&* 
 
 
 
 , i f 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 OF THK 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA. 
 
 Received. NOV-19-1891 , 18 
 
 A ccessions No.^^ _ _ _<Q _ . _ Shelf No 
 
 /fe/ .- 
 
THE 
 TREASURY OF SACRED SONG 
 
 F. T. PALGRA VE 
 
LONDON: HENRY FROWDE 
 
 OXFORD UNIVERSITY PRESS WAREHOUSE 
 <AMEN CORNER. E.C. 
 
 Thirteenth Thousand 
 
THE 
 
 TREASURY 
 
 OF 
 
 SACRE D SONG 
 
 SELECTED FROM THE 
 
 ENGLISH LYRICAL POETRY 
 OF FOUR CENTURIES 
 
 WITH NOTES EXPLANATORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL 
 BY 
 
 FRANCIS T. PALGRAVE 
 
 PROFESSOR OF POETRY IN THE UNIVERSITY OF OXFORD 
 
 et per Spsum et in 
 
 UHI7ERSIT7 
 
 AT THE CLARENDON PRESS 
 
 MDCCCXC 
 
errAMepor T'I hk TIC; TI A' oy TIC; CKIAC ONA 
 ANOpconoc. AAX OTAN A^AA AIOCAOTOC eAOH, 
 
 ON 4>erroc errecTiN AN&PCON KAI MiAi)(OC A 
 
EXTREMUM HUNC, ARETHUSA, MIHI CONCEDE LABOREM 
 
 PREFACE 
 
 To offer poetry for poetry's sake has been my first aim and 
 leading principle in fulfilling the task with which the authorities of 
 the Clarendon Press have honoured me. Hence it is probable 
 that many poems which would be justly expected when the object 
 of a selection is direct usefulness, spiritual aid and comfort, or (to 
 put it in one word) edification, will here be found absent. And 
 this deficiency, I fear, will be felt even by readers who are not 
 satisfied with religious verse, however good its intention, unless it 
 be clothed in the veil of beauty. For verse of this kind, hymns 
 in particular, beyond any other modes of poetry, hold a special 
 place in the hearts of men ; so closely intertwined with the predi- 
 lections of childhood, with the memories of the home or the 
 church of our youth, with the voices no longer heard on this side 
 the grave, that they have a charm for us beyond criticism, a spell 
 which is none the less irresistible because it is not cast over us by 
 their own proper magic. 
 
 Yet if my aim an aim in collections of sacred song rarely 
 avowed or followed to present poetry for poetry's sake, has not 
 here altogether been missed through my own want of taste or 
 discernment, may it not be hoped that the final end and object of 
 all the Fine Arts, and Poetry as the queen of them, permanent 
 pleasure, elevation and enlightenment of the soul, to return to 
 the word, edification in the highest sense, will be secured more 
 effectually and more enduringly, through the subtle, yet powerful 
 aid of melody in words, and beauty in form ? It is confessedly 
 thus when Music or Painting are concerned ; the better and finer 
 the art, the more exquisite the pleasure, the more penetrating, the 
 more vivifying, the impression. From this point of view, we may 
 
v i PREFACE 
 
 agree with the poet, ' Beauty is truth, truth beauty. 1 And so far 
 from being alien or opposed to piety, these great gifts of God to 
 man nowhere else have a more fitting place or a loftier function. 
 Nowhere is the power and magic of poetry as an art more 
 naturally in place or better employed than when her inspiring 
 Muses are Faith, Hope, and Love, when her subjects are those 
 incomparably highest and most vital interests to mankind, which 
 may be briefly summed up as right conduct here, and its reward 
 hereafter. 
 
 If, however, the rule of choice which I have tried to follow be 
 theoretically valid, the argument has to be met, that by its very 
 nature, through its general aim and its often imperfect quality as 
 art, Sacred Poetry rarely deserves the honour of that great 
 name. And there is a large element of truth in this objection. 
 The aim at direct usefulness to the individual or to the Church has 
 unquestionably led to the neglect of Poetry in religious verse ; 
 and Art, we may truly say, has here revenged herself upon 
 Religion. The most weighty of these adverse criticisms is the 
 often-quoted verdict of Dr. Johnson. l Poetry/ he says, ' loses 
 its lustre and its power, because it is applied to the decora- 
 tion of something more excellent than itself. All that pious 
 verse can do is to help the memory, and delight the ear, and for 
 these purposes it may be very useful ; but it supplies nothing to 
 the mind. The ideas of Christian Theology are too simple for 
 eloquence, too sacred for fiction, and too majestick for ornament/ 
 Johnson is a judge whose native good sense, sincerity, and alert- 
 ness of mind, render disregard of his decisions impossible without 
 folly. Yet we cannot concede to him, in this matter, the infalli- 
 bility which, (when that great debater had ' tossed and gored ' his 
 antagonists), he would laughingly disclaim for himself. His 
 argument seems arbitrarily to confine the range and the capability 
 of religious verse, as it will be found represented in this selection : 
 and it is also a view coloured by the unalloyed seriousness the 
 gloom of the great writer's own deeply felt religious faith; 
 possibly, also, by the fact that he was writing at a period when 
 our sacred song was wellnigh confined to hymns. And although 
 with certain singular gifts as a critic of poetry, Johnson was not 
 in advance of his day. Many of the poets who lived before the 
 modern manner had established itself, he appears to have read or 
 valued but little : with Habington or Herbert, for example, I am 
 not aware that he shows any sympathetic acquaintance ; while 
 Vaughan, from his own time to ours, was almost wholly forgotten. 
 
PREFACE vii 
 
 It is however undeniable that if, (with some later critics), we 
 inaccurately group all sacred verse under the single section of 
 h^mns in the popular sense of the word, the Religious lyric, in 
 comparison with the Secular, (epithets which I use perforce in 
 default of better), will be found largely inferior in poetical charm. 
 But the argument in this form is sophistical. Secular verse covers 
 many provinces; manners, incident, love, landscape, the vast 
 sphere of drama ; in a word, all the many-coloured romance of 
 life. Sacred verse can hardly go beyond one province : to expect 
 masterpieces in our field approximately numerous as those in the 
 secular lyric is unreasonable. Even more unreasonable is it, 
 when of this single province a district only is chosen out for 
 censure, and treated as the whole domain. Hymns, wellnigh 
 limited to the functions of prayer and of praise, are precisely that 
 region in which a practical aim is naturally, almost inevitably pre- 
 dominant. The writers, (not to dwell upon the imperfect training 
 of many among them), have hence far too frequently and easily 
 made the sacrifice of pleasure to usefulness, of beauty to edifica- 
 tion. But it should also be remembered that hymns, in this 
 respect, are subject to the common penalty, the inferiority in art, 
 inherent in all didactic verse; although with a more pressing 
 and powerful excuse than didactic verse can offer for its inevitable 
 prosaicism. 
 
 Yet I hope that an answer, far more pleasant and convincing 
 than any argument, is offered to these objections by the following 
 anthology. If indeed the limitations of its sphere be considered, 
 the triteness of some inevitable motives, the insuperable loftiness 
 of others, it seems to the Editor that English lyrical religious 
 poetry fairly perhaps fully holds its own : that Urania has her 
 legitimate throne beside her sister Muses of song. And should 
 this opinion appear partial to my readers, let me plead that I have 
 turned over many thousand pages in my search, as an excuse if 
 not a justification for partiality. 
 
 A few details remain for notice. Translations, as even when at 
 the best, (by a law of nature, may I not call it?) hardly ever 
 reaching excellence as poetry, or reaching it only for a moment, 
 are here excluded. But paraphrases, a style for centuries 
 frequent in religious verse, have been regarded as entitled to a 
 measure of admission, when executed with such freedom and 
 spirit, as to take rank with original inventions. 
 
 A book planned for popular use half defeats its own object by 
 
viii PREFACE 
 
 adherence to unfamiliar modes of spelling. But whilst in this 
 respect modernizing the diction, I have carefully followed the best 
 text easily accessible ; here, again, judging reference in every 
 case to original editions not essential to the purpose of the volume. 
 No verbal changes whatever have been made : but I have freely 
 allowed such omissions as might appear to bring a poem to a 
 closer unity in idea, or a more equably sustained excellence in 
 poetry: a freedom for which I shall hope forgiveness, at least 
 from readers who accept the leading principle of the selection. 
 And if the notes added upon obsolete words and phrases appear 
 to any too numerous, I would plead that Poetry, especially in this 
 age of facile prose requires every assistance to attract and hold her 
 audience. Better that fifty should find an explanation superfluous, 
 than one find a difficulty unsolved. 
 
 Longer explanatory remarks have been reserved for the final 
 notes : in which, also, (supported by the example of Archbishop 
 Trench in his excellent Household Book of English Poetry], I 
 have added a few indications of peculiar poetical merit. To 
 separate a poet's serious work from his personality, as Goethe 
 once remarked, is simply impossible. The brief biographies 
 inserted, (which exclude our well-known master-singers, and those 
 still living), will, therefore, it is hoped, satisfy, in a fair degree, 
 the natural desire for some acquaintance with the lives of those 
 whose best and deepest thoughts are here before us. Even when 
 only a few bare facts have been recorded or noticed, they can 
 hardly fail to throw over the verse some light and interest. But 
 greater space has been given to those writers whose public career 
 or personal modes of thought, (in particular when remote from 
 present fashions), have given a special colour to their poetry. 
 
 A chronological arrangement, so far as chronology is possible, 
 ^here the actual dates of composition are rarely known, has 
 been generally kept in view. But poems of cognate character, 
 whether in style or in thought, have been often grouped together. 
 
 Thanks are due to the unvaried kindness with which owners of 
 copyright have conceded the privilege of reprinting. Amongst 
 these it is proper to specify, in case of Lord Tennyson, permission 
 given by Messrs. Macmillan : by Messrs. Parker and Messrs. 
 Burns, for pieces from Keble's Miscellaneous Poems, and Father 
 Faber's Hymns, respectively : for Archbishop Trench and Mr. 
 Barnes, from Messrs. K. Paul; Mr. Lyte, Messrs. Rivingtons; 
 Dr. Bonar, Mr. J. Nisbet. 
 
PREFACE ix 
 
 The aim of this little book, let me repeat, is to offer such lyrical 
 sacred song, and such only, as shall be instinctively felt worthy 
 the august name of Poetry. And as I have also attempted to 
 present here all such pieces known to me as reach a certain 
 standard of excellence, a comparatively large space has been 
 necessarily given to three or four poets who combined high genius 
 with a considerable bulk of suitable work : whilst the limits of 
 size have compelled me to omit verse of simply moral quality, 
 however pure and lofty, and thus intrinsically religious. 
 
 It is, however, the inevitable perhaps the unfortunate lot of 
 a selection framed upon these lines, that whether poetical merit 
 or spiritual value be regarded, the selector's own personal tastes 
 and opinions cannot be excluded ; and in such matters it is diffi- 
 cult to keep perfectly true the balance of the soul. On the point 
 of merit I can only plead an honest endeavour to shut out all mere 
 individual predilections, and to form the decision by a wide and 
 comparative research through this region of our literature during 
 the last four centuries. But in reference to the different aspects 
 of religion here presented, my task has been aided signally by the 
 wide-embracing charity, the Catholic spirit (as embodied in the 
 Creeds), natural to Poetry as part of her very essence. This has 
 been well expressed by Mr. C. J. Abbey in his valuable essay 
 upon the English Sacred Poetry of the eighteenth century. ' It 
 may be said to be the peculiar privilege of hymn-writers that to a 
 great extent they write, not for any one society of Christians, but 
 for the Church at large. Men whose theological views contrast 
 most strongly meet on common ground when they express in 
 verse the deeper aspirations of the heart, and the voice of Chris- 
 tian praise.' In a word, whilst severity has been aimed at, where 
 Poetry as an art is concerned, in regard to the religious quality 
 of the verse selected, my rule has been that which Dante describes 
 as given by S. Peter to the Angel at the gate of the Mount of 
 Purgatory, 
 
 ch' io erri 
 Anzi ad aprir, che a tenerla serrata. 
 
 F. T. P. 
 
 LITTLE PARK 
 
 LYME REGISt 
 MAY 1889 
 
Greasun? of Sacrefc 
 
 3Booft first 
 
 i 
 
 CHRIST'S NATIVITY 
 
 NOW gladdeth every living creature, 
 With bliss and comfortable gladness, 
 The heaven's King is clad in our nature, 
 Us from the death with ransom to redress ; 
 The lamp of joy, that chases all darkness, 
 Ascended is to be the world's 1 light, 
 From every bale 2 our boundes 3 for to bliss, 
 Born of the glorious Virgin Mary bright. 
 
 Above the radiant heaven ethereal, 
 
 The Court of Stars, the course of sun and moon, 
 
 The potent Prince of Joy Imperial, 
 
 The high surmounting Emperor abone*, 
 
 Is coming from His mighty Father's throne 
 
 In 5 earth, with an inestimable light, 
 
 And praised 6 of angels with a sweet intone ; 
 
 Born of the glorious Virgin Mary bright. 
 
 Who ever in earth heard so blythe a story, 
 Or tidings of so great felicity ? 
 As how the garthe 7 of all grace and glory, 
 For love and mercy hath ta'en humanity; 
 Maker of angels, man, earth, heaven, and sea, 
 And t' overcome our foe, and put to flight, 
 Is coming a babe, full of benignity, 
 Born of the glorious Virgin Mary bright. 
 
 The sovereign senior of all celsitude 8 , 
 
 That sits above the order'd Cherabin, 
 
 Which all things creat, and all things does include, 
 
 That never end shall, never did begin, 
 
 But 9 Whom is naught, from Whom no time does rin 10 , 
 
 With Whom all good is, with Whom is every wight, 
 
 Is with His wounds ccwne for to wash our sin ; 
 
 Born of the most chaste Virgin jVIary bright. 
 
 W. Dunbar 
 
 1 world's, a dissyllable 2 bale, sorrow 3 boundes, apparently boundaries 
 of the earth * abone, above 3 in earth, to after praised, is omitted 
 7 garthe, literally garden \ that which contains 8 celsitude height y but, 
 without lu rin, run 
 
THOMAS LORD VA UX BOOK I 
 
 YOUTH 
 
 \Y7 HEN l look kack, and in m y self behold 
 Vr The wandering ways, that youth could not descry : 
 And mark'd the fearful course that youth did hold, 
 And met in mind each step youth stray'd awry; 
 My knees I bow, and from my heart I call, 
 
 LORD, forget these faults and follies all ! 
 
 For now I see, how void youth is of skill, 
 
 1 see also his prime time and his end : 
 I do confess my faults and all my ill, 
 And sorrow sore, for that I did offend. 
 And with a mind repentant of all crimes 
 Pardon I ask for youth, ten thousand times. 
 
 The humble heart hath daunted the proud mind ; 
 Eke wisdom hath given ignorance a fall : 
 And wit hath taught, that 1 folly could not find, 
 And age hath youth her subject and her (hrall. 
 Therefore I pray, O LORD of life and truth, 
 Pardon the faults committed in my youth. 
 
 Thou that didst grant the wise king his request : 
 Thou that in Whale Thy prophet didst preserve : 
 Thou that forgav'st the wounding of Thy breast : 
 Thou that didst save the thief in state to sterve 2 : 
 Thou only GOD, the giver of all grace : 
 Wipe out of mind the path of youth's vain race. 
 
 Thou that, by power, to life didst raise the dead : 
 Thou that of grace restor'st the blind to sight : 
 Thou that for love, Thy life and love out-bled : 
 Thou that of favour mad'st the lame go right : 
 Thou that canst heal, and help in all assays, 
 Forgive the guilt, that grew in youth's vain ways. 
 
 And now since I, with faith and doubtless mind, 
 Do fly to Thee by prayer, to appease Thy ire : 
 And since that Thee I only seek to find, 
 And hope, by faith, to attain my just desire ; 
 LORD, mind no more youth's error and unskill, 
 And able age to do Thy holy will. 
 
 T. Lord Van.v 
 
 1 that, that which 2 sterve, die 
 
BOOK I EDMUND SPENSER 3 
 
 III 
 
 LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 r T^HE pleasant years that seem, so swift that run : 
 
 X The merry days to end, so fast that fleet : 
 The joyful nights, of which day dawns so soon : 
 The happy hours, which mo l do miss, than meet, 
 Do all consume, as snow against the sun : 
 And death makes end of all, that life begun. 
 
 Since death shall dure, till all the world be waste : 
 What meaneth man to dread death then so sore? 
 As man might make 2 , that life should alway last, 
 Without regard 3 , the LORD hath led before 
 The dance of death, which all must run on row : 
 Though how, or when, the LORD alone doth know. 
 
 If man would mind, what burdens life doth bring : 
 What grievous crimes to GOD he doth commit : 
 What plagues, what pangs, what perils thereby spring: 
 With no sure hour in all his days to sit : 
 He would sure think, as with great cause I do : 
 The day of death were better of the two. 
 
 Death is a port, whereby we pass to joy : 
 Life is a lake, that drowneth all in pain : 
 Death is so dear, it ceaseth all annoy : 
 Life is so lewd 4 , that all it yields is vain. 
 And as, by life, to bondage man is brought : 
 E'en so likewise by death was freedom wrought. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 1 mo, more 2 make, apparently, desire or aim 3 regard, regarding" 
 
 that * lewd, foolish 
 
 IV 
 AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY LOVE 
 
 LOVE, lift me up upon thy golden wings, 
 From this base world unto thy heaven's height, 
 Where I may see those admirable things 
 Which there thou workest by thy sovereign might, 
 Far above feeble reach of earthly sight, 
 That I thereof an heavenly Hymn may sing 
 Unto the GOD of Love, high heaven's King. 
 B 2 
 
EDMUND SPENSER BOOK I 
 
 Many lewd lays (ah! woe is me the more!) 
 In praise of that mad fit which fools call love, 
 I have in th' heat of youth made heretofore, 
 That in light wits did loose affection move; 
 But all those follies now I do reprove, 
 And turned have the tenor of my string, 
 The heavenly praises of true love to sing. 
 
 And ye that wont with greedy vain desire 
 
 To read my fault, and, wondering at my flame, 
 
 To warm yourselves at my wide sparkling fire, 
 
 Sith now that heat is quenched, quench my blame, 
 
 And in her ashes shroud my dying shame; 
 
 For who my passed follies now pursues, 
 
 Begins his own, and my old fault renews. 
 
 BEFORE THIS WORLD'S GREAT FRAME, in which all things 
 
 Are now contain'd, found any being-place, 
 
 Ere flitting Time could wag his eyas 1 wings 
 
 About that mighty bound which doth embrace 
 
 The rolling Spheres, and parts their hours by space, 
 
 That High Eternal Power, which now doth move 
 
 In all these things, moved in Itself by love. 
 
 It loved Itself, because Itself was fair ; 
 
 (For fair is loved ;) and of Itself begot, 
 
 Like to Itself, His eldest Son and heir, 
 
 Eternal, pure, and void of sinful blot, 
 
 The firstling of His joy, in Whom no jot 
 
 Of love's dislike or pride was to be found, 
 
 Whom He therefore with equal honour crown'd. 
 
 With Him he reign'd, before all time prescribed, 
 In endless glory and immortal might, 
 Together with that Third from Them derived, 
 Most wise, most holy, most almighty Spright ! 
 Whose kingdom's throne no thought of earthly wight 
 Can comprehend, much less my trembling verse 
 With equal words can hope it to rehearse. 
 
 Yet, O most blessed Spirit ! pure lamp of light, 
 Eternal spring of grace and wisdom true, 
 Vouchsafe to shed into my barren spright 
 Some little drop of Thy celestial dew, 
 That may my rhymes with sweet infuse imbrue 2 , 
 And give me words equal unto my thought, 
 To tell the marvels by Thy mercy wrought. 
 
BOOK I EDMUND SPENSER 
 
 Yet being pregnant still with powerful grace, 
 
 And full of fruitful love, that loves to get 
 
 Things like Himself, and to enlarge His race, 
 
 His second brood, though not in power so great, 
 
 Yet full of beauty, next He did beget 
 
 An infinite increase of Angels bright, 
 
 All glistering glorious in their Maker's light. 
 
 To them the heaven's illimitable height 
 
 (Not this round heaven, which we from hence behold, 
 
 Adorn'd with thousand lamps of burning light, 
 
 And with ten thousand gems of shining gold,) 
 
 He gave as their inheritance to hold, 
 
 That they might serve Him in eternal bliss, 
 
 And be partakers of those joys of His. 
 
 There they in their trinal triplicities 3 
 About Him wait, and on His will depend, 
 Either with nimble wings to cut the skies, 
 When He them on his messages doth send, 
 Or on His own dread presence to attend, 
 Where they behold the glory of His light, 
 And carol Hymns of love both day and night, 
 
 Both day, and night, is unto them all one ; 
 For He His beams doth still to them extend, 
 That darkness there appeareth never none ; 
 Ne hath their day, ne hath their bliss, an end, 
 But there their termless time in pleasure spend; 
 Ne ever should their happiness decay, 
 Had not they dared their Lord to disobey. 
 
 But pride, impatient of long resting peace, 
 Did puff them up with greedy bold ambition, 
 That they 'gan cast their state how to increase 
 Above the fortune of their first condition, 
 And sit in GOD'S own seat without commission : 
 The brightest Angel, ev'n the Child of Light, 
 Drew millions more against their GOD to fight. 
 
 Th' Almighty, seeing their so bold assay, 
 Kindled the flame of His consuming ire, 
 And with His only breath them blew away 
 From heaven's height, to which they did aspire, 
 To deepest hell, and lake of damned fire, 
 Where they in darkness and dread horror dwell. 
 Hating the happy light from which they fell. 
 
EDMUND SPENSER BOOK 1 
 
 So that next offspring of the Maker's love, 
 
 Next to Himself in glorious degree, 
 
 Degendering 4 to hate, fell from above 
 
 Through pride, (for pride and love may ill agree), 
 
 And now of sin to all ensample be : 
 
 How then can sinful flesh itself assure, 
 
 Since purest Angels fell to be impure? 
 
 But that Eternal Fount of love and grace, 
 
 Still flowing forth His goodness unto all, 
 
 Now seeing left a waste and empty place 
 
 In His wide Palace, through those Angels' fall, 
 
 Cast to supply the same, and to enstall 
 
 A new unknowen Colony therein, 
 
 Whose root, from earth's base groundwork should begin. 
 
 Therefore of clay, base, vile, and next to nought, 
 Yet form'd by wondrous skill, and by His might, 
 According to ,an heavenly pattern wrought, 
 Which He had fashion'd in His wise foresight, 
 He man did make, and breathed a living spright 
 Into his face most beautiful and fair, 
 Endued with wisdom's riches, heavenly, rare. 
 
 Such He him made, that he resemble might 
 Himself, as mortal thing immortal could ; 
 Him to be Lord of every living wight 
 He made by love out of His own like mould, 
 In whom He might His mighty Self behold ; 
 For Love doth love the thing beloved to see, 
 That like itself in lovely shape may be. 
 
 But man, forgetful of his Maker's grace 
 No less than Angels whom he did ensue, 5 
 Fell from the hope of promised heavenly place, 
 Into the mouth of death, to sinners due, 
 And all his offspring into thraldom threw, 
 Where they for ever should in bonds remain 
 Of never-dead yet ever-dying pain ; 
 
 Till that great LORD of Love, which him at first 
 
 Made of mere love, and after liked well, 
 
 Seeing him lie like creature long accurst 
 
 In that deep horror of despaired hell, 
 
 Him, wretch, in dool 6 would let no longer dwell, 
 
 But cast 7 out of that bondage to redeem, 
 
 And pay the price, all were 8 his debt extreme. 
 
BOOK I EDMUND SPENSER / 
 
 Out of the bosom of eternal bliss, 
 
 In which He reigned with His glorious Sire, 
 
 He down descended, like a most demiss 9 
 
 And abject thrall, in flesh's frail attire, 
 
 That He for him might pay sin's deadly hire, 
 
 And him restore unto that happy state 
 
 In which he stood before his hapless fate. 
 
 In flesh at first the guilt committed was, 
 
 Therefore in flesh it must be satisfied ; 
 
 Nor Spirit, nor Angel, though they man surpass, 
 
 Could make amends to GOD for man's misguide 10 , 
 
 But only man himself, who self did slide : 
 
 So, taking flesh of sacred Virgin's womb, 
 
 For man's dear sake He did a man become. 
 
 And that most blessed Body, which was born 
 Without all blemish or reproachful blame, 
 He freely gave to be both rent and torn 
 Of cruel hands, who with despiteful shame 
 Reviling Him, that them most vile became 11 , 
 At length Him nailed on a gallow-tree, 
 And slew the Just by most unjust decree. 
 
 O huge and most unspeakable impression 
 
 Of love's deep wound, that pierced the piteous heart 
 
 Of that dear LORD with so entire affection, 
 
 And, sharply launching 12 every inner part, 
 
 Dolours of death into His soul did dart, 
 
 Doing Him die that never it deserved, 
 
 To free His foes, that from His hest 13 had swerved ! 
 
 What heart can feel least touch of so sore launch, 
 Or thought can think the depth of so dear wound ? 
 Whose bleeding source their streams yet never staunch, 
 But still do flow, and freshly still redound 14 , 
 To heal the sores of sinful souls unsound, 
 And cleanse the guilt of that infected crime 
 Which was enrooted in all fleshly slime. 
 
 O blessed Well of Love ! O Flower of Grace ! 
 
 O glorious Morning- Star ! O Lamp of Light ! 
 
 Most lively image of Thy Father's face, 
 
 Eternal King of Glory, LORD of Might, 
 
 Meek Lamb of GOD, before all worlds behight 15 , 
 
 How can we Thee requite for all this good? 
 
 Or what can prize 16 that Thy most precious blood? 
 
EDMUND SPENSER BOOK I 
 
 Yet nought Thou ask'st in lieu of all this love, 
 
 But love of us, for guerdon of Thy pain : 
 
 Ay me ! what can us less than that behove ? 17 
 
 Had He required life of us again, 
 
 Had it been wrong to ask His own with gain? 
 
 He gave us life, He it restored, lost; 
 
 Then life were least, that us so little cost. 
 
 But He our life hath left unto us free, 
 
 Free that was thrall, and blessed that was bann'd ; 
 
 Ne ought demands but that we loving be, 
 
 As He Himself hath loved us afore-hand, 
 
 And bound thereto with an eternal band, 
 
 Him first to love that us so dearly bought, 
 
 And next our brethren, to His image wrought. 
 
 Him first to love great right and reason is, 
 Who first to us our life and being gave, 
 And after, when we fared had amiss, 
 Us wretches from the second death did save ; 
 And last, the food of life, which now we have, 
 Even He Himself, in His dear Sacrament, 
 To feed our hungry souls, unto us lent. 
 
 Then next, to love our brethren, that were made 
 Of that self mould, and that self Maker's hand, 
 That we, 18 and to the same again shall fade, 
 Where they shall have like heritage of land, 19 
 However here on higher steps we stand, 
 Which also were with self-same price redeem'd 
 That we, however of us light esteem'd. 
 
 And were they not, yet since that loving LORD 
 
 Commanded us to love them for His sake, 
 
 Ev'n for His sake, and for His sacred word, 
 
 Which in His last bequest He to us spake, 
 
 We should them love, and with their needs partake; 
 
 Knowing that, whatsoe'er to them we give, 
 
 We give to Him by Whom we all do live. 
 
 Such mercy He by His most holy rede 20 
 Unto us taught, and to approve it true, 
 Ensampled it by His most righteous deed, 
 Shewing us mercy, (miserable crew !) 
 That we the like should to the wretches shew, 
 And love our brethren; thereby to approve 
 How much, Himself that loved us, we love. 
 
BOOK I EDMUND SPENSER 9 
 
 Then rouse thyself, O Earth ! out of thy soil, 
 In which thou wallowest like to filthy swine, 
 And dost thy mind in dirty pleasures moyle, 21 
 Unmindful of that dearest LORD of thine ; 
 Lift up to Him thy heavy clouded eyne, 
 That thou His sovereign bounty may'st behold, 
 And read, through Love, His mercies manifold. 
 
 Begin from first, where He encradled was 
 In simple cratch, wrapt in a wad of hay, 
 Between the toilful Ox and humble Ass, 
 And in what rags, and in how base array, 
 The glory of our heavenly riches lay, 
 When Him the silly 22 Shepherds came to see, 
 Whom greatest Princes sought on lowest knee. 
 
 From thence read on the story of His life, 
 
 His humble carriage, His unfaulty ways, 
 
 His canker'd foes, His fights, His toil, His strife, 
 
 His pains, His poverty, His sharp assays, 
 
 Through which He past His miserable days, 
 
 Offending none, and doing good to all, 
 
 Yet being maliced 23 both of great and small. 
 
 And look at las$, how of most wretched wights 
 
 He taken was, betray' d and false accused ; 
 
 How with most scornful taunts, and fell despites, 
 
 He was reviled, disgraced, and foul abused ; 
 
 How scourged, how crown'd, how buffeted, how bruised ; 
 
 And lastly, how 'twixt robbers crucified, 
 
 With bitter wounds through hands, through feet, and side ! 
 
 Then let thy flinty heart, that feels no pain, 
 
 Empierced be with pitiful remorse, 
 
 And let thy bowels bleed in every vein, 
 
 At sight of His most sacred heavenly corse, 
 
 So torn and mangled with malicious force ; 
 
 And let thy soul, whose sins His sorrows wrought, 
 
 Melt into tears, and groan in grieved thought. 
 
 With sense whereof, whilst so thy soften'd spirit 
 Is inly touch'd, and humbled with meek zeal 
 Through meditation of His endless merit, 
 Lift up thy mind to th' Author of thy weal, 
 And to His sovereign mercy do appeal ; 
 Learn Him to love, that loved thee so dear, 
 And in thy breast His blessed image bear. 
 
10 EDMUND SPENSER BOOK I 
 
 With all thy heart, with all thy soul and mind, 
 Thou must Him love and His behests embrace; 
 All other loves, with which the world doth blind 
 Weak fancies, and stir up affections base, 
 Thou must renounce and utterly displace, 
 And give thyself unto Him full and free, 
 That full and freely gave Himself to thee. 
 
 Then shalt thou feel thy spirit so possest, 
 And ravish'd with devouring great desire 
 Of His dear Self, that shall thy feeble breast 
 Inflame with love, and set thee all on fire 
 With burning zeal, through every part entire, 
 That in no earthly thing thou shalt delight, 
 But in His sweet and amiable sight. 
 
 Thenceforth all world's desire will in thee die, 
 And all earth's glory, on which men do gaze, 
 Seem dirt and dross in thy pure-sighted eye, 
 Compared to that Celestial Beauty's blaze, 
 Whose glorious beams all fleshly sense doth daze 
 With admiration of their passing light, 
 Blinding the eyes, and lumining the spright. 
 
 Then shall thy ravish'd soul inspired be, 
 With heavenly thoughts far above human skill, 
 And thy bright radiant eyes shall plainly see 
 Th' Idea of His pure glory present still 
 Before thy face, that all thy spirits shall fill 
 With sweet enragement 2 * of celestial Love, 
 Kindled through sight of those fair things above. 
 
 E. Spenser 
 
 1 eyas, new-fledged " infuse imbrue, colour with infusion 3 See Note 
 4 degendering, degenerating 5 ensue, follow after 6 dool, sorrow 7 cast, 
 considered how 8 all "were, although it were 9 demiss, submissive 10 mis- 
 guide, sin u became, suited 12 launching, lancing 13 hest, command 
 14 redound, flow freely i"> behight, ordained 16 prize, equal in value 
 
 17 behove, profit ls that we [were] 19 land, the grave 20 rede, counsel 
 21 moyle, defile 22 siifa simple 23 ina ii ce d y evilly regarded - 4 enrage- 
 11 tent, rapture 
 
 V 
 ETERNAL LOVE 
 
 T EAVE me, O Love, which reachest but to dust; 
 JL/ And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things ; 
 Grow rich in that which never taketh rust ; 
 Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. 
 
HOOK I HUMFREY GIFFORD I 
 
 Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might 
 To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be ; 
 Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light, 
 That doth both shine, and give us sight to see. 
 
 O take fast hold ; let that light be thy guide 
 
 In this small course which birth draws out to death, 
 
 And think how ill becometh him to slide, 
 
 Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. 
 
 Then farewell, world ; thy uttermost I see : 
 Eternal Love, maintain Thy life in me. 
 
 P. Sidney 
 
 VI 
 SOUL AND BODY 
 
 POOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, 
 [Fool'd by] l these rebel powers that thee array, 
 Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, 
 Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? 
 
 Why so large cost, having so short a lease, 
 Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? 
 Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, 
 Eat up thy charge ? is this thy body's ^nd ? 
 
 Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, 
 And let that pine to aggravate thy store ; 
 Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross ; 
 Within be fed, without be rich no more : 
 
 So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, 
 And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. 
 
 W. Shakespeare 
 : others conjecture 
 
 VII 
 A PRAYER 
 
 O MIGHTY GOD, Which for us men 
 Didst suffer on the Cross 
 The painful pangs of bitter death, 
 
 To save our souls from loss, 
 I yield Thee here most hearty thanks, 
 
 In that Thou dost vouchsafe, 
 Of me most vile and sinful wretch, 
 So great regard to have. 
 
HUMFREY GIFFORD BOOK I 
 
 Alas, none ever had more cause 
 
 To magnify Thy name, 
 Than I, to whom Thy mercies shew'd 
 
 Do witness well the same. 
 So many brunts 1 of fretting foes 
 
 Who ever could withstand, 
 If Thou had'st not protected me, 
 
 With Thy most holy hand? 
 A thousand times in shameful sort 
 
 My sinful life had ended, 
 If by Thy gracious goodness, LORD, 
 
 I had not been defended. 
 In stinking pools of filthy vice 
 
 So deeply was I drown 'd, 
 That none there was but Thee alone, 
 
 To set my foot on ground. 
 When as the fiend had led my soul 
 
 E'en to the gates of hell, 
 Thou call'dst me back, and dost me choose 
 
 In heaven with Thee to dwell : 
 Let furies now fret on their fill, 
 
 Let Satan rage, and roar, 
 As long as Thou art on my side, 
 
 What need I care for more? 
 
 H. Gifford 
 
 1 brunts, assaults 
 
 VIII 
 
 THE BIBLE 
 
 HERE is the spring where waters flow. 
 To quench our heat of sin ; 
 Here is the tree where truth doth grow 
 
 To lead our lives therein; 
 Here is the judge that stints * the strife 
 
 When men's devises fail : 
 Here is the bread that feeds the life 
 
 Which death cannot assail. 
 The tidings of salvation dear 
 
 Comes to our ears from hence; 
 The fortress of our faith is here; 
 
 The shield of our defence. 
 Then be not like the hog that hath 
 
 A pearl at his desire, 
 
BOOK I EDMUND BOLTON 13 
 
 And takes more pleasure in the trough 
 
 And wallowing in the mire. 
 Read not this book in any case 
 
 But with a single eye : 
 Read not, but first desire GOD'S grace, 
 
 To understand thereby. 
 Pray still in faith with this respect 
 
 To fructify therein ; 
 That knowledge may bring this effect, 
 
 To mortify thy sin. 
 Then happy thou in all thy life, 
 
 Whatso to thee befalls; 
 Yea, doubly happy shalt thou be 
 
 When GOD by death thee calls. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 1 stints, stays 
 
 IX 
 A CAROL 
 
 SWEET Music, sweeter far 
 Than any song is sweet : 
 
 Sweet Music heavenly rare, 
 
 Mine ears, (O peers 1 ) doth greet. 
 Yon gentle flocks, whose fleeces, pearl' d -with dew, 
 Resemble heaven, whom golden drops make bright: 
 Listen, O listen, now ; O not to you 
 Our pipes make sport to shorten weary night : 
 
 But voices most divine 
 
 Make blissful harmony : 
 
 Voices that seem to shine, 
 
 For what else clears the sky? 
 Tunes can we hear, but not the singers see ; 
 The tunes divine, and so the singers be. 
 
 Lo, how the firmament 
 
 Within an azure fold 
 
 The flock of stars hath pent, 
 
 That we might them behold. 
 Yet from their beams proceedeth not this light, 
 Nor can their crystals such reflection give. 
 What then doth make the element 2 so bright? 
 The heayens are come down upon earth to live. 
 
EDMUND BO L TON BOOK- J 
 
 But hearken to the song : 
 
 Glory to glory's King, 
 
 And peace all men among, 
 
 These queristers do sing. 
 Angels they are, as also (Shepherds) He, 
 Whom in our fear we do admire to see. 
 
 Let not amazement blind 
 
 Your souls, (said he) annoy: 
 
 To you and all mankind, 
 
 My message bringeth joy. 
 
 For lo ! the world's great Shepherd now is born, 
 A blessed babe, an infant full of power : 
 After long night, up-risen is the morn, 
 Renowning Bethlem in the Saviour. 
 
 Sprung is the perfect day, 
 
 By prophets seen afar : 
 
 Sprung is the mirthful May, 
 
 Which Winter cannot mar. 
 In David's city doth this Sun appear, 
 Clouded in flesh ; yet, Shepherds ! sit we here. 
 
 E. Bolton 
 1 peers, mates 2 element^ ethereal sky 
 
 THE BURNING BABE 
 
 AS I in hoary Winter's night stood shivering in the snow, 
 Surprised I was with sudden heat, which made my heart 
 
 to glow ; 
 
 And lifting up a fearful eye to view what fire was near, 
 A pretty Babe all burning bright, did in the air appear; 
 Who, scorched with excessive heat, such floods of tears did shed, 
 As though His floods should quench His flames which with His 
 
 tears were fed ; 
 
 Alas! quoth He, but newly born, in fiery heats I fry 1 , 
 Yet none approach to warm their hearts or feel My fire but I ! 
 My faultless breast the furnace is, the fuel wounding thorns, 
 Love is the fire, and sighs the smoke, the ashes shame and scorns ; 
 The fuel Justice layeth on, and Mercy blows the coals; 
 The metal in this furnace wrought are men's defiled souls, 
 For which, as now on fire I am, to work them to their good, 
 So will I melt into a bath to wash them in My blood. 
 With this He vanish'd out of sight, and swiftly shrunk away, 
 And straight I called unto mind that it was Christmas-day. 
 
 R. Southwell 
 1 f*y> use d of old for burn 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 15 
 
 XI 
 A CHILD MY CHOICE 
 
 LET folly praise that 1 fancy loves, I praise and love that Child 
 Whose heart no thought, Whose tongue no word, Whose 
 
 hand no deed defiled. 
 
 I praise Him most, I love Him best, all praise and love is His ; 
 While Him I love, in Him I live, and cannot live amiss. 
 Love's sweetest mark, laud's highest theme, man's most desired 
 
 light, 
 
 To love Him life, to leave Him death, to live in Him delight. 
 He mine by gift, I His by debt, thus each to other due, 
 First friend He was, best friend He is, all times will try Him true. 
 Though young, yet wise, though small, yet strong; though man, 
 
 yet GOD He is ; 
 
 As wise He knows, as strong He can, as GOD He loves to bliss. 
 His knowledge rules, His strength defends, His love doth cherish 
 
 all; 
 
 His birth our joy, His life our light, His death our end of thrall. 
 Alas ! He weeps, He sighs, He pants, yet do His angels sing ; 
 Out of His tears, His sighs and throbs, doth bud a joyful spring. 
 Almighty Babe, Whose tender arms can force all foes to fly, 
 Correct my faults, protect my life, direct me when I die ! 
 
 1 that, what 
 
 XII 
 O THAT I HAD WINGS LIKE A DOVE 
 
 O GRACIOUS GOD, O Saviour sweet, 
 O JESUS, think on me, 
 And suffer me to kiss Thy feet, 
 Though late I come to Thee. 
 
 Behold, dear LORD, I come to Thee 
 
 With sorrow and with shame, 
 For when Thy bitter wounds I see, 
 
 I know I caused the same. 
 
 Sweet JESU, who shall lend me wings 
 
 Of peace and perfect love, 
 That I may rise from earthly things 
 
 To rest with Thee above] 
 
1 6 ANONYMOUS BOOK I 
 
 For sin and sorrow overflow 
 
 All earthly things so high, 
 That I can find no rest below, 
 
 But unto Thee I fly. 
 Wherefore my soul doth loathe the things 
 
 Which gave it once delight, 
 And unto Thee, the King of kings, 
 
 Would mount with all her might. 
 
 And yet the weight of flesh and blood 
 
 Doth so my wings restrain, 
 That oft I strive and gain no good, 
 
 But rise, to fall again. 
 
 Yet when this fleshly misery 
 
 Is master'd by the mind, 
 I cry, ' avaunt, all vanity ' : 
 
 And ' Satan, stand behind.' 
 
 So thus, sweet LORD, I fly about 
 
 In weak and weary case 
 Like the lone dove which Noah sent [out], 
 
 And found no resting place. 
 
 My weary wings, sweet JESU, mark, 
 
 And when Thou thinkest best 
 Stretch forth Thy arm from out the ark, 
 
 And take me to Thy rest. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XIII 
 
 T T EAVENLY Messias, (sweet anointed King, 
 
 JL 1 Whose glory round about the world doth reach, 
 
 Which every beast, plant, rock, and river teach, 
 And airy birds like Angels ever sing, 
 And every gale of wind in gusts doth bring, 
 
 And every man with reason ever preach), 
 
 Behold, behold that lamentable breach, 
 Which (my distressed conscience to sting) 
 False spiteful Satan in my soul doth make : 
 
 Oh, (sweet Messias), lend some gracious oil 
 To cure that wound, e'en for Thy mercy's sake : 
 
 Lest (by that breach) Thy temple he despoil. 
 Help, help; my conscience thither him doth lead; 
 And he will come, if Thou bruise not his head. 
 
 B. Barnes 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 
 
 XIV 
 
 WHO to the golden Sun's long restless race 
 Can limits set? What vessel can comprise 
 The swelling winds? what cunning can devise 
 (With quaint Arithmetic) in steadfast place 
 
 To number all the stars in heaven's palace? 
 What cunning Artist ever was so wise, 
 Who, (by the stars and planets), could advise 
 
 Of all adventures the just course and case ? 
 
 Who measured hath the waters of the seas ? 
 
 Who ever (in just balance) poised the air ? 
 As no man ever could the least of these 
 
 Perform with human labour, strength and care, 
 
 So who shall strive in volumes to contain 
 GOD'S praise ineffable, contends in vain. 
 
 XV 
 
 TRIUMPHANT conqueror of death and hell, 
 Behold what legions (though in vain) conspire, 
 Thy Temple militant to set on fire, 
 And Saints which in Thy sanctuary dwell 
 
 To burn, whilst they against Thy power rebel : 
 See how like bloody tyrants they desire 
 Ambitiously to rise, and mount up higher, 
 
 Like Lucifer which to perdition fell. 
 
 Their forces are addrest against Thy Saints, 
 
 Break thou their bows, knap Thou their spears in sunder : 
 
 I know their spirit at Thy presence faints, 
 
 Against their Cannon plant Thy dreadful thunder, 
 
 Thy thunderbolts against their bullets dash, 
 And on their beavers 1 bright let lightning flash. 
 
 1 bcaver> helmet 
 
 XVI 
 
 HIERUSALEM, my happy home, 
 When shall I come to thee? 
 When shall my sorrows have an end, 
 Thy joys when shall I see ? 
 
1 8 ANONYMOUS BOOK 
 
 O happy harbour of the Saints ! 
 
 O sweet and pleasant soil ! 
 In thee no sorrow may be found, 
 
 No grief, no care, no toil. 
 
 There lust and lucre cannot dwell, 
 
 There envy bears no sway ; 
 There is no hunger, heat, nor cold, 
 
 But pleasure every way. 
 
 Thy walls are made of precious stones, 
 
 Thy bulwarks diamonds square ; 
 Thy gates are of right orient pearl, 
 
 Exceeding rich and rare. 
 
 Thy turrets and thy pinnacles 
 
 With carbuncles do shine ; 
 Thy very streets are paved with gold, 
 
 Surpassing clear and fine. 
 
 Ah, my sweet home, Hierusalem, 
 
 Would GOD I were in thee ! 
 Would GOD my woes were at an end, 
 
 Thy joys that I might see ! 
 
 Thy gardens and thy gallant walks 
 
 Continually are green, 
 There grows such sweet and pleasant flowers 
 
 As nowhere else are seen. 
 
 Quite through the streets, with silver sound, 
 
 The flood of Life doth flow ; 
 Upon whose banks on every side 
 
 The wood of Life doth grow. 
 
 There trees for evermore bear fruit, 
 
 And evermore do spring; 
 There evermore the angels sit, 
 
 And evermore do sing. 
 
 Our Lady sings Magnificat 
 
 With tones surpassing sweet ; 
 And all the virgins bear their part, 
 
 Sitting about her feet. 
 
 Hierusalem, my happy home, 
 
 Would GOD I were in thee ! 
 Would GOD my woes were at an end, 
 
 Thy joys that I might see ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
BOOK I JOHN DONNE 19 
 
 XVII 
 
 THOU hast made me, and shall Thy work decay? 
 Repair me now ; for now mine end doth haste, 
 I run to Death, and Death meets me as fast, 
 And all my pleasures are like yesterday. 
 
 I dare not move my dim eyes any way, 
 Despair behind, and Death before doth cast 
 Such terror, and my feeble flesh doth waste 
 
 By sin in it, which it towards Hell doth weigh : 
 
 Only Thou art above, and when towards Thee 
 
 By Thy leave I can look, I rise again ; 
 But our old subtle foe so tempteth me, 
 
 That not one hour myself I can sustain : 
 
 Thy grace may wing me to prevent his art, 
 And Thou , like adamant 1 draw mine iron heart. 
 
 J. Donne 
 1 adamant^ magnet 
 
 XVIII 
 
 AS due by many titles, I resign 
 Myself to Thee, O GOD. First, I was made 
 By Thee and for Thee, and when I was decay 'd, 
 Thy blood bought that the which before was Thine ; 
 
 I am Thy son, made with Thyself to shine, 
 
 Thy servant, whose pains Thou hast still repaid, 
 Thy sheep, Thine image, and, till I betray'd 
 
 Myself, a temple of Thy Spirit divine. 
 
 Why doth the devil, then, usurp on me? 
 
 Why doth he steal, nay ravish that's Thy right? 
 
 Except Thou rise, and for Thine own work fight, 
 Oh, I shall soon despair, when I do see 
 
 That Thou lov'st mankind well, yet will not choose me, 
 And Satan hates me, yet is loth to loose me. 
 
 XIX 
 
 AT the round earth's imagined corners blow 
 Your trumpets, Angels ; and arise, arise 
 From death, you numberless infinities 
 Of souls, and to your scatter'd bodies go, 
 
 C 2 
 
JOHN DONNE BOOK 
 
 All whom the Flood did, and Fire shall, o'erthrow ; 
 
 All whom Death, war, age, agues, tyrannies, 
 
 Despair, law, chance hath slain ; and you whose eyes 
 Shall behold GOD, and never taste death's woe; 
 But let them sleep, LORD, and me mourn a space; 
 
 For if above all those my sins abound, 
 Tis late to ask abundance of Thy grace, 
 
 When we are there. Here on this lowly ground 
 
 Teach me how to repent ; for that 's as good 
 As if Thou'dst seal'd my pardon with my blood. 
 
 XX 
 
 A HYMN TO GOD THE FATHER 
 
 "VfTTILT Thou forgive that sin where I begun, 
 Vv Which was my sin, though it were done before ? 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin, through which I run 
 And do run still, though still I do deplore? 
 When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; 
 For I have more. 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won 
 
 Others to sin, and made my sins their door 1 ? 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun 
 A year or two, but wallow'd in, a score? 
 
 When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; 
 For I have more. 
 
 I have a sin of fear, that when I have 2 spun 
 My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; 
 But swear by Thyself, that at my death Thy Son 
 Shall shine, as He shines now and heretofore : 
 And having done that, Thou hast done; 
 I fear no more. 
 
 1 door: by which others entered into sin 2 pronounce Pvc 
 
 XXI 
 
 LO, when back mine eye, 
 Pilgrim-like I cast, 
 What fearful ways I spy, 
 Which, blinded, I securely past! 
 
BOOK I THOMAS CAMPION 
 
 But now heaven hath drawn 
 
 From my brows that night ; 
 As when the day doth dawn, 
 So clears my long-imprison'd sight. 
 Straight the Caves of Hell 
 
 Dress'd with flowers I see, 
 Wherein False Pleasures dwell, 
 That, winning most, most deadly be. 
 Throngs of masked fiends, 
 Wing'd like angels, fly ; 
 E'en in the gates of friends, 
 In fair disguise black dangers lie. 
 Straight to heaven I raised 
 
 My restored sight, 
 And with loud voice I praised 
 The LORD of ever-during light. 
 And since I had stray'd 
 
 From His ways so wide, 
 His grace I humbly pray'd 
 Henceforth to be my guard and guide. 
 
 T. Campion 
 
 XXII 
 
 VIEW me, LORD, a work of Thine ! 
 Shall I then lie drown'd in night? 
 Might Thy grace in me but shine, 
 I should seem made all of light. 
 But my soul still surfeits so 
 On the poison'd baits of sin, 
 That I strange and ugly grow ; 
 All is dark and foul within. 
 Cleanse me, LORD, that I may kneel 
 At Thine altar, pure and white : 
 They that once Thy mercies feel, 
 Gaze no more on earth's delight. 
 Worldly joys, like shadows, fade 
 When the heavenly light appears ; 
 But the covenants Thou hast made, 
 Endless, know nor days nor years. 
 In Thy Word, LORD, is my trust, 
 To Thy mercies fast I fly; 
 Though I am but clay and dust, 
 Yet Thy grace can lift me high! 
 
22 THOMAS CAMPION" BOOK I 
 
 XXIII 
 
 SEEK the LORD, and in His ways persever! 
 O faint not, but as eagles fly, 
 For His steep hill is high ! 
 Then striving gain the top and triumph ever! 
 
 When with glory there thy brows are crowned, 
 
 New joys so shall abound in thee, 
 
 Such sights thy soul shall see, 
 That worldly thoughts shall by their beams be drowned. 
 
 Farewell, World, thou mass of mere confusion ! 
 
 False light, with many shadows dimm'd ! 
 
 Old witch, with new foils trimm'd ! 
 Thou deadly sleep of soul, and charm'd illusion ! 
 
 I the King will seek, of kings adored ; 
 
 Spring of light ; tree of grace and bliss, 
 
 Whose fruit so sovereign is 
 That all who taste it are from death restored. 
 
 XXIV 
 
 TO music bent is my retired mind, 
 And fain would I some song of pleasure sing ; 
 But in vain joys no comfort now I find ; 
 From heavenly thoughts all true delight doth spring : 
 Thy power, O GOD, Thy mercies to record, 
 Will sweeten every note and every word. 
 
 All earthly pomp or beauty to express 
 
 Is but to carve in snow, on waves to \vrite ; 
 
 Celestial things, though men conceive them less, 
 
 Yet fullest are they in themselves of light : 
 
 Such beams they yield as know no means to die ; 
 
 Such heat they cast as lifts the spirit high. 
 
 XXV 
 
 NEVER weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore, 
 Never tired pilgrim's limbs affected slumber more, 
 Than my wearied sprite now longs to fly out of my troubled 
 
 breast. 
 O come quickly, sweetest LORD, and take my soul to rest! 
 
 Ever blooming are the joys of heaven's high Paradise, 
 
 Cold age deafs not there our ears nor vapour dims our eyes : 
 
 Glory there the sun outshines ; whose beams the Blessed 
 
 only see. 
 O come quickly, glorious LORD, and raise my sprite to Thee ! 
 
BOOK I BEN JONS ON" 33 
 
 XXVI 
 
 LET not the sluggish sleep 
 Close up thy waking eye, 
 Until with judgment deep 
 
 Thy daily deeds thou try : 
 He that one sin in conscience keeps 
 
 When he to quiet goes, 
 More vent'rous is than he that sleeps 
 With twenty mortal foes ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 IF I could shut the gate against my thoughts 
 And keep out sorrow from this room within, 
 Or memory could cancel all the notes 
 
 Of my misdeeds, and I unthink my sin : 
 How free, how clear, how clean my soul should lie, 
 Discharged of such a loathsome company ! 
 
 Or were there other rooms without my heart 
 That did not to my conscience join so near, 
 
 Where I might lodge the thoughts of sin apart 
 That I might not their clamorous crying hear, 
 
 What peace, what joy, what ease should I possess, 
 
 Freed from their horrors that my soul oppress ! 
 
 But, O my Saviour, Who my refuge art, 
 
 Let Thy dear mercies stand 'twixt them and me, 
 
 And be the wall to separate my heart 
 So that I may at length repose me free ; 
 
 That peace, and joy, and rest may be within, 
 
 And I remain divided from my sin. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XXVIII 
 THE NATIVITY 
 
 I SING the Birth was born to-night, 
 The Author both of life and light ; 
 
 The angels so did sound it : 
 And like the ravish'd shepherds said, 
 Who saw the light, and were afraid, 
 
 Yet search'd, and true they found it. 
 
24 BEN JONS ON BOOK I 
 
 The Son of GOD, the eternal King, 
 That did us all salvation bring, 
 
 And freed the soul from danger; 
 He whom the whole world could not take, 
 The Word, which heaven and earth did make, 
 
 Was now laid in a manger. 
 
 What comfort by Him do we win, 
 Who made Himself the price of sin, 
 
 To make us heirs of glory ! 
 To see this Babe, all innocence, 
 A martyr born in our defence ! 
 
 Can man forget this story? 
 
 B. Jonson 
 
 XXIX 
 
 HEAR me, O GOD! 
 A broken heart 
 Is my best part : 
 Use still Thy rod, 
 
 That I may prove 
 Therein Thy love. 
 
 If Thou hadst not 
 
 Been stern to me, 
 
 But left me free, 
 I had forgot 
 
 Myself and Thee. 
 
 For sin's so sweet, 
 
 As minds ill bent 
 
 Rarely repent, 
 Until they meet 
 
 Their punishment. 
 
 XXX 
 DEATH'S LAST WILL 
 
 MORE oft than once Death whisper'd in mine ear, 
 Grave what thou hears in diamond and gold, 
 I am that monarch whom all monarchs fear, 
 Who hath in dust their far-stretch'd pride uproll'd; 
 
 All, all is mine beneath moon's silver sphere, 
 And nought, save virtue, can my power withhold : 
 This, not believed, experience true thee told, 
 By danger late when I to thee came near. 
 
BOOK I WILLIAM DRUMMOND 25 
 
 As bugbear then my visage I did show, 
 That of my horrors thou right use might'st make, 
 And a more sacred path of living take : 
 Now still walk armed for my ruthless blow : 
 
 Trust flattering life no more, redeem time past, 
 And live each day as if it were thy last. 
 
 W. Drummond 
 
 XXXI 
 HYPOCRISY 
 
 AS are those apples, pleasant to the eye, 
 But full of smoke within, which use to grow 
 Near that strange lake, where GOD pour'd from the sky 
 Huge showers of flames, worse flames to overthrow ; 
 
 Such are their works that with a glaring show 
 Of humble holiness, in virtue's dye 
 Would colour mischief, while within they glow 
 With coals of sin, though none the smoke descry. 
 
 Ill is that angel which erst fell from heaven, 
 But not more ill than he, nor in worse case, 
 Who hides a traitorous mind with smiling face, 
 And with a dove's white feather masks a raven. 
 
 Each sin some colour hath it to adorn ; 
 Hypocrisy, almighty GOD doth scorn. 
 
 XXXII 
 MAN'S KNOWLEDGE 
 
 BENEATH a sable veil and shadows deep 
 Of unaccessible and dimming light, 
 In silence, ebon clouds more black than night, 
 The world's great King His secrets hid doth keep : 
 
 Through those thick mists, when any mortal wight 
 Aspires, with halting pace and eyes that weep, 
 To pore, and in His mysteries to creep, 
 With thunders He and lightnings blasts their sight. 
 
 O Sun invisible, that dost abide 
 Within Thy bright abysms, most fair, most dark, 
 Where with Thy proper rays Thou dost Thee hide ! 
 O ever-shining, never full-seen mark! 
 
 To guide me in life's night Thy light me show ; 
 The more I search, of Thee the less I know. 
 
26 WILLIAM DRUMMOND BOOK I 
 
 XXXIII 
 SAINT JOHN BAPTIST 
 
 THE last and greatest Herald of heaven's King, 
 Girt with rough skins, hies to the deserts wild, 
 Among that savage brood the woods forth bring, 
 Which he than man more harmless found and mild : 
 
 His food was locusts, and what young doth spring, 
 With honey that from virgin hives distill'd ; 
 Parch'd body, hollow eyes, some uncouth thing 
 Made him appear, long since from earth exiled. 
 
 There burst he forth : ' All ye, whose hopes rely 
 On GOD, with me amidst these deserts mourn ; 
 Repent, repent, and from old errors turn.' 
 Who listened to his voice, obey'd his cry? 
 
 Only the echoes, which he made relent, 
 
 Rung from their marble caves, ' Repent, repent ! ' 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 SOUL, which to hell wast thrall, 
 He, He for thine offence 
 Did suffer death, Who could not die at all. 
 O sovereign excellence ! 
 O life of all that lives ! 
 
 Eternal bounty, which all goodness gives ! 
 How could Death mount so high ? 
 No wit this point can reach ; 
 Faith only doth us teach, 
 For us He died, at all Who could not die. 
 
 XXXV 
 URBS COELESTIS JERUSALEM 
 
 JERUSALEM, that place divine, 
 The vision of sweet peace is named ; 
 In heaven her glorious turrets shine. 
 Her walls of living stone are framed ; 
 While Angels guard her on each side, 
 Fit company for such a bride. 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 
 
 She, deck'd in new attire from heaven, 
 Her wedding chamber, now descends, 
 Prepared in marriage to be given 
 To CHRIST, on Whom her joy depends. 
 Her walls, wherewith she is enclosed, 
 And streets are of pure gold composed. 
 
 The gates adorn 'd with pearls most bright 
 
 The way to hidden glory show, 
 
 And thither by the blessed might 
 
 Of faith in JESUS' merits go 
 
 All those who are on earth distress'd, 
 
 Because they have CHRIST'S name professM. 
 
 These stones the workmen dress and beat 
 Before they throughly polish'd are ; 
 Then each is in his proper seat 
 Establish'd by the Builder's care, 
 In this fair frame to stand for ever, 
 So join'd that them no force can sever. 
 
 To GOD, Who sits in highest seat, 
 
 Glory and power given be ; 
 
 To Father, Son, and Paraclete, 
 
 Who reign in equal dignity ; 
 
 Whose boundless power we still adore, 
 
 And sing Their praise for evermore. 
 
 XXXVI 
 THE FAREWELL 
 
 METHINKS I draw but sickly breath : 
 Who knows but I 
 Before next night may sleeping lie, 
 Rock'd in the arms of death ? 
 
 The swift-foot minutes pass away ; 
 
 For Time hath wings, 
 That flag not for the breath of kings, 
 
 Nor brook the least delay. 
 
 And what a parcel of my sand 
 
 Is yet to pass, 
 Or what may break the crazy glass, 
 
 How shall I understand ? 
 
 Then, base delights and dunghill joys! 
 
 Farewell, adieu ! 
 While yet I live I 'm dead to you, 
 
 And such-like toys. 
 
28 ANONYMOUS BOOK I 
 
 I would not longer own a thought 
 
 That crawls so low, 
 Or lavish out my wishes so 
 
 In quest of less than nought. 
 
 My soul is wing'd with quick desires 
 
 To pass the sky ; 
 Nothing below what is most high 
 
 Allays those noble fires. 
 
 LORD, as the kindling is from Thee, 
 
 So Thine the breath 
 That must continue it, till death 
 
 Be dead and cease to be. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XXXVII 
 INTROIT 
 
 MY God, where is that ancient heat towards Thee 
 Wherewith whole shoals of martyrs once did burn, 
 Besides their other flames? Doth poetry 
 Wear Venus' livery ? only serve her turn ? 
 
 Why are not sonnets made of Thee ? and lays 
 Upon Thine altar burnt? Cannot Thy love 
 
 Heighten a spirit to sound out Thy praise 
 As well as any She? Cannot Thy Dove 
 
 Outstrip their Cupid easily in flight? 
 
 Or, since Thy ways are deep, and still the same, 
 Will not a verse run smooth that bears Thy name? 
 
 Why doth that fire, which by Thy power and might 
 
 Each breast does feel, no braver fuel choose 
 Than that, which one day worms may chance refuse? 
 
 G. Herbert 
 
 XXXVIII 
 ANTIPHON 
 
 Cho. T ET all the world in every corner sing 
 JL/ My GOD and King, 
 
 Vers. The heavens are not too high 
 His praise may thither fly; 
 The earth is not too low 
 His praises there may grow. 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in every corner sing 
 My GOD and King. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 29 
 
 Vers. The Church with psalms must shout, 
 No door can keep them out : 
 But, above all, the heart 
 Must bear the longest part. 
 
 Cho. Let all the world in every corner sing 
 My GOD and King. 
 
 XXXIX 
 A TRUE HYMN 
 
 MY Joy, my Life, my Crown ! 
 My heart was meaning 1 all the day, 
 
 Somewhat it fain would say, 
 And still it runneth muttering up and down 
 With only this, My Joy, my Life, my Crown ! 
 
 Yet slight not these few words ; 
 If truly said, they may take part 
 
 Among the best in art : 
 
 The fineness which a hymn or psalm affords 
 Is, when the soul unto the lines accords. 
 
 He who craves all the mind, 
 And all the soul, and strength, and time, 
 
 If the words only rhyme, 
 Justly complains that somewhat is behind 
 To make His verse, or write a hymn in kind. 
 
 Whereas, if th' heart be moved, 
 Although the verse be somewhat scant, 
 
 GOD doth supply the want ; 
 
 As when th' heart says, sighing to be approved, 
 ' O, could I love ! ' and stops, GOD writeth, ' Loved. ' 
 
 1 meaning, intending a good matter 
 
 XL 
 SIN 
 
 LORD, with what care hast Thou begirt us round ! 
 Parents first season us; then schoolmasters 
 Deliver us to laws; they send us bound 
 To rules of reason, holy messengers, 
 
 Pulpits and Sundays, sorrow dogging sin, 
 Afflictions sorted, anguish of all sizes, 
 Fine nets and stratagems to catch us in, 
 
 Bibles laid open *, millions of surprises, 
 
30 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 Blessings beforehand, ties of gratefulness, 
 The sound of glory ringing in our ears ; 
 Without, our shame ; within, our consciences ; 
 
 Angels and grace, eternal hopes and fears : 
 Yet all these fences and their whole array 
 One cunning bosom-sin blows quite away. 
 
 1 Bibles . . . the first text seen was taken as a sign 
 
 XLI 
 CHURCH MONUMENTS* 
 
 "\\7THILE that my soul repairs to her devotion, 
 
 YY Here I intomb my flesh, that it betimes 
 May take acquaintance of this heap of dust ; 
 To which the blast of Death's incessant motion, 
 Fed with the exhalation of our crimes, 
 Drives all at last. Therefore I gladly trust 
 My body to this school, that it may learn 
 To spell his elements, and find his birth 
 Written in dusty heraldry and lines : 
 Which dissolution sure doth best discern, 
 Comparing dust with dust, and earth with earth. 
 These laugh at jet and marble, put for signs, 
 
 To sever the good fellowship of dust, 
 And spoil the meeting. What shall point out them 
 When they shall bow, and kneel, and fall down flat 
 To kiss those heaps, which now they have in trust ? 
 Dear flesh, while I do pray, learn here thy stem 
 And true descent, that, when thou shalt grow fat, 
 
 And wanton in thy cravings, thou may'st know, 
 That flesh is but the glass which holds the dust 
 That measures all our time ; which also shall 
 Be crumbled into dust. Mark here below 
 How tame these ashes are, how free from lust 
 That thou mayst fit thyself against thy fall. 
 
 i See Note 
 
 XLII 
 THE CHURCH FLOOR 
 
 ARK you the floor? that square and speckled stone, 
 Which looks so firm and strong, 
 Is PATIENCE : 
 
 M 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 31 
 
 And the other black and grave, wherewith each one 
 Is checker'd all along, 
 
 HUMILITY : 
 
 The gentle rising, which on either hand 
 Leads to the quire above, 
 
 Is CONFIDENCE : 
 
 But the sweet cement, which in one sure band 
 Ties the whole frame, is LOVE 
 And CHARITY. 
 
 XLIII 
 SUNDAY 
 
 ODAY most calm, most bright, 
 The fruit of this, the next world's bud, 
 The indorsement of supreme delight. 
 Writ by a Friend, and with His blood; 
 The couch of Time, Care's balm and bay ; 
 The week were dark but for thy light ; 
 Thy torch doth show the way. 
 
 Sundays the pillars are, 
 On which Heaven's Palace arched lies : 
 The other days fill up the spare 
 And hollow room with vanities : 
 They are the fruitful beds and borders 
 In GOD'S rich garden : that 1 is bare 
 
 Which parts their ranks and orders. 
 
 The Sundays of man's life, 
 Threaded together on Time's string, 
 Make bracelets to adorn the Wife 
 Of the eternal glorious King : 
 On Sunday Heaven's gate stands ope; 
 Blessings are plentiful and rife, 
 
 More plentiful than hope. 
 
 Thou art a day of mirth ; 
 And where the week-days trail on ground, 
 Thy flight is higher, as thy birth : 
 O let me take thee at the bound, 
 Leaping with thee from seven to seven, 
 Till that we both, being toss'd from Earth, 
 
 Fly hand in hand to Heaven ! 
 
 1 that is bare, the week-days 
 
32 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 XLIV 
 CHRISTMAS 
 
 ALL after pleasures as I rid one day, 
 My horse and I, both tired, body and mind, 
 With full cry of affections, quite astray ; 
 I took up in the next inn I could find. 
 
 There when I came, Whom found I but my dear, 
 My dearest LORD, expecting till the grief 
 Of pleasures brought me to Him, ready there 
 
 To be all passengers' most sweet relief. 
 
 O Thou, Whose glorious yet contracted light, 
 Wrapt in Night's mantle, stole into a manger; 
 Since my dark soul and brutish, is Thy right, 
 
 To Man, of all beasts, be not Thou a stranger : 
 
 Furnish and deck my soul, that Thou may'st have 
 A better lodging than a rack or grave. 
 
 XLV 
 AFFLICTION 1 
 
 V\7THEN first Thou didst entice to Thee my heart, 
 
 yy I thought the service brave : 
 
 So many joys I writ down for my part, 
 Besides what I might have 
 Out of my stock of natural delights, 
 Augmented with Thy gracious benefits. 
 
 What pleasures could I want, whose King I served, 
 
 Where joys my fellows were ? 
 Thus argued into hopes, my thoughts reserved 
 
 No place for grief or fear ; 
 
 Therefore my sudden soul caught at the place, 
 And made her youth and fierceness seek Thy face. 
 
 At first Thou gav'st me milk and sweetnesses; 
 
 I had my wish and way; 
 My days were strew'd with flowers and happiness; 
 
 There was no month but May. 
 But with my years sorrow did twist and grow, 
 And made a party unawares for woe. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 33 
 
 My flesh began unto my soul in pain, 
 
 Sicknesses cleave my bones, 
 Consuming agues dwell in every vein, 
 
 And tune my breath to groans : 
 Sorrow was all my soul ; I scarce believed, 
 Till grief did tell me roundly, that I lived. 
 
 When I got health, Thou took'st away my life 
 And more for my friends die : 
 
 My mirth and edge was lost, a blunted knife 
 Was of more use than I : 
 
 Thus, thin and lean, without a fence or friend, 
 
 I was blown through with every storm and wind. 
 
 Yet, lest perchance I should too happy be 
 
 In my unhappiness, 
 Turning my purge to food, Thou throwest me 
 
 Into more sicknesses. 
 
 Thus doth Thy power cross-bias me, not making 
 Thine own gift good, yet me from my ways taking. 
 
 Now I am here, what Thou wilt do with me 
 
 None of my books will show ; 
 I read, and sigh, and wish I were a tree 
 For sure, then, I should grow- 
 To fruit or shade ; at least, some bird would trust 
 Her household to me, and I should be just. 
 
 Yet, though Thou troublest me, I must be meek; 
 
 In weakness must be stout. 
 Well, I will change the service, and go seek 
 
 Some other master out. 
 
 Ah, my dear GOD, though I am clean forgot, 
 Let me not love Thee, if I love Thee not. 
 
 1 See Note 
 
 XLVI 
 DENIAL 
 
 WHEN my devotions could not pierce 
 Thy silent ears, 
 
 Then was my heart broken, as was my verse ; 
 My breast was full of fears 
 And disorder ; 
 
 My bent thoughts, like a brittle bow, 
 
 Did fly asunder; 
 
 Each took his way; some would to pleasures go, 
 
 Some to the wars and thunder 
 
 Of alarms. 
 
34 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK ] 
 
 As good go anywhere, they say, 
 
 As to benumb 
 
 Both knees and heart, in crying night and day, 
 ' Come, come, my GOD, O come ! ' 
 But no hearing. 
 
 O that Thou shouldst give dust a tongue 
 
 To cry to Thee, 
 
 And then not hear it crying! All day long 
 My heart was in my knee, 
 But no hearing. 
 
 Therefore my soul lay out of sight, 
 
 Untuned, unstrung; 
 My feeble spirit, unable to look right, 
 Like a nipt blossom, hung 
 Discontented. 
 
 O, cheer and tune my heartless breast, 
 
 Defer no time ; 
 
 That so Thy favours granting my request, 
 They and my soul may chime, 
 
 And mend my rhyme. 
 
 XLVII 
 VIRTUE 
 
 SWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright 
 The bridal of the earth and sky ; 
 The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; 
 For thou must die. 
 
 Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave 1 
 Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, 
 Thy root is ever in its grave, 
 
 And thou must die. 
 
 Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, 
 A box where sweets compacted lie, 
 My music shows ye have your closes, 
 And all must die. 
 
 Only a sweet and virtuous soul, 
 Like season'd timber, never gives 2 ; 
 But though the whole world turn to coal, 
 Then chiefly lives. 
 
 1 angry and brave, piercing and dazzlingly splendid - gives> yields 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 35 
 
 XLVIII 
 UNKINDNESS 
 
 LORD, make me coy and tender to offend : 
 In friendship, first I think, if that agree 
 
 Which I intend, 
 
 Unto my friend's intent and end; 
 I would not use a friend as I use Thee. 
 
 If any touch my friend or his good name, 
 It is my honour and my love to free 
 
 His blasted fame 
 
 From the least spot or thought of blame : 
 I could not use a friend as I use Thee. 
 
 My friend may spit upon my curious floor; 
 Would he have gold? I lend it instantly; 
 
 But let the poor, 
 
 And Thou within them, starve at door 
 I cannot use a friend as I use Thee. 
 
 When that my friend pretendeth to l a place, 
 I quit my interest, and leave it free ; 
 
 But when Thy grace 
 Sues for my heart, I Thee displace ; 
 Nor would I use a friend as I use Thee. 
 
 Yet can a friend what Thou hast done fulfil ? 
 O, write in brass : ' My GOD upon a tree 
 
 His blood did spill, 
 Only to purchase my good will : ' 
 Yet use I not my foes as I use Thee. 
 
 1 pretendeth to, seeks 
 
 XLIX 
 MORTIFICATION 
 
 HOW soon doth man decay ! 
 When clothes are taken from a chest of sweets 
 To swaddle infants, whose young breath 
 
 Scarce knows the way, 
 Those clouts are little winding-sheets, 
 Which do consign and send them unto Death. 
 
 When boys go first to bed, 
 They step into their voluntary graves ; 
 Sleep binds them fast, only their breath 
 
 Makes them not dead ; 
 Successive nights, like rolling waves. 
 Convey them quickly who are bound for Death. 
 D 2 
 
36 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK. 
 
 When Youth is frank and free, 
 And calls for music, while his veins do swell, 
 All day exchanging mirth and breath 
 
 In company, 
 
 That music summons to the knell 
 Which shall befriend him at the house of Death. 
 
 When man grows staid and wise, 
 Getting a house and home, where he may move 
 Within the circle of his breath, 
 
 Schooling his eyes ; 
 That dumb enclosure maketh love 
 Unto the coffin that attends his death. 
 
 When Age grows low and weak, 
 Marking his grave, and thawing every year, 
 Till all do melt, and drown his breath 
 
 When he would speak, 
 A chair or litter shows 1 the bier 
 Which shall convey him to the house of Death. 
 
 Man, ere he is aware, 
 Hath put together a solemnity, 
 
 And drest his hearse, while he has breath 
 
 As yet to spare ; 
 Yet, LORD, instruct us so to die 
 That all these dyings may be LIFE in DEATH. 
 
 1 shows, prefigures 
 
 L 
 MISERY 
 
 LORD, Let the angels praise Thy name; 
 Man is a foolish thing, a foolish thing; 
 Folly and sin play all his game ; 
 His house still burns; and yet he still doth sing: 
 
 Man is but grass, 
 He knows it; ' fill the glass.' 
 
 They quarrel x Thee, and would ^give over 
 The bargain made to serve Thee; but Thy love 
 
 Holds them unto it, and doth cover 
 Their follies with the wings of Thy mild Dove, 
 
 Not suffering those 
 Who would, to be Thy foes. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 37 
 
 Man cannot serve Thee : let him go 
 And serve the swine there, there is his delight : 
 
 He doth not like this virtue, no ; 
 Give him his dirt to wallow in all night ; 
 
 * These preachers make 
 His head to shoot and ache.' 
 
 O foolish man! where are thine eyes? 
 How hast thou lost them in a crowd of cares ! 
 
 Thou pull'st the rug 2 , and wilt not rise, 
 No, not to purchase the whole pack of stars : 
 ' There let them shine, 
 Thou must go sleep, or dine.' 
 
 The bird that sees a dainty bower 
 Made in the tree where she was wont to sit, 
 
 Wonders and sings, but not His power 
 Who made the arbour : this exceeds her wit. 
 
 But Man doth know 
 The spring whence all things flow : 
 
 And yet, as though he knew it not, 
 His knowledge winks, and lets his humours reign ; 
 
 They make his life a constant blot, 
 And all the blood of GOD to run in vain. 
 
 Ah, wretch ! what verse 
 Can thy strange ways rehearse ? 
 1 quarrel, used actively 2 nig, apparently, counterpane 
 
 LI 
 THE QUIP 1 
 
 r T"'HE merry World did on a day 
 
 J[ With his train-bands 2 and mates agree 
 To meet together where I lay, 
 And all in sport to jeer at me. 
 
 First Beauty crept into a rose ; 
 
 Which when I pluck'd not, ' Sir/ said she, 
 
 * Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? ' 
 But Thou shalt answer, LORD, for me. 
 
 Then Money came, and chinking still, 
 
 * What tune is this, poor man ? ' said he ; 
 
 * I heard in music you had skill : ' 
 But Thou shalt answer, LORD, for me. 
 
 Then came brave Glory puffing by 
 In silks that whistled, who but he ! 
 He scarce allow'd me half an eye : 
 But Thou shalt answer, LORD, for me. 
 
38 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 Then came quick Wit and Conversation, 
 And he would needs a comfort be, 
 And, to be short, make an oration : 
 But Thou shalt answer, LORD, for me. 
 Yet when the hour of Thy design 
 To answer these fine things shall come, 
 Speak not at large; say, 'I am Thine/ 
 And then they have their answer home. 
 
 1 Quty, smart turn, repartee 2 train-bands, militia 
 
 LII 
 TIME 
 
 MEETING with Time, ' Slack thing,' said I, 
 1 Thy scythe is dull ; whet it, for shame. ' 
 ' No marvel, sir,' he did reply, 
 ' If it at length deserve some blame ; 
 
 But where one man would have me grind it, 
 Twenty for one too sharp do find it.' 
 
 * Perhaps some such of old did pass, 
 
 Who above all things loved this life ; 
 
 To whom thy scythe a hatchet was, 
 
 Which now is but a pruning knife. 
 
 CHRIST'S coming hath made man thy debtor, 
 Since by thy cutting he grows better. 
 
 'And in His blessing thou art blest; 
 
 For where thou only wert before 
 
 An executioner at best, 
 
 Thou art a gardener now ; and more, 
 An usher to convey our souls 
 Beyond the utmost stars and poles, 
 
 'And this is that makes life so long, 
 While it detains us from our GOD ; 
 E'en pleasures here increase the wrong, 
 And length of days lengthens the rod. 
 
 Who wants the place where GOD doth dwell, 
 
 Partakes already half of hell. 
 
 ' Of what strange length must that needs be, 
 Which e'en eternity excludes ! ' 
 Thus far Time heard me patiently ; 
 Then chafing said : ' This man deludes ; 
 
 What do I here before his door? 
 
 He doth not crave less time, but more.' 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 39 
 
 LIII 
 PEACE 
 
 SWEET Peace, where dost them dwell, I humbly crave, 
 Let me once know? 
 I sought thee in a secret cave, 
 
 And ask'd if Peace were there. 
 A hollow wind did seem to answer, * No ; 
 Go seek elsewhere/ 
 
 I did ; and going did a rainbow note : 
 
 Surely, thought I, 
 This is the lace of Peace's coat : 
 I will search out the matter. 
 But while I look'd, the clouds immediately 
 Did break and scatter. 
 
 Then went I to a garden, and did spy 
 
 A gallant flower, 
 The Crown Imperial. Sure, said I, 
 
 Peace at the root must dwell. 
 But when I digg'd, I saw a worm devour 
 What show'd so well. 
 
 At length I met a reverend good old man ; 
 
 Whom when for Peace 
 I did demand, he thus began : 
 
 ' There was a Prince of old 
 At Salem dwelt, Who lived with good increase 
 Of flock and fold. 
 
 ' He sweetly lived ; yet sweetness did not save 
 
 His life from foes. 
 ( But after death out of His grave 
 
 There sprang twelve stalks of wheat ; 
 Which many wondering at, got some of those 
 To plant and set. 
 
 f It prosper'd strangely, and did soon disperse 
 
 Through all the earth ; 
 For they that taste it do rehearse 
 
 That virtue lies therein: 
 
 A secret virtue, bringing peace and mirth 
 
 By flight of sin. 
 
 ' Take of this grain, which in my garden grows, 
 
 And grows for you : 
 Make bread of it ; and that repose 
 And peace, which everywhere 
 With so much earnestness you do pursue, 
 Is only there.' 
 
40 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 LIV 
 MAN'S MEDLEY 
 
 HARK how the birds do sing 
 And woods do ring : 
 
 All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. 
 Yet if we rightly measure, 
 
 Man's joy and pleasure 
 Rather hereafter than in present is. 
 To this life things of sense 
 
 Make their pretence ; 
 
 In the other Angels have a right by birth : 
 Man ties them both alone, 
 
 And makes them one, 
 With the one hand touching Heaven, with the other earth. 
 
 Not that he may not here 
 
 Taste of the cheer ; 
 
 But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, 
 So must he sip, and think 
 
 Of better drink 
 He may attain to after he is dead. 
 
 But as his joys are double, 
 So is his trouble : 
 
 He hath two winters, other things but one; 
 Both frosts and thoughts do nip 
 
 And bite his lip ; 
 And he of all things fears two deaths alone. 
 
 Yet ev'n the greatest griefs 
 
 May be reliefs, 
 
 Could he but take them right and in their ways. 
 Happy is he whose heart 
 
 Hath found the art 
 To turn his double pains to double praise ! 
 
 LV 
 VANITY 
 
 THE fleet astronomer can bore 
 And thread the spheres with his quick-piercing mind; 
 He views their stations, walks from door to door, 
 
 Surveys, as if he had design'd 
 To make a purchase there; he sees their dances, 
 
 And knoweth long before 
 Both their full-eyed aspects 1 and secret glances. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 
 
 The nimble diver with his side 
 
 Cuts through the working waves, that he may fetch 
 His dearly-earned pearl ; which GOD did hide 
 
 On purpose from the venturous "wretch, 
 That He might save his life, and also hers 
 
 Who with excessive pride 
 Her own destruction and his danger wears. 
 
 The subtle chymick can divest 
 And strip the creature naked, till he find 
 The callow principles 1 within their nest : 
 
 There he imparts to them his mind, 
 Admitted to their bed-chamber, before 
 
 They appear trim and drest 
 To ordinary suitors at the door. 
 
 What hath not man sought out and found, 
 But his dear GOD ? Who yet His glorious law 
 Embosoms in us, mellowing the ground 
 
 With showers and frosts, with love and awe ; 
 So that we need not say, Where's this command? 
 
 Poor man, thou searchest round 
 To find out death, but missest life at hand ! 
 
 1 aspects, callow principles, see Note 
 
 LVI 
 THE PILGRIMAGE 
 
 ITRAVELL'D on, seeing the hill, where lay 
 My expectation. 
 
 A long it was and weary way : 
 The gloomy cave of Desperation 
 I left on the one, and on the other side 
 The rock of Pride. 
 
 And so I came to Fancy's meadow, strow'd 
 
 With many a flower: 
 Fain would I here have made abode, 
 But I was quicken'd by my hour. 
 So to Care's copse I came, and there got through 
 With much ado. 
 
 That led me to the wild of Passion, which 
 
 Some call the wold ; 
 A wasted place, but sometimes rich. 
 Here I was robb'd of all my gold, 
 Save one good angel 1 , which a friend had tied 
 Close to my side. 
 
42 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 At length I got unto the gladsome hill, 
 
 Where lay my hope, 
 
 Where lay my heart ; and climbing still, 
 When I had gain'd the brow and top, 
 A lake of brackish waters on the ground 
 Was all I found. 
 
 With that abash'd and struck with many a sting 
 
 Of swarming fears, 
 I fell and cried, * Alas, my King, 
 Can both the way and end be tears ? * 
 Yet taking heart, I rose, and then perceived 
 I was deceived. 
 
 My hill was further: so I flung away, 
 
 Yet heard a cry 
 
 Just as I went, * None goes that way 
 And lives/ If that be all/ said I, 
 { After so foul a journey death is fair, 
 And but a chair 2 .' 
 
 1 angel, also a coin 2 chair, presumably, a restful litter 
 
 LVII 
 
 PRAISE 
 
 KING of glory, King of peace, 
 I will love Thee ; 
 And that love may never cease, 
 I will move Thee. 
 
 Thou hast granted my request, 
 
 Thou hast heard me ; 
 
 Thou didst note my working breast, 
 Thou hast spared me. 
 
 Wherefore with my utmost art 
 I will sing Thee, 
 
 And the cream of all my heart 
 I will bring Thee. 
 
 Though my sins against me cried, 
 
 Thou didst clear me ; 
 And alone, when they replied, 
 
 Thou didst hear me. 
 Seven whole days, not one in seven, 
 
 I will praise Thee ; 
 In my heart, though not in Heaven, 
 
 I can raise Thee. 
 
GEORGE HERBERT 43 
 
 Thou grew'st soft and moist with tears, 
 
 Thou relentedst, 
 And when Justice call'd for fears, 
 
 Thou dissentedst. 
 
 Small it is, in this poor sort 
 
 To enrol Thee ; 
 E'en eternity is too short 
 
 To extol Thee. 
 
 LVIII 
 LONGING 
 
 WITH sick and famish'd eyes, 
 With doubling knees, and weary bones, 
 To Thee my cries, 
 To Thee my groans, 
 To Thee my sighs, my tears ascend : 
 No end? 
 
 My throat, my soul is hoarse j 
 Ny heart is wither'd like a ground 
 Which Thou dost curse ; 
 My thoughts turn round, 
 And make me giddy : LORD, I fall, 
 Yet call. 
 
 Bowels of pity, hear ; 
 LORD of my soul, love of my mind, 
 Bow down Thine ear ; 
 Let not the wind 
 
 Scatter my words, and in the same 
 Thy name. 
 
 Look on my sorrows round ; 
 Mark well my furnace. O, what flames, 
 What heats abound ! 
 What griefs, what shames ! 
 Consider, LORD ; LORD, bow thine ear, 
 And hear! 
 
 LORD JESU, Thou didst bow 
 Thy dying head upon the tree ; 
 O, be not now 
 More dead to me. 
 
 LORD, hear. Shall He that made the ear 
 Not hear? 
 
44 GEORGE HERBERT KOOK I 
 
 To Thee help appertains : 
 Hast Thou left all things to their course, 
 And laid the reins 
 Upon the horse? 
 
 Is all lock'd? hath a sinner's plea 
 No key? 
 
 Thou tarriest, while I die, 
 And fall to nothing: Thou dost reign, 
 And rule on high, 
 While I remain 
 In bitter grief; yet am I styled 
 
 Thy child. 
 
 My Love, my Sweetness, hear : 
 By these Thy feet, at which my heart 
 Lies all the year, 
 Pluck out Thy dart, 
 
 And heal my troubled breast, which cries, 
 Which dies. 
 
 LIX 
 THE BAG 
 
 AWAY, despair ! my gracious LORD doth hear ; 
 Though winds and waves assault my keel, 
 He doth preserve it; He doth steer, 
 Ev'n when the boat seems most to reel. 
 Storms are the triumph of His art ; 
 Well may He close His eyes, but not His heart. 
 
 Hast thou not heard that my LORD JESUS died ? 
 
 Then let me tell thee a strange story : 
 
 The GOD of power, as He did ride 
 
 In His majestic robes of glory, 
 
 Resolved to 'light, and so one day 
 He did descend, undressing all the way. 
 
 The stars His tire of light and rings obtained, 
 
 The cloud His bow, the fire His spear, 
 
 The sky His azure mantle gain'd ; 
 
 And when they ask'd what He would wear, 
 
 He smiled, and said as He did go, 
 He had new clothes a-making here below. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 45 
 
 When He was come, as travellers are wont, 
 
 He did repair unto an inn. 
 
 Both then, and after, many a brunt 
 
 He did endure to cancel sin ; 
 
 And having given the rest before, 
 Here He gave up His life to pay our score. 
 
 But as He was returning, there came one 
 
 That ran upon Him with a spear. 
 
 He, who came hither all alone, 
 
 Bringing nor man, nor arms, nor fear, 
 
 Received the blow upon His side, 
 And straight He turn'd, and to His brethren cried, 
 
 ' If ye have anything to send or write 
 
 I have no bag, but here is room 
 
 Unto My Father's hands and sight, 
 
 Believe Me, it shall safely come. 
 
 That I shall mind what you impart, 
 Look, you may put it very near my heart. 
 
 c Or if hereafter any of My friends 
 
 Will use Me in this kind, the door 
 
 Shall still be open ; what he sends 
 
 I will present, and somewhat more, 
 
 Not to his hurt : sighs will convey 
 Anything to Me.' Hark, Despair, away ! 
 
 LX 
 
 THE PULLEY 
 
 GOD at first made Man, 
 Having a glass of blessings standing by, 
 ' Let us/ said He, * pour on him all we can ; 
 Let the world's riches, which dispersed lie, 
 Contract into a span.' 
 
 So strength first made a way ; 
 
 Then beauty flow'd, then wisdom, honour, pleasure : 
 When almost all was out, GOD made a stay, 
 Perceiving that, alone of all His treasure, 
 
 Rest in the bottom lay. 
 
 ' For if I should/ said He, 
 ' Bestow this jewel also on My creature, 
 He would adore My gifts instead of Me, 
 And rest in Nature, not the GOD of Nature ; 
 
 So both should losers be. 
 
46 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 1 Yet let him keep the rest, 
 But keep them with repining restlessness ; 
 Let him be rich and weary, that at least, 
 If goodness lead him not, yet weariness 
 
 May toss him to My breast.' 
 
 LXI 
 THE FLOWER 
 
 HOW fresh, O LORD, how sweet and clean 
 Are Thy returns ! e'en as the flowers in Spring, 
 To which, besides their own demesne, 
 The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring ; 
 Grief melts away 
 Like snow in May, 
 As if there were no such cold thing. 
 
 Who would have thought my shrivell'd heart 
 Could have recover'd greenness ? It was gone 
 
 Quite underground ; as flowers depart 
 To see their mother- root, when they have blown, 
 Where they together 
 All the hard weather, 
 Dead to the world, keep house unknown. 
 
 These are Thy wonders, LORD of power, 
 Killing and quickening, bringing down to Hell 
 
 And up to Heaven in an hour ; 
 Making a chiming of a passing bell. 
 We say amiss, 
 This or that is ; 
 
 Thy Word is all, if we could spell. 
 O that I once past changing were, 
 Fast in Thy Paradise, where no flower can wither ! 
 
 Many a Spring I shoot up fair, 
 
 Offering at Heaven, growing and groaning thither ; 
 Nor doth my flower 
 Want a Spring-shower, 
 My sins and I joining together. 
 
 But while I grow in a straight line, 
 Still upwards bent, as if Heaven were mine own, 
 
 Thy anger comes, and I decline : 
 What frost to that ? what pole is not the zone 
 Where all things burn, 
 When Thou dost turn, 
 And the least frown of Thine is shown ? 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 47 
 
 And now in age I bud again, 
 After so many deaths I live and write ; 
 I once more smell the dew and rain, 
 And relish .versing : O my only Light, 
 It cannot be 
 That I am he 
 On whom Thy tempests fell all night. 
 
 These are Thy wonders, LORD of love, 
 To make us see we are but flowers that glide ; 
 
 Which when we once can find and prove, 
 Thou hast a garden for us where to bide. 
 Who would be more, 
 Swelling through store, 
 Forfeit their Paradise by their pride. 
 
 See Note 
 
 LXII 
 THE GLANCE 
 
 WHEN first Thy sweet and gracious eye 
 Vouchsafed, e'en in the midst of youth and night, 
 To look upon me, who before did lie 
 
 Weltering in sin, 
 I felt a sugar'd strange delight, 
 Passing all cordials made by any art, 
 Bedew, embalm, and overrun my heart, 
 And take it in. 
 
 Since that time many a bitter storm 
 My soul hath felt, ev'n able to destroy, 
 Had the malicious and ill-meaning harm 
 
 His swing and sway ; 
 But still Thy sweet original joy 
 Sprung from Thine eye, did work within my soul, 
 And surging griefs, when they grew bold, control, 
 And got the day. 
 
 If Thy first glance so powerful be 
 A mirth 1 but open'd, and seal'd up again 
 What \vonders shall we feel when we shall see 
 
 Thy full-eyed love ! 
 
 When Thou shalt look us out of pain, 
 And one aspect of Thine spend in delight 
 More than a thousand suns disburse in light, 
 In Heaven above ! 
 
 1 mirth, joy; as in St. 2 
 
48 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK I 
 
 LXIII 
 THE FOIL 
 
 IF we could see below 
 The sphere of Virtue and each shining grace, 
 As plainly as that above doth show, 
 This were the better sky, the brighter place. 
 
 GOD hath made stars the foil 
 To set-off virtues, griefs to set-off sinning ; 
 
 Yet in this wretched world we toil, 
 As if grief were not foul, nor virtue winning. 
 
 LXIV 
 THE POSY 
 
 LET wits contest, 
 And with their words and posies windows fill ; 
 
 ' Less than the least 
 Of all Thy mercies,' is my posy still. 
 
 This on my ring, 
 This by my picture, in my book I write ; 
 
 Whether I sing, 
 Or say, or dictate, this is my delight. 
 
 Invention, rest ; 
 Comparisons, go play ; wit, use thy will ; 
 
 1 Less than the least 
 Of all GOD'S mercies ' is my posy still. 
 
 LXV 
 A WREATH 
 
 A WREATHED garland of deserved praise, 
 Of praise deserved, unto Thee I give, 
 I give to Thee, Who knowest all my ways, 
 My crooked winding ways, wherein I live 
 
 Wherein I die, not live ; for life is straight, 
 Straight as a line, and ever tends to Thee 
 To Thee, Who art more far above deceit, 
 Than deceit seems above simplicity. 
 
 Give me simplicity, that I may live ; 
 So live and like, that I may know Thy ways; 
 Know them and practise them ; then shall I give, 
 For this poor wreath, give Thee a crown of praise. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE HERBERT 49 
 
 LXVI 
 DISCIPLINE 
 
 THROW away Thy rod, 
 Throw away Thy wrath ; 
 
 my GOD, 
 Take the gentle path. 
 
 For my heart's desire 
 Unto Thine is bent; 
 
 1 aspire 
 To a full consent. 
 
 Though I fail, I weep; 
 Though I halt in pace, 
 
 Yet I creep 
 To the throne of grace. 
 
 Then let wrath remove ; 
 Love will do the deed; 
 For with love 
 Stony hearts will bleed. 
 
 Love is swift of foot ; 
 Love 's a man of war, 
 
 And can shoot, 
 And can hit from far. 
 
 Who can 'scape his bow ? 
 That which wrought on Thee, 
 
 Brought Thee low, 
 Needs must work on me. 
 
 Throw away Thy rod : 
 Though man frailties hath, 
 
 Thou art GOD ; 
 Throw away Thy wrath. 
 
 LXVII 
 THE ELIXIR 
 
 HPEACH me, my GOD and King, 
 
 1 In all things Thee to see, 
 And what I do in anything, 
 To do it as for Thee. 
 
50 GEORGE HERBERT BOOK ] 
 
 All may of Thee partake : 
 Nothing can be so mean 
 Which with his tincture 1 , For Thy sake, 
 Will not grow bright and clean. 
 
 A servant with this clause 
 Makes drudgery divine ; 
 Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws, 
 Makes that and the action fine. 
 
 This is the famous stone 
 That turneth all to gold; 
 For that which GOD doth touch and own 
 Cannot for less be told 2 . 
 
 1 his tinct^lre, see Note ' 2 told, reckoned 
 
 LXVIII 
 DEATH 
 
 DEATH, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing, 
 Nothing but bones, 
 The sad effect of sadder groans : 
 Thy mouth was open, but thou couldst not sing. 
 
 For we consider' d thee as at some six 
 
 Or ten years hence, 
 After the loss of life and sense ; 
 Flesh being turn'd to dust, and bones to sticks. 
 
 We look'd on this side of thee, shooting short, 
 
 Where we did find 
 The shells of fledge-souls left behind ; 
 Dry dust, which sheds no tears, but may extort. 
 
 But since our Saviour's death did put some blood 
 
 Into thy face, 
 
 Thou art grown fair and full of grace, 
 Much in request, much sought for, as a good. 
 
 For we do now behold thee gay and glad, 
 
 As at doomsday, 
 
 When souls shall wear their new array, 
 And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad. 
 
 Therefore we can go die as sleep, and trust 
 
 Half that we have 
 Unto an honest faithful grave, 
 Making our pillows either down, or dust. 
 
BOOK I CHRISTOPHER HARVEY 51 
 
 LXIX 
 LOVE 
 
 LOVE bade me welcome; yet my soul drew back, 
 Guilty of dust and sin. 
 But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack 
 
 From my first entrance in, 
 Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning, 
 If I lack'd anything. 
 
 'A guest/ I answer'd, 'worthy to be here :' 
 
 Love said, ' You shall be he.' 
 ' I, the unkind, ungrateful? Ah, my dear, 
 
 I cannot look on Thee/ 
 Love took my hand, and smiling, did reply, 
 
 i Who made the eyes but I ? ' 
 
 ' Truth, LORD, but I have marr'd them ; let my shame 
 
 Go where it doth deserve.' 
 ' And know you not,' says Love, ' who bore the blame ? ' 
 
 ' My dear, then I will serve.' 
 ' You must sit down,' says Love, ' and taste my meat. ' 
 
 So I did sit and eat. 
 
 LXX 
 
 IESU 
 
 IESU is in my heart; His sacred name 
 Is deeply carved there : but th' other week 
 A great affliction broke the little frame, 
 Ev'n all to pieces ; which I went to seek : 
 And first I found the corner where was I, 
 After, where ES, and next where U was graved. 
 When I had got these parcels, instantly 
 I sat me down to spell them, and perceived 
 That to my broken heart He was / ease you, 
 And to my whole is IESU. 
 
 LXXI 
 COMFORT IN EXTREMITY 
 
 ALAS! my LORD is going, 
 Oh my woe ! 
 It will be mine undoing; 
 
 If He go, 
 
 2 
 
52 CHRISTOPHER HARVEY BOOK I 
 
 1 11 run and overtake Him ; 
 
 If He stay, 
 111 cry aloud, and make Him 
 
 Look this way. 
 
 O stay, my LORD, my Love, 'tis I ; 
 Comfort me quickly, or I die. 
 
 4 Cheer up thy drooping spirits ; 
 
 1 am here. 
 Mine all-sufficient merits 
 
 Shall appear 
 Before the throne of glory 
 
 In thy stead : 
 I'll put into thy story 
 
 What I did. 
 
 Lift up thine eyes, sad soul, and see 
 Thy Saviour here, Lo, I am He.' 
 
 Alas! shall I present 
 
 My sinfulness 
 To Thee? Thou wilt resent 
 
 The loathsomeness, 
 'Be not afraid, I'll take 
 
 Thy sins on Me, 
 And all My favour make 
 
 To shine on thee. 7 
 
 LORD, what Thou 'It have me, Thou must make me, 
 'As I have made thee now, I take thee,' 
 
 C. Harvey 
 
 LXXII 
 DEUS DEUS MEUS 
 
 WHAT am I who dare call Thee, GOD ! 
 And raise my fancy to discourse Thy power? 
 
 To whom dust is the period, 
 Who am not sure to farm 1 this very hour? 
 
 For how know I the latest sand 
 In my frail glass of life, doth not now fall? 
 
 And while I thus astonish'd stand 
 I but prepare for my own funeral ? 
 
 Death doth with man no order keep : 
 It reckons not by the expense a of years, 
 
 But makes the Queen and beggar weep, 
 And ne'er distinguishes between their tears. 
 
BOOK I WILLIAM HABINGTON 53 
 
 He who the victory doth gain 
 Falls as he him pursues, who from him flics, 
 
 And is by too good fortune slain : 
 The lover in his amorous courtship dies : 
 
 The statesman suddenly expires 
 While he for others ruin doth prepare : 
 
 And the gay Lady while she admires 
 Her pride, and curls in wanton nets her hair. 
 
 No state of man is fortified 
 'Gainst the assault of th' universal doom : 
 
 But who the Almighty fear, deride 
 Pale Death, and meet with triumph in the tomb. 
 
 W. Habington 
 
 1 farm, possess or rent : (see LXXV, St. 6) 2 expense , expenditure 
 
 LXXIII 
 SOLUM MIHI SUPEREST SEPULCHRUM 
 
 WELCOME, thou safe retreat ! 
 Where th' injured man may fortify 
 'Gainst the invasions of the great : 
 Where the lean slave, who th' oar doth ply, 
 Soft as his admiral may lie. 
 
 Great statist ! 'tis your doom, 
 Though your designs swell high and wide, 
 To be contracted in a tomb ! 
 And all your happy cares provide 
 But for your heir authorized pride. 
 
 Nor shall your shade delight 
 I' th' pomp of your proud obsequies : 
 And should the present flattery write 
 A glorious epitaph, the wise 
 Will say, ' The poet's wit here lies.' 
 
 How reconciled to fate 
 Will grow the aged villager, 
 When he shall see your funeral state ! 
 Since death will him as warm inter 
 As you in your gay sepulchre. 
 
 The great decree of GOD 
 Makes every path of mortals lead 
 To this dark common period. 
 For what by-ways soe'er we tread, 
 We end our journey 'mong the dead. 
 
54 WILLIAM HABINGTON BOOK I 
 
 LXXIV 
 LAUD ATE DOMINUM DE CAELIS 
 
 YOU Spirits! who have thrown away 
 That envious weight of clay, 
 Which your celestial flight denied : 
 Who by your glorious troops supply 
 
 The winged Hierarchy, 
 So broken in the Angels' pride ! 
 
 O you ! whom your Creator's sight 
 
 Inebriates with delight! 
 Sing forth the triumphs of His name 
 All you enamour'd souls ! agree 
 
 In a loud symphony, 
 To give expressions to your flame! 
 
 To Him, His own great works relate, 
 
 Who deign'd to elevate 
 You 'bove the frailty of your birth : 
 Where you stand safe from that rude war, 
 
 With which we troubled are 
 By the rebellion of our earth. 
 
 While a corrupted air beneath 
 
 Here in this world we breathe, 
 
 Each hour some passion us assails : 
 
 Now lust casts wild-fire in the blood, 
 Or that it may seem good, 
 
 Itself in wit or beauty veils. 
 
 Then envy circles us with hate, 
 
 And lays a siege so streight, 
 No heavenly succour enters in : 
 But if revenge admittance find, 
 
 For ever hath the mind 
 Made forfeit of itself to sin. 
 
 Assaulted thus, how dare we raise 
 
 Our minds to think His praise, 
 
 Who is eternal and immense ? 
 
 How dare we force our feeble wit 
 To speak Him infinite, 
 
 So far above the search of sense ? 
 
 O you ! who are immaculate 
 
 His name may celebrate 
 In your soul's bright expansion : 
 You whom your virtues did unite 
 
 To His perpetual light, 
 That even with Him you now shine one. 
 
BOOK I WILLIAM HABINGTON 55 
 
 LXXV 
 RECOGITABO TIBI OMNES ANNOS MEOS 
 
 TIME ! where didst thou those years inter 
 Which I have seen decease? 
 My soul's at war, and truth bids her 
 Find out their hidden sepulchre, 
 To give her troubles peace. 
 
 Pregnant with flowers doth not the Spring 
 
 Like a late bride appear? 
 Whose feather'd music l only bring 
 Caresses, and no requiem sing 
 
 On the departed year? 
 
 The Earth, like some rich wanton heir 
 
 Whose parents coffin'd lie, 
 Forgets it once look'd pale and bare, 
 And doth for vanities prepare, 
 
 As the Spring ne'er should die. 
 
 The present hour, flatter'd by all, 
 
 Reflects not on the last ; 
 But I, like a sad factor 2 , shall 
 To account my life each moment eall, 
 
 And only weep the past. 
 
 My memory tracks each several way 
 
 Since reason did begin 
 Over my actions her first sway: 
 And teacheth me that each new day 
 
 Did only vary sin. 
 
 Poor bankrupt Conscience ! where are those 
 Rich hours but farm'd to thee? 
 
 How carelessly I some did lose, 
 
 And other to my lust dispose, 
 
 As no rent-day should be ! 
 
 I have infected with impure 
 
 Disorders my first years. 
 But I '11 to penitence inure 
 Those that succeed. There is no cure 
 
 Nor antidote but tears. 
 
 1 music, used here plurally for musicians 2 factor, business-manager 
 
56 WILLIAM HAB1NGTON BOOK I 
 
 LXXVI 
 NOX NOCTI INDICAT SCIENTIAM 
 
 T17THEN I survey the bright 
 
 Vv Celestial sphere; 
 So rich with jewels hung, that Night 
 Doth like an Ethiop bride appear: 
 
 My soul her wings doth spread 
 
 And heaven-ward flies, 
 The Almighty's mysteries to read 
 In the large volumes of the skies. 
 
 For the bright firmament 
 
 Shoots forth no flame 
 So silent, but is eloquent 
 In speaking the Creator's name. 
 
 No unregarded star 
 
 Contracts its light 
 Into so small a character, 
 Removed far from our human sight, 
 
 But if we steadfast look 
 We shall discern 
 In it, as in some holy book, 
 How man may heavenly knowledge learn. 
 
 It tells the conqueror, 
 
 That far-stretch'd power, 
 Which his proud dangers traffic for, 
 Is but the triumph of an hour : 
 
 That from the farthest North, 
 
 Some nation may, 
 Yet undiscover'd, issue forth, 
 And o'er his new-got conquest sway : 
 
 Some nation yet shut in 
 
 With hills of ice 
 
 May be let out to scourge his sin, 
 Till they shall equal him in vice. 
 
 And then they likewise shall 
 
 Their ruin have ; 
 
 For as yourselves your empires fall, 
 And every kingdom hath a grave. 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 57 
 
 Thus those celestial fires, 
 
 Though seeming mute, 
 The fallacy of our desires 
 And all the pride of life confute : 
 
 For they have watch'd since first 
 
 The World had birth : 
 And found sin in itself accurst, 
 And nothing permanent on Earth. 
 
 LXXVII 
 
 SHOW me more love, my dearest LORD ; 
 Oh turn away Thy clouded face, 
 Give me some secret look or word 
 That may betoken love and grace ; 
 No day or time is black to me 
 But that wherein I see not Thee. 
 Show me more love : a clouded face 
 Strikes deeper than an angry blow ; 
 Love me and kill me by Thy grace, 
 I shall not much bewail my woe. 
 
 But even to be 
 
 In heaven unloved of Thee, 
 Were hell in heaven for to see. 
 Then hear my cry and help afford : 
 Show me more love, my dearest LORD! 
 
 Show me more love, my dearest LORD, 
 
 I cannot think, nor speak, nor pray ; 
 
 Thy work stands still, my strength is stored 
 
 In Thee alone. Oh come away, 
 
 Show me Thy beauties, call them mine, 
 
 My heart and tongue will soon be Thine. 
 
 Show me more love ; or if my heart 
 
 Too common be for such a guest, 
 
 Let Thy good Spirit, by Its art, 
 
 Make entry and put out the rest; 
 For 'tis Thy nest. 
 Then he 's of heaven possest, 
 That heaven hath in his breast. 
 
 Then hear my cry, and help afford ; 
 
 Show me more love, my dearest LORD ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
58 ANONYMOUS BOOK 
 
 LXXVIII 
 THE INVITATION 
 
 LORD, what unvalued pleasures crown'd 
 The days of old ; 
 
 When Thou wert so familiar found, 
 Those days were gold ; 
 
 When Abram wish'd Thou couldst afford 
 
 With him to feast; 
 When Lot but said, ' Turn in, my LORD,' 
 
 Thou wert his guest. 
 
 But, ah ! this heart of mine doth pant, 
 
 And beat for Thee ; 
 Yet Thou art strange, and wilt not grant 
 
 Thyself to me. 
 
 What, shall Thy people be so dear 
 
 To Thee no more? 
 Or is not heaven to earth as near 
 
 As heretofore? 
 
 The famish'd raven's hoarser cry 
 
 Finds out Thine ear; 
 My soul is famish'd, and I die 
 
 Unless Thou hear. 
 
 O Thou great ALPHA ! King of kings ! 
 
 Or bow to me, 
 Or lend my soul seraphic wings, 
 
 To get to Thee. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXIX 
 D. O. M. 
 
 INTERNAL Mover, whose diffused glory, 
 lj To show our grovelling reason what Thou art, 
 Unfolds itself in clouds of nature's story, 
 
 Where Man, Thy proudest creature, acts his part; 
 Whom yet, alas, I know not why, we call 
 The world's contracted sum, the little all; 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 59 
 
 For what are we but lumps of walking clay ? 
 
 Why should we swell ? whence should our spirits rise ? 
 Are not brute beasts as strong, and birds as gay, 
 Trees longer lived, and creeping things as wise ? 
 Only our souls were left an inward light, 
 To feel our weakness, and confess Thy might. 
 
 Thou then, our strength, Father of life and death, 
 
 To whom our thanks, our vows, ourselves we owe, 
 From me, Thy tenant of this fading breath, 
 
 Accept those lines which from Thy goodness flow; 
 And Thou, that wert Thy regal Prophet's muse, 
 Do not Thy praise in weaker strains refuse ! 
 
 Let these poor notes ascend unto Thy throne, 
 Where majesty doth sit with mercy crown'd, 
 Where my Redeemer lives, in Whom alone 
 
 The errors of my wandering life are drown'd : 
 Where all the choir of Heaven resound the same, 
 That only Thine, Thine is the saving Name ! 
 
 Well, then, my soul, joy in the midst of pain ; 
 
 Thy CHRIST, that conquer'd Hell, shall from above 
 With greater triumph yet return again, 
 
 And conquer His own justice with His love ; 
 Commanding earth and seas to render those 
 Unto His bliss, for whom He paid His woes. 
 
 Now have I done ; now are my thoughts at peace ; 
 
 And now my joys are stronger than my grief: 
 I feel those comforts, that shall never cease, 
 
 Future in hope, but present in belief; 
 Thy words are true, Thy promises are just, 
 And Thou wilt find Thy dearly-bought in dust! 
 
 H. Wotton 
 
 LXXX 
 
 RISE, O my soul ! with thy desires to heaven, 
 And with divinest contemplation use 
 Thy time, where Time's eternity is given, 
 
 And let vain thoughts no more thy thoughts abuse; 
 But down in [midnight] darkness let them lie ; 
 So live thy better, let thy worse thoughts die ! 
 
 And thou, my soul, inspired with holy flame, 
 View and review, with most regardful eye, 
 
 That holy Cross, whence thy salvation came, 
 On which thy Saviour and thy sin did die ! 
 
60 ANONYMOUS BOOK I 
 
 For in that sacred object is much pleasure, 
 And in that Saviour is my life, my treasure. 
 
 To thee, O JESU ! I direct my eyes ; 
 
 To Thee my hands, to Thee my humble knees ; 
 To Thee my heart shall offer sacrifice ; 
 
 To Thee my thoughts, Who my thoughts only sees : 
 To Thee myself, myself and all I give ; 
 To Thee I die; to Thee I only live! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 LXXXI 
 ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST'S NATIVITY 
 
 THIS is the month, and this the happy morn, 
 Wherein the Son of Heaven's eternal King, 
 Of wedded Maid and Virgin Mother born, 
 Our great redemption from above did bring; 
 For so the holy sages once did sing, 
 That He our deadly forfeit should release, 
 And with His Father work us a perpetual peace. 
 
 That glorious Form, that light unsufferable, 
 And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, 
 Wherewith He wont at Heaven's high council-table 
 To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, 
 He laid aside; and, here with us to be, 
 Forsook the courts of everlasting day, 
 And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. 
 
 Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein 
 Afford a present to the Infant GOD? 
 Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, 
 To welcome Him to this His new abode, 
 Now while the heaven, by the sun's team untrod, 
 Hath took no print of the approaching light, 
 And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright ? 
 
 See how from far upon the eastern road 
 The star-led wizards haste with odours sweet ! 
 Oh run, prevent them with thy humble ode, 
 And lay it lowly at His blessed feet; 
 Have thou the honour first thy LORD to greet, 
 And join thy voice Unto the angel quire, 
 From out His secret altar touch'd with hallow'd fire. 
 
BOOK I JOHN MILTON 6 1 
 
 THE HYMN 
 
 It was the winter wild, 
 While the heaven-born Child 
 
 All meanly wrapt in the rude manger lies; 
 Nature, in awe to Him, 
 Had doffd her gaudy trim, 
 
 With her great Master so to sympathize : 
 It was no season then for her 
 To wanton with the Sun, her lusty paramour. 
 
 Only with speeches fair 
 She woos the gentle air 
 
 To hide her guilty front with innocent snow, 
 And on her naked shame, 
 Pollute with sinful blame, 
 
 The saintly veil of maiden white to throw ; 
 Confounded, that her Maker's eyes 
 Should look so near upon her foul deformities. 
 
 But He, her fears to cease, 
 Sent down the meek-eyed Peace; 
 
 She, crown'd with olive green, came softly sliding 
 Down through the turning sphere 1 
 His ready harbinger, 
 
 With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing, 
 And waving wide her myrtle wand, 
 She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. 
 
 No war, or battle's sound, 
 Was heard the world around ; 
 
 The idle spear and shield were high uphung; 
 The hooked chariot stood, 
 Unstain'd with hostile blood ; 
 
 The trumpet spake not to the armed throng; 
 And kings sat still with awful eye, 
 As if they surely knew their sovran LORD was by. 
 
 But peaceful was the night, 
 Wherein the Prince of Light 
 
 His reign of peace upon the earth began : 
 The winds with wonder whist 2 
 Smoothly the waters kiss'd, 
 
 Whispering new joys to the mild Ocean ; 
 Who now hath quite forgot to rave, 
 While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. 
 
62 JOHN MILTON BOOK I 
 
 The stars with deep amaze 
 Stand fix'd in steadfast gaze, 
 
 Bending one way their precious influence ; 
 And will not take their flight, 
 For all the morning light, 
 
 Or Lucifer 3 that often warn'd them thence ; 
 But in their glimmering orbs did glow, 
 Until their Lord Himself bespake, and bid them go. 
 
 And though the shady gloom 
 Had given day her room, 
 
 The Sun himself withheld his wonted speed, 
 And hid his head for shame, 
 As his inferior flame 
 
 The new-enlighten'd world no more should need : 
 He saw a greater Sun appear 
 Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. 
 
 The shepherds on the lawn, 
 Or ere the point of dawn, 
 
 Sat simply chatting in a rustic row ; 
 Full little thought they than 4 , 
 That the mighty Pan 5 
 
 Was kindly come to live with them below; 
 Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep, 
 Was all that did their silly 6 thoughts so busy keep. 
 
 When such music sweet 
 
 Their hearts and ears did greet, 
 
 As never was by mortal finger strook; 
 Divinely-warbled voice 
 Answering the stringed noise, 
 
 As all their souls in blissful rapture took : 
 The air, such pleasure loth to lose, 
 With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. 
 
 Nature that heard such sound 
 Beneath the hollow round 
 
 Of Cynthia's 7 seat, the airy region thrilling, 
 Now was almost won 
 To think her part was done, 
 
 And that her reign had here its last fulfilling; 
 She knew such harmony alone 
 Could hold all Heaven and Earth in happier union. 
 
 At last surrounds their sight 
 A globe of circular light, 
 
 That with long beams the shame-faced night array 'd : 
 
BOOK I JOHN MIL TON 63 
 
 The helmed Cherubim, 
 And sworded Seraphim, 
 
 Are seen in glittering ranks with wings display'd, 
 Harping in loud and solemn quire 
 With unexpressive 8 notes to Heaven's new-born Heir. 
 
 Such music (as 'tis said) 
 Before was never made, 
 
 But when of old the Sons of Morning sung, 
 While the Creator great 
 His constellations set, 
 
 And the well-balanced World on hinges hung, 
 And cast the dark foundations deep, 
 And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. 
 
 Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! 
 Once bless our human ears, 
 
 (If ye have power to touch our senses so,) 
 And let your silver chime 
 Move in melodious time, 
 
 And let the bass of Heaven's deep organ blow; 
 And with your ninefold harmony 
 Make up full consort 9 to the angelic symphony. 
 
 For if such holy song 
 Enwrap our fancy long, 
 
 Time will run back and fetch the Age of Gold, 
 And speckled Vanity 
 Will sicken soon and die, 
 
 And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould, 
 And Hell itself will pass away, 
 And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. 
 
 Yea, Truth and Justice then 
 Will down return to men, 
 
 Orb'd in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing, 
 Mercy will sit between, 
 Throned in celestial sheen, 
 
 With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering ; 
 And Heaven, as at some festival, 
 Will open wide the gates of her high palace-hall. 
 
 But wisest Fate says No, 
 This must not yet be so : 
 
 The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy 
 That on the bitter Cross 
 Must redeem our loss; 
 
 So both Himself and us to glorify : 
 
64 JOHN MILTON BOOK ) 
 
 Yet first, to those ychain'd in sleep, 
 The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep 
 
 With such a horrid clang 
 As on Mount Sinai rang, 
 
 While the red fire and smouldering clouds out-brake : 
 The aged Earth aghast, 
 With terror of that blast, 
 
 Shall from the surface to the centre shake ; 
 When, at the world's last session, 
 The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread His throne. 
 
 And then at last our bliss 
 Full and perfect is, 
 
 But now begins ; for from this happy day 
 The old Dragon under ground 
 In straiter limits bound, 
 
 Not half so far casts his usurped sway, 
 And, wroth to see his kingdom fail, 
 Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. 
 
 The oracles are dumb. 
 No voice or hideous hum 
 
 Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving : 
 Apollo from his shrine 
 Can no more divine, 
 
 With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. 
 No nightly trance, or breathed spell, 
 Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. 
 
 The lonely mountains o'er, 
 And the resounding shore, 
 
 A voice of weeping heard and loud lament ; 
 From haunted spring and dale, 
 Edged with poplar pale, 
 
 The parting Genius is with sighing sent; 
 With flower-inwoven tresses torn 
 The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. 
 
 In consecrated earth, 
 And on the holy hearth, 
 
 The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; 
 In urns and altars round, 
 A drear and dying sound 
 
 Affrights the Flamens at their service quaint; 
 And the chill marble seems to sweat. 
 While each peculiar Power foregoes his wonted seat 
 
BOOK I JOHN MILTON 65 
 
 Peor and Baalim 
 
 Forsake their temples dim, 
 
 With that twice batter'd god of Palestine ; 
 And mooned Ashtaroth, 
 Heaven's queen and mother both, 
 
 Now sits not girt with tapers' holy shine; 
 The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn, 
 In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. 
 
 And sullen Moloch, fled, 
 Hath left in shadows dread 
 
 His burning idol all of blackest hue ; 
 In vain with cymbals' ring 
 They call the grisly king, 
 
 In dismal dance about the furnace blue ; 
 The brutish gods of Nile as fast, 
 Isis, and Orus, and the dog Anubis, haste. 
 
 Nor is Osiris seen 
 
 In Memphian grove or green, 
 
 Trampling the unshower'd 10 grass with lowings loud 
 Nor can he be at rest 
 Within his sacred chest, 
 
 Nought but profoundest Hell can be his shroud ; 
 In vain with timbrell'd anthems dark 
 The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipp'd ark. 
 
 He feels from Juda's land 
 The dreaded Infant's hand ; 
 
 The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn ; 
 Nor all the gods beside, 
 Longer dare abide, 
 
 Nor Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : 
 Our Babe, to show His Godhead true, 
 Can in His swaddling bands control the damned crew. 
 
 So when the sun in bed, 
 Curtain'd with cloudy red, 
 
 Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, 
 The flocking shadows pale 
 Troop to the infernal jail ; 
 
 Each fetter'd ghost slips to his several grave; 
 And, the yellow-skirted Fays 
 Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. 
 
 But. see ! the Virgin blest 
 Hatn". laid her Babe to rest: 
 
66 JOHN MILTON BOOK I 
 
 Time is our tedious song should here have ending ; 
 Heaven's youngest-teemed 11 star 
 Hath fix'd her polish'd car, 
 
 Her sleeping LORD with handmaid lamp attending : 
 And all about the courtly stable 
 Bright harness'd 12 Angels sit in order serviceable. 
 
 J. Milton 
 
 1 turning' sphere, of the Universe - whist , hushed * Lucifer, the Morn- 
 ing Star 4 than, then 5 Pan, used here for God '' silly, simple 
 7 Cynthia, the Moon * ^inexpressive, inexpressible 1J consort, concert 
 10 unshowerd, watered by Nile only ll teeme'd) born ^ harness'd, armoured 
 
 LXXXII 
 UPON THE CIRCUMCISION 
 
 YE flaming Powers, and winged warriors bright, 
 That erst with music, and triumphant song, 
 First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear, 
 So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along 
 Through the soft silence of the listening night ; 
 Now mourn ; and if 1 , sad share with us to bear, 
 Your fiery essence can distil no tear, 
 Burn in your sighs, and borrow 
 Seas wept from our deep sorrow : 
 He Who with all Heaven's heraldry whilere 
 Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease; 
 Alas, how soon our sin 
 
 Sore doth begin 
 
 His Infancy to seize! 
 
 O more exceeding love, or law more just? 
 Just law indeed, but more exceeding love! 
 For we by rightful doom remediless 
 Were lost in death, till He that dwelt above 
 High throned in secret bliss, for us frail dust 
 Emptied His glory, even to nakedness ; 
 And that great covenant which we still transgress 
 Entirely satisfied, 
 And the full wrath beside 
 Of vengeful justice bore for our excess, 
 And seals obedience first with wounding smart 
 This day ; but O ! ere long 
 Huge pangs and strong 
 
 Will pierce more near His heart. 
 
 1 See Note 
 
BOOK I JOHN MILTON 67 
 
 LXXXIII 
 ON TIME 
 
 FLY, envious Time, till thou run out thy race; 
 Call on the lazy leaden-stepping Hours, 
 Whose speed is but the heavy plummet's pace; 
 And glut thyself with what thy womb devours, 
 Which is no more than what is false and vain, 
 And merely mortal dross; 
 So little is our loss, 
 So little is thy gain ! 
 
 For when as each thing bad thou hast entomb'd, 
 And last of all thy greedy self consumed, 
 Then long Eternity shall greet our bliss 
 With an individual kiss ; 
 And joy shall overtake us as a flood : 
 When every thing that is sincerely good 
 And perfectly divine, 
 
 With Truth, and Peace, and Love, shall ever shine 
 About the supreme Throne 
 Of Him, t' Whose happy-making sight alone 
 When once our heavenly-guided soul shall climb, 
 Then, all this earthy grossness quit, 
 Attired with stars, we shall for ever sit, 
 Triumphing over Death, and Chance, and thee, O Time ! 
 
 LXXXIV 
 AT A SOLEMN MUSIC 
 
 BLEST pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy, 
 Sphere-born harmonious Sisters, Voice and Verse, 
 Wed your divine sounds, and mixt power employ, 
 Dead things with inbreathed sense able to pierce ; 
 And to our high-raised phantasy present 
 That undisturbed song of pure concent *, 
 Aye sung before the sapphire-colour'd Throne 
 To Him that sits thereon, 
 With saintly shout and solemn jubilee ; 
 Where the bright Seraphim in burning row 
 Their loud uplifted Angel-trumpets blow, 
 And the Cherubic host in thousand quires 
 Touch their immortal harps of golden wires, 
 With those just Spirits that wear victorious palms, 
 Hymns devout and holy psalms 
 Singing everlastingly : 
 
6cS JOHN MILTON BOOK I 
 
 That we on Earth, with undiscording voice, 
 May rightly answer that melodious noise ; 
 As once we did, till disproportion'd sin 
 Jarr'd against nature's chime, and with harsh din 
 Broke the fair music that all creatures made 
 To their great LORD, Whose love their motion sway'd 
 In perfect diapason, whilst they stood 
 In first obedience, and their state of good. 
 O may we soon again renew that song, 
 And keep in tune with Heaven, till GOD ere long 
 To His celestial consort 2 us unite, 
 To live with Him, and sing in endless morn of light. 
 1 concent symphony '- consort, concert 
 
 LXXXV 
 ON HIS BLINDNESS 
 
 WHEN I consider how my light is spent, 
 Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, 
 And that one talent, which is death to hide, 
 Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent 
 
 To serve therewith my Maker, and present 
 My true account, lest He, returning, chide, 
 ' Doth GOD exact day-labour, light denied ? ' 
 
 I fondly ask : But Patience, to prevent 
 
 That murmur, soon replies, 'Goo doth not need 
 Either man's work or His own gifts : Who best 
 
 Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best : His state 
 Is Kingly : Thousands at His bidding speed, 
 And post o'er land and ocean without rest : 
 They also serve who only stand and wait.' 
 
 LXXXVI 
 LIFE AND DEATH 
 
 FRAIL Life ! in which, through mists of human breath 
 We grope for truth, and make our progress slow, 
 Because by passion blinded ; till, by death 
 Our passions ending, we begin to know. 
 
 O reverend Death ! whose looks can soon advise 
 E'en scornful youth, whilst priests their doctrine waste ; 
 Yet mocks us too ; for he does make us wise, 
 When by his coming our affairs are past. 
 
BOOK I THOMAS PESTEL 69 
 
 O harmless Death ! whom still the valiant brave. 
 The wise expect, the sorrowful invite, 
 And all the good embrace, who know the grave 
 A short dark passage to eternal light. 
 
 W. Davenant 
 
 LXXXVII 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 THOU Whose nature cannot sleep, 
 On my temples sentry keep! 
 Guard me 'gainst those watchful foes, 
 Whose eyes are open while mine close; 
 Let no dreams my head infest, 
 But such as Jacob's temples blest. 
 While I do rest, my soul advance; 
 Make me to sleep a holy trance, 
 That I may, my rest being wrought, 
 Awake into some holy thought ; 
 And with as active vigour run 
 My course as doth the nimble sun. 
 Sleep is a death ; Oh ! make me try, 
 By sleeping, what it is to die : 
 And as gently lay my head 
 On my grave, as now my bed. 
 Howe'er I rest, great GOD, let me 
 Awake again at last with Thee. 
 And thus assured, behold I lie 
 Securely, or to wake or die. 
 
 T. Browne 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 PSALM FOR CHRISTMAS DAY 
 
 FAIREST of morning lights appear, 
 Thou blest and gaudy day 1 , 
 On which was born our Saviour dear; 
 Arise and come away! 
 
 This day prevents His day of doom ; 
 
 His mercy now is nigh; 
 The mighty GOD of Love is come, 
 
 The Dayspring from on high ! 
 
7 THOMAS PEST EL 
 
 Behold the great Creator makes 
 Himself an house of clay, 
 
 A robe of Virgin-flesh He takes 
 Which He will wear for aye. 
 
 Hark, hark, the wise Eternal Word 
 Like a weak infant cries : 
 
 In form of servant is the LORD, 
 And GOD in cradle lies. 
 
 This wonder struck the world amazed, 
 It shook the starry frame ; 
 
 Squadrons of Spirits stood and gazed, 
 Then down in troops they came. 
 
 Glad Shepherds ran to view this sight ; 
 
 A quire of Angels sings ; 
 And eastern Sages with delight 
 
 Adore this King of kings. 
 
 Join then, all hearts that are not stone, 
 And all our voices prove, 
 
 To celebrate this Holy One, 
 The GOD of peace and love. 
 
 T. Pcstcl 
 
 1 gaudy day, festival 
 
 LXXXIX 
 A PSALM FOR SUNDAY NIGHT 
 
 OSING the glories of our LORD; 
 His grace and truth resound, 
 And His stupendous acts record, 
 Whose mercies have no bound ! 
 
 He made the all-informing light 
 
 And hosts of Angels fair ; 
 'Tis He with shadows clothes the night, 
 
 He clouds or clears the air. 
 
 Those restless skies with stars enchased 
 
 He on firm hinges set ; 
 The wave-embraced earth He placed 
 
 His hanging cabinet. 
 
 We in His summer-sunshine stand, 
 
 And by His favour grow ; 
 We gather what His bounteous hand 
 
 Is pleased to bestow. 
 
BOOK I ROBERT HERRICK 7 1 
 
 When He contracts His brow, we mourn, 
 
 And all our strength is vain ; 
 To former dust in death we turn, 
 
 Till He inspire again. 
 
 XC 
 THE WHITE ISLAND 
 
 IN this world, (the Isle of Dreams), 
 While we sit by sorrow's streams, 
 Tears and terrors are our themes 
 Reciting : 
 
 But when once from hence we fly, 
 More and more approaching nigh 
 Unto young Eternity 
 
 Uniting : 
 
 In that whiter Island, where 
 Things are evermore sincere ; 
 Candour 1 here, and lustre there 
 Delighting : 
 
 There no monstrous fancies shall 
 Out of Hell an horror call, 
 To create (or cause at all) 
 
 Aff righting. 
 
 There in calm and cooling sleep 
 We our eyes shall never steep ; 
 But eternal watch shall keep, 
 Attending 2 
 
 Pleasures, such as shall pursue 
 Me immortalized, and you ; 
 And fresh joys, as never too 
 
 Have ending. 
 
 R. Herrick 
 
 1 candour, whiteness 2 attending, waiting for 
 
 XCI 
 DEATH 
 
 THOU bidst me come away, 
 And I '11 no longer stay, 
 Than for to shed some tears 
 For faults of former years ; 
 
7* ROBERT HER RICK BOOK I 
 
 And to repent some crimes, 
 Done in the present times : 
 And next, to take a bit 
 Of Bread, and Wine with it : 
 To d'on 1 my robes of love, 
 Fit for the place above; 
 To gird my loins about 
 With charity throughout; 
 And so to travel hence 
 With feet of innocence : 
 These done, I '11 only cry 
 * GOD mercy ' ; and so die. 
 
 * d'on, so spelt for do on 
 
 XCII 
 ETERNITY 
 
 O YEARS ! and Age ! Farewell : 
 Behold I go, 
 Where I do know 
 Infinity to dwell. 
 
 And these mine eyes shall see 
 
 All times, how they 
 
 Are lost i* the Sea 
 Of vast Eternity. 
 
 Where never Moon shall sway 
 
 The Stars ; but she, 
 
 And Night, shall be 
 Drown'd in one endless Day. 
 
 XCIII 
 GRACE FOR A CHILD 
 
 WHAT GOD gives, and what we take, 
 'Tis a gift for Christ His sake : 
 Be the meal of beans and pease, 
 GOD be thank'd for those and these : 
 Have we flesh, or have we fish, 
 All are fragments from His dish. 
 He His Church save, and the King, 
 And our Peace here, like a Spring, 
 Make it ever flourishing. 
 
BOOK I ROBERT HERRICK 73 
 
 XCIV 
 A THANKSGIVING TO GOD FOR HIS HOUSE 
 
 LORD, Thou hast given me a cell 
 Wherein to dwell ; 
 A little house, whose humble roof 
 
 Is weather-proof; 
 Under the spars of which I lie 
 
 Both soft, and dry ; 
 Where Thou my chamber for to ward 
 
 Hast set a Guard 
 Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep 
 
 Me, while I sleep. 
 Low is my porch, as is my Fate, 
 
 Both void of state ; 
 And yet the threshold of my door 
 
 Is worn by the poor, 
 Who thither come, and freely get 
 
 Good words, or meat : 
 Like as my Parlour, so my Hall 
 
 And Kitchen 's small : 
 A little Buttery, and therein 
 
 A little Bin, 
 Which keeps my little loaf of Bread 
 
 Unchipt, unflead l : 
 Some brittle sticks of thorn or briar 
 
 Make me a fire, 
 Close by whose living coal I sit, 
 
 And glow like it. 
 LORD, I confess too, when I dine, 
 
 The Pulse is Thine, 
 And all those other bits, that be 
 
 There placed by Thee ; 
 The Worts, the Purslain, and the mess 
 
 Of water-cress, 
 Which of Thy kindness Thou hast sent ; 
 
 And my content 
 Makes those, and my beloved Beet, 
 
 To be more sweet. 
 'Tis Thou that crown'st my glittering Hearth 
 
 With guiltless mirth ; 
 And giv'st me Wassail-bowls to drink, 
 
 Spiced to the brink. 
 Lord, 'tis Thy plenty-dropping hand 
 
 That soils a my land ; 
 And ghrst me, for my bushel sown, 
 
 Twice ten for one : 
 
74 ROBERT HERRICK BOOK I 
 
 Thou mak'st my teeming Hen to lay 
 
 Her egg each day : 
 Besides my healthful Ewes to bear 
 
 Me twins each year : 
 The while the conduits of my Kine 
 
 Run Cream, (for Wine.) 
 All these, and better, Thou dost send 
 
 Me, to this end, 
 That I should render, for my part, 
 
 A thankful heart ; 
 Which, fired with incense, I resign, 
 
 As wholly Thine ; 
 But the acceptance, that must be, 
 
 My CHRIST, by Thee. 
 : iinflead, maybe, unmouldy, or, unchipped 2 soils, manures 
 
 xcv 
 
 LITANY 
 
 IN the hour of my distress, 
 When temptations me oppress, 
 And when I my sins confess, 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When I lie within my bed, 
 Sick in heart and sick in head, 
 And with doubts discomforted, 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When the house doth sigh and weep, 
 And the world is drown'd in sleep, 
 Yet mine eyes the watch do keep ; 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When the artless Doctor sees 
 No one hope, but of his fees, 
 And his skill runs on the lees ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me 1 
 
 When his potion and his pill 
 Has or none, or little skill, 
 Meet for nothing, but to kill ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me 1 
 
 When the passing-bell doth toll, 
 And the Furies in a shoal 
 Come to fright a parting soul ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me 1. 
 
MILDMA Y LORD WESTMORELAND 75 
 
 When the tapers now burn blue, 
 And the comforters are few, 
 And that number more than true 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When the Priest his last hath pray'd, 
 And I nod to what is said, 
 'Cause my speech is now decay'd ; 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When (GoD knows) I'm toss'd about, 
 Either with despair, or doubt; 
 Yet before the glass be out, 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When the Tempter me pursu'th 
 With the sins of all my youth, 
 And half damns me with untruth ; 
 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me ! 
 
 When the Judgment is reveal'd, 
 And that open'd which was seal'd, 
 When to Thee I have appeal'd ; 
 Sweet Spirit comfort me! 
 
 XCVI 
 ON EASTER DAY 
 
 EACH thing below here hath its day, 
 As in the Proverb 's said ; 
 And so it comes to pass that they l 
 
 Conquer are Conquered. 
 For He who for man's fault assign'd 
 
 Death, and a Grave's reward, 
 Was pleased those bands for to unbind, 
 
 And so Himself not spared ; 
 But issuing forth His heavenly throne, 
 
 Vouchsafes the earth to bless. 
 And became here a little One, 
 
 To make our crimes go less : 
 Not that our disobedience can 
 
 In weight or measure shrink, 
 But that this Great Physician 
 
 Before us takes the drink, 
 That bitter potion we had 
 
 Deserved to quaff; and thus 
 He weeps Himself, and becomes sad 
 
 To purchase joy for us. 
 
76 MILDMAY LORD WESTMORELAND BOOK I 
 
 And more than so : for everyone 
 
 Will for his friend lay down 
 Some spark of love : but He alone 
 
 His enemies to crown 
 Refused not Death ; so deep from high 
 
 His mercies did extend ; 
 And if you ask the reason why, 
 
 'Twas mere for Mercy's end. 
 Yet that grim Death and mouldy Grave 
 
 No longer be His prison 
 Than He Himself alone would have, 
 
 He bides not there, but's risen. 
 And if we would as Conquerors rise 
 
 With Him who vanquish'd those, 
 We must not fear, where danger lies, 
 
 For Him all to expose, 
 But though the grave do open stand 
 
 And persecutions reign 
 At Hell's desire and Death's command, 
 
 Look on our Sovereign. 
 His Banner doth present the Cross 
 
 He bore, and bare Him too 
 For us ; and we must count it loss 
 
 To fail what He did do. 
 Thus Sin and Hell, the Grave and Death, 
 
 Must quit the field and fly, 
 Whilst, in contempt of borrow'd breath, 
 
 We'd live Eternally. 
 Thrice happy day, whereon the Sun 
 
 Of Righteousness did rise, 
 And such a glorious conquest won, 
 
 By being our Sacrifice ! 
 And as unhappy he, that shall 
 
 Not find the white 2 and best 
 Of Stones, to mark the same withal, 
 
 And prize 't above the rest. 
 
 M. Lord Westmoreland 
 
 1 they [who] 2 white, put for "whitest 
 
 XCVII 
 ON JUSTICE AND MERCY 
 
 JUSTICE doth call for vengeance on my sins, 
 J And threatens death as guerdon for the same; 
 Mercy to plead for pardon then begins, 
 
 With saying, CHRIST hath undergone the shame. 
 
BOOK I ANDREW MARVELL 77 
 
 Justice shews me an angry GOD offended, 
 And Mercy shews a Saviour crucified : 
 
 Justice says, I that sinn'd must be condemned : 
 Mercy replies, CHRIST for my sins hath died. 
 
 Grim Justice threats with a revengeful rod : 
 
 Meek Mercy shews me an appeased GOD. 
 
 LORD ! though my sins make me for Justice fit, 
 Through CHRIST let Mercy triumph over it. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XCVIII 
 PEACE 
 
 I SOUGHT for Peace, but could not find; 
 I sought it in the city, 
 But they were of another mind, 
 
 The more's the pity. 
 I sought for Peace of country swain, 
 
 But yet I could not find ; 
 So I, returning home again, 
 
 Left Peace behind. 
 Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell ? said I ; - 
 
 Methought a voice was given, 
 e Peace dwelt not here, long since did fly 
 
 To GOD in heaven.' 
 Thought I, this echo is but vain, 
 
 To folly 'tis of kin ; 
 Anon, I heard it tell me plain, 
 
 'Twas kill'd by sin. 
 Then I believed the former voice, 
 
 And rested well content; 
 Laid down and slept, rose, did rejoice, 
 
 And then to Heaven went. 
 
 There I enquired for Peace, and found it true : 
 An heavenly plant it was, and sweetly grew. 
 
 Anon. 
 
 XCIX 
 SONG OF THE EMIGRANTS IN BERMUDA 
 
 WHERE the remote Bermudas ride 
 In the ocean's bosom unespied, 
 From a small boat that rowM along 
 The listening winds received this song : 
 'What should we do but sing His praise 
 That led us through the watery maze 
 
ANDREW MARVELL BOOK I 
 
 Where He the huge sea-monsters wracks, 
 
 That lift the deep upon their backs, 
 
 Unto an isle so long unknown, 
 
 And yet far kinder than our own? 
 
 He lands us on a grassy stage, 
 
 Safe from the storms, and prelate's rage : 
 
 He gave us this eternal Spring 
 
 Which here enamels everything, 
 
 And sends the fowls to us in care 
 
 On daily visits through the air. 
 
 He hangs in shades the orange bright 
 
 Like golden lamps in a green night, 
 
 And does in the pomegranates close 
 
 Jewels more rich than Ormus shows : 
 
 He makes the figs our mouths to meet, 
 
 And throws the melons at our feet; 
 
 But apples plants of such a price, 
 
 No tree could ever bear them twice. 
 
 With cedars chosen by His hand 
 
 From Lebanon He stores the land ; 
 
 And makes the hollow seas that roar 
 
 Proclaim the ambergris on shore. 
 
 He cast (of which we rather boast) 
 
 The Gospel's pearl upon our coast ; 
 
 And in these rocks for us did frame 
 
 A temple where to sound His name. 
 
 O let our voice His praise exalt 
 
 Till it arrive at Heaven's vault, 
 
 Which thence (perhaps) rebounding, may 
 
 Echo beyond the Mexique bay ! ' 
 
 Thus sung they in the English boat 
 
 A holy and a cheerful note : 
 
 And all the way, to guide their chime, 
 
 With falling oars they kept the time. 
 
 A. Marvell 
 
 C 
 THE CORONET 
 
 WHEN for the thorns with which I long, too long, 
 With many a piercing wound, 
 My Saviour's head have crown'd, 
 I seek with garlands to redress that wrong: 
 
 Through every garden, every mead, 
 I gather flowers (my fruits are only flowers), 
 
 Dismantling all the fragrant towers 1 
 That once adorn' d my shepherdesse's head : 
 
1 ' oo K I HE NR Y VA UGH A N 79 
 
 And now, when I have summ'd up all my store, 
 
 Thinking, (so I myself deceive), 
 
 So rich a chaplet thence to weave 
 As never yet the King of Glory wore : 
 
 Alas! I find the Serpent old, 
 
 That, twining-in his speckled breast, 
 
 About the flowers disguised, does fold 
 
 With wreaths of fame and interest. 
 Ah, foolish man, that would'st debase with them, 
 And mortal glory, Heaven's diadem ! 
 But Thou Who only could'st the Serpent tame. 
 Either his slippery knots at once untie, 
 And disentangle all his winding snare; 
 Or shatter too, with him, my curious frame 2 , 
 And let these wither so that he may die 
 Though set with skill, and chosen out with care : 
 That they, while Thou on both their spoils dost tread, 
 May crown Thy feet, that could not crown Thy head. 
 
 1 towers^ garlands to crown a girl 2 frame, his own ingenious poetry 
 
 CI 
 
 To my most merciful, my most loving, and dearly-loved REDEEMER, 
 the ever-blessed, the only HOLY and JUST ONE, 
 
 JESUS CHRIST, 
 The Son of the living God, and the Sacred Virgin Mary. 
 
 DEAR LORD, 'tis finished! and now he 
 That copied it, presents it Thee. 
 'Twas Thine first, and to Thee returns, 
 From Thee it shined, though here it burns. 
 If the sun rise on rocks, is 't right, 
 To call it their inherent light? 
 No, nor can I say, this is mine, 
 For, dearest JESUS, 'tis all Thine, 
 
 As Thy clothes, when Thou with clothes wert clad 
 Both light from Thee, and virtue had; 
 And now as then within this place 
 Thou to poor rags dost still give grace. 
 
 My dear Redeemer, the world's light, 
 And life too, and my heart's delight! 
 For all Thy mercies and Thy truth, 
 Shew'd to me in my sinful youth, 
 For my sad failings and my wild 
 Murmurings at Thee, when most mild ; 
 
80 HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 For all my secret faults, and each 
 
 Frequent relapse and wilful breach, 
 
 For all designs meant against Thee, 
 
 And every publish' d vanity 
 
 Which Thou divinely hast forgiven, 
 
 While Thy blood wash'd me white as Heaven, 
 
 I nothing have to give to Thee, 
 
 But this Thy own gift, given to me. 
 
 Refuse it not ! for now Thy token 
 
 Can tell Thee where a heart is broken. 
 
 H. Vaugha>\ 
 CII 
 THE RETREAT 
 
 HAPPY those early days, when I 
 Shined in my Angel-infancy! 
 Before I understood this place 
 Appointed for my second race, 
 Or taught my soul to fancy ought 
 But a white celestial thought ; 
 When yet I had not walk'd above 
 A mile or two from my first Love, 
 And looking back at that short space 
 Could see a glimpse of His bright face : 
 When on some gilded cloud, or flower, 
 My gazing soul would dwell an hour, 
 And in those weaker glories spy 
 Some shadows of eternity : 
 Before I taught my tongue to wound 
 My Conscience with a sinful sound, 
 Or had the black art to dispense 
 A several sin to every sense, 
 But felt through all this fleshly dress 
 Bright shoots of everlastingness. 
 
 O how I long to travel back, 
 And tread again that ancient track ! 
 That I might once more reach that plain 
 Where first I left my glorious train l 
 From whence the enlighten'd spirit sees 
 That shady City of Palm-trees. 
 But ah ! my soul with too much stay 
 Is drunk, and staggers in the way ! 
 Some men a forward motion love, 
 But I by backward steps would move ; 
 And when this dust falls to the urn, 
 In that state I came, return, 
 i See Note 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 8l 
 
 CIII 
 CHILDHOOD 
 
 I CANNOT reach it; and my striving eye 
 Dazzles at it, as at eternity. 
 
 Were now that Chronicle alive, 
 Those white 1 designs which children drive 2 , 
 And the thoughts of each harmless hour, 
 With their content, too, in my power, 
 Quickly would I make my path even, 
 And by mere playing go to Heaven. 
 
 Dear, harmless age ! the short, swift span 
 Where weeping Virtue parts with man; 
 Where love without lust dwells, and bends 
 What way we please without self-ends. 
 
 An age of mysteries ! which he 
 Must live twice 3 that would God's face see ; 
 Which angels guard, and with it play; 
 Angels ! which foul men drive away. 
 
 How do I study now, and scan 
 Thee more than e'er I studied man, 
 And only see through a long night 
 Thy edges and Thy bordering light ! 
 O for Thy centre and mid-day ! 
 For sure that is the narrow way.* 
 
 1 white, innocent 2 drive, pursue 3 See S. John ; iii, 3 
 
 * Apparently, O that I knew how to carry childhood through later life 
 
 o 
 
 CIV 
 
 LET me climb 
 
 When I lie down ! The pious soul by night 
 
 Is like a clouded star, whose beams, though said 
 To shed their light 
 Under some cloud, 
 Yet are above, 
 And shine and move 
 Beyond that misty shroud. 
 
 So in my bed, 
 
 That curtain'd grave, though sleep, like ashes, hide 
 My lamp and life, both shall in Thee abide. 
 
82 HENRY VAUGHAN BOOK I 
 
 cv 
 
 RULES AND LESSONS 
 
 WHEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave 
 To do the like ; our bodies but forerun 
 The spirit's duty. True hearts spread, and heave 
 Unto their GOD, as flowers do to the sun. 
 
 Give Him thy first thoughts then ; so shalt thou keep 
 Him company all day, and in Him sleep. 
 
 Yet never sleep the sun up; Prayer should 
 Dawn with the day. There are set, awful hours 
 'Twixt Heaven, and us. The manna was not good 
 After sun-rising ; fair *-day sullies flowers. 
 
 Rise to prevent the sun ; sleep doth sins glut, 
 
 And Heaven's gate opens, when this world's is shut 
 
 Walk with thy fellow-creatures : note the hush 
 And whispers amongst them. There's not a spring, 
 Or leaf but hath his morning-hymn ; Each bush 
 And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing? 
 O leave thy cares and follies ! go this way, 
 And thou art sure to prosper all the day. 
 
 To heighten thy devotions, and keep low 
 All mutinous thoughts, what business e'er thou hast, 
 Observe GOD in His works ; here fountains flow, 
 Birds sing, beasts feed, fish leap, and th' earth stands fast ; 
 Above are restless motions, running lights, 
 Vast circling azure, giddy clouds, days, nights. 
 
 When Seasons change, then lay before thine eyes 
 His wondrous method ; mark the various scenes 
 In heaven ; hail, thunder, rain-bows, snow, and ice, 
 Calms, tempests, light, and darkness, by His means; 
 
 Thou canst not miss His praise ; each tree, herb, flower 
 Are shadows of His wisdom, and His power. 
 1 fair, in original text (1650), far 
 
 CVI 
 SON-DAYS 1 
 
 BRIGHT shadows of true Rest ! some shoots of bliss ; 
 Heaven once a week; 
 
 The next world's gladness prepossest in this; 
 A day to seek ; 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 83 
 
 Eternity in time ; the steps by which 
 We climb above all ages ; Lamps that light 
 Man through his heap of dark days ; and the rich 
 And full redemption of the whole week's flight ! 
 
 The pulleys 2 unto headlong man ; Time's bower ; 
 
 The narrow way; 
 Transplanted Paradise ; GOD'S walking hour, 
 
 The cool o' th' day : 
 
 The Creature's jubilee ; God's parle with dust ; 
 Heaven here ; Man 3 on those hills of myrrh, and flowers ; 
 Angels descending ; the returns of trust ; 
 A gleam of glory, after six-days-showers ! 
 
 1 Son-days, so spelt here, probably only for Sundays 
 2 pulleys^ ropes to restrain or guide 3 See Note 
 
 CVII 
 THE FAVOUR 
 
 OTHY bright looks ! Thy glance of love 
 Shown, and but shown, me from above! 
 Rare looks ! that can dispense such joy 
 As without wooing wins the coy, 
 And makes him mourn, and pine and die, 
 Like a starved eaglet for Thine eye. 
 Some kind herbs here, though low and far, 
 Watch for and know their loving star. 
 O let no star compare with Thee ! 
 Nor any herb out-duty me ! 
 So shall my nights and mornings be 
 Thy time to shine, and mine to see. 
 
 CVIII 
 THE BOOK 
 
 ETERNAL GOD ! Maker of all 
 That have lived here since the Man's fall ! 
 The Rock of Ages ! in whose shade 
 They live unseen, when here they fade; 
 
 Thou knew'st this paper, when it was 
 Mere seed, and after that, but grass ; 
 Before 'twas drest or spun ; and when 
 Made linen, who did wear it then : 
 What were their lives, their thoughts and deeds, 
 Whether good corn, or fruitless weeds. 
 G 2 
 
84 HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 Thou knew'st this tree, when a green shade 
 Cover'd it, since a cover 1 made, 
 And where it flourish'd, grew, and spread, 
 As if it never should be dead. 
 
 Thou knew'st this harmless beast, when he 
 Did live and feed by Thy decree 
 On each green thing ; then slept, well-fed 
 Clothed with this skin, which now lies spread 
 A covering o'er this aged book, 
 Which makes me wisely weep, and look 
 On my own dust; mere dust it is, 
 But not so dry and clean as this. 
 Thou knew'st and saw'st them all, and though 
 Now scatter'd thus, dost know them so. 
 
 O knowing, glorious Spirit ! when 
 Thou shalt restore trees, beasts and men, 
 When Thou shalt make all new again, 
 Destroying only death and pain, 
 Give him amongst Thy works a place, 
 Who in them loved and sought Thy face ! 
 
 1 cover, literal boards 
 
 Take 
 
 CIX 
 TO THE HOLY BIBLE 
 
 BOOK ! Life's guide ! how shall we part, 
 
 And thou so long seized l of my heart ? 
 
 Take this last kiss; and let me weep 
 True thanks to thee before I sleep. 
 
 Thou wert the first put in my hand 
 
 When yet I could not understand, 
 
 And daily didst my young eyes lead 
 
 To letters, till I learnt to read. 
 
 But as rash youths, when once grown strong, 
 
 Fly from their nurses to the throng, 
 
 Where they new consorts choose, and stick 
 
 To those till either hurt or sick ; 
 
 So with that first light gain'd from thee 
 
 Ran I in chase of vanity, 
 
 Cried 2 dross for gold, and never thought 
 
 My first cheap book 3 had all I sought. 
 
 Long reign'd this vogue; and thou, cast by, 
 
 With meek, dumb looks didst woo mine eye, 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 85 
 
 And oft left open, would'st convey 
 
 A sudden and most searching ray 
 
 Into my soul, with whose quick touch 
 
 Refining still 3 , I struggled much. 
 
 By this mild art of love at length 
 
 Thou overcam'st my sinful strength, 
 
 And having brought me home, didst there 
 
 Shew me that pearl I sought elsewhere, 
 
 Gladness, and peace, and hope, and love, 
 
 The secret favours of the Dove 4 ; 
 
 Her quickening kindness, smiles and kisses, 
 
 Exalted pleasures, crowning blisses, 
 
 Fruition, union, glory, life, 
 
 Thou didst lead to, and still all strife. 
 
 Living, thou wert my soul's sure ease, 
 
 And dying mak'st me go in peace : 
 
 Thy next effects no tongue can tell; 
 
 Farewell, O book of GOD ! farewell ! 
 
 1 seized^ legal term for possessed of 2 cried, cried up 
 
 a See Note * the Dove, the Holy Spirit 
 
 cx 
 
 RIGHTEOUSNESS 
 
 FAIR, solitary path ! whose blessed shades 
 The old, white prophets planted first and drest; 
 Leaving for us whose goodness quickly fades, 
 A shelter all the way, and bowers to rest; 
 
 Who is the man that walks in thee? who loves 
 Heaven's secret solitude, those fair abodes, 
 
 Where turtles build, and careless sparrows move, 
 Without to-morrow's evils and future loads? 
 
 Who hath the upright heart, the single eye, 
 
 The clean, pure hand, which never meddled pitch? 
 
 Who sees invisibles, and doth comply 1 
 
 With hidden treasures that make truly rich? 
 
 He that doth seek and love 
 
 The things above, 
 
 Whose spirit ever poor, is meek and low; 
 Who simple still and wise, 
 
 Still homewards flies, 
 Quick to advance, and to retreat most slow. 
 
86 HENRY VAUGHAN BOOK I 
 
 Whose acts, words, and pretence, 
 
 Have all one sense, 
 
 One aim and end ; who walks not by his sight ; 
 Whose eyes are both put out, 
 
 And goes about 
 Guided by faith, not by exterior light. 
 
 Who spills no blood, nor spreads 
 
 Thorns in the beds 
 
 Of the distrest, hasting their overthrow ; 
 Making the time they had 
 
 Bitter and sad, 
 Like chronic pains 2 , which surely kill, though slow. 
 
 Who knows Earth nothing hath 
 
 Worth love or wrath, 
 But in his Hope and Rock is ever glad : 
 Who seeks and follows peace, 
 
 When with the ease 
 And health of conscience it is to be had. 
 
 Who bears his cross with joy, 
 
 And doth employ 
 
 His heart and tongue in prayers for his foes; 
 Who lends, not to be paid, / 
 
 And gives full aid 
 Without that bribe which usurers impose. 
 
 Who never looks on 3 Man 
 
 Fearful and wan, 
 
 But firmly trusts in GOD; The great man's measure, 
 Though high and haughty, must 
 
 Be ta'en in dust; 
 But the good man is GOD'S peculiar treasure. 
 
 Who doth thus, and doth not 
 
 These good deeds blot 
 
 With bad, or with neglect ; and heaps not wrath 
 By secret filth, nor feeds 
 
 Some snake, or weeds, 
 Cheating himself; That man walks in this path. 
 
 1 comply ', accord with 2 Misprinted prayers (Grossed) 
 
 3 looks 0#> regards 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 87 
 
 M" 
 
 CXI 
 ANGUISH 
 
 r God and King! to Thee 
 
 I bow my knee; 
 
 I bow my troubled soul, and greet 
 With my foul heart Thy holy feet. 
 Cast it 1 , or tread it! it shall do 
 Ev'n what Thou wilt, and praise Thee too. 
 
 My GOD, could I weep blood, 
 
 Gladly I would; 
 
 Or if Thou wilt give me that art, 
 Which through the eyes pours out the heart, 
 I will exhaust it all, and make 
 Myself all tears, a weeping lake. 
 
 O ! 'tis an easy thing 
 
 To write and sing ; 
 But to write true, unfeigned verse 
 Is very hard ! O GOD, disperse 
 These weights, and give my spirit leave 
 To act as well as to conceive ! 
 
 O my GOD, hear my cry; 
 Or let me die ! 
 
 1 cast it, [away] 
 
 CXII 
 THE AGREEMENT 
 
 OGOD ! I know and do confess 
 My sins are great and still prevail : 
 Most heinous sins and numberless ! 
 But Thy compassions cannot fail : 
 If Thy sure mercies can be broken, 
 Then all is true my foes have spoken. 
 
 But while Time runs, and after it 
 
 Eternity, which never ends, 
 Quite through them both, still infinite, 
 Thy Covenant by CHRIST extends ; 
 No sins of frailty, nor of youth, 
 Can foil His merits, and Thy truth. 
 
 ' OF THE 
 
HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 Wherefore with tears tears by Thee sent 
 
 I beg my faith may never fail ! 
 And when in death my speech is spent, 
 O let that silence then prevail ! 
 
 O chase in that cold calm my foes, 
 And hear my heart's last private throes ! 
 
 CXIII 
 THE REVIVAL 
 
 T T NFOLD ! unfold ! Take in His light, 
 
 U Who makes thy cares more short than night. 
 
 The joys which with His day-star rise 
 
 He deals to all but drowsy eyes ; 
 
 And, what the men of this world miss, 
 
 Some drops and dews of future bliss. 
 
 Hark ! how the winds have changed their note ! 
 And with warm whispers call thee out; 
 The frosts are past, the storms are gone, 
 And backward life at last comes on. 
 The lofty groves in express joys 
 Reply unto the turtle's voice; 
 And here in dust and dirt, O here 
 The lilies of His love appear! 
 
 CXIV 
 THE WREATH 
 
 SINCE I in storms used most to be, 
 And seldom yielded flowers, 
 How shall I get a wreath for Thee 
 From those rude, barren hours? 
 The softer dressings of the Spring, 
 
 Or Summer's later store, 
 I will not for Thy temples bring, 
 Which thorns, not roses, wore. 
 
 But a twined wreath of grief and praise, 
 Praise soiPd with tears, and tears again 
 Shining with joy, like dewy days, 
 This day I bring for all Thy pain ; 
 Thy causeless pain ! and, sad as death, 
 Which sadness breeds in the most vain, 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 89 
 
 O not in vain now beg Thy breath, 
 Thy quickening breath, which gladly bears 
 Through saddest clouds to that glad place, 
 Where cloudless quires sing without tears, 
 Sing Thy just praise, and see Thy face. 
 
 cxv 
 
 THE ECLIPSE 
 
 WHITHER, O whither didst thou fly! 
 When did I grieve Thine holy eye, 
 When Thou didst mourn to see me lost, 
 And all Thy care and counsels crost? 
 O do not grieve, where'er Thou art ! 
 Thy grief is an undoing smart, 
 Which doth not only pain, but break 
 My heart, and makes me blush to speak. 
 Thy anger I could kiss, and will ; 
 But- O- Thy grief, Thy grief, doth kill! 
 
 CXVI 
 THE MEN OF 
 
 F any have an ear ' 
 
 Saith holy John, * then let him hear ! 
 He, that into captivity 
 Leads others, shall a captive be. 
 Who with the sword doth others kill, 
 A sword shall his blood likewise spill. 
 Here is the patience of the saints, 
 And the true faith, which never faints.' 
 
 For in this bright, instructing verse 
 
 Thy saints are not the conquerers, 
 
 But patient, meek, and overcome 
 
 Like Thee, when set at nought and dumb. 
 
 Armies Thou hast in Heaven, which fight 
 
 And follow Thee, all clothed in white; 
 
 But here on Earth though Thou hadst need- 
 
 Thou wouldst no legions, but wouldst bleed. 
 
 The sword wherewith Thou dost command 
 
 Is in Thy mouth, not in Thy hand ; 
 
 And all Thy saints do overcome 
 
 By Thy blood, and their martyrdom. 
 
9 HENRY VAUGHAN BOOK I 
 
 But seeing soldiers long ago 
 
 Did spit on Thee, and smote Thee too ; 
 
 Crown 'd Thee with thorns, and bow'd the knee, 
 
 But 2 in contempt, as still we see, 
 
 I '11 marvel not at aught they do, 
 
 Because they used my Saviour so ; 
 
 Since of my LORD they had their will, 
 
 Thy servant must not take it ill. 
 
 Dear JESUS, give me patience here, 
 And faith to see my crown as near, 
 And almost reach'd, because 'tis sure 
 If I hold fast, and slight the lure. 
 Give me humility and peace, 
 Contented thoughts, innoxious ease, 
 A sweet, revengeless, quiet mind, 
 And to my greatest haters, kind. 
 Give me, my GOD ! a heart as mild 
 And plain, as when I was a child. 
 That when Thy throne is set, and all 
 These conquerors before it fall, 
 I may be found preserved by Thee 
 Amongst that chosen company, 
 Who by no blood here overcame, 
 But the blood of the Blessed Lamb. 
 
 l See Note a but, only 
 
 CXVII 
 PEACE 
 
 MY soul, there is a country 
 Far beyond the stars, 
 Where stands a winged sentry 
 
 All skilful in the wars : 
 There above noise, and danger, 
 
 Sweet Peace sits crown'd with smiles, 
 And One born in a manger 
 
 Commands the beauteous files 1 . 
 He is thy gracious Friend, 
 
 And O my soul awake ! 
 Did in pure love descend, 
 
 To die here for thy sake. 
 If thou canst get but thither, 
 
 There grows the flower of Peace, 
 The Rose that cannot wither, 
 
 Thy fortress, and thy ease. 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 91 
 
 Leave then thy foolish ranges, 
 
 For none can thee secure, 
 But One, Who never changes, 
 
 Thy GOD, thy life, thy cure. 
 
 1 jfiles, of the heavenly host 
 
 CXVIII 
 CREATION WAITING FOR REVELATION 1 
 
 AND do they so ? have they a sense 
 Of aught but influence ? 
 Can they their heads lift, and expect, 
 And groan too? why the Elect 
 
 Can do no more ; my volumes said 
 
 They were all dull, and dead ; 
 They judged them senseless, and their state 
 Wholly inanimate. 
 Go, go ; Seal up thy looks, 
 And burn thy books ! 
 
 Sometimes I sit with Thee, and tarry 
 
 An hour or so, then vary. 
 Thy other creatures in this scene 
 
 Thee only aim, and mean ; 
 Some rise to seek Thee, and with heads 
 
 Erect, peep from their beds ; 
 Others, whose birth 2 is in the tomb, 
 
 And cannot quit the womb, 
 
 Sigh there, and groan for Thee, 
 Their liberty. 
 
 I would I were a stone, or tree, 
 
 Or flower by pedigree, 
 Or some poor highway herb, or spring 
 
 To flow, or bird to sing ! 
 Then should I tied to one sure state 
 
 All day expect my date 3 ; 
 But 1 am sadly loose, and stray 
 
 A giddy blast each way ; 
 
 O let me not thus range ! 
 Thou canst not change. 
 
 1 See Note ' 2 others^ whose birth, perhaps, gems, or crystals 
 a date, end of life 
 
9 2 HENR Y VA UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 CXIX 
 RETIREMENT 
 
 THRESH fields and woods ! the Earth's fair face ! 
 
 JP GOD'S footstool ! and man's dwelling-place ! 
 
 I ask not why the first believer * 
 
 Did love to be a country liver? 
 
 Who to secure pious content 
 
 Did pitch by groves and wells his tent ; 
 
 Where he might view his boundless sky, 
 
 And all those glorious lights on high : 
 
 With flying meteors, mists, and showers : 
 
 Subjected hills, trees, meads, and flowers : 
 
 And every minute bless the King 
 
 And wise Creator of each thing. 
 
 I ask not why he did remove 
 To happy Mamre's holy grove, 
 Leaving the cities of the plain 
 To Lot and his successless train? 
 All various lusts in cities still 
 Are found ; they are the thrones of ill ; 
 The dismal sinks, where blood is spill'd, 
 Cages with much uncleanness fill'd : 
 But rural shades are the sweet sense 2 
 Of piety and innocence ; 
 They are the meek's calm region, where 
 Angels descend, and rule the sphere ; 
 Where Heaven lies leiguer 3 , and the Dove 
 Duly as dew comes from above. 
 If Eden be on Earth at all, 
 'Tis that which we the country call. 
 
 1 Abraham 2 May probably be fence 
 
 3 leiguer, (for lieger), at rest ; or (by confusion with leaguer), encamped 
 
 cxx 
 
 THE WATER-FALL 
 
 WITH what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth, 
 Dost thy transparent, cool, and watery wealth 
 Here flowing fall, 
 And chide 1 and call, 
 As if his liquid, loose retinue 2 stay'd 
 Lingering, and were of this steep place afraid ; 
 The common pass, 
 As clear as glass, 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 93 
 
 All must descend 
 
 Not to an end, 
 
 But quicken'd by this deep and rocky grave, 
 Rise to a longer course, more bright and brave. 
 
 Dear stream ! dear bank ! where often I 
 Have sate, and pleased my pensive eye ; 
 Why, since each drop of thy quick store 
 Runs thither where it flow'd before, 
 Should poor souls fear a shade or night, 
 Who came sure from a sea of light ? 
 Or, since those drops are all sent back 
 So sure to thee that none doth lack, 
 Why should frail flesh doubt any more 
 That what GOD takes He'll not restore? 
 
 O useful element and clear! 
 My sacred wash and cleanser here; 
 My first consigner 3 unto those 
 Fountains of life, where 1 the Lamb goes ! 
 What sublime truths and wholesome themes 
 Lodge in thy mystical, deep streams ! 
 Such as dull man can never find, 
 Unless that Spirit lead his mind, 
 Which first upon thy face did move 
 And hatched all with His quickening love* 
 As this loud brook's incessant fall 
 In streaming rings restagnates all, 
 Which reach by course the bank, and then 
 Are no more seen : just so pass men. 
 O my invisible estate, 
 My glorious liberty, still late! 
 Thou art the channel my soul seeks, 
 Not this 4 with cataracts and creeks. 
 
 1 chide, make a ringing sound 2 retinue, the waters regarded as tht 
 
 Stream's troop or following 3 consigner, in Baptism * Not this . . , 
 
 I look for the passage into heavenly freedom, not to glide down like the stream 
 
 CXXI 
 
 IWALK'D the other day, (to spend my hour), 
 Into a field, 
 Where I sometimes had seen the soil to yield 
 
 A gallant flower; 
 But Winter now had ruffled all the bower 
 
 And curious store, 
 I knew there heretofore. 
 
94 HENR Y VA UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 Yet I, whose search loved not to peep and peer 
 
 I' th' face of things, 
 Thought with myself, there might be other springs 
 
 Besides this here, 
 Which, like cold friends, sees us but once a year; 
 
 And so the flower 
 Might have some other bower. 
 
 Then taking up what I could nearest spy, 
 
 I digg'd about 
 That place where I had seen him to grow out ; 
 
 And by and by 
 I saw the warm Recluse alone to lie, 
 
 Where fresh and green 
 He lived of us unseen. 
 
 Many a question intricate and rare 
 
 Did I there strow l ; 
 But all I could extort was, that he now 
 
 Did there repair 
 Such losses as befell him in this air, 
 
 And would ere long 
 Come forth most fair and young. 
 
 This past, I threw the clothes quite o'er his head ; 
 
 And stung with fear 
 Of my own frailty, dropp'd down many a tear 
 
 Upon his bed ; 
 Then sighing whisper'd ' Happy are the dead ! 
 
 What peace doth now 
 Rock him asleep below ! ' 
 
 And yet, how few believe such doctrine springs 
 
 From a poor root, 
 Which all the Winter sleeps here underfoot, 
 
 And hath no wings 
 To raise it to the truth and light of things ; 
 
 But is still trod 
 By every wandering clod 2 . 
 
 O Thou ! Whose Spirit did at first inflame 
 
 And warm the dead, 
 And by a sacred incubation, fed 
 
 With life this frame, 
 Which once had neither being, form, nor name; 
 
 Grant I may so 
 Thy steps track here below, 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 95 
 
 That in these Masques and shadows, I may see 
 
 Thy sacred way ; 
 And by those hid ascents climb to that day, 
 
 Which breaks from Thee, 
 Who art in all things, though invisibly : 
 
 Shew me Thy peace, 
 Thy mercy, love, and ease. 
 1 straw, put 2 clod, countryman 
 
 CXXII 
 THE TIMBER 
 
 SURE thou didst flourish once! and many springs, 
 Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers 
 Past o'er thy head ; many light hearts and wings, 
 Which now are dead, lodged in thy living bowers. 
 
 And still a new succession sings and flies ; 
 
 Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot 
 Towards the old and still enduring skies, 
 
 While the low violet thrives at their root. 
 
 But thou beneath the sad and heavy line 
 
 Of death, doth waste all senseless, cold and dark ; 
 
 Where not so much as dreams of light may shine, 
 Nor any thought of greenness, leaf, or bark. 
 
 And yet as if some deep hate and dissent, 
 
 Bred in thy growth betwixt high winds and thee, 
 
 Were still alive thou dost great storms resent * 
 Before they come, and know'st how near they be. 
 
 Else all at rest thou liest, and the fierce breath 
 Of tempests can no more disturb thy ease ; 
 
 But this thy strange resentment after death 
 
 Means only those who broke, in life, thy peace. 
 
 So murder'd man, when lovely life is done, 
 And his blood freezed, keeps in the centre still 
 
 Some secret sense, which makes the dead blood run 
 At his approach that did the body kill. 
 
 And is there any murderer worse than sin? 
 
 Or any storms more foul than a lewd life? 
 Or what resentient 2 can work more within, 
 
 Than true remorse, when with past sins at strife? 
 
 1 storms resent, apparently means that the trunk groans or twists 
 2 resentient) sympathetic feeling 
 
9 6 HENRY VA UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 CXXIII 
 THE BIRD 
 
 HITHER thou com'st: the busy wind all night 
 Blew through thy lodging, where thy own warm wing 
 Thy pillow was. Many a sullen storm 
 
 For which coarse man seems much the fitter born 
 Rain'd on thy bed 
 And harmless head : 
 
 And now as fresh and cheerful as the light 
 
 Thy little heart in early hymns doth sing 
 
 Unto that Providence, Whose unseen arm 
 
 Curb'd them, and clothed thee well and warm. 
 
 All things that be, praise Him ; and had 
 Their lesson taught them when first made. 
 
 So hills and valleys into singing break ; 
 
 And though poor stones have neither speech nor tongue, 
 
 While active winds and streams both run and speak, 
 
 Yet stones are deep in admiration. 
 
 Thus praise and prayer here beneath the sun 
 
 Make lesser mornings, when the great are done. 
 
 CXXIV 
 THE SHOWER 
 
 "HPWAS so ; I saw thy birth : That drowsy lake 
 
 Jl From her faint bosom breathed thee, the disease 1 
 Of her sick waters, and infectious ease. 
 
 But, now at even, 
 
 Too gross for heaven, 
 Thou fall'st in tears, and weep'st for thy mistake. 
 
 Ah ! it is so with me : oft have I prest 
 Heaven with a lazy breath ; but fruitless this 
 Pierced not ; Love only can with quick access 
 
 Unlock the way ; 
 
 When all else stray, 
 The smoke and exhalations of the breast. 
 
 Yet, if as thou dost melt, and with thy train 
 
 Of drops make soft the Earth, my eyes could weep 
 
 O'er my hard heart, that's bound-up and asleep; 
 
 Perhaps at last, 
 
 Some such showers past 
 My GOD would give a Sun-shine after rain. 
 
 1 The shower is here regarded as a stagnant and a lazy exhalation 
 
HOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 97 
 
 cxxv 
 
 THE NIGHT 
 
 THROUGH that pure virgin shrine, 
 That sacred veil drawn o'er Thy glorious noon, 
 That men might look and live, as glow-worms shine 
 
 And face the moon : 
 Wise Nicodemus saw such light 
 As made him know his GOD by night. 
 
 No mercy-seat of gold, 
 
 No dead and dusty cherub, nor carved stone, 
 But His own living works did my LORD hold 
 
 And lodge alone ; 
 
 Where trees and herbs did watch and peep 
 And wonder, while the Jews did sleep. 
 
 Dear Night ! this world's defeat ; 
 The stop to busy fools; Care's check and curb; 
 The day of Spirits ; my soul's calm retreat 
 
 Which none disturb ! 
 
 CHRIST'S progress l , and His prayer time ; 
 The hours to which high Heaven doth chime. 
 
 There is in GOD some say 
 A deep, but dazzling darkness ; as men here 
 Say it is late and dusky, because they 
 
 See not all clear. 
 
 O for that Night ! where I in Him 
 Might live invisible and dim ! 
 
 1 See S. Mark i. 35 ; S. Luke xxi. 37 
 
 CXXVI 
 THE SHEPHERDS 
 
 SWEET, harmless lives! [up]on whose holy leisure 
 Waits Innocence and pleasure 
 Whose leaders to those pastures and clear springs 
 
 Were Patriarchs, Saints, and Kings : 
 How happen'd it that in the dead of night 
 
 You, only, saw true light, 
 While Palestine was fast asleep, and lay 
 
 Without one thought of Day? 
 Was it because those first and blessed swains 
 Were pilgrims on those plains 
 H 
 
HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 When they received the Promise, for which now 
 
 'Twas there first shown to you? 
 'Tis true He loves that dust whereon they go 
 
 That serve Him here below, 
 And therefore might, for memory of those, 
 
 His love there first disclose ; 
 But wretched Salem, once His love, must now 
 
 No voice nor vision know : 
 Her stately piles with all their height and pride, 
 
 Now languished and died, 
 And Bethlem's humble cots above them stept, 
 
 While all her seers slept; 
 Her cedar, fir, hew'd stones and gold, were all 
 
 Polluted through their fall, 
 And those once sacred mansions were now 
 
 Mere emptiness and show. 
 This made the Angel call at reeds and thatch : 
 
 Yet where the shepherds watch, 
 And GOD'S own lodging though He could not lack 
 
 To be a common rack 1 , 
 No costly pride, no soft-clothed luxury 
 
 In those thin cells could lie ; 
 Each stirring wind and storm blew through their cots, 
 
 Which never harbour'd plots ; 
 Only Content and Love and humble joys 
 
 Lived there without all noise ; 
 Perhaps some harmless cares for the next day 
 
 Did in their bosoms play, 
 As where to lead their sheep, what silent nook, 
 
 What springs or shades to look : 
 But that was all ; And now with gladsome care 
 
 They for the town prepare ; 
 They leave their flock, and in a busy talk 
 
 All towards Bethlem walk 
 To see their souls' great Shepherd, Who was come 
 
 To bring all stragglers home; 
 Where now they find Him out, and, taught before, 
 
 That Lamb of GOD adore, 
 That Lamb Whose days great kings and prophets wish'd 
 
 And long'd to see, but miss'd. 
 The first light they beheld was bright and gay, 
 
 And turn'd their night to day ; 
 But to this later light they saw in Him, 
 
 Their day was dark and dim. 
 
 1 rack, manger : see Note 
 
BOOK I HENRY VAUGHAN 99 
 
 CXXVII 
 THE NATIVITY 
 
 THOU cam'st from Heaven to Earth, that we 
 Might go from Earth to Heaven with Thee : 
 And though Thou found'st no welcome here, 
 Thou didst provide us mansions there. 
 A stable was Thy Court, and when 
 Men turn'd to beasts, beasts would be men : 
 They were Thy courtiers ; others none ; 
 And their poor manger was Thy throne. 
 No swaddling silks Thy limbs did fold, 
 Though Thou couldst turn Thy rags to gold. 
 No rockers waited on Thy birth, 
 No cradles stirr'd, nor songs of mirth ; 
 But Her chaste lap and sacred breast, 
 Which lodged Thee first, did give Thee rest. 
 
 CXXVIII 
 THE KNOT 
 
 BRIGHT Queen of Heaven ! God's Virgin Spouse ! 
 The glad world's blessed Maid ! 
 Whose beauty tied life to thy house l , 
 And brought us saving aid ; 
 
 Thou art the true Love's-Knot ; by thee 
 
 GOD is made our ally ; 
 And man's inferior essence He 
 
 With His did dignify. 
 
 For coalescent by that band 
 
 We are His body grown, 
 Nourish'd with favours from His hand, 
 
 Whom for our Head we own. 
 
 And such a knot, what arm dares loose, 
 
 What life, what death can sever? 
 Which us in Him, and Him in us, 
 
 United keeps for ever. 
 
 1 Apparently, whose beauty of soul caused the Life of mankind to dwell 
 in thee. 
 
HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 CXXIX 
 5. MARY MAGDALENE 
 
 DEAR, beauteous Saint ! more white than Day, 
 When in his naked, pure array ; 
 Fresher than morning-flowers, which shew 
 As thou in tears dost, best in dew. 
 How art thou changed ! how lively-fair, 
 Pleasing, and innocent an air, 
 Not tutor'd by thy glass, but free, 
 Native and pure, shines now in thee ! 
 But since thy beauty doth still keep 
 Bloomy and fresh, why dost thou weep ? 
 This dusky state of sighs and tears 
 Durst not look on those smiling years, 
 When Magdal-castle l was thy seat, 
 Where all was sumptuous, rare and neat. 
 Why lies this hair despised now 
 Which once thy care and art did show ? 
 Who then did dress the much-loved toy, 
 In spires, globes, angry 2 curls and coy, 
 WTiich with skill'd negligence seem'd shed 
 About thy curious, wild, young head? 
 Why is this rich, this pistic 3 nard 
 Spilt, and the box quite broke and marr'd? 
 What pretty sullenness did haste 
 Thy easy hands to do this waste? 
 Why art thou humbled thus, and low 
 As earth thy lovely head dost bow? 
 Dear soul ! thou knew'st flowers here on Earth 
 At their LORD'S foot-stool have their birth ; 
 Therefore thy wither'd self in haste 
 Beneath His blest feet thou didst cast, 
 That at the root of this green tree 
 Thy great decays restored might be. 
 Thy curious vanities and rare 
 Odorous ointments, kept with care 
 And dearly bought, when thou didst see 
 They could not cure nor comfort thee 
 Like a wise, early penitent, 
 Thou sadly didst to Him present. 
 Whose interceding, meek, and calm 
 Blood, is the world's all-healing balm. 
 This, this Divine Restorative 
 Call'd forth thy tears, which ran in live 
 And hasty drops, as if they had 
 Their LORD so near sense to be glad. 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 101 
 
 Learn, ladies, here the faithful cure 
 Makes * beauty lasting, fresh and pure ; 
 Learn Mary's art of tears, and then 
 Say, you have got the day from men. 
 Cheap, mighty art ! Her art of love, 
 Who loved much, and much more could move ; 
 Her art ! whose memory must last 
 Till truth through all the world be past; 
 Till His abused, despised flame 5 
 Return to Heaven, from whence it came, 
 And send a fire down, that shall bring 
 Destruction on his ruddy wing. 
 
 Her art ! whose pensive, weeping eyes, 
 
 Were once sin's loose and tempting spies ; 
 
 But now are fixed stars, whose light 
 
 Helps such dark stragglers to their sight. 
 
 Self-boasting Pharisee ! how blind 
 
 A judge wert thou, and how unkind ! 
 
 It was impossible, that thou, 
 
 Who wert all false, should'st true grief know. 
 
 Is't just to judge her faithful tears 
 
 By that foul rheum thy false eye wears? 
 
 This woman say'st thou is a sinner : 
 And sate there none such at thy dinner ? 
 Go, leper, go ! wash till thy flesh 
 Comes like a child's, spotless and fresh ; 
 He is still leprous that still paints : 
 Who saint themselves, they are no saints. 
 
 1 See Note 2 angry, defiant 3 pistic, pure * [which] makes 
 
 5 JZame, of Love 
 
 cxxx 
 
 THE ORNAMENT 
 
 THE lucky World shew'd me one day 
 Her gorgeous mart and glittering store, 
 Where with proud haste the rich made way 
 To buy, the poor came to adore. 
 
 Serious they seem'd, and bought up all 
 The latest modes of pride and lust ; 
 
 Although the first must surely fall, 
 And the last is most loathsome dust. 
 
2 HENRY VAUGHAK BOOK I 
 
 But while each gay, alluring ware 
 
 With idle hearts and busy looks 
 They view'd, for Idleness hath there 
 
 Laid up all her archives and books, 
 
 Quite through their proud and pompous file, 
 Blushing, and in meek weeds array 'd, 
 
 With native looks which knew no guile, 
 Came the sheep-keeping Syrian Maid l . 
 
 Whom straight the shining row all faced, 
 Forced 3 by her artless looks and dress ; 
 
 While one cried out, We are disgraced ! 
 For She is bravest, you confess ! 
 
 1 Syrian Maid, the Church, under figure of Rachel 2 forced, compelled 
 
 CXXXI 
 THE WORLD 
 
 I SAW Eternity the other night, 
 Like a great ring of pure and endless light, 
 
 All calm, as it was bright; 
 And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, 
 
 Driven by the spheres, 
 
 Like a vast shadow moved ; In which the world 
 And all her train were hurl'd. 
 
 The doting Lover in his quaintest strain 
 
 Did there complain ; 
 Near him, his lute, his fancy, and his slights 1 , 
 
 Wit's sour 2 delights; 
 With gloves and knots 3 , the silly snares of pleasure ; 
 
 Yet his dear treasure 
 All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour 
 
 Upon a flower. 
 
 The darksome Statesman 4 hung with weights and woe, 
 Like a thick midnight-fog, moved there so slow, 
 
 He did not stay, nor go ; 
 Condemning thoughts like sad eclipses scowl 
 
 Upon his soul, 
 And clouds of crying witnesses without 
 
 Pursued him with one shout; 
 
 Yet digg'd the mole, and lest his ways be found, 
 Work'd under ground, 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 103 
 
 Where he did clutch his prey ; but One did see 
 
 That policy ; 
 Churches and altars fed him ; perjuries 
 
 Were gnats and flies ; 
 It rain'd about him blood and tears, but he 
 
 Drank them as free. 
 
 The fearful Miser on a heap of rust 
 
 Sate pining all his life there ; did scarce trust 
 
 His own hands with the dust ; 
 Yet would not place one piece above, but lives 
 
 In fear of thieves : 
 Thousands there were as frantic as himself, 
 
 And hugg'd each one his pelf. 
 The down-right Epicure placed heaven in sense, 
 
 And scorn 'd pretence ; 
 While others, slipt into a wide excess, 
 
 Said little less; 
 The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, 
 
 Who think them brave 5 ; 
 And poor, despised Truth sat counting by 
 
 Their victory. 
 
 Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, 
 And sing, and weep, soar'd up into the ring; 
 
 But most would use no wing. 
 O fools said I thus to prefer dark night 
 
 Before true light ! 
 To live in grots, and caves, and hate the day 
 
 Because it shews the way : 
 The way, which from this dead and dark abode 
 
 Leads up to GOD ; 
 A way where you might tread the Sun, and be 
 
 More bright than he ! 
 But as I did their madness so discuss, 
 
 One whisper'd thus, 
 This ring the Bride-groom did for none provide, 
 
 But for His Bride. 
 
 1 slights, sleights, tricks 2 sour, perhaps, unsatisfying 3 knots, ribbons 
 4 the Statesman, Pym's career, with O. Cromwell's by poetic insight, is here 
 (1650) unquestionably photographed 5 brave, magnificent 
 
104 HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 CXXXII 
 MAN 
 
 WEIGHING the steadfastness and state 
 Of some mean things which here below reside, 
 Where birds, like watchful clocks, the noiseless date 
 
 And intercourse of times divide ; 
 Where bees at night get home and hive ; and flowers, 
 
 Early as well as late, 
 Rise with the sun, and set in the same bowers; 
 
 I would (said I) my GOD would give 
 The staidness of these things to Man ! For these 
 To His divine appointments ever cleave, 
 
 And no new' business breaks their peace ; 
 The birds nor sow nor reap, yet sup and dine; 
 
 The flowers without clothes live ; 
 Yet Solomon was never drest so fine. 
 
 Man hath still either toys, or care ; 
 He hath no root, nor to one place is tied, 
 But ever restless and irregular 
 
 About this Earth doth run and ride. 
 He knows he hath a home, but scarce knows where ; 
 
 He says it is so far 1 , 
 That he hath quite forgot how to go l there. 
 
 He knocks at all doors, strays and roams, 
 Nay hath not so much wit as some stones 3 have, 
 Which in the darkest nights point to their homes, 
 
 By some hid sense their Maker gave ; 
 Man is the shuttle, to whose winding quest 
 And passage 1 through these looms 
 GOD order'd motion, but ordain'd no rest. 
 
 1 Jar how to go -passage, misprinted./0r height pastage (1650) 2 SOIHC 
 stones, the magnet 
 
 cxxxni 
 
 THE WORLD 
 
 THOU art not Truth! for he that tries 
 Shall find thee all deceit and lies. 
 Thou art not Friendship ! for in thee 
 'Tis but the bait of policy, 
 Which, like a viper lodged in flowers, 
 Its venom through that sweetness pours ; 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 
 
 And when not so, then always 'tis 
 A fading paint, the short-lived bliss 
 Of air and humour x ; out and in, 
 Like colours in a dolphin's skin : 
 But must not live beyond one day, 
 Or for convenience ; then away. 
 
 Thou art not Riches ! for that trash, 
 Which one age hoards, the next doth wash 
 And so severely sweep away 
 That few remember where it lay. 
 So, rapid streams the wealthy land 
 About them have at their command; 
 And shifting channels here restore, 
 There break down, what they bank'd before. 
 
 Thou art not Honour! for those gay 
 Feathers will wear and drop away ; 
 And princes to some upstart line 
 Give new ones, that are full as fine. 
 
 Thou art not Pleasure ! for thy rose 
 Upon a thorn doth still repose ; 
 Which, if not cropt, will quickly shed, 
 But soon as cropt, grows dull and dead. 
 
 Thou art the sand, which fills one glass, 
 And then doth to another pass ; 
 And could I put thee to a stay, 
 Thou art but dust ! Then go thy way, 
 And leave me clean and bright, though poor : 
 Who stops thee doth but daub his floor; 
 And, swallow-like, when he hath done, 
 To unknown dwellings must be gone ! 
 
 Welcome, pure thoughts, and peaceful hours, 
 Enrich'd with sunshine and with showers ; 
 Welcome fair hopes, and holy cares, 
 The not to be repented shares 
 Of Time and business : the sure road 
 Unto my last and loved abode ! 
 
 O supreme Bliss : 
 The Circle, Centre, and Abyss 
 Of blessings, never let me miss 
 Nor leave that path, which leads to Thee, 
 Who art alone all things to me ! 
 I hear, I see, all the long day 
 The noise and pomp of the Broad Way : 
 I note their coarse and proud approaches, 
 Their silks, perfumes, and glittering coaches. 
 But in the Narrow Way to Thee 
 I observe only poverty, 
 
106 HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 And despised things; and all along 
 The ragged, mean, and humble throng 
 Are still on foot; and as they go 
 They sigh, and say, their LORD went so. 
 
 1 humour, moisture 
 
 CXXXIV 
 AN ELEGY 
 
 THOU that know'st for whom I mourn, 
 And why these tears appear, 
 That keep'st account till he return 
 
 Of all his dust left here ; 
 As easily Thou might'st prevent 
 
 As now produce, these tears, 
 And add unto that day he went 
 
 A fair supply of years. 
 But 'twas my sin that forced Thy hand 
 
 To cull this primrose out, 
 That by Thy early choice forewarn'd 
 
 My soul might look about. 
 
 O what a vanity is Man ! 
 
 How like the eye's quick wink 
 His cottage fails ; whose narrow span 
 
 Begins e'en at the brink ! 
 Nine months Thy hands are fashioning us, 
 
 And many years alas ! 
 Ere we can lisp, or aught discuss 
 
 Concerning Thee, must pass ; 
 Yet have I known Thy slightest things, 
 
 A feather, or a shell, 
 A stick, or rod, which some chance brings, 
 
 The best of us excel ; 
 Yea, I have known these shreds outlast 
 
 A fair compacted frame, 
 And for one twenty we have past 1 
 
 Almost outlive our name. 
 Yet had our pilgrimage been free, 
 
 And smooth without a thorn, 
 Pleasures had foil'd 2 Eternity, 
 
 And tares had choked the corn. 
 Thus by the Cross Salvation runs ; 
 
 Affliction is a mother, 
 Whose painful throes yield many sons, 
 
 Each fairer than the other. 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 107 
 
 A silent tear can pierce Thy throne, 
 
 When loud joys want a wing ; 
 And sweeter airs stream from a groan, 
 
 Than any arted 3 string. 
 
 Thus, LORD, I see my gain is great, 
 
 My loss but little to it; 
 Yet something more I must entreat, 
 
 And only Thou canst do it. 
 O let me like him know my end ! 
 
 And be as glad to find it : 
 And whatsoe'er Thou shalt commend 
 
 Still let Thy servant mind it ! 
 Then make my soul white as his own, 
 
 My faith as pure and steady, 
 And deck me, LORD, with the same crown 
 
 That has crown 'd him already ! 
 
 1 See Note 2 Qr, soil'd: the first letter dubious 
 
 3 arted, played on skilfully 
 
 cxxxv 
 
 FRIENDS DEPARTED 
 
 THEY are all gone into the world of light ! 
 And I alone sit lingering here ; 
 Their very memory is fair and bright, 
 
 And my sad thoughts doth clear. 
 
 It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, 
 
 Like stars upon some gloomy grove, 
 
 Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest 
 After the sun's remove. 
 
 I see them walking in an air of glory, 
 
 Whose light doth trample l on my days : 
 
 My days, which are at best but dull and hoar3', 
 Mere glimmering and decays. 
 
 O holy Hope ! and high Humility, 
 
 High as the heavens above ! 
 
 These are your walks, and you have shew'd them me, 
 To kindle my cold love. 
 
 Dear, beauteous Death ! the jewel of the Just, 
 
 Shining no where, but in the dark ; 
 What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust; 
 Could man outlook that mark ! 
 
JoS HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 He that hath found some fledged bird's nest, may know 
 
 At first sight, if the bird be flown ; 
 But what fair well 2 or grove he sings in now, 
 That is to him unknown. 
 
 And yet as Angels in some brighter dreams 
 Call to the soul, when man doth sleep : 
 So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, 
 And into glory peep. 
 
 If a star were confined into a tomb, 
 
 Her captive flames must needs burn there ; 
 
 But when the hand that lock'd her up, gives room, 
 
 She '11 shine through all the sphere. 
 
 O Father of eternal life, and all 
 Created glories under Thee ! 
 Resume Thy spirit 3 from this world of thrall 
 Into true liberty. 
 
 Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill 
 
 My perspective still as they pass : 
 Or else remove me hence unto that hill, 
 Where I shall need no glass. 
 
 1 trample, tread on and efface 2 'well, spring-head 3 Thy spirit, 
 
 unless a misprint for my, may mean, the Soul Thou hast placed here 
 
 CXXXVI 
 THE DAWNING 
 
 AH ! what time wilt Thou come ? when shall that cry, 
 The Bridegroom 's coming ! fill the sky ? 
 Shall it in the evening run 
 When our words and works are done ? 
 Or will Thy all-surprizing light 
 
 Break at midnight, 
 
 When either sleep, or some dark pleasure 
 Possesseth mad Man without measure ? 
 Or shall these early, fragrant hours 
 
 Unlock Thy bowers? 
 And with their blush of light descry 
 Thy locks crown'd with eternity? 
 Indeed, it is the only time 
 That with Thy glory doth best chime ; 
 All now are stirring, every field 
 
 Full hymns doth yield ; 
 
BOOK I HENRY V A UGH AN 109 
 
 The whole Creation shakes off night, 
 And for Thy shadow, looks l the light ; 
 Stars now vanish without number, 
 Sleepy planets set, and slumber, 
 The pursy clouds disband, and scatter; 
 All expect some sudden matter ; 
 Not one beam triumphs, but from far 
 That Morning-star. 
 
 O at what time soever Thou, 
 
 Unknown to us the heavens wilt bow, 
 
 And, with Thy Angels in the van, 
 
 Descend to judge poor careless Man, 
 
 Grant, I may not like puddle lie 
 
 In a corrupt security, 
 
 Where, if a traveller water crave, 
 
 He finds it dead, and in a grave ; 
 
 But as this restless, vocal Spring 
 
 All day and night doth run, and sing, 
 
 And though here born, yet is acquainted 2 
 
 Elsewhere, and flowing keeps untainted ; 
 
 So let me all my busy age 
 
 In Thy free services engage ; 
 
 And though while here of force I must 
 
 Have commerce sometimes with poor dust, 
 
 And in my flesh, though vile and low, 
 
 As this doth in her channel, flow 3 , 
 
 Yet let my course, my aim, my love, 
 
 And chief acquaintance be above ; 
 
 So when that day and hour shall come, 
 
 In which Thyself will be the Sun, 
 
 Thou'lt find me drest, and on my way, 
 
 Watching the break of Thy great day. 
 
 1 looks [for] 2 acqtiainted) knows other regions 3 flow, move 
 
 CXXXVII 
 THE THRONE 
 
 WHEN with these eyes, closed now by Thcc, 
 But then restored, 
 The great and white throne I shall see 
 
 Of my dread LORD ; 
 And lowly kneeling for the most 
 
 Stiff, then must kneel, 
 Shall look on Him, at Whose high cost 
 Unseen such joys I feel : 
 
HENRY V A UGH AN BOOK I 
 
 Whatever arguments or skill 
 
 Wise heads shall use, 
 Tears only and my blushes still 
 
 I will produce. 
 And should those speechless beggars fail, 
 
 Which oft have won, 
 Then taught by Thee I will prevail, 
 
 And say, Thy will be done ! 
 
 CXXXVIII 
 THE DA Y OF JUDGMENT 
 
 ODAY of life, of light, of love ! 
 The only day dealt from above! 
 A day so fresh, so bright, so brave 1 , 
 'Twill show us each forgotten grave, 
 And make the dead, like flowers, arise 
 Youthful and fair to see new skies. 
 All other days, compared to thee, 
 Are but Light's weak minority ; 
 They are but veils and cypress 2 drawn 
 Like clouds, before thy glorious dawn. 
 
 come ! arise ! shine ! do not stay, 
 
 Dearly loved Day ! 
 
 The fields are long since white, and I 
 With earnest groans for freedom cry ; 
 My fellow-creatures too say, Come ! 
 And stones, though speechless, are not dumb. 
 When shall we hear that glorious voice 
 
 Of life and joys ? 
 That voice which to each secret bed 
 
 Of my LORD'S dead 
 
 Shall bring true day, and make dust see 
 The way to immortality? 
 When shall those first white pilgrims rise, 
 Whose holy, happy histories 
 Because they sleep so long some men 
 Count but the blots of a vain pen ? 
 
 Dear LORD ! make haste ! 
 
 1 brave, splendid 2 cypress, crape 
 
RICHARD CRASH AW 
 
 CXXXIX 
 AT BETHLEHEM 
 
 COME, we shepherds, whose blest sight 
 Hath met Love's noon in Nature's night ; 
 Come, lift we up our loftier song, 
 And wake the Sun that lies too long. 
 
 Gloomy night embraced the place 
 
 Where the noble Infant lay : 
 The Babe look'd up, and show'd His face ; 
 
 In spite of darkness, it was day : 
 It was Thy day, Sweet! and did rise 
 Not from the East, but from Thine eyes. 
 
 We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, 
 
 Young dawn of our eternal Day ; 
 We saw Thine eyes break from their East, 
 
 And chase the trembling shades away : 
 We saw Thee, (and we blest the sight), 
 We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. 
 
 Welcome, all wonders in one sight ! 
 
 Eternity shut in a span ! 
 Summer in Winter ! Day in Night ! 
 
 Heaven in Earth ! and GOD in man ! 
 Great Little One, Whose all-embracing birth, 
 Lifts Earth to Heaven, stoops Heaven to Earth. 
 
 JR. Crashaw 
 
 CXL 
 
 AN ECSTASY 
 
 T ORD, when the sense of Thy sweet grace 
 i ; Sends up my soul to seek Thy face, 
 Thy blessed eyes breed such desire, 
 I die in Love's delicious fire. 
 
 O Love, I am thy sacrifice ; 
 Be still triumphant, blessed eyes; 
 Still shine on me, fair suns ! that I 
 Still may behold, though still I die. 
 
 Though still I die, I live again, 
 Still longing so to be still slain; 
 So gainful is such loss of breath, 
 I die e'en in desire of death. 
 
RICHARD CRASH AW BOOK I 
 
 Still live in me this longing strife 
 Of living death and dying life ; 
 For while Thou sweetly slayest me, 
 Dead to myself, I live in Thee. 
 
 CXLI 
 AN IDYLL OF CHRISTIAN LIFE 
 
 HAPPY me ! O happy sheep ! 
 Whom my GOD vouchsafes to keep, 
 Ev'n my GOD, ev'n He it is 
 That points me to these paths of bliss ; 
 On Whose pastures cheerful Spring, 
 All the year doth sit and sing, 
 And rejoicing, smiles to see 
 Their green backs wear His livery : 
 Pleasure sings my soul to rest, 
 Plenty wears me at her breast, 
 Whose sweet temper teaches me 
 Not wanton, nor in want to be. 
 At my feet the blubbering mountain 
 Weeping, melts into a fountain, 
 Whose soft silver-sweating streams 
 Make high-noon forget his beams : 
 When my wayward breath is flying, 
 He calls home my soul from dying, 
 Strokes and tames my rabid grief, 
 And does woo me into life : 
 When my simple weakness strays, 
 (Tangled in forbidden ways), 
 He (my Shepherd) is my guide ; 
 He 's before me, on my side ; 
 And behind me, He beguiles 
 Craft in all her knotty wiles : 
 He expounds the weary wonder 
 Of my giddy steps, and under 
 Spreads a path clear as the day, 
 Where no churlish rub 1 says nay 
 To my joy-conducted feet, 
 Whilst they gladly go to meet 
 Grace and Peace, to learn new lays 
 Tuned to my great Shepherd's praise. 
 
 Come now, all ye terrors, sally, 
 Muster forth into the valley, 
 Where triumphant darkness hovers 
 With a sable wing, that covers 
 
BOOK I JOSEPH BEAUMONT H3 
 
 Brooding horror. Come, thou Death, 
 
 Let the damps of thy dull breath 
 
 Over-shadow e'en that shade, 
 
 And make Darkness' self afraid ; 
 
 There my feet, e'en there, shall find 
 
 \Vay for a resolved mind. 
 
 Still my Shepherd, still my GOD, 
 
 Thou art with me ; still Thy rod, 
 
 And Thy staff, whose influence 
 
 Gives direction, gives defence. 
 
 At the whisper of Thy word 
 
 Crown'd abundance spreads my board : 
 
 While I feast, my foes do feed 
 
 Their rank malice, not their need, 
 
 So that with the self-same bread 
 
 They are starved, and I am fed. 
 
 How my head in ointment swims ! 
 
 How my cup o'er-looks her brims ! 
 
 So, e'en so still may I move 
 
 By the line of Thy dear love ; 
 
 Still may Thy sweet mercy spread 
 
 A shady arm above my head, 
 
 About my paths ; so shall I find 
 
 The fair centre of my mind, 
 
 Thy temple, and those lovely walls 
 
 Bright ever with a beam that falls 
 
 Fresh from the pure glance of Thine eye, 
 
 Lighting to Eternity. 
 
 There I'll dwell for ever, there 
 
 Will I find a purer air 
 
 To feed my life with, there I'll sup 
 
 Balm and nectar in my cup ; 
 
 And thence my ripe soul will I breathe 
 
 Warm into the arms of Death. 
 
 1 rub % obstruction 
 
 CXLII 
 MORNING HYMN 
 
 WHAT'S this Morn's bright eye to me, 
 If I see not Thine and Thee, 
 Fairer JESU ; in whose Face 
 All my Heaven is spread ! Alas, 
 Still I grovel in dead Night, 
 Whilst I want Thy living Light; 
 I 
 
JOSEPH BEAUMONT BOOK 
 
 Dreaming with wide open eyes 
 Fond fantastic vanities. 
 
 Shine, my only Day-Star, shine : 
 So mine eyes shall wake by Thine ; 
 So the dreams I grope-in now 
 To clear visions all shall grow ; 
 So my day shall measured be 
 By Thy Grace's clarity l ; 
 So shall I discern the Path 
 Thy sweet Law prescribed hath; 
 For Thy ways cannot be shown 
 By any light but by Thine own. 
 
 J. Beaumont 
 
 1 clarity, clear light 
 
 CXLIII 
 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 NEVER yet could careless Sleep 
 On Love's watchful eyelid creep : 
 Never yet could gloomy Night 
 Damp His Eye's immortal light : 
 Love is His own Day, and sees 
 Whatsoe'er Himself doth please : 
 Love His piercing look can dart 
 Thro' the shades of my dark heart, 
 And read plainer far than I 
 All the spots which there do lie. 
 
 Pardon then what thou dost see, 
 Mighty Love, in wretched me : 
 Let the sweet wrath of Thy ray 
 Chide my sinful Night to Day ; 
 To the blessed Day of Grace 
 Whose dear East smiles in Thy Face. 
 So no Powers of Darkness shall 
 In this Night my soul appal ; 
 So shall I the sounder sleep, 
 'Cause my heart awake I keep ; 
 Meekly waiting upon Thee, 
 Whilst Thou deign'st to watch for Me. 
 
JOSEPH BEAUMONT 
 
 CXLIV 
 HOME 
 
 WHAT is House and what is Home, 
 Where with freedom thou hast room, 
 And may'st to all tyrants say, 
 This you cannot take away? 
 'Tis no thing with doors and walls, 
 Which at every earthquake falls ; 
 No fair towers, whose princely fashion 
 Is but Plunder's invitation ; 
 No stout marble structure, where 
 Walls Eternity do dare ; 
 No brass gates, no bars of steel, 
 Tho' Time's teeth they scorn to feel : 
 Brass is not so bold as Pride, 
 If on Power's wings it ride ; 
 Marble 's not so hard as Spite 
 Arm'd with lawless Strength and Might. 
 Right and just Possession, be 
 Potent names, when Laws stand free : 
 But if once that rampart fall, 
 Stoutest thieves inherit all : 
 To be rich and weak's a sure 
 And sufficient forfeiture. 
 
 Seek no more abroad, say I, 
 House and Home, but turn thine eye 
 Inward, and observe thy breast; 
 There alone dwells solid Rest. 
 That's a close immured tower 
 Which can mock all hostile power. 
 To thyself a tenant be, 
 And inhabit safe and free. 
 Say not that this House is small, 
 Girt up in a narrow wall : 
 In a cleanly sober mind 
 Heaven itself full room doth find. 
 Th* Infinite CREATOR can 
 Dwell in it; and may not Man? 
 Here content make thy abode 
 With thyself and with thy GOD. 
 Here in this sweet privacy 
 May'st thou with thyself agree, 
 And keep House in peace, tho' all 
 Th' Universe's fabric fall. 
 No disaster can distress thee, 
 Nor no Fury dispossess thee : 
 
1 1 6 JOSEPH BEAUMONT BOOK I 
 
 Let all war and plunder come, 
 
 Still may'st thou dwell safe at Home. 
 
 Home is everywhere to thee, 
 Who can'st thine own dwelling be; 
 Yea, tho' ruthless Death assail thee, 
 Still thy lodging will not fail thee ; 
 Still thy Soul's thine own; and she 
 To an House removed shall be; 
 An eternal House above, 
 Wall'd, and roofd, and paved with Love. 
 There shall these mud-walls of thine, 
 Gallantly repair'd, out-shine 
 Mortal Stars; No Stars shall be 
 In that Heaven but such as Thee. 
 
 CXLV 
 WHIT SUNDAY 
 
 FOUNTAIN of Sweets ! Eternal Dove ! 
 Which leav'st Thy glorious perch above, 
 And hovering down, vouchsafest thus 
 To make Thy nest below with Us. 
 
 Soft as Thy softest feathers, may 
 We find Thy Love to us to-day; 
 And in the shelter of Thy wing 
 Obtain Thy leave and grace to sing. 
 
 CXLVI 
 THE ASCENSION 
 
 LIFT up your heads, great Gates, and sing, 
 Now Glory comes, and Glory's King ; 
 Now by your high all-golden way 
 The fairer Heaven comes home to-day. 
 
 Hark ! now the Gates are ope, and hear 
 The tune of each triumphant sphere ; 
 Where every Angel as he sings 
 Keeps time with his applauding wings, 
 And makes Heaven's loftiest roof rebound 
 The echoes of the noble sound. 
 
KOOK I HENRY MORE 
 
 CXLVII 
 
 RESOLUTION: 
 
 THE SONG OF HYLOBARIS CONCERNING 
 DIVINE PROVIDENCE 
 
 WHERE 's now the object of thy fears ; 
 Needless sighs and fruitless tears? 
 They be all gone like idle dream 
 Suggested from the body's steam. 
 O Cave of horror black as pitch ! 
 Dark den of Spectres that bewitch 
 The weaken'd phansy, sore affright 
 With the grim shades of grisly Night. 
 What 's Plague and Prison ? Loss of friends ? 
 War, Dearth, and Death that all things ends? 
 Mere bug-bears for the childish mind : 
 Pure panic terrors of the blind. 
 
 Collect thy soul into one sphere 
 Of light, and 'bove the earth it rear : 
 Those wild scatter'd thoughts that erst 
 Lay loosely in the World disperst 
 Call in : Thy spirit thus knit in one 
 Fair lucid orb ; those fears be gone 
 Like vain impostures of the Night 
 That fly before the Morning bright. 
 Then with pure eyes thou shalt behold 
 How the first Goodness doth infold 
 All things in loving tender arms : 
 That deemed mischiefs are no harms, 
 But sovereign salves, and skilful cures 
 Of greater woes the world endures ; 
 That Man's stout soul may win a state 
 Far raised above the reach of Fate. 
 
 Then wilt thou say, GOD rules the World, 
 Though mountain over mountain hurl'd 
 Be pitch'd amid the foaming main, 
 Which busy winds to wrath constrain. 
 His fall doth make the billows start 
 And backward skip from every part, 
 Quite sunk ; then o'er his senseless side 
 The waves in triumph proudly ride. 
 Though inward tempests fiercely rock 
 The tottering Earth, that with the shock 
 High spires and heavy rocks fall down 
 With their own weight drove into ground ; 
 
HENRY MORE HOOK I 
 
 Though pitchy blasts from Hell up-borne 
 
 Stop the outgoings of the Morn, 
 
 And Nature play her fiery games 
 
 In this forced Night, with fulgurant l flames, 
 
 Baring by fits for more affright 
 
 The pale dead visages, ghastly sight 
 
 Of men astonish'd at the stoure 2 
 
 Of Heaven's great rage, the rattling showers 
 
 Of hail, the hoarse bellowing of thunder, 
 
 Their own loud shrieks made mad with wonder : 
 
 All this confusion cannot move 
 
 The purged mind, freed from the love 
 
 Of commerce with her body dear, 
 
 Cell of sad thoughts, sole spring of fear. 
 
 Whate'er I feel or hear or see 
 Threats but these parts that mortal be. 
 Nought can the honest heart dismay 
 Unless the love of living clay, 
 And long acquaintance with the light 
 Of this Out-world, and what to sight 
 Those too officious beams discover 
 Of forms that round about us hover. 
 
 Power, Wisdom, Goodness sure did frame 
 This Universe, and still guide the same. 
 But thoughts from passions sprung, deceive 
 Vain mortals. No man can contrive 
 A better course than what's been run 
 Since the first circuit of the Sun. 
 
 He that beholds all from on high 
 Knows better what to do than I. 
 I 'm not mine own : should I repine 
 If He dispose of what 's not mine ? 
 Purge but thy soul of blind self-will, 
 Thou straight shalt see GOD doth no ill. 
 The world He fills with the bright rays 
 Of His free goodness. He displays 
 Himself throughout. Like common air 
 That spirit of life through all doth fare, 
 Suck'd in by them as vital breath 
 That willingly embrace not death. 
 But those that with that living Law 
 Be unacquainted, cares do gnaw; 
 Mistrust of GOD'S good providence 
 Doth daily vex their wearied sense. 
 
 H. More 
 
 l fulgurant, lightning 2 stoure, tumult 
 
BOOK I HENRY MORE 1 19 
 
 CXLVIII 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHER'S DEVOTION: 
 THE SONG OF BATHYNOUS 
 
 SING aloud, His praise rehearse, 
 Who hath made the Universe. 
 He the boundless Heavens has spread, 
 All the vital Orbs has kned 1 ; 
 He that on Olympus high 
 Tends His flocks 2 with watchful eye, 
 And this eye 3 has multiplied 
 Midst each flock for to reside : 
 Thus as round about they stray, 
 Toucheth each with out-stretch'd ray ; 
 Nimble they hold on their way, 
 Shaping out their Night and Day. 
 Summer, Winter, Autumn, Spring, 
 Their inclined Axes bring. 
 Never slack they ; none respires, 
 Dancing round their central fires. 
 
 In due order as they move, 
 Echoes sweet be gently drove 
 Thorough Heaven's vast hollowness, 
 Which unto all corners press : 
 Music that the heart of Jove 4 
 Moves to joy and sportful love ; 
 Fills the listening Sailors' ears 
 Riding on the wandering spheres. 
 Neither Speech nor Language is 
 Where their voice is not transmiss. 5 
 GOD is Good, is Wise, is Strong, 
 Witness all the creature-throng, 
 Is confess'd by every tongue. 
 All things back from whence they sprung, 
 As the thankful rivers pay 
 What they borrow'd of the sea. 
 
 Now myself I do resign; 
 Take me whole, I all am thine. 
 Save me, GOD ! from Self-desire, 
 Death's pit, dark Hell's raging fire, 
 Envy, Hatred, Vengeance, Ire : 
 Let not Lust my soul bemire. 
 
 Quit from these, Thy praise I '11 sing. 
 Loudly sweep the trembling string. 
 Bear a part, O Wisdom's sons ! 
 Freed from vain Religions. 
 
120 HENRY MORE BOOK I 
 
 Lo ! from far I you salute, 
 Sweetly warbling on my lute, 
 Indie, Egypt, Araby, 
 Asia, Greece, and Tartary, 
 Carmel-tracts and Lebanon, 
 With the Mountains of the Moon, 
 From whence muddy Nile doth run ; 
 Or where ever else you won 6 
 Breathing in one vital air, 
 One we are, though distant far. 
 
 Rise at once let's sacrifice, 
 Odours sweet perfume the skies. 
 See how heavenly lightning fires 
 Hearts inflamed with high aspires ! 
 All the substance of our souls 
 Up in clouds of incense rolls. 
 Leave we nothing to ourselves, 
 Save a voice, what need we else ? 
 Or an hand to wear and tire 
 On the thankful lute or lyre. 
 
 Sing aloud, His praise rehearse 
 Who hath made the Universe. 
 
 1 kned, knit 2 flocks, the stars 3 eye, sun 4 Jove, used 
 
 forjehovak 5 transmits, sent through 6 won, abide 
 
 CXLIX 
 THE ASPIRATION 
 
 HOW long, great GOD, how long must I 
 Immured in this dark prison lie ; 
 Where at the grates and avenues of sense, 
 My soul must watch to have intelligence ; 
 Where but faint gleams of Thee salute my sight, 
 Like doubtful moonshine in a cloudy night : 
 When shall I leave this magic sphere, 
 And be all mind, all eye, all ear? 
 
 How cold this clime ! And yet my sense 
 Perceives e'en here Thy influence. 
 E'en here Thy strong magnetic charms I feel, 
 And pant and tremble like the amorous steel. 
 To lower good, and beauties less divine, 
 Sometimes my erroneous needle does decline, 
 But yet, so strong the sympathy, 
 It turns, and points again to Thee. 
 
BOOK I FRANCIS QUARLES i: 
 
 I long to see this excellence 
 Which at such distance strikes my sense. 
 My impatient soul struggles to disengage 
 Her wings from the confinement of her cage. 
 Wouldst thou, great Love, this prisoner once set free, 
 How would she hasten to be link'd to Thee ! 
 She'd for no angels' conduct stay, 
 But fly, and love-on, all the way. 
 
 J. Norn's 
 
 CL 
 SERAPHIC LOVE 
 
 T^HROUGH Contemplation's optics I have seen 
 1 Him Who is * fairer than the sons of men ' : 
 The source of good, the light archetypal, 
 
 Beauty in the original. 
 
 ' The fairest of ten thousand,' He, 
 
 Proportion all and harmony ; 
 
 All mortal beauty 's but a ray 
 
 Of His bright ever-shining day; 
 
 A little, feeble, twinkling star, 
 
 Which, now the Sun 's in place, must disappear : 
 There is but One that 's good, there is but One that 's fair. 
 
 To Thee, Thou only Fair, my soul aspires 
 
 With holy breathings, languishing desires. 
 
 To thee m'. inamoured panting heart does move, 
 
 By efforts of ecstatic love. 
 
 How do Thy glorious streams of light 
 
 Refresh my intellectual sight ! 
 
 Tho' broken, and strain'd through a screen 
 
 Of envious flesh that stands between ! 
 
 When shall m' imprison'd soul be free, 
 That she Thy native uncorrected light may see, 
 And gaze upon Thy beatific face to all eternity ? 
 
 CLI 
 THE BELOVED 
 
 E'EN like two little bank-dividing brooks, 
 That wash the pebbles with their wanton streams, 
 And having ranged and search'd a thousand nooks, 
 Meet both at length in silver-breasted Thames, 
 
 Where in a greater current they conjoin : 
 So I my Best-beloved's am ; so He is mine. 
 
FRANCIS QUARLES BOOK I 
 
 E'en so we met ; and after long pursuit, 
 
 E'en so we join'd : we both became entire ; 
 
 No need for either to renew a suit, 
 
 For I was flax and He was flames of fire : 
 Our firm-united souls did more than twine ; 
 
 So I my Best-beloved's am ; so He is mine. 
 
 He is my Altar ; I, His Holy Place ; 
 
 I am His guest ; and He my living food ; 
 I 'm His by penitence ; He mine by grace ; 
 
 I 'm His by purchase ; He is mine, by blood ; 
 
 He 's my supporting elm ; and I His vine ; 
 Thus I my Best-beloved's am; thus He is mine; 
 
 If all those glittering Monarchs that command 
 
 The servile quarters of this earthly ball, 
 Should tender, in exchange, their shares of land, 
 
 I would not change my fortunes fpr them all : 
 
 Their wealth is but a counter to my coin; 
 The world 's but their's ; but my Beloved 's mine. 
 
 F. Quarles 
 
 CLII 
 QUIA AMORE LANGUEO 
 
 'V^'OU holy Virgins, that so oft surround 
 1 The city's sapphire walls ; whose snowy feet 
 Measure the pearly paths of sacred ground, 
 
 And trace the new Jerusalem's jasper street; 
 Ah, you whose care-forsaken hearts are crown'd 
 With your be'st wishes ; that enjoy the sweet 
 Of all your hopes ; if e'er you chance to spy 
 My absent Love, O tell Him that I lie 
 Deep-wounded with the flames that furnaced from His eye. 
 
 I charge you, Virgins, as you hope to hear 
 
 The heavenly music of your Lover's voice ; 
 I charge you by the solemn faith ye bear 
 
 To plighted vows, and to that loyal choice 
 Of your affections ; or, if aught more dear 
 
 You hold ; by Hymen ; by your marriage-joys ; 
 I charge you tell Him, that a flaming dart, 
 Shot from His eye, hath pierced my bleeding heart; 
 And I am sick of love, and languish in my smart. 
 
UOOK I FRANCIS QUARLES 123 
 
 Tell Him, O tell Him, how my panting breast 
 
 Is scorch'd with flames, and how my soul is pined ; 
 Tell Him, O tell Him, how I lie opprest 
 
 With the full torments of a troubled mind ; 
 O tell Him, tell Him, that He loves in jest, 
 But I in earnest ; tell Him, He 's unkind : 
 But if a discontented frown appears 
 Upon His angry brow, accost His ears 
 With soft and fewer words, and act the rest in tears. 
 
 O, tell Him, that His cruelties deprive 
 
 My soul of peace, while peace in vain she seeks ; 
 Tell Him those damask roses, that did strive 
 
 With white, both fade, upon my sallow cheeks ; 
 Tell Him, no token doth proclaim I live, 
 
 But tears, and sighs, and sobs, and sudden shrieks ; 
 Thus if 3'our piercing words should chance to bore 
 His harkening ear, and move a sigh, give o'er 
 To speak ; and tell Him, Tell Him that I could no more. 
 
 CLIII 
 GOOD NIGHT 
 
 CLOSE now thine eyes, and rest secure; 
 Thy soul is safe enough ; thy body sure ; 
 
 He that loves thee, He that keeps 
 And guards thee, never slumbers, never sleeps. 
 The smiling Conscience in a sleeping breast 
 
 Has only peace, has only rest : 
 
 The music and the mirth of kings 
 Are all but very discords, when she sings : 
 
 Then close thine eyes and rest secure ; 
 No sleep so sweet as thine, no rest so sure. 
 
 CLIV 
 
 MY glass is half unspent ; Forbear t' arrest 
 My thriftless day too soon : my poor request 
 Is that my glass may run but out the rest. 
 
 My time-devoured minutes will be done 
 
 Without Thy help; see, see how swift they run; 
 
 Cut not my thread, before my thread be spun. 
 
 The gain's not great I purchase by this stay; 
 What loss sustain'st Thou by so small delay, 
 To whom ten thousand years are but a day? 
 
12 4 FRANCIS QUARLES BOOK I 
 
 My following eye can hardly make a shift 
 
 To count my winged hours ; they fly so swift, 
 
 They scarce deserve the bounteous name of gift. 
 
 The secret wheels of hurrying Time do give 
 So short a warning, and so fast they drive, 
 That I am dead before I seem to live. 
 
 And what's a Life? a weary Pilgrimage, 
 Whose glory in one day doth fill the stage 
 With Childhood, Manhood, and decrepit Age. 
 
 And what's a Life? the flourishing array 
 Of the proud Summer meadow, which today 
 Wears her green plush, and is tomorrow hay. 
 
 And what's a Life? a blast sustain'd with clothing, 
 Maintain'd with food, retain 'd with vile self-loathing ; 
 Then weary of itself, again'd to nothing. 
 
 Read on this dial, how the shades devour 
 
 My short-lived winter's day ; hour eats up hour, 
 
 Alas, the total 's but from eight to four. 
 
 Behold these Lilies (which Thy hands have made 
 
 Fair copies of my life, and open laid 
 
 To view) how soon they droop, how soon they fade ! 
 
 Shade not that dial, night will blind too soon ; 
 My nonaged day already points to noon ; 
 How simple is my suit ! how small my boon ! 
 
 Nor do I beg this slender inch, to while 
 
 The time away, or falsely to beguile 
 
 My thoughts with joy ; here 's nothing worth a smile : 
 
 No, no; 'tis not to please my wanton ears 
 With frantic mirth, I beg but hours, not years ; 
 And what Thou giv'st me, I will give to tears. 
 
 Draw not that soul which would be rather led ; 
 That Seed has yet not broke my Serpent's head ; 
 
 shall I die before my sins are dead ? 
 
 Behold these rags ; am I a fitting guest 
 To taste the dainties of Thy royal feast, 
 With hands and face unwash'd, ungirt, unblest? 
 
 First, let the Jordan streams, (that find supplies 
 
 From the deep fountain of my heart), arise, 
 
 And cleanse my spots, and clear my leprous eyes. 
 
 1 have a world of sins to be lamented ; 
 
 I have a sea of tears that must be vented : 
 O spare till then ! and then I die contented. 
 
BOOK I GEORGE WITHER 125 
 
 CLV 
 
 EVENING 
 
 BEHOLD the sun, that seem'd but now 
 Enthroned overhead, 
 Beginning to decline below 
 
 The globe whereon we tread ; 
 And he, whom yet we look upon 
 
 With comfort and delight, 
 Will quite depart from hence anon, 
 And leave us to the night. 
 
 Thus Time, unheeded, steals away 
 
 The life which Nature gave ; 
 Thus are our bodies every day 
 
 Declining to the grave : 
 Thus from us all our pleasures fly 
 
 Whereon we set our heart; 
 And when the night of death draws nigh, 
 
 Thus will they all depart. 
 LORD ! though the sun forsake our sight, 
 
 And mortal hopes are vain ; 
 Let still Thine everlasting light 
 
 Within our souls remain ! 
 And in the nights of our distress 
 
 Vouchsafe those rays divine, 
 Which from the Sun of Righteousness 
 
 For ever brightly shine! 
 
 G. Wither 
 
 CLVI 
 A LULLABY 
 
 SWEET baby, sleep! what ails my dear, 
 What ails my darling thus to cry? 
 Be still, my child, and lend thine ear, 
 
 To hear me sing thy lullaby : 
 My pretty lamb, forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my dear; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 Thou blessed soul, what canst thou fear? 
 
 What thing to thee can mischief do ? 
 Thy GOD is now thy Father dear, 
 
 His holy Spouse, thy Mother too. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
GEORGE WITHER KOOK I 
 
 Sweet baby, sleep, and nothing fear ; 
 
 For whosoever thee offends 
 By thy Protector threaten'd are, 
 
 And GOD and Angels are thy friends. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 When GOD with us was dwelling here, 
 
 In little babes He took delight; 
 Such innocents as thou, my dear, 
 
 Are ever precious in His sight. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 A little infant once was He ; 
 
 And strength in weakness then was laid 
 Upon His Virgin Mother's knee, 
 
 That power to thee might be convey'd. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 The King of kings, when He was born, 
 
 Had not so much for outward ease ; 
 By Him such dressings were not worn, 
 
 Nor such-like swaddling-clothes as these. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 Within a manger lodged thy LORD, 
 
 Where oxen lay, and asses fed : 
 Warm rooms we do to thee afford, 
 
 An easy cradle or a bed. 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 Thou hast, yet more, to perfect this, 
 
 A promise and an earnest got 
 Of gaining everlasting bliss, 
 
 Though thou, my babe, perceiv'st it not ; 
 Sweet baby, then forbear to weep ; 
 Be still, my babe ; sweet baby, sleep. 
 
 CLVII 
 
 MY soul doth pant towards Thee, 
 My GOD, source of eternal life : 
 Flesh fights with me; 
 Oh end the strife, 
 And part us, that in peace I may 
 Unclay 
 
BOOK I JEREMY TAYLOR 
 
 My wearied spirit, and take 
 My flight to Thy eternal spring, 
 Where, for His sake 
 Who is my King, 
 I may wash all my tears away, 
 That- day. 
 
 Thou Conqueror of death, 
 Glorious triumpher o'er the grave, 
 Whose holy breath 
 Was spent to save 
 Lost mankind, make me to be styled 
 Thy child, 
 
 And take me when I die 
 And go unto my dust ; my soul 
 Above the sky 
 With saints enrol, 
 That in Thy arms, for ever, I 
 May lie. 
 
 J. Taylor 
 
 CLVIII 
 HYMN FOR ADVENT 
 
 LORD, come away; 
 Why dost Thou stay? 
 Thy road is ready ; and Thy paths, made straight, 
 
 With longing expectation wait 
 The consecration of Thy beauteous feet. 
 Ride on triumphantly: behold we lay 
 Our lusts and proud wills in thy way. 
 Hosannah ! welcome to our hearts ? LORD, here 
 Thou hast a temple too, and full as dear 
 As that of Sion ; and as full of sin : 
 Nothing but thieves and robbers dwell therein : 
 Enter, and chase them forth, and cleanse the floor; 
 Crucify them, that they may never more 
 
 Profane that holy place 
 Where Thou hast chose to set Thy face. 
 And then if our stiff tongues shall be 
 Mute in the praises of Thy Deity, 
 The stones out of the temple-wall 
 
 Shall cry aloud, and call 
 Hosannah ! and Thy glorious footsteps greet. 
 
128 RICHARD BAXTER BOOK I 
 
 CLIX 
 
 LORD, it belongs not to my care, 
 Whether I die or live ; 
 To love and serve Thee is my share, 
 And this Thy grace must give. 
 
 If life be long I will be glad, 
 
 That I may long obey ; 
 If short yet why should I be sad 
 
 To soar to endless day? 
 
 CHRIST leads me through no darker rooms 
 
 Than He went through before ; 
 He that unto GOD'S kingdom comes, 
 
 Must enter by this door. 
 
 Come, LORD, when grace has made me meet 
 
 Thy blessed face to see ; 
 For if Thy work on earth be sweet, 
 
 What will Thy glory be ! 
 
 Then I shall end my sad complaints, 
 
 And weary, sinful days ; 
 And join with the triumphant saints, 
 
 To sing JEHOVAH'S praise. 
 
 My knowledge of that life is small, 
 
 The eye of faith is dim ; 
 But 'tis enough that CHRIST knows all, 
 
 And I shall be with Him. 
 
 R. Baxter 
 
 CLX 
 
 I SAID sometimes with tears, 
 Ah me ! I 'm loth to die ! 
 LORD, silence Thou these fears : 
 My life 's with Thee on high. 
 Sweet truth to me ! 
 ! shall arise, 
 And with these eyes 
 My Saviour see. 
 
 My life ? s a shade, my days 
 Apace to death decline ; 
 My LORD is Life ; He '11 raise 
 My dust again, ev'n mine. 
 
BOOK I SAMUEL GROSSMAN 129 
 
 My peaceful grave shall keep 
 My bones till, that sweet day, 
 I wake from my long sleep 
 And leave my bed of clay. 
 
 My LORD His angels shall 
 Their golden trumpets sound ; 
 At whose most welcome call 
 My grave shall be unbound. 
 Sweet truth to me ! 
 I shall arise, 
 And with these eyes 
 My Saviour see. 
 
 S. Crosswian 
 
 CLXI 
 
 SWEET place, sweet place alone ! 
 The court of GOD most High, 
 The Heaven of Heavens, the Throne 
 Of spotless majesty ! 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be, 
 My GOD, with Thee, 
 To see Thy face? 
 
 The stranger homeward bends, 
 And sigheth for his rest : 
 Heaven is my home, my friends 
 Lodge there in Abraham's breast. 
 
 Earth's but a sorry tent 
 
 Pitch'd for a few frail days, 
 
 A short-leased tenement ; 
 
 Heaven 's still my song, my praise. 
 
 No tears from any eyes 
 Drop in that holy quire; 
 But Death itself there dies, 
 And sighs themselves expire. 
 
 There should temptations cease, 
 My frailties there should end ; 
 There should I rest in peace 
 In the arms of my best Friend. 
 
 Jerusalem on high 
 My song and City is, 
 My home whene'er I die, 
 The centre of my bliss. 
 K 
 
130 SAMUEL GROSSMAN BOOK I 
 
 Thy walls, sweet City, thine, 
 With pearls are garnished ; 
 Thy gates with praises shine, 
 Thy streets with gold are spread ; 
 
 No sun by day shines there, 
 Nor moon by silent night ; 
 Oh no ! these needless are ; 
 The Lamb's the city's Light. 
 
 There dwells my LORD, my King, 
 Judged here unfit to live ; 
 There Angels to Him sing, 
 And lowly homage give. 
 
 The Patriarchs of old 
 There from their travels cease ; 
 The Prophets there behold 
 Their long 'd-for Prince of Peace : 
 
 The Lamb's Apostles there 
 I might with joy behold, 
 The Harpers I might hear 
 Harping on harps of gold: 
 
 The bleeding Martyrs, they 
 Within those courts are found, 
 Clothed in pure array, 
 Their scars with glory crown 'd. 
 
 Ah me ! Ah me ! that I 
 In Kedar's tents here stay ! 
 No place like this on high ! 
 Thither, LORD ! guide my way ! 
 O happy place ! 
 When shall I be. 
 My GOD, with Thee, 
 To see Thy face? 
 
 CLXII 
 
 BLEST be Thy love, dear LORD, 
 That taught us this sweet way. 
 Only to love Thee for Thyself, 
 And for that love obey. 
 
 O Thou, our souls' chief hope ! 
 We to Thy mercy fly; 
 Where'er we are, Thou canst protect, 
 Whatever we need, supply. 
 
BOOK I JOHN AUSTIN 131 
 
 Whether we sleep or wake, 
 To Thee we both resign ; 
 By night we see, as well as day, 
 If Thy light on us shine. 
 
 Whether we live or die, 
 Both we submit to Thee; 
 In death we live, as well as life, 
 If Thine in death we be. 
 
 J. Austin 
 
 CLXIII 
 
 FAIN would my thoughts fly up to Thee, 
 Thy peace, sweet LORD, to find ; 
 But when I offer, still the world 
 Lays clogs upon my mind. 
 
 Sometimes I climb a little way 
 
 And thence look down below; 
 How nothing, there, do all things seem, 
 
 That here make such a show ! 
 
 Then round about I turn my eyes 
 
 To feast my hungry sight ; 
 I meet with Heaven in every thing, 
 
 In every thing deligh^. 
 
 When I have thus triumph'd awhile, 
 
 And think to build my nest, 
 Some cross conceits come fluttering by, 
 
 And interrupt my rest. 
 
 Then to the earth again I fall, 
 
 And from my low dust cry, 
 'Twas not in my wing, LORD, but Thine, 
 
 That I got up so high. 
 
 And now, my GOD, whether I rise, 
 
 Or still lie down in dust, 
 Both I submit to Thy blest will ; 
 
 In both, on Thee I trust. 
 
 Guide Thou my way, who art Thyself 
 
 My everlasting End, 
 That every step, or swift, or slow, 
 
 Still to Thyself may tend ! 
 
 To Father, Son, and Holy Ghost, 
 
 One consubstantial Three, 
 All highest praise, all humblest thanks, 
 
 Now and for ever be ! 
 
132 JOHN AUSTIN BOOK I 
 
 CLXIV 
 
 HARK, my soul, how every thing 
 Strives to serve our bounteous King ; 
 Each a double tribute pays ; 
 Sings its part, and then obeys. 
 
 Nature's sweet and chiefest quire 
 Him with cheerful notes admire ; 
 Chanting every day their lauds 1 , 
 While the grove their song applauds. 
 
 Though their voices lower be, 
 Streams have too their melody ; 
 Night and day they warbling run, 
 Never pause, but still sing on. 
 
 All the flowers that gild the spring 
 Hither their still music bring; 
 If Heaven bless them, thankful they 
 Smell more sweet, and look more gay. 
 
 Only we can scarce afford 
 This short office to our LORD ; 
 We, on whom His bounty flows, 
 All things gives, and nothing owes. 
 
 Wake, for shame, my sluggish heart, 
 Wake, and gladly sing thy part : 
 Learn of birds, and springs, and flowers, 
 How to use thy noble powers. 
 
 Call whole Nature to thy aid, 
 Since 'twas He whole Nature made ; 
 Join in one eternal song, 
 Who to one GOD all belong. 
 
 Live for ever, glorious LORD, 
 Live, by all Thy works adored ; 
 One in Three, and Three in One, 
 Thrice we bow to Thee alone. 
 
 1 lauds here has reference to the Office, for which this hymn was written 
 
 CLXV 
 ALL SAINTS 1 DAY 
 
 WAKE, all my hopes, lift up your eyes, 
 And crown your heads with mirth ; 
 See how they shine beyond the skies, 
 Who once dwelt on our earth ! 
 
BOOK I JOHN AUSTIN 133 
 
 Peace, busy thoughts, away, vain cares, 
 
 That clog us here below ; 
 Let us go up above the spheres, 
 
 And to each Order bow. 
 
 Hail, glorious Angels, Heirs of Light, 
 
 The high-born sons of Fire ! 
 Whose hearts burn chaste, whose flames shine bright; 
 
 All joy, yet all desire. 
 
 Hail, holy Saints, who long in hope. 
 
 Long in the shadow sate, 
 Till our victorious LORD set ope 
 
 Heaven's everlasting Gate. 
 
 Hail, great Apostles of the Lamb, 
 
 Who brought that early ray 
 Which from our Sun reflected came, 
 
 And made our first fair day. 
 
 Hail, generous Martyrs, whose strong hearts 
 
 Bravely rejoiced to prove, 
 How weak, pale Death, are all thy darts, 
 
 Compared to those of Love. 
 
 Hail, blessed Confessors, who died 
 
 A death too, Love did give ; 
 Whilst your own flesh ye crucified, 
 
 To make your Spirit live. 
 
 Hail, beauteous Virgins, whose chaste vows 
 
 Renounced all fond desires : 
 Who wisely chose your LORD for Spouse, 
 
 And burn'd with His pure fires. 
 
 Hail, all ye happy Spirits above, 
 
 Who make that glorious ring 
 About the sparkling Throne of Love, 
 
 And there for ever sing. 
 
 Hail, and among your crowns of praise, 
 
 Present this little wreath, 
 Which, while your lofty notes you raise, 
 
 We humbly sing beneath. 
 
 All glory to the sadfed Three, 
 
 One ever-living LORD ; 
 As at the first, still may He be 
 
 Beloved, obey'd, adored. 
 
J 34 JOHN AUSTIN BOOK I 
 
 CLXVI 
 
 BEHOLD we come, dear LORD, to Thee, 
 And bow before Thy throne ; 
 We come to offer on our knee 
 Our vows to Thee alone. 
 
 Whate'er we have, whate'er we are, 
 
 Thy bounty freely gave ; 
 Thou dost us here in mercy spare, 
 
 And wilt hereafter save. 
 
 Come then, my soul, bring all thy powers, 
 
 And grieve thou hast no more, 
 Bring every day thy choicest hours, 
 
 And thy great GOD adore. 
 
 But, above all, prepare thine heart 
 
 On this, His own blest day, 
 In its sweet task to bear thy part, 
 
 And sing, and love, and pray. 
 
 CLXVII 
 
 MY LORD, my Love, was crucified ; 
 He all the pains did bear; 
 But in the sweetness of His rest 
 He makes His servants share. 
 How sweetly rest Thy saints above 
 
 Which in Thy bosom lie ! 
 The Church below doth rest in hope 
 Of that felicity. 
 
 Thou, LORD, who daily feed'st Thy sheep, 
 
 Mak'st them a weekly feast; 
 Thy flocks meet in their several folds 
 
 Upon this day of rest : 
 Welcome and dear unto my soul 
 
 Are these sweet feasts of love : 
 But what a sabbath shall I keep 
 
 When I shall rest above ! 
 
 I bless Thy wise and wondrous love. 
 
 Which binds us to be free ; 
 Which makes us leave our earthly snares, 
 
 That we may come to Thee ! 
 
BOOK I JOHN MASON 135 
 
 I come, I wait, I hear, I pray ! 
 
 Thy footsteps, LORD, I trace ! 
 I sing to think this is the way 
 
 Unto my Saviour's face ! 
 
 J. Mason 
 
 CLXVIII 
 
 THERE is a Stream, which issues forth 
 From GOD'S eternal Throne, 
 And from the Lamb, a living stream 
 Clear as the crystal stone. 
 
 The stream doth water Paradise ; 
 
 It makes the Angels sing ; 
 One cordial drop revives my heart; 
 
 Hence all my joys do spring. 
 
 Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, 
 
 From fancy 'tis conceal'd, 
 What Thou, LORD, hast laid up for Thine, 
 
 And hast to me reveal'd. 
 
 CLXIX 
 
 HOW shall I sing that Majesty 
 Which Angels do admire? 
 Let dust in dust and silence lie ; 
 Sing, sing, ye heavenly quire ! 
 Thousands of thousands stand around 
 
 Thy throne, O GOD most high ; 
 Ten thousand times ten thousand sound 
 Thy praise ; but who am I ? 
 
 Thy brightness unto them appears, 
 
 Whilst I Thy footsteps trace ; 
 A sound of GOD comes to my ears; 
 
 But they behold Thy face. 
 They sing because Thou art their sun : 
 
 LORD, send a beam on me ; 
 For where heaven is but once begun, 
 
 There hallelujahs be. 
 
 How great a being, LORD, is thine, 
 Which doth all beings keep ! 
 
 Thy knowledge is the only line 
 To sound so vast a deep. 
 
I3 6 JOHN MASON BOOK I 
 
 Thou art a sea without a shore, 
 
 A sun without a sphere ; 
 Thy time is now and evermore, 
 
 Thy place is everywhere. 
 
 Who would not fear Thy searching eye, 
 
 Witness to all that's true! 
 Dark Hell, and deep hypocrisy, 
 
 Lie plain before Its view. 
 Motions and thoughts before they grow, 
 
 Thy knowledge doth espy; 
 What unborn ages are to do, 
 
 Is done before Thine eye. 
 
 CLXX 
 
 ALAS, my GOD, that we should be 
 Such strangers to each other! 
 
 that as friends we might agree, 
 And walk and talk together! 
 
 May I taste that communion, LORD, 
 Thy people have with Thee? 
 
 Thy Spirit daily talks with them, 
 O let It talk with me! 
 
 Like Enoch, let me walk with GOD, 
 
 And thus walk out my day, 
 Attended with the heavenly Guards, 
 
 Upon the King's highway. 
 
 When wilt Thou come unto me, LORD? 
 
 come, my LORD most dear! 
 Come near, come nearer, nearer still : 
 
 1 'm well when Thou art near. 
 
 There 's no such thing as pleasure here ; 
 
 My JESUS is my all : 
 As Thou dost shine or disappear, 
 
 My pleasures rise and fall. 
 
 When wilt Thou come unto me, LORD ? 
 For, till Thou dost appear, 
 
 1 count each moment for a day, 
 Each minute for a year. 
 
 T. Shepherd 
 
BOOK I ANONYMOUS 137 
 
 CLXXI 
 THE WAYS OF WISDOM 
 
 HPHESE sweeter far than lilies are, 
 X No roses may with these compare : 
 How these excel, 
 No tongue can tell 
 Which he that well and truly knows 
 
 With praise and joy he goes ! 
 
 How great and happy 's he that knows his ways 
 To be divine and heavenly joys : 
 To whom each city is more brave 
 
 Than walls of pearl, and streets which gold doth pave : 
 Whose open eyes 
 Behold the skies ; 
 
 Who loves their wealth and beauty more 
 Than kings love golden ore ! 
 
 Who sees the heavenly ancient ways 
 Of GOD the LORD, with joy and praise 
 More than the skies : 
 With open eyes 
 Doth prize them all ; yea, more than gems, 
 
 And regal diadems : 
 
 That more esteemeth mountains, as they are, 
 Than if they gold and silver were : 
 To whom the sun more pleasure brings, 
 Than crowns, and thrones, and palaces to kings ; 
 That knows his ways 
 To be the joys 
 
 And way of GOD. These things who knows 
 With joy and praise he goes ! 
 
 Anon. 
 
 of ffioofc fftrst 
 
Boofc Secon& 
 
 CLXXII 
 REASON 
 
 THE Holy Book, like the Eighth Sphere 1 , does shine 
 With thousand lights of truth divine : 
 So numberless the stars, that to the eye 
 
 It makes but all one galaxy : 
 Yet Reason must assist too, for in seas 
 
 So vast and dangerous as these, 
 Our course by stars above we cannot know, 
 Without the compass too below. 
 
 Though Reason cannot through Faith's mysteries see, 
 
 It sees that there and such they be ; 
 Leads to Heaven's-door, and there does humbly keep, 
 
 And there through chinks and key-holes peep. 
 Though it, like Moses, by a sad command 
 
 Must not come into th' Holy Land, 
 Yet thither it infallibly does guide, 
 
 And from afar 'tis all descried. 
 
 A. Cowley 
 
 1 Eighth Sphere ', that of the fixed stars in old astronomy 
 
 CLXXIII 
 VEN1 CREATOR SPIRITUS 
 
 /CREATOR Spirit, by whose aid 
 
 \^ The world's foundations first were laid, 
 
 Come, visit every pious mind ; 
 
 Come, pour Thy joys on human kind ; 
 
 From sin and sorrow set us free, 
 
 And make Thy temples worthy Thee. 
 
 O source of uncreated light, 
 The Father's promised Paraclete ! 
 Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, 
 Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; 
 Come, and Thy sacred unction bring 
 To sanctify us, while we sing. 
 
BOOK -I I. JOSEPH ADD IS ON 139 
 
 Plenteous of grace, descend from high, 
 Rich in Thy sevenfold energy ! 
 Thou strength of His Almighty hand, 
 Whose power does heaven and earth command ; 
 Proceeding Spirit, our defence, 
 Who dost the gift of tongues dispense, 
 And crown'st Thy gift with eloquence. 
 
 Chase from our minds the infernal foe, 
 And Peace, the fruit of Love, bestow ; 
 And lest our feet should step astray, 
 Protect and guide us in the way. 
 
 Make us eternal truths receive, 
 And practise all that we believe : 
 Give us Thyself, that we may see 
 The Father and the Son by Thee. 
 
 Immortal honour, endless fame, 
 Attend the Almighty Father's name : 
 The Saviour Son be glorified, 
 Who for lost man's redemption died : 
 And equal adoration be, 
 Eternal Paraclete, to Thee. 
 
 J. Dryden 
 
 CLXXIV 
 
 HOW are Thy servants blest, O LORD! 
 How sure is their defence ! 
 Eternal wisdom is their guide, 
 Their help Omnipotence. 
 
 In foreign realms, and lands remote, 
 
 Supported by Thy care, 
 Through burning climes I pass'd unhurt, 
 
 And breathed in tainted air. 
 
 Thy mercy sweeten'd every soil, 
 
 Made every region please ; 
 The hoary Alpine hills it warm'd, 
 
 And smoothed the Tyrrhene seas 1 . 
 
 Think, O my soul, devoutly think, 
 
 How, with affrighted eyes, 
 Thou saw'st the wide-extended deep 
 
 In all its horrors rise ! 
 
 Confusion dwelt in every face, 
 
 And fear in every heart ; 
 When waves on waves, and gulphs on gulphs, 
 
 O'ercame the pilot's art. 
 
14 JOSEPH ADD ISDN BOOK II 
 
 Yet then from all my griefs, O LORD, 
 
 Thy mercy set me free; 
 Whilst, in the confidence of prayer, 
 
 My soul took hold on Thee. 
 
 For though in dreadful whirls we hung 
 
 High on the broken wave, 
 I knew Thou wert not slow to hear, 
 
 Nor impotent to save. 
 
 The storm was laid, the winds retired, 
 
 Obedient to Thy will; 
 The sea that roar'd at Thy command, 
 
 At Thy command was still. 
 
 In midst of dangers, fears, and death, 
 
 Thy goodness I '11 adore ; 
 And praise Thee for Thy mercies past, 
 
 And humbly hope for more. 
 
 My life, if Thou preserv'st my life, 
 
 Thy sacrifice shall be; 
 And death, if death must be my doom, 
 Shall join my soul to Thee. 
 
 J. Addison 
 i See Note 
 
 CLXXV 
 
 a n Thy mercies, O my GOD, 
 My rising soul surveys ; 
 Transported with the view, I 'm lost 
 In wonder, love, and praise. 
 
 O how shall words with equal warmth 
 
 The gratitude declare 
 That glows within my ravish'd heart ! 
 
 But Thou canst read it there. 
 
 Thy providence my life sustain'd, 
 
 And all my wants redrest, 
 When in the silent womb I lay, 
 
 Or hung upon the breast. 
 
 To all my weak complaints and cries 
 
 Thy mercy lent an ear, 
 Ere yet my feeble thoughts had learnt 
 
 To form themselves in prayer. 
 
BOOK II JOSEPH ADD ISO N 14* 
 
 Unnumber'd comforts to my soul 
 
 Thy tender care bestow'd, 
 Before my infant heart conceived 
 
 From Whom those comforts flow'd. 
 
 When in the slippery paths of youth 
 
 With heedless steps I ran, 
 Thine arm unseen convey 'd me safe, 
 
 And led me up to man ; 
 
 Through hidden dangers, toils, and deaths, 
 
 It gently clear'd my way, 
 And through the pleasing snares of vice, 
 
 More to be fear'd than they. 
 
 When worn with sickness, oft hast Thou 
 
 With health renew'd my face ; 
 And when in sins and sorrows sunk, 
 
 Revived my soul with grace. 
 
 Thy bounteous hand with worldly bliss 
 
 Has made my cup run o'er, 
 And in a kind and faithful friend 
 
 Has doubled all my store. 
 
 Ten thousand thousand precious gifts 
 
 My daily thanks employ; 
 Nor is the least a cheerful heart, 
 
 That tastes those gifts with joy. 
 
 Through every period of my life, 
 
 Thy goodness I '11 pursue ; 
 And after death, in distant worlds, 
 
 The glorious theme renew. 
 
 When nature fails, and day and night 
 
 Divide Thy works no more, 
 My ever-grateful heart, O LORD, 
 
 Thy mercy shall adore. 
 
 Through all eternity, to Thee 
 
 A joyful song I '11 raise ; 
 For, oh ! eternity 's too short 
 
 To utter all Thy praise. 
 
 CLXXVI 
 
 HPHE spacious firmament on high, 
 
 1 With all the blue ethereal sky, 
 And spangled Heavens, a shining frame, 
 Their great Original proclaim. 
 
JOSEPH ADDISON BOOK II 
 
 Th' unwearied Sun from day to day 
 Does his Creator's power display ; 
 And publishes, to every land, 
 The work of an Almighty hand. 
 
 Soon as the evening shades prevail, 
 The Moon takes up the wondrous tale ; 
 And nightly, to the listening Earth, 
 Repeats the story of her birth : 
 Whilst all the stars that round her burn, 
 And all the planets in their turn, 
 Confirm the tidings as they roll, 
 And spread the truth from pole to pole. 
 
 What though, in solemn silence, all 
 Move round the dark terrestrial ball ; 
 What though nor real voice, nor sound 
 Amidst their radiant orbs be found ; 
 In reason's ear they all rejoice, 
 And utter forth a glorious voice ; 
 For ever singing as they shine : 
 ' The Hand that made us is divine.' 
 
 CLXXVII 
 MORNING HYMN 
 
 AWAKE, my Soul, and with the sun, 
 Thy daily stage of duty run ; 
 Shake off dull sloth, and joyful rise, 
 To pay thy morning sacrifice. 
 
 Thy precious time misspent, redeem ; 
 Each present day thy last esteem ; 
 Improve thy talent with due care, 
 For the great day thyself prepare. 
 
 Let all thy converse be sincere, 
 Thy conscience as the noon-day clear ; 
 Think how all-seeing GOD thy ways, 
 And all thy secret thoughts, surveys. 
 
 By influence of the light divine, 
 Let thy own light to others shine ; 
 Reflect all heaven's propitious rays, 
 In ardent love, and cheerful praise. 
 
 Wake, and lift up thyself, my heart. 
 And with the Angels bear thy part, 
 Who all night long unwearied sing 
 High praise to the eternal King. 
 
BOOK II THOMAS KEN 143 
 
 Awake, awake ! ye heavenly choir, 
 May your devotion me inspire, 
 That I, like you, my age may spend ; 
 Like you, may on my GOD attend. 
 
 May I, like you, in GOD delight, 
 Have all day long my GOD in sight, 
 Perform, like you, my Maker's will 
 O, may I never more do ill ! 
 
 Had I your wings, to heaven I 'd fly ; 
 But GOD shall that defect supply ; 
 And my soul, wing'd with warm desire, 
 Shall all day long to heaven aspire. 
 
 Glory to Thee, who safe hast kept, 
 And hast refresh'd me whilst I slept : 
 Grant, LORD, when I from death shall wake, 
 I may of endless light partake. 
 
 I would not wake, nor rise again. 
 E'en Heaven itself I would disdain, 
 Wert not Thou there to be enjoy'd, 
 And I in hymns to be employ'd. 
 
 Heaven is, dear LORD, where'er Thou art ; 
 O never then from me depart; 
 For to my soul, 'tis hell to be, 
 But for one moment, without Thee. 
 
 LORD, I my vows to Thee renew, 
 Scatter my sins as morning dew ; 
 Guard my first springs of thought and will, 
 And with Thyself my spirit fill. 
 
 Direct, control, suggest, this day, 
 
 All I design, or do, or say; 
 
 That all my powers, with all their might, 
 
 In Thy sole glory may unite. 
 
 Praise GOD, from whom all blessings flow, 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below; 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 T. Ken 
 
J 44 THOMAS KEN BOOK II 
 
 CLXXVIII 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 GLORY to Thee, my GOD, this night, 
 For all the blessings of the light ! 
 Keep me, O keep me, King of kings, 
 Beneath Thy own almighty wings. 
 
 Forgive me, LORD, for Thy dear Son, 
 The ill that I this day have done ; 
 That with the world, myself, and Thee, 
 I, ere I sleep, at peace may be. 
 
 Teach me to live, that I may dread 
 The grave as little as my bed ; 
 Teach me to die, that so I may 
 Rise glorious at the awful day. 
 
 O ! may my soul on Thee repose, 
 And with sweet sleep mine eyelids close 
 Sleep, that may me more vigorous make, 
 To serve my GOD when I awake ! 
 
 When in the night I sleepless lie, 
 My soul with heavenly thoughts supply: 
 Let no ill dreams disturb my rest, 
 No powers of darkness me molest. 
 
 Dull sleep ! of sense me to deprive ; 
 I am but half my days alive. 
 Thy faithful lovers, LORD, are grieved, 
 To lie so long of Thee bereaved. 
 
 But though sleep o'er my frailty reigns, 
 Let it not hold me long in chains, 
 And now and then let loose my heart, 
 Till it an Hallelujah dart. 
 
 The faster sleep the sense doth bind, 
 The more unfetter'd is the mind: 
 O may my soul, from matter free, 
 Thy loveliness unclouded see ! 
 
 O when shall I, in endless day, 
 For ever chase dark sleep away, 
 And hymns with the supernal choir 
 Incessant sing, and never tire? 
 
 You, my blest Guardian, whilst I sleep, 
 Close to my bed your vigils keep, 
 Divine Love into me instil, 
 Stop all the avenues of ill : 
 
BOOK II THOMAS KEN 145 
 
 Thought to thought with my soul converse, 
 
 Celestial joys to me rehearse, 
 
 Or in my stead, all the night long, 
 
 Sing to my GOD a grateful song. 
 
 Praise GOD, from whom all blessings flow, 
 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below ; 
 
 Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, 
 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 CLXXIX 
 MIDNIGHT HYMN 
 
 MY GOD, now I from sleep awake, 
 The sole possession of me take ; 
 PYom midnight terrors me secure, 
 And guard my heart from thoughts impure. 
 
 Blest Angels ! while we silent lie, 
 Your Hallelujahs sing on high ; 
 You, ever wakeful near the Throne, 
 Prostrate adore the Three in One. 
 
 I with your choir celestial join, 
 In offering up a hymn divine : 
 With you in heaven I hope to dwell, 
 And bid the night and world farewell. 
 
 My soul, when I shake off this dust, 
 LORD ! in Thy arms I will intrust : 
 O, make me Thy peculiar care, 
 Some mansion for my soul prepare. 
 
 Give me a place at Thy saints' feet, 
 Or some fall'n Angel's vacant seat : 
 I '11 strive to sing as loud as they, 
 Who sit above in brighter day. 
 
 O may I always ready stand, 
 With my lamp burning in my hand ; 
 May I in sight of heaven rejoice, 
 Whene'er I hear the Bridegroom's voice ! 
 
 Glory to Thee, in light array 'd, 
 Who Light Thy dwelling-place hast made ; 
 A boundless ocean of bright beams 
 From Thy all-glorious Godhead streams. 
 L 
 
146 THOMAS KEX BOOK II 
 
 The sun in its meridian height 
 
 Is very darkness in Thy sight : 
 
 My soul, O lighten and inflame, 
 
 With thought and love of Thy great name. 
 
 Blest JESU ! Thou, on heaven intent, 
 Whole nights hast in devotion spent ; 
 But I, frail creature, soon am tired, 
 And all my zeal is soon expired. 
 
 My soul! how canst thou weary grow 
 Of antedating bliss, below, 
 In sacred hymns and heavenly love, 
 Which will eternal be above? 
 
 Shine on me, LORD ! new life impart, 
 Fresh ardours kindle in my heart ; 
 One ray of Thy all-quickening light 
 Dispels the sloth and clouds of night. 
 
 LORD ! lest the tempter me surprise, 
 Watch over Thine own sacrifice ; 
 All loose, all idle, thoughts cast out, 
 And make my very dreams devout. 
 
 Praise GOD, from whom all blessings flow, 
 
 Praise Him, all creatures here below ; 
 
 Praise Him above, y* Angelic host, 
 
 Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. 
 
 CLXXX 
 
 LIFE 
 
 OFOOL, of short-lived goods possest,- 
 In mere uncertainties to rest ; 
 From your full barns and bags of gold, 
 To dream of slowly growing old ; 
 Can you bribe death, with all your store, 
 To respite you one moment more ? 
 
 Tell me, my soul, is there no art, 
 To arm against death's sudden dart? 
 Has gracious Heaven contrived no way 
 Of lengthening here our mortal stay, 
 Or, on this momentaneous stage, 
 In a short time to live an age? 
 
BOOK II THOMAS KEN" 147 
 
 The infants from the font who fly, 
 
 Unsullied, to the joys on high, 
 
 Live longer than obdurate men, 
 
 Who sin to threescore years and ten : 
 
 We those dear moments only live, 
 
 Which we to GOD devoutly give. 
 
 CLXXXI 
 GRATEFUL ASPIRATIONS 
 
 I OFT recal the moments dear, , 
 Enjoy'd in penitential tear : 
 A beam of pardon through me shined, 
 Diffusing sweetness o'er my mind ; 
 Upon my knees, while that I felt, 
 I could eternally have dwelt. 
 
 LORD ! while in view Thy love I keep, 
 The fruits of love I daily reap, 
 Grief with fresh consolations cheer'd, 
 Hope nearer towards assurance rear'd; 
 Of GOD beloved, more likeness gain'd, 
 Or frailty with fresh aids sustain'd : 
 
 To prayer some gracious answer sent, 
 
 Some meditation more intent, 
 
 Or sudden fervency devout, 
 
 Or heavenly guidance when in doubt 
 
 Ah, what am I, great GOD should be 
 
 Thus wondrously benign to me I 
 
 CLXXXU 
 THE MISER 
 
 I SAW this day a miser old 
 Receive and count a bag of gold ; 
 His spectacles he clear'd, 
 And on his nostrils rear'd, 
 Then moved his table toward the light, 
 To gain an unobstructed sight. 
 
 The pieces one by one he took, 
 And fix'd on either side his look ; 
 
 The edge he search' d with care, 
 
 To find deficience there ; 
 Next to the touchstone it applied, 
 And by the current standard tried. 
 
 L 2 
 
148 THOMAS KEN BOOK II 
 
 Then reach' d his balance nicely made, 
 Which smallest things minutely weigh'd ; 
 
 The piece which pass'd his view 
 
 Into the scale he threw, 
 Accounting what he must abate 
 For every atom short of weight. 
 
 Soon from the wretch I turn'd away, 
 Idolater of shining clay ; 
 
 But Conscience me here check'd, 
 
 And chid my self-neglect; 
 She back me on a sudden drew, 
 My observation to renew. 
 
 ' You,' Conscience said, ' that wretch despise, 
 Who yet may teach you to be wise; 
 
 He, with a mind full bent, 
 
 On his own gain intent, 
 His short-lived riches tells and weighs 
 You thus should number all your days. 
 
 ' Blest JESUS warn'd that, here below, 
 Misers would in their conduct show 
 
 More zeal for short-lived toys, 
 
 Than saints for endless joys : 
 If saints and misers we compare, 
 The worldly-minded wisest are.' 
 
 My conscience then my thought improved, 
 And me to think of Judgment moved, 
 
 When every act, word, thought, 
 
 To GOD'S tribunal brought, 
 The Searcher of our hearts will try, 
 More nicely than the miser's eye. 
 
 On my past time I then reflect, 
 
 Deploring sadly my neglect : 
 Vast treasure I had heap'd, 
 And should at death have reap'd, 
 
 Had I the minutes, as they rolPd, 
 
 Heeded, as that vile wretch his gold. 
 
 In vanity I spent my prime : 
 In age I wasted precious time 
 
 Time which I should employ 
 
 To purchase endless joy 
 Time which, when once away it flies, 
 I never, never can reprise. 
 
BOOK II- THOMAS KEN 149 
 
 I nothing should too dear esteem, 
 My heedless minutes to redeem : 
 
 O that I had the power 
 
 To live a year each hour, 
 That I might, ere I breathed my last, 
 Retrieve my idle minutes past ! 
 
 CLXXXIII 
 NOW 
 
 THE Past can be no more 
 Whose misemploying I deplore : 
 The Future is to me 
 An absolute uncertainty : 
 The Now, which will not with me stay, 
 Within a second flies away. 
 
 I heard GOD often say, 
 Now, of salvation is the day, 
 
 But turn'd from heaven my view, 
 I still had something else to do ; 
 Till GOD a dream instructive sent, 
 To warn me timely to repent. 
 
 Methought Death, with his dart, 
 Had mortally transfix' d my heart ; 
 
 And devils round about, 
 To seize my spirit flying out, 
 Cried ' Now, of which you took no care, 
 Is turn'd to Never and despair ! ' 
 
 I gave a sudden start, 
 And waked, with Never in my heart : 
 
 Still I that Never felt, 
 Never upon my spirit dwelt ; 
 A thousand thanks to GOD I paid, 
 That my sad Never was delay'd. 
 
 CLXXXIV 
 SIGHS 
 
 SIGHS whether swift to Heaven they rise 
 As morning gilds the skies 
 Or GOD, by omnipresent ear, 
 
 When they are sigh'd, is near 
 Since GOD vouchsafes what I desire, , 
 Twere fruitless to inquire. 
 
150 THOMAS KEN BOOK II 
 
 In Heaven accounts of sighs are kept, 
 
 Of every tear that 's wept ; 
 Saints feel the blessing back they bring, 
 
 Swift as angelic wing : 
 The humble what they beg obtain, 
 
 They never sigh in vain. 
 
 CLXXXV 
 AN ANODYNE 
 
 AS in the night I restless lie, 
 I the watch-candle keep in eye j 
 The innocent I often blame, 
 For the slow wasting of its flame. 
 Sweet ease ! O whither are you fled ! 
 With one short slumber ease my head! 
 
 My curtain oft I draw away, 
 
 Eager to see the morning ray; 
 
 But when the morning gilds the skies, 
 
 The morning no relief supplies. 
 
 To me, alas ! the morning light 
 
 Is as afflictive as the night. 
 
 My vigorous cries to GOD ascend, 
 Oh ! will not GOD my cries attend ? 
 Can GOD paternal love forbear 
 Can GOD reject a filial prayer? 
 Is there in Heaven for me no cure 
 Why do I then such pains endure? 
 
 My flesh in torture oft repines 
 At what GOD for my good designs; 
 My spirit the repiner chides, 
 Submissive to GOD'S will abides : 
 GOD my disease and temper weighs ; 
 No pang superfluous on me lays. 
 
 Why should I then my pains decline, 
 Inflicted by pure love divine? 
 Let them run out their destined course, 
 And spend upon me all their force : 
 Short pains can never grievous be, 
 Which work a blest eternity. 
 See Note 
 
BOOK II THOMAS KEN 151 
 
 CLXXXVI 
 
 LOVE STRONG AS DEATH 
 
 A SAINT, to few but GOD well known, 
 Who seem'd in town to dwell alone : 
 With few but saints who e'er conversed, 
 His alms .in secret who dispersed ; 
 Whose virtues lay so out of view, 
 That Satan ne'er his saintship knew 
 Such was the Saint to JESUS dear, 
 Who often made him visits here. 
 
 JESUS to Death commission gave, 
 To lay his body in the grave ; 
 Death to confederate Hell reveal'd 
 For whom his warrant next was seal'd. 
 Death and Hell out together went, 
 On the saint's endless ruin bent : 
 They both approaching his sick-bed, 
 His watchful Angel o'er his head 
 Brandish'd his bright angelic blade, 
 That neither could the saint invade. 
 
 His license Death began to plead : 
 ' That,' said the Angel, ' you exceed ; 
 For, when his dying Heaven design'd, 
 You should have left your hell behind 
 Hell, which Heaven damns to strict restraint, 
 From troubling a departed saint.' 
 
 The Angel, with his two-edged fire, 
 Made the infernal P^iend retire ; 
 ' Your dart,' said he, ' now on him try ; 
 In slumbers sweet you see him lie : 
 Truth says that Love as Death is strong, 
 To see the experiment I long 
 Death ! what your strength is, fully say, 
 And I'll his love against it weigh.' 
 
 Grim Death replied ' What lovers dare 
 Weak Love with this strong arm compare? 
 I, a crown'd king, this sceptre sway ; 
 All living creatures me obey : 
 I daily, round the heavenly arch, 
 Arm'd with ten thousand terrors, march : 
 My darts I at my pleasure fling, 
 At statesman, hero, prelate, king/ 
 
152 THOMAS KEN BOOK II 
 
 ' Blest Enoch and Elias flew 
 To heavenly rest in spite of you : 
 Love over dangers, tortures, pains, 
 Invincible, the conquest gains ; 
 Contemns you when you, fierce, appear, 
 And never feels what 'tis to fear.' 
 
 1 1 vanquish'd your incarnate GOD, 
 And on His grave triumphant trod : 
 And can weak Love my force withstand, 
 When JESUS own'd my conquering hand?' 
 
 ''Twas Love, not you, made GOD to die, 
 That lovers might your darts defy ; 
 He down His life was pleased to lay, 
 A ransom for man's guilt to pay. 
 
 * Death ! when to lovers you draw nigh, 
 You 're forced to lay your terrors by ; 
 When warrants are for lovers sign'd, 
 You leave sting, sceptre, crown, behind : 
 Love eyes dear JESUS on the tree, 
 And from your tyranny is free. 
 You force exert on brittle clay, 
 Which has no power to disobey. 
 Love fights with lust, the world, and hell, 
 Has foes unnumber'd to repel ; 
 Love runs through life a dangerous course, 
 And must at last take Heaven by force. 
 
 1 On dust you, like the serpent, feed ; 
 By Love the soul from dust is freed : 
 You, sin-born, seize the baser part, 
 Love keeps for GOD the heaven-born heart. 
 Death ! you are mortal ! you '11 at last 
 Into the fiery lake be cast : 
 Love will, immortal, still abide, 
 Eternally beatified.' 
 
 CLXXXVII 
 
 WHILE shepherds watch'd their flocks by night 
 All seated on the ground, 
 The Angel of the LORD came down, 
 And glory shone around. 
 
 ' Fear not/ said he ; (for mighty dread 
 
 Had seized their troubled mind ;) 
 ' Glad tidings of great joy I bring 
 
 To you and all mankind. 
 
BOOK II IS A A C WATTS 153 
 
 ' To you, in David's town, this day- 
 Is born of David's line 
 
 The Saviour, Who is CHRIST the LORD ; 
 And this shall be the sign : 
 
 ' The heavenly Babe you there shall find 
 
 To human view display 'd, 
 All meanly wrapt in swathing-bands, 
 
 And in a manger laid.' 
 
 Thus spake the Seraph ; and forthwith 
 
 Appear'd a shining throng 
 Of Angels, praising GOD, and thus 
 
 Address'd their joyful song : 
 
 'All glory be to GOD on high, 
 
 And to the earth be peace ; 
 Good-will henceforth from Heaven to men 
 
 Begin, and never cease ! ' 
 
 N. Tate 
 
 o 
 
 CLXXXVIII 
 ANGELS' SONG 
 
 HOLY, holy, holy LORD, 
 _ Eternal GOD, Almighty One, 
 Be Thou for ever, and be Thou alone, 
 By all Thy creatures, constantly adored ! 
 
 Ineffable, co-equal Three, 
 Who from non-entity gave birth 
 To angels and to men, to Heaven and to Earth, 
 Yet always wast Thyself, and wilt for ever be. 
 But for Thy mercy, we had ne'er possest 
 These thrones, and this immense felicity ; 
 Could ne'er have been so infinitely blest ! 
 Therefore all glory, power, dominion, majesty, 
 
 To Thee, O Lamb of GOD, to Thee, 
 For ever, longer than for ever, be ! 
 
 /. Pomfret 
 
 CLXXXIX 
 FELICITY 
 
 NO ; 'tis in vain to seek for bliss ; 
 For bliss can ne'er be found 
 Till we arrive where JESUS is, 
 And tread on heavenly ground. 
 
154 ISAAC WATTS BOOK II 
 
 There 's nothing round these painted skies, 
 
 Or round this dusty clod, 
 Nothing, my soul ! that 's worth thy joys, 
 
 Or lovely as thy GOD. 
 
 'Tis Heaven on Earth to taste His love, 
 
 To feel His quickening grace ; 
 And all the Heaven I hope above 
 
 Is but to see His face. 
 
 7. Watts 
 
 cxc 
 
 THE NATIVITY 
 
 'OHEPHERDS, rejoice, lift up your eyes, 
 O And send your fears away ; 
 News from the region of the skies ! 
 Salvation 's born to-day. 
 
 ' JESUS, the GOD whom Angels fear, 
 Comes down to dwell with you ; 
 
 To-day He makes His entrance here, 
 But not as monarchs do. 
 
 ' No gold, nor purple swaddling-bands, 
 
 Nor royal shining things ; 
 A manger for His cradle stands, 
 
 And holds the King of kings. 
 
 ' Go, shepherds, where the Infant lies, 
 And see His humble throne : 
 
 With tears of joy in all your eyes 
 Go, shepherds, kiss 'the Son.' 
 
 Thus Gabriel sang : and straight around 
 
 The heavenly armies throng ; 
 They tune their harps to lofty sound, 
 
 And thus conclude the song : 
 
 ' Glory to GOD that reigns above, 
 Let peace surround the Earth ; 
 
 Mortals shall know their Maker's love, 
 At their Redeemer's birth.' 
 
 LORD ! and shall angels have their songs, 
 
 And men no tunes to raise? 
 O may we lose these useless tongues, 
 
 When they forget to praise ! 
 
BOOK II ISAAC WATTS 155 
 
 Glory to GOD that reigns above, 
 
 That pitied us forlorn ! 
 We join to sing our Maker's love 
 
 For there's a Saviour born. 
 
 CXCI 
 
 FAIREST of all the lights above, 
 Thou Sun, whose beams adorn the spheres, 
 And with unwearied swiftness move 
 To form the circles of our years : 
 Praise the Creator of the skies, 
 That dress'd thine orb in golden rays ; 
 Or may the Sun forget to rise, 
 If he forget his Maker's praise ! 
 
 Thou reigning beauty of the night, 
 Fair queen of silence, silver Moon, 
 Whose gentle beams and borrow'd light 
 Are softer rivals of the noon, 
 Arise, and to that Sovereign Power, 
 Waxing and waning, honours pay, 
 Who bade thee rule the dusky hour, 
 And half supply the absent day. 
 
 Ye twinkling Stars, who gild the skies 
 When darkness has its curtains drawn, 
 Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes, 
 WTien business, cares, and day are gone : 
 Proclaim the glories of your LORD, 
 Dispersed through all the heavenly street, 
 Whose boundless treasures can afford 
 So rich a pavement for His feet. 
 
 CXCII 
 
 TNFINITE Power, Eternal LORD, 
 
 JL How sovereign is Thy hand ! 
 
 All Nature rose t' obey Thy word, 
 
 And moves at Thy command. 
 
 With steady course Thy shining Sun 
 
 Keeps his appointed way; 
 And all the hours obedient run 
 
 The circle of the day. 
 
 But ah ! how wide my spirit flies 
 
 And wanders from her GOD ! 
 My soul forgets the heavenly prize, 
 
 And treads the downward road. 
 
ISAAC WATTS BOOK II 
 
 Shall creatures of a meaner frame 
 
 Pay all their dues to Thee, 
 Creatures, that never knew Thy name, 
 
 That never loved like me? 
 
 Great GOD, create my soul anew, 
 
 Conform my heart to Thine; 
 Melt down my will, and let it flow, 
 
 And take the mould divine. 
 
 Seize my whole frame into Thy hand; 
 
 Here all my powers I bring : 
 Manage the wheels by Thy command, 
 
 And govern every spring. 
 
 Then shall my feet no more depart, 
 
 Nor wandering senses rove ; 
 Devotion shall be all my heart, 
 
 And all my passions, love. 
 
 Then not the Sun shall more than I 
 
 His Maker's law perform, 
 Nor travel swifter through the sky, 
 
 Nor with a zeal so warm. 
 
 CXCIII 
 
 WHERE'ER my flattering passions rove, 
 I find a lurking snare; 
 'Tis dangerous to let loose our love 
 Beneath the Eternal Fair. 
 
 Souls whom the tie of friendship binds, 
 
 And partners of our blood, 
 Seize a large portion of our minds, 
 
 And leave the less for GOD. 
 
 Nature has soft but powerful bands, 
 
 And Reason she controls ; 
 While children with their little hands 
 
 Hang closest to our souls. 
 
 Thoughtless they act the old Serpent's part ; 
 
 What tempting things they be ! 
 LORD, how they twine about our heart, 
 
 And draw it off from Thee ! 
 
BOOK II ISAAC WATTS 157 
 
 Dear Sovereign, break these fetters off, 
 
 And set our spirits free ; 
 GOD in Himself is bliss enough ; 
 
 For we have all in Thee. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CXCIV 
 
 OGOD, our help in ages past, 
 Our hope for years to come, 
 Our shelter from the stormy blast, 
 And our eternal home : 
 
 Under the shadow of Thy Throne 
 Thy saints have dwelt secure; . 
 
 Sufficient is Thine arm alone, 
 And our defence is sure. 
 
 Before the hills in order stood, 
 Or earth received her frame, 
 
 From everlasting Thou art GOD, 
 To endless years the same. 
 
 A thousand ages in Thy sight 
 
 Are like an evening gone ; 
 Short as the watch that ends the night 
 
 Before the rising sun. 
 
 Time, like an ever-rolling stream, 
 
 Bears all its sons away ; 
 They fly forgotten, as a dream 
 
 Dies at the opening day. 
 
 Our GOD, our help in ages past; 
 
 Our hope for years to come; 
 Be Thou our guard while troubles last, 
 
 And our eternal home ! 
 
 cxcv 
 
 HEAR what the voice from Heaven proclaims 
 For all the pious dead, 
 Sweet is the savour of their names, 
 And soft their sleeping bed. 
 
 Why should we tremble to convey , 
 
 Their relics to the tomb ? 
 There the Redeemer's body lay, 
 
 And left a long perfume. 
 
I5 8 ISAAC WATTS BOOK II 
 
 The graves of all His saints He blest, 
 
 And soften'd every bed ; 
 Where should the dying members rest, 
 
 But with the dying Head? 
 
 CXCVI 
 THE EXAMPLES OF THE SAINTS 
 
 GIVE me the wings of faith, to rise 
 Within the veil, and see 
 The Saints above, how great their joys, 
 How bright their glories be ! 
 
 Once they were mourning here below, 
 And wet their couch with tears ; 
 
 They wrestled hard, as we do now, 
 With sins, and doubts, and fears. 
 
 I ask them whence their victory came ; 
 
 They, with united breath, 
 Ascribe their conquest to the Lamb, 
 
 Their triumph to His death.. 
 
 They mark'd the footsteps that He trod ; 
 
 His zeal inspired their breast ; 
 And, following their incarnate GOD, 
 
 Possess the promised rest. 
 
 Our glorious Leader claims our praise, 
 
 For His own pattern given ; 
 While the long cloud of witnesses 
 
 Show the same path to Heaven. 
 
 CXCVII 
 A CRADLE SONG 
 
 HUSH ! my dear, lie still and slumber, 
 Holy Angels guard thy bed ! 
 Heavenly blessings without number 
 Gently falling on thy head. 
 
 Sleep, my babe ; thy food and raiment, 
 House and home, thy friends provide ; 
 
 All without thy care or payment, 
 All thy wants are well supplied. 
 
BOOK II PHILIP DODDRIDGE 159 
 
 How much better thou 'rt attended 
 
 Than the Son of GOD could be, 
 When from heaven He descended, 
 
 And became a child like thee ! 
 
 Soft and easy is thy cradle : 
 
 Coarse and hard thy Saviour lay : 
 When His birthplace was a stable, 
 
 And His softest bed was hay. 
 
 See the kinder shepherds round Him, 
 
 Telling wonders from the sky ! 
 Where they sought Him, there they found Him, 
 
 With His Virgin- Mother by. 
 
 See the lovely Babe a-dressing ; 
 
 Lovely Infant, how He smiled ! 
 When He wept, the Mother's blessing 
 
 Soothed and hush'd the holy Child. 
 
 Lo, He slumbers in His manger, 
 
 Where the horned oxen fed ; 
 Peace, my darling, here 's no danger ; 
 
 Here 's no ox a-near thy bed ! 
 
 May'st Thou live to know and fear Him, 
 
 Trust and love Him all thy days; 
 Then go dwell for ever near Him, 
 
 See His face, and sing His praise 1 
 
 I could give thee thousand kisses, 
 
 Hoping what I most desire ; 
 Not a mother's fondest wishes 
 
 Can to greater joys aspire. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CXCVIII 
 SURSUM 
 
 YE golden lamps of Heaven, farewell, 
 With all your feeble light; 
 Farewell, thou ever-changing moon, 
 Pale empress of the night. 
 
 And thou, refulgent orb of day, 
 
 In brighter flames array'd ; 
 My soul, that springs beyond thy sphere, 
 
 No more demands thine aid. 
 
PHILIP DODDRIDGE BOOK II 
 
 Ye stars are but the shining dust 
 
 Of my Divine abode, 
 The pavement of those heavenly courts 
 
 Where I shall reign with GOD. 
 
 The Father of eternal light 
 
 Shall there His beams display; 
 Nor shall one moment's darkness mix 
 
 With that unvaried day. 
 
 No more the drops of piercing grief 
 
 Shall swell into mine eyes ; 
 Nor the meridian sun decline 
 
 Amidst those brighter skies. 
 
 P. Doddridge 
 
 CXCIX 
 AT THE SEPULCHRE 
 
 YE humble souls, that seek the LORD, 
 Chase all your fears away; 
 And bow with pleasure down to see 
 The place where JESUS lay. 
 
 Thus low the Lord of life was brought ; 
 
 Such wonders Love can do ; 
 Thus cold in death that bosom lay, 
 
 Which throbb'd and bled for you. 
 
 Then raise your eyes, and tune your songs ; 
 
 The Saviour lives again ! 
 Not all the bolts and bars of death 
 
 The Conqueror could detain : 
 
 High o'er the angelic bands He rears 
 
 His once dishonour'd head ; 
 And through unnumber'd years He reigns, 
 
 Who dwelt among the dead. 
 
 CC 
 
 JESUS ! I love Thy charming name ; 
 '"Tis music to my ear : 
 Fain would I sound it out so loud 
 That heaven and earth should hear! 
 
 Yes, Thou art precious to my soul, 
 
 My transport, and my trust : 
 Jewels to Thee are gaudy toys, 
 
 And gold is sordid dust. 
 
JOHN BYROM 161 
 
 All my capacious powers can wish 
 
 In Thee most richly meet : 
 Nor to my eyes is life so dear, 
 
 Nor friendship half so sweet. 
 
 1 11 speak the honours of Thy name 
 
 With my last labouring breath : 
 Then speechless clasp Thee in my arms 
 
 The antidote of death. 
 
 CCI 
 
 HARK the glad sound ! The Saviour comes, 
 The Saviour promised long; 
 Let every heart prepare a throne, 
 And every voice a song ! 
 
 He comes the prisoners to release 
 
 In Satan's bondage held ; 
 The gates of brass before Him burst, 
 
 The iron fetters yield. 
 
 He comes, the broken heart to bind, 
 
 The bleeding soul to cure, 
 And with the treasures of His grace 
 
 T' enrich the humble poor. 
 
 Our glad Hosannas, Prince of Peace, 
 
 Thy welcome shall proclaim, 
 And Heaven's eternal arches ring 
 
 With Thy beloved Name. 
 
 ecu 
 
 DESIDERIUM 
 
 MY spirit longeth for Thee, 
 Within my troubled breast 
 Altho' I be unworthy 
 Of so divine a Guest 
 
 Of so divine a Guest, 
 
 Unworthy tho' I be, 
 Yet has my heart no rest, 
 
 Unless it come from Thee. 
 
 Unless it come from Thee, 
 
 In vain I look around ; 
 In all that I can see, 
 
 No rest is to be found. 
 M 
 
162 JOHN BYROM BOOK II 
 
 No rest is to be found, 
 
 But in Thy blessed love ; 
 O ! let my wish be crown'd, 
 
 And send it from above ! 
 
 J. Byrom . 
 
 CCIII 
 A HYMN ON RECOVERY FROM SEVERE ILLNESS 
 
 WHEN Israel's ruler on the royal bed 
 In anguish and in perturbation lay, 
 The down relieved not his anointed head, 
 
 And rest gave place to horror and dismay. 
 Fast flow'd the tears, high heaved each gasping sigh, 
 When GOD'S own prophet thunder'd 'Monarch, thou must die.' 
 
 'And must I go,' the illustrious mourner cried, 
 ' I who have served Thee still in faith and truth, 
 
 Whose snow-white conscience no foul crime has dyed 
 From youth to manhood, infancy to youth ; 
 
 Like David, who have still revered Thy word 
 The sovereign of myself, and servant of the LORD.' 
 
 The Judge Almighty heard His suppliant's moan, 
 Repeal'd his sentence, and his health restored ; 
 The beams of mercy on his temples shone, 
 
 Shot from that Heaven to which his sighs had soar'd ; 
 The Sun retreated at his Maker's nod, 
 And miracles confirm the genuine work of GOD. 
 
 But, O Immortals ! What had I to plead 
 
 When Death stood o'er me with his threatening lance, 
 
 When reason left me in the time of need, 
 And sense was lost in terror or in trance ? 
 
 My sinking soul was with my blood inflamed. 
 And the celestial image sunk, defaced and maim'd. 
 
 I sent back memory, in heedful guise, 
 
 To search the records of preceding years ; 
 
 Home, like the raven to the ark, she flies, 
 Croaking bad tidings to my trembling ears : 
 
 O Sun, again that l thy retreat was made, 
 And threw my follies back into the friendly shade ! 
 
 But soul-rejoicing health again returns, 
 
 The blood meanders gentle in each vein ; 
 The lamp of life renew'd with vigour burns, 
 
 And exiled reason takes her seat again : 
 Brisk leaps the heart, the mind 's at large once more, 
 To love, to praise, to bless, to wonder and adore. 
 
BOOK II CHRISTOPHER SMART 163 
 
 The virtuous partner of my nuptial bands 
 
 Appear'd a widow to my frantic sight; 
 My little prattlers, lifting up their hands, 
 
 Beckon me back to them, to life, and light; 
 I come, ye spotless sweets ! I come again, 
 Nor have your tears been shed, nor have ye knelt in vain. 
 
 All glory to the Eternal, to the Immense, 
 
 All glory to the Omniscient and Good, 
 Whose power 's uncircumscribed, Whose love ? s intense, 
 
 But yet Whose justice ne'er could be withstood, 
 Except thro' Him thro' Him, Who stands alone, 
 Of worth, of weight allow'd for all mankind to atone ! 
 
 O Penitence ! to virtue near allied, 
 
 Thou canst new joys e'en to the blest impart ; 
 
 The listening Angels lay their harps aside 
 To hear the music of thy contrite heart ; 
 
 And Heaven itself wears a more radiant face, 
 When Charity presents thee to the Throne of grace ! 
 
 Chief of metallic forms is regal gold ; 
 
 Of elements, the limpid fount that flows ; 
 Give me 'mongst gems the brilliant to behold; 
 
 O'er Flora's flock imperial is the rose : 
 
 Above all birds the sovereign eagle soars; 
 
 And monarch of the field the lordly lion roars. 
 
 What can with great Leviathan compare, 
 Who takes his pastime in the mighty main ? 
 
 What, like the Sun, shines thro' the realms of air, 
 And gilds and glorifies th' ethereal plain? 
 
 Yet what are these to man, who bears the sway 
 For all was made for him to serve and to obey. 
 
 Thus in high Heaven Charity is great, 
 
 Faith, hope, devotion hold a lower place; 
 
 On her the Cherubs and the Seraphs wait, 
 Her, every virtue courts, and every grace; 
 
 See ! on the right, close by the Almighty's throne, 
 In Him she shines confess'd, Who came to make her known. 
 
 Deep-rooted in my heart then let her grow, 
 
 That for the past the future may atone ; 
 That I may act what Thou hast given to know, 
 That I may live for Thee, and Thee alone, 
 And justify those sweetest words from Heaven, 
 ' That he shall love Thee most, to whom Thou 'st most forgiven.' 
 
 C. Smart 
 1 again [would] that 
 M 2 
 
164 CHRISTOPHER SMART BOOK II 
 
 CCIV 
 SONG TO DAVID 
 
 HE sang of GOD the mighty source 
 Of all things the stupendous force 
 On which all strength depends ; 
 From Whose right arm, beneath Whose eyes, 
 All period, power, and enterprise 
 Commences, reigns, and ends. 
 
 Tell them, I AM, Jehovah said 
 
 To Moses ; while earth heard in dread, 
 
 And, smitten to the heart, 
 At once above, beneath, around, 
 All Nature, without voice or sound, 
 
 Replied, O LORD, THOU ART. 
 
 The world, the clustering spheres, He made, 
 The glorious light, the soothing shade, 
 
 Dale, champaign, grove, and hill; 
 The multitudinous abyss, 
 Where Secrecy remains in bliss, 
 
 And Wisdom hides her skill. 
 
 The pillars of the LORD are seven, 
 
 Which stand from earth to topmost heaven ; 
 
 His Wisdom drew the plan ; 
 His Word accomplish'd the design, 
 From brightest gem to deepest mine ; 
 
 From CHRIST enthroned, to Man. 
 
 For Adoration all the ranks 
 Of Angels yield eternal thanks, 
 
 And David in the midst; 
 
 With GOD'S good poor, which, last and least 
 In man's esteem, Thou to Thy feast, 
 
 O blessed Bridegroom, bid'st ! 
 
 For Adoration, David's Psalms 
 Lift up the heart to deeds of alms ; 
 
 And he, who kneels and chants, 
 Prevails his passions to control, 
 Finds meat and medicine to the soul, 
 
 Which for translation pants. 
 
 For Adoration, in the dome 
 
 Of CHRIST, the sparrows find a home; 
 
 And on His olives perch : 
 The swallow also dwells with thee, 
 O man of GOD'S humility, 
 
 Within his Saviour's Church. 
 
CHRISTOPHER SMART 165 
 
 Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, 
 And drops upon the leafy limes; 
 
 Sweet, Hermon's fragrant air : 
 Sweet is the lily's silver bell, 
 And sweet the wakeful tapers' smell 
 
 That watch for early prayer. 
 
 Sweet the young nurse, with love intense, 
 Which smiles o'er sleeping innocence; 
 
 Sweet, when the lost arrive : 
 Sweet the musician's ardour beats, 
 While his vague mind 's in quest of sweets, 
 
 The choicest flowers to hive. 
 
 Strong is the horse upon his speed; 
 Strong in pursuit the rapid glede 1 , 
 
 Which makes at once his game : 
 Strong the tall ostrich on the ground ; 
 Strong through the turbulent profound 
 
 Shoots Xiphias 2 to his aim. 
 
 Strong is the lion like a coal 
 His eyeball, like a bastion's mole 
 
 His chest against the foes : 
 Strong the gier-eagle 3 on his sail ; 
 Strong against tide the enormous whale 
 
 Emerges as he goes. 
 
 But stronger still, in earth and air, 
 And in the sea, the man of prayer, 
 
 And far beneath the tide : 
 And in the seat to faith assign'd, 
 Where ask is have, where seek is find, 
 
 Where knock is open wide. 
 
 Precious the penitential tear ; 
 And precious is the sigh sincere, 
 
 Acceptable to GOD : 
 And precious are the winning flowers, 
 In gladsome Israel's feast of bowers 
 
 Bound on the hallow' d sod. 
 
 Glorious the sun in mid career; 
 Glorious the assembled fires appear; 
 
 Glorious the comet's train : 
 Glorious the trumpet and alarm; 
 Glorious the Almighty's stretch'd-out arm ; 
 
 Glorious the enraptured main : 
 
166 CHRISTOPHER SMART BOOK II 
 
 Glorious the northern lights a-stream; 
 Glorious the song, when GOD 's the theme ; 
 
 Glorious the thunder's roar : 
 Glorious Hosannah from the den ; 
 Glorious the catholic Amen ; 
 
 Glorious the martyr's gore : 
 
 Glorious, more glorious, is the crown 
 Of Him that brought salvation down, 
 
 By meekness call'd Thy Son ; 
 Thou that stupendous truth believed ; 
 And now the matchless deed's achieved, 
 
 Determined, Dared, and Done. 
 
 l glede, hawk 2 Xiphias^ sword-fish 3 gier-eagle, probably, circling 
 
 ccv 
 
 SIMEON WAITING 
 
 WHEN JESUS, by the Virgin brought, 
 (So runs the law of Heaven), 
 Was offer'd holy to the LORD, 
 And at the altar given ; 
 
 Simeon the just and the devout, 
 
 Who frequent in the fane 
 Had for the Saviour waited long, 
 
 But waited still in vain, 
 
 Came Heaven-directed at the hour 
 
 When Mary held her Son ; 
 He stretched forth his aged arms, 
 
 While tears of gladness run : 
 
 With holy joy upon his face 
 
 The good old father smiled, 
 While fondly in his wither' d arms 
 
 He clasp' d the promised Child. 
 
 And then he lifted up to Heaven 
 
 An earnest asking eye ; 
 'My joy is full, my hour is come; 
 
 LORD, let Thy servant die. 
 
 'At last my arms embrace my LORD; 
 
 Now let their vigour cease ; 
 At last my eyes my Saviour see, 
 
 Now let them close in peace! 
 
BOOK II MICHAEL BRUCE 167 
 
 ' The Star and Glory of the land 
 
 Hath now begun to shine; 
 The morning that shall gild the globe 
 
 Breaks on these eyes of mine ! ' 
 
 M. Bruce 
 
 CCVI 
 TRUST IN PROVIDENCE 
 
 A LMIGHTY Father of mankind, 
 jf\ On Thee my hopes remain ; 
 And when the day of trouble comes, 
 I shall not trust in vain. 
 
 Thou art our kind Preserver, from 
 
 The cradle to the tomb; 
 And I was cast upon Thy care, 
 
 E'en from my mother's womb. 
 
 In early days Thou wast my guide, 
 
 And of my youth the friend ; 
 And as my days began with Thee, 
 
 With Thee my days shall end. 
 
 In former times, when trouble came, 
 
 Thou didst not stand afar; 
 Nor didst Thou prove an absent friend 
 
 Amid the din of war. 
 
 My GOD, who caused'st me to hope, 
 
 When life began to beat, 
 And when a stranger in the world 
 
 Didst guide my wandering feet; 
 
 Thou wilt not cast me off, when age 
 
 And evil days descend; 
 Thou wilt not leave me in despair, 
 
 To mourn my latter end ! 
 
 I know the Power in Whom I trust, 
 
 The Arm on Which I lean ; 
 He will my Saviour ever be, 
 
 Who has my Saviour been. 
 
 CCVII 
 
 MESSIAH ! at Thy glad approach 
 The howling wilds are still; 
 Thy praises fill the lonely waste, 
 And breathe from every hill. 
 
168 MICHAEL BRUCE BOOK II 
 
 The hidden fountains, at Thy call, 
 
 Their sacred stores unlock; 
 Loud in the desert sudden streams 
 
 Burst living from the rock. 
 
 The incense of the Spring ascends 
 
 Upon the morning gale; 
 Red o'er the hill the roses bloom, 
 
 The lilies in the vale. 
 
 The kingdom of Messiah come, 
 
 Appointed times disclose ; 
 And fairer in Emmanuel's land 
 
 The new Creation glows: 
 
 Renew'd, the earth a robe of light, 
 
 A robe of beauty wears ; 
 And in new Heavens a brighter Sun 
 
 Leads on the promised years. 
 
 CCVIII 
 
 r "SHHE GOD of Abraham praise, 
 
 J[ Who reigns enthroned above, 
 Ancient of everlasting days, 
 
 And GOD of love ! 
 Jehovah ! Great I AM ! 
 By earth and Heaven confest ; 
 I bow and bless the sacred Name, 
 For ever blest ! 
 
 The GOD of Abraham praise ! 
 At Whose supreme command 
 From earth I rise, and seek the joys 
 
 At His right hand : 
 I all on earth forsake, 
 Its wisdom, fame, and power, 
 And Him my only portion make, 
 My Shield and Tower. 
 
 He by Himself hath sworn ; 
 I on His oath depend : 
 I shall, on eagle's wings upborne, 
 
 To Heaven ascend ; 
 I shall behold His face, 
 I shall His power adore, 
 And sing the wonders of His grace 
 For evermore! 
 
THOMAS OLIVERS 169 
 
 There dwells the LORD our King, 
 The LORD our Righteousness, 
 Triumphant o'er the world and sin, 
 
 The Prince of Peace ! 
 On Sion's sacred height 
 His kingdom still maintains, 
 And, glorious with His saints in light, 
 For ever reigns ! 
 
 Before the great THREE-ONE 
 They all exulting stand, 
 And tell the wonders He hath done 
 
 Through all their land ; 
 The listening spheres attend 
 And swell the growing fame, 
 And sing, in songs which never end, 
 The wondrous Name ! 
 
 The GOD, who reigns on high, 
 The great Archangels sing, 
 And, ' Holy, holy, holy,' cry, 
 
 1 Almighty King! 
 Who Was, and Is, the same, 
 And evermore shall be ! 
 Jehovah! Father! Great I AM! 
 We worship Thee ! ' 
 
 Before the Saviour's face 
 The ransom'd nations bow, 
 O'erwhelm'd at His Almighty grace, 
 
 For ever new : 
 
 He shows His prints of Love ; 
 They kindle to a flame, 
 And sound, through all the worlds above, 
 The slaughter'd Lamb ! 
 
 The whole triumphant host 
 Give thanks to GOD on high ; 
 6 Hail! Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!' 
 
 They ever cry : 
 
 Hail ! Abraham's GOD, and mine ! 
 I join the heavenly lays ; 
 All might and majesty are Thine, 
 And endless praise! 
 
 T. Olivers 
 
170 AUGUSTUS MONTAGUE TOP LADY BOOK II 
 
 CCIX 
 
 ROCK of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee ! 
 Let the water and the blood 
 From Thy riven side which flow'd, 
 Be of sin the double cure, 
 Cleanse me from its guilt and power. 
 
 Not the labours of my hands 
 Can fulfil Thy law's demands ; 
 Could my zeal no respite know, 
 Could my tears for ever flow, 
 All for sin could not atone ; 
 Thou must save, and Thou alone. 
 
 Nothing in my hand I bring; 
 Simply to Thy Cross I cling ; 
 Naked, come to Thee for dress ; 
 Helpless, look to Thee for grace ; 
 Foul, I to the Fountain fly; 
 Wash me, Saviour, or I die ! 
 
 While I draw this fleeting breath, 
 When my eyestrings break in death, 
 When I soar through tracts unknown, 
 See Thee on Thy Judgment-throne ; 
 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, 
 Let me hide myself in Thee ! 
 
 A. M. Toplach 
 
 ccx 
 
 AH ! give me, LORD, the single eye, 
 Which aims at nought but Thee : 
 I fain would live, and yet not I 
 But JESUS live in me. 
 
 Like Noah's dove, no rest I find 
 
 But in Thy ark of peace ; 
 Thy cross, the balance l of my mind ; 
 
 Thy wounds, my hiding-place. 
 
 In vain the tempter spreads the snare, 
 
 If Thou my keeper art ; 
 Get thee behind me, GOD is near, 
 
 My Saviour takes my part ! 
 
 On Him my spirit I recline, 
 
 Who put my nature on ; 
 His light shall in my darkness shine, 
 
 And guide me to His throne. 
 1 balance, see Note 
 
BOOK II CHARLES WESLEY 
 
 CCXI 
 
 LORD! it is not life to live, 
 If Thy presence Thou deny ; 
 LORD ! if Thou Thy presence give, 
 
 'Tis no longer death to die. 
 Source and Giver of repose, 
 Singly from Thy smile it flows ; 
 Peace and happiness are Thine, 
 Mine they are, if Thou art mine. 
 
 CCXII 
 
 COMPARED with CHRIST, in all beside 
 No comeliness I see ; 
 The one thing needful, dearest LORD, 
 
 Is to be one with Thee. 
 Whatever else Thy will withholds, 
 
 Here grant me to succeed ! 
 O let Thyself my portion be, 
 And I am blest indeed ! 
 
 Loved of my GOD, for Him again 
 
 With love intense I burn : 
 Chosen of Thee ere time began, 
 
 I choose Thee in return ! 
 Less than Thyself will not suffice 
 
 My comfort to restore ; 
 More than Thyself I cannot have; 
 
 And Thou canst give no more. 
 
 CCXIII 
 
 , Thou long-expected JESUS, 
 Born to set Thy people free ; 
 From our fears and sins release us, 
 
 Let us find our rest in Thee : 
 Israel's strength and consolation, 
 
 Hope of all the earth Thou art ; 
 Dear desire of every nation, 
 Joy of every longing heart. 
 
 Born Thy people to deliver; 
 
 Born a Child, and yet a King ; 
 Born to reign in us for ever, 
 
 Now Thy gracious kingdom bring : 
 
172 CHARLES WESLEY Loo* II 
 
 By Thine own eternal Spirit 
 
 Rule in all our hearts alone ; 
 By Thine all-sufficient merit, 
 
 Raise us to Thy glorious throne. 
 
 C. Wesley 
 
 CCXIV 
 FOR A CHILD 
 
 LAMB of GOD, I look to Thee ; 
 Thou shalt my example be ; 
 Thou art gentle, meek, and mild ; 
 Thou wast once a little child. 
 
 Thou didst live to GOD alone; 
 Thou didst never seek Thine own ; 
 Thou Thyself didst never please ; 
 GOD was all Thy happiness. 
 
 Loving JESU, gentle Lamb, 
 In Thy gracious hands I am; 
 Make me, Saviour, what Thou art ! 
 Live Thyself within my heart ! 
 
 I shall then show forth Thy praise ; 
 Serve Thee all my happy days ; 
 Then the world shall always see 
 CHRIST, the Holy Child, in me. 
 
 ccxv 
 
 WRESTLING WITH THE ANGEL 
 
 COME, O Thou Traveller unknown, 
 Whom still I hold, but cannot see, 
 My company before is gone, 
 
 And I am left alone with Thee; 
 With Thee all night I mean to stay, 
 And wrestle till the break of day. 
 
 I need not tell Thee who I am, 
 
 My misery or sin declare; 
 Thyself hast call'd me by my name ; 
 
 Look on Thy hands, and read it there! 
 But Who, I ask Thee, Who art Thou? 
 Tell me Thy Name, and tell me now. 
 
BOOK II CHARLES WESLEY 173 
 
 In vain Thou struggles! to get free, 
 
 I never will unloose my hold ; 
 Art Thou the Man that died for me? 
 
 The secret of Thy love unfold. 
 Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, 
 Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know. 
 
 Wilt Thou not .yet to me reveal 
 
 Thy new, unutterable Name? 
 Tell me, I still beseech Thee, tell : 
 
 To know it now, resolved I am : 
 Wrestling, I will not let Thee go, 
 Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know. 
 
 What though my shrinking flesh complain, 
 
 And murmur to contend so long? 
 I rise superior to my pain; 
 
 When I am weak, then I am strong : 
 And when my all of strength shall fail, 
 I shall with the GOD-MAN prevail. 
 
 My strength is gone ; my nature dies ; 
 
 I sink beneath Thy weighty hand ; 
 Faint to revive, and fall to rise; 
 
 I fall, and yet by faith I stand : 
 I stand, and will not let Thee go, 
 Till I Thy Name, Thy Nature know. 
 
 Yield to me now, for I am weak, 
 
 But confident in self-despair; 
 Speak to my heart, in blessings speak, 
 
 Be conquer'd by my instant prayer! 
 Speak, or Thou never hence shalt move, 
 And tell me, if Thy Name is Love ? 
 
 'Tis Love ! 'tis Love ! Thou diedst for me ! 
 
 I hear Thy whisper in my heart ! 
 The morning breaks, the shadows flee; 
 
 Pure universal Love Thou art ! 
 To me, to all, Thy bowels move; 
 Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love ! 
 
 My prayer hath power with GOD; the grace 
 
 Unspeakable I now receive ; 
 Through faith I see Thee face to face, 
 
 I see Thee face to face, and live : 
 In vain I have not wept and strove ; 
 Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love. 
 
174 CHARLES WESLEY BOOK II 
 
 I know Thee, Saviour, Who Thou art; 
 
 JESUS, the feeble sinner's Friend! 
 Nor wilt Thou with the night depart, 
 
 But stay, and love me to the end ! 
 Thy mercies never shall remove 
 Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love ! 
 
 The Sun of Righteousness on me 
 
 Hath rose, with healing in His wings; 
 
 Wither' d my nature's strength, from Thee 
 My soul its life and succour brings; 
 
 My help is all laid up above ; 
 
 Thy Nature, and Thy Name, is Love. 
 
 Contented now upon my thigh 
 
 I halt, till life's short journey end ; 
 
 All helplessness, all weakness, I 
 
 On Thee alone for strength depend ; 
 
 Nor have I power from Thee to move ; 
 
 Thy Nature, and Thy Name, is Love. 
 
 Lame as I am, I take the prey, 
 
 Hell, earth, and sin, with ease o'ercome ; 
 
 I leap for joy, pursue my way, 
 
 And as a bounding hart fly home 
 
 Through all eternity to prove, 
 
 Thy Nature and Thy Name is Love ! 
 
 CCXVI 
 
 HARK ! how all the welkin rings 
 Glory to the King of kings ! 
 Peace on earth and mercy mild, 
 GOD and sinners reconciled ! 
 Joyful, all ye nations, rise, 
 Join the triumph of the skies ; 
 Universal nature say, 
 CHRIST the LORD is born to-day ! 
 
 CHRIST, by highest Heaven adored ; 
 CHRIST, the Everlasting LORD ; 
 Late in time behold Him come, 
 Offspring of a Virgin's womb : 
 Veil'd in flesh the Godhead see ; 
 Hail, th* Incarnate Deity, 
 Pleased as man with men t' appear, 
 JESUS, our Immanuel here ! 
 
BOOK II CHARLES WESLEY 175 
 
 Hail ! the heavenly Prince of Peace ! 
 Hail the Sun of Righteousness ! 
 Light and life to all He brings, 
 Risen with healing in His wings. 
 Mild He lays His glory by, 
 Born that man no more may die, 
 Born to raise the sons of earth, 
 Born to give them second birth. 
 
 CCXVII 
 MORNING 
 
 /CHRIST, Whose glory fills the skies, 
 \_^ CHRIST, the true, the only Light, 
 Sun of Righteousness, arise, 
 
 Triumph o'er the shades of night ! 
 Day-spring from on high, be near! 
 Day-star, in my heart appear ! 
 
 Dark and cheerless is the morn 
 
 Unaccompanied by Thee ; 
 Joyless is the day's return, 
 
 Till Thy mercy's beams I see ; 
 Till they inward light impart, 
 Glad my eyes, and warm my heart. 
 
 Visit then this soul of mine, 
 
 Pierce the gloom of sin and grief! 
 
 Fill me, Radiancy Divine, 
 Scatter all my unbelief! 
 
 More and more Thyself display, 
 
 Shining to the perfect day ! 
 
 CCXVIII 
 NIGHT 
 
 ALL praise to Him who dwells in bliss, 
 Who made both day and night ; 
 Whose throne is darkness, in th' abyss 
 Of uncreated light ! 
 
 Each thought and deed His piercing eyes 
 
 With strictest search survey ; 
 The deepest shades no more disguise 
 
 Than the full blaze of day. 
 
CHARLES WESLEY BOOK II 
 
 Whom Thou dost guard, O King of kings, 
 
 No evil shall molest : 
 Under the shadow of Thy wings 
 
 Shall they securely rest. 
 
 Thy Angels shall around their beds 
 
 Their constant stations keep ; 
 Thy faith and truth shall shield their heads, 
 
 For Thou dost never sleep. 
 
 May we, with calm and sweet repose, 
 
 And heavenly thoughts refreshed, 
 Our eyelids with the morn unclose, 
 
 And bless the Ever-bless'd ! 
 
 CCXIX 
 
 TIMES without number have I pray'd, 
 ' This only once forgive ' ; 
 Relapsing, when Thy hand was stay'd, 
 And suffer'd me to live : 
 
 Yet now the kingdom of Thy peace, 
 
 LORD, to my heart restore; 
 Forgive my vain repentances, 
 
 And bid me sin no more. 
 
 ccxx 
 
 OME, let us join our friends above, 
 
 That have obtain'd the prize, 
 And on the eagle wings of Love 
 
 To joy celestial rise. 
 Let all the saints terrestrial sing 
 
 With those to glory gone, 
 For all the servants of our King, 
 In Earth and Heaven, are one. 
 
 One family we dwell in Him, 
 
 One Church, above, beneath, 
 Though now divided by the stream, 
 
 The narrow stream of death. 
 One army of the living GOD, 
 
 To His command we bow; 
 Part of His host hath cross'd the flood, 
 
 And part is crossing now. 
 
 Our old companions in distress 
 
 We haste again to see, 
 And eager long for our release 
 
 And full felicity : 
 
BOOK II PHILIP SKELTON 177 
 
 Oh ! that we now might grasp our Guide ! 
 
 Oh ! that the word were given ! 
 Come, LORD of hosts ! the waves divide, 
 
 And land us all in Heaven ! 
 
 CCXXI 
 
 T ESU, Lover of my soul, 
 J Let me to Thy bosom fly, 
 While the nearer waters roll, 
 
 While the tempest still is high : 
 Hide me, O my Saviour, hide 
 
 Till the storm of life is past, 
 Safe into the haven guide, 
 
 O receive my soul at last ! 
 
 Other refuge have I none ; 
 
 Hangs my helpless soul on Thee ; 
 Leave, ah! leave me not alone, 
 
 Still support and comfort me ! 
 All my trust on Thee is stay'd, 
 
 All my help from Thee I bring : 
 Cover my defenceless head 
 
 With the shadow of Thy wing ! 
 
 Wilt Thou not regard my call ? 
 
 Wilt Thou not accept my prayer? 
 Lo! I sink, I faint, I fall 
 
 Lo ! on Thee I cast my care ! 
 Reach me out Thy gracious hand : 
 
 While I of Thy strength receive, 
 Hoping against hope I stand, 
 
 Dying, and behold I live ! 
 
 Plenteous grace with Thee is found, 
 
 Grace to cover all my sin ; 
 Let the healing streams abound ; 
 
 Make and keep me pure within : 
 Thou of Life the Fountain art, 
 
 Freely let me take of Thee ; 
 Spring Thou up within my heart, 
 
 Rise to all eternity! 
 
 CCXXII 
 
 TO GOD, ye choir above, begin 
 A hymn so loud and strong 
 That all the universe may hear 
 And join the grateful song. 
 
 N 
 
1 78 PHILIP SK ELTON BOOK II 
 
 Praise Him, thou sun, Who dwells unseen 
 
 Amidst transcendent light, 
 Where thy refulgent orb would seem 
 
 A spot, as dark as night. 
 
 Thou silver moon, ye host of stars, 
 
 The universal song 
 Through the serene and silent night 
 
 To listening worlds prolong. 
 
 Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns, 
 
 From whence no travelling ray 
 Hath yet to us, through ages past, 
 
 Had time to make its way. 
 
 Assist, ye raging storms, and bear 
 
 On rapid wings His praise, 
 From north to south, from east to west, 
 
 Through heaven, and earth, and seas. 
 
 Exert your voice, ye furious fires 
 
 That rend the watery cloud, 
 And thunder to this nether world 
 
 Your Maker's words aloud. 
 
 Ye works of GOD, that dwell unknown 
 
 Beneath the rolling main ; 
 Ye birds, that sing among the groves, 
 
 And sweep the azure plain ; 
 
 Ye stately hills, that rear your heads, 
 
 And towering pierce the sky; 
 Ye clouds, that with an awful pace 
 
 Majestic roll on high ; 
 
 Ye insects small, to which one leaf 
 
 Within its narrow sides 
 A vast extended world displays, 
 
 And spacious realms provides ; 
 
 Ye race, still less than these, with which 
 
 The stagnant water teems, 
 To which one drop, however small, 
 
 A boundless ocean seems ; 
 
 Whate'er ye are, where'er ye dwell, 
 
 Ye creatures great or small, 
 Adore the Wisdom, praise the Power, 
 
 That made and governs all. 
 
 P. Skelton 
 
BOOK II JOHN NEWTON 179 
 
 CCXXIII 
 
 CHILDREN of the Heavenly King, 
 As ye journey, sweetly sing ; 
 Sing your Saviour's worthy praise, 
 Glorious in His works and ways ! 
 
 We are travelling home to GOD, 
 In the way the Fathers trod ; 
 They are happy now ; and we 
 Soon their happiness shall see. 
 
 Shout, ye little flock, and blest! 
 You on JESUS' Throne shall rest ; 
 There your seat is now prepared, 
 There your kingdom and reward. 
 
 Lift your eyes, ye sons of Light! 
 Zion's city is in sight : 
 There our endless home shall be, 
 There our LORD we soon shall see. 
 
 Fear not, brethren ; joyful stand 
 On the borders of your land ; 
 JESUS CHRIST, your Father's Son, 
 Bids you undismay'd go on. 
 
 LORD ! obediently we go, 
 Gladly leaving all below : 
 Only Thou our Leader be, 
 And we still will follow Thee. 
 
 J t Cennick 
 
 CCXXIV 
 A VISION OF LIFE IN DEATH 
 
 IN evil long I took delight, 
 Unawed by shame or fear, 
 Till a new object struck my sight, 
 
 And stopp'd my wild career: 
 I saw One hanging on a Tree 
 
 In agonies and blood, 
 Who fix'd His languid eyes on me, 
 As near His Cross I stood. 
 
 Sure never till my latest breath 
 
 Can I forget that look : 
 It seem'd to charge me with His death, 
 
 Though not a word He spoke : 
 N 2 
 
i8o JOHN NEWTON BOOK II 
 
 My conscience felt and own'd the guilt, 
 
 And plunged me in despair ; 
 I saw my sins His Blood had spilt, 
 
 And help'd to nail Him there. 
 
 Alas ! I knew not what I did ! 
 
 But now my tears are vain : 
 Where shall my trembling soul be hid? 
 
 For I the LORD have slain ! 
 A second look He gave, which said, 
 
 ( I freely all forgive ; 
 This Blood is for thy ransom paid ; 
 
 I die, that thou may'st live.' 
 
 Thus, while His death my sin displays 
 
 In all its blackest hue, 
 Such is the mystery of grace, 
 
 It seals my pardon too. 
 With pleasing grief, and mournful joy, 
 
 My spirit now is fill'd, 
 That I should such a life destroy, 
 
 Yet live by Him I kill'd ! 
 
 c- XT . } Newton 
 
 See Note 
 
 ccxxv 
 
 A PPROACH, my soul, the mercy-seat 
 jf~\. Where JESUS answers prayer ; 
 There humbly fall before His feet, 
 For none can perish there. 
 
 Thy promise is my only plea, 
 
 With this I venture nigh ; 
 Thou callest burden'd souls to Thee, 
 
 And such, O LORD, am I. 
 
 Bow ? d down beneath a load of sin, 
 
 By Satan sorely prest, 
 By war without, and fears within, 
 
 I come to Thee for rest : 
 
 Be Thou my shield and hiding-place, 
 
 That, sheltered near Thy side, 
 I may my fierce accuser face, 
 
 And tell him, Thou hast died ! 
 
 CCXXVI 
 
 HOW sweet the Name of JESUS sounds 
 In a believer's ear! 
 
 It soothes his sorrows, heals his wounds, 
 And drives away his fear! 
 
JOHN NEWTON l8l 
 
 It makes the wounded spirit whole 
 
 And calms the troubled breast; 
 'Tis manna to the hungry soul, 
 
 And to the weary, rest. 
 
 Dear Name I the rock on which I build, 
 
 My shield and hiding-place, 
 My never-failing treasury, fill'd 
 
 With boundless stores of grace, 
 
 By Thee my prayers acceptance gain, 
 
 Although with sin defiled ; 
 Satan accuses me in vain, 
 
 And I am own'd a Child. 
 
 Weak is the effort of my heart, 
 
 And cold my warmest thought; 
 But, when I see Thee as Thou art, 
 
 I '11 praise Thee as I ought. 
 
 Till then, I would Thy love proclaim 
 
 With every fleeting breath ; 
 And may the music of Thy Name 
 
 Refresh my soul in death ! 
 
 CCXXVII 
 
 , LORD, my fro ward heart: 
 Make me teachable and mild, 
 Upright, simple, free from art,- 
 Make me as a weaned child : 
 From distrust and envy free, 
 Pleased with all that pleases Thee. 
 
 What Thou shalt to-day provide, 
 Let me as a child receive ; 
 What to-morrow may betide, 
 Calmly to Thy wisdom leave ; 
 J Tis enough that Thou wilt care : 
 Why should I the burden bear? 
 
 As a little child relies 
 
 On a care beyond his own, 
 
 Knows he's neither strong nor wise, 
 
 Fears to stir a step alone ; 
 
 Let me thus with Thee abide, 
 
 As my Father, Guard, and Guide. 
 
1 82 WILLIAM COW PER BOOK II 
 
 CCXXVIII 
 
 '"P'HE LORD will happiness divine 
 
 A On contrite hearts bestow; 
 Then tell me, gracious GOD, is mine 
 A contrite heart, or no? 
 
 I hear, but seem to hear in vain, 
 
 Insensible as steel ; 
 If aught is felt, 'tis only pain, 
 
 To find I cannot feel. 
 
 My best desires are faint and few, 
 
 I fain would strive for more; 
 But when I cry, ' My strength renew ! ' 
 
 Seem weaker than before. 
 
 Thy saints are comforted, I know, 
 
 And love Thy house of prayer ; 
 I therefore go where others go, 
 
 But find no comfort there. 
 
 Oh make this heart rejoice or ache ! 
 
 Decide this doubt for me ; 
 And if it be not broken, break, 
 
 And heal it if it be. 
 
 W. Cowper 
 
 CCXXIX 
 
 HARK, my soul ! it is the LORD ; 
 'Tis thy Saviour, hear His word ; 
 JESUS speaks, and speaks to thee, 
 * Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou Me ? 
 
 ' I delivered thee when bound, 
 And when bleeding, heal'd thy wound ; 
 Sought thee wandering, set thee right ; 
 Turn'd thy darkness into light 
 
 'Can a woman's tender care 
 Cease towards the child she bare? 
 Yes, she may forgetful be, 
 Yet will I remember thee. 
 
 ' Mine is an unchanging love, 
 Higher than the heights above. 
 Deeper than the depths beneath, 
 Free and faithful, strong as death. 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 183 
 
 'Thou shalt see My glory soon, 
 When the work of grace is done ; 
 Partner of My throne shalt be ; 
 Say, poor sinner, lov'st thou Me ? ' 
 
 LORD, it is my chief complaint, 
 That my love is weak and faint; 
 Yet I love Thee and adore, 
 Oh ! for grace to love Thee more ! 
 
 ccxxx 
 
 OLORD, my best desire fulfil, 
 And help me to resign 
 Life, health, and comfort to Thy will, 
 And make Thy pleasure mine. 
 
 Why should I shrink at Thy command, 
 Whose love forbids my fears? 
 
 Or tremble at the gracious hand 
 That wipes away my tears? 
 
 No, rather let me freely yield 
 What most I prize to Thee; 
 
 Who never hast a good withheld, 
 Or wilt withhold from me! 
 
 CCXXXI 
 
 QOMETIMES a light surprises 
 v3 The Christian while he sings; 
 It is the LORD who rises 
 
 With healing in His wings : 
 When comforts are declining, 
 
 He grants the soul again 
 A season of clear shining, 
 
 To cheer it after rain. 
 
 In holy contemplation, 
 
 We sweetly then pursue 
 The theme of GOD'S salvation, 
 
 And find it ever new: 
 Set free from present sorrow, 
 
 We cheerfully can say, 
 E'en let the unknown to-morrow 
 
 Bring with it what it may! 
 
WILLIAM COWPER 
 
 It can bring with it nothing 
 
 But He will bear us through; 
 Who gives the lilies clothing 
 
 Will clothe His people too ; 
 Beneath the spreading heavens 
 
 No creature but is fed ; 
 And He who feeds the ravens 
 
 Will give His children bread. 
 
 Though vine nor fig-tree neither 
 
 Their wonted fruit shall bear, 
 Though all the field should wither, 
 
 Nor flocks nor herds be there : 
 Yet GOD the same abiding, 
 
 His praise shall tune my voice ; 
 For, while in Him confiding, 
 
 I cannot but rejoice. 
 
 CCXXXII 
 
 TO keep the lamp alive, 
 With oil we fill the bowl ; 
 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, 
 And grace that feeds the soul. 
 
 The LORD'S unsparing hand 
 
 Supplies the living stream ; 
 
 It is not at our own command, 
 
 But still derived from Him. 
 
 Beware of Peter's word, 
 Nor confidently say, 
 I never will deny Thee, Lord,' 
 But, ' Grant I never may.' 
 
 Man's wisdom is to seek 
 His strength in GOD alone ; 
 And e'en an Angel would be weak 
 Who trusted in his own. 
 
 ccxxxin 
 
 FAR from the world, O LORD, I flee, 
 From strife and tumult far; 
 From scenes where Satan wages still 
 His most successful war. 
 
ROBERT BURNS 185 
 
 The calm retreat, the silent shade, 
 
 With prayer and praise agree ; 
 And seem by Thy sweet bounty made 
 
 For those who follow Thee. 
 
 There, if Thy Spirit touch the soul, 
 
 And grace her mean abode, 
 Oh ! with what peace, and joy, and love, 
 
 She communes with her GOD ! 
 
 There, like the nightingale, she pours 
 
 Her solitary lays ; 
 Nor asks a witness of her song, 
 
 Nor thirsts for human praise. 
 
 Author and guardian of my life, 
 
 Sweet source of light divine, 
 And all harmonious names in one 
 
 My Saviour ! Thou art mine ! 
 
 What thanks I owe Thee, and what love, 
 
 A boundless, endless store, 
 Shall echo through the realms above, 
 
 When time shall be no more. 
 See Note 
 
 CCXXXIV 
 
 OTHOU unknown, Almighty Cause 
 Of all my hope and fear ! 
 In Whose dread presence, ere an hour, 
 Perhaps I must appear! 
 
 If I have wander'd in those paths 
 
 Of life I ought to shun ; 
 As something, loudly in my breast, 
 
 Remonstrates I have done; 
 
 Thou know'st that Thou hast formed me 
 
 With passions wild and strong ; 
 And listening to their witching voice 
 
 Has often led me wrong. 
 
 Where human weakness has come short, 
 
 Or frailty stept aside, 
 Do Thou, All-Good ! for such Thou art, 
 
 In shades of darkness hide. 
 
 Where with intention I have err'd, 
 
 No other plea I have 
 But, Thou art good ; and Goodness still 
 
 Delighteth to forgive. 
 
 R. Bums 
 
1 86 WILLIAM BLAKE BOOK II 
 
 ccxxxv 
 
 CRADLE SONG 
 
 SWEET dreams, form a shade 
 O'er my lovely infant's head! 
 Sweet dreams of pleasant streams 
 By happy, silent, moony beams! 
 
 Sweet sleep, with soft down 
 Weave thy brows an infant crown ! 
 Sweet sleep, angel mild, 
 Hover o'er my happy child! 
 
 Sweet babe, in thy face 
 Holy image I can trace ; 
 Sweet babe, once like thee 
 Thy Maker lay, and wept for me ! 
 
 Wept for me, for thee, for all, 
 When He was an Infant small. 
 Thou His image ever see 1 , 
 Heavenly face that smiles on thee ! 
 
 Smiles on thee, on me, on all, 
 Who became an Infant small ; 
 Infant smiles like His own smile 
 Heaven and earth to peace beguile. 
 
 IV. Blake 
 i ever [dost] see 
 
 CCXXXVI 
 
 CAN I see another's woe, 
 And not be in sorrow too? 
 Can I see another's grief, 
 And not seek for kind relief? 
 
 Can I see a falling tear, 
 And not feel my sorrow's share? 
 Can a father see his child 
 Weep, nor be with sorrow fill'd? 
 
 Can a mother sit and hear 
 An infant groan, an infant fear? 
 No, no ! never can it be ! 
 Never, never can it be ! 
 
 And can He, who smiles on all, 
 Hear the wren, with sorrows small, 
 Hear the small bird's grief and care, 
 Hear the woes that infants bear? 
 
WILLIAM BLAKE 187 
 
 And not sit beside the nest, 
 Pouring Pity in their breast? 
 And not sit the cradle near, 
 Weeping tear on infant's tear? 
 
 And not sit both night and day, 
 Wiping all our tears away? 
 Oh, no ! never can it be ! 
 Never, never can it be ! 
 
 He doth give His joy to all : 
 He becomes an Infant small, 
 He becomes a Man of woe, 
 He doth feel the sorrow too. 
 
 Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, 
 And thy Maker is not by : 
 Think not thou canst weep a tear, 
 And thy Maker is not near. 
 
 Oh ! He gives to us His joy, 
 That our griefs He may destroy : 
 Till our grief is fled and gone 
 He doth sit by us and moan. 
 
 CCXXXVII 
 THE LAMB 
 
 T ITTLE lamb, who made thee? 
 
 JL, Dost thou know who made thee? 
 Gave thee life, and bade thee feed 
 By the stream and o'er the mead; 
 Gave thee clothing of delight, 
 Softest clothing, woolly, bright; 
 Gave thee such a tender voice, 
 Making all the vales rejoice? 
 
 Little lamb, who made thee? 
 
 Dost thou know Who made thee? 
 
 Little lamb, I'll tell thee; 
 
 Little lamb, I '11 tell thee : 
 He is called by thy name, 
 For He calls Himself a Lamb. 
 He is meek, and He is mild, 
 He became a little child. 
 I a child, and thou a lamb, 
 We are called by His name. 
 
 Little lamb, GOD bless thee! 
 
 Little lamb, GOD bless thee! 
 
1 88 WILLIAM BLAKE BOOK II 
 
 CCXXXVIII 
 
 THE door of death is made of gold, 
 That mortal eyes cannot behold : 
 But when the mortal eyes are closed, 
 And cold and pale the limbs reposed, 
 The Soul awakes, and, wondering, sees 
 In her mild hand the golden keys. 
 The grave is Heaven's golden gate, 
 And rich and poor around it wait. 
 
 CCXXXIX 
 
 FOR ever with the LORD! 
 Amen ! so let it be ! 
 Life from the dead is in that word, 
 And immortality! 
 
 Here in the body pent, 
 Absent from Him I roam, 
 Yet nightly pitch my moving tent 
 A day's march nearer home. 
 
 My Father's house on high, 
 Home of my soul ! how near, 
 At times, to Faith's foreseeing eye, 
 Thy golden gates appear! 
 
 Ah ! then my spirit faints 
 To reach the land I love, 
 The bright inheritance of saints, 
 Jerusalem above ! 
 
 Yet clouds will intervene, 
 And all my prospect flies ; 
 Like Noah's dove, I flit between 
 Rough seas and stormy skies. 
 
 Anon the clouds depart, 
 The winds and waters cease ; 
 While sweetly o'er my gladden'd heart 
 Expands the bow of peace ! 
 
 Beneath its glowing arch, 
 Along the hallow'd ground, 
 I see cherubic armies march, 
 A camp of fire around. 
 
BOOK II JAMES MONTGOMERY 
 
 I hear at morn and even, 
 At noon and midnight hour, 
 The choral harmonies of Heaven 
 Earth's Babel tongues o'erpower. 
 
 Then, then I feel, that He, 
 Remember' d or forgot, 
 The LORD, is never far from me, 
 Though I perceive Him not. 
 
 J. Montgomery 
 
 CCXL 
 
 TO Thy temple I repair; 
 LORD, I love to \vorship there, 
 When, within the veil, I meet 
 CHRIST before the mercy-seat. 
 
 Thou, through Him, art reconciled; 
 I, through Him, became Thy child; 
 Abba ! Father ! give me grace 
 In Thy courts to seek Thy face ! 
 
 While Thy glorious praise is sung, 
 Touch my lips, unloose my tongue ; 
 Hear me, for Thy SPIRIT pleads; 
 Hear, for JESUS intercedes ! 
 
 From Thy house when I return, 
 May my heart within me burn ; 
 And at evening let me say, 
 I have walk'd with GOD to-day! 
 
 CCXLI 
 
 PRAYER is the soul's sincere desire, 
 Utter'd, or unexpress'd ; 
 The motion of a hidden fire 
 That trembles in the breast. 
 
 Prayer is the burden of a sigh, 
 
 The falling of a tear ; 
 The upward glancing of an eye, 
 
 When none but GOD is near. 
 
 Prayer is the simplest form of speech 
 
 That infant lips can try; 
 Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach 
 
 The Majesty on high. 
 
190 JAMES MONTGOMERY BOOK II 
 
 Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice 
 
 Returning from his ways; 
 While Angels in their songs rejoice, 
 
 And cry, Behold, he prays ! 
 
 Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, 
 
 The Christian's native air; 
 His watch-word at the gates of death; 
 
 He enters Heaven with prayer. 
 
 The saints, in prayer, appear as one 
 
 In word, and deed, and mind ; 
 While with the Father and the Son 
 
 Sweet fellowship they find. 
 
 Nor prayer is made on earth, alone : 
 
 The Holy SPIRIT pleads ; 
 And JESUS, on the eternal Throne, 
 
 For mourners intercedes. 
 
 O Thou, by Whom we come to GOD, 
 
 The Life, the Truth, the Way! 
 The path of prayer Thyself hast trod : 
 
 LORD ! teach us how to pray ! 
 
 CCXLII 
 
 "VjjTTHEN gathering clouds around I view, 
 
 VY And days are dark and friends are few, 
 On Him I lean, Who not in vain 
 Experienced every human pain; 
 He sees my wants, allays my fears, 
 And counts and treasures up my tears. 
 
 If aught should tempt my soul to stray 
 
 From heavenly wisdom's narrow way ; 
 
 To fly the good I would pursue, 
 
 Or do the sin I would not do; 
 
 Still He, Who felt temptation's power, 
 
 Shall guard me in that dangerous hour. 
 
 If wounded love my bosom swell, 
 Deceived by those I prized too well; 
 He shall His pitying aid bestow, 
 Who felt on earth severer woe, 
 At once betray'd, denied, or fled, 
 By those who shared His daily bread. 
 
JOOK II ROBERT GRANT 191 
 
 If vexing thoughts within me rise, 
 And, sore dismay'd, my spirit dies; 
 Still He, Who once vouchsafed to bear 
 The sickening anguish of despair, 
 Shall sweetly soothe, shall gently dry, 
 The throbbing heart, the streaming eye. 
 
 When sorrowing o'er some stone I bend, 
 Which covers what was once a friend, 
 And from his voice, his hand, his smile, 
 Divides me for a little while ; 
 Thou, Saviour, mark'st the tears I shed 
 For Thou didst weep o'er Lazarus dead ! 
 
 And O ! "when I have safely past 
 Through every conflict but the last; 
 Still, still unchanging, watch beside 
 My painful bed, for Thou hast died ! 
 Then point to realms of cloudless day, 
 And wipe the latest tear away! 
 
 R. Grant 
 
 CCXLIII 
 
 SAVIOUR, when in dust to Thee 
 Low we bend the adoring knee; 
 When repentant to the skies 
 Scarce we lift our weeping eyes; 
 Oh! by all the pains and woe 
 Suffer'd once for man below, 
 Bending from Thy throne on high, 
 Hear our solemn Litany ! 
 
 By Thy helpless infant years, 
 By Thy life of want and tears, 
 By Thy days of sore distress 
 In the savage wilderness ; 
 By the dread mysterious hour 
 Of the insulting tempter's power ; 
 Turn, oh ! turn a favouring eye, 
 Hear our solemn Litany! 
 
 By the sacred griefs that wept 
 O'er the grave where Lazarus slept; 
 By the boding tears that flow'd 
 Over Salem's loved abode; 
 By the anguish' d sigh that told 
 Treachery lurk'd within Thy fold; 
 From Thy seat above the sky, 
 Hear our solemn Litany ! 
 
I9 2 ROBERT GRANT BOOK II 
 
 By Thine hour of dire despair ; 
 By Thine agony of prayer ; 
 By the cross, the nail, the thorn, 
 Piercing spear, and torturing scorn ; 
 By the gloom that veil'd the skies 
 O'er the dreadful Sacrifice ; 
 Listen to our humble cry, 
 TIear our solemn Litany ! 
 
 By Thy deep expiring groan; 
 By the sad sepulchral stone; 
 By the vault, whose dark abode 
 Held in vain the rising GOD ; 
 Oh ! from earth to heaven restored, 
 Mighty re-ascended LORD, 
 Listen, listen to the cry 
 Of our solemn Litany ! 
 
 CCXLIV 
 
 PRAISE to GOD, immortal praise, 
 For the love that crowns our days ! 
 Bounteous source of every joy, 
 Let Thy praise our tongues employ. 
 
 For the blessings of the field, 
 For the stores the gardens yield ; 
 For the vine's exalted juice, 
 For the generous olive's use : 
 
 Flocks that whiten all the plain ; 
 Yellow sheaves of ripen'd grain; 
 Clouds that drop their fattening dews, 
 Suns that temperate warmth diffuse : 
 
 All that Spring with bounteous hand 
 Scatters o'er the smiling land ; 
 All that liberal Autumn pours 
 From her rich o'erflowing stores : 
 
 These to Thee, my GOD, we owe, 
 Source whence all our blessings flow; 
 And for these my soul shall raise 
 Grateful vows and solemn praise. 
 
 Yet, should rising whirlwinds tear 
 From its stem the ripening ear ; 
 Should the fig-tree's blasted shoot 
 Drop her green untimely fruit; 
 
ANNA LAETITIA BARBAULD 193 
 
 Should the vine put forth no more, 
 Nor the olive yield her store ; 
 Though the sickening flocks should fall, 
 And the herds desert the stall; 
 
 Should Thine alter'd hand restrain 
 The early and the latter rain ; 
 Blast each opening bud of joy, 
 And the rising year destroy ; 
 
 Yet to Thee my soul should raise 
 Grateful vows and solemn praise ; 
 And, when every blessing's flown, 
 Love Thee for Thyself alone ! 
 
 A. L. Barbauld 
 
 A 
 
 CCXLV 
 
 VENI, SEQUERE ME 
 WAKE, my soul, lift up thine eyes, 
 
 See where thy foes against thee rise, 
 In long array, a numerous host; 
 Awake, my soul, or thou art lost ! 
 
 Here giant Danger threatening stands, 
 Mustering his pale terrific bands ; 
 There Pleasure's silken banners spread, 
 And willing souls are captive led. 
 
 See where rebellious passions rage, 
 And fierce desires and lusts engage ; 
 The meanest foe of all the train 
 Has thousands and ten thousands slain ! 
 
 Thou tread'st upon enchanted ground, 
 Perils and snares beset thee round ; 
 Beware of all, guard every part, 
 But most, the traitor in thy heart. 
 
 Come then, my soul, now learn to wield 
 The weight of thine immortal shield ; 
 Put on the armour from above 
 Of heavenly Truth and heavenly Love. 
 
 The terror and the charm repel, 
 And powers of earth, and powers of hell ; 
 The Man of Calvary triumph'd here : 
 \Vhy should His faithful followers fear ? 
 
 of ;fi3oofc Second 
 
Boofc UbirO 
 
 CCXLVI 
 
 BRIGHTEST and best of the Sons of the morning! 
 iJ Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ! 
 Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
 Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid! 
 
 Cold on His cradle the dew-drops are shining, 
 Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall ; 
 
 Angels adore Him in slumber reclining, 
 Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all ! 
 
 Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, 
 
 Odours of Edom and offerings divine? 
 Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean, 
 
 Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine ? 
 
 Vainly we offer each ample oblation ; 
 
 Vainly with gifts would His favour secure : 
 Richer by far is the heart's adoration ; 
 
 Dearer to GOD are the prayers of the poor. 
 
 Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning! 
 
 Dawn on our darkness and lend us thine aid ! 
 Star of the East, the horizon adorning, 
 
 Guide where our Infant Redeemer is laid! 
 
 R. Heber 
 
 CCXLVII 
 THE HOLY INNOCENTS 
 
 OH weep not o'er thy children's tomb, 
 Oh Rachel, weep not so ! 
 The bud is cropt by martyrdom, 
 The flower in Heaven shall blow ! 
 
 Firstlings of faith ! the murderer's knife 
 
 Has miss'd its deadliest aim : 
 The GOD for Whom they gave their life, 
 
 For them to suffer came ! 
 
DOK III REGINALD HEBER 195 
 
 Though feeble were their days and few, 
 
 Baptized in blood and pain, 
 He knows them, Whom they never knew, 
 
 And they shall live again. 
 
 Then weep not o'er thy children's tomb, 
 
 Oh Rachel, weep not so! 
 The bud is cropt by martyrdom, 
 
 The flower in Heaven shall blow ! 
 
 CCXLV1II 
 
 LORD of mercy and of might, 
 Of mankind the life and light, 
 Maker, Teacher infinite, 
 JESUS ! hear and save ! 
 
 Who, when Sin's tremendous doom 
 Gave creation to the tomb, 
 Didst not scorn the Virgin's womb, 
 JESUS ! hear and save ! 
 
 Mighty Monarch ! Saviour mild ! 
 Humbled to a mortal child, 
 Captive, beaten, bound, reviled, 
 JESUS ! hear and save ! 
 
 Throned above celestial things, 
 Borne aloft on Angels' wings, 
 Lord of Lords, and King of kings, 
 JESUS! hear and save! 
 
 Who shalt yet return from high, 
 Robed in might and majesty, 
 Hear us ! help us when we cry ! 
 JESUS ! hear and save ! 
 
 CCXLIX 
 
 HOLY, holy, holy, LORD GOD Almighty ! 
 Early in the morning our song shall rise to Thee; 
 Holy, holy, holy ! merciful and mighty ! 
 GOD in Three Persons, blessed TRINITY! 
 
 Holy, holy, holy ! all the saints adore Thee, 
 
 Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea ; 
 Cherubim and Seraphim falling down before Thee, 
 
 Which wert and art and evermore shalt be ! 
 o 2 
 
196 REGINALD HEBER BOOK III 
 
 Holy, holy, holy ! Though the darkness hide Thee, 
 Though the eye of sinful man Thy glory may not see, 
 
 Only Thou art holy, there is none beside Thee, 
 Perfect in power, in love, and purity ! 
 
 Holy, holy, holy, LORD GOD Almighty! 
 
 All Thy works shall praise Thy Name in earth and sky 
 
 and sea : 
 Holy, holy, holy ! Merciful and mighty ! 
 
 GOD in Three Persons, blessed TRINITY ! 
 
 CCL 
 
 I PRAISED the Earth, in beauty seen 
 With garlands gay of various green ; 
 I praised the Sea, whose ample field 
 Shone glorious as a silver shield: 
 And Earth and Ocean seem'd to say 
 ' Our beauties are but for a day ! ' 
 
 I praised the Sun, whose chariot roll'd 
 
 On wheels of amber and of gold ; 
 
 I praised the Moon, whose softer eye 
 
 Gleam'd sweetly through the summer sky : 
 
 And Moon and Sun in answer said, 
 
 ' Our days of light are numbered ! ' 
 
 O GOD ! O Good beyond compare ! 
 
 If thus Thy meaner works are fair ; 
 
 If thus Thy bounties gild the span 
 
 Of ruin'd earth and sinful man ; 
 
 How glorious must the mansion be 
 
 Where Thy redeem'd shall dwell with Thee! 
 
 CCLI 
 
 BY cool Siloam's shady rill 
 How sweet the lily grows ! 
 How sweet the breath beneath the hill 
 Of Sharon's dewy rose ! 
 
 Lo, such the child whose early feet 
 
 The paths of peace have trod ; 
 Whose secret heart, with influence sweet, 
 
 Is upward drawn to GOD. 
 
 By cool Siloam's shady rill 
 
 The lily must decay; 
 The rose that blooms beneath the hill 
 
 Must shortly fade away. 
 
OOK III REGINALD HEBER 197 
 
 And soon, too soon, the wintry hour 
 
 Of man's maturer age 
 Will shake the soul with sorrow's power, 
 
 And stormy passion's rage. 
 
 O Thou, Whose infant feet were found 
 
 Within Thy Father's shrine! 
 Whose years, with changeless virtue crown'd, 
 
 Were all alike Divine ; 
 
 Dependant on Thy bounteous breath, 
 
 We seek Thy grace alone, 
 In childhood, manhood, age, and death, 
 
 To keep us still Thine own ! 
 
 CCLII 
 
 -AGAINST PRINCIPALITIES, AGAINST POWERS, 
 
 AGAINST THE RULERS OF THE DARKNESS 
 
 OF THIS WORLD 
 
 T^HE sound of war! In earth and air 
 
 1 The volleying thunders roll : 
 Their fiery darts the Fiends prepare, 
 And dig the pit, and spread the snare, 
 
 Against the Christian's soul. 
 The Tyrant's sword, the rack, the flame, 
 
 The scorner's serpent-tone, 
 Of bitter doubt the barbed aim, 
 All, all conspire his heart to tame : 
 Force, fraud, and hellish fires assail 
 The rivets of his heavenly mail, 
 
 Amidst his foes alone. 
 
 Gods of the world ! ye warrior host 
 
 Of darkness and of air, 
 In^vain is all your impious boast, 
 In vain each missile lightning tost, 
 
 In vain the Tempter's snare ! 
 Though fast and far your arrows fly, 
 
 Though mortal nerve and bone 
 Shrink in convulsive agony, 
 The Christian can your rage defy : 
 Towers o'er his head Salvation's crest, 
 Faith, like a buckler, guards his breast, 
 
 Undaunted, though alone. 
 
9 REGINALD HEBER BOOK III 
 
 J Tis past ! 'tis o'er ! in foul defeat 
 
 The Demon host are fled ! 
 Before the Saviour's mercy-seat, 
 (His live-long work of faith complete,) 
 
 Their conqueror bends his head. 
 1 The spoils Thyself hast gain'd, [O] LORD ! 
 
 I lay before Thy throne : 
 Thou wert my rock, my shield, my sword ; 
 My trust was in Thy name and word : 
 'Twas in Thy strength my heart was strong; 
 Thy spirit went with mine along; 
 
 How was I then alone ? ' 
 
 CCLIII 
 IN TIMES OF DISTRESS AND DANGER 
 
 OH GOD that madest earth and sky, the darkness and 
 the day, 
 
 Give ear to this Thy family, and help us when we pray! 
 For wide the waves of bitterness around our vessel roar, 
 And heavy grows the pilot's heart to view the rocky shore ! 
 
 The Cross our Master bore for us, for Him we fain would bear ; 
 But mortal strength to weakness turns, and courage to despair ! 
 Then mercy on our failings, LORD ! our sinking faith renew ! 
 And when Thy sorrows visit us, Oh send Thy patience too! 
 
 CCLIV 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 /^ OD that madest Earth and Heaven, 
 
 vj Darkness and light! 
 
 Who the day for toil hast given, 
 
 For rest the night ! 
 May Thine Angel-guards defend us, 
 Slumber sweet Thy mercy send us, 
 Holy dreams and hopes attend us, 
 
 This livelong night ! 
 
 CCLV 
 THE HOLY FIELD 
 
 BENEATH our feet and o'er our head 
 Is equal warning given ; 
 Beneath us lie the countless dead, 
 Above us is the Heaven ! 
 
OOK III HENRY HART MILMAN 199 
 
 Their names are graven on the stone, 
 
 Their bones are in the clay ; 
 And ere another day is done, 
 
 Ourselves may be as they. 
 
 Death rides on every passing breeze, 
 
 He lurks in every flower; 
 Each season has its own disease, 
 
 Its peril every hour. 
 
 Our eyes have seen the rosy light 
 
 Of youth's soft cheek decay, 
 And Fate descend in sudden night 
 
 On manhood's middle day. 
 
 Our eyes have seen the steps of age 
 
 Halt feebly towards the tomb ; 
 And yet shall earth our hearts engage, 
 
 And dreams of days to come? 
 
 Turn, mortal, turn ! thy danger know ; 
 
 Where'er thy foot can tread 
 The earth rings hollow from below, 
 
 And warns thee of her dead ! 
 
 Turn, Christian, turn ! thy soul apply 
 
 To truths divinely given; 
 The bones that underneath thee lie 
 
 Shall live for Hell or Heaven ! 
 
 CCLVI 
 
 OH help us, LORD I each hour of need 
 Thy Heavenly succour give ; 
 Help us in thought, and word, and deed, 
 Each hour on Earth we live. 
 
 Oh help us, when our spirits bleed 
 
 With contrite anguish sore ; 
 And when our hearts are cold and dead, 
 
 O help us, LORD, the more. 
 
 Oh help us, through the prayer of faith, 
 
 More firmly to believe; 
 For still the more the servant hath, 
 
 The more shall he receive. 
 
 Oh help us, JESUS! from on high, 
 
 We know no help but Thee ; 
 Oh! help us so to live and die 
 
 As Thine in Heaven to be ! 
 
 H. H. Milman 
 
HENR Y HA R T MILMA N BOOK 1 1 1 
 
 CCLVII 
 
 WHEN our heads are bow'd with woe, 
 When our bitter tears o'erflow; 
 When we mourn the lost, the dear, 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear! 
 
 Thou our throbbing flesh hast worn, 
 Thou our mortal griefs hast borne, 
 Thou hast shed the human tear : 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 
 
 When the sullen death-bell tolls 
 For our own departed souls; 
 When our final doom is near, 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear! 
 
 Thou hast bow'd the dying head ; 
 Thou the blood of life hast shed ; 
 Thou hast fill'd a mortal bier : 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear! 
 
 When the heart is sad within 
 With the thought of all its sin ; 
 When the spirit shrinks with fear, 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear ! 
 
 Thou the shame, the grief hast known, 
 Though the sins were not Thine own ; 
 Thou hast deign'd their load to bear 
 Gracious Son of Mary, hear I 
 
 CCLVIII 
 THE PRIMROSE OF THE ROCK 
 
 A ROCK there is whose homely front 
 The passing traveller slights ; 
 Yet there the glow-worms hang their lamps 
 
 Like stars, at various heights ; 
 And one coy Primrose to that Rock 
 The vernal breeze invites. 
 
 What hideous warfare hath been waged, 
 
 What kingdoms overthrown, 
 Since first I spied that Primrose-tuft 
 
 And mark'd it for my own ; 
 A lasting link in Nature's chain 
 
 From highest Heaven let down. 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 
 
 The flowers, still faithful to the stems, 
 
 Their fellowship renew; 
 The stems are faithful to the root, 
 
 That worketh out of view ; 
 And to the rock the root adheres 
 
 In every fibre true. 
 
 Close clings to earth the living rock, 
 Though threatening still to fall ; 
 
 The earth is constant to her sphere; 
 And GOD upholds them all ; 
 
 So blooms this lonely Plant, nor dreads 
 Her annual funeral. 
 
 Here closed the meditative strain ; 
 
 But air breathed soft that day, 
 The hoary mountain-heights were cheer'd, 
 
 The sunny vale look'd gay ; 
 And to the Primrose of the Rock 
 
 I gave this after-lay : 
 
 Sin-blighted though we are, we too, 
 The reasoning Sons of Men, 
 
 From one oblivious winter call'd 
 Shall rise, and breathe again ; 
 
 And in eternal summer lose 
 Our threescore years and ten. 
 
 To humbleness of heart descends 
 This prescience from on high, 
 
 The Faith that elevates the just, 
 Before and when they die ; 
 
 And makes each soul a separate heaven, 
 A court for Deity. 
 
 W. Wordsworth 
 
 CCLIX 
 DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS 
 
 WHERE will they stop, those breathing Powers, 
 The Spirits of the new-born flowers ? 
 They wander with the breeze, they wind 
 Where'er the streams a passage find; 
 Up from their native ground they rise 
 In mute aerial harmonies ; 
 From humble violet, modest thyme, 
 Exhaled, the essential odours climb, 
 
WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BOOK I] 
 
 As if no space below the sky 
 
 Their subtle flight could satisfy : 
 
 Heaven will not tax our thoughts with pride, 
 
 If like ambition be their guide. 
 
 Roused by this kindliest of May-showers, 
 The spirit-quickener of the flowers, 
 That with moist virtue softly cleaves 
 The buds, and freshens the young leaves, 
 The birds pour forth their souls in notes 
 Of rapture from a thousand throats 
 Here check'd by too impetuous haste, 
 While there the music runs to waste 
 With bounty more and more enlarged, 
 Till the whole air is overcharged ; 
 Give ear, O Man ! to their appeal, 
 And thirst for no inferior zeal, 
 Thou, who canst think, as well as feel ! 
 
 Mount from the earth; aspire! aspire! 
 So pleads the town's cathedral quire, 
 In strains that from their solemn height 
 Sink, to attain a loftier flight ; 
 While incense from the altar breathes 
 Rich fragrance in embodied wreaths ; 
 Or, flung from swinging censer, shrouds 
 The taper-lights, and curls in clouds 
 Around angelic Forms, the still 
 Creation of the Painter's skill, 
 That on the service wait conceal'd 
 One moment, and the next reveal'd. 
 Cast off your bonds, awake, arise, 
 And for no transient ecstasies ! 
 What else can mean the visual plea 
 Of still or moving imagery 
 The iterated summons loud, 
 Not wasted on the attendant crowd, 
 Nor wholly lost upon the throng 
 Hurrying the busy streets along? 
 
 Alas! the sanctities combined 
 By art to unsensualise the mind, 
 Decay and languish ; or, as creeds 
 And humours change, are spurn 'd like weeds : 
 The priests are from their altars thrust; 
 Temples are levell'd with the dust; 
 And solemn rites and awful forms 
 Founder amid fanatic storms. 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 203 
 
 Yet evermore, through years renew'd 
 
 In undisturb'd vicissitude 
 
 Of seasons balancing their flight 
 
 On the swift wings of day and night, 
 
 Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door 
 
 Wide open for the scatter'd Poor. 
 
 Where flower-breathed incense to the skies 
 
 Is wafted in mute harmonies ; 
 
 And ground fresh-cloven by the plough 
 
 Is fragrant with a humbler vow; 
 
 Where birds and brooks from leafy dells 
 
 Chime forth unwearied canticles, 
 
 And vapours magnify and spread 
 
 The glory of the sun's bright head : 
 
 Still constant in her worship, still 
 
 Conforming to the eternal Will, 
 
 Whether men sow or reap the fields, 
 
 Divine monition Nature yields, 
 
 That not by bread alone we live, 
 
 Or what a hand of flesh can give ; 
 
 That every day should leave some part 
 
 Free for a sabbath of the heart : 
 
 So shall the seventh be truly blest, 
 
 From morn to eve, with hallow'd rest. 
 
 CCLX 
 IN CATHOLIC SWITZERLAND 
 
 DOOM'D as we are our native dust 
 To wet with many a bitter shower, 
 It ill befits us to disdain 
 The altar, to deride the fane, 
 Where simple Sufferers bend, in trust 
 To win a happier hour. 
 
 I love, where spreads the village lawn, 
 Upon some knee-worn cell to gaze : 
 Hail to the firm unmoving Cross, 
 Aloft, where pines their branches toss ! 
 And to the chapel far withdrawn, 
 That lurks by lonely ways ! 
 
 Where'er we roam, along the brink 
 Of Rhine, or by the sweeping Po ; 
 Through Alpine vale, or champain wide, 
 Whate'er we look on, at our side 
 Be Charity! to bid us think, 
 And feel, if we would know. 
 
204 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BOOK III 
 
 CCLXI 
 HOLY BAPTISM 
 
 DEAR be the Church, that, watching o'er the needs 
 Of Infancy, provides a timely shower 
 Whose virtue changes to a Christian Flower 
 A Growth from sinful Nature's bed of weeds ! 
 
 Fitliest beneath the sacred roof proceeds 
 The ministration ; while parental Love 
 Looks on, and Grace descendeth from above 
 As the high service pledges now, now pleads. 
 
 There, should vain thoughts outspread their wings and fly 
 
 To meet the coming hours of festal mirth, 
 
 The tombs which hear and answer that brief cry, 
 
 The Infant's notice of his Second Birth, 
 
 Recal the wandering Soul to sympathy 
 
 With what man hopes from Heaven, yet fears from Earth. 
 
 CCLXII 
 WITHIN KING'S COLLEGE CHAPEL 
 
 TAX not the royal Saint with vain expense, 
 With ill-match'd aims the Architect who plann'd 
 Albeit labouring for a scanty band 
 Of white-robed Scholars only this immense 
 And glorious Work of fine intelligence ! 
 Give all thou canst ; high Heaven rejects the lore 
 Of nicely-calculated less or more ; 
 So deem'd the man who fashion'd for the sense 
 These lofty pillars, spread that branching roof 
 Self-poised, and scoop'd into ten thousand cells, 
 Where light and shade repose, where music dwells 
 Lingering and wandering on as loth to die; 
 Like thoughts whose very sweetness yieldeth proof 
 That they were born for immortality. 
 
 CCLXIII 
 A LESSON 
 
 GLORY to GOD ! and to the Power Who came 
 In Filial duty, clothed with love divine, 
 That made His human tabernacle shine 
 Like Ocean burning with purpureal flame ; 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM WORDSWORTH 205 
 
 Or like the Alpine Mount, that takes its name 
 From roseate hues, far kenn'd at morn and even, 
 In hours of peace, or when the storm is driven 
 Along the nether region's rugged frame ! 
 
 Earth prompts, Heaven urges ; let us seek the light, 
 Studious of that pure intercourse begun 
 When first our infant brows their lustre won ; 
 
 So, like the Mountain, may we grow more bright 
 From unimpeded commerce with the Sun, 
 At the approach of all-involving night. 
 
 CCLXIV 
 
 IT is a beauteous evening, calm and free ; 
 The holy time is quiet as a Nun 
 Breathless with adoration ; the broad sun 
 Is sinking down in its tranquillity; 
 
 The gentleness of heaven is on the Sea : 
 Listen ! the mighty Being is awake, 
 And doth with his eternal motion make 
 A sound like thunder everlastingly. 
 
 Dear Child ! dear Girl ! that walkest with me here, 
 If thou appear untouch'd by solemn thought, 
 Thy nature is not therefore less divine : 
 
 Thou liest in Abraham's bosom all the year, 
 And worship'st at the Temple's inner shrine, 
 GOD being with thee when we know it not. 
 
 CCLXV 
 
 NOT seldom, clad in radiant vest, 
 Deceitfully goes forth the Morn ; 
 Not seldom Evening in the west 
 Sinks smilingly forsworn. 
 
 The smoothest seas will sometimes prove 
 To the confiding Bark, untrue; 
 And if she trust the stars above, 
 They can be treacherous too. 
 
 But Thou art true, incarnate LORD, 
 Who didst vouchsafe for man to die ; 
 Thy smile is sure, Thy plighted word 
 No change can falsify ! 
 
206 WILLIAM WORDSWORTH BOOK III 
 
 I bent before Thy gracious throne, 
 And ask'd for peace on suppliant knee ; 
 And peace was given, nor peace alone, 
 But Faith sublimed to ecstasy! 
 
 CCLXVI 
 
 THE TWO WORLDS 
 
 THERE is a book, who runs may read, 
 Which heavenly truth imparts, 
 And all the lore its scholars need, 
 Pure eyes and Christian hearts. 
 
 The works of GOD above, below, 
 
 Within us and around, 
 Are pages in that book, to show 
 
 How GOD Himself is found. 
 
 The glorious sky embracing all 
 
 Is like the Maker's love, 
 Wherewith encompass'd, great and small 
 
 In peace and order move. 
 
 The Moon above, the Church below, 
 
 A wondrous race they run, 
 But all their radiance, all their glow, 
 
 Each borrows of its Sun. 
 
 The Saviour lends the light and heat 
 
 That crowns His holy hill; 
 The saints, like stars, around His seat, 
 
 Perform their courses still. 
 
 The saints above are stars in Heaven 
 What are the saints on earth? 
 
 Like trees they stand whom GOD has given, 
 Our Eden's happy birth. 
 
 Faith is their fix'd unswerving root, 
 
 Hope their unfading flower, 
 Fair deeds of charity their fruit, 
 
 The glory of their bower. 
 
 The dew of Heaven is like Thy grace, 
 
 It steals in silence down ; 
 But where it lights, the favour'd place 
 
 By richest fruits is known. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 207 
 
 One Name above all glorious names 
 
 With its ten thousand tongues 
 The everlasting sea proclaims, 
 
 Echoing angelic songs. 
 
 The raging Fire, the roaring Wind, 
 
 Thy boundless power display : 
 But in the gentler breeze we find 
 
 Thy SPIRIT'S viewless way. 
 
 Two worlds are ours : 'tis only Sin 
 
 ^Forbids us to descry 
 The mystic heaven and earth within, 
 Plain as the sea and sky. 
 
 Thou, Who hast given me eyes to see 
 
 And love this sight so fair, 
 Give me a heart to find out Thee, 
 And read Thee every where. 
 
 J. Keble 
 See Note 
 
 CCLXVII 
 
 WHERE is Thy favourd haunt, eternal Voice, 
 The region of Thy choice, 
 Where, undisturb'd by sin and earth, the soul 
 
 Owns Thy entire control? 
 'Tis on the mountain's summit dark and high, 
 
 When storms are hurrying by : 
 
 'Tis 'midSthe strong foundations of the earth, 
 
 Where torrents have their birth. 
 
 No sounds of worldly toil ascending there 
 
 Mar the full burst of prayer ; 
 Lone Nature feels that she may freely breathe, 
 
 And round us and beneath 
 Are heard her sacred tones : the fitful sweep 
 
 Of winds across the steep, 
 Through wither' d bents romantic note and clear, 
 
 Meet for a hermit's ear, 
 
 The wheeling kite's wild solitary cry,, 
 
 And, scarcely heard so high, 
 The dashing waters when the air is still 
 
 From many a torrent rill 
 That winds unseen beneath the shaggy fell, 
 
 Track'd by the blue mist well : 
 Such sounds as make deep silence in the heart 
 
 For Thought to do her part. 
 
208 
 
 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Tis then we hear the voice of GOD within, 
 
 Pleading with care and sin : 
 ' Child of My love ! how have I wearied thee ? 
 
 Why wilt thou err from Me? 
 Have I not brought thee from the house of slaves, 
 
 Parted the drowning waves, 
 And set My saints before thee in the way, 
 
 Lest thou shouldst faint or stray? 
 
 ' What ? was the promise made to thee alone ? 
 
 Art thou th' excepted one? 
 An heir of glory without grief or pain ? 
 
 O vision false and vain ! 
 There lies thy cross ; beneath it meekly bow ; 
 
 It fits thy stature now : 
 Who scornful pass it with averted eye, 
 
 'Twill crush them by-and-by. 
 
 * Raise thy repining eyes, and take true measure 
 
 Of thine eternal treasure ; 
 The Father of thy LORD can grudge thee nought, 
 
 The world for thee was bought; 
 And as this landscape broad earth, sea, and sky, 
 
 All centres in thine eye, 
 So all GOD does, if rightly understood, 
 
 Shall work thy final good/ 
 
 Y 1 
 
 CCLXVIII 
 CITY AND COUNTRY 
 
 rE hermits blest, ye holy maids, 
 
 The nearest Heaven on earth, 
 Who talk with GOD in shadowy glades, 
 
 Free from rude care and mirth ; 
 To whom some viewless teacher brings 
 The secret lore of rural things, 
 The moral of each fleeting cloud and gale, 
 The whispers from above, that haunt the twilight vale : 
 
 Say, when in pity ye have gazed 
 
 On the wreathed smoke afar, 
 That o'er some town, like mist upraised, 
 
 Hung hiding sun and star, 
 Then as ye turn'd your weary eye 
 To the green earth and open sky, 
 Were ye not fain to doubt how Faith could dwell 
 Amid that dreary glare, in this world's citadel? 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 209 
 
 But Love 's a flower that will not die 
 
 For lack of leafy screen, 
 And Christian Hope can cheer the eye 
 
 That ne'er saw vernal green ; 
 Then be ye sure that Love can bless 
 E'en in this crowded loneliness, 
 Where ever-moving myriads seem to say, 
 Go thou art nought to us, nor we to thee away ! 
 
 CCLXIX 
 
 WHAT went ye out to see 
 O'er the rude sandy lea, 
 
 Where stately Jordan flows by many a palm, 
 Or where Genriesaret's wave 
 Delights the flowers to lave, 
 That o'er her western slope breathe airs of balm ? 
 
 All through the summer night, 
 
 Those blossoms red and bright 1 
 Spread their soft breasts, unheeding, to the breeze 
 
 Like hermits watching still 
 
 Around the sacred hill, 
 Where erst our Saviour watch'd upon His knees. 
 
 The Paschal moon above 
 
 Seems like a saint to rove, 
 Left Chining in the world with CHRIST alone ; 
 
 Below, the lake's still face 
 
 Sleeps sweetly in th' embrace 
 Of mountains terraced high with mossy stone. 
 
 Here may we sit, and dream 
 
 Over the heavenly theme, 
 Till to our soul the former days return ; 
 
 Till on the grassy bed, 
 
 Where thousands once He fed, 
 The world's incarnate Maker we discern. 
 
 O cross no more the main 1 , 
 
 Wandering so wild and vain, 
 To count the reeds that tremble in the wind, 
 
 On listless dalliance bound, 
 
 Like children gazing round, 
 Who on GOD'S works no seal of Godhead find :- 
 
210 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Bask not in courtly bower, 
 Or sun-bright hall of power, 
 
 Pass Babel quick, and seek the holy land- 
 From robes of Tyrian dye 
 Turn with undazzled eye 
 
 To Bethlehem's glade, or Carmers haunted strand. 
 
 Or choose thee out a cell 
 
 In Kedron's storied dell, 
 Beside the springs of Love, that never die ; 
 
 Among the olives kneel 
 
 The chill night-blast to feel, 
 And watch the Moon that saw thy Master's agony. 
 
 Then rise at dawn of day, 
 
 And wind thy thoughtful way, 
 Where rested once the Temple's stately shade, 
 
 With due feet tracing round 
 
 The city's northern bound, 
 To th' other holy garden, where the LORD was laid. 
 
 Who thus alternate see 
 
 His death and victory, 
 Rising and falling as on angel wings, 
 
 They, while they seem to roam, 
 
 Draw daily nearer home, 
 
 Their heart untravell'd still adores the King of kings, 
 i See Note 
 
 CCLXX 
 
 "HHIS true, of old th' unchanging sun 
 X His daily course refused to run, 
 The pale moon hurrying to the west 
 Paused at a mortal's call, to aid 
 Th' avenging storm of war, that laid 
 Seven guilty realms at once on earth's defiled breast. 
 
 But can it be, one suppliant tear 
 Should stay the ever-moving sphere ? 
 
 A sick man's lowly-breathed sigh, 
 When from the world he turns away, 
 And hides his weary eyes to pray, 
 Should change your mystic dance, ye wanderers of the sky ? 
 
 We too, O LORD, would fain command, 
 As then, Thy wonder-working hand, 
 
 And backward force the waves of Time, 
 That now so swift and silent bear 
 Our restless bark from year to year; 
 Help us to pause and mourn to Thee our tale of crime. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 2 
 
 Bright hopes, that erst the bosom warm'd, 
 And vows, too pure to be performed, 
 
 And prayers blown wide by gales of care ; 
 These, and such faint half-waking dreams, 
 Like stormy lights on mountain streams, 
 Wavering and broken all, athwart the conscience glare. 
 
 How shall we 'scape th' o'erwhelming Past ? 
 Can spirits broken, joys o'ercast, 
 
 And eyes that never more may smile : 
 Can these th' avenging bolt delay, 
 Or win us back one little day 
 The bitterness of death to soften and beguile ? 
 
 Father and Lover of our souls ! 
 Though darkly round Thine anger rolls, 
 
 Thy sunshine smiles beneath the gloom, 
 Thou seek'st to warn us, not confound ; 
 Thy showers would pierce the harden'd ground, 
 And win it to give out its brightness and perfume. 
 
 Thou smil'st on us in wrath, and we, 
 E'en in remorse, would smile on Thee; 
 
 The tears that bathe our offer'd hearts 
 We would not have them stain'd and dim, 
 But dropp'd from wings of seraphim, 
 All glowing with the light accepted love imparts. 
 
 Time's waters will not ebb, nor stay, 
 Power cannot change them, but Love may ; 
 
 What cannot be, Love counts it done. 
 Deep in the heart, her searching view 
 Can read where Faith is fix'd and true, 
 Through shades of setting life can see Heaven's work begun. 
 
 O Thou, who keep'st the Key of Love, 
 Open Thy fount, eternal Dove, 
 
 And overflow this heart of mine, 
 Enlarging as it fills with Thee, 
 Till in one blaze of charity 
 Care and remorse are lost, like motes in light divine ; 
 
 Till, as each moment wafts us higher, 
 By every gush of pure desire, 
 
 And high-breathed hope of joys above, 
 By every secret sigh we heave, 
 Whole years of folly we outlive, 
 In His unerring sight, who measures Life by Love. 
 
212 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 CCLXXI 
 
 IMARK'D a rainbow in the north, 
 What time the wild autumnal sun 
 From his dark veil at noon look'd forth, 
 
 As glorying in his course half done, 
 Flinging soft radiance far and wide 
 Over the dusky heaven and bleak hill-side. 
 
 It was a gleam to Memory dear, 
 
 And as I walk and muse apart, 
 When all seems faithless round and drear 
 
 I would revive it in my heart, 
 And watch how light can find its way 
 To regions farthest from the fount of day. 
 
 Light flashes in the gloomiest sky, 
 
 And Music in the dullest plain, 
 For there the lark is soaring high 
 
 Over her flat and leafless reign, 
 And chanting in so blithe a tone, 
 It shames the weary heart to feel itself alone. 
 
 Brighter than rainbow in the north, 
 More cheery than the matin lark, 
 Is the soft gleam of Christian worth, 
 
 Which on some holy house we mark; 
 Dear to the pastor's aching heart 
 To think, where'er he looks, such gleam may have a part 
 
 May dwell, unseen by all but Heaven, 
 
 Like diamond blazing in the mine ; 
 For, ever, where such grace is given, 
 
 It fears in open day to shine, 
 Lest the deep stain it owns within 
 Break out, and Faith be shamed by the believer's sin. 
 
 In silence and afar they wait, 
 
 To find a prayer their LORD may hear : 
 
 Voice of the poor and desolate, 
 You best may bring it to His ear ! 
 
 Your grateful intercessions rise 
 With more than royal pomp, and pierce the skies. 
 
 Happy the soul, whose precious cause 
 You in the Sovereign Presence plead 
 
 ' This is the lover of Thy laws, 
 
 The friend of Thine in fear and need ' 
 
 For to the poor Thy mercy lends 
 That solemn style, c Thy nation and Thy friends.' 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 2 
 
 He too is blest, whose outward eye 
 
 The graceful lines of art may trace, 
 While his free spirit, soaring high, 
 
 Discerns the glorious from the base j 
 Till out of dust his magic raise 
 A home for prayer and love, and full harmonious praise, 
 
 Where far away and high above, 
 
 In maze on maze the tranced sight 
 Strays, mindful of that heavenly love 
 
 Which knows no end in depth or height, 
 While the strong breath of Music seems 
 To waft us ever on, soaring in blissful dreams. 
 
 What though in poor and humble guise 
 Thou here didst sojourn, cottage-born ? 
 
 Yet from Thy glory in the skies 
 
 Our earthly gold Thou dost not scorn : 
 
 For Love delights to bring her best, 
 And where Love is, that offering evermore is blest. 
 
 Love on the Saviour's dying head 
 
 Her spikenard drops unblamed may pour, 
 
 May mount His cross, and wrap Him dead 
 In spices from the golden shore ; 
 
 Risen, may embalm His sacred name 
 With all a Painter's art, and all a Minstrel's flame. 
 
 Worthless and lost our offerings seem, 
 
 Drops in the ocean of His praise; 
 But Mercy with her genial beam 
 
 Is ripening them to pearly blaze, 
 To sparkle in His crown above, 
 Who welcomes here a child's as there an angel's love. 
 
 CCLXXII 
 
 RED o'er the forest peers the setting sun, 
 The line of yellow light dies fast away 
 That crown'd the eastern copse : and chill and dun 
 Falls on the moor the brief November day. 
 
 Now the tired hunter winds a parting note, 
 And Echo bids good-night from every glade ; 
 
 Yet wait awhile, and see the calm leaves float 
 Each to his rest beneath their parent shade. 
 
214 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 How like decaying life they seem to glide ! 
 
 And yet no second spring have they in store, 
 But where they fall, forgotten to abide 
 
 Is all their portion, and they ask no more. 
 
 Soon o'er their heads blithe April airs shall sing, 
 A thousand wild-flowers round them shall unfold, 
 
 The green buds glisten in the dews of Spring, 
 And all be vernal rapture as of old. 
 
 Unconscious they in waste oblivion lie, 
 
 In all the world of busy life around 
 No thought of them ; in all the bounteous sky 
 
 No drop, for them, of kindly influence found. 
 
 Man's portion is to die and rise again 
 
 Yet he complains, while these unmurmuring part 
 
 With their sweet lives, as pure from sin and stain, 
 As his when Eden held his virgin heart. 
 
 And haply half unblamed his murmuring voice 
 Might sound in Heaven, were all his second life 
 
 Only the first renew'd the heathen's choice, 
 A round of listless joy and weary strife. 
 
 For dreary were this earth, if earth were all, 
 Tho' brighten'd oft by dear Affection's kiss; 
 
 Who for the spangles wears the funeral pall? 
 But catch a gleam beyond it, and 'tis*bliss. 
 
 Heavy and dull this frame of limbs and heart, 
 Whether slow creeping on cold earth, or borne 
 
 On lofty steed, or loftier prow, we dart 
 
 O'er wave or field : yet breezes laugh to scorn 
 
 Our puny speed, and birds, and clouds in heaven. 
 And fish, like living shafts that pierce the main, 
 
 And stars that shoot through freezing air at even 
 Who but would follow, might he break his chain ? 
 
 And thou shalt break it soon ; the grovelling worm 
 Shall find his wings, and soar as fast and free 
 
 As his transfigured LORD with lightning form 
 And snowy vest such grace He won for thee, 
 
 When from the grave He sprang at dawn of morn, 
 And led through boundless air thy conquering road. 
 
 Leaving a glorious track, where saints, new-born, 
 Might fearless follow to their blest abode. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 
 
 But first, by many a stern and fiery blast 
 
 The world's rude furnace must thy blood refine, 
 
 And many a gale of keenest woe be pass'd, 
 Till every pulse beat true to airs divine, 
 
 Till every limb obey the mounting soul, 
 The mounting soul, the call by JESUS given : 
 
 He Who the stormy heart can so control, 
 The laggard body soon will waft to Heaven. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCLXXIII 
 THE REDEMPTION OF NATURE 
 
 SIN is with man at morning-break, 
 And through the live-long day 
 Deafens the ear that fain would wake 
 To Nature's simple lay. 
 
 But when eve's silent foot-fall steals 
 
 Along the eastern sky, 
 And one by one to earth reveals 
 
 Those purer fires on high, 
 
 When one by one each human sound 
 
 Dies on the awful ear, 
 Then Nature's voice no more is drown'd. 
 
 She speaks, and we must hear. 
 
 Then pours she on the Christian heart 
 That warning still and deep, 
 
 At which high spirits of old would start 
 E'en from their Pagan sleep, 
 
 Just guessing, through their murky blind, 
 Few, faint, and baffling sight 
 
 Streaks of a brighter heaven behind, 
 A cloudless depth of light. 
 
 Such thoughts, the wreck of Paradise, 
 Through many a dreary age, 
 
 Upbore whate'er of good and wise 
 Yet lived in bard or sage : 
 
 They mark'd what agonizing throes 
 Shook the great mother's womb ; 
 
 But Reason's spells might not disclose 
 The gracious Birth to come ; 
 
216 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Nor could th' enchantress Hope forecast 
 
 GOD'S secret love and power; 
 The travail pangs of Earth must last 
 
 Till her appointed hour; 
 
 The hour that saw from opening heaven 
 
 Redeeming glory stream, 
 Beyond the summer hues of even, 
 
 Beyond the mid-day beam. 
 
 Thenceforth, to eyes of high desire, 
 
 The meanest things below, 
 As with a seraph's robe of fire 
 
 Invested, burn and glow : 
 
 The rod of Heaven has touch'd them all, 
 The word from Heaven is spoken ; 
 
 * Rise, shine, and sing, thou captive thrall : 
 Are not thy fetters broken? 
 
 'The GOD Who hallow'd thee and blest, 
 
 Pronouncing thee all good 
 Hath He not all thy wrongs redrest, 
 
 And all thy bliss renew'd? 
 
 'Why mourn'st thou still as one bereft, 
 
 Now that th' eternal Son 
 His blessed home in Heaven hath left 
 
 To make thee all His own?' 
 
 CCLXXIV 
 
 WHEN Nature tries her finest touch, 
 Weaving her vernal wreath, 
 Mark ye, how close she veils her round, 
 Not to be traced by sight or sound, 
 Nor soil'd by ruder breath? 
 
 Who ever saw the earliest rose 
 
 First open her sweet breast? 
 
 Or, when the summer sun goes down, 
 
 The first soft star in evening's crown 
 
 Light up her gleaming crest? 
 
 Fondly we seek the dawning bloom 
 On features wan and fair, 
 
 The gazing eye no change can trace, 
 
 But look away a little space, 
 
 Then turn, and lo ! 'tis there. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 217 
 
 But there's a sweeter flower than e'er 
 
 Blush' d on the rosy spray 
 A brighter star, a richer bloom 
 Than e'er did western heaven illume 
 
 At close of summer day. 
 
 J Tis Love, the last best gift of Heaven ; 
 
 Love gentle, holy, pure ; 
 But tenderer than a dove's soft eye, 
 The searching sun, the open sky, 
 
 She never could endure. 
 
 So still and secret is her growth, 
 
 Ever the truest heart, 
 Where deepest strikes her kindly root 
 For hope or joy, for flower or fruit, 
 
 Least knows its happy part. 
 
 E'en human Love will shrink from sight 
 
 Here in the coarse rude earth : 
 How then should rash intruding glance 
 Break in upon her sacred trance 
 
 Who boasts a heavenly birth? 
 
 No let the dainty rose awhile 
 
 Her bashful fragrance hide 
 Rend not her silken veil too soon, 
 But leave her, in her own soft noon, 
 
 To flourish and abide. 
 
 CCLXXV 
 
 OLORD my GOD, do Thou Thy holy will- 
 I will lie still 
 I will not stir, lest I forsake Thine arm, 
 
 And break the charm, 
 
 Which lulls me, clinging to my Father's breast, 
 In perfect rest. 
 
 Come, Self-devotion, high and pure, 
 Thoughts that in thankfulness endure, 
 Though dearest hopes are faithless found, 
 And dearest hearts are bursting round. 
 Come, Resignation, spirit meek, 
 And let me kiss thy placid cheek, 
 And read in thy pale eye serene 
 Their blessing, who by faith can wean 
 Their hearts from sense, and learn to love 
 GOD only, and the joys above. 
 
218 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 They say 1 , who know the life divine, 
 And upward gaze with eagle eyne, 
 That by each golden crown on high, 
 Rich with celestial jewelry, 
 Which for our LORD'S redeem'd is set, 
 There hangs a radiant coronet, 
 All gemm'd with pure and living light, 
 Too dazzling for a sinner's sight, 
 Prepared for virgin souls, and them 
 Who seek the martyr's diadem. 
 
 Nor deem, who to that bliss aspire, 
 Must win their way through blood and fire. 
 The writhings of a wounded heart 
 Are fiercer than a foeman's dart. 
 Oft in Life's stillest shade reclining, 
 In Desolation unrepining, 
 Without a hope on earth to find 
 A mirror in an answering mind, 
 Meek souls there are, who little dream 
 Their daily strife an Angel's theme, 
 Or that the rod they take so calm 
 Shall prove in Heaven a martyr's palm. 
 
 And there are souls that seem to dwell 
 Above this earth so rich a spell 
 Floats round their steps, where'er they move, 
 From hopes fulfill'd and mutual love. 
 Such, if on high their thoughts are set, 
 Nor in the stream the source forget, 
 If prompt to quit the bliss they know, 
 Following the Lamb where'er He go, 
 By purest pleasures unbeguiled 
 To idolize or wife or child ; 
 Such wedded souls our GOD shall own 
 For faultless virgins round His throne. 
 1 See Note 
 
 CCLXXVI 
 SEMPER IDEM 
 
 STRANGE to our ears the church-bells of our home ; 
 The fragrance of our old paternal fields 
 May be forgotten ; and the time may come 
 
 When the babe's kiss no sense of pleasure yields 
 E'en to the doting mother : but Thine own 
 Thou never canst forget, nor leave alone. 
 
HOOK III JOHN KEBLE 
 
 There are who sigh that no fond heart is theirs, 
 None loves them best O vain and selfish sigh ! 
 
 Out of the bosom of His love He spares 
 The Father spares the Son, for thee to die : 
 
 For thee He died for thee He lives again: 
 
 O'er thee He watches in His boundless reign. 
 
 Thou art as much His care, as if beside 
 
 Nor man nor angel lived in Heaven or earth : 
 
 Thus sunbeams pour alike their glorious tide 
 To light up worlds, or wake an insect's mirth : 
 
 They shine and shine with unexhausted store 
 
 Thou art thy Saviour's darling seek no more. 
 
 CCLXXVII 
 CHRISTO CONSOLATORI 
 
 LORD of my heart, by Thy last cry, 
 Let not Thy blood on earth be spent 
 Lo, at Thy feet I fainting lie, 
 
 Mine eyes upon Thy wounds are bent, 
 Upon Thy streaming wounds my weary eyes 
 Wait like the parched earth on April skies. 
 
 Wash me, and dry these bitter tears, 
 
 O let my heart no further roam, 
 'Tis Thine by vows, and hopes, and fears, 
 Long since O call Thy wanderer home; 
 To that dear home, safe in Thy wounded side, 
 Where only broken hearts their sin and shame may hide. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCLXXVIII 
 EPHPHATHA 
 
 HPHE Son of GOD in doing good 
 
 X Was fain to look to Heaven and sigh : 
 And shall the heirs of sinful blood 
 
 Seek joy unmix'd in charity? 
 GOD will not let Love's work impart 
 Full solace, lest it steal the heart ; 
 Be thou content in tears to sow, 
 Blessing, like JESUS, in thy woe. 
 
JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 The deaf may hear the Saviour's voice, 
 The fetter'd tongue its chain may break; 
 
 But the deaf heart, the dumb by choice, 
 The laggard soul, that will not wake, 
 
 The guilt that scorns to be forgiven ; 
 
 These baffle e'en the spells of Heaven ; 
 
 In thought of these, His brows benign 
 
 Not e'en in healing cloudless shine. 
 
 No eye but His might ever bear 
 
 To gaze all down that drear abyss, 
 Because none ever saw so clear 
 
 The shore beyond of endless bliss : 
 The giddy waves so restless hurl'd, 
 The vex'd pulse of this feverish world, 
 He views and counts with steady sight, 
 Used to behold the Infinite. 
 
 But that in such communion high 
 
 He hath a fount of strength within, 
 Sure His meek heart would break and die, 
 
 O'erburthen'd by His brethren's sin : 
 LORD, by Thy sad and earnest eye, 
 When Thou didst look to Heaven and sigh ; 
 Thy voice, that with a word could chase 
 The dumb, deaf spirit from his place ; 
 
 As Thou hast touch'd our ears, and taught 
 Our tongues to speak Thy praises plain, 
 
 Quell Thou each thankless godless thought 
 That would make fast our bonds again. 
 
 From worldly strife, from mirth unblest, 
 
 Drowning Thy music in the breast, 
 
 From foul reproach, from thrilling fears, 
 
 Preserve, good LORD, Thy servants' ears. 
 
 From idle words, that restless throng 
 And haunt our hearts when we would pray, 
 
 From Pride's false chime, and jarring wrong, 
 Seal Thou my lips, and guard the way : 
 
 For Thou hast sworn, that every ear, 
 
 Willing or loth, Thy trump shall hear, 
 
 And every tongue unchained be 
 
 To own no hope, no GOD, but Thee. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 
 
 CCLXXIX 
 
 WISH not, dear friends, my pain away 
 Wish me a wise and thankful heart, 
 With GOD, in all my griefs, to stay, 
 Nor from His loved correction start. 
 
 The dearest offering He can crave 
 His portion in our souls to prove, 
 
 What is it to the gift He gave, 
 The only Son of His dear love? 
 
 But we, like vex'd unquiet sprights, 
 Will still be hovering o'er the tomb, 
 
 Where buried lie our vain delights, 
 Nor sweetly take a sinner's doom. 
 
 In Life's long sickness evermore 
 
 Our thoughts are tossing to and fro : 
 
 We change our posture o'er and o'er 1 , 
 But cannot rest, nor cheat our woe. 
 
 Were it not better to lie still, 
 
 Let Him strike home and bless the rod, 
 Never so safe as when our will 
 
 Yields undiscern'd by all but GOD? 
 
 Thy precious things, whate'er they be, 
 
 That haunt and vex thee, heart and brain, 
 
 Look to the Cross, and thou shalt see 
 How thou may'st turn them all to gain. 
 
 Lovest thou praise ? the Cross is shame : 
 Or ease? the Cross is bitter grief: 
 
 More pangs than tongue or heart can frame 
 Were suffer'd there without relief. 
 
 We of that Altar would partake, 
 
 But cannot quit 2 the cost no throne 
 
 Is ours, to leave for Thy dear sake 
 We cannot do as Thou hast done. 
 
 We cannot part with Heaven for Thee 
 Yet guide us in Thy track of love : 
 
 Let us gaze on where light should be, 
 Though not a beam the clouds remove. 
 
 So wanderers ever fond and true 
 
 Look homeward through the evening sky, 
 
 Without a streak of heaven's soft blue 
 To aid Affection's dreaming eye. 
 
JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 The wanderer seeks his native bower, 
 And we will look and long for Thee, 
 
 And thank Thee for each trying hour, 
 Wishing, not struggling, to be free. 
 1 See Note 2 g^it, pay 
 
 CCLXXX 
 
 VUTHY should we faint and fear to live alone, 
 
 \V Since all alone, so Heaven has will'd, we die. 
 Nor e'en the tenderest heart, and next our owji, 
 
 Knows half the reasons why we smile and sigh ? 
 Each in his hidden sphere of joy or woe 
 
 Our hermit spirits dwell, and range apart, 
 Our eyes see all around in gloom or glow 
 
 Hues of their own, fresh borrow'd from the heart. 
 
 And well it is for us our GOD should feel 
 Alone our secret throbbings : so our prayer 
 
 May readier spring to Heaven, nor spend its zeal 
 On cloud-born idols of this lower air. 
 
 For if one heart in perfect sympathy 
 
 Beat with another, answering love for love, 
 
 Weak mortals, all entranced, on earth would lie, 
 Nor listen for those purer strains above. 
 
 Or what if Heaven for once its searching light 
 
 Lent to some partial eye, disclosing all 
 The rude bad thoughts, that in our bosom's night 
 
 Wander at large, nor heed Love's gentle thrall? 
 
 Who would not shun the dreary uncouth place? 
 
 As if, fond leaning where her infant slept, 
 A mother's arm a serpent should embrace : 
 
 So might we friendless live, and die unwept. 
 
 Then keep the softening veil in mercy drawn, 
 
 Thou Who canst love us, tho' Thou read us true ; 
 
 As on the bosom of th* aerial lawn 
 
 Melts in dim haze each coarse ungentle hue. 
 
 Thou know'st our bitterness our joys are Thine 
 No stranger Thou to all our wanderings wild : 
 
 Nor could we bear to think, how every line 
 Of us, Thy darken'd likeness and defiled, 
 
 Stands in full sunshine of Thy piercing eye, 
 
 But that Thou call'st us Brethren : sweet repose 
 
 Is in that word the LORD who dwells on high 
 Knows all, yet loves us better than He knows. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 223 
 
 CCLXXXI 
 B. V. M. 
 
 AVE Maria! blessed Maid! 
 Lily of Eden's fragrant shade, 
 Who can express the love 
 That nurtured thee so pure and sweet, 
 Making thy heart a shelter meet 
 For JESUS' holy Dove? 
 
 Ave Maria ! Mother blest, 
 
 To whom, caressing and caress'd, 
 
 Clings the Eternal Child; 
 Favour'd beyond Archangels' dream, 
 When first on thee with tenderest gleam 
 
 Thy new-born Saviour smiled : 
 
 Ave Maria ! thou whose name 
 All but adoring love may claim, 
 
 Yet may we reach thy shrine ; 
 For He, thy Son and Saviour, vows 
 To crown all lowly lofty brows 
 
 With love and joy like thine. 
 
 Bless'd is the womb that bare Him bless'd 
 The bosom where His lips were press'd ; 
 
 But rather bless'd are they 
 Who hear His word and keep it well, 
 The living homes where CHRIST shall dwell, 
 
 And never pass away. 
 
 CCLXXXII 
 THE PURIFICATION 
 
 BLESS'D are the pure in heart, 
 For they shall see our GOD ; 
 The secret of the LORD is theirs, 
 Their soul is CHRIST'S abode. 
 
 Might mortal thought presume 
 To guess an angel's lay, 
 Such are the notes that echo through 
 The courts of Heaven to-day. 
 
 Such the triumphal hymns 
 On Sion's Prince that wait, 
 In high procession passing on 
 Towards His temple-gate. 
 
224 JOHN KEBLE BOOK I] 
 
 Give ear, ye kings bow down 
 Ye rulers of the earth 
 This, this is He ; your Priest by grace, 
 Your GOD and King by birth. 
 
 No pomp of earthly guards 
 Attends with sword and spear, 
 And all-defying, dauntless look, 
 
 Their monarch's way to clear; 
 
 Yet are there more with Him 
 Than all that are with you 
 The armies of the highest Heaven, 
 All righteous, good and true. 
 
 Spotless their robes and pure, 
 Dipp'd in the sea of light, 
 That hides the unapproached shrine 
 From men's and angels' sight. 
 
 His throne, thy bosom blest, 
 
 Mother undefiled 
 
 That throne, if aught beneath the skies, 
 Beseems the sinless child. 
 
 Lost in high thoughts, 'whose son 
 The wondrous Babe might prove,' 
 Her guileless husband walks beside, 
 Bearing the hallow'd dove; 
 
 Meet emblem of His vow, 
 Who, on this happy day, 
 His dove-like soul best sacrifice 
 Did on GOD'S altar lay. 
 
 But who is he, by years 
 Bow'd, but erect in heart, 
 Whose prayers are struggling with his tears? 
 
 1 LORD, let me now depart. 
 
 'Now hath Thy servant seen 
 Thy saving health, O LORD ; 
 Tis time that I depart in peace, 
 According to Thy word.' 
 
 Yet swells the pomp : one more 
 Comes forth to bless her GOD : 
 Full fourscore years, meek widow, she 
 Her heaven-ward way hath trod. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 225 
 
 She who to earthly joys 
 So long had given farewell, 
 Now sees, unlook'd for, Heaven on earth, 
 ^ CHRIST in His Israel. 
 
 Wide open from that hour 
 
 The temple-gates are set, 
 
 And still the saints rejoicing there 
 
 The holy Child have met. 
 
 Now count His train to-day, 
 And who may meet Him, learn : 
 Him child-like sires, meek maidens find, 
 Where pride can nought discern. 
 
 Still to the lowly soul 
 He doth Himself impart, 
 And for His cradle and His throne 
 Chooseth the pure in heart. 
 
 CCLXXXIII 
 BEATI QUI NON VIDERUNT 
 
 WE were not by when JESUS came ; 
 But round us, far and near, 
 We see His trophies, and His name 
 
 In choral echoes hear. 
 In a fair ground our lot is cast, 
 As in the solemn week that past, 
 While some might doubt, but all adored, 
 Ere the whole widow' d Church had seen her risen LORD. 
 
 Then, gliding through th' unopening door, 
 
 Smooth without step or sound, 
 ' Peace to your souls,' He said no more 
 
 They own Him, kneeling round. 
 Eye, ear, and hand, and loving heart, 
 Body and soul in every part, 
 Successive made His witnesses that hour, 
 Cease not in all the world to shew His saving power. 
 
 Is there, on earth, a spirit frail, 
 
 Who fears to take their word, 
 Scarce daring, through the twilight pale, 
 
 To think he sees the LORD? 
 With eyes too tremblingly awake 
 To bear with dimness for His sake? 
 Read and confess the Hand Divine 
 That drew thy likeness here so true in every line. 
 Q 
 
226 JOHN KEBLE BOOK II 
 
 For all thy rankling doubts so sore, 
 
 Love thou thy Saviour still, 
 Him for thy LORD and GOD adore, 
 
 And ever do His will. 
 
 Though vexing thoughts may seem to last, 
 Let not thy soul be quite o'ercast ; 
 Soon will He shew thee all His wounds, and say, 
 * Long have I known thy name know thou My face alway. 
 
 CCLXXXIV 
 THE CONVERSION OF S. PAUL 
 
 THE mid-day sun, with fiercest glare, 
 Broods o'er the hazy, twinkling air; 
 Along the level sand 
 The palm-tree's shade unwavering lies, 
 Just as thy towers, Damascus, rise 
 To greet yon wearied band. 
 
 The leader of that martial crew 
 Seems bent some mighty deed to do, 
 
 So steadily he speeds, 
 With lips firm closed and fixd eye, 
 Like warrior when the fight is nigh, 
 
 Nor talk nor landscape heeds. 
 
 What sudden blaze is round him pour'd, 
 As though all Heaven's refulgent hoard 
 
 In one rich glory shone ? 
 One moment and to earth he falls : 
 What voice his inmost heart appals? 
 
 Voice heard by him alone ; 
 
 For to the rest both words and form 
 Seem lost in lightning and in storm, 
 
 While Saul, in wakeful trance, 
 Sees deep within that dazzling field 
 His persecuted LORD reveal'd 
 
 With keen yet pitying glance : 
 
 And hears the meek upbraiding call 
 As gently on his, spirit fall, 
 
 As if th' Almighty Son 
 Were prisoner yet in this dark earth, 
 Nor had proclaim'd His royal birth, 
 
 Nor His great power begun. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 227 
 
 ' Ah ! wherefore persecut'st thou Me ? ' 
 He heard and saw, and sought to free 
 
 His strain'd eye from the sight : 
 But Heaven's high magic bound it there. 
 Still gazing, though untaught to bear 
 
 Th' insufferable light. 
 
 'Who art Thou, LORD?' he falters forth: 
 So shall Sin ask of heaven and earth 
 
 At the last awful day. 
 'When did we see Thee suffering nigh ; 
 Arid pass'd Thee with unheeding eye? 
 
 Great GOD of judgment, say ! ' 
 
 Ah ! little dream our listless eyes 
 What glorious presence they despise, 
 
 While, in our noon of life, 
 To power or fame we rudely press : 
 CHRIST is at hand, to scorn or bless, 
 
 CHRIST suffers in our strife. 
 
 And though heaven-gate long since have closed, 
 And our dear LORD in bliss reposed, 
 
 High above mortal ken, 
 To every ear in every land 
 (Though meek ears only understand) 
 
 He speaks as He did then. 
 
 ' Ah ! wherefore persecute ye Me ? 
 'Tis hard, ye so in love should be 
 With your own endless woe. 
 Know, though at GOD'S right hand I live, 
 
 I feel each wound ye reckless give 
 
 To the least saint below. 
 
 I 1 in your care My brethren left, 
 Not willing ye should be bereft 
 
 Of waiting on your LORD. 
 The meanest offering ye can make 
 A drop of water for love's sake, 
 
 In Heaven, be sure, is stored.' 
 
 O by those gentle tones and dear, 
 When Thou hast stay'd our wild career, 
 
 Thou only hope of souls, 
 Ne'er let us cast one look behind, 
 But in the thought of JESUS find 
 
 What every thought controls. 
 Q 2 
 
328 JOHN KEBLE BOOK I] 
 
 As to Thy last Apostle's heart 
 
 Thy lightning glance did then impart 
 
 Zeal's never-dying fire, 
 So teach us on Thy shrine to lay 
 Our hearts, and let them day by day 
 
 Intenser blaze and higher. 
 
 And as each mild and winning note 
 (Like pulses that round harp-strings float 
 
 When the full strain is o'er) 
 Left lingering on his inward ear 
 Music, that taught, as death drew near, 
 
 Love's lesson more and more : 
 
 So, as we walk our earthly round, 
 Still may the echo of that sound 
 
 Be in our memory stored : 
 * Christians ! behold your happy state : 
 CHRIST is in these, who round you wait ; 
 
 Make much of your dear LORD ! ' 
 
 CCLXXXV 
 HOLY BAPTISM 
 
 WHERE is it mothers learn their love?- 
 In every Church a fountain springs 
 O'er which th' eternal Dove 
 Hovers on softest wings. 
 
 What sparkles in that lucid flood 
 Is water, by gross mortals eyed : 
 But seen by Faith, 'tis blood 
 Out of a dear Friend's side. 
 
 A few calm words of faith and prayer, 
 A few bright drops of holy dew, 
 Shall work a wonder there 
 Earth's charmers never knew. 
 
 O happy arms, where cradled lies, 
 And ready for the LORD'S embrace, 
 That precious sacrifice, 
 
 The darling of His grace ! 
 
 Blest eyes, that see the smiling gleam 
 Upon the slumbering features glow, 
 When the life-giving stream 
 Touches the tender brow : 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 229 
 
 Or when the holy cross is sign'd, 
 And the young soldier duly sworn 
 With true and fearless mind 
 To serve the Virgin-born. 
 
 But happiest ye, who seal'd and blest 
 Back to your arms your treasure take, 
 With JESUS' mark impress'd 
 To nurse for JESUS' sake : 
 
 To whom as if in hallow'd air 
 
 Ye knelt before some awful shrine 
 His innocent gestures wear 
 A meaning half divine : 
 
 By whom Love's daily touch is seen 
 
 In strengthening form and freshening hue, 
 In the fix'd brow serene, 
 The deep yet eager view. 
 
 Who taught thy pure and even breath 
 To come and go with such sweet grace? 
 Whence thy reposing Faith, 
 Though in our frail embrace? 
 
 O tender gem, and full of Heaven ! 
 Not in the twilight stars on high, 
 Not in moist flowers at even 
 See we our GOD so nigh. 
 
 Sweet one, make haste and know Him too, 
 Thine own adopting Father love, 
 That like thine earliest dew 
 Thy dying sweets may prove. 
 
 CLXXXVI 
 CATECHISM 
 
 OH ! say not, dream not, heavenly notes 
 To childish ears are vain, 
 That the young mind at random floats, 
 And cannot reach the strain. 
 
 Dim or unheard, the words may fall, 
 And yet the heaven-taught mind 
 
 May learn the sacred air, and all 
 The harmony unwind. 
 
230 JOHN KEBLE BOOK II] 
 
 Was not our LORD a little child, 
 
 Taught by degrees to pray, 
 By father dear and mother mild 
 
 Instructed day by day? 
 
 And loved He not of Heaven to talk 
 
 With children in His sight, 
 To meet them in His daily walk, 
 
 And to His arms invite? 
 
 What though around His throne of fire 
 
 The everlasting chant 
 Be wafted from the seraph choir 
 
 In glory jubilant? 
 
 Yet stoops He, ever pleased to mark 
 
 Our rude essays of love, 
 Faint as the pipe of wakening lark, 
 
 Heard by some twilight grove : 
 
 Yet is He near us, to survey 
 
 These bright and order' d files, 
 Like spring-flowers in their best array, 
 
 All silence and all smiles. 
 
 Save that each little voice in turn 
 
 Some glorious truth proclaims, 
 What sages would have died to learn, 
 
 Now taught by cottage dames. 
 
 And if some tones be false or low, 
 
 What are all prayers beneath 
 But cries of babes, that cannot know 
 
 Half the deep thought they breathe ? 
 
 In His own words we CHRIST adore, 
 
 But angels, as we speak, 
 Higher above our meaning soar 
 
 Than we o'er children weak : 
 
 And yet His words mean more than they, 
 
 And yet He owns their praise : 
 Why should we think, He turns away 
 
 From infants' simple lays ? 
 
 CCLXXXVII 
 CONFIRMATION 
 
 DRAW, HOLY GHOST, Thy seven-fold veil 
 Between us and the fires of youth ; 
 Breathe, HOLY GHOST, Thy freshening gale, 
 Our fever 1 d brow in age to soothe. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 231 
 
 And oft as sin and sorrow tire, 
 
 The hallow'd hour do Thou renew, 
 When beckon'd up the awful choir 
 
 By pastoral hands, toward Thee we drew; 
 
 When trembling at the sacred rail 
 
 We hid our eyes and held our breath, 
 
 Felt Thee how strong, our hearts how frail, 
 And long'd to own Thee to the death. 
 
 For ever on our souls be traced 
 
 That blessing dear, that dove-like hand, 
 
 A sheltering rock in Memory's waste, 
 O'er-shadowing all the weary land. 
 
 CCLXXXVIII 
 MORNING 
 
 HUES of the rich unfolding morn, 
 That, ere the glorious sun be born, 
 By some soft touch invisible 
 Around his path are taught to swell ; 
 
 Thou rustling breeze so fresh and gay, 
 That dancest forth at opening day, 
 And brushing by with joyous wing, 
 Wakenest each little leaf to sing ; 
 
 Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, 
 By which deep grove and tangled stream 
 Pay, for soft rains in season given, 
 Their tribute to the genial heaven ; 
 
 Why waste your treasures of delight 
 Upon our thankless, joyless sight; 
 Who day by day to sin awake, 
 Seldom of Heaven and you partake? 
 
 Oh ! timely happy, timely wise, 
 Hearts that with rising morn arise ! 
 Eyes that the beam celestial view, 
 Which evermore makes all things new ! 
 
 New every morning is the love 
 Our wakening and uprising prove ; 
 Through sleep and darkness safely brought, 
 Restored to life, and power, and thought. 
 
332 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 New mercies, each returning day, 
 
 Hover around us while we pray ; 
 
 New perils past, new sins forgiven, 
 
 New thoughts of GOD, new hopes of Heaven. 
 
 If on our daily course our mind 
 Be set to hallow all we find, 
 New treasures still, of countless price, 
 GOD will provide for sacrifice. 
 
 Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, 
 As more of Heaven in each we see : 
 Some softening gleam of love and prayer 
 Shall dawn on every cross and care. 
 
 As for some dear familiar strain 
 Untired we ask, and ask again, 
 Ever, in its melodious store, 
 Finding a spell unheard before; 
 
 Such is the bliss of souls serene, 
 
 When they have sworn, and stedfast mean, 
 
 Counting the cost, in all t' espy 
 
 Their GOD, in all themselves deny. 
 
 O could we learn that sacrifice, 
 What lights would all around us rise ! 
 How would our hearts with wisdom talk 
 Along Life's dullest dreariest walk ! 
 
 We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, 
 Our neighbour and our work farewell, 
 Nor strive to wind ourselves too high 
 For sinful man beneath the sky : 
 
 The trivial round, the common task, 
 Would furnish all we ought to ask; 
 Room to deny ourselves ; a road 
 To bring us, daily, nearer GOD. 
 
 Seek we no more ; content with these, 
 Let present Rapture, Comfort, Ease, 
 As Heaven shall bid them, come and go : 
 The secret this of Rest below. 
 
 Only, O LORD, in Thy dear love 
 Fit us for perfect Rest above ; 
 And help us, this and every day, 
 To live more nearly as we pray. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 233 
 
 CCLXXXIX 
 EVENING 
 
 "THIS gone, that bright and orbed blaze, 
 J[ Fast fading from our wistful gaze ; 
 Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight 
 The last faint pulse of quivering light. 
 
 In darkness and in weariness 
 The traveller on his way must press, 
 No gleam to watch on tree or tower, 
 Whiling away the lonesome hour. 
 
 Sun of my soul ! Thou Saviour dear, 
 It is not night if Thou be near : 
 Oh ! may no earth-born cloud arise 
 To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes. 
 
 When round Thy wondrous works below 
 My searching rapturous glance I throw, 
 Tracing out Wisdom, Power, and Love, 
 In earth or sky, in stream or grove ; 
 
 Or by the light Thy words disclose 
 Watch Time's full river as it flows, 
 Scanning Thy gracious Providence, 
 Where not too deep for mortal sense : 
 
 When with dear friends sweet talk I hold, 
 And all the flowers of life unfold ; 
 Let not my heart within me burn, 
 Except in all I Thee discern. 
 
 When the soft dews of kindly sleep 
 My wearied eyelids gently steep, 
 Be my last thought, how sweet to rest 
 For ever on my Saviour's breast. 
 
 Abide with me from morn till eve, 
 For without Thee I cannot live : 
 Abide with me when night is nigh, 
 For without Thee I dare not die. 
 
 Thou Framer of the light and dark, 
 Steer through the tempest Thine own ark: 
 Amid the howling wintry sea 
 We are in port if we have Thee. 
 
 The Rulers of this Christian land, 
 'Twixt Thee and us ordain'd to stand, 
 Guide Thou their course, O LORD, aright, 
 Let all do all as in Thy sight. 
 
234 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Oh ! by Thine own sad burthen, borne 
 So meekly up the hill of scorn, 
 Teach Thou Thy Priests their daily cross 
 To bear as Thine, nor count it loss ! 
 
 If some poor wandering child of Thine 
 Have spurn'd, to-day, the voice divine, 
 Now, LORD, the gracious work begin ; 
 Let him no more lie down in sin. 
 
 Watch by the sick : enrich the poor 
 With blessings from Thy boundless store : 
 Be every mourner's sleep to-night 
 Like infants' slumbers, pure and light. 
 
 Come near and bless us when we wake, 
 Ere through the world our way we take ; 
 Till in the ocean of Thy love 
 We lose ourselves in Heaven above. 
 
 ccxc 
 
 THE KINGDOM OF GOD 
 
 I SAY to thee, do thou repeat 
 To the first man thou mayest meet 
 In lane, highway, or open street 
 
 That he and we and all men move 
 
 Under a canopy of love, 
 
 As broad as the blue sky above ; 
 
 That doubt and trouble, fear and pain 
 And anguish, all are shadows vain, 
 That death itself shall not remain ; 
 
 That weary deserts we may tread, 
 A dreary labyrinth may thread, 
 Through dark ways underground be led ; 
 
 Yet, if we will one Guide obey, 
 The dreariest path, the darkest way 
 Shall issue out in heavenly day; 
 
 And we, on divers shores now cast, 
 Shall meet, our perilous voyage past, 
 All in our Father's house at last. 
 
 R. C. Trench 
 
BOOK III RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH 235 
 
 CCXCI 
 
 WHAT, many times I musing ask'd, is Man, 
 If grief and care 
 
 Keep far from him? he knows not what he can, 
 What cannot bear. 
 
 ,He, till the fire hath proved him, doth remain 
 
 The main part dross : 
 To lack the loving discipline of pain 
 
 Were endless loss. 
 
 Yet when my LORD did ask me on what side 
 
 I were content 
 The grief, whereby I must be purified, 
 
 To me were sent, 
 
 As each imagined anguish did appear, 
 
 Each withering bliss, 
 Before my soul, I cried, ' Oh ! spare me here ; 
 
 Oh no, not this ! ' 
 
 Like one that having need of, deep within, 
 
 The surgeon's knife, 
 Would hardly bear that it should graze the skin, 
 
 Though for his life : 
 
 Till He at last, Who best doth understand 
 
 Both what we need, 
 And what can bear, did take my case in hand, 
 
 Nor crying heed. 
 
 CCXCII 
 
 OH thou of dark forebodings drear, 
 Oh thou of such a faithless heart, 
 Hast thou forgotten what thou art, 
 That thou hast ventured so to fear ? 
 
 No weed on ocean's bosom cast, 
 Borne by its never-resting foam 
 This way and that, without a home, 
 
 Till flung on some bleak shore at last : 
 
 But thou the lotus, which above ' 
 
 Sway'd here and there by wind and tide, 
 Yet still below doth fix'd abide, 
 
 Fast rooted in the eternal Love. 
 
236 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH BOOK III 
 
 CCXCIII 
 DUST TO DUST 
 
 OH blessing, wearing semblance of a curse, 
 We fear thee, thou stern sentence ! yet to be 
 Link'd to immortal bodies were far worse 
 Than thus to be set free. 
 
 For mingling with the life-blood through each vein 
 
 The venom of the serpent's bite has run, 
 And only thus might be expell'd again 
 Thus only health be won. 
 
 Shall we not then a gracious sentence own, 
 Now since the leprosy has fretted through 
 The entire house, that Thou wilt take it down, 
 And build it all anew? 
 
 Build it this time (since Thou wilt build again), 
 
 A holy house, where righteousness may dwell; 
 And we, though in the unbuilding there be pain, 
 Will still affirm, 'tis well 
 
 CCXCIV 
 
 THIS did not once so trouble me, 
 That better I could not love Thee ; 
 But now I feel and know 
 That only when we love, we find 
 How far our hearts remain behind 
 The love they should bestow. 
 
 While we had little care to call 
 On Thee, and scarcely pray'd at all, 
 
 We seem'd enough to pray : 
 But now we only think with shame, 
 How seldom to Thy glorious Name 
 
 Our lips their offerings pay. 
 
 And when we gave yet slighter heed 
 Unto our brother's suffering need, 
 
 Our hearts reproach'd us then 
 Not half so much as now, that we 
 With such a careless eye can see 
 
 The woes and wants of men. 
 
BOOK III RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH 237 
 
 In doing is this knowledge won, 
 To see what yet remains undone ; 
 
 With this our pride repress, 
 And give us grace, a growing store, 
 That day by day we may do more, 
 
 And may esteem it less. 
 
 ccxcv 
 
 THE GUESTEN HOUSE 
 
 LORD, weary of a painful way, 
 All night our heads we would not lay 
 Under the naked sky; 
 But ask, who worthiest? who will best 
 Entreat a tired and lowly guest 
 With promptest courtesy? 
 
 And Thou art worthiest ; there will not 
 One loving usage be forgot 
 
 By Thee ; Thy kiss will greet 
 Us entering ; Thou wilt not disdain 
 To wash away each guilty stain 
 
 From off our soiled feet. 
 
 W^e enter, from this time to prove 
 Thy hospitality and love 
 
 Shown tow'rd Thy meanest guest : 
 From house to house we would not stray, 
 For whither should we go away ? 
 
 With Thee is perfect rest. 
 
 CCXCVI 
 PRAYER 
 
 IF we with earnest effort could succeed 
 To make our life one long connected prayer, 
 As lives of some perhaps have been and are : 
 If never leaving Thee, we had no need 
 Our wandering spirits back again to lead 
 Into Thy presence, but continued there, 
 Like angels standing on the highest stair 
 Of the sapphire throne, this were to pray indeed. 
 
 But if distractions manifold prevail, 
 And if in this we must confess we fail, 
 
238 RICHARD CHENEVIX TRENCH BOOK III 
 
 Grant us to keep at least a prompt desire, 
 Continual readiness for prayer and praise, 
 An altar heap'd and waiting to take fire 
 With the least spark, and leap into a blaze. 
 
 CCXCVII 
 HERE AND HEREAFTER 
 
 TO leave unseen so many a glorious sight, 
 To leave so many lands unvisited, 
 To leave so many worthiest books unread, 
 Unrealized so many visions bright; 
 
 Oh ! wretched yet inevitable spite 
 Of our brief span, that we must yield our breath, 
 And wrap us in the unfeeling coil of death, 
 So much remaining of unproved delight ! 
 
 But hush, my soul, and vain regrets, be still'd ; 
 Find rest in Him who is the complement 
 Of whatsoe'er transcends our mortal doom, 
 Of baffled hope and unfulfill'd intent ; 
 In the clear vision and aspect of Whom 
 All longings and all hopes shall be fulfill'd. 
 
 CCXCVIII 
 
 THOU inevitable Day, 
 When a voice to me shall say 
 ' Thou must rise and come away ; 
 
 'All thine other journeys past, 
 Gird thee, and make ready fast 
 For thy longest and thy last ' : 
 
 Day deep-hidden from our sight 
 
 In impenetrable night, 
 
 Who may guess of thee aright ? 
 
 Art thou distant, art thou near? 
 Wilt thou seem more dark or clear? 
 Day with more of hope or fear ? 
 
 Wilt thou come, unseen before 
 Thou art standing at the door, 
 Saying, light and life are o'er? 
 
 Or with such a gradual pace, 
 As shall leave me largest space 
 To regard thee face to face? 
 
BOOK III HENRY ALFORD 239 
 
 Shall I lay my drooping head 
 
 On some loved lap, round my bed 
 
 Prayer be made and tears be shed? 
 
 Or at distance from mine own, 
 Name and kin alike unknown, 
 Make my solitary moan ? 
 
 Will there yet be things to leave, 
 Hearts to which this heart must cleave, 
 From which parting it must grieve ? 
 
 Or shall life's best ties be o'er, 
 And all loved ones gone before 
 To that other happier shore? 
 
 Shall I gently fall on sleep, 
 Death, like slumber, o'er me creep, 
 Like a slumber sweet and deep ? 
 
 Or the soul long strive in vain, 
 To escape, with toil and pain, 
 From its half-divided chain ? 
 
 Little skills it where or how, 
 If thou comest then or now, 
 With a smooth or angry brow ; 
 
 Come thou must, and we must die 
 JESUS ! Saviour ! stand Thou by, 
 When that last sleep seals our eye ! 
 
 CCXCIX 
 AT THE FONT 
 
 IN token that thou shalt not fear 
 CHRIST Crucified to own, 
 We print the Cross upon thee here, 
 And stamp thee His alone. 
 
 In token that thou shalt not blush 
 
 To glory in His Name, 
 We blazon here upon thy front 
 
 His glory and His shame. 
 
 In token that thou shalt not flinch 
 CHRIST'S quarrel to maintain, 
 
 But 'neath His banner manfully 
 Firm at thy post remain; 
 
240 HENRY ALFORD BOOK III 
 
 In token that thou too shalt tread 
 
 The path He travelled by, 
 Endure the cross, despise the shame, 
 
 And sit thee down on high ; 
 
 Thus, outwardly and visibly, 
 
 We seal thee for His own ; 
 And may the brow that wears His Cross 
 
 Hereafter share His Crown ! 
 
 H. Alford 
 
 CCC 
 
 BE not afraid to pray to pray is right. 
 Pray, if thou canst, with hope ; but ever pray, 
 Though hope be weak, or sick with long delay; 
 Pray in the darkness, if there be no light. 
 
 Far is the time, remote from human sight, 
 When war and discord on the earth shall cease; 
 Yet every prayer for universal peace 
 Avails the blessed time to expedite. 
 
 Whate'er is good to wish, ask that of Heaven, 
 Though it be what thou canst not hope to see ; 
 Pray to be perfect, though material leaven 
 Forbid the spirit so on earth to be : 
 
 But if for any wish thou darest not pray, 
 Then pray to GOD to cast that wish away. 
 
 H. Coleridge 
 
 CCCI 
 MULTUM DILEXIT 
 
 SHE sat and wept beside His feet; the weight 
 Of sin oppress'd her heart ; for all the blame, 
 And the poor malice of the worldly shame, 
 To her was past, extinct, and out of date : 
 
 Only the sin remain'd, the leprous state ; 
 She would be melted by the heat of love, 
 By fires far fiercer than are blown to prove 
 And purge the silver ore adulterate. 
 
 She sat and wept, and with her untress'd hair 
 Still wiped the feet she was so blest to touch; 
 And He wiped off the soiling of despair 
 From her sweet soul, because she loved so much. 
 
 I am a sinner, full of doubts and fears, 
 Make me a humble thing of love and tears ! 
 
BOOK III CAROLINA LADY NAIRtf 241 
 
 CCCII 
 OF SUCPI IS THE KINGDOM OF GOD 
 
 IN stature perfect, and with every gift 
 Which GOD would on His favourite work bestow, 
 Did our great Parent his pure form uplift, 
 And sprang from earth, the lord of all below. 
 
 But Adam fell before a child was born, 
 And want and weakness with his fall began; 
 So his first offspring was a thing forlorn, 
 In human shape, without the strength of man. 
 
 So, Heaven has doom'd that all of Adam's race, 
 Naked and helpless, shall their course begin, 
 E'en at their birth confess their need of grace 
 And weeping, wail the penalty of sin. 
 
 Yet sure the babe is in the cradle blest, 
 Since GOD Himself a baby deign' d to be 
 And slept upon a mortal Mother's breast, 
 And steep'd in baby tears His Deity. 
 
 O sleep, sweet infant, for we all must sleep, 
 And wake like babes, that we may wake with Him, 
 Who watches still His own from harm to keep, 
 And o'er them spreads the wings of Cherubim. 
 
 CCCIII 
 THE LAND O' THE LEAL 
 
 I'M wearin' awa', John, 
 Like snaw- wreaths in thaw, John, 
 I 'm wearin' awa' 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 There's nae sorrow there, John, 
 There's neither cauld nor care, John, 
 The day's aye fair 
 
 I' the land o' the leal. 
 
 Our bonnie bairn's there, John, 
 She was baith gude and fair, John, 
 And, oh ! we grudged her sair 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 But sorrow's sel' wears past, John, 
 And joy's comin' fast, John, 
 The joy that 's aye to last 
 
 In the land o' the leal. 
 R 
 
243 CAROLINA LADY NAIRN BOOK III 
 
 Sae dear's that joy was bought, John, 
 Sae free the battle fought, John, 
 That sinfu' man e'er brought 1 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Oh ! dry your glist'ning ee, John, 
 My saul langs to be free, John, 
 And Angels beckon me 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 
 Oh, haud 2 ye leal and true, John, 
 Your day it's wearin' thro', John, 
 An' I'll welcome you 
 
 To the land o' the leal. 
 Now fare ye weel, my ain John, 
 This world's cares are vain, John, 
 We '11 meet and aye be fain s 
 
 I' the land o' the leal, 
 
 C. Lady Nairn 
 
 1 See Note 2 / ia ud t keep 3 fain, happy 
 
 CCCIV 
 MORNING THOUGHTS 
 
 AGAIN, O LORD, I ope my eyes 
 Thy glorious light to see, 
 And share the gifts so largely lent 
 To thankless man by Thee. 
 
 And why has GOD o'er me this night 
 
 The watch so kindly kept? 
 And why have I so safely waked, 
 
 And why so sweetly slept? 
 
 And wherefore do I live and breathe? 
 
 And wherefore have I still 
 The mind to know, the sense to choose, 
 
 The strength to do Thy will? 
 
 Is it, to waste another day 
 
 In folly, sin, and shame? 
 To give to these my heart and hand, 
 
 And spurn my Maker's claim? 
 
 Is it, for honour, wealth, or power 
 
 My heavenly hopes to sell ? 
 Is it, to grasp at pleasure's flower 
 
 Upon the brink of hell ? 
 
BOOK III HENRY FRANCIS LYTE 243 
 
 Is it, to grow unto the world, 
 
 As glides the world from me ; 
 Be one day nearer to the grave, 
 
 And further, LORD, from Thee? 
 
 No ! thus too many days I've spent ! 
 
 To Thee, then, this be given : 
 Teach what I owe to Man below, 
 
 And to Thyself in heaven. 
 
 H. F. Lyte 
 
 CCCV 
 THE ALPS 
 
 HAIL, scenes of holy grandeur! hail ! 
 Where mortal sense stands hush'd and awed : 
 Oh, who could gaze on such, and fail 
 To think of Thee, my GOD ? 
 
 Alone and dread Thou dwellest here, 
 
 The Source and Soul of all I see. 
 J look around in joy and fear, 
 
 And feel I am with Thee ! 
 
 I see Thee on the mountain sit, 
 
 At summer's noon, sublime and still; 
 Or, in the giant shadows flit 
 Along from hill to hill. 
 
 I read Thy presence and Thy power 
 
 In each eternal rock I meet; 
 I trace Thy love in every flower 
 That blossoms at my feet. 
 
 Thou speakest from each rolling cloud 
 
 That pours its stormy mirth on high, 
 When cliff to cliff is shouting loud, 
 Responsive to the sky : 
 
 Thy voice at night is in the sound 
 Of sinking glaciers, rushing rills, 
 And avalanches thundering round 
 Among the startled hills : 
 
 The mountain-mists in all their moods, 
 The snows by earthly feet untrod, 
 The fells, the forests, and the floods, 
 Are all instinct with GOD. 
 
244 HENRY FRANCIS LYTE BOOK III 
 
 CCCVI 
 
 THE LORD hath builded for Himself 
 He needs no earthly dome; 
 The universe His dwelling is, 
 Eternity His home. 
 
 Yon glorious sky His temple stands, 
 
 So lofty, bright, and blue, 
 All lamp'd with stars, and curtain'd round 
 
 With clouds of every hue. 
 
 Earth is His altar : Nature there 
 
 Her daily tribute pays; 
 The elements upon Him wait; 
 
 The seasons roll His praise. 
 
 Where shall I see Him? How describe 
 
 The Dread, Eternal One? 
 His foot-prints are in every place, 
 
 Himself is found in none. 
 
 He call'd the world, and it arose; 
 
 The heavens, and they appear'd : 
 His hand pour'd forth the mighty deep; 
 
 His arm the mountains rear'd. 
 
 He sets His foot upon the hills, 
 
 And earth beneath Him quakes; 
 He walks upon the hurricane, 
 
 And in the thunder speaks. 
 
 I search the rounds of space and time, 
 
 Nor find His semblance there : 
 Grandeur has nothing so sublime, 
 
 Nor Beauty half so fair. 
 
 CCCVII 
 A FALLEN SISTER 
 
 SHE is not dead she only sleeps : 
 Life in her soul its vigil keeps: 
 Though dark the cloud, though strong the chain, 
 Speak, LORD, and she shall live again ! 
 
 She is not dead : it cannot be 
 That one, whose soul so glow'd to Thee, 
 Should all that 's past renounce, forget : 
 Oh, speak, and she will hear Thee yet! 
 
BOOK III HENRY FRANCIS LYTE 245 
 
 I know, I know how once she felt, 
 Have seen her spirit mount and melt ; 
 Have join'd with her in praise and prayer; 
 And cannot, dare not, yet despair. 
 
 She that has fed on heavenly food, 
 Conversed with all that 's great and good, 
 Can she descend from heights like these 
 To the poor worldling's husks and lees? 
 
 She, that has bent at Heaven's high throne, 
 And claim'd its glories for her own, 
 An earthworm here again to crawl? 
 She cannot long so deeply fall. 
 
 I know how many for her feel, 
 And plead with Thee to come and heal : 
 I know the power of faith and prayer, 
 And cannot, will not, yet despair. 
 
 Sunk as she is in thoughtless sin, 
 
 Thou hast a still, small voice within 
 
 A silent hold a hidden plea 
 
 That needs but quickening, LORD, from Thee. 
 
 A look of Thine can life impart ; 
 A tone of Thine can touch the heart : 
 The very grave Thy voice must hear : 
 Oh, bid it reach our sister's ear! 
 
 Press on her soul each pang and scorn, 
 Which Thou for her of old hast borne ; 
 And ask how she will dare to meet 
 Thy face upon a Judgment-seat. 
 
 Talk to her heart, and bid her feel ; 
 Send forth Thy word to wound and heal; 
 Melt off her spirit's icy chain, 
 And bid her rise and live again. 
 
 She is not dead : Thy voice Divine 
 Can still revive, and seal her Thine ; 
 And 'neath Thy wing she yet may dwell, 
 More meek, more safe, than ere she fell. 
 
 CCCVIII 
 
 T^HE song of GOD, so nobly sung 
 A By Angels in a higher sphere, 
 Shall my unworthy heart and tongue 
 Attempt its numbers here? 
 
24 r > HENRY FRANCIS LYTE BOOK III 
 
 With spirit cleaving to the dust, 
 
 How should I hope to glow and soar? 
 How speak of heavenly joy and trust, 
 Till I have felt them more? 
 
 An heir of guilt, a child of sin, 
 An exile in a world like this, 
 What should I find without, within, 
 To match with Him and His? 
 
 In vain I spread my flickering wings ; 
 
 In vain I strive aloft to flee : 
 Great LORD of lords, and KING of kings, 
 I cannot sing of Thee ! 
 
 I want a Seraph's lofty voice, 
 
 I want a Seraph's soaring wing, 
 Before I make such themes my choice, 
 And GOD'S dread glories sing. 
 
 Thou needest not a note of mine 
 
 To swell the triumphs of Thy throne, 
 Where myriads round Thee bend and shine, 
 And Heaven is all Thy own ! 
 
 No, rather let me sit and sigh, 
 
 And drop contrition's silent tear : 
 Praise is the task of saints on high ; 
 But prayer of sinners here. 
 
 The song of GOD, that glorious song, 
 From me in such a world as this? 
 O no ! a worthier heart and tongue 
 Must speak of Him and His ! 
 
 CCCIX 
 
 WHY do I sigh to find 
 Life's evening shadows gathering round my way ? 
 The keen eye dimming, and the buoyant mind 
 Unhinging day by day? 
 
 Is it the natural dread 
 
 Of that stern lot, which all who live must see ? 
 The worm, the clay, the dark and narrow bed, 
 
 Have these such awe for me? 
 
BOOK III HEN-RY FRANCIS LYTE 
 
 As nears my soul the verge 
 Of this dim continent of woe and crime, 
 Shrinks she to hear Eternity's long surge 
 
 Break on the shores of Time ? 
 
 I want not vulgar fame 
 I seek not to survive in brass or stone; 
 Hearts may not kindle when they hear my na,me, 
 
 Nor tears my value own 
 
 But might I leave behind 
 
 Some blessing for my fellows, some fair trust 
 To guide, to cheer, to elevate my kind, 
 
 When I was in the dust; 
 
 Within my narrow bed 
 Might I not \vholly mute or useless be ; 
 But hope that they, who trampled o'er my head, 
 
 Drew still some good from me ; 
 
 Might verse of mine inspire 
 One virtuous aim, one high resolve impart; 
 Light in one drooping soul a hallow'd fire, 
 
 Or bind one broken heart; 
 
 Death would be sweeter then, 
 More calm my slumber 'neath the silent sod, 
 Might I thus live to bless my fellow-men, 
 
 Or glorify my God ! 
 
 Why do we ever lose 
 As judgment ripens, our diviner powers? 
 Why do we only learn our gifts to use 
 
 When they no more are ours ? 
 
 O Thou ! whose touch can lend 
 Life to the dead, Thy quickening grace supply, 
 And grant me, swanlike, my last breath to spend 
 
 In song that may not die J ! 
 
 1 See Note 
 
 cccx 
 
 ABIDE with me! Fast falls the eventide; 
 The darkness deepens : LORD, with me abide ! 
 When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, 
 Help of the helpless, O abide with me ! 
 
248 HENRY FRANCIS LYTE BOOK III 
 
 Swift to its close ebbs out life's little day ; 
 Earth's joys grow dim ; its glories pass away : 
 Change and decay in all around I see ; 
 
 Thou, who changest not, abide with me! 
 
 Not a brief glance I beg, a passing word, 
 But as Thou dwell'st with Thy disciples, LORD, 
 Familiar, condescending, patient, free, 
 Come, not to sojourn, but abide, with me ! 
 
 Come not in terrors, as the King of kings ; 
 But kind and good, with healing in Thy wings : 
 Tears for all woes, a heart for every plea : 
 Come, Friend of sinners, and thus bide with me ! 
 
 Thou on my head in early youth didst smile, 
 And, though rebellious and perverse meanwhile, 
 Thou hast not left me, oft as I left Thee. 
 On to the close, O LORD, abide with me ! 
 
 1 need Thy presence every passing hour : 
 
 What but Thy grace can foil the Tempter's power? 
 Who like Thyself my guide and stay can be ? 
 Through cloud and sunshine, O abide with me ! 
 
 I fear no foe with Thee at hand to bless : 
 Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness. 
 Where is Death's sting? where, Grave, thy victory? 
 I triumph still, if Thou abide with me. 
 
 Hold Thou Thy Cross before my closing eyes ; 
 Shine through the gloom, and point me to the skies : 
 Heaven's morning breaks, and earth's vain shadows flee : 
 In life and death, O LORD, abide with me ! 
 
 CCCXI 
 
 PLEASANT are Thy courts above. 
 In the land of light and love ; 
 Pleasant are Thy courts below 
 In this land of sin and woe. 
 O, my spirit longs and faints 
 For the converse of Thy Saints, 
 For the brightness of Thy face, 
 For Thy fullness, GOD of grace ! 
 
 Happy birds that sing and fly 
 Round Thy altars, O Most High! 
 Happier souls that find a rest 
 In a Heavenly Father's breast ! 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 249 
 
 Like the wandering dove, that found 
 No repose on earth around, 
 They can to their ark repair, 
 And enjoy it ever there. 
 
 Happy souls ! their praises flow 
 
 Even in this vale of woe ; 
 
 Waters in the desert rise, 
 
 Manna feeds them from the skies : 
 
 On they go from strength to strength, 
 
 Till they reach Thy throne at length, 
 
 At Thy feet adoring fall, 
 
 Who hast led them safe through all. 
 
 CCCXII 
 LIFTING UP TO THE CROSS 
 
 OFT have I read of sunny realms, where skies are pure at 
 even, 
 
 And sight goes deep in lucid air, and earth seems nearer Heaven, 
 And wheresoever you lift your eyes, the holy Cross, they say, 
 Stands guardian of your journey, by lone or crowded way ; 
 And I have mused how awfully its shadows and its gleams 
 Might haply fall on infants' eyes, and mingle with their dreanis, 
 And draw them up by silent power of its o'ershading arm, 
 And deepen on the tender brow CHRIST'S seal and saintly charm. 
 
 Upon a verdant hillock the sacred sign appears, 
 
 A damsel on no trembling arm an eager babe uprears, 
 
 With a sister's yearning love, and an elder sister's pride, 
 
 She lifts the new-baptized, to greet the Friend Who for him died. 
 
 Who may the maiden's thought divine, performing thus in sight 
 
 Of all the heavenly Watchers her pure unbidden rite? 
 
 While fearless to those awful Lips her treasure she would raise, 
 
 I see her features shrink, as though she fain would downward gaze. 
 
 Perchance a breath of self-reproach is fluttering round her 
 
 heart : 
 
 ' Thou, darling, in our Saviour may'st for certain claim thy part : 
 The dews baptismal bright and keen are glistening on thy brow, 
 He cannot choose but own thee, in His arms received e'en now. 
 But much I've sinn'd and little wept: will He not say, " Be- 
 
 gone " ? 
 
 I dare not meet His searching eye ; my penance is undone. 
 But thou and thy good Angel, who nerves mine arm to bear 
 And lift thee up so near Him, will strive for me in prayer.' 
 
 OP THE 
 . - *+ r TV P T^ e T m 
 
250 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Or chanced the Thorny Crown her first upseeking glance to 
 
 win, 
 
 And the deep lines of agony traced by the whole world's sin? 
 Oh, deeply in her bosom went the thought, 'Who draw so nigh 
 Unto those awful Lips, and share the LORD'S departing sigh, 
 Who knoweth what mysterious pledge upon their souls is bound, 
 To copy in their own hearts' blood each keen and bitter Wound? 
 If of the dying JESUS we the Kiss of Peace receive, 
 How but in daily dying thenceforward dare we live? 
 
 ' And was it meet, thou tender flower, on thy young life to lay 
 Such burden, pledging thee to vows thou never canst unsay? 
 What if the martyrs' fire some day thy dainty limbs devour? 
 What if beneath the scourge they writhe, or in dull famine 
 
 cower ? 
 
 What if thou bear the cross within, all aching and decay ? 
 And 'twas I that laid it on thee : what if thou fall away ? ' 
 Such is Love's deep misgiving, when stronger far than Faith, 
 She brings her earthly darlings to the Cross for life or death. 
 
 O, be Thou present in that hour, high Comforter, to lead 
 Her memory to th' eternal Law, by the great King decreed, 
 What time the highly favour'd one who on His bosom lay, 
 And he who of the chosen twelve first trode the martyrs' waj r , 
 Taught by their mother, craved the boon next to Thy throne 
 
 to be, 
 For her dreams were of the Glory, but the Cross she could 
 
 not see. 
 
 well for that fond mother, well for her beloved, that they, 
 When th' hour His secret meaning told, did by their promise 
 
 stay! 
 
 1 Thy baptism and Thy cup be ours : for both our hearts are 
 
 strong.' 
 
 Learn it, ye babes, at matin prime, repeat it all day long. 
 Ev'n as the mother's morning kiss is token of delight 
 Through all the merry hours of day, and at fall of dewy night 
 Her evening kiss shall to her babe the softest slumbers seal, 
 So Thy first greeting life imparts, Thy last shall cheer and 
 
 heal. 
 Then, maiden, trust thy nursling here ! thou wilt not choose 
 
 amiss 
 For his sweet soul ; here let him dwell ; here is the gate of 
 
 bliss. 
 
 See Note 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 251 
 
 CCCXIII 
 
 WHEN travail hours are spent and o'er, 
 And genial hours of joy 
 In cradle songs and nursery lore 
 All the glad home employ, 
 
 Full busy in her kindly mood 
 
 Is Fancy, to descry 
 The welcome notes of fatherhood, 
 
 In form, and lip, and eye. 
 
 And elder brethren's hearts are proud, 
 
 And sisters blush and smile, 
 As round the babe by turns they crowd 
 
 A brief and wondering while. 
 
 With eager speed they ready make 
 
 Soft bosom and safe arm, 
 As though such burthen once to take 
 
 A blessing were and charm. 
 
 And ever as with hastening wing 
 
 His little life glides on, 
 By power of that first wondrous spring 
 
 To all but babes unknown, 
 
 Easier each hour the task will grow, 
 
 To name the unfolding flower, 
 By plumage and by song to know 
 
 The nestling in his bower. 
 
 Oh, while your hearts so blithely dance 
 
 With frail fond hopes of earth, 
 Will ye not cast one onward glance 
 
 To the true heavenly birth? 
 
 Will ye not say, ' GOD speed the time 
 
 When Spirits pure, to trace 
 The hues of a more glorious prime, 
 
 Shall lean from their high place, 
 
 'And mark, too keen for earthly day, 
 
 The Father's stamp and seal, 
 CHRIST in the heart, the Living Ra}-, 
 
 Its deepening light reveal ? ' 
 
 Oh, well the denizens of Heaven 
 
 Their Master's children know, 
 By filial yearnings sweet and even, 
 
 By patient smiles in woe, 
 
252 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 By gaze of meek inquiry, turn'd 
 
 Towards th' informing Eye, 
 By tears that to obey have learn'd, 
 
 By clasped hands on high! 
 
 CCCXIV 
 
 GIVE me a tender spotless child, 
 Rehearsing or at eve or morn 
 His chant of glory undefined, 
 The Creed that with the Church was born :- 
 
 Down be his earnest forehead cast, 
 His slender fingers join'd for prayer, 
 
 With half a frown his eye seal'd fast 
 Against the world's intruding glare. 
 
 Who, while his lips so gently move, 
 And all his look is purpose strong, 
 
 Can say what wonders, wrought above, 
 Upon his unstain'd fancy throng? 
 
 The world new-framed, the CHRIST new-born, 
 The Mother-Maid, the cross and grave, 
 
 The rising sun on Easter morn, 
 
 The fiery tongues sent down to save, 
 
 The gathering Church, the Font of Life, 
 The saints and mourners kneeling round, 
 
 The Day to end the body's strife, 
 
 The Saviour in His people crown'd, 
 
 All in majestic march and even 
 To the veil'd eye by turns appear, 
 
 True to their time as stars in heaven, 
 No morning dream so still and clear. 
 
 cccxv 
 
 EXAMPLE 
 
 E scatter seeds with careless hand, 
 And dream we ne'er shall see them more : 
 But for a thousand years 
 
 Their fruit appears, 
 In weeds that mar the land, 
 Or healthful store. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 253 
 
 The deeds we do, the words we say, 
 Into still air they seem to fleet, 
 We count them ever past; 
 
 But they shall last, 
 In the dread judgment they 
 And we shall meet ! 
 
 I charge thee by the years gone by, 
 For the love's sake of brethren dear, 
 Keep thou the one true way 
 
 In work and play, 
 Lest in that world their cry 
 Of woe thou hear ! 
 
 CCCXVI 
 
 IMARK'D when vernal meads were bright, 
 And many a primrose smiled, 
 I mark'd her, blithe as morning light, 
 A dimpled three years' child. 
 
 A basket on one tender arm 
 
 Contain'd her precious store 
 Of spring-flowers in their freshest charm, 
 
 Told proudly o'er and o'er. 
 
 The other wound with earnest hold 
 
 About her blooming guide, 
 A maid who scarce twelve years had told : 
 
 So walk'd they side by side. 
 
 One a bright bud, and one might seem 
 
 A sister flower half blown. 
 Full joyous on their loving dream 
 
 The sky of April shone. 
 
 The summer months swept by: again 
 
 That loving pair I met. 
 On russet heath, and bowery lane, 
 
 Th' autumnal sun had set : 
 
 And chill and damp that Sunday eve 
 Breathed on the mourners' road 
 
 That bright-eyed little one to leave 
 Safe in the Saints' abode. 
 
 Behind, the guardian sister came, 
 
 Her bright brow dim and pale 
 
 O cheer thee, maiden ! in His Name, 
 Who still'd Jairus' wail ! 
 
254 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Thou mourn'st to miss the fingers soft 
 
 That held by thine so fast, 
 The fond appealing eye, full oft 
 
 Tow'rd thee for refuge cast. 
 
 Sweet toils, sweet cares, for ever gone ! 
 
 No more from stranger's face 
 Or startling sound, the timid one 
 
 Shall hide in thine embrace. 
 
 Thy first glad earthly task is o'er, 
 
 And dreary seems thy way. 
 But what if nearer than before 
 
 She watch thee e'en to-day? 
 
 What if henceforth by Heaven's decree 
 
 She leave thee not alone, 
 But in her turn prove guide to thee 
 
 In ways to Angels known? 
 
 O yield thee to her whisperings sweet : 
 
 Away with thoughts of gloom ! 
 In love the loving spirits greet, 
 
 Who wait to bless her tomb. 
 
 In loving hope with her unseen 
 
 Walk as in hallow'd air. 
 When foes are strong and trials keen, 
 
 Think, ' What if she be there ? ' 
 
 CCCXVII 
 ELIJAH A T SAREPTA 
 
 LO, cast at random on the wild sea sand 
 A child low wailing lies ; 
 Around, with eye forlorn and feeble hand, 
 
 Scarce heeding its faint cries, 
 The widow'd mother in the wilderness 
 Gathers dry boughs, their last sad meal to dress. 
 
 But who is this that comes with mantle rude 
 
 And vigil-wasted air, 
 Who to the famish'd cries, ' Come give me food, 
 
 I with thy child would share ? ' 
 She bounteous gives : but hard he seems of heart, 
 Who of such scanty store would crave a part. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 255 
 
 Haply the child his little hand holds forth, 
 
 That all his own may be. 
 Nay, simple one, thy mother's faith is worth 
 
 Healing and life to thee. 
 
 That handful given, for years ensures thee bread : 
 That drop of oil shall raise thee from the dead. 
 
 For in yon haggard form He begs unseen, 
 
 To Whom for life we kneel : 
 One little cake He asks with lowly mien, 
 
 Who blesses every meal. 
 
 Lavish for Him, ye poor, your children's store, 
 So shall your cruse for many a day run o'er. 
 
 And thou, dear child, though hungering, give glad way 
 
 To JESUS in His need : 
 So thy blest mother at the awful day 
 
 Thy name in Heaven may read ; 
 So by His touch for ever may'st thou live, 
 Who asks our alms, and lends a heart to give. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCXVIII 
 AT MATINS 
 
 HEAVEN in the depth and height is seen; 
 On high among the stars, and low 
 In deep clear waters : all between 
 Is earth, and tastes of earth : ev'n so 
 
 The Almighty One draws near 
 
 To strongest seraphs there, to weakest infants here. 
 GOD'S Angels keep the eternal round 
 
 Of praise on high, and never tire. 
 His lambs are in His Temple found 
 Early, with all their hearts' desire. 
 
 They boast not to be free, 
 They grudge not to their LORD meek ear and bended knee. 
 
 CGCXIX 
 
 'HPIS only our dull hearts that tire so soon 
 
 J[ Of CHRIST'S repeated call ; while they in Heaven, 
 Unwearied basking in the eternal noon, 
 Still sound the note, by the first Seraph given, 
 What time the Morning Stars around their King 
 Began for evermore to shine and sing. 
 
256 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 And you, ye gentle babes, true image here 
 Of such as walk in white before the Throne, 
 Ye weary not of Love, how oft soe'er 
 Her yearnings she repeat in unchanged tone. 
 To tale familiar, to remember'd strain, 
 To frolic ten times tried, ye cry, Again. 
 
 How have I seen you, when the unpleasing time 
 
 Came for some kindly guest to pass away, 
 
 Cling round his skirts ! how mark'd the playful chime 
 
 Of earnest voices, pledged to make him stay ! 
 
 O deeply sink, and with a tearful spell, 
 
 The memories of such welcome and farewell. 
 
 Nor wants in elder love the like soft charm. 
 The Mother tires not of one little voice, 
 Ev'n as she fain all day with patient arm 
 Would bear one burthen. O frail heart, rejoice ! 
 Love trains thee now by repetition sweet 
 The unwasting and unvarying bliss to greet. 
 
 cccxx 
 
 CHILDREN'S CHRISTMAS EVE 
 
 > EJOICE in GOD alway, 
 
 With stars in Heaven rejoice, 
 Ere dawn of CHRIST'S own day 
 
 Lift up each little voice. 
 Look up with glad pure eye, 
 And count those lamps on high. 
 Nay, who may count them ? on our gaze 
 They from their deeps come out in ever widening maze. 
 
 Each in his stand aloof 
 
 Prepares his keenest beam, 
 Upon that hovel roof, 
 
 In at that door, to stream, 
 Where meekly waits her time 
 The whole earth's Flower and Prime : 
 Where in few hours the Eternal One 
 Will make a clear new day, rising before the sun. 
 
 Rejoice in GOD alway, 
 
 With each green leaf rejoice, 
 Of berries on each spray 
 
 The brightest be your choice. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBL 257 
 
 From bower and mountain lone 
 The autumnal hues are gone, 
 Yet gay shall be our Christmas wreath, 
 The glistening beads above, the burnish'd leaves beneath. 
 
 Rejoice in GOD alway, 
 
 With Powers rejoice on high, 
 Who now with glad array 
 
 Are gathering in the sky, 
 His cradle to attend, 
 And there all lowly bend. 
 But half so low as He hath bow'd 
 Did never highest Angel stoop from brightest cloud. 
 
 Rejoice in GOD alway, 
 
 All creatures, bird and beast, 
 Rejoice, again I say, 
 
 His mightiest and His least ; 
 From ox and ass that wait 
 Here on His poor estate, 
 To the four living Powers, decreed 
 A thousand ways at once His awful car to speed. 
 
 Rejoice in GOD alway : 
 
 With Saints in Paradise 
 Your midnight service say, 
 
 For vigil glad arise. 
 Ev'n they in their calm bowers 
 Too tardy find the hours 
 Till He reveal the wondrous Birth : 
 How must we look and long, chain'd here to sin and earth! 
 
 Ye babes, to JESUS dear, 
 Rejoice in Him alway. 
 Ye whom He bade draw near, 
 
 O'er whom He loved to pray, 
 Wake and lift up the head 
 Each in his quiet bed. 
 
 Listen : Hi's voice the night-wind brings : 
 He in your cradle lies, He in our carols sings. 
 
 CCCXXI 
 
 'XJURSE, let me draw the baby's veil aside, 
 1\| I want to see the Cross upon her brow. 
 Nay, maiden dear, that seal may not abide 
 In sight of mortals' ken ; 'tis vanish'd now. 
 s 
 
258 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 ' Alas, for pity ! when the holy man 
 
 Said even now, / sign thee with the cross, 
 
 What joy to think that I at home should scan 
 
 The bright, clear lines ! O, sad and sudden loss ! ' 
 
 Complain not so, my child : no loss is here, 
 But endless gain. If thou wilt open wide 
 
 Faith's inward eye, soon shall to thee appear 
 What now by wondering angels is descried, 
 
 Thy LORD'S true token, seen not, but believed, 
 And therefore doubly blest. O, mark it well ; 
 
 And be this rule in thy young heart received 
 Blest, who content with Him in twilight dwell. 
 
 Thy saints, O LORD, and Thine own Mother dear 
 Are round Thee as a glory-cloud : we see 
 
 The general glow, not each in outline clear, 
 Or several station : all are hid in Thee. 
 
 In prayer we own Thee, Father, at our side, 
 Not always feel or taste Thee ; and 'tis well. 
 
 So, hour by hour, courageous faith is tried ; 
 So, gladlier will the morn all mists dispel. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCXXII 
 HARVEST 
 
 LORD, in Thy Name Thy servants plead, 
 And Thou hast sworn to hear ; 
 Thine is the harvest, Thine the seed, 
 The fresh and fading year : 
 
 Our hope, when Autumn winds blew wild, 
 
 We trusted, LORD, with Thee; 
 And still, now Spring has on us smiled, 
 
 We wait on Thy decree. 
 
 The former and the latter rain, 
 
 The summer sun and air, 
 The green ear, and the golden grain, 
 
 All Thine, are ours by prayer. 
 
 Thine too by right, and ours by grace, 
 
 The wondrous growth unseen, 
 The hopes that soothe, the fears that brace, 
 
 The love that shines serene. 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 259 
 
 So grant the precious things brought forth 
 
 By sun and moon below, 
 That Thee in Thy new heaven and earth 
 
 We never may forego. 
 
 CCCXXIII 
 ANTIPODES 
 
 FAR, far on other isles, 
 Where other stars are beaming, 
 Where the bright rose on Christmas smiles, 
 
 And Whitsun lights with frost are gleaming, 
 Yon kindly Moon, and glorious Sun 
 Their race, as here, unwearying run. 
 
 What if all else be strange ? 
 
 The two great lights of heaven 
 Know neither error, stay, nor change. 
 
 By them all else to sight is given ; 
 And with them duly, fresh and bright, 
 Home thoughts return both day and night. 
 
 Glory to our true Sun, 
 
 WTio shineth far and near ; 
 Who for His duteous Spouse hath won 
 
 A place as of a lunar sphere ; 
 And by their light, where'er she roam, 
 Faith finds a safe, familiar home. 
 
 CCCXXIV 
 THE GATHERING OF THE CHURCH 
 
 shrink, and say, "Tis vain' 
 In their hour hell-powers must reign; 
 Vainly, vainly would we force 
 Fatal error's torrent course; 
 Earth is mighty, we are frail; 
 Faith is gone, and hope must fail.' 
 
 Yet along the Church's sky 
 Stars are scatter'd, pure and high; 
 Yet her wasted gardens bear 
 Autumn violets, sweet and rare 
 Relics of a spring-time clear, 
 Earnest of a bright new year. 
 s 2 
 
260 JOHN KEBLE 
 
 Israel yet hath thousands seal'd, 
 Who to Baal never kneel'd ; 
 Seize the banner, spread its fold \ 
 Seize it with no faltering hold ! 
 Spread its foldings high and fair, 
 Let all see the Cross is there ! 
 
 What if to the trumpet's sound 
 Voices few come answering round? 
 Scarce a votary swell the burst, 
 When the anthem peals at first? 
 GOD hath sown, and He will reap ; 
 Growth is slow when roots are deep ; 
 
 He will aid the work begun, 
 For the love of His dear Son ; 
 He will breathe in their true breath, 
 Who, serene in prayer and faith, 
 Would our dying embers fan 
 Bright as when their glow began. 
 
 BOOK II 
 
 D 
 
 cccxxv 
 
 RAW near as early as we may, 
 
 Grace, like an angel, goes before. 
 The stone is roll'd away, 
 We find an open door. 
 
 O, wondrous chain ! where aye entwine 
 Our human wills, a tender thread, 
 With the strong will divine : 
 We run as we are led. 
 
 We, did I say? 'tis all Thine own; 
 Thou in the dark dost Mary guide : 
 Thine angel moves the stone ; 
 Love feels Thee at her side. 
 
 CCCXXVI 
 THE COMMUNION OF THE SICK 
 
 HOLY is the sick man's room : 
 Temper'd air, and curtain'd gloom. 
 Measured steps, and tones as mild 
 As the breath of new-born child, 
 Postures lowly, waitings still, 
 Looks subdued to duty's will, 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 261 
 
 Reverent, thoughtful, grave and sweet: 
 These to wait on CHRIST are meet. 
 These may kneel where He lies low. 
 In His members suffering woe. 
 Nor in other discipline 
 Train we hearts, that to His shrine 
 May unblamed draw near, and be 
 With His favour'd two or three : 
 Therefore in its silent gloom 
 Holy is the sick man's room. 
 
 CCCXXVII 
 
 I THOUGHT to meet no more, so dreary seem'd 
 Death's interposing veil, and thou so pure, 
 Thy place in Paradise 
 Beyond where I could soar; 
 
 Friend of this worthless heart ! but happier thoughts 
 Spring like unbidden violets from the sod, 
 
 Where patiently thou tak'st 
 
 Thy sweet and sure repose. 
 
 The shadows fall more soothing : the soft air 
 Is full of cheering whispers like thine own ; 
 
 While Memory, by thy grave, 
 
 Lives o'er thy funeral day; 
 
 The deep knell dying down, the mourners' pause, 
 Waiting their Saviour's welcome at the gate. 
 
 Sure with the words of Heaven 
 
 Thy spirit met us there, 
 
 And sought with us along th' accustom'd way 
 The hallow'd porch, and entering in, beheld 
 
 The pageant of sad joy 
 
 So dear to Faith and Hope. 
 
 O ! hadst thou brought a strain from Paradise 
 To cheer us, happy soul, thou hadst not touch'd 
 
 The sacred springs of grief 
 
 More tenderly and true, 
 
 Than those deep-warbled anthems, high and low, 
 Low as the grave, high as th' Eternal Throne, 
 
 Guiding through light and gloom 
 
 Our mourning fancies wild, 
 
262 JOHN KEBLE BOOK IE 
 
 Till gently, like soft golden clouds at eve 
 Around the western twilight, all subside 
 
 Into a placid faith, 
 
 That even with beaming eye 
 
 Counts thy sad honours, coffin, bier, and pall ; 
 So many relics of a frail love lost, 
 
 So many tokens dear 
 
 Of endless love begun. 
 
 Listen ! it is no dream : th' Apostles' trump 
 Gives earnest of th' Archangel's ; calmly now, 
 
 Our hearts yet beating high 
 
 To that victorious lay, 
 
 (Most like a warrior's, to the martial dirge 
 Of a true comrade), in the grave we trust 
 
 Our treasure for awhile : 
 
 And if a tear steal down, 
 
 If human anguish o'er the shaded brow 
 
 Pass shuddering, when the handful of pure earth 
 
 Touches the coffin-lid ; 
 
 If at our brother's name, 
 
 Once and again the thought, ' for ever gone,' 
 Come o'er us like a cloud ; yet, gentle spright, 
 Thou turnest not away, 
 Thou know'st us calm at heart. 
 
 One look, and we have seen our last of thee, 
 Till we too sleep and our long sleep be o'er. 
 
 O cleanse us, ere we view 
 
 That countenance pure again, 
 
 THOU, who canst change the heart, and raise the dead 
 As Thou art by to soothe our parting hour, 
 Be ready when we meet, 
 With Thy dear pardoning words. 
 
 See Note 
 
 cccxxvm 
 
 T ORD JESUS, loving hearts and dear 
 I j Are resting in Thy shadow here; 
 In life Thou wast their hope, and we 
 In death would trust them, LORD, with Thee. 
 
 See Note 
 
BOOK III JOHN KEBLE 263 
 
 CCCXXIX 
 
 r>ETHLEHEM, above all cities blest! 
 
 I) Th' Incarnate Saviour's earthly rest, 
 Where in His manger safe He lay, 
 By angels guarded night and day. 
 
 Bethlehem, of cities most forlorn, 
 Where in the dust sad mothers mourn, 
 Nor see the heavenly glory shed 
 On each pale infant's martyr'd head. 
 
 'Tis ever thus : who CHRIST would win, 
 Must in the school of woe begin ; 
 And still the nearest to His grace, 
 Know least of their own glorious place. 
 
 M c 
 
 cccxxx 
 
 AVE, GRATIA PLENA 
 
 \ OTHER of GOD ! O, not in vain 
 
 We learn'd of old thy lowly strain. 
 Fain in thy shadow would we rest, 
 And kneel with thee, and call thee blest ; 
 With thee would ' magnify the LORD,' 
 And if thou art not here adored, 
 Yet seek we, day by day, the love and fear 
 Which bring thee, with all saints, near and more near. 
 
 What glory thou above hast won, 
 
 By special grace of thy dear Son, 
 
 We see not yet, nor dare espy 
 
 Thy crowned form with open eye. 
 
 Rather beside the manger meek 
 
 Thee bending with veil'd brow we seek ; 
 Or where the angel in the thrice-great Name 
 Hail'd thee, and JESUS to thy bosom came. 
 
 Yearly since then with bitterer cry 
 Man hath assail'd the Throne on high, 
 And sin and hate more fiercely striven 
 To mar the league 'twixt earth and heaven. 
 But the dread tie, that pardoning hour, 
 Made fast in Mary's awful bower, 
 Hath mightier proved to bind than we to break : 
 None may that work undo, that Flesh unmake. 
 
264 JOHN KEBLE BOOK III 
 
 Thenceforth, Whom thousand worlds adore, 
 
 He calls thee Mother evermore; 
 
 Angel nor Saint His face may see 
 
 Apart from what He took of thee. 
 
 How may we choose but name thy name, 
 
 Echoing below their high acclaim 
 In holy Creeds? Since earthly song and prayer 
 Must keep faint time to the dread anthem there. 
 
 How, but in love, on thine own days, 
 Thou blissful one, upon thee gaze? 
 Nay every day, each suppliant hour, 
 Whene'er we kneel in aisle or bower, 
 Thy glories we may greet unblamed, 
 Nor shun the lay by seraphs framed, 
 ' Hail, Mary, full of grace ! ' O, welcome sweet, 
 Which daily in all lands all saints repeat ! 
 
 Therefore as kneeling day by day 
 
 We to our Father duteous pray, 
 
 So unforbidden may we speak 
 
 An Ave to CHRIST'S Mother meek : 
 
 (As children with * good morrow ' come 
 
 To elders in some happy home :) 
 Inviting so the saintly host above 
 With our unworthiness to pray in love. 
 See Note 
 
 CCCXXXI 
 
 VOK A-COMN INTO CHURCH 
 
 THE church do zeem a touchen zight, 
 When vo'k, a-comen in at door, 
 Do softly tread the long-ailed vloor 
 Below the pillar'd arches' height, 
 Wi' bells a-pealen, 
 Vo'k a-kneelen, 
 Hearts a-healen, wi' the love 
 An' peace a-zent l em vrom above. 
 
 An' there, wi' mild an' thoughtvul feace, 
 Wi' downcast eyes, an' vaices dum', 
 The wold an' young do slowly come, 
 An' teake in stillness each his pleace, 
 A-zinken slowly, 
 Kneelen lowly, 
 
 Seeken holy thoughts alwone 2 , 
 In pray'r avore their Meaker's throne. 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM BARNES 265 
 
 An' there be sons in youthvul pride, 
 
 An' fathers weak, wi' years an' pa'iii, 
 An' daughters in their mother's tram, 
 The tall wi' smaller at their zide ; 
 Heads in murnen 3 
 Never turnen, 
 
 Cheaks a-burnen, wi' the het 
 O' youth, an' eyes noo tears do wet. 
 
 There friends do settle, zide by zide, 
 
 The knower speechless to the known ; 
 Their vai'ce is there vor GOD alwone, 
 To flesh an' blood their tongues be tied. 
 Grief a-wringen, 
 Jay* a-zingen, 
 
 PrayV a-bringen welcome rest 
 So softly to the troubled breast. 
 
 W. Barnes 
 
 1 a-zent, sent 2 alwone^ alone 3 mumen, mourning * jay, joy 
 
 CCCXXXII 
 
 READEN OV A HEAD-STWONE 
 
 AS I wer readen ov a stwone 
 In Grenley church-yard all alwone, 
 A little mai'd ran up, wi' pride 
 To zee me there, an' push'd a-zide 
 A bunch o' bennets 1 that did hide 
 A verse her father, as she zai'd, 
 Put up above her mother's head, 
 
 To tell how much he loved her. 
 
 The verse wer short, but very good, 
 I stood an' larn'd en where I stood : 
 1 Mid 2 GOD, dear Meary, gi'e me greace 
 To vind, lik' thee, a better pleace, 
 Where I woonce mwore mid zee thy feace ; 
 An' bring thy childern up to know 
 His word, that they mid come an' show 
 Thy soul how much I loved thee.' 
 
 * Where 's father, then,' I zaid, ' my chile ? ' 
 4 Dead too,' she answer'd wi' a smile ; 
 'An' I an' brother Jim do bide 
 At Betty White's, o' tother zide 
 
266 WILLIAM BARNES BOOK III 
 
 O J road.' ' Mid He, my chile/ I cried, 
 'That's father to the fatherless, 
 Become thy father now, an' bless, 
 
 An* keep, an' lead, an' love thee.' 
 
 Though she've a-lost, I thought, so much, 
 Still He don't let the thoughts o't touch 
 Here litsome heart by day or night ; 
 An' zoo 3 , if we could teake it right, 
 Do show He'll meake His burdens light 
 
 To weaker souls, an' that His smile 
 
 Is sweet upon a harmless chile, 
 
 When they be dead that loved it. 
 
 1 1>ennets> coarse flowering grasses 2 mid^ may 3 zoo, so 
 
 CCCXXXIII 
 THE CHILD'S GREAVE 
 
 AVORE the time when zuns went down 
 On zummer's green a-turn'd to brown, 
 When sheades o' swayen wheat-ears veil * 
 Upon the scarlet pimpernel; 
 The while you still mid 2 goo, an' vind 
 'Ithin the gearden's mossy wall, 
 Sweet blossoms, low or risen 3 tall, 
 To meake a tutty* to your mind, 
 In churchyard heaved, wi' grassy breast, 
 The greave-mound ov a beaby's rest. 
 
 An' when a high day broke, to call 
 A throng 'ithin the churchyard wall, 
 The mother brought, wi' thoughtvul mind, 
 The fearest buds her eyes could vind, 
 To trim the little greave, an' show 
 To other souls her love an' loss, 
 An' meade a Seavior's little cross 
 O' brightest flow'rs that then did blow, 
 . A-droppen tears a-sheenen 5 bright, 
 Among the dew, in mornen light. 
 
 An woone sweet bud her han' did pleace 
 Up where did droop the Seavior's feace ; 
 An' two she zet a-bloomen bright, 
 Where reach'd His hands o' left an' right; 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM BARNES 267 
 
 Two mwore feair blossoms, crimson dyed, 
 Did mark the pleaces ov His veet, 
 An' woone did lie, a-smellen sweet, 
 
 Up where the spear did wound the zide 
 
 Ov Him that is the life ov all 
 
 Greave sleepers, whether big or small. 
 
 The mother that in fai'th could zee 
 
 The Seavior on the high cross tree 
 
 Mid be a-vound 6 a-grieven sore, 
 
 But not to grieve vor evermwore, 
 
 Vor He shall show her faithvul mind, 
 
 His chaice is all that she should choose, 
 An' love that here do grieve to lose, 
 
 Shall be, above, a jay 7 to vind, 
 
 Wi' Him that evermwore shall keep 
 
 The souls that He do lay asleep. 
 
 1 veil, fell 2 mid, may 3 risen, rising * tutty, nosegay 
 
 5 a-skeenen, shining 6 vound, found 7 j a y t j O y 
 
 CCCXXXIV 
 THE CHURCH AN' HAPPY ZUNDAY 
 
 AH ! ev'ry day mid bring a while 
 O' ease vrom all woone's 1 ceare an' tweil 2 , 
 The welcome evenen, when 'tis sweet 
 Vor tired friends wi' weary veet, 
 But litsome hearts o' love, to meet : 
 An' yet while weekly times do roll, 
 The best vor body an' vor soul 
 
 'S the church an' happy Zunday. 
 
 Vor then our loosen'd souls do rise 
 Wi' holy thoughts beyond the skies, 
 As we do think o' Him that shed 
 His blood vor us, an' still do spread 
 His love upon the live an' dead ; 
 An' how He gi'ed a time an' pleace 
 To gather us, an' gi'e us greace, 
 
 The church an' happy Zunday. 
 
 There, under leanen 3 mossy stwones, 
 Do lie, vorgot, our fathers' bwones, 
 That trod this groun' vor years agoo, 
 When things that now be wold wer new; 
 
268 WILLIAM BARNES BOOK III 
 
 An' comely maidens, mild an' true, 
 That meade their sweet-hearts happy brides, 
 An' come to kneel down at their zides % 
 At church o' happy Zundays. 
 
 'Tis good to zee woone's na'ighbours come 
 Out drough * the church-yard, vlocken 5 hwome, 
 As woone do nod, an' woone do smile, 
 An' woone do toss another's chile ; 
 An' zome be sheaken han's, the while 
 Poll's uncle, chucken her below 
 Her chin, do tell her she do grow, 
 
 At church o' happy Zundays. 
 
 Zoo while our blood do run in vams 
 O' liven souls in theasum 6 plains, 
 Mid happy housen smoky round 
 The church an' holy bit o' ground; 
 An' while their wedden bells do sound, 
 Oh ! mid em have the means o' greace, 
 The holy day an' holy pleace, 
 
 The church an' happy Zunday. 
 
 one 2 tiueil, toil 3 leanen, leaning * drough, through 
 
 5 vlocken, flocking 6 theasum, these 
 
 cccxxxv 
 
 WITHSTANDERS 
 
 WHEN weakness now do strive wi' might 
 In struggles ov' an e'thly 1 trial, 
 Might mid overcome the right, 
 
 An' truth be turn'd by might's denial ; 
 Withstanders we ha' mwost 2 to fear, 
 If selfishness do wring us here, 
 Be souls a-holden in their hand 
 The might an' riches o' the land. 
 
 But when the wicked, now so strong, 
 
 Shall stan' vor judgment, peale as ashes, 
 By the souls that rued their wrong, 
 
 Wi' tears a-hangen on their lashes 
 Then withstanders they shall deare 8 
 The least ov' all to meet wi' there, 
 Mid be the helpless souls that now 
 Below their wrongvul might mid bow. 
 
BOOK III WILLIAM BARNES 269 
 
 Sweet childern o' the dead, bereft 
 
 Ov all their goods by guile an' forgen 4 ; 
 
 Souls o' driven sleaves that left 
 
 Their weary limbs a-mark'd by scourgen ; 
 
 They that GOD ha' call'd to die 
 
 Vor a truth agean the worold's lie, 
 
 An' they that groan'd an' cried in vain, 
 
 A-bound by foes' unrighteous chain. 
 
 The maid that selfish craft led on 
 
 To sin, an' left wf hope a-blighted ; 
 Starven workmen, thin an' wan, 
 
 Wi' hopeless leabour ill requited ; 
 Souls a-wrong'd, an' call'd to vill 
 Wi' dread, the men that used em ill, 
 When might shall yield to right as pliant 
 As a dwarf avore a giant. 
 
 When there, at last, the good shall glow 
 In starbright bodies lik' their Seaviour, 
 
 Vor all their flesh noo mwore mid show, 
 The marks o' man's unkind beheaviour: 
 
 Wi' speechless tongue, an' burnen cheak, 
 
 The strong shall bow avore the weak, 
 
 An' vind that helplessness, wi' right, 
 
 Is strong beyond all e'thly might. 
 
 1 e'thly, earthly 2 ha mivost, have most 3 deiire t dare 
 
 4 forgen, forgery 
 
 CCCXXXVI 
 
 THE MOTHER'S DREAM 
 
 I'D a dream to-night 
 As I fell asleep, 
 Oh ! the touching sight 
 Makes me still to weep : 
 Of my little lad, 
 Gone to leave me sad, 
 Aye, the child I had, 
 But was not to keep. 
 
 As in heaven high, 
 I my child did seek, 
 There, in train, came by 
 Children fair and meek, 
 
270 WILLIAM BARNES BOOK III 
 
 Each in lily-white, 
 With a lamp alight ; 
 Each was clear to sight, 
 But they did not speak. 
 
 Then, a little sad, 
 Came my child in turn, 
 But the lamp he had, 
 Oh ! it did not burn ; 
 He, to clear my doubt, 
 Said, half turn'd about, 
 * Your tears put it out ; 
 Mother, never mourn.' 
 
 CCCXXXVII 
 PER PACEM AD LUCEM 
 
 I DO not ask, O LORD, that life may be 
 A pleasant road ; 
 
 I do not ask that Thou wouldst take from me 
 Aught of its load : 
 
 I do not ask that flowers should always spring 
 
 Beneath my feet ; 
 I know too well the poison and the sting 
 
 Of things too sweet. 
 
 For one thing only, LORD, dear LORD, I plead : 
 
 Lead me aright 
 
 Though strength should falter and though heart should 
 bleed, 
 
 Through Peace to Light. 
 
 I do not ask, O LORD, that Thou shouldst shed 
 
 Full radiance here : 
 Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 
 
 Without a fear. 
 
 I do not ask my cross to understand, 
 
 My way to see ; 
 Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand, 
 
 And follow Thee. 
 
 A. A. Procter 
 
 CCCXXXVIII 
 
 THIS Advent moon shines cold and clear, 
 These Advent nights are long; 
 Our lamps have burn'd year after year 
 And still their flame is strong. 
 
BOOK III CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI 2J 
 
 1 Watchman, what of the night ? ' we cry 
 
 Heart-sick with hope deferr'd : 
 ' No speaking signs are in the sky,' 
 
 Is still the watchman's \vord. 
 
 The Porter watches at the gate, 
 
 The servants watch within ; 
 The watch is long betimes and late, 
 
 The prize is slow to win. 
 < Watchman, what of the night ? ' but still 
 
 His answer sounds the same : 
 ' No daybreak tops the utmost hill, 
 
 Nor pale our lamps of flame.' 
 
 One to another hear them speak 
 
 The patient Virgins wise : 
 ' Surely He is not far to seek ' 
 
 'All night we watch and rise/ 
 1 The days are evil looking back, 
 
 The coming days are dim ; 
 Yet count we not His promise slack, 
 
 But watch and wait for Him.' 
 
 One with another, soul with soul, 
 
 They kindle fire from fire : 
 ' Friends watch us who have touched the goal.' 
 
 ' They urge us, come up higher.' 
 1 With them shall rest our waysore feet, 
 
 With them is built our home, 
 With CHRIST.' ' They sweet, but He most sweet. 
 
 Sweeter than honeycomb.' 
 
 There no more parting, no more pain, 
 
 The distant ones brought near, 
 The lost so long are found again, 
 
 Long lost but longer dear : 
 Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard. 
 
 Nor heart conceived that rest, 
 With them our good things long deferr'd, 
 
 With JESUS CHRIST our Best. 
 
 We weep because the night is long, 
 
 We laugh, for day shall rise ; 
 We sing a slow contented song, 
 
 And knock at Paradise. 
 Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept 
 
 For us, we hold Him fast ; 
 And will not let Him go except 
 
 He bless us first or last. 
 
272 CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI BOOK IH 
 
 Weeping we hold Him fast to-night ; 
 
 We will not let Him go 
 Till daybreak smite our wearied sight 
 
 And summer smite the snow : 
 Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove 
 
 Shall coo the livelong day ; 
 Then He shall say, * Arise, My love, 
 
 My fair one, come away.' 
 
 C. G. Rossetti 
 
 CCCXXXIX 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 IN the bleak mid-winter 
 Frosty wind made moan, 
 Earth stood hard as iron, 
 
 Water like a stone ; 
 Snow had fallen, snow on snow. 
 
 Snow on snow, 
 In the bleak mid-winter 
 Long ago. 
 
 Our GOD, Heaven cannot hold Him, 
 
 Nor earth sustain ; 
 Heaven and earth shall flee away 
 
 When He comes to reign : 
 In the bleak mid-winter 
 
 A stable-place sufficed 
 
 The LORD GOD Almighty 
 
 JESUS CHRIST. 
 
 Enough for Him Whom cherubim 
 
 Worship night and day, 
 A breastful of milk 
 
 And a mangerful of hay ; 
 Enough for Him Whom angels 
 
 Fall down before, 
 The ox and ass and camel 
 Which adore. 
 
 Angels and archangels 
 May have gather'd there, 
 
 Cherubim and seraphim 
 Throng' d the air, 
 
 But only His Mother 
 In her maiden bliss 
 
 Worshipp'd the Beloved 
 With a kiss. 
 
BOOK III CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTl 273 
 
 What can I give Him 
 
 Poor as I am? 
 If I were a shepherd 
 
 I would bring a lamb ; 
 If I were a wise man 
 
 I would do my part; 
 Yet what I can I give Him, 
 Give my heart. 
 
 CCCXL 
 DESPISED AND REJECTED 
 
 MY sun has set, I dwell 
 In darkness as a dead man out of sight ; 
 And none remains, not one, that I should tell 
 To him mine evil plight 
 This bitter night. 
 I will make fast my door 
 That hollow friends may trouble me no more. 
 
 'Friend, open to Me.' Who is this that calls? 
 
 Nay, I am deaf as are my walls : 
 
 Cease crying, for I will not hear 
 
 Thy cry of hope or fear. 
 
 Others were dear, 
 
 Others forsook me : what art thou indeed 
 
 That I should heed 
 
 Thy lamentable need ? 
 
 Hungry, should feed, 
 
 Or stranger, lodge thee here? 
 
 ' Friend, My Feet bleed. 
 
 Open thy door to Me and comfort Me/ 
 
 I will not open, trouble me no more. 
 
 Go on thy way footsore, 
 
 I will not rise and open unto thee. 
 
 'Then is it nothing to thee? Open, see 
 
 Who stands to plead with thee. 
 
 Open, lest I should pass thee by, and thou 
 
 One day entreat My Face 
 
 And howl for grace, 
 
 And I be deaf as thou art now. 
 
 Open to Me.' 
 
 Then I cried out upon him : Cease, 
 Leave me in peace : 
 Fear not that I should crave 
 Aught thou may'st have. 
 
274 CHRISTINA G. ROSSETTI BOOK III 
 
 Leave me in peace, yea trouble me no more, 
 Lest I arise and chase thee from my door. 
 What, shall I not be let 
 Alone, that thou dost vex me yet? 
 
 But all night long that voice spake urgently : 
 
 * Open to Me/ 
 
 Still harping in mine ears : 
 
 ' Rise, let Me in.' 
 
 Pleading with tears : 
 
 ' Open to Me, that I may come to thee.' 
 
 While the dew dropp'd, while the dark hours were cold : 
 
 * My Feet bleed, see my Face, 
 
 See My Hands bleed that bring thee grace, 
 My Heart doth bleed for thee, 
 Open to Me.' 
 
 So till the break of day : 
 
 Then died away 
 
 That voice, in silence as of sorrow ; 
 
 Then footsteps echoing like a sigh 
 
 Pass'd me by, 
 
 Lingering footsteps slow to pass, 
 
 On the morrow 
 
 I saw upon the grass 
 
 Each footprint mark'd in blood, and on my door 
 
 The mark of blood for evermore. 
 
 CCCXLI 
 
 GIVE me the lowest place : not that I dare 
 Ask for that lowest place, but Thou hast died 
 That I might live and share 
 Thy glory by Thy side. 
 
 Give me the lowest place : or if for me 
 
 That lowest place too high, make one more low 
 Where I may sit and see 
 
 My GOD, and love Thee so. 
 
 CCCXLII 
 FOR THE DESOLATE 
 
 WHEN thy lone dreams sweet visions see, 
 And loving looks upon thee shine, 
 And loving lips speak joys to thee 
 That never, never may be thine ; 
 
BOOK III HENRY SEPTIMUS SUTTON 275 
 
 Then press thy hand hard on thy side, 
 
 And force down all the swelling pain ; 
 Trust me, the wound, however wide, 
 
 Shall close at last, and heal again. 
 
 Think not of what is from thee kept ; 
 
 Think, rather, what thou hast received: 
 Thine eyes have smiled, if they have wept ; 
 
 Thy heart has danced, if it has grieved. 
 Rich comforts yet shall be thine own ; 
 
 Yea, GOD Himself shall wipe thine eyes ; 
 And still His love alike is shown 
 
 In what He gives, and what denies. 
 
 //. 5. Sutton 
 
 CCCXLIII 
 
 HOW beautiful it is to be alive! 
 To wake each morn as if the Makers grace 
 Did us afresh from nothingness derive 
 That we might sing ' How happy is our case ! 
 How beautiful it is to be alive ! ' 
 
 To read in GOD'S great Book, until we feel 
 Love for the love that gave it ; then to kneel 
 Close unto Him Whose truth our souls will shrive, 
 While every moment's joy doth more reveal 
 How beautiful it is to be alive. 
 
 Rather to go without what might increase 
 Our worldly standing, than our souls deprive 
 Of frequent speech with GOD, or than to cease 
 To feel, through having wasted health or peace, 
 How beautiful it is to be alive. 
 
 Not to forget, when pain and grief draw nigh, 
 
 Into the ocean of time past to dive 
 
 For memories of GOD'S mercies, or to try 
 
 To bear all sweetly, hoping still to cry 
 
 * How beautiful it is to be alive ! ' 
 
 Thus ever towards man's height of nobleness 
 Strive still some new progression to contrive ; 
 Till, just as any other friend's, we press 
 Death's hand ; and, having died, feel none the less 
 How beautiful it is to be alive. 
 T 2 
 
276 HENRY SEPTIMUS SUTTON BOOK III 
 
 CCCXLIV 
 A PREACHER'S SOLILOQUY 
 
 WHAT wealth to earth our GOD hath given ! 
 What growing increment for heaven ! 
 Men, women, youth, and children small, 
 I thank the good GOD for you all! 
 
 Not always was it mine to give 
 Such high regard to all who live ; 
 Time was, I know, when I could go 
 
 Along the streets and scarcely see 
 The presences my GOD did show 
 
 So lavishly to me. 
 Around my steps, before, behind, 
 
 They His creative power declared ; 
 I only heeded them, to find 
 
 The easiest path, as on I fared. 
 And ev'n the innocent little ones, 
 Of value high o'er stars and suns, 
 Evangelists, by Heaven's decree, 
 Commission'd truths to teach to me 
 
 That elsewise I had never known, 
 They seem'd young foreigners to be, 
 
 They never seem'd mine own. 
 How could I be so dull and blind? 
 How dared I slight GOD'S humankind ? 
 
 I know ye nothing care for me; 
 
 Each to each deep mysteries, 
 We cannot guess what we may be 
 
 Except by what a glance can seize. 
 Perchance we never met before, 
 
 Meet now the first and final time, 
 Yet are ye mine, over and o'er, 
 
 That, haply, I may help you climb 
 To JESUS, up the mount divine. 
 Oh might such high success be mine ! 
 Fain would I couch your vision dim ; 
 Fain would I lead you up to Him ! 
 
 Nay, nay, I cannot yield up one 
 
 No little child, no youth, no man ; 
 I cannot say, Depart from me ; 
 
 I cannot say, Begone, begone, 
 I have no part in thee. 
 
BOOK III HENRY SEPTIMUS SUTTON 277 
 
 No part? But how? Do I not love you? 
 
 Is not this title still more strong 
 Than if I 'd bought you all with gold ? 
 Love strenuous flies, a spirit above you; 
 
 Try to escape, it will outfly you, 
 
 It will embrace, ay, and defy you 
 To break away its gentle hold. 
 Because GOD'S love is swift and strong, 
 Therefore ye all to me belong. 
 
 Why do I dare love all mankind? 
 'Tis not because each face, each form 
 
 Is comely, for it is not so; 
 Nor is it that each soul is warm 
 
 With any Godlike glow. 
 Yet there 's no one to whom 's not given 
 Some little lineament of heaven, 
 Some partial symbol, at the least, in sign 
 Of what should be, if it is not, within, 
 Reminding of the death of sin 
 
 And life of the Divine. 
 There was a time, full well I know, 
 
 When I had not yet seen you so; 
 Time was, when few seem'd fair; 
 But now, as through the streets I go, 
 There seems no face so shapeless, so 
 
 Forlorn, but that there 's something there 
 That, like the heavens, doth declare 
 
 The glory of the great All-Fair ; 
 And so mine own each one I call; 
 And so I dare to love you all. 
 
 Glory to GOD, who hath assign'd 
 To me this mixture with mankind ! 
 Glory to GOD, that I am born 
 
 Into a world, whose palace-gates 
 So many royal ones adorn ! 
 
 Heaven's possible novitiates, 
 With self-subduing freedom free, 
 Princely ye are, each one, to me, 
 
 Each of secret kingly blood, 
 Though not inheritors as yet 
 
 Of all your own right royal things ; 
 For it were folly to forget 
 
 That they alone are queens and kings 
 
 Who are the truly good. 
 Yet are ye angels in disguise, 
 
 Angels who have not found your wings; 
 
7 8 HENRY SEPTIMUS SUTTOX BOOK III 
 
 I see more in ye than ye are 
 
 As yet, while earth so closely clings ; 
 As through a cloud that hides the skies 
 
 Undoubting science hails a star 
 Not to be seen by other eyes, 
 
 Yet surely among things that are, 
 So the dense veil of your deformities 
 
 Love gives me power away to pull. 
 
 Alas ! why will ye not from sin arise, 
 
 And be CHRIST'S beautiful? 
 
 CCCXLV 
 THE TOYS 
 
 MY little son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes, 
 And moved and spoke in quiet grown-up wise, 
 Having my law the seventh time disobey'd, 
 I struck him, and dismiss' d 
 With hard words and unkiss'd ; 
 His Mother, who was patient, being dead. 
 Then, fearing lest his grief should hinder sleep, 
 I visited his bed, 
 But found him slumbering deep, 
 With darken'd eyelids, and their lashes yet 
 From his late sobbing wet. 
 And I, with moan, 
 
 Kissing away his tears, left others of my own ; 
 For, on a table drawn beside his head, 
 He had put, within his reach, 
 A box of counters and a red-vein'd stone, 
 A piece of glass abraded by the beach 
 And six or seven shells, 
 A bottle with bluebells, 
 
 And two French copper coins, ranged there with careful art. 
 To comfort his sad heart. 
 
 So when that night I pray'd 
 
 To GOD, I wept, and said : 
 
 Ah, when at last we lie with tranced breath, 
 
 Not vexing Thee in death, 
 
 And Thou rememberest of what toys 
 
 We made our joys, 
 
 How weakly understood 
 
 Thy great commanded good, 
 
 Then, Fatherly not less 
 
 Than I whom Thou hast moulded from the cla}*, 
 
 Thou'lt leave Thy wrath, and say, 
 
 4 1 will be sorry for their childishness/ ^ Patmore 
 
BOOK III JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP 279 
 
 CCCXLVI 
 QUI LABORAT ORAT 
 
 OONLY Source of all our light and life, 
 Whom as our truth, our strength, we see and feel, 
 But whom the hours of mortal moral strife 
 Alone aright reveal! 
 
 Mine inmost soul, before Thee inly brought, 
 
 Thy presence owns ineffable, divine ; 
 Chastised each rebel self-encenter'd thought, 
 
 My will adoreth Thine. 
 
 With eye down-dropt, if then this earthly mind 
 Speechless remain, or speechless e'en depart ; 
 
 Nor seek to see for what of earthly kind 
 Can see Thee as Thou art? 
 
 If well-assured 'tis but profanely bold 
 
 In thought's abstractest forms to seem to see, 
 
 It dare not dare the dread communion hold 
 In ways unworthy Thee : 
 
 O not unown'd, Thou shalt unnamed forgive ; 
 
 In worldly walks the prayerless heart prepare ; 
 And if in work its life it seem to live, 
 
 Shalt make that work be prayer. 
 
 Nor times shall lack, when while the work it plies, 
 Unsummon'd powers the blinding film shall part, 
 
 And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyes 
 In recognition start. 
 
 But, as Thou wiliest, give or e'en forbear 
 
 The beatific supersensual sight; 
 So, with Thy blessing blest, that humbler prayer 
 
 Approach Thee morn and night. 
 
 A. H. dough 
 
 CCCXLVH 
 
 HO seeketh finds : what shall be his relief 
 
 Who hath no power to seek, no heart to pray. 
 No sense of GOD, but bears as best he may, 
 A lonely incommunicable grief? 
 What shall he do? One only thing he knows, 
 That his life flits a frail uneasy spark' 
 In the great vast of universal dark, 
 And that the grave may not be all repose. 
 
2 So JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP BOOK III 
 
 Be still, sad soul ! lift thou no passionate cry, 
 But spread the desert of thy being bare 
 To the full searching of the All-seeing eye : 
 
 Wait and through dark misgiving, blank despair, 
 GOD will come down in pity, and fill the dry 
 Dead place with light, and life, and vernal air. 
 
 /. C. Shairp 
 
 CCCXLVIII 
 SAINTS DEPARTED 
 
 WHILE they here sojourn'd, their presence drew us 
 By the sweetness of their human love ; 
 Day by day good thoughts of them renew us, 
 Like fresh tidings from the world above; 
 
 Coming, like the stars at gloamin' glinting 
 
 Through the western clouds, when loud winds cease, 
 
 Silently of that calm country hinting, 
 
 Where they with the angels are at peace. 
 
 Not their own, ah ! not from earth was flowing 
 That high strain to which their souls were tuned, 
 
 Year by year we saw them inly growing 
 
 Liker Him with Whom their hearts communed. 
 
 Then to Him they pass'd ; but still unbroken, 
 
 Age to age, lasts on that goodly line, 
 Whose pure lives are, more than all words spoken, 
 
 Earth's best witness to the life divine. 
 
 Subtlest thought shall fail, and learning falter, 
 Churches change, forms perish, systems go, 
 
 But our human needs, they will not alter, 
 CHRIST no after age shall e'er outgrow. 
 
 Yea, Amen ! O changeless One, Thou only 
 
 Art life's guide and spiritual goal, 
 Thou the Light across the dark vale lonely, 
 
 Thou the eternal haven of the soul ! 
 
 CCCXLIX 
 
 I HAVE a life with CHRIST to live, 
 But, ere I live it, must I wait 
 Till learning can clear answer give 
 Of this and that book's date ? 
 
BOOK III JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP 281 
 
 I have a life in CHRIST to live, 
 I have a death in CHRIST to die ; 
 And must I wait, till science give 
 All doubts a full reply? 
 
 Nay rather, while the sea of doubt 
 Is raging wildly round about, 
 Questioning of life and death and sin, 
 
 Let me but creep within 
 Thy fold, O CHRIST, and at Thy feet 
 
 Take but the lowest seat, 
 And hear Thine awful voice repeat 
 In gentlest accents, heavenly sweet, 
 
 Come unto Me, and rest : 
 
 Believe Me, and be blest 
 
 CCCL 
 
 "nPWIXT gleams of joy and clouds of doubt 
 
 J[ Our feelings come and go ; 
 Our best estate is toss'd about 
 In ceaseless ebb and flow. 
 
 No mood of feeling, form of thought, 
 
 Is constant for a day ; 
 But Thou, O LORD ! Thou changest not ; 
 
 The same Thou art alway. 
 
 I grasp Thy strength, make it mine own, 
 
 My heart with peace is blest ; 
 I lose my hold, and then comes down 
 
 Darkness and cold unrest. 
 
 Let me no more my comfort draw 
 
 From my frail hold of Thee, 
 In this alone rejoice with awe ; 
 
 Thy mighty grasp of me. 
 
 Out of that weak unquiet drift 
 
 That comes but to depart, 
 To that pure Heaven my spirit lift 
 
 Where Thou unchanging art. 
 
 Lay hold of me with Thy strong grasp, 
 
 Let Thy Almighty arm 
 In its embrace my weakness clasp, 
 
 And I shall fear no harm. 
 
282 JOHN CAMPBELL SHAIRP BOOK III 
 
 Thy purpose of eternal good 
 
 Let me but surely know; 
 On this I '11 lean, let changing mood 
 
 And feeling come or go ; 
 
 Glad when Thy sunshine fills my soul; 
 
 Not lorn when clouds o'ercast ; 
 Since Thou within Thy sure control 
 
 Of Love dost hold me fast. 
 
 CCCLI 
 THE POWERS THAT BE ARE ORDAINED OF GOD 
 
 YES, mark the words, deem not that Saints alone 
 Are Heaven's true servants, and His laws fulfil 
 Who rules o'er just and wicked. He from ill 
 Culls good, He moulds the Egyptian's heart of stone 
 To do him honour, and e'en Nero's throne 
 Claims as His ordinance ; before Him still 
 Pride bows unconscious, and the rebel will 
 Most does His bidding, following most its own. 
 Then grieve not at their high and palmy state, 
 Those proud bad men, whose unrelenting sway 
 Has shatter'd holiest things, and led astray 
 CHRIST'S little ones : they are but tools of Fate, 
 Duped rebels, doom'd to serve a POWER they hate, 
 To earn a traitor's guerdon, yet obey. 
 
 R. H. Froude 
 
 CCCLII 
 A THANKSGIVING 
 
 T ORD, in this dust Thy sovereign voice 
 i_f First quicken'd love divine ; 
 I am all Thine, Thy care and choice, 
 My very praise is Thine. 
 
 I praise Thee, while Thy providence 
 
 In childhood frail I trace, 
 For blessings given, ere dawning sense 
 
 Could seek or scan Thy grace; 
 
 Blessings in boyhood's marvelling hour, 
 Bright dreams, and fancyings strange; 
 
 Blessings, when reason's awful power 
 Gave thought a bolder range; 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 283 
 
 Blessings of friends, which to my door 
 
 Unask'd, unhoped, have come ; 
 And, choicer still, a countless store 
 
 Of eager smiles at home. 
 
 Yet, LORD, in memory's fondest place 
 
 I shrine those seasons sad, 
 When, looking up, I saw Thy face 
 
 In kind austereness clad. 
 
 I would not miss one sigh or tear, 
 
 Heart-pang, or throbbing brow; 
 Sweet was the chastisement severe, 
 
 And sweet its memory now. 
 
 Yes! let the fragrant scars abide, 
 
 Love-tokens in Thy stead, 
 Faint shadows of the spear-pierced side 
 
 And thorn-encompass'd head. 
 
 And such Thy tender force be still, 
 When self would swerve or stray, 
 
 Shaping to truth the froward will 
 Along Thy narrow way. 
 
 Deny me wealth ; far, far remove 
 
 The lure of power or name ; 
 Hope thrives in straits, in weakness love, 
 
 And faith in this world's shame. 
 
 J. H. Newman 
 
 CCCLIII 
 
 IN childhood, when with eager eyes 
 The season-measured year I view'd, 
 All, garb'd in fairy guise, 
 Pledged constancy of good. 
 
 Spring sang of heaven ; the summer flowers 
 Bade me gaze on, and did not fade ; 
 Ev'n suns o'er autumn's bowers 
 Heard my strong wish, and stay'd. 
 
 They came and went, the short-lived four; 
 Yet, as their varying dance they wove, 
 To my young heart each bore 
 Its own sure claim of love. 
 
 Far different now; the whirling year 
 Vainly my dizzy eyes pursue ; 
 And its fair tints appear 
 All blent in one dusk hue. 
 
284 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 Then what this world to thee, my heart? 
 Its gifts nor feed thee nor can bless. 
 Thou hast no owner's part 
 In all its fleetingness. 
 
 The flame, the storm, the quaking ground, 
 Earth's joy, earth's terror, nought is thine; 
 Thou must but hear the sound 
 Of the still Voice Divine. 
 
 CCCLIV 
 THE SAINT AND THE HERO 
 
 OAGED Saint ! far off I heard 
 The praises of thy name ; 
 Thy deed of power, thy prudent word, 
 Thy zeal's triumphant flame. 
 
 I came and saw ; and, having seen, 
 
 Weak heart, I drew offence 
 From thy prompt smile, thy simple mien, 
 
 Thy lowly diligence. 
 
 The Saint's is not the Hero's praise ; 
 
 This I have found, and learn 
 Nor to malign Heaven's humblest ways, 
 
 Nor its least boon to spurn. 
 
 CCCLV 
 
 TRANSFIGURA TION 
 
 IAW thee once, and nought discern'cl 
 For stranger to admire ; 
 A serious aspect, but it burn'd 
 With no unearthly fire. 
 
 Again I saw, and I confess'd 
 Thy speech was rare and high ; 
 
 And yet it vex'd my burden'd breast, 
 And scared, I knew not why. 
 
 I saw once more, and awe-struck gazed 
 
 On face, and form, and air; 
 GOD'S living glory round thee blazed 
 
 A Saint a Saint was there ! 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 285 
 
 CCCLVI 
 PERSECUTION 
 
 SAY, who is he in deserts seen, 
 Or at the twilight hour? 
 Of garb austere, and dauntless mien, 
 Measured in speech, in purpose keen, 
 Calm as in Heaven he had been, 
 Yet blithe when perils lower. 
 
 My Holy Mother made reply, 
 
 'Dear child, it is my Priest. 
 The world has cast me forth, and I 
 Dwell with wild earth and gusty sky ; 
 He bears to men my mandates high, 
 
 And works my sage behest. 
 
 * Another day, dear child, and thou 
 
 Shalt join his sacred band. 
 Ah ! well I deem, thou shrinkest now 
 From urgent rule and severing vow; 
 Gay hopes flit round, and light thy brow : 
 
 Time hath a taming hand ! ' 
 
 CCCLVII 
 ST. PHILIP NERI IN HIS SCHOOL 
 
 THIS is the Saint of gentleness and kindness, 
 Cheerful in penance, and in precept winning; 
 Patiently healing of their pride and blindness 
 Souls that are sinning. 
 
 This is the Saint, who, when the world allures us, 
 
 Cries her false wares, and opes her magic coffers, 
 Points to a better city, and secures us 
 With richer offers. 
 
 Love is his bond, he knows no other fetter, 
 
 Asks not our all, but takes whate'er we spare him, 
 Willing to draw us on from good to better, 
 As we can bear him. 
 
 When he comes near to teach us and to bless us, 
 
 Prayer is so sweet, that hours are but a minute ; 
 Mirth is so pure, though freely it possess us, 
 Sin is not in it. 
 
286 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK 111 
 
 Thus he conducts by holy paths and pleasant, 
 
 Innocent souls, and sinful souls forgiven, 
 Towards the bright palace where our GOD is present, 
 Throned in high heaven. 
 
 CCCLVIII 
 THE CALL OF DAVID 
 
 T ATEST born of Jesse's race, 
 I J Wonder lights thy bashful face, 
 While the Prophet's gifted oil 
 Seals thee for a path of toil. 
 We, thy Angels, circling round thee, 
 Ne'er shall find thee as we found thee, 
 When thy faith first brought us near 
 To quell the lion and the bear. 
 
 Go ! and mid thy flocks awhile 
 At thy doom of greatness smile ; 
 Bold to bear GOD'S heaviest load, 
 Dimly guessing of the road, 
 Rocky road, and scarce ascended, 
 Though thy foot be angel-tended. 
 
 Twofold praise thou shalt attain, 
 In royal court and battle plain ; 
 Then comes heart-ache, care, distress, 
 Blighted hope, and loneliness ; 
 Wounds from friend and gifts from foe, 
 Dizzied faith, and guilt, and woe ; 
 Loftiest aims by earth defiled, 
 Gleams of wisdom sin-beguiled, 
 Sated power's tyrannic mood, 
 Counsels shared with men of blood ; 
 Sad success, parental tears, 
 And a dreary gift of years. 
 
 Strange, that guileless face and form 
 To lavish on the scarring storm ! 
 Yet we take thee in thy blindness, 
 And we buffet thee in kindness; 
 Little chary of thy fame, 
 Dust unborn may bless or blame, 
 But we mould thee for the root 
 Of man's promised healing Fruit, 
 And we mould thee hence to rise, 
 As our brother, to the skies. 
 
)OK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 287 
 
 CCCLIX 
 JAMES AND JOHN 
 
 TWO brothers freely cast their lot 
 With David's royal Son; 
 The cost of conquest counting not, 
 They deem the battle won. 
 
 Brothers in heart, they hope to gain 
 
 An undivided joy ; 
 That man may one with man remain. 
 
 As boy was one with boy. 
 
 CHRIST heard ; and will'd that James should fall, 
 
 First prey of Satan's rage ; 
 John linger out his fellows all, 
 
 And die in bloodless age. 
 
 Now they join hands once more above, 
 Before the Conqueror's throne ; 
 
 Thus GOD grants prayer, but in His love 
 Makes times and ways His own. 
 
 CCCLX 
 FAITH AGAINST SIGHT 
 
 THE world has cycles in its course, when all 
 That once has been, is acted o'er again : 
 Not by some fated law, which need appal 
 
 Our faith, or binds our deeds as with a chain; 
 But by men's separate sins, which, blended still, 
 The same bad round fulfil. 
 
 Then fear ye not, though Gallio's scorn ye see, 
 
 And soft-clad nobles count you mad, true hearts ! 
 These are the fig-tree's signs; rough deeds must be, 
 
 Trials and crimes : so learn ye well your parts. 
 Once more to plough the earth it is decreed, 
 And scatter wide the seed. 
 
 CCCLXI 
 SACRILEGE 
 
 THE Church shone brightly in her youthful days 
 Ere the world on her smiled ; 
 So now, an outcast, she would pour her rays 
 
 Keen, free, and undefiled: 
 
 Yet would I not that arm of force were mine, 
 Which thrusts her from her awful ancient shrine. 
 
288 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK IU 
 
 'Twas duty bound each convert-king to rear 
 
 His Mother from the dust, 
 And pious was it to enrich, nor fear 
 
 CHRIST for the rest to trust; 
 And who shall dare make common or unclean 
 What once has on the Holy Altar been ? 
 
 Dear brothers ! hence, while ye for ill prepare, 
 
 Triumph is still your own ; 
 Blest is a pilgrim Church ! yet shrink to share 
 
 The curse of throwing down. 
 So will we toil in our old place to stand, 
 Watching, not dreading, the despoiler's hand. 
 
 CCCLXII 
 VEXATIONS 
 
 EACH trial has its weight ; which, whoso bears 
 Knows his own woe, and need of succouring grace ; 
 The martyr's hope half wipes away the trace 
 Of flowing blood ; the while life's humblest cares 
 Smart more, because they hold in Holy Writ no place. 
 
 This be my comfort, in these days of grief, 
 
 Which is not CHRIST'S, nor forms heroic tale. 
 Apart from Him, if not a sparrow fail, 
 May not He pitying view, and send relief 
 When foes or friends perplex, and peevish thoughts prevail? 
 
 Then keep good heart, nor take the niggard course 
 
 Of Thomas, who must see ere he would trust. 
 Faith will fill up GOD'S word, not poorly just 
 To the bare letter, heedless of its force, 
 But walking by its light amid Earth's sun and dust. 
 
 CCCLXIII 
 AT MESSINA 
 
 WHY, wedded to the LORD, still yearns my heart 
 Towards these scenes of ancient heathen fame ? 
 Yet legend hoar, and voice of bard that came 
 Fixing my restless youth with its sweet art, 
 
 And shades of power, and those who bore a part 
 In the mad deeds that set the world in flame, 
 So fret my memory here, ah ! is it blame ? 
 That from my eyes the tear is fain to start. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 289 
 
 Nay, from no fount impure these drops arise; 
 
 'Tis but that sympathy with Adam's race 
 
 Which in each brother's history reads its own : 
 
 So let the cliffs and seas of this fair place 
 
 Be named man's tomb and splendid record-stone, 
 
 High hope, pride-stain'd, the course without the prize. 
 
 CCCLXIV . 
 TAORMINI 
 
 SAY, hast thou track'd a traveller's round, 
 Nor visions met thee there, 
 Thou couldst but marvel to have found 
 This blighted world so fair? 
 
 And feel an awe within thee rise, 
 
 That sinful man should see 
 Glories far worthier Seraph's eyes 
 
 Than to be shared by thee 
 
 Store them in heart ! thou shalt not faint 
 
 'Mid coming pains and fears, 
 As the third heaven once nerved a Saint 
 
 For fourteen trial-years. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCLXV 
 THE PA TH OF THE JUST 
 
 WHEN I look back upon my former race, 
 Seasons I see, at which the Inward Ray 
 More brightly burn'd, or guided some new way; 
 Truth, in its wealthier scene and nobler space 
 Given for my eye to range, and feet to trace. 
 And next I mark, 'twas trial did convey, 
 Or grief, or pain, or strange eventful day, 
 To my tormented soul such larger grace. 
 
 So now, whene'er, in journeying on, I feel 
 The shadow of the Providential Hand, 
 
 Deep breathless stirrings shoot across my breast, 
 Searching to know what He will now reveal, 
 What sin uncloak, what stricter rule command, 
 
 And girding me to work His full behest, 
 u 
 
290 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 CCCLXVI 
 THE WRATH TO COME 
 
 WHEN first GOD stirr'd me, and the Church's word 
 Came as a theme of reverent search and fear, 
 It little cost to own the lustre clear 
 O'er rule she taught, and rite, and doctrine, pour M ; 
 
 For conscience craved, and reason did accord. 
 
 Yet one there was that wore a mien austere, 
 And I did doubt, and, troubled, ask'd to hear 
 
 Whose mouth had force to edge so sharp a sword. 
 
 My Mother oped her trust, the holy Book; 
 And heal'd my pang. She pointed, and I found 
 CHRIST on Himself, considerate Master, took 
 The utterance of that doctrine's fearful sound. 
 The Fount of Love His servants sends to tell 
 Love's deeds ; Himself reveals the sinner's hell. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCLXVII 
 FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT 
 
 PRUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control 
 That o'er thee swell and throng; 
 They will condense within thy soul, 
 And change to purpose strong. 
 
 But he who lets his feelings run 
 
 In soft luxurious flow, 
 Shrinks when hard service must be done, 
 
 And faints at every woe. 
 
 Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, 
 Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, 
 
 Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, 
 Which bloom their hour and fade. 
 
 CCCLXVIII 
 THE TWO WORLDS 
 
 UNVEIL, O LORD, and on us shine 
 In glory and in grace ; 
 This gaudy world grows pale before 
 The beauty of Thy face. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 291 
 
 Till Thou art seen, it seems to be 
 
 A sort of fairy ground, 
 Where suns unsetting light the sky, 
 
 And flowers and fruits abound. 
 
 But when Thy keener, purer beam 
 
 Is pour'd upon our sight, 
 It loses all its power to charm, 
 
 And what was day is night; 
 
 Its noblest toils are then the scourge 
 Which made Thy blood to flow; 
 
 Its joys are but the treacherous thorns 
 Which circled round Thy brow. 
 
 And thus, when we renounce for Thee 
 
 Its restless aims and fears, 
 The tender memories of the past, 
 
 The hopes of coming years, 
 
 Poor is our sacrifice, whose eyes 
 
 Are lighted from above; 
 W^e offer what we cannot keep, 
 
 What we have ceased to love. 
 
 CCCLXIX 
 
 ZEAL AND PATIENCE 
 ST. PAUL IN PRISON 
 
 COMRADE bold, of toil and pain ! 
 ^ Thy trial how severe, 
 hen sever'd first by prisoner's chain 
 From thy loved labour-sphere ! 
 
 Say, did impatience first impel 
 The heaven-sent bond to break? 
 
 Or, couldst thou bear its hindrance well, 
 Loitering for JESU'S sake? 
 
 O might we know! for sore we feel 
 
 The languor of delay, 
 When sickness lets our fainter zeal, 
 
 Or foes block up our way. 
 
 LORD ! Who Thy thousand years dost wait 
 
 To work the thousandth part 
 Of Thy vast plan, for us create 
 
 With zeal, a patient heart. 
 u a 
 
29 2 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK II 
 
 CCCLXX 
 TEMPTA TION 
 
 OHOLY LORD, who with the Children Three 
 Didst walk the piercing flame, 
 Help, in those trial-hours, which, save to Thee, 
 
 I dare not name; 
 
 Nor let these quivering eyes and sickening heart 
 Crumble to dust beneath the Tempter's dart. 
 
 Thou, who didst once Thy life from Mary's breast 
 
 Renew from day to day, 
 O might her smile, severely sweet, but rest 
 
 On this frail clay ! 
 
 Till I am Thine with my whole soul ; and fear, 
 Not feel a secret joy, that Hell is near. 
 
 CCCLXXI 
 SENSITIVENESS 
 
 TIME was, I shrank from what was right 
 From fear of what was wrong ; 
 I would not brave the sacred fight, 
 Because the foe was strong. 
 
 But now I cast that finer sense 
 
 And sorer shame aside; 
 Such dread of sin was indolence, 
 
 Such aim at Heaven was pride. 
 
 So, when my Saviour calls, I rise 
 
 And calmly do my best ; 
 Leaving to Him, with silent eyes 
 
 Of hope and fear, the rest. 
 
 I step, I mount where He has led ; 
 
 Men count my haltings o'er; 
 I know them ; yet, though self I dread, 
 
 I love His precept more. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 293 
 
 CCCLXXII 
 THE ELEMENTS 
 A TRAGIC CHORUS 
 
 M' 
 
 [AN is permitted much 
 
 To scan and learn 
 In Nature's frame; 
 Till he well-nigh can tame 
 Brute mischiefs, and can touch 
 Invisible things, and turn 
 All warring ills to purposes of good. 
 Thus, as a god below, 
 
 He can control, 
 
 And harmonize, what seems amiss to flow 
 As sever' d from the whole 
 And dimly understood. 
 
 But o'er the elements 
 
 One Hand alone 
 
 One Hand has sway. 
 What influence day by day 
 In straiter belt prevents 
 The impious Ocean, thrown 
 Alternate o'er the ever-sounding shore? 
 Or who has eye to trace 
 
 How the Plague came? 
 
 Forerun the doublings of the Tempest's race ? 
 Or the Air's weight and flame 
 On a set scale explore? 
 
 Thus GOD has will'd 
 That man, when fully skill' d, 
 Still gropes in twilight dim ; 
 Encompass'd all his hours 
 
 By fearfullest powers 
 
 Inflexible to him. 
 That so he may discern 
 
 His feebleness, 
 And e'en for earth's success 
 To Him in wisdom turn, 
 
 Who holds for us the keys of either home, 
 Earth and the world to come. 
 
 See Note 
 
*94 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 CCCLXXIII 
 THE GUARDIAN ANGEL 
 
 OLORD, how wonderful in depth and height, 
 But most in man, how wonderful Thou art! 
 With what a love, what soft persuasive might 
 
 Victorious o'er the stubborn fleshly heart, 
 Thy tale complete of saints Thou dost provide, 
 To fill the throne which Angels lost through pride ! 
 
 O man, strange composite of heaven and earth! 
 
 Majesty dwarf d to baseness ! fragrant flower 
 Running to poisonous seed ! and seeming worth 
 
 Cloking corruption ! weakness mastering power ! 
 Who never art so near to crime and shame, 
 As when thou hast achieved some deed of name ; 
 
 How should ethereal natures comprehend 
 
 A thing made up of spirit and of clay, 
 Were we not task'd to nurse it and to tend, 
 
 Link'd one to one throughout its mortal day? 
 More than the Seraph in his height of place, 
 The Angel-guardian knows and loves the ransom'd race. 
 
 CCCLXXIV 
 CONSOLATIONS IN BEREAVEMENT 
 
 DEATH was full urgent with thee, Sister dear, 
 And startling in his speed ; 
 
 Brief pain, then languor till thy end came near 
 Such was the path decreed, 
 
 The hurried road 
 To lead thy soul from earth to thine own GOD'S abode. 
 
 Death wrought with thee, sweet maid, impatiently : 
 
 Yet merciful the haste 
 
 That baffles sickness ; dearest, thou didst die, 
 Thou wast not made to taste 
 
 Death's bitterness, 
 Decline's slow-wasting charm, or fever's fierce distress. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 195 
 
 Death came unheralded : but it was well ; 
 
 For so thy Saviour bore 
 
 Kind witness, thou wast meet at once to dwell 
 On His eternal shore; 
 
 All warning spared, 
 For none He gives where hearts are for prompt change prepared. 
 
 Death wrought in mystery; both complaint and cure 
 
 To human skill unknown : 
 GOD put aside all means, to make us sure 
 It was His deed alone; 
 Lest we should lay 
 Reproach on our poor selves, that thou wast caught away. 
 
 Death urged as scant of time : lest, Sister dear, 
 
 We many a lingering day 
 Had sicken'd with alternate hope and fear, 
 The ague of delay ; 
 
 Watching each spark 
 Of promise quench'd in turn, till all our sky was dark. 
 
 Death came and went : that so thy image might 
 
 Our yearning hearts possess, 
 Associate with all pleasant thoughts and bright, 
 With youth and loveliness; 
 
 Sorrow can claim, 
 Mary, nor lot nor part in thy soft soothing name. 
 
 Joy of sad hearts, and light of downcast eyes ! 
 
 Dearest, thou art enshrined 
 In all thy fragrance in our memories; 
 For we must ever find 
 
 Bare thought of thee 
 Freshen this weary life, while weary life shall be. 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCLXXV 
 A VOICE FROM AFAR 
 
 WEEP not for me ; 
 Be blithe as wont, nor tinge with gloom 
 The stream of love that circles home, 
 
 Light hearts and free ! 
 
 Joy in the gifts Heaven's bounty lends ; 
 
 Nor miss my face, dear friends! 
 
296 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 I still am near; 
 
 Watching the smiles I prized on earth, 
 Your converse mild, your blameless mirth; 
 
 Now too I hear 
 
 Of whisper* d sounds the tale complete, 
 Low prayers, and musings sweet. 
 
 A sea before 
 
 The Throne is spread; its pure still glass 
 Pictures all earth-scenes as they pass. 
 
 We, on its shore, 
 Share, in the bosom of our rest, 
 
 GOD'S knowledge, and are blest. 
 
 CCCLXXVI 
 A MARTYR -CONVERT 
 
 THE number of Thine own complete, 
 Sum up and make an end ; 
 Sift clean the chaff, and house the wheat ; 
 And then, O LORD, descend. 
 
 Descend, and solve by that descent 
 
 This mystery of life ; 
 Where good and ill, together blent, 
 
 Wage an undying strife. 
 
 For rivers twain are gushing still, 
 
 And pour a mingled flood ; 
 Good in the very depths of ill, 
 
 111 in the heart of good. 
 
 The last are first, the first are last, 
 
 As angel eyes behold; 
 These from the sheep-cote sternly cast, 
 
 Those welcomed to the fold. 
 
 No Christian home, no pastor's eye, 
 
 No preacher's vocal zeal, 
 Moved Thy dear Martyr to defy 
 
 The prison and the wheel. 
 
 Forth from the heathen ranks she stept, 
 
 The forfeit crown to claim 
 Of Christian souls who had not kept 
 
 Their birthright and their name. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 297 
 
 Grace form'd her out of sinful dust ; 
 
 She knelt a soul defiled, 
 She rose in all the faith, and trust, 
 
 And sweetness of a child. 
 
 And in the freshness of that love 
 
 She preach' d, by word and deed, 
 The mysteries of the world above, 
 
 Her new-found, glorious creed. 
 
 And running, in a little hour, 
 
 Of life the course complete, 
 She reach'd the Throne of endless power, 
 
 And sits at JESU'S feet. 
 
 CCCLXXVII 
 HORA NOVISSIMA 
 
 Vy/HENE'ER goes forth Thy dread command, 
 \\f And my last hour is nigh, 
 LORD, grant me in a Christian land, 
 As I was born, to die. 
 
 I pray not, LORD, that friends may be, 
 
 Or kindred, standing by, 
 Choice blessing ! which I leave to Thee 
 
 To grant me or deny. 
 
 But let my failing limbs beneath 
 
 My Mother's smile recline ; 
 And prayers sustain my labouring breath 
 
 From out her sacred shrine. 
 
 And let the Cross beside my bed 
 
 In its due emblems rest; 
 And let the absolving words be said, 
 
 To ease a laden breast. 
 
 Thou, LORD, where'er we lie, canst aid; 
 
 But He, who taught His own 
 To live as one, will not upbraid 
 
 The dread to die alone. 
 
JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 CCCLXXVIII 
 A SOUL'S CRY 
 
 TAKE me away, and in the lowest deep 
 There let me be, 
 And there in hope the lone night-watches keep, 
 
 Told out for me. 
 There, motionless and happy in my pain, 
 
 Lone, not forlorn, 
 There will I sing my sad perpetual strain, 
 
 Until the morn. 
 There will I sing, and soothe my stricken breast, 
 
 Which ne'er can cease 
 To throb, and pine, and languish, till possest 
 
 Of its Sole Peace. 
 There will I sing my absent LORD and Love : 
 
 Take me away, 
 
 That sooner I may rise, and go above, 
 And see Him in the truth of everlasting day. 
 
 CCCLXXIX 
 
 PRAISE to the Holiest in the height, 
 And in the depth be praise : 
 In all His words most wonderful; 
 Most sure in all His ways ! 
 
 Woe to thee, man ! for he was found 
 
 A recreant in the fight; 
 And lost his heritage of heaven, 
 
 And fellowship with light. 
 
 Above him now the angry sky, 
 
 Around the tempest's din; 
 Who once had Angels for his friends, 
 
 Had but the brutes for kin. 
 
 O man ! a savage kindred they ; 
 
 To flee that monster brood 
 He scaled the seaside cave, and clomb 
 
 The giants of the wood. 
 
 With now a fear, and now a hope, 
 With aids which chance supplied, 
 
 From youth to eld, from sire to son, 
 He lived, and toil'd, and died. 
 
BOOK III JOHN HENRY NEWMAN 299 
 
 He dreed his penance age by age ; 
 
 And step by step began 
 Slowly to doff his savage garb, 
 
 And be again a man. 
 
 And quicken'd by the Almighty's breath 
 
 And chasten'd by His rod, 
 And taught by angel-visitings, i 
 
 At length he sought his GOD; 
 
 And learn'd to call upon His Name, 
 
 And in His faith create 
 A household and a father-land, 
 
 A city and a state. 
 
 Glory to Him who from the mire, 
 
 In patient length of days, 
 Elaborated into life 
 
 A people to His praise ! 
 
 CCCLXXX 
 
 PRAISE to the Holiest in the height, 
 And in the depth be praise : 
 In all His words most wonderful; 
 Most sure in all His ways ! 
 
 O loving wisdom of our GOD ! 
 
 When all was sin and shame, 
 A second Adam to the fight 
 
 And to the rescue came. 
 
 O wisest love ! that flesh and blood 
 
 Which did in Adam fail, 
 Should strive afresh against their foe, 
 
 Should strive and should prevail ; 
 
 And that a higher gift than grace 
 Should flesh and blood refine, 
 
 GOD'S Presence and His very Self, 
 And Essence all-divine. 
 
 O generous love ! that He who smote 
 
 In man for man the foe, 
 The double agony in man 
 
 For man should undergo ; 
 
 And in the garden secretly, 
 
 And on the cross on high, 
 Should teach His brethren and inspire 
 
 To suffer and to die. 
 
30 JOHN HENRY NEWMAN BOOK III 
 
 CCCLXXXI 
 A MORNING PRAYER 
 
 I RISE and raise my clasped hands to Thee ! 
 Henceforth, the darkness hath no part in me, 
 
 Thy sacrifice this day; 
 Abiding firm, and with a freeman's might 
 Stemming the waves of passion in the fight ; 
 
 Ah, should I from Thee stray, 
 My hoary head, Thy table where I bow, 
 Will be my shame, which are mine honour now. 
 Thus I set out ; LORD ! lead me on my way ! 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCLXXXII 
 AN EVENING CONFESSION 
 
 O HOLIEST Truth ! how have I lied to Thee ! 
 I vow'd this day Thy sacrifice to be ; 
 
 But I am dim ere night. 
 Surely I made my prayer, and I did deem 
 That I could keep in me Thy morning beam, 
 
 Immaculate and bright. 
 
 But my foot slipp'd ; and, as I lay, he came, 
 My gloomy foe, and robb'd me of heaven's flame. 
 Help Thou my darkness, LORD, till I am light. 
 
 CCCLXXXIII 
 THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD 
 
 LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, 
 Lead Thou me on ! 
 The night is dark, and I am far from home 
 
 Lead Thou me on ! 
 
 Keep Thou my feet ; I do not ask to see 
 The distant scene, one step enough for me. 
 
 I was not ever thus, nor pray'd that Thou 
 
 Shouldst lead me on. 
 I loved to choose and see my path; but now 
 
 Lead Thou me on ! 
 
 I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears, 
 Pride ruled my will: remember not past years. 
 
BOOK III C. C. FRASER-TYTLER 3 O1 
 
 So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still 
 
 Will lead me on, 
 O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till 
 
 The night is gone; 
 
 And with the morn those angel faces smile 
 Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 
 
 CCCLXXXIV 
 
 FOR TIRED WORKERS 
 
 WE look around, the murky sky is still; 
 No answering sunbeam pierces. Clouds lie curl'd 
 Upon the dull horizon. Dark is His will 
 Who yet hath made us, and His ensigns furl'd. 
 
 Ah, if His speaking thunders were but hurl'd 
 Adown the sullen silence ! but we stand, 
 Holding our puny thread with faithless hand 
 Pull'd from the grand disorder of the world. 
 
 What use, what use to hold so small a thing, 
 Loosed from the tangled web of giant wrong? 
 Let purpose perish and dear hope take wing ! 
 So cry we. But the angels say, ' Be strong ! 
 None other threads than these go weave the hem 
 Of GOD'S own garment ; so He treasures them ! ' 
 
 C C. Fraser-Tytler 
 
 CCCLXXXV 
 
 AN INTERCESSION 
 
 WHY they have never known the way before 
 Why hundreds stand outside Thy mercy's door 
 I know not : but I ask, dear LORD, that Thou 
 Wouldst lead them now ! 
 
 Why in the hard and thorny way they press 
 Unloved, uncomforted, with none to bless, 
 In living death, I know not : but spare Thou, 
 And lead them now ! 
 
 Saviour, be pitiful : their hell is here ; 
 Dull parched sorrow that can shed no tear 
 Is theirs. They need indeed no further loss, 
 They bear their cross ! 
 
C C. FRASER-TYTLER BOOK III 
 
 Eternal death to live away from Thee, 
 Eternal loss apart from Thee to be : 
 Eternal gain to have in Thee some part 
 To know Thou art ! 
 
 Dawn for us here, thou bright undying day; 
 So in no dark and sudden-ending way 
 Life's timorous steps shall falter, but straight on 
 Where CHRIST is gone : 
 
 To wake and know the new life throbbing, find 
 Doubt and disquietude are left behind, 
 Eyes open'd, ears attuned to heavenly sound, 
 Is Heaven found. 
 
 CCCLXXXVI 
 CROSSING THE RIVER 
 
 IN some lone walk through sunburnt fields, 
 By sandy path and dusty road, 
 Hast thou not cast thine e3^es abroad, 
 Seen afar off a water'd scene, 
 A grove of deep and tender green, 
 And found a river flows between ? 
 
 There is a stream whose waves divide 
 Life from the shady shores beyond ; 
 And we on this sad side are found, 
 Toiling on sandy flats, I ween, 
 Sighs our one moisture, tears our sheen, 
 While the still river flows between. 
 
 And yet, when our beloved rise 
 To gird them for the ford, and pass 
 From wilderness to springing grass, 
 From barren waste to living green, 
 We weep that they no more are seen, 
 And that the river flows between. 
 
 Ah, could we follow where they go 
 And pierce the holy shade they find, 
 One grief were ours to stay behind ! 
 One hope to join the Blest Unseen, 
 To plant our steps where theirs have been, 
 And find no river flows between ! 
 
BOOK III C. C. FRASER-TYTLER 33 
 
 CCCLXXXVII 
 
 THE night is come, and all the world is still. 
 Men say it is a time for sleep and dreams; 
 But now she throws no pall upon the space 
 That spreads above me, like the God-like face 
 Of Him Who looms behind it all. Meseems 
 This is the hour for man to bend the knee 
 Of the full soul to the Divinity. 
 
 Above, below, on every side there hang 
 
 These circling orbs. And out of keenest sight 
 A myriad more pursue their pathless way 
 Unerring, through the awful space, where day 
 
 Is not, but an unending fearful night 
 Shrouds the immensity. My GOD ! the soul 
 Of man should faint could he but see the whole ! 
 
 Sublimest silence. Yet 'tis broke, for near 
 Some sparrow stirs the ivy on the wall, 
 Cailing me back to take account of this 
 We little folk call * life ' : to ask if bliss 
 
 For us or sparrow be not all too small 
 For Him to take account of, where He stands 
 Holding the boundless heavens in His hands? 
 
 Only, for Thee is neither great nor small ! 
 
 'Tis human weakness but to count Thee so 
 As I, poor mortal, find myself: the slave 
 Of Time, himself but hastening to the grave. 
 
 And Thou canst teach the tender blade to grow 
 On this small world, and with an equal might 
 Guide the low sweeping of the swallow's flight, 
 
 Or hurl new systems from Thee. Thou art great, 
 
 But smallness is a word of human ken ! 
 Trembling, my soul remembers this, and dares 
 To breathe into the universe its prayers. 
 
 For Thou art in the night, Thou Sun! and when 
 We dwell in darkness of the mind, 'tis we 
 That turn our faces from Thy radiancy. 
 
 Seeing Thee there, I cannot lose the way 
 Even in trackless places, where the soul 
 
 Shivers to feel itself imprison'd here 
 
 In the least part of some least rolling sphere. 
 Whither we rush 1 , we know not; but the goal 
 
 To Thee is known. Hold Thou me up, as Thou 
 
 Holdest the universe above me now! 
 
304 JOHN SHARP BOOK III 
 
 Yet nearer. Come Thou nearer than to them ! 
 
 Blindly they follow Thy behest, but I 
 Yearn for Thee strongly through my fleshly frame. 
 And so, encompass'd with our flesh, He came, 
 
 Thy Son, Thyself to make less far and high 
 The distant Godhead. Now Thy heavens declare 
 No far Creator, but a Father there ! 
 
 1 See Note 
 
 CCCLXXXVIII 
 
 LORD, I have wrestled through the livelong night ; 
 Do not depart, 
 Nor leave me thus in sad and weary plight, 
 
 Broken in heart ; 
 
 Where shall I turn, if Thou shouldst go away, 
 And leave me here in this cold world to stay? 
 
 I have no other help, no food, no light, 
 
 No hand to guide ; 
 The night is dark, my Home is not in sight, 
 
 The path untried; 
 
 I dare not venture in the dark alone, 
 I cannot find my way, if Thou be gone. 
 
 I cannot yet discern Thee as Thou art ; 
 
 More let me see; 
 I cannot bear the thought that I must part 
 
 Away from Thee : 
 
 I will not let Thee go, except Thou bless ; 
 Oh ! help me, LORD, in all my helplessness ! 
 
 /. Sharp 
 CCCLXXXIX 
 THE PASSION 
 
 LORD, when I lift mine eyes to Thee, 
 And see Thy bitter woe, 
 I ask, Why should the Holy One 
 Such sorrows undergo ? 
 
 LORD, who are they that thus inflict 
 
 Those oft-repeated blows 
 Upon Thy virgin Form, that still 
 
 No human sin-stain knows? 
 
BOOK III JOHN SHARP 305 
 
 Who are the foes that drag Thee on 
 
 To undeserved woe, 
 That will not, or for shame, or fear, 
 
 One vengeance-stroke forego ? 
 
 The first of all, Thy boundless Love, 
 
 That could not rest within 
 While man remain'd apart from GOD; 
 
 The next, my own deep sin. 
 
 These two, dear LORD, have drawn Thee on 
 
 Through all Thou didst endure ; 
 Let not Thy Love be spent in vain, 
 
 The curse of sin to cure. 
 
 Oh ! never let me wound again 
 
 The Love that set me free ; 
 Nor ever crucify afresh 
 
 The GOD Who died for me ! 
 
 cccxc 
 
 LIGHT IN THE WOOD 
 
 WHAT is it that amid some earthly home, 
 Where all have equal nurture, and the care 
 Of loving hearts forbids all harm to come 
 
 Within the limits of its sacred lair, 
 Makes difference in those who dwell therein ; 
 Some unrefined by grace, while others brightness win? 
 
 All seem alike within the sacred bound, 
 
 And freely blend throughout the livelong day ; 
 
 But ever and anon some traits are found 
 In one or other, which define the way 
 
 Of closer walk with GOD well sought and found, 
 
 While others linger more on lower earthly ground. 
 
 As 'mid the thickness of some leafy w r ood 
 
 The sunbeams find a passage here and there, 
 
 And light some spot which erst in shadow stood, 
 Making each leaflet look more bright and fair, 
 
 While other patches, that lie round it, miss 
 
 The ray of radiant Light that fills itself with bliss, 
 
 So is it in the tangled wood of life : 
 
 Some souls there are that keep the open way, 
 
 Free from the boughs of earthly hindrance, rife 
 For every advent of the Heavenly ray ; 
 
 Ready to catch it as in love it comes 
 
 To seek the loving souls that are its willing homes, 
 x 
 
JOHN SHARP BOOK III 
 
 And as it shines it points them out to view 
 
 As diverse from the rest, then flits away, 
 And leaves them each their duties to pursue, 
 
 Like other men, in common light of day; 
 Lest they should think themselves so much GOD'S choice 
 That they have only need to linger and rejoice. 
 
 Force not thy upward growth, but .first of all 
 Deepen thy roots, then may'st thou well sustain 
 
 The rays of sunlight that upon thee fall, 
 
 And, without withering, all thy strength retain. 
 
 Plants that have little else but leaf and flower, 
 
 However bright their hue, live but their little hour. 
 
 CCCXCI 
 YOUTH'S BRIGHTNESS GONE 
 
 THE flash of youthful light is past and gone ; 
 Not as of yore 
 Earth's joys abound ; but I am left alone 
 
 Still more and more, 
 As one by one the little sparks go out 
 From this world's stubble, that lies round about. 
 
 One hope remains, and that, as others fade, 
 
 Grows brighter still 
 As shadows lengthen o'er this earthly glade, 
 
 And up the hill 
 
 We higher mount towards the final Home, 
 To which in GOD'S good time we hope to come. 
 
 And even here, where darkness gathers round, 
 
 All is not dark, 
 There is, 'midst all, one spot of holy ground 
 
 Which bears Heaven's mark 
 The Place which GOD has chosen for His own, 
 That He may come and make His Presence known. 
 
 To that I cling the more as eventide 
 
 Creeps on and on, 
 Scattering its sable shadows far and wide, 
 
 And, one by one, 
 
 Bidding the weary lay them down to rest, 
 In trust and love upon their FATHER'S Breast. 
 
BOOK III HORATIUS BONAR 307 
 
 CCCXCII 
 
 LIGHT of the lonely pilgrim's heart, 
 Star of the coming day ! 
 Arise, and "with Thy morning beams 
 Chase all our griefs away! 
 
 Come, blessed Lord ! let every shore 
 
 And answering island sing 
 The praises of Thy royal name, 
 
 And own Thee as their King. 
 
 Bid the whole earth, responsive now 
 
 To the bright world above, 
 Break forth in sweetest strains of joy 
 
 In memory of Thy love. 
 
 JESUS ! Thy fair creation groans, 
 
 The air, the earth, the sea, 
 In unison with all our hearts, 
 
 And calls aloud for Thee. 
 
 Thine was the Cross, with all its fruits 
 
 Of grace and peace divine : 
 Be Thine the Crown of glory now, 
 
 The palm of Victory, Thine ! 
 
 E. Denny 
 
 CCCXCIII 
 
 THY way, not mine, O LORD, 
 However dark it be ! 
 Lead me by Thine own hand, 
 Choose out the path for me. 
 
 Smooth let it be or rough, 
 
 It will be still the best; 
 Winding or straight, it leads 
 
 Right onward to Thy rest. 
 
 I dare not choose my lot; 
 
 I would not, if I might; 
 Choose Thou for me, my GOD; 
 
 So shall I walk aright. 
 
 The kingdom that I seek 
 
 Is Thine ; so let the way 
 That leads to it be Thine ; 
 
 Else I must surely stray, 
 x 2 
 
H OR AT I US BONAR BOOK III 
 
 Take Thou my cup, and it 
 
 With joy or sorrow fill, 
 As best to Thee may seem ; 
 
 Choose Thou my good and ill; 
 
 Choose Thou for me my friends, 
 
 My sickness or my health ; 
 Choose Thou my cares for me, 
 
 My poverty or wealth. 
 
 Not mine, not mine the choice, 
 
 In things or great or small ; 
 Be Thou my guide, my strength, 
 
 My wisdom, and my all ! 
 
 H. Bonar 
 
 CCCXCIV 
 
 I HEARD the voice of JESUS say, 
 Come unto Me and rest ; 
 Lay down, thou weary one, lay down 
 
 Thy head upon My breast. 
 I came to JESUS as I was, 
 
 Weary and worn and sad, 
 
 I found in Him a resting-place, 
 
 And He has made me glad. 
 
 I heard the voice of JESUS say, 
 
 I am this dark world's light, 
 Look unto Me, thy morn shall rise, 
 
 And all thy day be bright. 
 I look'd to JESUS, and I found 
 
 In Him my Star, my Sun ; 
 And in that light of life I '11 walk, 
 
 Till travelling days are done. 
 
 I heard the voice of JESUS say, 
 
 Behold, I freely give 
 The living water, thirsty one, 
 
 Stoop down and drink and live. 
 I came to JESUS, and I drank 
 
 Of that life-giving stream, 
 My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived, 
 
 And now I live in Him. 
 
BOOK III ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY 
 
 cccxcv 
 
 HE is gone beyond the skies, 
 A cloud receives Him from our eyes; 
 Gone beyond the highest height 
 Of mortal gaze or angel's flight; 
 Through the veils of Time and Space, 
 Pass'd into the Holiest Place; 
 All the toil, the sorrow done, 
 All the battle fought and won. 
 
 He is gone and we return, 
 And our hearts within us burn; 
 Olivet no more shall greet 
 With welcome shout His coming feet ; 
 Never shall we track Him more 
 On Gennesareth's glistening shore; 
 Never in that look or voice 
 Shall Zion's hill again rejoice. 
 
 He is gone and we remain 
 In this world of sin and pain ; 
 In the void which He has left, 
 On this earth of Him bereft, 
 We have still His work to do, 
 We can still His path pursue ; 
 Seek Him both in friend and foe, 
 In ourselves His image show. 
 
 He is gone we heard Him say, 
 * Good that I should go away.' 
 Gone is that dear Form and Face, 
 But not gone His present grace; 
 Though Himself no more we see, 
 Comfortless we cannot be : 
 No, His Spirit still is ours, 
 Quickening, freshening all our powers. 
 
 He is gone towards their goal, 
 World and Church must onwards roll : 
 Far behind we leave the past; 
 Forwards are our glances cast : 
 Still His words before us range 
 Through the ages, as they change : 
 Wheresoe'er the Truth shall lead, 
 He will give whate'er we need. 
 
3 10 ARTHUR PENRHYN STANLEY BOOK III 
 
 He is gone but we once more 
 Shall behold Him as before ; 
 In the Heaven of Heavens the same, 
 As on earth He went and came. 
 In the many mansions there, 
 Place for us will He prepare : 
 In that world, unseen, unknown, 
 He and we may yet be one. 
 
 A. P. Stanley 
 
 CCCXCVI 
 HOLD NOT THY PEACE AT MY TEARS 
 
 WHAT is the saddest sweetest lowest sound 
 Nearest akin to perfect silence? Not 
 The delicate whisper sometimes in the hot 
 
 Autumnal morning heard the cornfields round ; 
 
 Nor yet to lonely man, now almost bound 
 
 By slumber, near his house a murmuring river 
 Buzzing and droning o'er the stones for ever. 
 
 Not such faint voice of Autumn oat-encrown'd, 
 
 And not such liquid murmur, O my heart ! 
 
 But tears that drop o'er graves, and sins, and fears, 
 A sound the very weeper scarcely hears, 
 
 A music in which silence hath some part. 
 
 O Thou, all gentle, Who all-hearing art, 
 
 PI old not Thy peace, sweet Saviour, at my tears ! 
 
 W. Alexander 
 
 cccxcvn 
 
 ' I "HE golden gates are lifted up, 
 X The doors are open'd wide ; 
 The King of Glory is gone in 
 Unto His FATHER'S side. 
 
 Thou art gone up before us, LORD, 
 
 To make for us a place, 
 That we may be where now Thou art, 
 
 And look upon GOD'S Face. 
 
 And ever on our earthly path 
 
 A gleam of glory lies ; 
 A light still breaks behind the cloud 
 
 That veil'd Thee from our eyes. 
 
BOOK III JOHN ELLERTON 3" 
 
 Lift up our hearts, lift up our minds, 
 
 Let Thy dear grace be given, 
 That, while we wander here below, 
 
 Our treasure be in Heaven : 
 
 That, where Thou art, at GOD'S right hand, 
 
 Our hope, our love, may be : 
 Dwell Thou in us, that we may dwell 
 
 For evermore in Thee. 
 
 C. F. Alexander 
 
 CCCXCVIII 
 
 HARK, the sound of holy voices, chanting at the crystal sea, 
 Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! Hallelujah ! LORD, to Thee. 
 Multitude, which none can number, like the stars in glory stand, 
 Clothed in white apparel, holding palms of Victory in their hand. 
 
 They have come from tribulation, and have wash'd their robes 
 
 in Blood, 
 Wash'd them in the Blood of JESUS ; tried they were, and firm 
 
 they stood : 
 Gladly, LORD, with Thee they suffer'd ; gladly, LORD, with Thee 
 
 they died, 
 And by Death to Life immortal they were born and glorified. 
 
 Now they reign in heavenly glory, now they walk with 
 
 golden light, 
 
 Now they drink as from a river, holy bliss and infinite ; 
 Love and Peace they taste for ever ; and all Truth and Knowledge 
 
 see 
 In the beatific vision of the Blessed Trinity. 
 
 GOD of GOD, the One-begotten, Light of Light, Emmanuel, 
 In Whose Body join'd together all the Saints for ever dwell, 
 Pour upon us of Thy fulness, that we may for evermore 
 GOD the Father, GOD the Son, and GOD the Holy Ghost adore. 
 
 C. Wordsworth 
 
 CCCXCIX 
 
 GOD of the living, in Whose eyes 
 Unveil'd Thy whole creation lies; 
 All souls are Thine ; we must not say 
 That those are dead who pass away ; 
 From this our world of flesh set free, 
 We know them living unto Thee. 
 
312 JOHN ELLERTON BOOK III 
 
 Released from earthly toil and strife, 
 
 With Thee is hidden still their life; 
 
 Thine are their thoughts, their works, their powers, 
 
 All Thine, and yet most truly ours ; 
 
 For well we know, where'er they be, 
 
 Our dead are living unto Thee. 
 
 Not spilt like water on the ground, 
 Not wrapp'd in dreamless sleep profound, 
 Not wandering in unknown despair 
 Beyond Thy voice, Thine arm, Thy care ; 
 Not left to lie like fallen tree; 
 Not dead, but living unto Thee. 
 
 Thy word is true, Thy will is just ; 
 
 To Thee we leave them, LORD, in trust; 
 
 And bless Thee for the love which gave 
 
 Thy Son to fill a human grave, 
 
 That none might fear that world to see, 
 
 Where all are living unto Thee. 
 
 /. Ellerton 
 
 CCCC 
 
 GO not far from me, O my Strength, 
 Whom all my times obey; 
 Take from me anything Thou wilt, 
 
 But go not Thou away; 
 And let the storm that does Thy work 
 Deal with me as it may. 
 
 On Thy compassion I repose, 
 
 In weakness and distress ; 
 I will not ask for greater ease, 
 
 Lest I should love Thee less; 
 O 'tis a blessed thing for me 
 
 To need Thy tenderness ! 
 
 There is no death for me to fear, 
 For CHRIST, my LORD, hath died ; 
 
 There is no curse in this my pain, 
 For He was crucified; 
 
 And it is fellowship with Him 
 That keeps me near His side. 
 
 A. L. Waring 
 
BOOK III FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER 313 
 
 CCCCI 
 THE CRY OF THE LOST ANSWERED 
 
 was the Shepherd of the flock; He knew 
 J[ The distant voice of one poor sheep astray ; 
 It had forsaken Him, but He was true, 
 
 And listened for its bleating night and day. 
 Lost in a pitfall, yet alive it lay, 
 
 To breathe the faint sad call that He would know; 
 But now the slighted fold was far away, 
 
 And no approaching footstep soothed its woe. 
 
 A thing of life and nurture from above 
 
 Sunk under earth where all was cold and dim, 
 With nothing in it to console His love, 
 
 Only the miserable cry for Him. 
 His was the wounded heart, the bleeding limb 
 
 That safe and sound He would have joy'd to keep ; 
 And still, amidst the flock at home with Him, 
 
 He was the Shepherd of that one lost sheep. 
 
 Oh ! would He now but come and claim His own, 
 
 How more than precious His restoring care ! 
 How sweet the pasture of His choice alone, 
 
 How bright the dullest path if He were there ! 
 How well the pain of rescue it could bear, 
 
 Held in the shelter of His strong embrace ! 
 With Him it would find herbage anywhere, 
 
 And springs of endless life in every place. 
 
 And so He came and raised it from the clay, 
 
 While evil beasts went disappointed by. 
 He bore it home along the fearful way 
 
 In the soft light of His rejoicing eye. 
 And thou fallen soul, afraid to live or die 
 
 In the deep pit that will not set thee free, 
 Lift up to Him the helpless homeward cry, 
 
 For all that tender love is seeking thee. 
 
 CCCCII 
 THE PAIN OF LOVE 
 
 TESUS! why dost Thou love me so? 
 J What hast Thou seen in me 
 To make my happiness so great, 
 So dear a joy to Thee ? 
 
3 J 4 FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER BOOK III 
 
 Wert Thou not GOD, I then might think 
 
 Thou hadst no eye to read 
 The badness of that selfish heart, 
 
 For which Thine own did bleed. 
 
 But Thou art GOD, and knowest all ; 
 
 Dear LORD ! Thou knowest me ; 
 And yet Thy knowledge hinders not 
 
 Thy love's sweet liberty. 
 
 Ah, how Thy grace hath woo'd my soul 
 
 With persevering wiles ! 
 Now give me tears to weep ; for tears 
 
 Are deeper joy than smiles. 
 
 Each proof renew'd of Thy great love 
 
 Humbles me more and more, 
 And brings to light forgotten sins, 
 
 And lays them at my door. 
 
 The more I love Thee, LORD ! the more 
 
 I hate my own cold heart ; 
 The more Thou woundest me with love, 
 
 The more I feel the smart. 
 
 What shall I do, then, dearest LORD ! 
 
 Say, shall I fly from Thee, 
 And hide my poor unloving self 
 
 Where Thou canst never see ? 
 
 Or shall I pray that Thy dear love 
 
 To me might not be given ? 
 Ah no ! love must be pain on earth, 
 
 If it be bliss in Heaven. 
 
 F. W. Fabcr 
 
 CCCCIII 
 SELF-LOVE 
 
 OH I could go through all life's troubles singing. 
 Turning earth's night to day, 
 If self were not so fast around me, clinging 
 To all I do or say. 
 
 My very thoughts are selfish, always building 
 
 Mean castles in the air ; 
 I use my love of others for a gilding 
 
 To make myself look fair. 
 
BOOK III FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER 3 T 5 
 
 I fancy all the world engross'd with judging 
 
 My merit or my blame ; 
 Its warmest praise seems an ungracious grudging 
 
 Of praise which I might claim. 
 
 In youth or age, by city, wood, or mountain, 
 
 Self is forgotten never ; 
 Where'er we tread, it gushes like a fountain, 
 
 And its waters flow for ever. 
 
 Alas ! no speed in life can snatch us wholly 
 
 Out of self s hateful sight ; 
 And it keeps step, whene'er we travel slowly, 
 
 And sleeps with us at night. 
 
 O miserable omnipresence, stretching 
 
 Over all time and space, 
 How have I run from thee, yet found thee reaching 
 
 The goal in every race ! 
 
 The opiate balms of grace may haply still thee, 
 
 Deep in my nature lying ; 
 For I may hardly hope, alas ! to kill thee, 
 
 Save by the act of dying. 
 
 O LORD ! that I could waste my life for others, 
 
 With no ends of my own, 
 That I could pour myself into my brothers, 
 
 And live for them alone ! 
 
 Such was the life Thou livedst; self abjuring, 
 
 Thine own pains never easing. 
 Our burdens bearing, our just doom enduring, 
 
 A life without self-pleasing ! 
 
 CCCCIV 
 SWEETNESS IN PRAYER 
 
 WHY dost thou beat so quick, my heart? 
 Why struggle in thy cage? 
 What shall I do for thee, poor heart ! 
 Thy throbbing heat to swage? 
 
 What spell is this come over thee, 
 
 My soul! what sweet surprise? 
 And wherefore these unbidden tears 
 
 That start into mine eyes ? 
 
FREDERICK WILLIAM 2?ABER BOOK III 
 
 How great, how good does GOD appear, 
 
 How dear our holy faith, 
 How tasteless life's best joys have grown ; 
 
 How I could welcome death ! 
 
 Would that Thou mightest stay with me, 
 
 Or else that I might die 
 While heart and soul are still subdued 
 
 With Thy sweet mastery. 
 
 Thy home is with the humble, LORD ! 
 
 The simple are Thy rest ; 
 Thy lodging is in child-like hearts ; 
 
 Thou makest there Thy nest. 
 
 Dear Comforter ! Eternal Love ! 
 
 If Thou wilt stay with me, 
 Of lowly thoughts and simple ways 
 
 I'll build a nest for Thee. 
 
 Who made this beating heart of mine, 
 
 But Thou, my heavenly Guest? 
 Let no one have it then but Thee, 
 
 And let it be Thy nest. 
 
 ccccv 
 
 THE WILL OF GOD 
 
 I WORSHIP Thee, sweet Will of GOD! 
 And all Thy ways adore, 
 And every day I live, I seem 
 To love Thee more and more. 
 
 Thou wert the end, the blessed rule 
 Of our Saviour's toils and tears; 
 
 Thou wert the passion of His Heart 
 Those Three-and-thirty years. 
 
 And He hath breathed into my soul 
 
 A special love of Thee, 
 A love to lose my will in His, 
 
 And by that loss be free. 
 
 He always wins who sides with GOD, 
 
 To him no chance is lost ; 
 GOD'S Will is sweetest to him, when 
 
 It triumphs at his cost. 
 
BOOK III FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER 317 
 
 When obstacles and trials seem 
 
 Like prison-walls to be, 
 I do the little I can do, 
 
 And leave the rest to Thee. 
 
 CCCCVI 
 VIA CRUCIS 
 
 FROM pain to pain, from woe to woe, 
 With loving hearts and footsteps slow, 
 To Calvary with CHRIST we go. 
 See how His Precious Blood 
 
 At every Station pours ! 
 Was ever grief like His ? 
 Was ever sin like ours? 
 
 See Note 
 
 CCCCVI I 
 JESUS CRUCIFIED 
 
 OH come and mourn with me awhile ! 
 See, Mary calls us to her side; 
 Oh come and let us mourn with her ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 Have we no tears to shed for Him, 
 While soldiers scoff and Jews deride? 
 Ah ! look how patiently He hangs ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 His Mother cannot reach His Face ; 
 She stands in helplessness beside ; 
 Her heart is martyr'd with her Son's; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 Seven times He spoke, seven words of love, 
 And all three hours His silence cried 
 For mercy on the souls of men ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 What was Thy crime, my dearest LORD ? 
 By earth, by heaven, Thou hast been tried. 
 And guilty found of too much love ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER BOOK III 
 
 Death came, and JESUS meekly bow'd; 
 His falling eyes He strove to guide 
 With mindful love to Mary's face; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified! 
 
 Oh break, oh break, hard heart of mine ! 
 Thy weak self-love and guilty pride 
 His Pilate and His Judas were; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 Come, take thy stand beneath the Cross, 
 And let the Blood from out that Side 
 Fall gently on thee drop by drop ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 A broken heart, a fount of tears, 
 Ask, and they will not be denied ; 
 A broken heart Love's cradle is ; 
 JESUS, our Love, is crucified ! 
 
 O Love of GOD ! O Sin of man ! 
 In this dread act your strength is tried ; 
 And victory remains with Love; 
 For He, our Love, is crucified ! 
 See Note 
 
 CCCCVIII 
 STARLIGHT 
 
 AT midnight, when yon azure fields on high 
 Sparkle and glow without one cloudy bar, 
 The radiance of some l bright particular star ' 
 Attracts, perchance, and holds my watching eye. 
 
 That star may long have vanish'd from the sky ; 
 Yet still its unspent rays, borne from afar, 
 Come darting downwards in their golden car 
 
 Proof it once glitter'd in the galaxy. 
 
 So in my heart I feel a healing ray 
 Sweetly transmitted from a Star divine, 
 Which once illumed the coasts of Palestine : 
 
 And though its beauty beams not there to-day, 
 I know that Star of old did truly shine. 
 Because its cheering radiance now is mine. 
 
 7?. Wilton 
 
-HOOK III FREDERICK TENNYSON 3 J 9 
 
 CCCCIX 
 ION A 
 
 I LANDED on lona's holy isle, 
 And wander'd through its ancient ruins bare, 
 And felt the great Columba's self was there. 
 Thirteen long centuries seem'd ' a little while ' 
 
 Before the unchanging sea and sky, whose smile 
 
 He knew. He trod these paths; he breathed this air; 
 These waves once roll'd responsive to his prayer, 
 
 Whose murmuring ripples now my ear beguile. 
 
 Nor to the Saint alone closer I stand, 
 
 Nearer the LORD I seem, upon this shore ; 
 
 The solid rock of this historic strand 
 
 Helps me to bridge Time's waste of waters o'er, 
 
 And grasp His feet, and feel His loving hand 
 In Whom all saints are one for evermore ! 
 
 CCCCX 
 AN INCIDENT 
 
 AT the LORD'S Table waiting, robed and stolcd, 
 Till all had knelt around, I saw a sign ! 
 In the full chalice sudden splendours shine, 
 Azure and crimson, emerald and gold. 
 
 I stoop'd to see the wonder, when, behold ! 
 Within the cup a Countenance Divine 
 Look'd upwards at me through the trembling w r ine, 
 
 Suffused with tenderest love and grief untold. 
 
 The comfort of that sacramental token 
 
 From Memory's page Time never can erase ; 
 
 The glass of that rich window may be broken, 
 But not the mirror'd image of His grace, 
 
 Through which my dying LORD to me has spoken, 
 At His own Holy Table, face to face ! 
 See Note 
 
 CCCCXI 
 SONG OF AN ANGEL 
 
 AT noon a shower had fallen, and the clime 
 Breathed sweetly, and upon a cloud there lay 
 One more sublime in beauty than the Day, 
 Or all the Sons of Time ; 
 
3 20 FREDERICK TENNYSON BOOK lit 
 
 A gold harp had he, and was singing there 
 Songs that I yearn'd to hear; a glory shone 
 Of rosy twilights on his cheeks a zone 
 
 Of amaranth on his hair. 
 
 He sang of joys to which the earthly heart 
 Hath never beat; he sang of deathless Youth, 
 And by the throne of Love, Beauty and Truth 
 
 Meeting, no more to part; 
 
 He sang lost Hope, faint Faith, and vain Desire 
 
 Crown'd there ; great works, that on the earth began, 
 Accomplished ; towers impregnable to man 
 
 Scaled with the speed of fire ; 
 
 Of Power, and Life, and winged Victory 
 
 He sang of bridges strown 'twixt star and star 
 And hosts all arm'd in light for bloodless war 
 
 Pass, and repass on high ; 
 
 Lo ! in the pauses of his jubilant voice 
 
 He leans to listen : answers from the spheres, 
 And mighty paeans thundering he hears 
 
 Down the empyreal skies : 
 
 Then suddenly he ceased and seem'd to rest 
 His goodly-fashion'd arm upon a slope 
 Of that fair cloud, and with soft eyes of hope 
 
 He pointed towards the West ; 
 
 And shed on me a smile of beams, that told 
 Of a bright World beyond the thunder-piles, 
 With blessed fields, and hills, and happy isles, 
 
 And citadels of gold. 
 
 F. Tennyson 
 
 CCCCXII 
 
 OGOD, impart Thy blessing to my cries, 
 Tho' I trust deeply, yet I daily err ; 
 The waters of my heart are oft astir : 
 An Angel 's there ! and yet I cannot rise ! 
 
 I wish that CHRIST were here among us still, 
 Proffering His bosom to his servant's brow; 
 But oh ! that holy voice comes o'er us now 
 Like twilight echoes from a distant hill : 
 
BOOK III CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER 3 21 
 
 We long for His pure looks and words sublime; 
 His lowly-lofty innocence and grace; 
 The talk sweet-toned, and blessing all the time ; 
 The mountain sermon and the ruthful gaze ; 
 The cheerly credence gather'd from His face ; 
 His voice in village-groups at eve or prime ! 
 
 C. T. Turner 
 
 CCCCXIII 
 THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE 
 
 AS on my bed at dawn I mused and pray'd, 
 I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall, 
 The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal 
 A sunny phantom interlaced with shade ; 
 
 'Thanks be to heaven,' in happy mood I said, 
 1 What sweeter aid my matins could befall 
 Than this fair glory from the East hath made ? 
 What holy sleights hath GOD, the LORD of all, 
 
 To bid us feel and see ! We are not free 
 
 To say we see not, for the glory comes 
 
 Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; 
 
 His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms ; 
 
 And, at prime hour, behold ! He follows me 
 
 With golden shadows to my secret rooms ! ' 
 
 CCCCXIV 
 OUR MARY AND THE CHILD-MUMMY 
 
 WHEN the four quarters of the world shall rise, 
 Men, women, children, at the Judgment- time, 
 Perchance this Memphian girl, dead ere her prime, 
 Shall drop her mask, and with dark new-born eyes 
 
 Salute our English Mary, loved and lost ; 
 The Father knows her little scroll of prayer, 
 And life as pure as His Egyptian air; 
 For, though she knew not JESUS, nor the cost 
 
 At which He won the world, she learn'd to pray; 
 And though our own sweet babe on CHRIST'S good name 
 Spent her last breath, premonish'd and advised 
 Of Him, and in His glorious Church baptized, 
 She will not spurn this old-world child away, 
 Nor put her poor embalmed heart to shame. 
 See Note 
 
3 22 CHARLES TENNYSON TURNER BOOK III 
 
 ccccxv 
 
 THE HARVEST MOON 
 
 HOW peacefully the broad and golden moon 
 Comes up to gaze upon the reaper's toil ! 
 That they who own the land for many a mile, 
 May bless her beams, and they who take the boon 
 
 Of scatter'd ears ; Oh ! beautiful ! how soon 
 The dusk is turn'd to silver without soil, 
 Which makes the fair sheaves fairer than at noon, 
 And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil ; 
 
 So, to our souls, the LORD of love and might 
 Sends harvest-hours, when daylight disappears; 
 When age and sorrow, like a coming night, 
 Darken our field of work with doubts and fears, 
 He times the presence of His heavenly light 
 To rise up softly o'er our silver hairs. 
 
 CCCCXVI 
 
 ANASTASIS 
 
 THO' death met love upon thy dying smile, 
 And staid him there for hours, yet the orbs of sight 
 So speedily resign'd their aspect bright, 
 That Christian hope fell earthward for awhile, 
 AppalFd by dissolution : But on high 
 A record lives of thine identity ! 
 Thou shalt not lose one charm of lip or eye ; 
 The hues and liquid lights shall wait for thee, 
 And the fair tissues, wheresoe'er they be ! 
 Daughter of heaven ! our grieving hearts repose 
 On the dear thought that we once more shall see 
 Thy beauty like Himself our Master rose 
 So shall that beauty its old rights maintain, 
 And thy sweet spirit own those eyes again. 
 
 See Note 
 
BOOK III ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 323 
 
 CCCCXVII 
 
 MORNING HYMN 
 
 FOR BOYS IN THE GORDON HOME 
 
 HPHY servants pray, O hear us, LORD! 
 
 J[ Be Thou our shield, be Thou our sword, 
 Be Thou our guard against all sin, 
 From foes without, from foes within. 
 
 O make us loving brothers all, 
 Forgetting self at duty's call : 
 Bless Thou the guardians of our land, 
 And keep our dear ones in Thy hand. 
 
 E. Lady Tennyson 
 
 CCCCXVIII 
 EVENING HYMN 
 
 REAT GOD Who knowest each man's need, 
 
 Bless Thou our watch and guard our sleep ; 
 Forgive our sins of thought and deed, 
 And in Thy peace Thy servants keep. 
 
 We thank Thee for the day that's done, 
 
 We trust Thee for the days to be; 
 Thy love we learn in CHRIST Thy Son 
 
 O may we all His glory see ! 
 
 CCCCXIX 
 
 LATE, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill ! 
 Late, late, so late ! but we can enter still. 
 Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
 No light had we : for that we do repent ; 
 And learning this, the Bridegroom will relent. 
 Too late, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
 No light : so late ! and dark and chill the night ! 
 O let us in, that we may find the light ! 
 Too late, too late : ye cannot enter now. 
 
 Have we not heard the Bridegroom is so sweet? 
 O let us in, tho' late, to kiss His feet! 
 No, no, too late ! ye cannot enter now. 
 
 A. Lord Tennyson 
 Y 2 
 
324 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON BOOK III 
 
 ccccxx 
 
 WHEN Lazarus left his charnel-cave, 
 And home to Mary's house return'd, 
 Was this demanded if he yearn'd 
 To hear her weeping by his grave? 
 
 ' Where wert thou, brother, those four days ? ' 
 There lives no record of reply, 
 Which telling what it is to die 
 
 Had surely added praise to praise. 
 
 From every house the neighbours met, 
 
 The streets were fill'd with joyful sound, 
 A solemn gladness even crown'd 
 
 The purple brows of Olivet. 
 
 Behold a man raised up by CHRIST ! 
 
 The rest remaineth unreveal'd ; 
 
 He told it not; or something seal'd 
 The lips of that Evangelist. 
 
 CCCCXXI 
 
 HER eyes are homes of silent prayer, 
 Nor other thought her mind admits 
 But, he was dead, and there he sits, 
 And He that brought him back is there. 
 
 Then one deep love doth supersede 
 All other, when her ardent gaze 
 Roves from the living brother's face, 
 
 And rests upon the Life indeed. 
 
 All subtle thought, all curious fears, 
 
 Borne down by gladness so complete, 
 She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet 
 
 With costly spikenard and with tears. 
 
 Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, 
 Whose loves in higher love endure ; 
 What souls possess themselves so pure, 
 
 Or is there blessedness like theirs? 
 
BOOK III ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 325 
 
 CCCCXXII 
 
 OMAN, forgive thy mortal foe, 
 Nor ever strike him blow for blow ; 
 For all the souls on earth that live 
 To be forgiven must forgive. 
 Forgive him seventy times and seven : 
 For all the blessed souls in Heaven 
 Are both forgivers and forgiven ! 
 
 CCCCXXIII 
 IN THE CHILDREN'S HOSPITAL 
 
 EMMIE 
 
 OUR doctor had call'd in another, I never had seen him 
 before, 
 But he sent a chill to my heart when I saw him come in at 
 
 the door, 
 
 Fresh from the surgery-schools of France and of other lands 
 Harsh red hair, big voice, big chest, big merciless hands ! 
 Wonderful cures he had done, O yes, but they said too of him 
 He was happier using the knife than in trying to save the limb, 
 And that I can well believe, for he look'd so coarse and so red, 
 I could think he was one of those who would break their jests 
 
 on the dead, 
 And mangle the living dog that had loved him and fawn'd at 
 
 his knee 
 Drench'd with the hellish oorali that ever such things should 
 
 be! 
 
 Here was a boy I am sure that some of our children would 
 
 die 
 But for the voice of Love, and the smile, and the comforting 
 
 eye- 
 Here was a boy in the ward, every bone seem'd out of its 
 
 place 
 
 Caught in a mill and crush'd it was all but a hopeless case : 
 And he handled him gently enough ; but his voice and his face 
 
 were not kind, 
 And it was but a hopeless case, he had seen it and made up 
 
 his mind, 
 
3 2 6 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON BOOK III 
 
 And he said to me roughly 'The lad will need little more of 
 
 your care.' 
 ' All the more need,' I told him, * to seek the LORD JESUS in 
 
 prayer ; 
 They are all His children here, and I pray for them all as my 
 
 own : ' 
 But he turn'd to me, ' Ay, good woman, can prayer set a 
 
 broken bone ? ' 
 Then he mutter'd half to himself, but I know that I heard 
 
 him say 
 'All very well but the good LORD JESUS has had His day.' 
 
 Had? has it come? It has only dawn'd. It will come by and 
 
 by. 
 O how could I serve in the wards if the hope of the world 
 
 were a lie? 
 How could I bear with the sights and the loathsome smells of 
 
 disease 
 But that He said ' Ye do it to Me, when ye do it to these ' ? 
 
 So he went. And we past to this ward where the younger 
 
 children are laid : 
 Here is the cot of our orphan, our darling, our meek little 
 
 maid ; 
 Empty you see just now ! We have lost her who loved her so 
 
 much 
 
 Patient of pain tho' as quick as a sensitive plant to the touch ; 
 Hers was the prettiest prattle, it often moved me to tears, 
 Hers was the gratefullest heart I have found in a child of her 
 
 years 
 Nay you remember our Emmie; you used to send her the 
 
 flowers ; 
 How she would smile at 'em, play with 'em, talk to 'em hours 
 
 after hours ! 
 They that can wander at will where the works of the LORD 
 
 are reveal'd 
 Little guess what joy can be got from a cowslip out of the 
 
 field; 
 Flowers to these ' spirits in prison ' are all they can know of 
 
 the spring, 
 They freshen and sweeten the wards like the waft of an 
 
 Angel's wing ; 
 And she lay with a flower in one hand and her thin hands 
 
 crost on her breast 
 Wan, but as pretty as heart can desire, and we thought her 
 
 at rest, 
 
BOOK III ALFRED LORD TENNYSON 3 2 7 
 
 Quietly sleeping so quiet, our doctor said ' Poor little dear, 
 Nurse, I must do it to-morrow ; she'll never live thro' it, I fear.' 
 
 I walk'd with our kindly old Doctor as far as the head of the 
 
 stair, 
 Then I return'd to the ward ; the child didn't see I was there. 
 
 Never since I was nurse, had I been so grieved and so vext ! 
 Emmie had heard him. Softly she call'd from her cot to the 
 
 next, 
 
 ' He says I shall never live thro' it, O Annie, what shall I do ? ' 
 Annie consider'd. 'If I/ said the wise little Annie, 'was you, 
 I should cry to the dear LORD JESUS to help me, for, Emmie, 
 
 you see, 
 
 It's all in the picture there: Little children should come to Me. 1 
 (Meaning the print that you gave us, I find that it always can 
 
 please 
 Our children, the dear LORD JESUS with children about His 
 
 knees.) 
 
 'Yes, and I will/ said Emmie, ' but then if I call to the LORD, 
 How should He know that it 's me ? such a lot of beds in the 
 
 ward ! ' 
 
 That was a puzzle for Annie. Again she consider'd, and said : 
 ' Emmie, you put out your arms, and you leave 'em outside on 
 
 the bed 
 The LORD has so much to see to ! but, Emmie, you tell it Him 
 
 plain, 
 It's the little girl with her arms lying out on the counterpane. 
 
 I had sat three nights by the child I could not watch her for 
 
 four 
 
 My brain had begun to reel I felt I could do it no more. 
 That was my sleeping-night, but I thought that it never would 
 
 pass. 
 There was a thunderclap once, and a clatter of hail on the 
 
 glass, 
 
 And there was a phantom cry that I heard as I tost about, 
 The motherless bleat of a lamb in the storm and the darkness 
 
 without ; 
 
 My sleep was broken besides with dreams of the dreadful knife 
 And fears for our delicate Emmie who scarce would escape 
 
 with her life; 
 
328 ALFRED LORD TENNYSON BOOK III 
 
 Then in the gray of the morning it seem'd she stood by me 
 
 and smiled, 
 And the doctor came at his hour, and we went to see to the 
 
 child. 
 
 He had brought his ghastly tools : we believed her asleep 
 
 again 
 
 Her dear, long, lean, little arms lying out on the counterpane ; 
 Say that His day is done ! Ah why should we care what they 
 
 say? 
 The LORD of the children had heard her, and Emmie had 
 
 past away. 
 
 See Note 
 
 of JBook 
 
NOTES 
 
 EXPLANATORY AND BIOGRAPHICAL . 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO BOOK I 
 
 ENGLISH lyrical religious poetry is less easily divisible than our 
 secular verse into well-marked periods, whether in regard to 
 matter or to manner. Throughout its long course it has in great 
 measure the groundwork of a common Book, a common Faith, 
 and a common Purpose. And although incidents from human life 
 and aspects of nature are not excluded (and have in this selection, 
 when possible, been specially gathered, with the view of varying 
 the garland here presented) yet meditation, prayer, and praise 
 will ever be the three great keys, successively rising in order of 
 lyrical intensity, through which this music of the heart of 
 Christianity expresses itself. Certain differing waves of feeling 
 and expression may however be traced, and have suggested the 
 tripartite division which will here be followed ; whilst yet we 
 may say, as was said of the blessed Spirits met by Dante as he 
 entered Paradise, 
 
 . . . tutti fanno bello il primo giro, 
 E differentemente han dolce vita, 
 Per sentir piu e men 1' eterno spiro. 
 
 If we take our First Book as covering about the space between 
 1500 and 1680, we begin with a preliminary or tentative period, 
 when the joyous and picturesque mediaevalism of Dunbar's 
 Nativity passes at once into the sombre style characteristic of the 
 thirty agitated and painful years which were the birth-throes of 
 the Reformation. This was an ungenial atmosphere for sacred 
 song. Yet the reign of Elizabeth was hardly more fertile the 
 Renaissance movement in our poetry led English writers into the 
 pleasant paths of a revived and (with them) innocent classicalism : 
 whilst the unsettled elements in the religious sphere, the dominance 
 of Genevan doctrine fervid indeed, but narrow, ultra-dogmatic, 
 and rarely blessed by the smile of the Muses were conditions 
 equally disfavourable. 
 
 When the tide begins to flow more freely, our sacred poetry 
 was enriched by such splendid outbursts of pure lyrical enthusiasm 
 as the odes by Spenser and Milton, with which the Elizabethan 
 
33 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 age may be said almost to begin and to close. But lyrics of this class 
 are only too rare ; and our religious verse tends to fall into that 
 didactic vein which seems characteristic of the English genius ; it 
 is meditative, introspective, personal, yet seldom in the modern 
 more subtly analytical manner. And as the seventeenth century 
 advances, it is varied by some singular and attractive specimens 
 of mystical poetry, in which we may perceive at once the wide 
 literary scholarship of that age and the effect of the evil days of 
 the Commonwealth Usurpation, driving men for peace into the 
 solitude of their own bosoms. 
 
 Our first period, it will be seen, is, however, by far most richly 
 indebted to two writers, trained in the school of doctrine and 
 practice which found its earliest great teacher in Richard Hooker. 
 With this spirit, gradually systematized and widened, until it 
 became the genuine and enduring representative of the mind of 
 the English Church, Herbert and Vaughan were deeply imbued 
 with its broad scholarly learning, its liberal acceptance of art and 
 culture, its faith at once rational, deeply founded, and fervent, 
 
 The gracious creed that knows how to forgive, 
 
 its strong and living sense of the underlying unity of the Christian 
 Church through all her centuries of change or development. 
 But Theology, as such, is not within the purpose of this little 
 book. In the City of God are many mansions ; and whichever 
 may be ours, the religious elements just enumerated, it is unde- 
 niable, made powerfully towards poetry : they may be easily 
 traced throughout as inspiring Herbert in his quiet Wiltshire valley 
 and Vaughan among the wild hills of Brecon. The difference 
 between the respective poetical gifts of these two men gifts 
 which a just criticism must rate very high may be best left to 
 the reader's discrimination and enjoyment. Only this need here 
 be noted, that both are instinct with the fervour, with the strange- 
 ness, of the Celtic sensitive imagination ; concealed indeed in 
 some degree by Herbert's academical training, but everywhere 
 pervading his disciple's work with a certain fascinating intensity. 
 
 Vaughan long over-lived the Restoration : after which date the 
 condensed style, not free from overstrained fancy and ' conceit/ 
 popular hitherto in the seventeenth century, gradually gave way 
 to a greater simplicity of thought and language, a less imaginative 
 colouring ; to what, in a word, we might call the modern manner. 
 To this time naturally belongs the beginning of religious song for 
 public use. Perhaps the specimens here given might have been 
 ranged with the hymns of the next hundred years. But they are 
 placed in our first book because in style and in thought they are 
 yet closely allied to the preceding period : they unite our own 
 hymnology, looked at as a whole, with the last echoes of the 
 Elizabethan age. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 331 
 
 PACK NO. 
 
 1 i William Dunbar, ' a poet,' said Sir Walter Scott, ' un- 
 
 rivalled by any that Scotland has ever produced,' was 
 educated at the University of S. Andrews, entered the 
 Franciscan Order, but seems to have lived much about 
 the Scottish Court, or employed on secular business. 
 He was the last great representative of Chaucer's 
 School in Scotland; he stands on the boundary be- 
 tween the world of the Middle Ages and the world of 
 the Renaissance. Like the rich and lovely architecture 
 of his time, Dunbar's poetry is the fine flower of ex- 
 piring Mediaevalism. 
 
 The graceful hymn here give-n is reprinted from 
 Mr. H. M. Fitzgibbon's excellent little Selection of 
 Early English Poetry (W. Scott, 1887). The spelling 
 has been modernized ; a process without which, small 
 as are the substantial deviations from modern usage, 
 the early Scottish orthography has, at first sight, the 
 aspect of an unknown tongue. 
 
 2 ii Thomas, second Lord Vaux of Harrowden, held state 
 
 appointments under Henry VIII, and was among the 
 first of those high-born and high-educated writers with 
 whom our modern literature begins. 
 
 ii and in, published in the Paradise of Dainty Devices, 
 1576, reflect the gloom of that unhappy period between 
 the middle of the reigns of Henry VIII and Elizabeth. 
 Great is the contrast between their tone and the joyous 
 brilliancy of Spenser's noble ode published 1596 
 which follows. 
 
 5 iv 1. 15 trinal triplicities : A treatise on the Heavenly 
 Hierarchy (erroneously ascribed to Dionysius the 
 Areopagite, but of early date), which was held as an 
 authority for many centuries, ranks the Angels in three 
 main Orders, each subdivided into three. 'The names' 
 (Dictionary of Christian Biography, 1877), 'appear to 
 have been obtained by combining with the more ob- 
 vious Seraphim, Cherubim, Archangels, and Angels, the 
 five deduced from two passages of S. Paul, Eph. i. 21, 
 and Col. i. 16.' 
 
 Compare Milton, Par. Lost, v. 748: 
 the mighty regencies 
 
 Of Seraphim and Potentates and Thrones 
 In their triple degrees. 
 
 10 v To this deeply-felt sonnet (which forms a fit com- 
 parison to Shakespeare's Poor Soul), the noble author 
 has added the words : 
 
 Splendidis Longum Valedico Nugis : 
 
33 2 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 with obvious reference to his romantic or amorous 
 writings, Arcadia or Astrophel. 
 
 11 vn Humfrey Gifford, ' Gentleman,' probably from a Devon- 
 
 shire family in the Bideford country, published his one 
 book, (preserved now in a single copy), A Posie of 
 Gilloflowers, in 1580. His verse is fresh, simple, spirited, 
 and singularly modern in style. 
 
 12 vni Printed as prefatory to a Bible of 1594. 
 
 13 ix Edmund Bolton, a critic and historian, published his 
 
 main work in 1624. But the Carol appears in the great 
 Elizabethan Anthology, England } s Helicon, 1600. 
 
 14 x Robert Southwell, of Horsham S. Faith's, Norfolk, was 
 
 trained at Douai and Paris : at Rome, in 1578, entered 
 the Society of Jesus : in 1586 returned to England : 
 by 1590, for performance of his religious duties as a 
 priest was imprisoned, thirteen times racked, and 
 judicially murdered by the Elizabethan Government 
 in 1595- 
 
 Ben Jonson said to the poet Drummond at Hawthorn- 
 den (1618-9) tnat * so ne had written that piece, the 
 Burning Babe, he would have been content to destroy 
 many of his.' Fervour and sincerity of devotion, 
 passionate intensity of faith in the Lord and Master 
 under Whose name he served, has never received more 
 beautiful expression than in this and the following 
 poem, which their martyr-author probably thought 
 out or (if the thirteen torturings of the persecutors left 
 him the power), wrote down during his imprisonment. 
 
 15 xn Taken, with several other inedited or little known 
 
 early hymns, charming through their simplicity and 
 depth of feeling, from the 'Illustrative Poems ' appended 
 by Mr. W. T. Brooke to his edition of Christ's Victory 
 and Triumph (Griffith & Co., 1888). It has been 
 ascribed mainly to Dr. Nicholas Postgate, Missioner in 
 the R oman Communion, ' who, for baptizing a child, and 
 exercising other priestly functions, was executed at 
 York ' in 1679, at 82 years of age. 
 
 16 xni Of Barnabe Barnes, says Dr. Grosart, who has edited 
 
 his poems with his usual loving diligence, little is known 
 but that he was son to Richard, Bishop of Durham, 
 studied at Oxford, and served under Lord Essex in 
 his expedition to France. His sonnets show truth of 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 333 
 
 feeling and freedom from ingenious ' conceits ' : he seems 
 to have formed his style upon that of Sir P. Sidney, to 
 whose Astrophel he makes reference. 
 
 17 xvi Printed 1601 ; signed F. B. P. in a British Museum 
 manuscript. ' Founded upon Cardinal Peter Damianrs 
 Ad perennis vitaefontem ' (W. T. Brooke). 
 
 19 xvn John Donne was educated at Hart Hall, Oxford, and 
 
 Trinity, Cambridge : admitted at Lincoln's Inn, travelled 
 widely in Europe, and accompanied Lord Essex on his 
 expeditions in 1596 and 1597. Took Holy Orders 
 in 1614 : in 1620 was appointed Dean of S. Paul's. 
 
 Donne's poems were first collected in 1633 : they 
 cover an extraordinary range in subject, and are 
 throughout marked with a strange originality almost 
 equally fascinating and repellent. It is possible that 
 his familiarity with Italian and Spanish literatures, 
 both at that time deeply coloured by fantastic and 
 far-fetched thought, may have in some degree in- 
 fluenced him in that direction. His poems were 
 probably written mainly during youth. There is a 
 strange solemn passionate earnestness about them, a 
 quality which underlies the fanciful ' conceits ' of all 
 his work. Donne, like Herbert and Vaughan, who 
 show the same intensity and quaintness, was of Welsh 
 descent. 
 
 20 xxi The details of Thomas Campion's life share in the 
 
 darkness which covers almost all our Elizabethan poets. 
 By profession he was a Doctor of Medicine. His first 
 English songs appeared in 1601 ; but we may reason- 
 ably suppose that he had practised poetry, as well as 
 music, for some years previously. Campion's songs 
 are admirable for their union of melodious simplicity, 
 beauty, and strong common sense. So rare are the 
 music-books in which they appeared, that they were 
 practically rediscovered for us by Mr. A. H. Bullen, 
 who has published the best in his charming selection of 
 Lyrics (Nimmo, 1889). No. xxvn, originally printed 
 1606, is from Mr. Bullen's volume. This is a song of 
 great force and originality. The unknown writer saw 
 deep into human nature. 
 
 24 xxx William Drummond : educated at the High School and 
 (newly founded) University of Edinburgh. On the 
 Continent 1606-9 ; settled for life at ' classic Haw- 
 
334 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 thornden ' 1610. His letters, journal, and library show 
 a very wide and well-chosen range of study : they 
 perhaps present the first detailed picture we have of a 
 man of literature in the modern sense. Drummond's 
 (published 1616 and 1623) is the only Scottish poetry 
 which reflects the finest features of the English Eliza- 
 , bethan Renaissance : he has exquisite feeling, medita- 
 tive grace, charm of form and style. In the troubles of 
 Scotland during the reign of Charles I he used all his 
 influence towards peace, moderation, culture, rational 
 loyalty and unfanatical religion ; but his counsels were 
 far too wise for acceptance by either party of the day. 
 
 25 xxxn 1. 3 In silence: So Menander drravra ffiywv o Ocos 
 
 e P7<*&Tai. 
 
 26 xxxv This rendering (5 stanzas, of 8 in the Roman Breviary 
 
 text), appears to have been written by Drummond for 
 a translation of the Primer or Office of the Blessed Virgin 
 Mary : a copy of which, dated 1615, is in the British 
 Museum (W. T. Brooke). 
 
 25 xxxvn George Herbert was born in Montgomery Castle, son 
 to Richard and Magdalen Newport (descended in the 
 female line from Bleddyn, Prince of Powys, and 
 Gwenllian, daughter to Gruffydd, Prince of North 
 Wales), an admirable woman, whose loving care (the 
 father dying early) trained her son's early years. He 
 was educated at Westminster School and Trinity, 
 Cambridge, and soon distinguished for varied and sound 
 study. Elected Public Orator 1620: made enduring 
 friendship with Dr. Donne, Bishop Andrewes, and 
 Francis Bacon. His interests were divided between 
 entering a profession, and the Court ; where he seems 
 to have been in favour with James I. But by 1627 
 Herbert's hopes of royal advancement ended. After 
 much inward conflict, he decided on Holy Orders : 
 retired from Cambridge, his health beginning to fail ; 
 married, and in 1630, at the request of his kinsman 
 Philip, Lord Pembroke, was presented with the cure of 
 Bemerton, a village between Salisbury and Wilton. 
 There the little road-side church, almost as in his 
 days, still 
 
 . . . stands 
 
 Crouching entrench'd in slopes of daisy sod, 
 
 And duly deck'd by Herbert-honouring hands : 
 
 And here suffering also from advancing" consumption 
 
 he lived that saintly life of ' detachment ' which his 
 
 poems reveal say rather, embody. When, no longer 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 335 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 able to walk to Salisbury Cathedral he would take his 
 lute and play : The Sundays of Man's Life (XLIII), being 
 the lines which he chose for his last song here 
 Singing on earth, as Izaak Walton says, such hymns 
 and anthems as the Angels and he, and his holy friend 
 N. Ferrar now sing in Heaven. He lies nameless 
 beneath the altar in his little church at Bemerton. 
 
 For many details in this sketch, as in those of 
 Marvell, Vaughan, and others, the writer is indebted 
 to those careful editions of their works by which 
 Dr. A. Grosart has conferred services of high value 
 upon our literature. 
 
 This sonnet, (to which a title has been prefixed, whilst 
 for the rest of Herbert's his own have been retained), 
 was sent by him to his Mother as a New Year's gift in 
 1608 Herbert's first year at Cambridge in order, 
 he says, to declare his resolution 'That my poor 
 abilities in poetry shall be all and ever consecrated to 
 God's glory.' 
 
 30 XLI The idea here is that costly monuments keep the dust 
 of the body artificially apart from its natural companion, 
 the dust of the earth ; and that tombs will at the Last 
 Day fall and do homage to the dead. Dust is the head 
 of man's stem or pedigree; his life, like the sand 
 contained in the hour-glass, is destined in its turn to 
 dust. 
 
 The appearance of a church interior, in the early 
 seventeenth century, is admirably characterized in 
 this and the following poem. 
 
 32 XLV Herbert seems to have written this curious auto- 
 
 biographical poem when in ill-health or low spirits, 
 and in remembrance of a time of morbid depression 
 (St. vi). 
 
 33 1. i My flesh began . . . appears equivalent to challenged. 
 
 1. 17 cross-bias i an image from bowling, when a ball 
 sent on a curve strikes the opponent's aside. The 
 ' conceit ' in the last line may mean ; Although forgotten 
 of God, unless my love to Him still continues in my 
 desolation, let me never be able to love Him. 
 
 35 XLIX Deep thought, simple yet 'subtle ideas, manly lucid 
 language, give a very high rank among our serious 
 lyrics to this and to No. LX. 
 
 40 LV St. i ' The aspects of the planets were their apparent 
 positions in regard to one another as seen' and cal- 
 culated beforehand ' from the earth ' (Grosart). Upon 
 these aspects astronomy greatly relied for its predictions. 
 St. iii The chemist analyses the creature, the substance 
 
336 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 before him, until he discovers its callow, simple, 
 unclothed, elements ; which are only seen by ordinary 
 spectators dressed out and disguised within the com- 
 posite substance presented to the senses. In this 
 poem we trace Herbert's friendship and co-operation 
 with Francis Bacon. 
 
 46 LXI This lovely poem, which, as the reader will find, must 
 have been studied as a model by Vaughan, was clearly 
 written after a time of depression due, perhaps, to 
 the increasing ill-health of Herbert's later years ; the 
 ' consumption ' alluded to by Izaak Walton in his Life. 
 St. i, 1. 3 demesne : seemingly used for property ; the 
 flowers, beside what their spot of earth grants them, 
 gain joy through the contrast of Spring after frost. To 
 the metrical skill and beauty of 1. 4 S. T. Coleridge 
 draws attention. St. iii chiming . . . bell : calling to 
 prayer. St. iv Offering at Heaven : compare Vergil's 
 equally charming phrase on a young tree's growth, 
 
 Exiit ad caelum ramis felicibus . . . 
 St. vii 1. 6 Swelling through store : puffed up by wealth 
 or place. 
 
 49 LXVII Archbishop Leighton, as quoted by Dr. Grosart, has a 
 remark which appears tacitly to refer to this poem, and 
 explains its title. ' Whatsoever be the matter of 
 [human actions], the spiritual mind hath that alchemy 
 indeed of turning base metals into gold, earthly em- 
 ployments into heavenly.' Tincture (p. 50, St. i) may 
 refer to the Elixir, regarded as a cleansing or trans- 
 muting liquid. But the more obvious sense will be, 
 'if coloured or tinged with this thought, For God's 
 sake. 1 
 
 51 LXXI Christopher Harvey's Synagogue, intended as a 
 
 ' shadow ' or sequel to Herbert's Temple, was pub- 
 lished 1640. The writer was educated at Brasenose, 
 Oxford ; and died Vicar of Clifton in Warwickshire. 
 
 52 LXXII William Habington, son to a country gentleman, was 
 
 educated in the Jesuit College of S. Omer and at Paris, 
 and married Lucy Herbert (daughter to the first 
 Baron Powys) ; the Castara to whose honour his 
 poems are inscribed. 
 
 58 LXXIX ' This Hymn was made by Sir H. Wotton, when he 
 was an Ambassador at Venice, in the time of a great 
 sickness.' Quitting diplomacy, he became Provost of 
 Eton : whence in 1638 he wrote to Milton, then in his 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 337 
 
 youth, an admirable letter, congratulating him on the 
 beauty of Comus, and giving counsel, derived from his 
 own experience, for Milton's Italian journey. 
 
 59 LXXX Much in the style of Chidiock Tychbourne's pathetic 
 
 little Elegy, My prime of youth . . . , printed in 
 Dr. Hannah's valuable Poems by Raleigh, Wotton, <Sfc. 
 1875- 
 
 60 LXXXI Milton imagined this magnificent Ode at dawn of 
 
 Christmas 1629, having then lately passed his 2ist 
 birthday. He here treats Nature (p. 61, st. ii, iii) as 
 guilty, as representing a fallen world. The heathen 
 religions of antiquity are similarly regarded as demon- 
 worship, rather than the corruptions of, or the efforts to 
 reach, divine truth : and the tradition that the power of 
 the pagan Gods ended at the Nativity is worked out at 
 length. He begins with the deities of Greece and 
 Rome, passing thence to Syria and Egypt. 
 
 64 Lars and Lemures : Household Gods, Spirits of the 
 
 Dead. Flamens : Roman priests. 
 
 65 twice batter 'd god : Dagon. Libyc Hammon : as wor- 
 
 shipped in the Libyan Oasis. In the legend of Osiris, 
 blended here with Apis, he was described as shut up 
 in a carved chest and cast upon the Nile. But it is the 
 mythological scholarship of his day, before the authentic 
 Egyptian authorities were deciphered, which Milton 
 here offers. 
 
 66 LXXXII 1. 6 if, sad share ... If you, the Seraphim, desire to 
 
 sympathize with us, but are through your fiery nature 
 unable to give tears, give burning sighs. Milton's 
 earlier poetry has several of these elaborate fancies. 
 
 68 LXXXVI Sir William Davenant, dramatist, poet, and adherent of 
 
 Charles I during the Civil War. His poetry belongs 
 mainly to the thoughtful style of his century; but he 
 has left some excellent pieces in a lighter vein. 
 
 69 LXXXVII Sir Thomas Browne was educated at Winchester and 
 
 Broadgate Hall, (now Pembroke College), Oxford. Be- 
 came M.D. at Leyden, and settled as a physician in Nor- 
 wich. The Religio Medici, (whence the hymn printed 
 is taken), his most famous work, was first published 1642. 
 Passages in this and in his Hydriotaphia are amongst 
 the very finest efforts of English prose. He was hon- 
 oured by Dr. Johnson with a short biography. 
 
 69 LXXXVIII Thomas Pestel was a Chaplain to Charles I. Mr. 
 W. T. Brooke, (see note on xn), publishes this from his 
 
338 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 TAGI: NO. 
 
 Sermons. The next he dates 1660: It makes us 
 wish, he justly observes, that ' more of Pestel's work 
 had survived.' 
 
 71 xc Of Robert Herrick's life, again, very little has survived. 
 Probably trained in Westminster School, he went 
 thence to S. John's and Trinity Hall, Cambridge. 
 Some years he then seems to have spent in London : 
 in 1629 becoming Vicar of Dean Prior, a sequestered 
 Devon village not far from Totnes. Ejected thence for 
 the heresy or ' malignity ' (as triumphant Puritanism 
 named it) of remaining loyal to his Church and King, 
 he published his one volume of sacred and secular 
 song : was restored to his Vicarage in 1662, and lies 
 buried at Dean Prior. 
 
 Herrick is in the first rank of English lyric poets. In 
 virtue of his airy touch, his fluent melody, his simple 
 directness of style, his graceful lucidity, he may be 
 called an Elizabethan born out of his age. But his 
 range of subjects, his exquisite pictures of country life 
 (see xciv), his union of humour with seriousness (xcv), 
 mark the gradual development of our lyrical poetry, 
 and its enfranchisement from Renaissance limitations, 
 during the Stuart period. 
 
 75 xcvi Mildmay Fane, second Earl of Westmoreland, was 
 
 friend of Herrick, who dedicated to him his beautiful 
 Harvest Home picture, The Hock-cart, and begged the 
 Earl to publish his own verses : which were privately 
 printed in 1648. 
 
 76 XCVH This and the next are republished by Mr. W. T. Brooke 
 
 from an Anthology of 1677. 
 
 77 xcix apples (p. 78, 1. 17) pine-apples (Grosart). These 
 
 emigrants are apparently supposed to be flying west- 
 ward beyond the reach of Laud's ecclesiastical ad- 
 ministration. But Marvell, at least in youth, held so 
 equable an attitude between the contentions of his day, 
 remaining, indeed, a lover of the Monarchy at heart, 
 that the motive of the poem was probably only chosen 
 to gratify his intense feeling for natural scenery and 
 imaginative hyperbole by this lovely picture. 
 
 Andrew Marvell was of Trinity, Cambridge : made the 
 ' grand tour ' of those days : in 1650-2 taught the little 
 Mary, daughter to General Lord Fairfax. In 1657 he 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 339 
 
 J AGE NO. 
 
 was employed with Milton (at his recommendation) as 
 a secretary in the Foreign Department of the Protec- 
 torate. He entered the House of Commons as Member 
 for Hull, 1659, and sate there till his death : in 1663 
 accompanying the first (Howard) Earl of Carlisle on his 
 embassy to ' Muscovy,' and writing much political verse. 
 This is of very small value as poetry. But Marvell, 
 when he is great, is among our greatest poets in felicity 
 of touch and vividness of penetrative imagination. Of 
 this the Coronet (c) is a fine example. Here Marvell 
 seems allegorically to shadow forth how hard it is 
 to offer human gifts, such as Poetry, to Heaven, in 
 a truly disinterested and devotional spirit. 
 
 79 ci The selection from Vaughan's poetry here given will 
 
 probably be the largest mass of unfamiliar verse to 
 most readers. It is also so condensed in style, filled 
 with such strokes of penetrative imagination, not 
 without fantastic touches, that it will require the 
 careful study which it eminently repays. Rather full 
 notes have been therefore added. 
 
 Henry Vaughan was descended from the branch of 
 that ancient and noble family settled in Breconshire, 
 which in Roman days formed part of the region 
 Siluria : whence the Poet always signs himself Silurist. 
 He was born at Scethrog (properly Ysgythrog, peaked, 
 or craggy), near Usk, between Crickhowel and 
 Brecon : in 1638 entered Jesus College, Oxford : 
 thence went to London, where he was familiar with 
 men of letters : took the degree of Doctor of Medicine : 
 by 1647 practised at Scethrog or Newton, where his 
 Silex Scintillans (Spark-giving Flintstone), published 
 1650 and 1655, Thalia Rediviva, 1678, and other books 
 were written. Except that he married and had 
 children nothing is known of the poet-physician's 
 long life in his native place : only the tombstone in 
 his parish church-yard of Llansantfraed records 
 'Henricus Vaughan M.D. | Siluris: | Servus inutilis [ 
 Peccator maximus | Hie jaceo | Gloria ! + miserere.' 
 To this good man's humble confession let us, however, 
 allow ourselves to add his ancient family motto : ' Safe 
 is the owner of a clear Conscience.' 
 
 80 en Wordsworth, who owned a copy of the very rare Silex 
 
 Scintillans, may have had this poem before him when 
 writing his Ode upon Intimations of Immortality. 
 Vaughan's my glorious train answering to the trailing 
 clouds of glory ... of the later Poet. 
 
34 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 82 cv An excellent example of the writer's skill in blending 
 
 natural scenery with moral and religious thought : 
 It may be compared with the power of uniting figure- 
 subjects with landscape which a few painters, (notably 
 our own G. Mason), have shown. 
 
 The omnipresence of God in Nature is almost more 
 constant and consistent in Vaughan's poetry than in 
 Wordsworth's. Equally characteristic is the intensely 
 imaginative picture of the higher heavens, the wide 
 sweep of Vaughan's brush in painting them, exempli- 
 fied in St. iv, 1. 5, 6. 
 
 83 cvi Man . . .flowers ; so in the only original text of 1650. 
 
 Ingenious conjecture has here read and . . . flowers, 
 Angels . . . But the phrase as it stands is quite in 
 Vaughan's manner and gives sense. On the principles 
 of safe emendatory criticism, it should therefore be left 
 undisturbed. 
 
 84 cix 1. 16 cheap book : probably for chap-book. P. 85, 1. 4 : 
 
 the sense may be, ' I strove long against the purifying 
 and conscience-awakening doctrines of Holy Scrip- 
 ture/ 
 
 89 cxvi It is obviously against the persecutions and grinding 
 tyranny, (stigmatized by Hallam with honest wrath, but 
 disingenuously extenuated by more than one writer of 
 our day), suffered by the country at the hand of the 
 Puritans and Cromwell, that Vaughan (1655) makes 
 this beautiful protest. 
 
 9t cxvm The original title is Rom. Cap. 8. ver. 19. Etenim 
 res Creates exerto Capite observantes expectant revelationem 
 Filiorum Dei. This seems to be a version framed by 
 Vaughan to suit the imagery of this eminently character- 
 istic poem ; the Vulgate giving Nam expectatio creaturce, 
 revelationem filiorum Dei expectat. 
 
 95 cxxn What breadth of sympathy, what a strange power 
 of living (as it were) the very life of Nature, what 
 eager tenderness and humanity, in this most original 
 poem ! It should be compared with the singular 
 history of a Book, given in cvm. Realism, in 
 Vaughan, is penetrated, or, rather, identified, with 
 Idealism. 
 
 98 cxxvi 1. 17-20 This . . . rack: some confusion or misreading 
 must be here. The syntax becomes clearer if we place 
 1. 19, 20 after 1. 16, and suppose made understood after 
 the were now of 1. 15. Yet this transposition seems to 
 weaken the contrast drawn between the fall of Salem 
 and the glorification of Bethlem. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 34 1 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 100 cxxix Magdal-castle : the Magdala whence Mary has been 
 called was probably the Migdol (Tower) near 
 Tiberias, where the remains of a watch-tower still 
 exist. The name Magdalene may however mean 
 ' the twiner or platter of hair/ and this interpretation 
 possibly induced Vaughan to dwell so fully on the 
 point. He returned to the subject in some lovely 
 lines of his Thalia Rediviva (1678), where, in the 
 description of a Beauty, he says 
 
 Her hair laid out in curious setts 
 And twists, doth show like silken nets, 
 Where since he play'd at hit or miss 
 The god of Love her pris'ner is, 
 And fluttering with his skittish wings 
 Puts all her locks in curls and rings. 
 It should be remembered that the identification 
 whether of Mary of Magdala or Mary of Bethany 
 with the Sinner of S. Luke vii is only conjectural, 
 if not improbable. Whether Vaughan was aware 
 or not of this, he has left us no more curious and 
 original poem than his Mary Magdalen, a figure as 
 vivid, life-like, and quaint as one in a mediaeval missal. 
 1 06 cxxxiv for one twenty . . . Possibly, common insensate things 
 may outlast one who has lived twenty years ; referring 
 to the life-time of the unknown youth lamented in 
 this pathetic poem : to which, as to the following, 
 Vaughan has prefixed no title. 
 
 108 cxxxv St. i. 1. 3 well: dell has been conjectured, but the 
 Welsh ffynnon stands for fountain or for spring- 
 head, and may have influenced Vaughan to use well 
 in the sense of watery recess. 
 
 in cxxxix From Crashaw to Norris (CL) we are in the strange, 
 attractive, remote region of mysticism and ecstasy, 
 having its origin in Plato, but probably drawing more 
 from Philo, Plotinus, and later sources. Oxford in 
 the fifteenth century had her Renaissance move- 
 ment, which has profoundly affected England ever 
 since. The Cambridge Platonist movement was less 
 diffused, less enduring : yet it deserves study, not 
 only as a singular exhibition of a phase which 
 constantly recurs in the human mind, but from the 
 merit of the literature which it has left. 
 
 Richard Crashaw, from the lately-founded Charter 
 House, entered Cambridge in 1631, passing from 
 Pembroke to Peterhouse : was ejected in 1644 with 
 many more who refused to bow down before the 
 
34 2 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 Scottish Covenant: that transient idol which the 
 Presbyterian party had set up and was trying to 
 force upon reluctant England. He joined the 
 Roman Communion about 1646, in which year his 
 little volume of English poetry was published : Soon 
 retired to France ; thence to Rome : was made 
 Canon in the Basilica Church of our Lady in 
 Loreto, where he presently died and was buried. 
 
 Crashaw represents sensuous Mysticism, as the 
 three poets who follow are intellectual mystics. Like 
 Quarles, (though not to the same degree), he quits 
 the ideal point of view, the high Platonic aether. 
 We cannot say of him, as has been said of that 
 * Son of Light,' Origen, the great founder of Christian 
 Mysticism, that he * is never betrayed into the 
 imagery of earthly passion used by the monastic 
 writers,' and which also marked the style of the 
 Italian Marino, from whose Herod Crashaw has left 
 a brilliant paraphrase. 
 
 Yet this mode of feeling has its place ; it also 
 demands and deserves its compartment in a Sacred 
 Anthology. Crashaw' s work in poetry, as a whole, 
 is incomplete and irregular ; Pope, whilst praising 
 him, was correct in recognizing that he was an 
 amateur rather than an artist. It was the same with 
 Marvell : neither, one would say, did justice to his 
 fine natural gift. But Crashaw has a charm so 
 unique, an imagination so nimble and subtle, phrases 
 of such sweet and passionate felicity, that readers who 
 may be tempted by the very scanty specimens which 
 alone it has been here possible to offer, to turn to 
 his little book, will find themselves surprised and 
 delighted, in proportion to their sympathetic sense 
 of Poetry, when touched to its rarer and finer issues. 
 
 St. i. 1. 4 wake the Sun : So in the popular mediaeval 
 hymn Vtfimtn bonum . . . the Blessed Virgin is 
 addressed 
 
 Ave, Solem genuisti, 
 Ave, Solem protulisti. 
 
 113 CXLII Joseph Beaumont, born of that Leicestershire family 
 which rivals the Tennysons of Lincolnshire in 
 poetical fertility, was educated at Peterhouse, Cam- 
 bridge, where he began that immense range of 
 study which was characteristic of the l Polymaths ' 
 of the seventeenth century. With his friend Crashaw 
 thrust forth in 1644, he retired to Hadleigh, where he 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 343 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 wrote his Psyche, or Love's Mystery, an allegory of 
 Life filling between thirty and forty thousand lines. 
 Beaumont's later years, despite the political troubles 
 of his time, were prosperous : he made a happy 
 marriage (1650), and after 1660 became Head of 
 Jesus and of his old College successively : Regius Pro- 
 fessor of Divinity in 1674. Thenceforward he seems 
 to have lived and worked at Peterhouse, where his 
 epitaph in the Chapel still commemorates him as 
 Poeta, Orator, Theologus prsestantissimus. 
 The pieces here printed, (which do not represent 
 the mystical style of the Psyche), belong to 1652 : 
 CXLIV was doubtless suggested by the contrast of 
 Beaumont's home-happiness in quiet Hadleigh, and 
 the wretched state of England under the Common- 
 wealth, and is a lesson as true for the nineteenth 
 century as the seventeenth. 
 
 117 CXLVII Henry More, the most interesting figure among our 
 poetical mystics, went from Eton to Christ's, 
 Cambridge, where he lived an ideal student's life 
 among books, friends, and disciples, yet distinguished 
 also for charitable deeds. 
 
 In youth he passed through a stage of bewildered 
 thought, accompanied with the common miseries of 
 : scepticism, which he described in a few powerful 
 
 lines, till he reached clear vision; 
 
 ffvv 8e T' "Epcvs fjie irrcpoiffi Ocoffavros c^vTrtpcifei' 
 
 Nv awe/??; ptv ovap TC . . . 
 
 blessed henceforward with a firm happy philo- 
 sophic Christian faith, which in mode of expression 
 was influenced not only by Plato and his later 
 mystical followers, but by the mediaeval Theologia 
 Germanica, by Ficino of Florence, (probably in his 
 Theologia Platonica) and Descartes, then the leading 
 thinker in Europe. But he moved through this 
 labyrinth of speculation, safe in the singleness of 
 heart, the Monocardia, as he terms it, the faithfulness 
 to the ' Good and the True,' to the Sincerity which, 
 (as on his death-bed t he professed with tears ' to the 
 friend who watched by him), had been his lifelong 
 pursuit. More's 'unwavering allegiance to reason,' 
 which he held ' the glory and adornment of all true 
 religion, and the special prerogative of Christianity ' 
 was 'the counterbalancing principle' in his mind to 
 his mystical theories : (J. H. Overton, The Church in 
 . the Eighteenth Century]. 
 
344 NOTES ON BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 R. Southey remarks on More that 'as a poet, 
 strange and sometimes unreadably uncouth as he is, 
 there are lines and passages of the highest feeling and 
 most exquisite beauty.' His many poems cannot in 
 his own age have been popular, and will never be so. 
 Yet it is impossible to glance at them without an 
 impression of strange imaginative force, of singular 
 and delightful depth of mystical conviction. 
 
 The two remarkable philosophical flights here 
 chosen are briefer, not lower, than More's more 
 sustained poems. Difficult at first sight from their 
 weight of condensed thought, from the remoteness 
 of the ideas presented, they remind of the passionate 
 power, the imaginative fury, of Lucretius : but their 
 Christian Platonism lifts them in tone into a larger 
 aether, regions happier and higher, than could be 
 reached by the pupil of Empedocles and Epicurus. 
 
 120 CXLIX In st. i. the order of 1. 3 and 4 has been conjec- 
 turally transposed. 
 
 John Norris was educated at Winchester and Exeter 
 College, and Fellow of All Souls, Oxford. He held the 
 living of Bemerton, formerly G. Herbert's, (1691). 
 1 That old and tranquil parsonage was to him a happy 
 hiding place : ' and Benelatuit is his fitting epitaph. 
 Norris wrote much and ably on metaphysical subjects : 
 was greatly influenced by the Cambridge Platonists, 
 More and Cudworth. His poems were published 1684, 
 and passed through a tenth edition by 1730: one 
 proof, out of many, how exaggerated is the criticism 
 which describes that period as devoid of inner life 
 and spiritual aspiration. 
 
 Norris may be reckoned the last among our Christian 
 Platonists of the seventeenth century. He has 'the 
 same noble tone of spiritualised thought and wistful, - 
 imaginative, speculation, and a like golden haze over 
 it all ' (C. J. Abbey) : not without some share in 
 the fancifulness and overstrain prevalent in his day. 
 
 lax CLI Francis Quarles, son to a country gentleman of 
 Romford : educated at Christ's, Cambridge : studied 
 at Lincoln's* Inn : was for a time secretary to Arch- 
 bishop Usher in Ireland, but lived mainly as an 
 author, publishing much in verse and prose from 
 1620 onward. He was a devoted royalist, and 
 suffered accordingly : dying of grief, it is said, at 
 the robbery and destruction of his library. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK FIRS 'T 345 
 
 PACK NO. 
 
 The inconstancy of Fame has no better example 
 than Quarles. He moralizes his song too much ; 
 his work is marred by fantastical lapses from good 
 taste ; by a fatal facility. Yet, unless indeed a man's 
 performance, when he has had free play, is always 
 the measure of his natural gift, Quarles has written 
 so well, so sincerely, sometimes, (see CLI), so fer- 
 vently, that had he remembered how, in Poetry, 
 Matter, however good, is of no ultimate avail without 
 adequate Art, he might, we may easily believe, have 
 deserved to retain some part of that immense popu- 
 larity which he enjoyed among his contemporaries. 
 
 125 CLV George Wither, educated at Magdalen, Oxford, was 
 
 a lawyer; served on both sides in the Civil War; 
 made a Major General by Cromwell, but was de- 
 prived of his spoils after the Restoration. ' His 
 best poems/ says Hallam, 'were published in 1622, 
 with the title of Mistress of Philarete. Some of them 
 are highly beautiful ... I think there is hardly 
 anything in our lyric poetry of [that] period equal to 
 his lines on his Muse.' But this promise was 
 swamped by false fluency and the ' grovelling puri- 
 tanism into which he afterwards fell.' 
 
 126 CLVII Jeremy Taylor : Educated at Caius, Cambridge : 
 
 made Fellow of All Souls, Oxford, by favour of 
 Archbishop Laud : was imprisoned for his support 
 of Charles I : lived poor and retiredly in Wales, but 
 was once or twice more imprisoned : moved to 
 Lisburn and in 1660 was made Bishop of Down and 
 Connor, with Dromore, where he was buried, in 
 addition. He united learning and fervent eloquence 
 perhaps more than any other English writer. 
 
 128 CLIX Richard Baxter : A man eminent for candour, charity, 
 and goodness, but inconsistent and wavering in his 
 public career during the evil days of the Civil War, 
 Protectorate, and Restoration. He was a very vo- 
 luminous polemical writer, but best known in his 
 own day and since through his excellent manuals of 
 practical piety. < Read any of his works ; they are 
 all good,' said Dr. Johnson to Boswell. 
 
 - CLX Samuel Grossman : Educated at Pembroke, Oxford : 
 
 was ejected from his rectory in Essex for noncon- 
 formity in 1662 : returned to the Church, and died 
 
34$ NOTES O^N BOOK FIRST 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 Dean of Bristol. His Sacred Poems were published 
 1664. 
 
 130 CLXII John Austin : Entered S. John's, Cambridge ; left in 
 1640, on joining the Roman Communion ; qualified 
 for the Bar. This hymn was published 1668 in his 
 Offices. 
 
 134 CLXVII My Lord, my Love: translated from a phrase of 
 S. Ignatius C O I/AO? "Epcus taravpcurai. 
 
 John Mason, of Clare Hall, Cambridge, was some 
 time Vicar of Water Stratford ; but fell into strange 
 aberrations, which, according to W. T. Brooke's 
 conjecture, ended in religious mania. His Spiritual 
 Songs are dated 1683. 
 
 1 36 CLXX Thomas Shepherd : for a short time a clergyman 
 in Buckinghamshire ; afterwards Congregational 
 Minister at Northampton and Bocking. With an 
 edition of J. Mason's Songs of Praise, he published 
 Penitential Cries y 1692. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO BOOK II 
 
 The changes which occur in poetical style, as we have noticed, 
 are marked less strongly upon our religious than on our secular 
 song. Yet something of the clear diction and the easy metrical 
 flow of Pope is traceable in the hymns of Addison : whilst the 
 plain, even the prosaic, manner of De Foe has a counterpart in 
 Ken's writing. But the didactic tone, the repressed undercurrent 
 of feeling, which in many ways colour our secular poetry during 
 the second and third quarters of the eighteenth century, in reli- 
 gious verse soon gave way before what is generally known as 
 the Evangelical movement. This in some degree was doubtless 
 a reaction towards warmth, enthusiasm, and (as we might say) 
 Nature, from the argumentative habit, the constant appeal to 
 reason and common sense, the studied moderation of tone, which 
 were the general tendencies of the time. But the motives and the 
 men by whom the religious school in question was led from Watts, 
 Toplady, and the Wesleys, to Cowper, its strength and its weak- 
 ness need not here be dwelt on. Suffice it to note that the poetry 
 of the full-charged heart now found vent and relief, not in imaginative 
 ode or didactic meditation, but in the form of hymns ; amongst 
 -which many of the most beautiful, not less than the most practically 
 
NOTES OX BOOK SECOND 
 
 347 
 
 precious, poems of that class existing in any literature, are found. 
 These hymns indeed have often, to modern eyes, a conventional 
 style, due to two causes : the phraseology common to the Evangelical 
 school, and the general literary manner of the time. But the manner 
 of one age is always the conventionality of the next : and they to 
 whom this quality is repulsive in our eighteenth-century writers 
 should remember that the styles which seem natural to us will 
 probably, under the same law, seem artificial to those who live 
 in the ' summers that we shall not see/ 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 138 CLXXII 
 
 Abraham Cowley, of Westminster School and Trinity, 
 Cambridge : a supporter of Charles I and his Queen : 
 by his contemporaries (and Milton's) held the 
 greatest poet of his time. But cleverness and sense, 
 both of which he has to a very high degree, when 
 wanting- good taste and that indescribable something 
 which eternally severs poetry from verse, have long 
 since placed him amongst those writers who are 
 rarely read, but never read without profit. 
 
 139 CLXXIV the Tyrrhene seas : Addison here obviously refers to 
 a violent storm by which, when sailing from Mar- 
 seille to Italy during December 1699, he was 
 assailed in the bay of Genoa. His vessel was driven 
 back to Monaco, whence he took boat to Savona. 
 
 142 CLXXVII Thomas Ken was Scholar of Winchester 1652, 
 Fellow of New College, Oxford, by election from 
 school : studied music and physical science in 
 addition to the ordinary subjects. Was chosen 
 Fellow of Winchester, and Prebendary (1669) : 
 resided there for some years and wrote his famous 
 Manual of Prayers (1675^. Chaplain at the Hague 
 to Princess Mary : consecrated Bishop of Bath and 
 Wells 1685, at the special choice of Charles II, who 
 honoured the courage of ' the little black fellow who 
 would not give poor Nelly [Gwyn] a lodging ' in his 
 house at Winchester. 
 
 After Monmouth's invasion Ken saved the lives of 
 many rebels : as Bishop he gave away his whole 
 income, and was unbounded in kirfdness and aid to 
 the poor. In 1688 he was one of the Seven Bishops 
 who resisted James II : but, with much hesitation, 
 found himself unable to take the Oath required 
 by William III, and was deprived of his See in 
 1691. Henceforth he lived mostly in personal 
 poverty at Longleat ; troubled often by Nonjuring 
 disputants and failing health ; yet comforted by many 
 
34 8 NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 friendships with old and young : for, childless 
 himself, like Watts and Keble, he was distinguished 
 by love for children. He received unfailing and 
 reverent kindness from Lord Weymouth, under 
 whose roof he died, and was buried at Frome 
 Selwood, the nearest village in his old diocese. 
 
 Poetry more absolutely sincere, more high-minded 
 than Bishop Ken's, does not exist. But heaviness 
 of style, prolixity, want of charm and of variety, has 
 sunk most of his work irretrievably. It is but the 
 selection of a selection which is here offered. Three 
 justly-famous Hymns have, however, been printed 
 in full. The curious textual questions connected 
 with them have been discussed by Dean Plumptre of 
 Wells in his admirable Life of Ken (1888) : a book 
 which puts the man and his age before us with 
 singular vividness. The text given in Ken's Manual 
 for Winchester College, 1695, has here been mainly 
 followed, with a few alterations from his revised 
 edition of 1709. 
 
 150 CLXXXV Ken for many years before his death suffered 
 grievously from rheumatism and other disorders, 
 resorting to Bath and Clifton for relief. But disease 
 grew upon him, and his latter days were over- 
 shadowed by terrible tortures. This poem, beauti- 
 ful from its simplicity and depth of pathos, (as 
 CLXXXVI through its dramatic straightforwardness), 
 with others is ascribed by Dean Plumptre to that 
 melancholy period. Ken says himself: 
 I some remission of my woes 
 Feel, while I hymns compose. 
 
 152 CLXXXVII Nahum Tate: at Trinity, Dublin: Poet Laureate 
 
 after Shadwell ; friend of Dryden. He translated the 
 Psalms in conjunction with Dr. Brady, and has been 
 criticized too severely for failing of success in a task 
 where to succeed was impossible. 
 
 153 CLXXXVIII John Pomfret: of Queen's, Cambridge, and Rector 
 
 of Maiden, Bedfordshire. This little song is an oasis 
 in a wilderness of commonplace. 
 
 CLXXXIX Isaac Watts received a thorough classical educa- 
 tion, and entered the ' Independent ' ministry. His 
 health failed in 1712 and the rest of his life he 
 passed in Sir T. Abney's house ; dying there of old 
 age ; after long and devoted work to his flock and in 
 literature. He was buried in Bunhill Fields. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 
 
 349 
 
 Watts may be counted (if we exclude Milton), as 
 one of the earliest well-read and scholarly students 
 among the nonconformists. His views as an Inde- 
 pendent were modified and enlarged by his sweet 
 devout temper; may we not add, by his gift in 
 poetry ? And ' every Christian church,' as Dr. 
 Johnson finely remarked, ' would rejoice to have 
 adopted ' one so fervently devout, so faithful to his 
 duty; we may add, so much more truly gifted by 
 nature as a poet, than common Fame has recognized. 
 As with C. Wesley and other good men, fluency, 
 want of taste and finish, the sacrifice, in a word, 
 of Art to direct usefulness, have probably lost them 
 those honours in literature to which they were born. 
 But they have their reward. 
 
 156 cxcin The Calvinism within which the tender-hearted 
 Watts was bound captive is doubtless too per- 
 ceptible in this beautiful lyric. A similar vein of 
 feeling may, however, be traced, centuries before, in 
 that * apathy* which S. Clement of Alexandria 
 ascribes to the perfect Christian, who is ' so absorbed 
 in the Divine Love that he can no longer be said to 
 love his fellow-creatures, in the ordinary sense of 
 the word.' Yet as we learn, (Bigg, The Christian 
 Platonists of Alexandria), how 'there were many 
 in Clement's own time who shrank from that too 
 ethereal ideal, which, to use his own phrase, touches 
 earth with but onefoot, 1 so in this hymn the gracious 
 spirit of Poetry seems to soften the grim atmosphere 
 of Geneva. 
 
 158 cxcvn The admirable author of this hymn almost apologized 
 
 for publishing it. Yet few child-pictures have been 
 drawn in words or colours of more perfect tender- 
 ness. 
 
 159 cxcviu Philip Doddridge : a nonconformist minister of much 
 
 and varied reading: Head of a theological College 
 at Northampton : a greatly esteemed and popular 
 author of his day : died and was buried at Lisbon. 
 
 iSi ecu John Byrom : trained at Merchant Taylors' and 
 Trinity, Cambridge : his first publication was a 
 Pastoral in the Spectator. After early poverty, he 
 lived a retired blameless literary life on his property 
 by Manchester. One of the many men of strong 
 feeling in whom faith burned like ' a hidden flame ' 
 through the eighteenth century. 
 
35 NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 162 ccui Christopher Smart : student and fellow of Pembroke 
 Hall, Cambridge : His life was one of literature 
 actively followed as a profession ; didactic, satirical, 
 and religious. But his work is singularly unequal : 
 only under the stress of illness and mental over- 
 excitement did he reach the level of serious genius 
 shown in our two specimens. Smart was eminent 
 for wit, conviviality, kindliness, and carelessness : 
 valued as a friend by men like Johnson and Garrick : 
 a type of one who has ' no enemy but himself.' 
 
 During a severe illness (1754-1756) Smart's mind 
 partially failed : whilst in confinement he is believed 
 to have written the ' Song to David ' which he 
 published in 1763 : the Hymn on his Recovery has 
 been dated about 1756. It seems that he never 
 regained full sanity, although the disease was rather 
 eccentricity than madness : and despite hard labour, 
 he died under confinement for debt. 
 
 ' My poor friend Smart,' Dr. Johnson said to Bos- 
 well, in 1763, ' showed the disturbance of his mind, by 
 falling upon his knees, and saying his prayers in the 
 street. . . . Now although, rationally speaking, it is 
 greater madness not to pray at all, than to pray as 
 Smart did, I am afraid there are so many who do not 
 pray, that their understanding is not called in 
 question.' 
 
 Some traces of Smart's excited spirit are visible in 
 ccui : far more in cciv, which may be described in 
 a phrase of C. Lamb's as 'a kind of medley between 
 inspiration and possession ' ; and in its noble wild- 
 ness and transitions from grandeur to tenderness, 
 from Earth to Heaven, is unique in our Poetry. It 
 has been greatly abridged as here printed. 
 
 166 ccv Michael Bruce : born and bred near Lochleven in 
 
 Fifeshire : well educated in the village school, where 
 he was a typical specimen of the poor, brave, Scottish 
 student of those days, who could find in Latin 
 literature lifelong strength and enlightenment and 
 culture. ' Bruce was next at the University of 
 Edinburgh (1762) in company with John Logan: 
 teaching during his vacations, and after in the 
 country schools of his native district. But this life 
 was too hard for him : consumption set in, and he 
 died in his sleep at twenty-one : his copy of Holy 
 Scripture, turned down at the text Weep ye not for 
 the dead . . . beside him. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK: SECOND 35 [ 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 Immediately after the death of Bruce, Logan secured 
 all his papers. What followed has been the subject 
 of much controversy. But the Editor cannot resist 
 the conclusion that Logan, (whose after career 
 was unsatisfactory), managed to gain himself credit 
 for the authorship of most of his fellow-student's 
 poems; publishing them with more or less verbal 
 alteration, and destroying all the original manuscripts. 
 Yet, even as we have them, their grace, music, fine 
 descriptive skill, and spiritual feeling, sufficiently 
 prove that, had longer years been granted him, 
 Michael Bruce might have fulfilled the renown of 
 which his youth gave promise so remarkable. 
 
 168 CCVIH Thomas Olivers : A shoemaker by trade ; converted 
 from a dissolute life by Whitefield's preaching, he 
 became, first, a zealous assistant of John Wesley, and 
 then was employed in his printing-office. 
 
 The musical service in a Synagogue at Westminster 
 suggested to Olivers the noble Ode here printed : 
 (C. J. Abbey). 
 
 170 ccix Augustus Montague Toplady: of Westminster School 
 and Trinity, Dublin : sometime Vicar of Broad- 
 hembury, Devon : published his hymns in 1776. 
 A zealous Calvinist ; studied and wrote much : 
 powerfully and bitterly opposing John Wesley. But 
 his fervour of nature, when directed to worthier 
 purpose, inspired Toplady with this splendid Lyric ; 
 which, in beauty and intensity of feeling, has a rival 
 in ccxn, a hymn truly sublime through the simplicity 
 of its absolute self-surrender. 
 
 ccx the balance : Toplady seems here to have had in view 
 
 a phrase from the famous hymn, Vexilla Regis, by 
 Fortunatus the sixth-century poet, who describes 
 the Cross, whilst bearing the Saviour's Body, as 
 Statera facia sacculi : ' His Body there in balance 
 lay/ in J. Keble's version. 
 
 172 ccxv Charles Wesley: younger brother to John: At 
 Westminster School; Student of Christ Church, 
 Oxford, where he worked diligently : was ordained ; 
 went on a short mission to the Indians of Georgia : 
 afterwards, a Methodist preacher in England. 
 
 The dramatic vividness and fervour of this lyrical 
 Monologue (founded upon Genesis xxxii) the music 
 and consoling sweetness of faith in ccxxi, may 
 
352 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 
 
 justify the opinion on the Hymnist's natural gift 
 expressed in the previous Note upon Watts ; who, 
 with the charming candour natural to him, said, 
 * It was worth all the works he himself had written.' 
 In the strove and rose (St. ix and xH for striven and 
 risen, Wesley, as Archbishop Trench has remarked, 
 adopts a usage found in Shakespeare and Milton. 
 
 177 ccxxii Philip Skelton : Scholar in Trinity, Dublin : worked 
 as clergyman at Monaghan and elsewhere ; being 
 always distinguished for good sense, devotedness, 
 self-denial, and success : published much ; mostly on 
 religious subjects. Retired in old age to Dublin ; 
 published his hymns in 1784. 
 
 This poem, much indebted for its beauty to its 
 scientific accuracy, is an interesting example of the 
 practical, the positive, spirit for which the eighteenth 
 century has been often inconsiderately and indis- 
 criminately censured. 
 
 179 ccxxiii John Cennick : For a time, a Calvinistic Methodist; 
 afterwards a Moravian preacher : To this period the 
 hymn printed doubtless belongs. 
 
 ccxxiv John Newton : Began life as a sailor ; was employed 
 in the African slave-trade ; profligate and miserable, 
 yet worked perseveringly at Latin and mathematics. 
 He awoke to the sense of Sin and of Mercy : left the 
 sea : studied for Holy Orders : was ordained to the 
 curacy of Olney (1765), and became friend of William 
 Cowper. In 1779 Newton was made rector of a 
 City church ; He had the generosity of a large heart, 
 grateful for his conversion to piety and happiness ; 
 and hence, doubtless, a singular gift in winning his 
 hearers. 
 
 Mere bare simplicity and sincerity suffice to range 
 this hymn amongst the most powerful in our 
 Anthology : John Bunyan, or the great twelfth- 
 century religious poet, Jacopone of Todi, who 
 wrote the Canzone Mtrami, Sposa, un poco In sulla 
 Croce ignudo, might have been proud, or thankful, to 
 own it. 
 
 182 ccxviii-ccxxxn These hymns were written at Olney in 
 North Buckinghamshire between 1771-1779, at the 
 suggestion and under the influence of John Newton. 
 That influence was not wholly for good ; Assurance 
 of Salvation : a cardinal point in the creed of his 
 
NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 353 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 Calvinist friend, was physically and morally im- 
 possible to Cowper's tremulous, sensitive, nature. 
 The Hymnal was not far advanced, when he again 
 fell beneath the insanity of ten years before. His 
 mind gradually recovered its proper tone: and the 
 jointly- written book, about one-fourth of which is by 
 Cowper, was the first by which (1779) he became 
 known as an author. 
 
 183 ccxxxi Mr. Abbey, in the excellent Church in the Eighteenth 
 
 Century, assigns this brilliant lyric to J. Newton. It 
 is however, marked C. in the first edition of the 
 Olney Hymns, the sign placed to distinguish 
 Cowper's work : to which, in point of style, it also 
 clearly belongs. 
 
 184 ccxxxin This beautiful poem was written in 1765, at the 
 
 moment when Cowper, after his earliest fit of de- 
 rangement, was deciding to quit London as his home, 
 for ever. That the country, however, could not give 
 lasting peace to that delicate and troubled spirit, is 
 shown by the companion poem, of at least equal 
 beauty, O happy shades . . ., written in 1773 ; appar- 
 rently whilst the second attack (above noticed) was 
 approaching. 
 
 1 86 ccxxxv William Blake : Mr. A. Gilchrist has well recounted 
 the story of this singularly attractive poet and 
 painter. A long life could hardly have fewer events ; 
 only a sixty years' cheerful and happy struggle against 
 starvation : but the beautiful soul of the man, devoted 
 to his art and his loving wife and his God, gives it an 
 unique interest, a fascination, rarely raised by any 
 biography. And in Blake, more than most, the man 
 is identified with the artist ; the spell which the life 
 holds over the sympathetic reader is renewed and 
 confirmed by the poet-painter's designs and verses. 
 The drawing may be often faulty ; the syntax im- 
 perfect ; yet there is a subtle simplicity, a tenderness 
 springing equally from the heart and the imagination, 
 sometimes a sublimity of idea, which give the best 
 work of Blake's youth a peculiar place of its own, 
 high up amongst our * treasures for ever/ 
 
 The soul of that child-like and celestial painter 
 Fra Angelico, might have entered into Blake, (who 
 in 1789 can have known nothing of the monastic 
 Italian artist) when writing this and the two follow- 
 ing pieces for his Songs of Innocence. 
 
 The work of each was in truth irradiated by mystic 
 
354 NOTES ON BOOK SECOND 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 inward enthusiasm, by constant presence of the 
 spiritual life, by intensity of vision : To men of this 
 class the Invisible world is the Visible, the Super- 
 natural, was the Real. 
 
 188 ccxxxix James Montgomery: son to a Moravian missionary: 
 edited a newspaper at Sheffield ; wrote much verse : 
 published his hymns in 1853 : the period to which 
 ccxxxix may conjecturally be assigned. 
 
 190 CCXLII Rt. Hon. Sir Robert Grant : Educated at Magdalene, 
 Cambridge : then sat in the House of Commons for 
 several years : Governor of Bombay from 1834 to 
 his death. The two hymns here printed have a 
 simple directness of thought and expression worthy 
 of our Elizabethan poets. 
 
 192 CCXLIV Anna Laetitia Barbauld : daughter to Dr. Aikin : 
 established a school near Diss : wrote on Education : 
 Distinguished and loved for a truly highminded and 
 sympathetic nature. 
 
 INTRODUCTION TO BOOK III 
 
 Our Second Book ranges from about 1680 to 1820. By this 
 latter date that fertile outburst of poetry, which gave a brilliancy 
 to the first half of this century, second only to that of the Eliza- 
 bethan age, had fully established itself. And already also the 
 dominant schools of religious thought and practice familiar to us 
 all, (from whatever angle of view we may estimate them), were 
 working their way to the surface. There is now sufficient general 
 acquiescence in regard to the character of the Evangelical move- 
 ment to render discussion of it here unnecessary. An opposite 
 reason dispenses with any critical sketch of the modes of thought 
 upon religion which are represented in this Third Book. Atten- 
 tion may however be called to the close parallelism between 
 the impulses which, respectively, supplied their wealth of poetic 
 material and inspiration to Herbert and Vaughan, and, in our own 
 day, to the two admirable writers who hold a place similar to 
 theirs in this section of our anthology. 
 
 PAGE NO 
 
 194 CCLVI Reginald Heber: At Brasenose, Oxford, and early 
 distinguished for brilliant ability and energy. Was 
 appointed in 1822 Bishop of Calcutta, where he 
 worked with equal devotion and success, till apoplexy 
 cut him off at Trichinopoli. In poetical style he is 
 our last eminent representative of Pope and Addison. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 
 
 355 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 194 CCLVI Henry Hart Milman, of Eton and Brasenose, Oxford : 
 author of several plays, poems and histories, ably 
 written in a somewhat artificial style. Professor of 
 Poetry at Oxford, 1821. Canon of Westminster and 
 Dean of S. Paul's. The hymns here given were 
 published, together with those by Bishop Heber, in 
 1827. 
 
 200 CCLVIII All the poems selected from Wordsworth belong to 
 the later half of his life, with exception of CCLXIV, 
 which was ' composed on the beach near Calais/ 
 1802. 
 
 207 CCLXVII-CCLXXXIX are from the Christian Year, published 1827. 
 John Keble, educated by his father, before his 
 fifteenth birthday was elected Scholar of Corpus, 
 Oxford : First Class in the Classical and Mathematical 
 Schools, 1810: Fellow of Oriel, 1811 : ordained 
 Priest 1816, when he asked a friend to ' pray for me 
 that I may free myself from all pride, all ambition, all 
 uncharitableness ' : The prayer was granted, and it 
 may form the motto for Keble's long, useful, and 
 saintly life. He was chosen unanimously Professor 
 of Poetry at Oxford 1831 : settled as Vicar at Hurs- 
 ley near Winchester 1835, where his days henceforth 
 were passed, divided between prose and poetry and 
 the devout performance of duty : resting by his be- 
 loved wife at last in the peace of his own green 
 churchyard, beside the church rebuilt by him from 
 the proceeds of the Christian Year. 
 
 Keble's work as a co-operator with J. H. (Cardinal) 
 Newman, Dr. Pusey, and others, in the religious 
 movement to which his poetry gave its earliest 
 definite character is, perhaps, sufficiently illustrated 
 in the selection here offered. 
 
 209 CCLXIX St. ii 1. 2 blossoms red and bright: the original note 
 says, * Rhododendrons ' : but was afterwards cor- 
 rected to ' Oleanders.' St. v, vi, vii : the meaning 
 is, Turn from the world to Christ. 
 
 213 CCLXXII In refinement of feeling for nature, in the human, 
 sympathetic attitude towards things inanimate, and 
 again, in the sense how often these are more happily 
 gifted than mankind, we are here closely reminded 
 of Vaughan. Yet it is hardly probable that his very 
 rare little books should have fallen in Keble's way 
 by 1827. 
 
 No essay on Keble as a poet would be in place here. 
 Yet it may be noticed that, like Vaughan, his work. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 
 
 if not always clear either in its main lines or its 
 phrases, is filled with admirable imaginative touches, 
 with true and tender felicities, which deserve and 
 reward readers, careful, devoted, it might almost be 
 said, microscopic. 
 
 218 CCLXXV They say . . . crown : the author here refers in a note 
 
 to Bishop Jeremy Taylor, Holy Living, c. xi, sect. 3. 
 
 219 CCLXXVII These beautiful stanzas, said Mr. Keble's wife, on 
 
 the day of his death, ' I know were in his dying 
 thoughts.' She survived him but a few weeks. 
 221 CCLXXIX St. iv We change our posture-, so Dante (Purg. vi, 
 149) compares Florence, in her sick state, to 
 
 quella inferma 
 
 Che non puo trovar posa in su le piume, 
 Ma con dar volta suo dolore scherma. 
 
 234 ccxc Richard Chenevix Trench : Born at Dublin, educated 
 at Trinity, Cambridge. Theological Professor at 
 King's College : Dean of Westminster, 1856: Arch- 
 bishop of Dublin, 1864. In Philology and Biblical 
 exegesis he ranks high amongst our prose- writers, 
 and his poetry is penetrated by the high purity and 
 nobility of his character. 
 
 239 ccxcix Henry Alford : Educated at Ilmington School, and 
 
 Trinity, Cambridge : of which College he became 
 Fellow. A learned Greek Scholar ; edited the New 
 Testament. Dean of Canterbury, 1857. 
 
 240 ccc Hartley Coleridge: eldest son to Samuel Taylor: 
 
 Scholar of Merton, Oxford, and Fellow of Oriel. 
 Lived mostly in the Lake Country, a gentle, dreamy 
 man, who from feeble health and want of will failed 
 to fulfil the promise of his youth ; whilst, in Words- 
 worth's beautiful phrase, Nature preserved for him 
 throughout ' a young lamb's heart among the full- 
 grown flocks.' 
 
 241 cccin Carolina Baroness Nairn : Born (daughter to L. 
 
 Oliphant) and died at Gask in Perthshire. A high- 
 minded woman, whose 'heart was in every good and 
 Christian work of her time/ 
 
 The Leal, Faithful. P. 242 sae dear's ... It is a hard- 
 fought and dearly-won battle, by which sinful man 
 may reach Heaven. 
 
 242 ccciv Henry Francis Lyte : Of Trinity, Dublin : left Ire- 
 
 land for Brixham, Devonshire, through ill-health, and 
 died at Nice. Published his Poems 1833. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 357 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 244 cccvn The maid is not dead, but sleepeth, is the Author's 
 motto for these very tender and original lines. Mr. 
 Lyte's book has other lyrics, not within the scope of 
 this selection, similarly distinguished by pathetic 
 delicacy. His style often unites the characteristic 
 merits of Addison and of Cowper. 
 
 247 cccix song that may not die \ cccx is dated, Berry head, 
 September, 1847. The writer died in the following 
 November. 
 
 249 cccxii-cccxx From the Lyra Innocentium, published 1846 : 
 
 cccxxi-cccxxx, from the Miscellaneous Poems, written 
 
 at many different dates. 
 254 cccxvn Prefixed are the words ' Make me thereof a little 
 
 cake first, and bring it unto me, and after make for 
 
 thee and for thy son.' 
 257 cccxxi Dated 1854. 
 
 261 cccxxvn Originally written for the Christian Year, from admis- 
 
 sion to which its personal character probably excluded 
 it. This poem may be placed beside the beautiful Ode 
 to Evening by Collins, as one of the rare successes 
 of English poetry in the unrhymed lyric. 
 
 262 cccxxviu Composed * for the Tomb of the old Biddlecombes, 
 
 May 24, 1861.' 
 
 263 cccxxx Dated ' Dec. 8, in Conceptione B.M.V., 1844.' The 
 
 hymn ( was written for the Lyra Innocentium, but 
 withheld from publication at the time, with Mr. 
 Keble's consent but against his wish.' 
 
 264 cccxxxi William Barnes, of a family who had held lands in 
 
 Dorset for centuries, was born in a farmhouse within 
 that beautiful Vale of Blackmore upon which his 
 poems love to dwell. Educated in the country : at 
 first placed in a lawyer's office ; then conducted schools 
 at Mere and Dorchester: made himself master of 
 many languages, ancient and modern ; obtained a 
 degree from S. John's, Cambridge. By study and 
 love of the Dorset folk and their ancient speech was 
 led to write poems in hope of preserving the dialect. 
 Ordained in 1847 I in l8 6s Rector of Winterbourne 
 Came near Dorchester. And there, strenuously to 
 the last doing his duty from cottage to cottage, yet 
 studying and writing much on many subjects, Barnes' 
 years passed quickly and happily on, till, in full 
 Christian hope and peace, he was laid to rest within 
 his little tree-shadowed churchyard. 
 
 The poetry of Barnes, like that of Burns, is in- 
 separable from the dialect. This, however, (easily 
 
358 NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 as it may be mastered), has barred the lyrics of 
 Barnes from their due place amongst the most varied 
 in subject, the most perfect in form, the purest and 
 sweetest in tone, which our literature contains. 
 Humour and pathos, character and landscape, within 
 the limits of the local sphere which he scarcely 
 quits, each is at his command : of all modern poets 
 he is the most truly and delightfully Idyllic. The 
 few specimens here given, it is hoped, may tempt 
 genuine lovers of poetry to test this criticism for 
 themselves : the writer does not fear their verdict. 
 
 269 cccxxxvi From Poems . . . in common English, 1868. It is 
 
 worthy of Blake at his best in its sweet picturesque 
 simplicity. 
 
 270 cccxxxvn Adelaide Anne Procter : daughter to a poet best 
 
 known as ' Barry Cornwall.' Her poems appeared 
 in 1858, 1 86 1, 1862. 
 
 274 CCCXLII From Poems, D. M. Main, Glasgow, 1886 : a volume 
 marked by delicate and original thought, expressed 
 with simple grace. For his acquaintance with the 
 book, the Editor is indebted to Miss C. G. Rossetti. 
 
 279 CCCXLVI Published 1849. Arthur Hugh Clough was educated 
 at Rugby, Scholar of Balliol and Fellow of Oriel 
 (1842), Oxford : afterwards in the Education Office : 
 died and was buried at Florence. 
 
 - CCCXLVII John Campbell Shairp : born at Houstoun, Linlith- 
 gowshire, of an old Lowland Scottish family : trained 
 at Edinburgh, Glasgow University, and Balliol, Ox- 
 ford. Worked as Master at Rugby, and afterwards 
 as Professor of Humanity at S. Andrews : was there 
 chosen Principal of the United Colleges ; Elected 
 Professor of Poetry at Oxford (1877). 
 
 282 cccn Richard Hurrell Froude : At Eton and Oriel, Oxford : 
 friend and co-operator with John Keble and John 
 Henry (Cardinal) Newman in their movement for 
 religious revival. 
 
 282 CCCLII The editor trusts that he has here dealt with the free 
 permission of reprinting graciously given him, in a 
 mode which will not be disapproved by one to whom, 
 in company with millions, he owes a gratitude best 
 expressed by silence, a reverence such, che nol 
 diria sermone. 
 
NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 359 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 289 CCCLXIV The singular beauty of the view from the ancient 
 
 Taurominium near Etna, often noticed, called forth 
 from the writer (Ap. 26, 1833), during his journey in 
 Sicily, this deeply-felt expression of one among the 
 divers morals that Nature can teach. The Messina 
 deals with an analogous moral, as the motto given 
 in the author's Verses (1868) shows : Homo sum : 
 humani nihil a me alienum puto. 
 
 290 CCCLXVI The text prefixed is From His mouth came out a 
 
 sharp two-edged sword. 
 
 293 CCCLXXII Originally prefaced by the words of Sophocles, 
 
 Antigone, 332 : iro\\a rci Sctva, KOVCV dvOpuTrov 
 SfivoTfpov TreAcr Many are the wondrous things of 
 Nature, and none is more wondrous than Man. 
 
 294 CCCLXXIV Written after the death of Miss Mary Newman. 
 
 Dr. Pusey (Jan. 1828) says of the author that he 
 had ' lost, . . . after only 24 hours' cessation of ap- 
 parently strong health, his youngest sister. Every 
 consolation, which a brother can have, he has most 
 richly her whole life having been a preparation for 
 that hour.' 
 
 It is dated Oxford, April, 1828 : CCCLXXV, Horse- 
 path y September 29, 1829. 
 
 296 CCCLXXVI Dated, The Oratory, 1856; and published in the 
 Author's very impressive and pathetic tale of early 
 Christian life in Africa, Callista. 
 
 300 CCCLXXXI This and the next following are ' from S. Gregory 
 Nazianzen.' 
 
 CCCLXXXIII Written At Sea, in the Straits of Bonifazio, between 
 Sardinia and Corsica, June 16, 1833. 
 
 303 CCCLXXXVII St. vi Whither we rush : Refers to the real motion 
 of the Sun and his planets through celestial space. 
 
 304- CCCLXXXVIII From Poems and Hymns (1880) by John Sharp, 
 now for more than fifty years the much-respected 
 Vicar of Horbury, near Wakefield. 
 
 309 cccxcv Arthur Penrhyn Stanley : son to Edward, Bishop of 
 Norwich : at Rugby under Dr. Arnold : Scholar of 
 Balliol, Fellow of University, Oxford : Canon of 
 Canterbury, Dean of Westminster, 1863. Best known 
 by his Life of Dr. Arnold and works on the history of 
 the Jewish and the Eastern Church. 
 
 311 cccxcvin Christopher Wordsworth: nephew to the Poet: 
 educated at Winchester; Fellow of Trinity, Cam- 
 
360 
 
 NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 
 
 bridge. Master of Harrow : Bishop of Lincoln, 
 1869. Eminent for scholarship and integrity of life. 
 
 313 ccccn Frederick William Faber: of Harrow School and 
 University, Oxford : entered the Roman Church in 
 1845 and established the Oratory of S. Philip Neri 
 in London : labouring zealously till his early death. 
 His hymns were first published complete in 1862. 
 
 317 ccccvi ' Verse sung at the Way of the Cross at the Oratory/ 
 - ccccvn Jesus, our Love : see note on CLXVII. 
 
 318 ccccvin The poetry of Mr. Richard Wilton, (of S. Catherine's, 
 
 Cambridge: Rector of Londesborough), Woodnotes, 
 1873, and Lyrics, 1878, deserves wider acceptance 
 than it has hitherto received. 
 
 319 ccccx ' The East window of Kirkby Wharfe or Grimston 
 
 Church is filled with stained glass, . . . the subject 
 being the Crucifixion.' 
 
 - ccccxi From Days and Hours by Frederick Tennyson, 
 1854 : another noteworthy and too-neglected book. 
 
 320 ccccxn Charles Tennyson, born at Somersby, Lincolnshire, 
 
 next brother to Frederick and senior to Alfred, was 
 educated at Louth and Trinity, Cambridge : or- 
 dained 1835 ; married a sister of Emily, Lady 
 Tennyson, and spent most of his life as Vicar of 
 Grasby in the Wolds, taking the surname of Turner 
 under the will of a relation. His, as his nephew 
 Hallam Tennyson truly writes, was an alma beata e 
 bella : a man of noble simplicity, tenderness, purity 
 of heart, ' at once childlike and heroic.' The devoted 
 love of his brother Alfred is expressed in the beauti- 
 ful stanzas dated Midnight, June 30, 1879. 
 
 This poet was master of what may be termed the 
 Idyllic sonnet ; under which form he gave many 
 pictures of his country and its indwellers, with his 
 thoughts upon this and the other life. These 
 Sonnets, (published collectively in 1880), have the 
 charm of a singular humanity; of an originality 
 which sometimes touches upon quairitness. No 
 verse more sincere, more tender, more worthy of 
 study, is contained in our Anthology. 
 
 321 ccccxiv scroll of prayer: 'The extract from the Book of the 
 
 Dead, which was put into the hands of the deceased.' 
 
 322 ccccxvi Thou shall not lose : so Petrarch, in one of those 
 
 passages whose ethereal beauty reminds us of the 
 
NOTES ON BOOK THIRD 361 
 
 PAGE NO. 
 
 Paradise scenes by Fra Angelico, speaking of the 
 souls in Heaven ; 
 
 Tanti volti che '1 Tempo e Morte ban guasti 
 Torneranno al lor piu fiorito stato. 
 
 325 ccccxxui L. 10 oorali: a drug extracted from Strychnos toxi- 
 fera\ It acts by paralysing the nerves of motion, 
 \vhilst those of sensation are left unimpaired. 
 
 Readers should remember that this poem forms in 
 truth a little drama, wherein it is not the Poet, but the 
 Hospital Nurse, who speaks throughout. The two 
 little girls, whose story was published in a magazine, 
 are the only characters here drawn from actual 
 life. 
 
 307 cccxcn This hymn, often printed as Anonymous, and so 
 classed in former issues by the Editor, is by Sir 
 Edward Denny, and was originally published in his 
 Hymns and Poems, 1848 (W. T. Brooke). 
 
 The writer was educated at Exeter, Oxford, and 
 died whilst this book was in the press. 
 
 May, 1890 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 WITH DATES OF BIRTH AND DEATH 
 
 ADDISON, Joseph (1672 1719) CLXXIV CLXXVI 
 
 ALEXANDER, Cecil Frances ( ) cccxcvii 
 
 ALEXANDER, William : Bishop ( ) cccxcvi 
 
 ALFORD, Henry (1810 1871) ccxcix 
 AUSTIN, John (1613 1669) CLXII CLXVI 
 
 BARBAULD, Anna Laetitia (1743 1825) CCXLIV, CCXLV 
 BARNES, Barnabe (1568-9 1609) xm xv 
 BARNES, William (1801 1886) cccxxxi cccxxxvi 
 BAXTER, Richard (16151691) CLIX 
 BEAUMONT, Joseph (1615 1699) CXLII CXLVI 
 BLAKE, William (17571827) ccxxxv ccxxxvm 
 BOLTON, Edmund (i6th and i7th Centuries) ix 
 
 BONAR, Horatius ( ) cccxcm, cccxciv 
 
 BROWNE, Thomas (1605 1682) LXXXVII 
 BRUCE, Michael (1746 1767) ccv ccvn 
 BURNS, Robert (1759 1796) ccxxxiv 
 BYROM, John (1691 1763) ecu 
 
 CAMPION, Thomas (c. 1567 1620) xxi xxv 
 CENNICK, John (1718 1755) ccxxm 
 CLOUGH, Arthur Hugh (1819 1861) CCCXLVI 
 COLERIDGE, Hartley (1796 1849) ccc CCCH 
 COWLEY, Abraham (1618 1667) CLXXII 
 COWPER, William (1731 1800) ccxxvm ccxxxm 
 CRASHAW, Richard (1612-3 l6 49) cxxxix CXLI 
 GROSSMAN, Samuel (1624 ? 1684) CLX, CLXI 
 
 DAVENANT, William (1605 1668) LXXXVI 
 DENNY, Edward (1796 1889) cccxcii 
 DODDRIDGE, Philip (1702 1751) CXCVIH cci 
 DONNE, John (1573 1631) XVH xx 
 DRUMMOND, William (1585 1649) xxx xxxv 
 DRYDEN, John (1631 1700) CLXXIII 
 DUNBAR, William (c. 1460 d. bef. 1530) i 
 
 ELLERTON, John ( ) cccxcix 
 
INDEX OF WRITERS 363 
 
 FABER, Frederick William (1814 1863) ccccn ccccvn 
 FANE, Mildmay : Earl of Westmoreland (1601 1665) xcvi 
 FRASER-TYTLER C. C. (Mrs. Edward Liddell), ( ), 
 
 CCCLXXXIV CCCLXXXVII 
 
 FROUDE, Richard Hurrell (1803 1836) CCCLI 
 
 GIFFORD, Humfrey (i6th Century) vn 
 GRANT, Robert (1785 1838) CCXLII, CCXLIII 
 
 HABINGTON, William (1605 1654) LXXII LXXVI 
 HARVEY, Christopher (c. 1597 1663) LXXI 
 HEBER, Reginald : Bishop (1783 1826) CCXLVI CCLV 
 HERBERT, George (1593 1633) xxxvn LXX 
 HERRICK, Robert (1591 1674) xc xcv 
 
 JONSON, Ben (1574 1637) xxvm, xxix 
 
 KEBLE, John (1792 1866) CCLXVII CCLXXXIX : cccxn cccxxx 
 KEN, Thomas: Bishop (1637 1711) CLXXVII CLXXXVI 
 
 LYTE, Henry Francis (1793 1847) ccciv cccxi 
 
 MARVELL, Andrew (1621 1678) xcix, c 
 
 MASON, John ( 1694) CLXVII CLXIX 
 
 MILMAN, Henry Hart (1791 1868) CCLVI CCLVII 
 MILTON, John (1608 1674) LXXXI LXXXV 
 MONTGOMERY, James (1771 1854) ccxxxix ccxn 
 MORE, Henry (1614 1687) CXLVII, CXLVIII. 
 
 NAIRN, Carolina: Baroness (1766 1845) ccciu 
 
 NEWMAN. John Henry : Cardinal ( ) CCCLII CCCLXXXIII 
 
 NEWTON, John (1725 1807) ccxxiv ccxxvn 
 NORRIS, John (1657 1711) CXLIX, CL 
 
 OLIVERS, Thomas (1725 1799) ccvm 
 
 PATMORE, Coventry ( ) CCCXLV 
 
 PESTEL, Thomas (i7th Century) LXXXVIII, LXXXIX 
 
 POMFRET, John (1667 1703) CLXXXVIII 
 
 PROCTER, Adelaide Anne (1835 1864) cccxxxvn 
 OUARLES, Francis (1592 1644) CLI CLIV 
 ROSSETTI, Christina G. ( ) cccxxxvm CCCXLI 
 
 SHAIRP, John Campbell (1819 1885) CCCXLVII CCCL 
 SHAKESPEARE, William (1564 1616) vi 
 
364 INDEX OF WRITERS 
 
 SHARP, John ( ) CCCLXXXVIII cccxci 
 
 SHEPHERD, Thomas (1665 1739) CLXX 
 SIDNEY, Philip (1554 1586) v 
 SKELTON, Philip (1707 1787) ccxxn 
 SMART, Christopher (1722 1770) ccm, cciv 
 SOUTHWELL, Robert (1560-1 1595) x, xi 
 SPENSER, Edmund (c. 1552 1599) IV 
 STANLEY, Arthur Penrhyn (1815 1881) cccxcv 
 SUTTON, Henry Septimus ( ) CCCXLII CCCXLIV 
 
 TATE, Nahum (1652 1715) CLXXXVII 
 
 TAYLOR, Jeremy : Bishop (1613 1667") CLVII, CLVIII 
 
 TENNYSON, Alfred : Lord ( ) ccccxix ccccxxm 
 
 TENNYSON, Emily : Lady ( ) ccccxvu, ccccxvm 
 
 TENNYSON. Frederick ( ) ccccxi 
 
 TOPL.ADY, Augustus Montague (1740 1778) ccix CCXH 
 
 TRENCH, Richard Chenevix : Archbishop (1807 1886) ccxci 
 
 CCXCVIII 
 
 TURNER, Charles Tennyson (1808 1879) ccccxii ccccxvi 
 
 VAUGHAN, Henry (1622 1695) ci cxxxvm 
 VAUX, Thomas : Lord (1510 c. 1557) 11 
 
 WARING, Anna Laetitia ( )cccc, cccci 
 
 WATTS, ISAAC (1674 1748) CLXXXIX cxcvn 
 WESLEY, Charles (1708 1788) ccxm-^ccxxi 
 WITHER, George (1588 1667) CLV, CLVI 
 
 WILTON, Richard ( -) ccccvm ccccx 
 
 WORDSWORTH, Christopher: Bishop (1807 1885) cccxcvm 
 WORDSWORTH, William (1770 1850) CCLVIII CCLXV 
 WOTTON, Henry (1568 1639) LXXIX 
 
 ANONYMOUS : HI, vm, XH, xvi, xxvi, xxvn, xxxvi, LXXVII, LXXVIII, 
 
 LXXX, XCVII, XCVIII, CLXXI, CCCXCII * 
 * See page 361 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 A rock there is whose homely front ..... 200 
 
 A saint, to few but God well known . . . . .151 
 
 A wreathed garland of deserved praise ..... 48 
 
 Abide with me ! Fast falls the eventide .... 247 
 
 Again, O Lord, I ope my eyes ...... 242 
 
 Ah ! ev'ry day mid bring a while . . . . . .267 
 
 Ah ! give me, Lord, the single eye . . . . .170 
 
 Ah ! what time wilt Thou come ? when shall that cry . .108 
 Alas, my God, that we should be . . . . . . 136 
 
 Alas ! my Lord is going . . . . . . .51 
 
 All after pleasures as I rid one day ..... 32 
 
 All praise to Him who dwells in bliss . . . . 175 
 
 Almighty Father of mankind . . . . . . .167 
 
 And do they so ! have they a sense . . . . 91 
 
 Approach, my soul, the mercy-seat . . . . .180 
 
 As are those apples, pleasant to the eye .... 25 
 
 As due by many titles, I resign . . . . . .19 
 
 As I in hoary Winter's night stood shivering in the snow . 14 
 As I wer readen ov a stwone ...... 265 
 
 As in the night I restless lie . . . . . . . 150 
 
 As on my bed at dawn I mused and pray'd . . . .321 
 
 At midnight, when yon azure fields on high . . . .318 
 
 At noon a shower had fallen, and the clime . . . .319 
 
 At the Lord's Table waiting, robed and stoled . . -3*9 
 At the round earth's imagined corners blow . . . .19 
 
 Ave Maria ! blessed Maid ....... 223 
 
 Avore the time when zuns went down ..... 266 
 
 Awake, my Soul, and with the sun . . . . .142 
 
 Awake, my soul, lift up thine eyes . . . . .193 
 
 Away, despair ! my gracious Lord doth hear ... 44 
 
 Behold the sun, that seem'd but now . . . . .125 
 Behold we come, dear Lord, to Thee ..... 134 
 Beneath a sable veil and shadows deep . . -25 
 
 Beneath our feet and o'er our head ..... 198 
 Be not afraid to pray to pray is right ..... 240 
 Bethlehem, above all cities blest ...... 263 
 
366 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Bless'd are the pure in heart . . . . . . .223 
 
 Blest be Thy love, dear Lord ...... 130 
 
 Blest pair of Sirens, pledges of Heaven's joy ... 67 
 
 Bright Queen of Heaven ? God's Virgin Spouse ... 99 
 
 Bright shadows of true Rest ! some shoots of bliss . . 82 
 
 Brightest and best of the Sons of the morning . . . 194 
 
 By cool Siloam's shady rill ....... 196 
 
 Can I see another's woe . . . . . . .186 
 
 Children of the Heavenly King . . . . . .179 
 
 Christ, Whose glory fills the skies . . . . 175 
 
 Close now thine eyes, and rest secure ..... 123 
 
 Come, let us join our friends above . . . . .176 
 
 Come, O Thou Traveller unknown . . . . .172 
 
 Come, Thou long-expected Jesus 171 
 
 Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight . . . . in 
 Compared with Christ, in all beside . . . . .171 
 Creator Spirit, by whose aid ....... 138 
 
 Dear, beauteous Saint ! more white than Day . . . 100 
 
 Dear be the Church, that, watching o'er the needs . . 204 
 Dear Lord, 'tis finish'd ! and now he . . . . -79 
 
 Death, thou wast once an uncouth hideous thing ... 50 
 
 Death was full urgent with thee, Sister dear . . . 294 
 
 Doom'd as we are our native dust ..... 203 
 
 Draw, Holy Ghost, Thy seven-fold veil .... 230 
 
 Draw near as early as we may ...... 260 
 
 Each thing below here hath its day . . , 75 
 
 Each trial has its weight ; which, whoso bears . . . 288 
 
 E'en like two little bank-dividing brooks .... 121 
 
 Eternal God ! Maker of all 83 
 
 Eternal Mover, whose diffused glory 58 
 
 Fain would my thoughts fly up to Thee . . . .131 
 
 Fair, solitary path ! whose blessed shades .... 85 
 
 Fairest of all the lights above ....... 155 
 
 Fairest of morning lights appear ...... 69 
 
 Far, far on other isles 259 
 
 Far from the world, O Lord, I flee 184 
 
 Fly, envious Time, till thou run out thy race ... 67 
 For ever with the Lord . . . . . . .188 
 
 Fountain of Sweets ! Eternal Dove . . . . .116 
 
 Frail Life ! in which, through mists of human breath . . 68 
 Fresh fields and woods ! the Earth's fair face ... 92 
 From pain to pain, from woe to woe . . . . .317 
 
 Give me a tender spotless child 252 
 
 Give me the lowest place : not that I dare .... 274 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 367 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Give me the wings of'faith, to rise 158 
 
 Glory to God ! and to the Power Who came . . . 204 
 Glory to Thee, my God, this night . . . . .144 
 
 God of the living, in Whose eyes 311 
 
 God that madest Earth and Heaven 198 
 
 Go not far from me, O my strength . . . . .312 
 Great God Who knowest each man's need .... 323 
 
 Hail, scenes of holy grandeur ! hail ..... 243 
 
 Happy me ! O happy sheep . . . . . . .112 
 
 Happy those early days, when I . . . . . .80 
 
 Hark ! how all the welkin rings 174 
 
 Hark how the birds do sing ....... 40 
 
 Hark, my soul, how every thing ...... 132 
 
 Hark, my soul ! it is the Lord ...... 182 
 
 Hark the glad sound ! The Saviour comes .... 161 
 
 Hark, the sound of holy voices, chanting at the crystal sea . 311 
 
 Hear me, O God 24 
 
 Hear what the voice from Heaven proclaims . . . 157 
 
 Heaven in the depth and height is seen .... 255 
 
 Heavenly Messias, sweet anointed King 16 
 
 He is gone beyond the skies ...... 309 
 
 Here is the spring where waters flow . . . . .12 
 
 Her eyes are homes of silent prayer . . . . . 324 
 
 He sang of God the mighty source ..... 164 
 
 Hierusalem, my happy home . . . . . 17 
 
 Hither thou com'st : the busy wind all night ... 96 
 
 Holy, holy, holy, Lord God Almighty ..... 195 
 
 Holy is the sick man's room ....... 260 
 
 How are Thy servants blest, O Lord ..... 139 
 
 How beautiful it is to be alive ...... 275 
 
 How fresh, O Lord, how sweet and clean .... 46 
 
 How long, great God, how long must I . . . .120 
 
 How peacefully the broad and golden moon . . . 322 
 
 How shall I sing that Majesty ...... 135 
 
 How soon doth man decay ....... 35 
 
 How sweet the Name of Jesus sounds ..... 180 
 
 Hues of the rich unfolding morn ...... 231 
 
 Hush ! my dear, lie still and slumber ..... 158 
 
 I cannot reach it ; and my striving eye ..... 81 
 
 I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be . . . . . 270 
 
 I have a life with Christ to live 280 
 
 I heard the voice of Jesus say ...... 308 
 
 I landed on lona's holy isle ....... 319 
 
 I mark'd a rainbow in the north . . . . .212 
 
 I mark'd when vernal meads were bright . . . 253 
 
368 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 I oft recal the moments dear 147 
 
 I praised the Earth, in beauty seen ..... 196 
 I rise and raise my clasped hands to Thee .... 300 
 
 I said sometimes with tears 128 
 
 I saw Eternity the other night . . . . . .102 
 
 I saw thee once, and nought discern'd ..... 284 
 
 I saw this day a miser old ....... 147 
 
 I say to thee, do thou repeat ...... 234 
 
 sing the birth was born to-night ..... 23 
 
 sought for Peace, but could not find . . . 77 
 
 '. thought to meet no more, so dreary seem'd . . . 261 
 
 travell'd on, seeing the hill, where lay . . . .41 
 
 walk'd the other day, (to spend my hour) .... 93 
 
 worship Thee, sweet Will of God ..... 316 
 
 I'd a dream to-night ...... . 269 
 
 I'm wearin' awa', John ........ 241 
 
 lesu is in my heart ; His sacred name . . . . .51 
 
 If any have an ear 89 
 
 If I could shut the gate against my thoughts .... 28 
 
 If we could see below ........ 43 
 
 If we with earnest effort could succeed .... 237 
 
 In childhood, when with eager eyes ..... 283 
 
 In evil long I took delight 179 
 
 In some lone walk through sunburnt fields .... 302 
 In stature perfect, and with every gift . . . . .241 
 In the bleak mid-winter ....... 272 
 
 In the hour of my distress 74 
 
 In this world, (the Isle of Dreams) . . . . -7* 
 
 In token that thou shalt not fear ...... 239 
 
 Infinite Power, Eternal Lord ...... 155 
 
 It is a beauteous evening, calm and free .... 205 
 
 Jerusalem, that place divine ....... 26 
 
 Jesus ! I love Thy charming name ..... 160 
 
 Jesu, Lover of my soul . . . . . . . .177 
 
 Jesus ! why dost Thou love me so ..... 313 
 
 Justice doth call for vengeance on my sins . . . .76 
 
 King of glory, King of peace ...... 42 
 
 Lamb of God, I look to Thee .172 
 
 Late, late, so late ! and dark the night and chill . . . 323 
 
 Latest born of Jesse's race 286 
 
 Lead, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom . . . 300 
 
 Leave me, O Love, which reachest but to dust 10 
 
 Let all the world in every corner sing ..... 28 
 
 Let folly praise that fancy loves, I praise and love that Child 15 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 369 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Let not the sluggish sleep ....... 23 
 
 Let wits contest 48 
 
 Lift up your heads, great Gates, and sing 1 . . . .116 
 
 Light of the lonely pilgrim's heart ..... 307 
 
 Little lamb, who made thee . . . . . . .187 
 
 Lo, cast at random on the wild sea land .... 254 
 
 Lo, when back mine eye ....... 20 
 
 Lord, come away ......... 127 
 
 Lord, I have wrestled through the livelong night . . . 304 
 
 Lord, in this dust Thy sovereign voice ..... 282 
 
 Lord, in Thy Name Thy servants plead .... 258 
 
 Lord, it belongs not to my care ...... 128 
 
 Lord ! it is not life to live . . . . . . .171 
 
 Lord Jesus, loving hearts and dear . . . . . 262 
 
 Lord, let the angels praise Thy name ..... 36 
 
 Lord, make me coy and tender to offend 35 
 
 Lord of my heart, by Thy last cry ..... 219 
 
 Lord of mercy and of might ....... 195 
 
 Lord, Thou hast given me a cell ...... 73 
 
 Lord, weary of a painful way ...... 237 
 
 Lord, what unvalued pleasures crown'd .... 58 
 
 Lord, when I lift mine eyes to Thee ..... 304 
 
 Lord, when the sense of Thy sweet grace . . . m 
 
 Lord, with what care hast Thou begirt us round ... 29 
 Love bade me welcome ; yet my soul drew back . . .51 
 
 Love, lift me up upon thy golden wings .... 3 
 
 Man is permitted much .... .... 293 
 
 Mark you the floor ? that square and speckled stone . . 30 
 Meeting with Time, ' Slack thing,' said I . . . .38 
 
 Messiah ! at Thy glad approach . . . . . .167 
 
 Methinks I draw but sickly breath ... 27 
 
 More oft than once Death whisper'd in mine ear ... 24 
 Mother of God ! O, not in vain ...... 263 
 
 My glass is half unspent ; Forbear t' arrest .... 123 
 
 My God and King ! to Thee 87 
 
 My God, now I from sleep awake . . . .145 
 My God, where is that ancient heat towards Thee . . 28 
 My Joy, my Life, my Crown ...... 29 
 
 My little son, who look'd from thoughtful eyes . . .278 
 My Lord, my Love, was crucified . . . . . -134 
 
 My soul doth pant towards Thee . . . . . .126 
 
 My soul, there is a country ....... 90 
 
 My spirit longeth for Thee . 161 
 
 My sun has set, I dwell ....... 273 
 
 Never weather-beaten sail more willing bent to shore . . 22 
 Never yet could careless Sleep . . . . . .114 
 
 B b 
 
370 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 No ; 'tis in vain to seek for bliss ... 
 
 Not seldom, clad in radiant vest ...... 
 
 Now gladdeth every living creature 
 
 Nurse, let me draw the baby's veil aside .... 
 
 O aged Saint ? far off I heard . . 
 
 O book ! Life's guide ! how shall we part . . 
 
 O comrade bold, of toil and pain ...... 
 
 O Day most calm, most bright ...... 
 
 O day of life, of light, of love . . . . 
 
 O fool, of short-lived goods possest . 
 
 O God ! I know and do confess ...... 
 
 O God, impart Thy blessing to my cries .... 
 
 O God, our help in ages past ...... 
 
 O Gracious God, O Saviour sweet ..... 
 
 O holiest Truth ! how have I lied to Thee .... 
 
 O holy, holy, holy Lord ....... 
 
 O Holy Lord, who with the Children Three 
 
 O let me climb ......... 
 
 O Lord, how wonderful in depth and height 
 
 O Lord, my best desire fulfil ....... 
 
 O Lord my God, do Thou Thy holy will .... 
 
 O man, forgive thy mortal foe ...... 
 
 O Mighty God, Which for us men ..... 
 
 O only Source of all our light and life ..... 
 
 O sing the glories of our Lord ...... 
 
 O thou unknown, Almighty Cause 
 
 O Thy bright looks ! Thy glance of love .... 
 
 O Years ! and Age ! Farewell 
 
 Oft have I read of sunny realms, where skies are pure at even 
 Oh blessing, wearing semblance of a curse .... 
 Oh come and mourn with me awhile ..... 
 Oh God that madest earth and sky, the darkness and the day 
 Oh help us, Lord ! each hour of need ..... 
 Oh I could go through all life's troubles singing . 
 Oh ! say not, dream not, heavenly notes .... 
 Oh thou of dark forebodings drear ..... 
 Oh weep not o'er thy children's tomb ..... 
 Our doctor had call'd in another, I never had seen him before 
 
 Pleasant are Thy courts above ...... 248 
 
 Poor Soul, the centre of my sinful earth . . . .11 
 
 Praise to God, immortal praise ...... 192 
 
 Praise to the Holiest in the height .... 298, 299 
 
 Prayer is the soul's sincere desire ..... 189 
 
 Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control .... 290 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 371 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Quiet, Lord, my froward heart . . . . . . 181 
 
 Red o'er the forest peers the setting sun . . . .213 
 Rejoice in God alway . .... 256 
 Rise, O my soul ! with thy desires to heaven 59 
 
 Rock of Ages, cleft for me 170 
 
 Saviour, when in dust to Thee ...... 191 
 
 Say, hast thou track'd a travellers round .... 289 
 
 Say, who is he in deserts seen ...... 285 
 
 Seek the Lord, and in His ways persever .... 22 
 
 She is not dead she only sleeps .... . . 244 
 
 She sat and wept beside His feet ; the weight . . . 240 
 Shepherds, rejoice, lift up your eyes ..... 154 
 
 Show me more love, my dearest Lord ..... 57 
 
 Sighs whether swift to Heaven they rise . . . .149 
 
 Sin is with man at morning-break . . . . .215 
 
 Since I in storms used most to be . . . . . .88 
 
 Sing aloud, His praise rehearse . . . . . .119 
 
 Sometimes a light surprises ....... 183 
 
 Soul, which to hell wast thrall ...... 26 
 
 Strange to our ears the church-bells of our home. . . 218 
 Sure thou didst flourish once ! and many springs ... 95 
 Sweet baby, sleep ! what ails my dear . . . . .125 
 
 Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright ..... 34 
 
 Sweet dreams, form a shade . . . . . .186 
 
 Sweet, harmless lives ! upon whose holy leisure . . 97 
 Sweet Music, sweeter far ....... 13 
 
 Sweet Peace, where dost thou dwell, I humbly crave . 39 
 Sweet place, sweet place alone ...... 129 
 
 Take me away, and in the lowest deep .... 298 
 
 Tax not the royal Saint with vain expense .... 204 
 
 Teach me, my God and King ...... 49 
 
 That was the Shepherd of the flock; He knew . . .313 
 
 The church do zeem a touchen zight ..... 264 
 
 The Church shone brightly in her youthful days . . . 287 
 
 The door of death is made of gold ..... 188 
 
 The flash of youthful light is past and gone .... 306 
 
 The fleet astronomer can bore ...... 40 
 
 The God of Abraham praise ...... 168 
 
 The golden gates are lifted up . . . . .310 
 
 The Holy Book, like the Eighth Sphere, does shine . . 138 
 
 The last and greatest Herald of heaven's King ... 26 
 
 The Lord hath builded for Himself ..... 244 
 
 The Lord will happiness divine ...... 182 
 
 The lucky World shew'd me one day ..... 101 
 
 B b 2 
 
373 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The merry World did on a day . . . . . -37 
 
 The mid-day sun, with fiercest glare ..... 226 
 
 The night is come, and all the world is still .... 303 
 
 The number of Thine own complete ..... 296 
 
 The Past can be no more 149 
 
 The pleasant years that seem, so swift that run ... 3 
 
 The Son of God in doing good '. 219 
 
 The song of God, so nobly sung ...... 245 
 
 The sound of war ! In earth and air ..... 197 
 
 The spacious firmament on high ...... 141 
 
 The world has cycles in its course, when all ... 287 
 
 There is a book, who runs may read ..... 206 
 
 There is a Stream, which issues forth . . . . .135 
 
 These sweeter far than lilies are ...... 137 
 
 They are all gone into the world of light .... 107 
 
 This Advent moon shines cold and clear .... 270 
 
 This did not once so trouble me ...... 236 
 
 This is the month, and this the happy morn .... 60 
 
 This is the Saint of gentleness and kindness .... 285 
 
 Tho' death met love upon thy dying smile .... 322 
 
 Thou art not Truth ! for he that tries . . . . .104 
 
 Thou bidst me come away . . . . . . .71 
 
 Thou cam'st from Heaven to Earth, that we . . 99 
 
 Thou hast made me, and shall Thy work decay ... 19 
 
 Thou inevitable Day ........ 238 
 
 Thou that know'st for whom I mourn . . . .106 
 
 Thou Whose nature cannot sleep ...... 69 
 
 Through Contemplation's optics I have seen .... 121 
 
 Through that pure virgin shrine ...... 97 
 
 Throw away Thy rod ........ 49 
 
 Thy servants pray, O hear us, Lord ..... 323 
 
 Thy way, not mine, O Lord ...... 307 
 
 Time was, I shrank from what was right .... 292 
 
 Time ! where didst thou those years inter .... 55 
 
 Times without number have I pray'd . . . . .176 
 
 'Tis gone, that bright and orbed blaze ..... 233 
 
 'Tis only our dull hearts that tire so soon .... 255 
 
 Tis true, of old th' unchanging sun ..... 210 
 
 To God, ye choir above, begin ...... 184 
 
 To keep the lamp alive ........ 189 
 
 To leave unseen so many a glorious sight .... 238 
 
 To music bent is my retired mind ..... 22 
 
 To Thy temple I repair. . . . . . . .189 
 
 Triumphant conqueror of death and hell . . . 17 
 
 'Twas so ; I saw thy birth : That drowsy lake < . 96 
 
 'Twixt gleams of joy and clouds of doubt .... 281 
 
 Two brothers freely cast their lot . . . . . . 287 
 
INDEX OF FIRST LINES 373 
 
 Unfold ! unfold ! Take in His lighf 88 
 
 Unveil, O Lord, and on us shine . . . . . . 290 
 
 View me, Lord, a work of Thine ...... 21 
 
 Wake, all my hopes, lift up your eyes . . . . .133 
 
 W'e look around, the murky sky is still .... 301 
 
 We scatter seeds with careless hand ..... 252 
 
 We were not by when Jesus came ..... 225 
 
 Weep not for me ......... 295 
 
 Weighing the steadfastness and state ..... 104 
 
 Welcome, thou safe retreat ....... 53 
 
 What am I who dare call Thee, God . . . .52 
 
 What God gives, and what we take ..... 73 
 
 What is House and what is Home . . . . .115 
 
 What is it that amid some earthly home .... 305 
 
 What is the saddest sweetest lowest sound . . . .310 
 
 What, many times I musing ask'd, is Man .... 235 
 
 What's this Morn's bright eye to me . . . 113 
 
 What wealth to earth our God hath given .... 276 
 
 What went ye out to see . . . . . . . 209 
 
 When all Thy mercies, O my God . . . . .140 
 
 When first God stirr'd me, and the Church's word . . 290 
 When first Thou didst entice to Thee my heart ... 32 
 When first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave ... 82 
 When first Thy sweet and gracious eye .... 47 
 
 When for the thorns with which I long, too long ... 78 
 When gathering clouds around I view ..... 190 
 
 When God at first made Man ...... 45 
 
 When I consider how my light is spent .... 68 
 
 When I look back, and in myself behold .... 2 
 
 When I look back upon my former race .... 289 
 
 When I survey the bright ....... 56 
 
 When Israel's ruler on the royal bed ..... 162 
 
 When Jesus, by the Virgin brought ..... 166 
 
 When Lazarus left his charnel-cave ..... 324 
 
 When my devotions could not pierce 33 
 
 When Nature tries her finest touch ..... 216 
 
 When our heads are bow'd with woe ..... 200 
 
 When the four quarters of the world shall rise . . .321 
 When thy lone dreams sweet visions see .... 274 
 
 When travail hours are spent and o'er . . . . -251 
 
 When weakness now do strive wi' might .... 268 
 
 When with these eyes, closed now by Thee . . . 109 
 Whene'er goes forth Thy dread command .... 297 
 
 Where is it mothers learn their love ..... 228 
 
 Where is Thy favour'd haunt, eternal Voice . . . 207 
 
 Where the remote Bermudas ride . . . . .77 
 
374 INDEX OF FIRST LINES 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Where will they stop, those breathing Powers . . .201 
 Where'er my flattering passions rove ..... 156 
 
 Where's now the object of thy fears . . . . . 117 
 
 Wherefore shrink, and say, ' Tis vain ' 259 
 
 While shepherds watch'd their flocks by night . . . 152 
 While that my soul repairs to her devotion .... 30 
 
 While they here sojourn'd, their presence drew us . . 280 
 Whither, O whither didst thou fly ..... 89 
 
 Wish not, dear friends, my pain away . . . . .221 
 
 Wilt Thou forgive that sin where I begun ... .20 
 
 With sick and famish'd eyes ....... 43 
 
 With what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth . 92 
 Who seeketh finds : what shall be his relief. . . . 279 
 
 Who to the golden Sun's long restless race . . . .17 
 
 Why do I sigh to find ........ 246 
 
 Why dost thou beat so quick, my heart .... 315 
 
 Why should we faint and fear to live alone .... 222 
 
 Why they have never known the way before . . .301 
 Why, wedded to the Lord, still yearns my heart . . . 288 
 
 Ye flaming Powers, an-d winged warriors bright ... 66 
 Ye golden lamps of Heaven, farewell ..... 159 
 
 Ye hermits blest, ye holy maids ...... 208 
 
 Ye humble souls, that seek the Lord . . . . .160 
 
 Yes, mark the words, deem not that Saints alone . . 282 
 You holy Virgins, that so oft surround . . . . .122 
 
 You Spirits ! who have thrown away ..... 54 
 
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