and shape- 
 less mounds. 
 Alone remain to tell of capitals 
 Of mightiest name ; Susa, Persepolis, 
 Or Babylon, Thebes midst Egypt's palms, 
 Or Tyre upon its melancholy strand, 
 Where now the surge breaks over columns prone, 
 Palmyra of the desert, or the crowd 
 Of nameless cities 'neath forgotten mounds 
 Cumbering the earth, silent of their great past : 
 And many a proud and thronging capital, 
 Now world-renowned, whose peopled streets are filled 
 With busy crowds, shall desolate become : 
 Where navies ride the solitary loon
 
 362 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Shall in the rushes lurk ; the wild swan fish 
 Rivers alive with commerce of a world ; 
 Low lies the architrave ; the ambitious dust 
 Crowns the wreathed capital, while, on the plinth, 
 Basks the mute lizard in the noon-day sun ; 
 And o'er the broken arch of busy mart 
 Or echoing council halls, the wild brier throws 
 Its matted thorny veil, as if to hide 
 Mortal humiliation. Yet may rise 
 New nations of new name and language new. 
 We know not what awaits, nor how the earth 
 Will to its future speed ; if changes yet 
 Will mark its history, and epochs make. 
 Oceans upheaved, and continents new born. 
 Science may don her robe prophetical. 
 And, with vaticination ominous. 
 Cast the world's horoscope, of cataclysms. 
 Collision with some mighty wandering orb, 
 Or, of the sun's retracted forces dream. 
 When its diminished fires at length withdraw 
 Their kindly heat till the capacious earth 
 Shall sweep its ever-narrowing circles round, 
 And in the flaming vortex drawn at length 
 Rush to destruction swift ; in wider view 
 See the whole universe of circling worlds 
 Convulsed in spasm of universal death. 
 Contracted from its wide extended shores, 
 Extinct and dead, in one huge frozen mass. 
 Suspended in dark lone immensity. 
 
 Conjectures, vaguest speculations all ! 
 Airy and baseless ; for more surely led
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 363 
 
 By warrant of God's word we surely look 
 
 For the Redeemer's advent, long delayed, 
 
 Long wished for ; day of tribulation sore, 
 
 Sudden, unheralded, snaring the nations. 
 
 So shall It come. What miahtv storms shall rise, 
 
 To shake the stars from out the fixed heavens, 
 
 Cast like untimely figs, what sudden gloom 
 
 Shall this great world envelop, sudden dread 
 
 Palsying familiar life, when the Great Judge 
 
 Shall with His retinue in heaven appear, 
 
 No mortal tongue may tell. The piercing blast 
 
 Of the archangel's trumpet, dreadful sound. 
 
 Terrific, thund'ring through the earth and sea 
 
 Shall wake the dead, and summon them to judgment ! 
 
 Assail the walls of this great world, and throw 
 
 To crumbling ruins their solidity ; 
 
 Call from their lowly graves, earth's dust, from piles 
 
 Of masonry deep laid and leaden bound. 
 
 Or cells where the red fire its victims hid. 
 
 Or ocean's caverns vast, call the great crowds. 
 
 Unnumbered multitudes. Dread spectacle ! 
 
 The peopled heavens above, earth's concourse dense, 
 
 Vast sea of upturned faces pale with fear. 
 
 The living and the dead, now dead no more ; 
 
 While from the aspect terrible of Him 
 
 Who sits upon the throne, the guilty earth. 
 
 As conscience-smitten, shrinks and quakes with fear. 
 
 Mountain and rock their solid basements yield 
 
 At the dread sight. The sinner's piteous plea 
 
 For refuge, hopeless plea, is now rejected. 
 
 For e'en the stony-hearted cliffs he sues,
 
 364 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Falling, refuse concealment : dreadful lot ! 
 
 To be exposed to all the pelting storm. 
 
 O spectacle of majesty and dread ! 
 
 The crash of falling worlds, nature's dismay, 
 
 Darkness and tempest and the voice of words, 
 
 And more than midnight gloom, with lightning cleft, 
 
 Convulsive throes of earthquake, echoes dread, 
 
 Of an expiring world, sights terrible, 
 
 Appalling sounds, from which the thought shrinks 
 
 back ; 
 For now is seen the Judge upon the throne ! 
 The mind o'erwhelmed sinks at the prospect dread, 
 Though but the forecast of the awful scene, 
 And instant refuge seeks ; with penitence, 
 Self-accusation, and with bitterness, 
 Rejecting its imperfect sin-stained past, 
 Clinging to Christ with utter confidence 
 And His atoning work on Calvary wrought. 
 
 Yet, resting in the covenant of love, 
 No fears distress. Robed in Christ's righteousness, 
 The spirit views e'en an expiring world. 
 Safe in divine protection ; as the eye 
 Notes the spent tempest, moving from the sky. 
 Retreating thunderstorm, that, as it goes. 
 Blazes with voiceless lightning, till the clouds. 
 High piled in all their formidable pomp, 
 Fringed and pulsating with their lessening fires, 
 Drop o'er the horizon's edge, and leave the expanse 
 Of Innocent heaven a perfect spotless blue. 
 For love assurance gives of victory, 
 Victory o'er death ! for in that hour extreme,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 365 
 
 Wrestling with doubt, e'en then love's voice is heard, 
 And the triumphant soul shall in the hour 
 Of its dread agony, from out the pains 
 Of dissolution rise, and conqueror prove. 
 The righteous nought can harm ; no hand can pluck 
 Their souls from out their Great Redeemer's care. 
 The mailed Crusader hailed with rapturous joy 
 Blest Salem's towers, while the unbidden tear 
 Rushed to his eyes. Jerusalem divine, 
 Fair haven of our thoughts, thou city dear, 
 Zion, beloved of God, by fondest names 
 Most fondly cherished, most delightsome, hail ! 
 Christ's faithful turn to thee their longing eyes, 
 For thou dost hold enthroned their glorious King, 
 And loved Redeemer. Oft their wistful eaze 
 Turns from the murky clouds and gathering shades 
 Of earth, eager to catch one glimpse, though faint, 
 Of thy celestial splendours. Mortal eye 
 Those jasper battlements, like summer clouds, 
 Sun-shot, in lofty grandeur piled, suffused 
 With hues ensanguined, fringed with foamy white, 
 Hath never seen, nor ranged the golden vision : 
 Streets, palaces, and bastions, gates of pearl, 
 Within whose glorious ramparts, ever safe, 
 Walk Christ's redeemed, the holy, white-robed throng. 
 O beatific vision ! glorious home 
 Of ransomed souls, how do our spirits long 
 As those who watch till that the night be past 
 And morning dawn. Immured within these walls 
 Of sad mortality, here prisoners pent. 
 Reluctant witnesses of sin's dread power,
 
 3(>6 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Foul shapes beset us, avarice and lust, 
 
 Detested tyranny ; here pain is seen 
 
 With her dark face convulsed and trembling mouth, 
 
 Bosomed on feeble human sympathy, 
 
 Woe with her reddened eyelids, hopelessness 
 
 Staring all moodily, and livid death, 
 
 And blank despair, man's last iniquity : 
 
 For thee we yearn, and fondly dream our dream 
 
 Of promised blessedness, and fondly look 
 
 For the unclosing of the jealous dark. 
 
 May we not dream that in the land of God 
 Mountains far loftier rise than those of earth 
 Whose snows are reddened with each setting sun ; 
 Rivers that flash and sparkle in the light 
 Of an eternal noon. Canaan's fair hills 
 With flocks were clothed, her vales stood thick with corn ; 
 The grapes of Eshcol hung in clusters deep. 
 And Sharon's rose its fragrance shook abroad 
 Upon the breeze that made the lilies dance. 
 There many a prospect spread, there many a nook 
 Of secret loveliness concealed itself; 
 Glimpses were there of the far-shimmering sea, 
 The snows of Lebanon, or Gilead's heights, 
 Judea's terraced vines, or Bashan's glades ; 
 Cedar clad slopes, and cliffs precipitous ; 
 Vineyards were there and cornlands of the plain. 
 Round many a home of peacefulness and rest. 
 Bosomed in trees, or, basking in the sun : 
 Fair prototype of scenes surpassing fair ! 
 The glorious world by love for love prepared : 
 By love prepared, th' unfathomed love of Christ.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 3^7 
 
 His are creation's works. His quickening voice 
 
 Spoke into being this wide universe, 
 
 Devising and effecting earth's vast frame, 
 
 With all its treasured wealth, or wonderful 
 
 Or beautiful. His the broad summer land 
 
 Of whispering trees and odour-breathing flowers, 
 
 The sea is His, with its unfathomed depths. 
 
 Its treasure-house fast locked of buried wealth. 
 
 Again hath Christ put forth creative might 
 
 Not for unfallen man ; for His redeemed, 
 
 Hath He prepared the chosen land of bliss. 
 
 Hither from life's sore battlefield they come. 
 
 With pierced hearts, conquered though conquerors, 
 
 Crowned with the thorns of mockery, full oft, 
 
 Bleeding and footsore from affliction's paths, 
 
 The shards of poverty, the pangs of grief 
 
 If streams, deep shades, bright flowers, ambrosial fruits 
 
 Were for the parents of our race prepared 
 
 In Paradise, what welcome shall await 
 
 Christ's own redeemed ? Theirs were H is latest thoughts 
 
 While here He tarried ; His last offices 
 
 To wash their feet, to give them holy bread. 
 
 And cheer them with His holy mystic wine ; 
 
 And when they come from their death-chamber faint, 
 
 Shall not refreshment wait them, ministerings 
 
 Of angel hands, voices of gentle love } 
 
 O Friend within the veil ! wilt Thou not give 
 
 The bread of heaven, wilt Thou not to their lips 
 
 Present the chalice of Thy royal wine ? 
 
 This Thou didst promise, and with this, yet more. 
 
 Thine approbation, seal of faithful life !
 
 368 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 And we will trust Thee, O Thou best of friends! 
 And through the darkness go to seek Thy love, 
 Bright jewel of eternal blessedness ! 
 
 Love is the quick and cunning architect, 
 Ample provider, servant swift of foot ; 
 And love has decked the land to which we go. 
 O blissful scenes, bright 'neath your cloudless skies, 
 Unfading trees in ever-during spring, 
 Rivers whose glitter hides no snares of death. 
 And sunny fields of lasting pleasantness, 
 Fresh balmy air with gently-breathing winds. 
 Fair light that never fades from out the sky ; 
 Ye flowers, in all your undreamed loveliness. 
 Untainted by decay or smell of mould, 
 Whose odour sweet above the towering hills, 
 The battlements of jasper, never blows. 
 How do your beauties lure our shrinking hopes ? 
 Imao;ination in so vast a field 
 May roam unchecked, even in its loftiest flights. 
 Pleasant the land where darkness never comes, 
 Nor age decays, disease, nor withering death 
 Unpins the body's tabernacle frail, 
 Where sorrows ne'er befall, nor pains are felt. 
 Nor tears steal forth, nor sighs nor groans are heard, 
 Sorrow's sad music being for ever stilled. 
 Pleasant the land where it is always spring. 
 Where blossoms hide the ripe and blushing fruit, 
 Genial and calm the day, nor sun's hot ray, 
 Nor baleful smiting of the moon by night. 
 Is felt ; no rushing winds, no frost-bound sod, 
 No tempest in its fury, earthquake's shock,
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 369 
 
 Terror by day, nor pestilence by night. 
 
 Pleasant where friends meet their lost friends once more, 
 
 Not in the ruddy firelight round the hearth 
 
 Awhile, then all too soon to part, to wave 
 
 The tender signal from the lessening shore, 
 
 Tear-blinded, and with sorrowing boding hearts ; 
 
 Now never more to part ; for love regains 
 
 Her treasures : and dear kindred souls are loved 
 
 With love that never more may know excess. 
 
 Like the poor bird belated, his co-mates 
 In summer's festival southward long fled, 
 That spreading its drenched wings through fog and rain, 
 And bitter cold of this bleak northern clime. 
 Escapes, to find, within a few short hours, 
 Bland skies and sunshine of a southern land. 
 Orange and citron groves, and breath of flowers : 
 So, from the storm and tempest of this life, 
 The soul makes its escape to find in heaven 
 True rest ; flies from a sick and dying frame, 
 To health perpetual, and perpetual youth. 
 Flies to th' eternal house not made with hands ; 
 Escapes from life's probation to the assured 
 And absolute security of heaven ; 
 From sorrow to the joy unspeakable. 
 From pain to pleasure, and from death to life. 
 
 Blest saints of God ! for your bright company 
 We yearn. There, crowned with everlasting bliss, 
 Earth's noblest stand ; prophets and patriarchs, 
 Martyrs and saints in number numberless ; 
 Brave speakers, noble doers of God's truth. 
 True manhood there in purity and strength, 
 
 2 li
 
 j7o THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Loved womanhood in all its tenderness, 
 
 Matrons and virgins chaste, as lilies fair 
 
 Against the golden sky, children's sweet forms, 
 
 Earth's loveliest, all we call fair, or bright, 
 
 Beloved, or beautiful, or true, or good, 
 
 There fairer far, most loved, most beautiful ; 
 
 Perfection's height attained, nor lurking fear 
 
 Of sad decadence. Grander far their song 
 
 Than earth's sublimest strains, the quiring wind, 
 
 Or waves deep-voiced, surging on rock-bound coast. 
 
 Commingling with the roar of pathless woods, 
 
 Full blended harmonies, true worship there. 
 
 And, intermingled with that company. 
 
 Angelic forms ; rare visitants on earth, 
 
 But now perpetual companions. 
 
 Oft through life's rugged ways their kindly hands 
 
 Had reached, extending friendly sympathies. 
 
 For round life's path these angels ministrant 
 
 On each believer wait ; to mortal eye 
 
 Unseen, undreamed, pouring celestial balm 
 
 Into the spirit's wounds, and with their strength 
 
 Upholding tenderly the feeble frame ; 
 
 Nor lot so dreary, suffering so dark, 
 
 Nor life so lonely, but their help is given. 
 
 No rustling leaf, no whispers faint betray 
 
 The angelic presence, but the heart is cheered 
 
 Not knowing how, and cheerfully again 
 
 The daily cross uplifts ; but now brought near, 
 
 Benignant spirits ! passing sweet the hope 
 
 Friendships angelical to form, to learn 
 
 The secrets treasured in seraphic breasts.
 
 THE REQUIEM SONG. 371 
 
 With heavenly love inflamed, ecstatic joy, 
 
 To catch the gleam that from the shielded ranks 
 
 Of mighty cherubim, shines proudly forth, 
 
 True loyalty unstained as virgin snow ; 
 
 In your bright company to spend the hours 
 
 Of the eternal day, day without night, 
 
 In high pursuit of knowledge, there undimmed, 
 
 Or learning your proud spirit of loyalty. 
 
 "With Christ." So runs the Word. Not rapt in sleep 
 Oblivious, with suspension bare of life 
 Poised o'er its elements, or lost in dreams, 
 But in the presence of its loving Lord ; 
 Banished all doubt, misgiving banished now, 
 In the first glimpse of that most blessed Face. 
 Evil is past, conflict and weary toil 
 In death's great Sabbath, and e'en bitterest woes 
 Hushed in the ocean vast of endless love ; 
 There rest the righteous till the trump shall sOund 
 Through earth and sea waking the slumberers. 
 And in the sky the Judge enthroned appear, 
 To all men visible, with throngs begirt, 
 Of holy angels and the blessed dead 
 Innumerable, with rapturous acclaim, 
 The welcome of the living Church caught up 
 To meet Him in the air. Then when is passed 
 Judgment's great session, shall the gates unfold 
 Celestial, and mortal vision fails 
 In the bright glories of eternity. 
 Nor know we more. '* For ever with the Lord," 
 In unimagined bliss. Then shall the King 
 Be seen, arrayed in beauty, not obscured.
 
 372 THE MORNING SONG. 
 
 Like the pale winter sun, dim seen through clouds, 
 
 But in the splendour of the summer noon ; 
 
 Nor, as on earth, in His humility 
 
 Disguised, but crowned, enthroned. So runs our hope. 
 
 Then sons of God indeed, and like the Son, 
 Then will the endeavour of the daily life. 
 Wish nearest to the faithful Christian heart, 
 The Gospel's aim be fully realised, 
 For the believer shall be like his Lord : 
 Like Him in body ; for at length shall Christ 
 Fashion this body of humility 
 Like to His own ; in spirit like ; in power. 
 In holiness, and in unbounded love. 
 The circuit is at length complete. The love 
 From which we sprang, creative love, has reached 
 Its object ultimate. The golden clue 
 That through the labyrinth of life conducts 
 The willing soul, is needed now no more. 
 Love has regained her own. The mortal will 
 Blends with the will Supreme in life's great end. 
 Then, in a language lisped but feebly here, 
 But dimly traced amidst earth's mysteries, 
 The human love merged in the love Divine, 
 God's saints shall comprehend, shall fully know, 
 That greatest of all mysteries, " God is love." 
 
 THE END.
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
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