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RARY 
 
 ERSITY OF 
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PUBLISHED FOR THE BENEFIT OF 
 
 THE PROVIDENCE ROW NIGHT REFUGE 
 
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 HOMELESS WOMEN AND CHILDREN. 
 
Digitized by the Internet Archive 
 
 in 2008 with funding from 
 
 IVIicrosoft Corporation 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/chapletofversesOOprocrich 
 
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 By ADELAIDE A. PROCTER. 
 
 LONDON : 
 LGNGISIAN, GREEN, LONGMAN, & ROBERTS. 
 
A CHAPLET OF VERSES. 
 
 BY 
 
 ADELAIDE A. PROCTER, 
 
 3iutbor of " ¥egeabs anb ^grics." 
 
 WITH AN ILLUSTRATION BY RICHARD DOYLE. 
 
 LONDON : 
 
 LOXGMAX, GREEN, LONGMAN, ^ ROBERTS. 
 
 1862. 
 
LOAN STACK 
 

 
 Theee is scarcely any charitable institution 
 which should excite such universal, such unhe- 
 sitating sympathy as a Night Refuge for the 
 Homeless Poor. 
 
 A shelter through the bleak winter nights, 
 leave to rest in some poor shed instead of wan- 
 dering through the pitiless streets, is a boon 
 we could hardly deny to a starving dog. And 
 yet we have all known that in this country, in 
 this town, many of our miserable fellow-creatures 
 were pacing the streets through the long weary 
 nights, without a roof to shelter them, without 
 food to eat, with their poor rags soaked in rain, and 
 only the bitter winds of Heaven for companions; 
 women and children utterly forlorn and helpless, 
 either wandering about all night, or crouching 
 under a miserable archway, or, worst of all, 
 seeking in death or sin the refuge denied 
 them elsewhere. It is a marvel that we 
 
 731 
 
VIU 
 
 could sleep in peace in our warm comfortable 
 homes with this horror at our very door. 
 
 But at last some efforts were made to efface 
 this stain ui)on our country, public sympathy 
 was appealed to, and a few * Refuges' were 
 opened, to shelter our homeless poor through 
 the winter nio;hts. 
 
 In the Autumn of 1860 there was no Catholic 
 Refu2:e in the kino-dom ; and excellent as were 
 the Protestant Refuges, their resources were 
 quite inadequate to meet the claims upon them. 
 
 In this country, as we all know, the very 
 poorest and most destitute are in many cases 
 Catholics; and doubtless our Priests, to whom 
 no form of sin or sorrow is strange, must see 
 in a special manner, and in innumerable results, 
 the sufferings, dangers, and temptations of the 
 homeless. The Rev. Dr. Gilbert therefore 
 resolved to open a Catholic Night Refuge in 
 his parish, and to his zealous charity and un- 
 wearied efforts are due the foundation and 
 success of the Providence Row Nigpit 
 Refuge for Homeless Women and Chil- 
 dren; the first Catholic Refuge in England 
 or Ireland, and still the only one in England. 
 
IX 
 
 The Sisters of Mercy had long been aidmg 
 then- pastors in the schools of the parish, and 
 when this new opening for their charity was 
 suggested to them, they unhesitatingly accepted 
 a task, worthy indeed of the holy name they 
 bear. They were seeking for some house more 
 suitable for a Convent than the one they had 
 hitherto occupied in Broad Street; and when 
 Dr. Gilbert saw the large stable at the back 
 of 14, Finsbury Square, he felt that here was 
 a suitable place for his long-cherished plan of 
 a Xight Refuge. It was separated from the 
 house by a yard, and opened on a narrow street at 
 the back, already called, with a happy appropri- 
 ateness, Providence Row. To Finsbury Square 
 therefore the community removed, and it was not 
 long before the stable was fitted up with wooden 
 beds and benches, the few preparations were 
 completed, and on the 7th of October, 1860, 
 the Refuge was opened. At first there were 
 but fourteen beds, but contributions flowed in 
 from Protestants as well as Catholics, and in 
 February, 1861, thirty-one more beds were 
 added, making in all forty-five. But as many 
 of the poor women have children with them. 
 
rarely less than sixty persons are each ni<rlit 
 admitted. Up to the present time, fourteen 
 thousand seven hundred and eighty-five nights' 
 lodgings have been given, with the same number 
 of suppers and breakfasts. 
 
 From six to eight are the hours of ad- 
 mission; but this is indeed a needless rule, 
 for a crowd of ragged women, with pale, weary 
 children clinging to them, are waiting patiently 
 long before the doors are opened, and the place 
 is filled at once. 
 
 Means for washing are given them, they rest 
 themselves in warmth, light, and peace, and 
 at eight o'clock each person receives half a 
 pound of bread and a large basin of excellent 
 gruel. Night prayers are said by one of the 
 •Sisters, and then the poor wanderers lie down 
 in their rude but clean and comfortable beds. 
 They have the same meal in the morning. 
 
 Those who come on Saturday evening remain 
 till Monday, receiving on Sunday, besides the 
 usual breakfiist and supper, an extra half-pound 
 of bread, and a good supply of meat soup. 
 There is no distinction of creed; Protestants and 
 Catholics are alike admitted. There are but 
 
XI 
 
 two conditions of admittance — that the applicants 
 be homeless and of good character. This is the 
 only Kefuge which makes character a condition ; 
 and it is found that, in spite of all precautions, 
 much harm arises in the other Eefuges to the 
 young and innocent, from the bad language 
 and evil example of the degraded class with 
 whom they are brought in contact. 
 
 Each evening (and on Sundays more fully) 
 simple instructions on the Catechism are given 
 by one of the Sisters ; but this the Protestants 
 do not attend; they frequently ask leave to be 
 present, but it is not permitted, (without the 
 special permission of one of the clergy,) as the in- 
 structions on the practice of our faith would be to 
 them comparatively useless and unmeaning. 
 
 The temporary shelter and food which is given 
 in Providence Eow, is not the only, perhaps 
 often not the greatest, benefit bestowed upon 
 the poor forlorn inmates. They find advice, 
 sympathy, and help from the kind Sisters ; and 
 the very telling their troubles to one who is 
 there to serve and tend them, not for any earthly 
 reward, but from Christian love and pity, must 
 be a rest to their weary hearts, a comfort in 
 
Xll 
 
 their sore want and distress. It is touching to 
 see their eager desire to be allowed to help the 
 Sister in tlie cleaning, cooking, &c., and the half 
 ashamed thankfulness with which they watch 
 her busied in their service. 
 
 One of the JSTuns sleeps every night in the 
 refuge, and no unruly sound, no whisper of 
 murmur or disrespect, ever rises against her 
 gentle sway. Nay, even more, when she has 
 the sad task of selecting among the waiting 
 crowd the number who may enter, choosing 
 generally those with children and those who 
 have not applied before, the rest submit without 
 a murmur. Though the little ones are hardly 
 counted, but creep in by their mothers' sides, 
 there are still many — sometimes thirty or forty 
 nightly — turned away for want of space. They 
 have had a glimpse of warmth and light, and 
 then it is the cruel office of the kind Nun to bar 
 the door against them ; but no angry word, no 
 remonstrance, meets her sorrowful refusal ; they 
 turn once more to their weary wanderings in the 
 dark bleak streets. And so will many have to 
 do, night after night, until the Refuge is enlarged. 
 The present space will hold no more beds, but 
 
xni 
 
 to build an additional dormitory is tlie earnest 
 desire and intention of Dr. Gilbert. 
 
 No salaries are received hy any ivho have 
 charge of the Refuge. Among the many 
 causes for gratitude we have to our good E,e- 
 liorious, surely it is not one of the least that 
 what we can spare in the cause of charity goes 
 solely and directly to its object ; the more difficult 
 and more perfect share of the good work being 
 taken by them out of love to God and His poor. 
 The Eefuge is open from the month of October 
 to April. 
 
 It is placed under the special patronage of our 
 Blessed Lady, and Blessed Benedict Labre. 
 
 May the Mother who wandered homeless 
 through inhospitable Bethlehem, and the Saint 
 who was a beggar and an outcast upon the face 
 of the earth, watch over this Eefuge for the poor 
 and desolate, and obtain from the charity of the 
 faitliful the aid which it so sorely needs. 
 
 I may add, that donations for the Refuge will 
 be thankfully received by the Eev. Dr. Gilbert, 
 22, Finsbury Circus, or by the Eev. IMother, at 
 the Convent, 14, Finsbury Square, E.G. 
 
 We all meditate long and often on the many 
 
XIV 
 
 kinds of sufferings borne for us by our Blessed 
 Redeemer; but perhaps, if we consider a moment, 
 we shall most of us confess, that the one we think 
 of least often, the one we compassionate least of 
 all, is the only one of which He deigned to tell us 
 Himself, and for which He Himself appealed to 
 our pity in the Divine complaint, " The foxes have 
 holes, and the birds of the air have nests, but the 
 Son of Man has not where to lay his head.^^ 
 
 A. A. P. 
 
 Mat, 1862. 
 
COXTEXTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE ARMY OF THE LORD 1 
 
 THE STAR OF THE SEA S 
 
 THE SACRED HEART ]0 
 
 THE NAMES OF OUR LADY 14 
 
 A CHAPLET OF FLOWERS 18 
 
 KYRIE ELEISOX 23 
 
 THE ANNUNCIATION 26 
 
 AN APPEAL 29 
 
 THE JUBILEE OF 1850 33 
 
 CHRISTMAS FLOWERS 36 
 
 A DESIRE 40 
 
 OUR DAILY BREAD 43 
 
 THREEFOLD 45 
 
 CONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO 47 
 
 ORA PRO ME .... 49 
 
xvi Contents. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 THE CHURCH IN 1849 51 
 
 FISHERS OF MEN 52 
 
 THE OLD year's BLESSING 54 
 
 EVENING CHANT 57 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 59 
 
 OUR TITLES 62 
 
 MINISTERING ANGELS . . G4 
 
 THE SHRINES OF MARY 66 
 
 THE HOMELESS POOR 75 
 
 MILLY's EXPIATION 84 
 
 A CASTLE IN THE AIR 104 
 
 PER PACEM AD LUCEM 106 
 
 A LEGEND 108 
 
 r>IRTHDAY GIFTS 110 
 
 A BEGGAfi 120 
 
 LINKS WITH HEAVEN 122 
 
 HOMELESS 125 
 
 * * Some of these poems were zcritten twenty years ago : but 
 only three of them have been previously published. 
 
I^^p 
 
 ^p 
 
 
 X9' 
 
 THE ARMY OF THE LORD. 
 
 I. 
 
 To fight the Imttle of the Cross, Christ's chosen ones 
 
 are sent — 
 Good soldiers and great victors — a noble armament. 
 They use no earthly weapon, they know not spear or 
 
 sword, 
 Yet right and true, and valiant, is the army of the 
 
 Lord. 
 
2 The Anrvj of the Lord. 
 
 II. 
 
 Fear them, ye mighty ones of earth ; fear them, ye 
 
 demon foes ; 
 Slay them and think to conquer, but the ranks will 
 
 always close : 
 In vain do Earth and Hell unite their power and skill 
 
 to try, 
 They fight better for their wounds, and they conquer 
 
 when they die. 
 
 III. 
 
 The soul of every sinner is the victory they would 
 
 gain ; 
 They would bind each rebel heart in their Master's 
 
 golden chain : 
 Faith is the shield they carry, and the two-edged 
 
 sword they bear 
 Is God's strongest, mightiest weapon, and they call it 
 
 Love and Prayer. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Where the savage hordes are dwelling by the Ganges' 
 
 sacred tide. 
 Through the trackless Indian forests, St. Francis is 
 
 their guide ; 
 
The Army of the Lord. 3 
 
 "Where crime and sin are raging, to conquer they arc 
 
 gone ;— 
 They do conquer as they go, for St. Philip leads 
 
 them on. 
 
 V. 
 
 They are come where all are kneeling at the shrines 
 
 of wealth and pride, 
 And an old and martyr'd Bishop is their comrade and 
 
 their guide : 
 To tell the toil-worn negro of freedom and repose, 
 O'er the vast Atlantic's bosom they are called by 
 
 sweet St. Rose. 
 
 VI. 
 
 They are gone where Love is frozen and Faith grown 
 
 calm and cold, 
 Where the world is all triumphant, and the sheep 
 
 have left the fold, 
 Where His children scorn His blessings, and His 
 
 sacred Shrines despise, — 
 And the beacon of the warriors is the light in Mary's 
 
 eyes. 
 
 b2 
 
4 TJir Arvii/ of the Lord, 
 
 VII. 
 
 The bugle for their battle is the matin bell for prayer ; 
 And for their noble standard Christ's holy Cross they 
 
 bear ; 
 His sacred name their war-cry — 'tis in vain what ye 
 
 can do, 
 They must conquer, for your Angels are leaguing with 
 
 them too. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Would you know. Oh World, these warriors? Go 
 
 where the poor, the old, 
 Ask for pardon and for heaven, and you offer food 
 
 and gold ; 
 With healing and with comfort, with words of peace 
 
 and prayer. 
 Bearing His greatest gift to man — Christ's chosen 
 
 priests are there. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Where sin and crime are dwelling, hid from the light 
 
 of day. 
 And life and hope arc fading at Death's cold touch 
 
 awav, 
 
Tlie Army of the Lord, 5 
 
 Where dying eyes, in horror see the long-forgotten 
 
 past, 
 Christ's servants claim the sinner and gain his soul 
 
 at last. 
 
 X. 
 
 Where the rich and proud and mighty God's message 
 
 would defy, 
 In warning and reproof His anointed ones stand by : 
 Bright are the crowns of glory God keepeth for His 
 
 own, 
 Their life one sigh for Heaven, and their aim His will 
 
 alone. 
 
 XI. 
 
 And see sweet Mercy's sister, where the poor and 
 
 vn-etched dwell. 
 In gentle accents telling of Him she loves so well ; 
 Training young hearts to serve their Lord, and place 
 
 their hope in Heaven, 
 Bidding her erring sisters love much and be forgiven. 
 
 XII. 
 
 And where in cloistered silence dim the Brides of 
 
 Jesus dwell. 
 Where purest incense rises up from every lowly cell. 
 
6 The Arniij of tJtc Lord. 
 
 They plead not vainly, — they have chosen and gained 
 
 the better part, 
 And given their gentle life away to Him who has 
 
 their heart. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 And some there are among us — the path which they 
 
 have trod 
 Of sin and pain and anguish has led at last to God : 
 They plead, and Christ will hear them, that the poor 
 
 slaves who pine 
 In the bleak dungeon they have lcft> may sec His 
 
 truth divine. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Oh ! who can tell how many hearts are altars to His 
 
 praise, 
 From which the silent prayer ascends through patient ' 
 
 nights and days : 
 The sacrifice is offered still in secret and alone. 
 Oh ! world, ye do not know them, but He can help 
 
 His own. 
 
The Army of the Lord. 7 
 
 XV. 
 
 They are with us, His true soldiers, they come in 
 
 power and might, 
 Glorious the crown which they shall gain after the 
 
 heavenly fight ; 
 And you, perchance, who scoff, may yet their rest and 
 
 glory share. 
 As the rich spoil of their battle and the captives of 
 
 their prayer. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Oh ! who shall tell the wonder of that great day of 
 
 rest. 
 When even in this plac^ of strife His soldiers are so 
 
 blest : 
 Oh World, oh Earth, why strive ye ? join the low 
 
 chant they sing — 
 " Oh Grave, where is thy victory I Oh Death, where 
 
 is thy sting !" 
 
THE STAR OF THE SEA. 
 
 How many a mighty ship 
 
 The stormy waves o'erwhelm ; 
 Yet our frail bark floats on, 
 
 Our Angel holds the helm : 
 Dark storms are gathering round, 
 
 And dangerous winds arise, 
 Yet see ! one trembling star 
 
 Is shining in the skies ; — 
 And we are safe who trust in thee, 
 
 Star of the Sea. 
 
 • 
 
 A long and weary voyage 
 
 Have we to reach our home. 
 And dark and sunken rocks 
 
 Are hid in silver foam ; 
 Each moment we may sink, 
 
 But steadily we sail, 
 Our winged Pilot smiles, 
 
 And says we shall not fail ; — 
 
 And so we kneel and call on thee, 
 
 Star of Ihe Sea. 
 
Tlte Star of the Sea, 9 
 
 Yes, for those shining rays 
 
 Shall beam upon the main, 
 Shall guide us safely on, 
 
 Through fear and doubt and pain : 
 And see — the stormy wind 
 
 Our little sail has caught, 
 The tempest others fear 
 
 Shall drive us into port ; — 
 Through Life's dark voyage we trust in tliee^ 
 Star of the Sea. 
 
 The shore now looms in sight, 
 
 The far off golden strand, 
 Yet many a freight is wrecked 
 
 And lost in sight of land ; 
 Then guide us safely home. 
 
 Through that last hour of strife, 
 And welcome us to land, 
 
 From the long voyage of life : — 
 In death and life we call on thee, 
 Star of the Sea. 
 
10 
 
 THE SACRED HEART. 
 
 What wouldst thou have, Oh soul, 
 
 Thou weary soul ? 
 Lo ! I have sought for rest 
 Ou the Earth's heaving breast, 
 
 From pole to pole. 
 Sleep — I have been with her, 
 
 But she gave dreams ; 
 Death — nay, the rest he gives 
 
 Rest only seems. 
 Fair nature knows it not — 
 
 The grass is growing ; 
 The blue air knows it not — 
 
 The winds are blowing : 
 Not in the changing sky. 
 
 The stormy sea — 
 Yet somewhere in God's wide world 
 
 Rest there must be. 
 Within thy Saviour's Heart 
 
 Place all thy care, 
 And learn, Oh weary soul. 
 
 Thy Ref't is there. 
 
The Sacred Heart. 11 
 
 What wouldst thou, trembling soul ? 
 
 Strength for the strife — 
 Strength for this fiery war 
 
 That we call Life. 
 Fears gather thickly round ; 
 
 Shadowy foes, 
 Like unto armed men, 
 
 Around me close. 
 What am I, frail and poor, 
 
 When griefs arise ? 
 No help from the weak earth, 
 
 Or the cold skies. 
 Lo ! I can find no guards, 
 
 No weapons borrow. 
 Shrinking, alone I stand, 
 
 With mighty sorrow. 
 Courage, thou trembling soul, 
 
 Grief thou must bear, 
 Yet thou canst find a strength 
 
 Will match despair : 
 Within thy Saviour's Heart — 
 
 Seek for it there. 
 
 What wouldst thou have, sad soul, 
 Oppressed with grief? — - 
 
 Comfort : I seek in vain, 
 Nor find relief. 
 
1 2 The Sacred Heart. 
 
 Nature, all pitiless, 
 
 Smiles on my pain ; 
 I ask my fellow-men, 
 
 They give disdain. 
 I asked the babbling streams. 
 
 But they flowed on ; 
 I asked the wise and good, 
 
 But they gave none. 
 Though I have asked the stars, 
 
 Coldly they shine. 
 They are too bright to know 
 
 Grief such as mine. 
 I asked for comfort still. 
 
 And I found tears. 
 And I have sought in vain 
 
 Long, weary years. 
 Listen, thou mournful soul, 
 
 Thy pain shall cease ; 
 Deep in His sacred Heart, 
 
 Dwells joy and peace. 
 
 Yes, in that Heart divine. 
 The Angels bright 
 
 Find, through eternal years, 
 Still new delight. 
 
The Sacred Heart. 13 
 
 From thence his constancy 
 
 The martyr drew, 
 And there the virgin band 
 
 Their refuge knew. 
 There, racked by pain without, 
 
 And dread within. 
 How many souls have found 
 
 Heaven's bliss begin. 
 Then leave thy vain attempts 
 
 To seek for peace ; 
 The world can never give 
 
 One soul release : 
 But in thy Saviour's Heart 
 
 Securely dwell, 
 No pain can harm thee, hid 
 
 In that sweet cell. 
 Then fly, Oh coward soul. 
 
 Delay no more. 
 What words can speak the joy 
 
 For thee in store ? 
 What smiles of earth can tell 
 
 Of peace like thine ? 
 Silence and tears are best 
 For things divine. 
 
14 
 
 THE NAMES OF OUR LADY. 
 
 Through the wide world thy children raise 
 
 Their prayers, and still we see 
 Calm are the nights and bright the days 
 
 Of those who trust in thee. 
 
 Around thy starry crown are wreathed 
 
 So many names divine : 
 Which is the dearest to my heart, 
 
 And the most worthy thine ? 
 
 Star of the Sea : we kneel and pray 
 When tempests raise their voice ; 
 
 Star of the Sea ! the haven reached, 
 We call thee and rejoice. 
 
 Help of the Christian : in our need 
 
 Thy mighty aid we claim ; 
 If we are faint and weary, then 
 
 We trust in that dear name. 
 
The Names of Our Lady, 15 
 
 Our Lady of the Rosary : 
 
 What name can be so sweet 
 As what we call thee when we place 
 
 Our chaplets at thy feet. 
 
 Bright Queen of Heaven: when we are sad 
 
 Best solace of our pains ; — 
 It tells us though on earth we toil, 
 
 Our Mother lives and reigns. 
 
 Our Lady of Mount Carmel : thus 
 Sometimes thy name is known ; 
 
 It tells us of the badge we wear, 
 To live or die thine own. 
 
 Our Lady dear of Victories : 
 We see our faith oppressed, 
 
 And praying for our erring land, 
 We love that name the best. 
 
 Befuge of Sinners : many a soul. 
 
 By guilt cast down, and sin, 
 Has learned through this dear name of thine, 
 
 Pardon and peace to win. 
 
16 The Names of Our Lady,' 
 
 Health of the Sich: when anxious hearts 
 Watch by tlie sufferer's bed, 
 
 On this sweet name of thine they lean, 
 Consoled and comforted. 
 
 Mother of Sorrows : many a heart 
 
 Half-broken by despair, 
 Has laid its burthen by the cross. 
 
 And found a mother there. 
 
 Quee?i of all Saints : the Church appeals 
 
 For her loved dead to thee ; 
 She knows they wait in patient pain, 
 
 A bright eternity. 
 
 Fair Queen of Virgins : thy pure band. 
 
 The lilies round thy throne, 
 Love the dear title which they bear 
 
 Most that it is thine own. 
 
 True Queen of Martyrs : if we shrink 
 
 From want, or pain, or woe. 
 We think of the sharp sword that pierced 
 
 Thy heart, and call thee so. 
 
The Names of Our Lady. 17 
 
 Mary : the dearest name of all, 
 
 The holiest and the best ; 
 The first low word that Jesus lisped 
 
 Laid on His mother's breast. 
 
 Mary, the name that Gabriel spoke, 
 
 The name that conquers hell ; 
 Mary, the name that through high heaven, 
 
 The angels love so well. 
 
 Mary — our comfort and our hope, 
 Oh may that word be given 
 
 To be the last we sigh on earth — 
 The first we breathe in heaven. 
 
18 
 
 A CHAPLET OF FLOWERS. 
 
 Dear, set the casement open, 
 The evening breezes blow 
 
 Sweet perfumes from the flowers 
 I cannot see below. 
 
 I can but catch the waving 
 Of chestnut boughs that j)ass, 
 
 Their shadow must have covered 
 The sun-dial on the grass. 
 
 So go and bring the flowers 
 I love best to my room, 
 
 My failing strength no longer 
 Can bear me where they bloom. 
 
 You know I used to love them, 
 But ah ! they come too late — 
 
 For see, my hands are trembling 
 Beneath their dewy weight. 
 
^ Chaplet of Floicers. 19 
 
 So I will watch you weavirio- 
 
 A chaplet for me, dear, 
 Of all mj favourite flowers, 
 
 As I could do last jear. 
 
 First, take those crimson roses 
 
 How red their petals glow ! 
 
 Red as the blood of Jesus, 
 Which heals our sin and woe. 
 
 See in each heart of crimson 
 A deeper crimson shine 
 
 So, in the foldings of our hearts 
 Should glow a love divine. 
 
 Xext place those tender violets, 
 Look how thej still reo-ret 
 
 The cell where thej were hidden- 
 The tears are on them jet. 
 
 How many souls— His loved ones- 
 Dwell lonely and apart. 
 
 Hiding from all but One above 
 The fragrance of their heart, 
 c 2 
 
20 A Chaplet of Floivers. 
 
 Then take that virgin lily, 
 How holily she stands — 
 
 You know the gentle angels 
 Bear lilies in their hands. 
 
 Yet crowned with purer radiance 
 A deeper love they claim, 
 
 Because their queen-like whiteness 
 Is linked with Mary's name. 
 
 And now this spray of ivy : 
 You know its gradual clasp 
 
 Uproots strong trees, and towers 
 Fall crumbling in its grasp. 
 
 So God's dear grace around us 
 With secret patience clings, 
 
 And slow sure power, that loosens 
 Strong: holds on human thinors. 
 
 '& 
 
 Then heliotrope, that turneth 
 Towards her lord the sun, — 
 
 Would that our thoughts as fondly 
 Sou<rht our beloved One. 
 
A Chaplet of Floivers. 21 
 
 Nay — if that branch be fading, 
 
 Cast not one blossom by, 
 Its little task is ended 
 
 And it does well to die. 
 
 And let some field flowers even 
 Be wreathed among the rest, 
 
 I think the infant Jesus 
 
 Would love such ones the best. 
 
 These flowers are all too brilliant, 
 So place calm heartsease there, 
 
 God's last and sacred treasure 
 For all who wait and bear. 
 
 Then lemon leaves, whose sweetness 
 
 Grows sweeter than before 
 When bruised, and crushed, and broken, 
 
 — Hearts need that lesson more. 
 
 Yet stay — one crowning glory, 
 
 All His, and yet all ours ; 
 The dearest, tenderest thought of all, 
 
 Is still the Passion flower's. 
 
22 A Chaplet of Flowers. 
 
 So take it now — nay, heed not 
 My tears that on it fall ; 
 
 I thank Him for the flowers, 
 As I can do for all. 
 
 And place it on the altar, 
 
 Where oft in days long flown, 
 
 I knelt by His dear mother, 
 And knew she was my own. 
 
 The bells ring out her praises, 
 The evening shades grow dim ; 
 
 Go there and say a prayer for me, 
 And sing Our Lady's hymn. 
 
 While I lie here, and ask her help 
 In that last, longed-for day — 
 
 When the Beloved of my heart 
 W^ill call my soul away. 
 
KYRIE ELEISON. 
 
 In joj, in pain, in sorrow, 
 
 Father, Thy hand we see ; 
 But some among Thy children 
 
 Deny this faith and Thee. 
 They will not ask Thy mercy, 
 
 But we kneel for them in prayer ; 
 Are they not still Thy children ? 
 
 Pity, oh God ! and spare. 
 Thy i:)eaee, oh Lord, has never 
 
 On their desolate pathway shone, 
 Darkness is all around them : 
 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
 For them, the starry heavens 
 No hymn of worship raise ; 
 
24 Kyrie Eleison, 
 
 For them, earth's innocent flowers 
 
 Breathe not Thy silent praise; 
 In heaven they know no Saviour, 
 
 No Father, and no Friend, 
 And life is all they hope for, 
 
 And death they call the end; 
 Their eyes, oh Lord ! are blinded 
 
 To the glories of the sun, 
 To the shining of the sea star — 
 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
 By the love thy saints have shown Thee, 
 
 And the sorrows they have borne, 
 Leave not these erring creatures 
 
 To wander thus forlorn. 
 By Thy tender name of Saviour, — 
 
 The name they have denied; 
 By Thy bitter death and passion. 
 
 And the Cross which they deride; 
 By the anguish Thou hast suffered. 
 
 And the glcxy Thou hast won; 
 By Thy love and by Thy pity — 
 
 Christe Eleison ! 
 
Kyrie Eleison. 25 
 
 Pray for them, glorious seraphs, 
 
 And ye, bright angel band. 
 Who chant His praises ever, 
 
 And in His presence stand; 
 And thou, oh gentle Mother, 
 
 Que^n of the starry sky ; 
 Ye Saints whose toils are over, 
 
 Join your voices to our cry — 
 In Thy terror or Thy mercy, 
 
 Call them ere life is done. 
 For His sake who died to save them, 
 
 Kyrie Eleison ! 
 
26 
 
 THE ANNUNCIATION. 
 
 How pure, and frail, and white, 
 The snowdrops shine I 
 
 Gather a gar hind bright 
 For Mary's shrine. 
 
 For, born of winter snows, 
 These fragile flowers 
 
 Are gifts to our fair Queen 
 
 From Spring's first hours. 
 
 For on this blessed day 
 She knelt at j^rayer ; 
 
 When, lo ! before her shone 
 An Ansel fair. 
 
 " Hail, Mary ! " thus he cried. 
 With reverent fear : 
 
 She, with sweet wondering eyes. 
 Marvelled to hear. 
 
The Annunciation, 27 
 
 Be still, ye clouds of Heaven ! 
 
 Be silent, Earth ! 
 And hear an Angel tell 
 
 Of Jesus' birth. 
 
 While she, whom Gabriel hails 
 
 As full of grace, 
 Listens with humble faith 
 
 In her sweet face. 
 
 Be still — Pride, War, and Pomp, 
 Vain Hopes, vain Fears, 
 
 For now an Angel speaks, 
 And Mary hears. 
 
 " Hail, Mary ! " lo, it rings 
 
 Through ages on ; 
 " Hail, Mary ! " it shall sound. 
 
 Till Time is done. 
 
 " Hail, Mary ! " infant lips 
 
 Lisp it to-day j 
 " Hail, Mary ! " with faint smile 
 
 The dying say ; 
 
28 The Annunciation. 
 
 " Hail, Mary ! " many a heart 
 Broken with grief, 
 
 In that angelic prayer, 
 Has found relief. 
 
 And many a half lost soul 
 When turned at bay, 
 
 With those triumphant words 
 Has won the day. 
 
 " Hail, Mary, Queen of Heaven ! " 
 
 Let us repeat. 
 And place our snowdrop wreath 
 
 Here at her feet. 
 
29 
 
 AN APPEAL. 
 
 "• The Irish Church Mission for Converting the Catholics. 
 
 Spare her, oh cruel England ! 
 
 Thy Sister lieth low ; 
 Chained and oppressed she lieth, 
 
 Spare her that cruel blow. 
 We ask not for the freedom 
 
 Heaven has vouchsafed to thee, 
 Nor bid thee share with Ireland 
 
 The empire of the sea ; 
 Her children ask no shelter — 
 
 Leave them the stormy sky ; 
 They ask not for thy harvests, 
 For they know how to die : 
 Deny them, if it please thee, 
 A grave beneath the sod — 
 But we do cry, oh England, 
 Leave them their faith in God ! 
 
•^^^ A?i Appeal. 
 
 Take, if thou wilt, the earnings 
 
 Of tlie poor i^easant's toil, 
 Take all the scanty produce 
 
 That grows on Irish soil, 
 To pay the alien preachers 
 
 Whom Ireland will not hear, 
 To pay the scoffers at a Creed 
 
 Which Irish hearts hold dear : 
 But leave them, cruel England, 
 
 The gift their God has given, 
 Leave them their ancient worship, 
 
 Leave them their faith in Heaven. 
 
 You come and offer Learning — 
 
 A mighty gift, 'tis true ; 
 Perchance the greatest blessing 
 
 That now is known to you — 
 But not to see the wonders 
 
 Sages of old beheld 
 Can they peril a priceless treasure, 
 
 The Faith their Fathers held ; 
 For in learning and in science 
 
 They may forget to pray — 
 God will not ask for knowledge 
 
 On the great judgment day. 
 
An Appeal. 31 
 
 When, in their wretched cabins, 
 
 Eiicked by the fever pain, 
 And the weak cries of their children 
 
 Who ask for food in vain ; 
 W^hen starving, naked, helpless, 
 
 From the shed that keeps them warm 
 Man. has driven them forth to perish, 
 
 In a less cruel storm ; 
 Then, then, we plead for mercy. 
 
 Then, Sister, hear our cry ! 
 For all we ask, oh England, 
 
 Is — leave them there to die ! 
 Cursed is the food and raiment 
 
 For which a soul is sold ; 
 Tempt not another Judas 
 
 To barter God for gold. 
 You offer food and shelter 
 
 If they their faith deny : — 
 Yv^liat do you gain, oh England, 
 
 By such a shallow lie ? . . . 
 We will not judge the tempted, 
 
 May God blot out their shame, 
 He sees the misery round them, 
 
 He knows man's feeble frame ; 
 His pity still may save them, 
 
 In His strength they must trust 
 
32 An Appeal. 
 
 Who calls us all His children, 
 Yet knows we are but dust. 
 
 Then leave them the kind tending 
 
 Which helped their childish years ; 
 Leave them the gracious comfort 
 
 Which dries the mourner's tears ; 
 Leave them to that great mother 
 
 In whose bosom they were born ; 
 Leave them the holy mysteries 
 
 That comfort the forlorn : 
 And, amid all their trials, 
 
 Let the Great Gift abide, 
 Which you, oh prosperous England, 
 
 Have dared to cast aside. 
 Leave them the pitying Angels, 
 
 And Mary's gentle aid, 
 For which earth's dearest treasures 
 
 Were not too dearly paid. 
 Take back your bribes, then, England, 
 
 Your gold is black and dim, 
 And if God sends plague and famine 
 
 They can die and go to Him. 
 
33 
 
 THE JUBILEE OF 1850. 
 
 [The titles of the " Island of Saints " and the " Dower of 
 ur Lady," though more frequently applied to Ireland, were 
 often given to England in former times.] 
 
 Bless God, ye happy Lands, 
 
 For your more favoured lot : 
 Our England dwells apart. 
 
 Yet oh, forget her not. 
 While, with united joy, 
 
 This day you all adore. 
 Remember what she was. 
 
 Though her voice is heard no more. 
 Pray for our desolate land, 
 Left in her pride and power : 
 She was the Isle of Saints, 
 She was Our Lady's Dower. 
 
 Look on her ruined Altars ; 
 
 He dwelleth there no more : 
 Think what her empty churches 
 
 Have been in times of yore ; 
 
 D 
 
34 The Jubilee of 1850. 
 
 She kuows the names uo longer 
 
 Of her own sainted dead, 
 Denies the faith they held, 
 
 And the cause for which they bled. 
 Then pray for our desolate land, 
 Left in her pride and power : — 
 She was the Isle of Saints, 
 She was Our Lady's Dower ! 
 
 Pray that her vast Cathedrals, 
 
 Deserted, empty, bare. 
 May once more echo accents 
 
 Of Love, and Faith, and Prayer ; 
 That the holy sign may bless us, 
 On wood, and field, and plain, 
 And Jesus, Mary, Joseph, 
 May dwell with us again. 
 
 Pray, ye more faithful nations. 
 In this most happy hour : — 
 She was the Isle of Saints, 
 She was Our Lady's Dower. 
 
 Beg of our Lord to give her 
 
 The gift she cast aside. 
 And in Ilis mercy pardon 
 
 Her faithlessness and pride : 
 
The Jubilee of 1850. 35 
 
 Pray to her Saiuts, who worship 
 Before God's mercy Throne ; 
 Look where our Queen is dwelling, 
 Ask her to claim her own. 
 
 To give her the proud titles 
 Lost in an evil hour — 
 She was the Isle of Saints, 
 She was Our Lady's Dower. 
 
 d2 
 
36 
 
 CHRISTMAS FLOWERS. 
 
 The Earth is so bleak and deserted, 
 
 So cold the winds blow, 
 That no bud or no blossom will venture 
 
 To peep from below ; 
 But, longing for Spring time, they nestle 
 
 Deep under the snow. 
 
 Oh, in May how we honoured Our Lady, 
 
 Her own month of flowers ! 
 How happy we were with our garlands 
 
 Through all the spring hours ! 
 All her shrines, in the church or the wayside, 
 
 Were made into bowers. 
 
Christmas Flowers. 37 
 
 And in August — her glorious Assumption ; 
 
 What feast was so bright ! 
 What clusters of virginal lilies, 
 
 So pure and so white ! 
 Why the incense could scarce overpower 
 
 Their perfume that night. 
 
 And through her dear feasts of October 
 
 The roses bloomed still ; 
 Our baskets were laden with flowers, 
 
 Her vases to fill : 
 Oleanders, geraniums, and myrtles, 
 
 We chose at our will. 
 
 And we know when the Purification, 
 
 Her first feast, comes round. 
 The early spring flowers, to greet it. 
 
 Just opening are found ; 
 And pure, white, and spotless, the snowdrop 
 
 Will pierce the dark ground. 
 
 And now, in this dreary December, 
 Our glad hearts are fain 
 
38 Christmas Flowers. 
 
 To see if Earth comes not to help us ; 
 
 We seek all in vain : 
 Not the tiniest blossom is coming 
 
 Till Spring breathes again. 
 
 And the bright feast of Christmas is dawning, 
 
 And Mary is blest ; 
 For now she will give us her Jesus, 
 
 Our dearest, our best, 
 And see where she stands — the Maid-Mother, 
 
 Her Babe on her breast ! 
 
 And not one poor garland to give her, 
 
 And yet now, behold. 
 How the Kings bring their gifts — myrrh, and incense. 
 
 And bars of pure gold : 
 And the Shepherds have brought for the Baby 
 
 Some lambs from their fold. 
 
 He stretches His tiny hands towards us. 
 
 He brings us all grace ; 
 And look at His Mother who holds Him- 
 
 The smile on her face 
 Says they welcome the humblest gifts 
 
 In the manger we place. 
 
Christmas Flowers. 39 
 
 Where love takes, let love give ; and so doubt not : 
 
 Love counts but the will, 
 And the heart has its flowers of devotion 
 
 No Winter can chill, 
 They who cared for "good will" that first Christmas 
 
 Will care for it still. 
 
 In the Chaplet on Jesus and Mary, 
 
 From our hearts let us call, 
 At each Ave Maria we whisper 
 
 A rosebud shall fall — 
 And at each Gloria Patri a Lily, 
 
 The crown of them all ! 
 
40 
 
 A DESIRE. 
 
 Oh, to have dwelt in Bethlehem 
 
 When the star of the Lord shone bright ! 
 To have sheltered the holy wanderers 
 
 On that blessed Christmas night ; 
 To have kissed the tender wayworn feet 
 
 Of the mother undefiled, 
 And with reverent wonder and deep delight, 
 
 To have tended the Holy Child ! 
 
 Hush ! such a glory was not for thee ; 
 
 But that care may still be thine ; 
 For are there not little ones still to aid 
 
 For the sake of the Child divine ? 
 Are there no wandering Pilgrims now, 
 
 To thy heart and thy home to take ? 
 And are there no Mothers whose weary hearts 
 
 You can comfort for Mary's sake ? 
 
A Desire. "*! 
 
 Oh, to have knelt at Jesus' feet, 
 
 And have learnt His heavenly lore ! 
 To have listened the gentle lessons He taught 
 
 On mountain, and sea, and shore ! 
 While the rich and the mighty knew Him not, 
 
 To have meekly done His will : — 
 Hush I for the worldly reject Him yet. 
 
 You can serve and love Him still. 
 Time cannot silence His mighty words, 
 
 And though ages have fled away. 
 His gentle accents of love divine 
 
 Speak to your soul to-day. 
 
 Oh, to have solaced that weeping one 
 
 Whom the righteous dared despise ! 
 To have tendedy bound up her scattered hair, 
 
 And have dried her tearful eyes I 
 Hush ! there are broken hearts to soothe, 
 
 And penitent tears to dry, 
 While Magdalen prays for you and them, 
 
 From her home in the starry sky. 
 
 Oh, to have followed the mournful way 
 
 Of those faithful few forlorn ! 
 And grace, beyond even an angel's hope, 
 
 The Cross for our Lord have borne. 
 
42 A Desire. 
 
 To have shared in His tender mother's grief, 
 
 To have wept at Mary's side, 
 To have lived as a child in her home, and then 
 
 In her loving care have died ! 
 
 Hush ! and with reverent sorrow still, 
 
 Mary's great anguish share ; 
 And learn, for the sake of her Son divine. 
 
 Thy cross, like His to bear. 
 The sorrows that weigh on thy soul unite 
 
 With those which thy Lord has borne, 
 And Mary will comfort thy dying hour, 
 
 Nor leave thy soul forlorn. 
 
 Oh, to have seen what we now adore. 
 
 And, though veiled to faithless sight. 
 To have known, in the form that Jesus wore. 
 
 The Lord of Life and Light ! 
 Hush ! for He dwells among us still, 
 
 And a grace can yet be thine, 
 Which the scoffer and doubter can never know- 
 
 Tlie Presence of the Divine. 
 Jesus is with His children yet. 
 
 For His word can never deceive ; 
 Go where His loAvly Altars rise, 
 
 And worship, and believe. 
 
43 
 
 OUR DAILY BREAD. 
 
 Give us our daily Bread, 
 
 Oh God, the bread of strength ! 
 For we have learnt to know 
 
 How weak we are at length. 
 As children we are weak, 
 
 As children must be fed — 
 Give us Thy grace, oh Lord, 
 
 To be our daily Bread. 
 
 Give us our daily Bread : — 
 
 The bitter bread of grief. 
 We sought earth's poisoned feasts 
 
 For pleasure and relief ; 
 We sought her deadly fruits. 
 
 But now, oh God, instead. 
 We ask Thy healing grief 
 
 To be our daily Bread. 
 
44 Our Daily Bread. 
 
 Give us our daily Bread 
 
 To cheer our fainting soul ; 
 The feast of comfort, Lord, 
 
 And peace, to make us whole : 
 For we are sick of tears, 
 
 The useless tears we shed ; — 
 Now give us comfort, Lord, 
 
 To be our daily Bread. 
 
 Give us our daily Bread, 
 
 The Bread of Angels, Lord, 
 By us, so many times, 
 
 Broken, betrayed, adored : 
 His Body and His Blood ; — 
 
 The feast that Jesus spread : 
 Give Him — our* life, our all — 
 
 To be our daily Bread ! 
 
45 
 
 THREEFOLD. 
 
 MoTHEE of grace and mercy. 
 
 Behold how burthens three 
 Weigh down mj weary spirit, 
 
 And drive me here — to Thee. 
 Three gifts I place for ever 
 
 Before thy shrine : 
 The threefold offering of my love, 
 
 Mary, to thine ! 
 
 The Past : with all its memories, 
 
 Of pain — that stings me yet ; 
 Of sin — that brought repentance ; 
 
 Of joy — that brought regret. 
 That which has been : — for ever 
 
 So bitter-sweet — 
 I lay in humblest offering 
 
 Before thy feet. 
 
46 Threefold. 
 
 The Present : that dark shadow 
 
 Through which we toil to-day ; 
 The slow drops of the chalice 
 
 That must not pass away. 
 Mother — I dare not struggle, 
 
 Still less despair : 
 I place my Present in thy hands 
 
 And leave it there. 
 
 The Future : holding all things 
 
 Which I can hope or fear, 
 Brings sin and pain, it may be, 
 
 Nearer and yet more near. 
 Mother ! this doubt and shrinking 
 
 Will not depart, 
 Unless I trust my Future 
 
 To thy dear Heart. 
 
 Making the Past my lesson, 
 Guiding the Present right, 
 
 Ruling the misty Future — 
 Bless them and me to-niffht. 
 
 What may be, and what must be, 
 And what has been, 
 
 In thy dear care for ever 
 • I leave, my Queen ! 
 
CONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO. 
 
 " Scit; potest ; vult : quid est quod timeamus ?" 
 
 S. Ignatids. 
 
 Fret not, poor soul : while doubt and fear 
 
 Disturb thy breast, 
 The pitying angels, who can see 
 How vain thy wild regret must be, 
 
 Say, Trust and Rest. 
 
 Plan not, nor scheme — but calmly wait ; 
 
 His choice is best. 
 While blind and erring is thy sight. 
 His wisdom sees and judges right. 
 
 So Trust and Rest. 
 
 Strive not, nor struggle : thy poor might 
 
 Can never wrest 
 The meanest thing to serve thy will j 
 All power is His alone : Be still, 
 
 And Trust and Rest. 
 
48 Conjido et Conquiesco. 
 
 Desire not: self-love is strong; 
 
 Within thy breast ; 
 And yet He loves thee better still, 
 So let Him do His loving will, 
 
 And Trust and Rest. 
 
 What dost thou fear ? His -wisdom reigns 
 
 Supreme confessed ; 
 His power is infinite ; His love 
 Thy deepest, fondest dreams above — 
 
 So Trust and Rest. 
 
49 
 
 ORA PRO ME. 
 
 Ate Maria ! bright and pure, 
 Hear, oh hear me when I pray ! 
 
 Pains and pleasures try the pilgrim 
 On his long and weary way ; 
 
 Fears and perils are around me, — 
 Ora pro me. 
 
 Mary, see my heart is burdened, 
 Take, oh take the weight away, 
 
 Or help me, that I may not murmur 
 If it is a cross you lay 
 
 On my weak and trembling heart — but 
 Ora pro me. 
 
 Mary, Mary, Queen of Heaven ! 
 
 Teach, oh ! teach me to obey : 
 Lead me on, though fierce temptations 
 
 Stand and meet me in the way; 
 When I fail and faint, my mother, 
 Ora pro me. 
 
 £ 
 
50 Ora pro me. 
 
 Then shall I— if thou, Mary, 
 Art my strong support and stay — 
 
 Fear nor feel the threefold danger 
 Standing forth in dread array ; 
 
 Now and ever shield and guard me, 
 Ora pro me. 
 
 When my eyes are slowly closing, 
 And I fade from earth away, 
 
 And when Death, the stern destroyer. 
 Claims my body as his prey — 
 
 Claim my soul and then, sweet Mary, 
 Ora pro me. 
 
51 
 
 THE CHURCH IN 1849. 
 
 Oh, mighty Mother, hearken ! for thy foes 
 Gather around thee, and exulting cry 
 That thine old strength is gone and thou must die, 
 
 Pointing with fierce rejoicing to thy woes. 
 
 And is it so ? The raging whirlwind blows 
 No stronger now than it has done of yore : 
 Rebellion, strife, and sin have been before ; 
 
 The same companions whom thy Master chose. 
 
 We too rejoice : we know thy might is more 
 When to the world thy glory seemeth dim ; 
 
 Nor can HeU's gates prevail to conquer Thee, 
 Who hearest over all the voice of Him 
 
 Who chose thy first and greatest Prince should be 
 
 A fisher on the Lake of Galilee. 
 
 E 2 
 
52 
 
 FISHERS OF MEN. 
 
 The boats are out and the storm is high, 
 We kneel on the shore and pray : 
 
 The Star of the Sea shines still in the sky, 
 And God is our help and stay. 
 
 The fishers are weak, and the tide is strong. 
 And their boat seems slight and frail — 
 
 But St. Peter has steered it for them so long, 
 It would weather a rougher gale. 
 
 St. John the Beloved sails with them too, 
 And his loving words they hear ; 
 
 So with tender trust the boat's brave crew 
 Neither doubt, or pause, or fear. 
 
 He who sent them fishing is with them still. 
 And He bids them cast their net ; 
 
 And He has the power their boat to fill. 
 So we know He will do it yet. 
 
Fishers of Men. 33 
 
 They have cast their nets again and again, 
 
 And now call to us on shore ; 
 If our feeble prayers seem only in vain, 
 
 We will pray and pray the more. 
 
 Though the storm is loud, and our voice is drowned 
 
 By the roar of the wind and sea, 
 We know that more terrible tempests found 
 
 Their Ruler, Lord, in Thee ! 
 
 See, they do not pause, they are toiling on. 
 
 Yet they cast a loving glance 
 On the star above, and ever anon 
 
 Look up through the blue expanse. 
 
 Mary, listen ! for danger is nigh, 
 
 And we know thou art near us then ; 
 For thy Son's dear servants to thee we cry, 
 
 Sent out as fishers of men. 
 
 Oh watch — as of old thou didst watch the boat 
 
 On the Galilean lake — 
 And grant that the fishers may keep afloat 
 
 Till the nets, o'ercharged, shall break; 
 
54 
 
 THE OLD YEAR'S BLESSING. 
 
 I AM fading from you, 
 But one draweth near, 
 
 Called the Angel-guardian 
 Of the coming year. 
 
 If my gifts and graces 
 
 Coldly you forget, 
 Let the New Year's Angel 
 
 Bless and crown them yet. 
 
 For we work together ; 
 
 He and I are one : 
 Let him end and perfect 
 
 All I leave undone. 
 
 I brought Good Desires, 
 Though as yet but seeds ; 
 
 Let the New Year make them 
 Blossom into Deeds. 
 
The Old Year's Blessing. 55 
 
 I brought Joy to brighten 
 
 Many happy days ; 
 Let the New Year's Angel 
 
 Turn it into Praise. 
 
 If I gave you Sickness, 
 If I brought you Care, 
 
 Let him make one Patience, 
 And the other Prayer. 
 
 Where I brought you Sorrow, 
 Through his care, at length, 
 
 It may rise triumphant 
 Into future Strength. 
 
 If I brought you Plenty, 
 
 All wealth's bounteous charms, 
 Shall not the New Angel 
 
 Turn them into Alms ? 
 
 I gave Health and Leisure, 
 Skill, to dream and plan, 
 
 Let him make them nobler ; — 
 Work for God and Man. 
 
56 The Old Year's Blessing. 
 
 If I broke your Idols, 
 
 Showed you they were dust. 
 
 Let him tuni the Knowledge 
 Into heavenly Trust. 
 
 If I brought Temptation, 
 
 Let sin die away 
 Into boundless Pity 
 
 For all hearts that stray. 
 
 If your list of Errors 
 Dark and long appears, 
 
 Let this new-born Monarch 
 Melt them into Tears. 
 
 May you hold this Angel 
 Dearer than the last, — 
 
 So I bless his Future, 
 
 While he crowns my Past. 
 
51 
 
 EVENING CHANT. 
 
 Steew before our Lady's Picture 
 Roses — flushing like the sky 
 
 Where the lingering western cloudlets 
 Watch the daylight die. 
 
 Violets steeped in dreamy odours, 
 Humble as the Mother mild, 
 
 Blue as were her eyes when watching 
 O'er her sleeping Child. 
 
 Strew white Lilies, pure and spotless, 
 Bending on their stalks of green, 
 
 Bending down with tender pity — 
 Like our Holy Queen. 
 
 Let the flowers spend their fragrance 
 On our Lady's own dear shrine, 
 
 While we claim her gracious helping 
 Near her Son divine. 
 
58 Evening Chant, 
 
 Strew before our Lady's picture 
 Grentle flowers, fair and sweet ; 
 
 Hope, and Fear, and Joy, and Sorrow, 
 Place, too, at her feet. 
 
 Hark ! the Angelus is ringing — 
 Ringing through the fading light, 
 
 In the heart of every Blossom 
 Leave a prayer to-night. 
 
 All night long will Mary listen, 
 While our pleadings fond and deep 
 
 On their scented breath are rising 
 For us — while we sleep. 
 
 Scarcely through the starry silence 
 
 Shall one trembling petal stir, 
 While they breathe their own sweet fragrance 
 
 And our prayers — to Her. 
 
 Peace to every heart that loves her ! 
 
 All her children shall be blest : 
 While She prays and watches for us, 
 
 We will trust and rest. 
 
59 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 
 
 The moon that now is shining 
 
 In skies so blue and bright, 
 Shone ages since on Shepherds 
 
 Who watched their flocks by night. 
 There was no sound upon the earth, 
 
 The azure air was still. 
 The sheep in quiet clusters lay, 
 
 Upon the grassy hill. 
 
 When lo ! a white winged Angel 
 
 The watchers stood before. 
 And told how Christ was born on earth 
 
 For mortals to adore ; 
 He bade the trembling Shepherds 
 
 Listen, nor be afraid. 
 And told how in a manger 
 
 The glorious Child was laid. 
 
60 A Christmas Carol. 
 
 When suddenly in the Heavens 
 
 Appeared an Angel band — 
 (The while in reverent wonder 
 
 The Syrian Shepherds stand,) 
 And all the bright host chanted 
 
 Words that shall never cease — 
 Glory to God in the highest, 
 
 On earth good will and peace ! 
 
 The vision in the heavens 
 
 Faded, and all was still. 
 And the wondering shepherds left their flocks 
 
 To feed upon the hill ; 
 Towards the blessed city 
 
 Quickly their course they held, 
 And in a lowly stable 
 
 Virgin and Child beheld. 
 
 Beside a humble manger 
 
 Was the Maiden Mother mild, 
 And in her arms her Son divine, 
 
 A new-born Infant, smiled. 
 No shade of future sorrow 
 
 From Calvary then was cast ; 
 Only the glory was revealed. 
 
 The suffering was not past. 
 
A Christmas Carol. 61 
 
 The Eastern kings before him knelt, 
 
 And rarest offerings brought ; 
 The shepherds worshipped and adored 
 
 The wonders God had wrought : 
 They saw the crown for Israel's King, 
 
 The future's glorious part — 
 But all these things the Mother kept 
 
 And pondered in her heart. 
 
 Now we that Maiden Mother 
 
 The Queen of Heaven call ; 
 And the Child we call our Jesus, 
 
 Saviour and Judge of all, — 
 But the star that shone in Bethlehem 
 
 Shines still, and shall not cease. 
 And we listen still to the tidings 
 
 Of Glory and of Peace. 
 
62 
 
 OUR TITLES. 
 
 Are we not Nobles ? we who trace 
 
 Our pedigree so high 
 That God for us and for our race 
 
 Created Earth and Sky 
 And Light and Air and Time and Space, 
 
 To serve us and then die. 
 
 Are we not Princes ? we who stand 
 
 As heirs beside the Throne ; 
 We who can call the promised Land 
 
 Our Heritage, our own ; 
 And answer to no less command 
 
 Than God's, and His alone. 
 
 > 
 
 Are we not Kings ? both night and day 
 
 From early until late, 
 About our bed, about our way, 
 
 A guard of Angels wait ; 
 And so we watch and work and pray 
 
 In more than royal state. 
 
Our Titles, 63 
 
 Are we not holy ? Do not start : 
 
 It is God's sacred will 
 To call us Temples set apart 
 
 His Holy Ghost may fill : 
 Our very food .... oh, hush my Heart, 
 
 Adore IT and be still ! 
 
 Are we not more ? our Life shall be 
 
 Immortal and divine. 
 The nature Mary gave to Thee, 
 
 Dear Jesus, still is Thine ; ^ 
 
 Adoring in Thy Heart, I see 
 
 Blood such as beats in mine. 
 
 O God, that we can dare to fail. 
 
 And dare to say we must ! 
 O God, that we can ever trail 
 
 Such banners in the dust. 
 Can let such starry honours pale, 
 
 And such a Blazon rust ! 
 
 Shall we upon such Titles bring 
 
 The taint of sin and shame ? 
 Shall we — the children of the King 
 
 Who hold so grand a claim 
 Tarnish by any meaner thing 
 
 The glory of our name ? 
 
64 
 
 MINISTERING ANGELS. 
 
 Angels of light, spread your bright wings and keep 
 
 Near me at morn : 
 Nor in the starry eve, nor midnight deep, 
 * Leave me forlorn. 
 
 From all dark spirits of unholy power 
 
 Guard my weak heart. 
 Circle around me in each perilous hour, 
 
 And take my part. 
 
 From all foreboding thoughts and dangerous fears 
 
 Keep me secure ; 
 Teach me to hope, and through the bitterest tears 
 
 Still to endure. 
 
 If lonely in the road so fair and wide 
 
 My feet should stray, 
 Then through a rougher, safer pathway guide 
 
 Me day by day. 
 
Ministering Angels. ^S 
 
 Should my heart faint at its unequal strife, 
 
 Oh, still be near — 
 Shadow the perilous sweetness of this life 
 
 With holy fear. 
 
 Then leave me not alone in this bleak world, 
 
 Where'er I roam. 
 And at the end, with your bright wings unfurled, 
 
 Oh, take me home ! 
 
66 
 
 THE SHRINES OF MARY. 
 
 There are many shrines of our Lady, 
 
 In different lauds and climes, 
 Where I can remember kneeling 
 
 In old and beloved times. 
 
 They arise now like stars before me 
 Through the long, long night of years ; 
 
 Some are bright with a heavenly radiance. 
 And others shine out through tears. 
 
 They arise too like mystical flowers, 
 All different, and all the same, — 
 
 As they lie in my heart like a garland 
 That is wreathed round Mary's name. 
 
 Thus each shrine has two consecrations ; 
 
 One all the faithful can trace, 
 But one is for me and me only. 
 
 Holding my soul with its grace. 
 
The Shrines of Mary, 67 
 
 I. 
 
 A shrine in a quaint old Chapel 
 
 Defaced and broken with years, 
 Where the pavement is worn with kneeling, 
 
 And the step with kisses and tears. 
 
 She is there in the da^Ti of morning, 
 
 When the day is blue and bright, 
 In the shadowy evening twilight, 
 
 And the silent, starry night. 
 
 Through the dim old painted window 
 
 The Hours look down, and shed 
 A different glory upon her, 
 
 Violet, purple and red. 
 
 And there — in that quaint old Chapel 
 
 As I stood one day alone — 
 Came a royal message from Mary, 
 
 That claimed my life as her own. 
 
 n. 
 
 I remember a vast Cathedral 
 
 Which holds the struggle and strife 
 
 Of a grand and powerful city. 
 
 As the heart holds the throb of a life. 
 F 2 
 
68 ^he Shrines of Mary, 
 
 Where the ebb and the flow of passion. 
 And sin in its rushing tide 
 
 Have dashed on that worn stone chapel, 
 Dashed, and broken, and died. 
 
 And above the voices of sorrow 
 And the tempter's clamorous din, 
 
 The voice of Maiy has spoken 
 
 And conquered the pain and the sin: 
 
 For long ages and generations 
 
 Have come there to strive and to pray; 
 She watched and guided them living, 
 
 And does not forget them to-day. 
 
 And once, in that strange, vast City 
 I stood in its great stone square, 
 
 Alone in the crowd and the turmoil 
 Of the pitiless southern glare ; 
 
 And a grief was upon my spirit, 
 
 Which I could not cast away, 
 It weighed on my heart all the night-time, 
 
 And it fretted my life all day. 
 
The Shrines of Mary, 69 
 
 So then to that calm cool refuge 
 
 I turned from the noisy street, 
 And I carried my burden of sorrow — 
 
 And left it at Mary's feet. 
 
 * III. 
 
 I remember a lonely chapel 
 
 With a tender claim upon me, 
 It was built for the sailors only, 
 
 And they call it the Star of the Sea, 
 
 And the murmuring chant of the Yespers 
 Seems caught up by the wailing breeze, 
 
 And the throb of the organ is echoed 
 By the rush of the silver seas. 
 
 And the votive hearts and the anchors 
 
 Tell of danger and peril past ; 
 Of the hope defeiTcd and the waiting. 
 
 And the comfort that came at last. 
 
 I too, had a perilous venture, 
 
 On a stormy and treacherous main, 
 
 And I too was pleading to Mary 
 From the depths of a heart in pain. 
 
'0 Tlie Shrines of Mary. 
 
 It was not a life in peril — 
 
 Oh, God ! it was far, far more ; 
 
 And the whirlpool of Hell's temptations. 
 Lay between the wreck and the shore. 
 
 Thick mists hid the light of the beacon. 
 And the voices of warning were dumb — 
 
 So I knelt by the Altar of Mary, 
 And told her Her hour was come. 
 
 For she waits till Earth's aid forsakes us> 
 Till we know our own efforts are vain ; 
 
 And we wait, in our faithless blindness, 
 Till no chance but her prayers remain. 
 
 And now in that sea-side chapel 
 
 By that humble village shrine 
 Hangs a Heart of silver, that tells her 
 
 Of the love and the gladness of mine. 
 
 IV. 
 
 There is one far shrine I remember 
 
 In the years that are fled away. 
 Where the grand old mountains are guarding 
 
 The glories of night and day. 
 
The Shrines of Mary.. 71 
 
 Where tlie earth in her rich, glad beauty 
 Seems made for our Lady's throne, 
 
 And the stars in their radiant clusters 
 Seem fit for her crown alone. 
 
 Where the balmv breezes of summer 
 On their odorous pinions bear 
 
 The fragrance of orange blossoms, 
 
 And the chimes of the Convent prayer. 
 
 There I used to ask for Her blessing 
 As each summer twilight was grey ; 
 
 There I used to kneel at her Altar 
 At each blue, calm dawn of day. 
 
 There in silence was Victory granted, 
 And the terrible strife begun. 
 
 That only with Her protection, 
 
 Could be dared, or suffered, or won. 
 
 If I love the name of that Altar, 
 
 And the thought of those days gone by. 
 
 It is only the Heart of Mary 
 
 And my own that remember why. 
 
72 The Shrines of Mary. 
 
 Where loDg ages of toil and of sorrow, 
 
 And Poverty's weary doom, 
 Have clustered together so closely 
 
 That life seems shadowed with gloom, 
 
 Where crime that lurks in the darkness 
 
 And vice that glares at the day 
 Make the spirit of hope grow weary, 
 
 And the spirit of love decay, 
 
 Where the feet of the wretched and sinful 
 
 Have closest and oftenest trod, 
 Is a house, as humble as any, 
 
 Yet we call it the House of God. 
 
 It is one of our Lady's Chapels ; 
 
 And though poorer than all the rest. 
 Just because of the sin and the sorrow, 
 
 I think she loves it the best. 
 
 There are no rich gifts on the Altar, 
 
 The shrine is humble and bare, 
 Yet the poor and the sick and the tempted 
 
 Think their home and their heaven is there. 
 
The Shrines of Mary. 73 
 
 And before that humble Altar 
 
 Where Our Lady of Sorrow stands, 
 
 I knelt with a weary longing 
 And I laid a vow in her hands. 
 
 And I know when I enter softly 
 And pause at that shrine to pray, 
 
 That the fret and the strife and the burden 
 Will be softened and laid away. 
 
 And the Prayer and the Yow that sealed it 
 Have bound my soul to that shrine. 
 
 For the Mother of Sorrows remembers 
 Her promise, and waits for mine. 
 
 It is one long chaplet of memories 
 
 Tender and true and sweet 
 That gleam in the Past and the Distance 
 
 Like lamps that burn at her feet. 
 
 Like stars that will shine for ever. 
 For time cannot touch or stir 
 
 The graces that Mary has given 
 Or the trust that we give to Her. 
 
74 The Shrines of Mary. 
 
 Past griefs are perished and over, 
 Past joys have vanished and died, 
 
 Past loves are fled and forgotten, 
 Past hopes have been laid aside. 
 
 Past fears have faded in daylight, 
 Past sins have melted in tears — 
 
 One Love and Remembrance only 
 Seems alive in those dead old years. 
 
 So wherever I look in the distance, 
 And whenever I turn to the Past, 
 
 There is always a shrine of Mary 
 Each brighter still than the last. 
 
 I will ask for one grace, oh, Mother ! 
 
 And will leave the rest to thy will. 
 From one shrine of thine to another. 
 
 Let my Life be a Pilgrimage still ! 
 
 At each one, oh. Mother of Mercy ! 
 
 Let still more of thy love be given. 
 Till I kneel at the last and brightest — 
 
 The Throne of the Queen of Heaven. 
 
75 
 
 THE HOMELESS POOR. 
 
 Calm the City lay in midniglit silence, 
 
 Deep on streets »nd roofs the snow lay white ; 
 
 Then I saw an Angel spread his pinions 
 Rising up to Heaven to meet the night. 
 
 In his hands he bore two crowns of lilies, 
 Sweet with sweetness not of earthly flowers, 
 
 But a coronal of prayers for Heaven, 
 
 He had gathered through the evening hours. 
 
 He had gathered in that mighty City 
 
 Through whose streets and pathways he had trod, 
 Till he wove into a winter garland 
 
 Prayers that faithful hearts had sent to Grod. 
 
 Through the azure midnight he was rising ; 
 
 As I watched, I saw his upward flight 
 Checked by a mighty Angel, whose stern challenge, 
 
 Like a silver blast, rang through the night. 
 
76 The Homeless Poor. 
 
 Then strange words upon the silence broke, 
 And I listened as the Angels spoke. 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PRAYERS. 
 
 " I have come from wandering through the city, 
 I have been to seek a garland meet 
 
 To be placed before His throne in Heaven, 
 To be laid at His dear Mother's feet. 
 
 " I have been to one of England's Havens — 
 To a Home for peace and honour planned, 
 
 Where the kindly lights of joy and duty 
 Meet and make the glory of the land. 
 
 " There I heard the ring of children's laughter 
 Hushed to eager silence ; I could see 
 
 How the father stroked their golden tresses 
 As they clustered closer round his knee. 
 
 " And I heard him tell, with loving honour, 
 How the wanderers to Bethlehem came. 
 
 And I saw each head in reverence bowing 
 When he named the Holy Child's dear name. 
 
The Homeless Poor, 77 
 
 **Then he told liow houseless, homeless, friendless, 
 They had wandered wearilj and long — 
 
 Of the manger where our Lord was cradled, 
 Of the Shepherds listening to our song. 
 
 " As he spoke I heard his accents falter, 
 And I saw each childish heart was stirred 
 
 With a loving throb of tender pity 
 
 At the sorrowful, sweet tale they heard. 
 
 " As the children sang their Christmas carol 
 I could see the mother's eyes grow dim, 
 
 And she held her baby closer — feeling 
 Most for Mary through her love for him. 
 
 " So I gathered from that home, as flowers 
 All the tender, loving words I heard 
 
 Given this night to Jesus and to Mary — 
 Look at them, and say if I have erred." 
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEEDS. 
 
 •' In that very street, at that same hour, 
 In the bitter air and drifting sleet, 
 
 Crouching in a doorway was a mother. 
 With her children shuddering at her feet. 
 
78 Tlie Homeless Poor. 
 
 *' She was silent — who would hear her pleading ? 
 
 Men and beasts were housed — but she must stay 
 Houseless in the great and pitiless city, 
 
 Till the dawning of the winter day. 
 
 " Homeless — while her fellow-men are resting 
 Calm and blest : their very dogs are fed, 
 
 Warm and sheltered, and their sleeepiug children 
 Safely nestled in each little bed. 
 
 " She can only draw her poor rags closer 
 Round her wailing baby — closer hold 
 
 One, the least and sickliest — while the others 
 Creep together, tired, hungry, cold. 
 
 " What are these poor flowers thou hast gathered? 
 
 Cast such fragile, worthless tokens by : 
 Will He prize mere words of love and honour 
 
 While His Homeless Poor are left to die ? 
 
 " He has said — his truths are all eternal — 
 What He said both has been and shall be — 
 
 What ye have not done to these my poor ones 
 Lo ! ye have not do?ie it unto J/e." 
 
The Homeless Poor. 79 
 
 Then I saw the Angel with the flowers 
 Bow his head and answer, ' It is well,' 
 
 As he cast a wreath of lilies earthward. 
 And I saw them wither as they fell. 
 
 Once again the Angel raised his head. 
 
 Smiled and showed the other wreath and said:- — 
 
 THE ANGEL OF PKATEKS. 
 
 '•' I have been where kneeling at the Altar, 
 Hushed in reverent awe, a faithful throng 
 
 Have this night adored the Holy Presence, 
 Worshipping with incense, prayer and song. 
 
 " Every head was bowed in loving honour, 
 Every heart with loving awe was thrilled ; 
 
 Earth and things of earth seemed all forgotten ; 
 He was there — and meaner thoughts were stilled. 
 
 '• There on many souls in strait and peril 
 Did that gracious Benediction fall, 
 
 With the strength or peace or joy or warning, 
 He could give, who loved and knew them all. 
 
80 The Homeless Poor, 
 
 " There was silence, but all hearts were speaking 
 When the deepest hush of silence fell, 
 
 On the fragrant air and breathless longing 
 Came the echo of one silver bell. 
 
 " On each spirit such a flood of sweetness 
 Broke — as we who dwell in Heaven feel, 
 
 Then the Adoremus in eterjium, 
 
 Jubilant and strong, rolled peal on peal, 
 
 " They had given holy adoration, 
 
 Tender words of love and praise ; all bright 
 With the dew of contrite tears — such blossoms 
 
 I am bearing to His throne to-night." 
 
 THE ANGEL OF DEEDS. 
 
 " Pause again — these flowers are fair and lovely, 
 Radiant in their perfume and their bloom : 
 
 But not far from where you plucked this garland 
 Is a squalid place in ghastly gloom. 
 
 " There black waters in their luring silence 
 Under loathsome arches crawl and creep. 
 
 There the rats and vermin herd together. . . . 
 There God's poor ones sometimes come to sleep. 
 
The Homeless Pooi\ 81 
 
 "There the weary come, who through the daylight 
 Pace the town, and crave for work in vain ; 
 
 There they crouch in cold and rain and hunger, 
 Waiting for another day of pain. 
 
 " In slow darkness creeps the dismal river ; 
 
 From its depths looks up a sinful rest ; 
 Many a weary, baffled, hopeless wanderer 
 
 Has it drawn into its treacherous breast. 
 
 "There is near another River flowing, 
 
 Black with guilt, and deep as hell and sin ; 
 
 On its brink even sinners stand and shudder — 
 Cold and hunger goad the homeless in. 
 
 "Yet these poor ones to His heart are dearer 
 For their grief and peril : dear indeed 
 
 Would have been the love that sought and fed them, 
 Gave them warmth and shelter in their need. 
 
 " For His sake those tears and prayers are offered 
 Which you bear as flowers to His throne ; 
 
 Better still would be the food and shelter. 
 Given for Him and given to His own. 
 G 
 
82 The Homeless Poor. 
 
 "Praise with loving deeds is dear and holy, 
 Words of praise will never serve instead : 
 
 Lo ! you offer music, hymn, and incense — 
 When He has not where to lay His head.''^ 
 
 Then once more the Angel with the Flowers 
 Bowed his head, and answered, " It is well," 
 
 As he cast a wreath of lilies earthwards. 
 And I saw them wither as they fell. 
 
 So the Vision faded, and the Angels 
 
 Melted far into the starry sky ; 
 By the light upon the eastern Heaven 
 
 I could see another day was nigh. 
 
 Was it quite a dream ? oh, God ! we love Him ; 
 
 All our love, though weak, is given to Him — 
 Why is it our hearts have been so hardened ? 
 
 Why is it our eyes have been so dim ? 
 
 Still as for Himself the Infant Jesus 
 In His little ones asks food and rest — 
 
 Still as for His Mother He is pleading 
 Just as when He lay upon her breast. 
 
The Homeless Poor, 83 
 
 Jesus, theu, and Mary still are with us — 
 Night will find the Child and Mother near, 
 
 Waiting for the shelter we deny them, 
 
 While we tell them that we hold them dear. 
 
 Help us, Lord ! not these Thy poor ones only, 
 They are with us always, and shall be : — 
 
 Help the blindness of our hearts, and teach us. 
 In Thy homeless ones to succour Thee. 
 
 G 
 
84 
 
 MILLY'S EXPIATION. 
 
 THE priest's story. 
 I. 
 
 There are times when all these terrors 
 
 Seem to fade, and fade away, 
 Like a nightmare's ghastly presence 
 
 In the truthful dawn of day. 
 There are times, too, when before me 
 
 They arise, and seem to hold 
 In their grasp my very being 
 
 With the deadly strength of old, 
 Till my spirit quails within me. 
 
 And my very heart grows cold. 
 
 II. 
 
 For I watched when Cold and Hunger, 
 Like wild-beasts that sought for prey, 
 
 With a savage glare crept onward 
 Until men were turned at bay. 
 
Millys Expiation. 85 
 
 You have never seen those hunters, 
 Who have never known that fear, 
 
 When life costs a crust, and costing 
 Even that is still too dear: 
 
 But, you know, I lived in Ireland 
 In the fatal famine year. 
 
 in. 
 
 Yes, those days are now forgotten ; 
 
 God be thanked ! men can forget ; 
 Time's great gift can heal the fevers 
 
 Called Remembrance and Regret. 
 Man despises such forgetting ; 
 
 But I think the Angels know. 
 Since each hour brings new burdens, 
 
 We must let the old ones go — 
 Very weak, or very noble. 
 
 Are the few who cling: to woe. 
 
 IV. 
 
 As a child, I lived in Connaught, 
 And from dawn till set of sun 
 
 Played with all the peasant-children. 
 So I knew them every one. 
 
86 Milh/s Expiation. 
 
 There was not a cabin near us, 
 But I had my welcome there ; 
 
 Though of money-help in those days 
 We had none ourselves to spare, 
 
 Yet the neighbours had no trouble 
 That I did not know and share. 
 
 V. 
 
 Oh, that great estate ! the Landlord 
 
 Was abroad, a good man too ; 
 And the agent was not cruel, 
 
 But he had hard things to do. 
 As a child I saw great suffering, 
 
 Which I could not understand, 
 So I went back as a man there 
 
 With redress and helping planned; 
 But I found, on reaching Connaught, 
 
 There was famine in the land. 
 
 YI. 
 
 Well, I worked, I toiled, I laboured ; 
 
 So, thank God, did many more ; 
 But I had a special pity 
 
 For the place I knew before. 
 
Milhfs Expiation, 
 
 It was changed ; the old were vanished ; 
 
 Those who had been workers there 
 Were grown old now ; and the children, 
 
 With their sunny eyes and hair, 
 Were a ragged army, fighting 
 
 Hand to hand with black despair. 
 
 VII. 
 
 There were some I sought out, longing 
 
 For the old familiar face, 
 For the hearty Irish welcome 
 
 To the well-known corner place ; 
 So I saw them, and I found it. 
 
 But of all whom I had known, 
 I cared most to see the Connors : 
 
 Their poor cabin stood alone 
 In the deep heart of the valley, 
 
 By the old gray fairy stone. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 They were decent people, holding, 
 Though no richer than the rest, 
 
 Still a place beyond their neighbours. 
 With a tacit, unconfessed 
 
88 Milly's Expiatio7i. 
 
 Pride — it may have been — that held theni 
 From complaint when things went ill : 
 
 I might guess when work was slacker, 
 But no shadow seemed to chill 
 
 The warm welcome which they offered ; 
 It was warm and cheerful still. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Yet their home was changed : the father 
 
 And the mother Avere no more ; 
 And the brothers, Phil and Patrick, 
 
 Kept starvation from the door. 
 There were many little faces 
 
 Gathered round the old hearthstone ; 
 But the children I had played with 
 
 Were the men and women grown ; 
 Phil and Patrick, Kate and Milly, 
 
 Were the ones whom I had known. 
 
 X. 
 
 Kate was grown, but little altered, 
 Just the sunburnt, rosy face. 
 
 With its merry smile, whose shining 
 Seemed to light the darkest place. 
 
Milly's Expiation. 89 
 
 But all, young and old, held Milly 
 
 As their dearest and their best. 
 From the baby orphan-sisters 
 
 Whom she hushed upon her breast — 
 She it was who bore the burdens, 
 
 Love and sorrow, for the rest. 
 
 XI. 
 
 Yes, I knew the tall slight figure, 
 
 And the face so pale and fair, 
 Crowned with long, long plaited tresses 
 
 Of her shining yellow hair ; 
 She was very calm and tender, 
 
 Warm and brave, yet just and wise. 
 Meeting grief with tender pity. 
 
 Sin with sorrowful surprise : 
 I have fancied Angels watch us 
 
 With such sad and loving eyes. 
 
 xn. 
 
 Well, I questioned past and future, 
 Heard of plans and hopes and fears ; 
 
 How all prospects grew still darker 
 With the shade of coming years. 
 
90 Milly^s Expiation. 
 
 Milly still deferred her marriage ; 
 
 But the brothers urged of late 
 She would leave them and old Ireland, 
 
 And at least secure her fate ; 
 Michael pleaded too — but vainly ; 
 
 Milly chose to wait and wait. 
 
 xni. 
 
 Though all liked her cousin Michael- 
 He was steady, a good son — 
 
 Yet we wondered at the treasure 
 Which his careless heart had won. 
 
 Ah, he was not worth her ! Milly 
 
 Must have guessed our thought in part, 
 
 For she feigned such special deference 
 For his judgment and his heart : 
 
 The defiance and the answer 
 Of instinctive woman's art. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 But my duties would not let me 
 Stay in one place ; I must go 
 
 Where the want and need were greatest ; 
 So I travelled to and fro. 
 
Milli/^s Expiation. 
 
 And I could not give the bounty 
 Which was meant for all to share, 
 
 Save in scanty portions, counting 
 What each hamlet had to bear ; 
 
 So my old home and old comrades 
 Had to struggle with despair. 
 
 XV. 
 
 I could note at every visit 
 
 How all suffered more and more ; 
 How the rich were growing poorer. 
 
 The poor, poorer than before. 
 And each time that I returned there, 
 
 I could see the famine spread ; 
 Till I heard of each fresh horror, 
 
 Each new tale of fear and dread, 
 With more pity for the living, 
 
 More rejoicing for the dead. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 Yet through all the bitter trials 
 Of that long and fearful time. 
 
 Still the suffering came untended 
 By its hideous sister. Crime. 
 
 91 
 
92 Milli/'s Expiation, 
 
 Earthly things seemed grown less potent, 
 Fellow-sufferers grown more dear, 
 
 Murmurs even hushed in silence, 
 Just as if, in listening fear, 
 
 While God spoke so loud in sorrow. 
 They all felt He must be near. 
 
 XVII. 
 
 But one day — I well remember 
 
 How the warm soft autumn breeze, 
 And the gladness of the sunshine. 
 
 And the calmness of the seas, 
 Seemed in strange unnatural contrast 
 
 To the tale of woe and dread 
 Which I heard with painful wonder — 
 
 That the agent — I have said 
 That he was not harsh or cruel — 
 
 Had been shot at, and was dead. 
 
 XVIII. 
 
 For I felt in that small hamlet 
 More or less I knew them all. 
 
 And on some T cared for, surely, 
 Must this bitter vengeance fall ; 
 
Milly's Expiation. 93 
 
 But I little dreamed how bitter, 
 And the grief how great and wide, 
 
 Till I heard that Michael Connor 
 Was accused, and would be tried 
 
 For this base and bloody murder ; 
 Then I cried out that they lied ! 
 
 XIX. 
 
 He, who might be weak and reckless, 
 
 Yet was gentle and humane ; 
 He who scarcely had the courage 
 
 To inflict a needful pain — 
 Why, it could not be ! And Milly, 
 
 With her honest, noble pride, 
 And her faith and love, God help her ! 
 
 It were better she had died. 
 So I thought, and thought, and pondered, 
 
 Till I knew they must have lied. 
 
 XX. 
 
 There was want and death and hunger 
 Kear me then ; but this great crime 
 
 Seemed to haunt me with its terror. 
 And o-row worse and worse with time, 
 
94 Milly^s Expiation. 
 
 Till I could not bear it longer, 
 And I turned my steps once more 
 
 To the hamlet ; did not slacken 
 Till I reached the cabin-door : 
 
 Then I paused ; I never dreaded 
 The kind welcome there before. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 So I entered. Kate was sitting 
 
 By the empty hearth ; around 
 Were the children, ragged, hungry, 
 
 Crouching silent on the ground. 
 But a wail of grief and sorrow 
 
 Rose, and Katie hid her face, 
 Sobbing out she had no welcome, 
 
 For a curse was on the place. 
 And their honest name was covered 
 
 With another's black disgrace. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 Then I soothed her ; asked for Milly ; 
 
 And was told she was away ; 
 Gone as witness to the trial. 
 
 And the trial was that day. 
 
Milly's Expiation. 95 
 
 But all knew, so Katie told me, 
 Hope or comfort there was none ; 
 
 They were sure to find him guilty. 
 And before to-morrow's sun 
 
 He must die. I dared not loiter, 
 For the trial had beorun. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Yet I asked how Milly bore it ; 
 
 And Kate told me some strange gleam 
 Of wild hope seemed living in her, 
 
 But all knew it was a dream. 
 Then I mounted ; rode on faster. 
 
 Faster still ; the way was long ; 
 Hope and anger, fear and pity, 
 
 Each by turns were loud and strong, 
 And above all, infinite pity 
 
 For the sorrow and the wrong. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 So I rode and rode, and entered 
 On the crowded market-place. 
 
 There was wonder, too, and pity 
 Upon many a hungry face ; 
 
96 Milh/s Expiation. 
 
 But I pushed on quicker, quicker, 
 Every moment held a fate. 
 
 As the great town-clock struck raid-day, 
 I alighted at the gate : 
 
 No, the trial was not over ; 
 I was not, thank God, too late. 
 
 XXV, 
 
 For I hoped — the chance was meagre- 
 
 That my true and earnest word 
 Might avail him, if the question 
 
 Of his former life was stirred ; 
 So the crowd believed : they parted ; 
 
 Let me take a foremost place, 
 Till I saw a shaking figure 
 
 And a terror-stricken face : 
 Was it guilt, or only terror ? 
 
 Fear of death, or of disgrace ? 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 But a sudden breathless silence 
 Hushed the lowest whisper there. 
 
 And I saw a slight young figure, 
 Crowned with yellow plaited hair. 
 
Millifs Expiation. 9r 
 
 Else, and answer as they called her; 
 
 Rise before them all, and stand 
 With no quiver in her accent, 
 
 And no trembling in her hand, 
 Just a flush upon her forehead 
 
 Like a burning crimson brand. 
 
 XXYII. 
 
 Slowly, steadily, and calmly, 
 
 Then the awful words were said, 
 Calling God in Heaven to witness 
 
 To the truth of what she said. 
 As the oath in solemn order 
 
 On the reverent silence broke. 
 Some strange terror and misgiving 
 
 With a sudden start awoke : 
 What fear was it seized upon me 
 
 As I heard the words she spoke ? 
 
 xxvin. 
 
 As she stood there, looking onward, 
 Onward, neither left nor right, 
 
 Did she see some deadly purpose 
 Buried, hidden out of sight ? 
 
 H 
 
98 MlUy''s Expiation, 
 
 Did she see a blighting shadow 
 From the cloudy future cast ? 
 
 Or reluctant fading from her 
 Right and honour, — fading fast 
 
 All her youth's remembered lessons, 
 All the honest, noble past ? 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 But her accents never faltered. 
 
 As she swore the day and time, 
 At the hour of the murder. 
 
 At the moment of the crime. 
 She had spoken with the prisoner.... 
 
 Then a gasping joyful sigh 
 Ran through all the court ; they knew it- 
 
 Now the prisoner would not die.... 
 And I knew that God in Heaven 
 
 Had been witness to a lie ! 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Then I turned and looked at Michael ; 
 
 Saw a rush of wonder stir 
 Through his soul ; perplexed, bewildered, 
 
 He looked strangely up at her. 
 
Milly^s Expiation, 99 
 
 Would he speak ? could he have courage ? 
 
 Where she fell, could he be strong ? 
 Where she sinned, and sinned to save him, 
 
 Could he thrust away the wrong ? 
 That one moment's strange revulsion 
 
 Seemed to me an hour long. 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 And I saw the sudden shrinking 
 
 In her brothers ; wondering scorn 
 In the glance they cast upon her 
 
 Showed they knew she was forsworn. 
 They were stern, by want made sterner ; 
 
 But the spot where Milly came 
 In their hearts was soft and tender 
 
 For her dear and honoured name : 
 Now the very love was hardened. 
 
 And the honour turned to shame. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 So I left the place, nor lingered 
 To see Michael, or to feign 
 
 Joy where joy was mixed so strangely 
 Both with pity and with pain. 
 H 2 
 
100 Millxfs Expiation, 
 
 Many weeks I toiled and laboured 
 Far from there, but night and day 
 
 One sad memory dwelt beside me, 
 On my heart one shadow lay ; — 
 
 Light was faded, glory tarnished. 
 And a soul was cast away. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 It was evening ; and the sunset 
 
 Glowed and glittered on the seas. 
 When a great ship heaved its anchor, 
 
 Loosed its sails to meet the breeze. 
 Sailing, sailing to the westward. 
 
 Eyes were wet and hearts were sore 
 Many a heart that left its country, 
 
 Many a heart upon the shore, 
 Knew that parting was for ever, 
 
 Said farewell for evermore. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 In that sad and silent evening. 
 On the sunny quiet beach. 
 
 Lingered little groups of watchers, 
 But with hearts too full for speech. 
 
Milly^s Expiation, 101 
 
 As I passed, I knew so many, 
 
 That my heart ached too that night, 
 
 For the yearning love, that gazing. 
 Strained to see the last faint sight 
 
 Of the great ship, sailing westward, 
 Down the track of evening light. 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 None were lonely though, one sorrow 
 
 Drew that evening heart to heart ; 
 Only far from all the others 
 
 One lone woman stood apart. 
 There was something in the figure, 
 
 Tall and slender, standing there. 
 That I knew — yet no, I doubted — 
 
 That forlorn and helpless air ; 
 When a gleam of sunset glory 
 
 Showed her yellow braided hair. 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 It was Milly : ere I sought her, 
 One who knew her, standing by, 
 
 Said, "Her people sailed from Ireland, 
 And she stayed, but none knew why. 
 
102 Milly's Expiation. 
 
 They were strong ; in that far country 
 Work such men were sure to find ; 
 
 They had offered to take Milly, 
 Pressed her often, and been kind ; 
 
 They had taken the young children, 
 Only she was left behind. 
 
 XXXVII. 
 
 " Michael, too, was with them : doubly 
 
 Had his fame been cleared by time ; 
 For the murderer, lately dying, 
 
 Had confessed and owned the crime : 
 And yet Milly, none knew wherefore. 
 
 Broke her plighted troth to him ; 
 Parted, too, with all her loved ones 
 
 For some strange and selfish whim.". 
 Oh, my heart was sore for Milly, 
 
 And I felt my eyes grow dim. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 She is still in Ireland ; dwelling 
 Near the old place, and alone ; 
 
 Just the same kind loving spirit. 
 But the old light heart is flown. 
 
Milly's Expiation. 103 
 
 TVhen the humble toil is over 
 
 For her scanty daily bread, 
 Then she turns to nurse the suffering, 
 
 Or to pray beside the dead : 
 Many, many thankful blessings 
 
 Fall each day upon her head. 
 
 XXXIX. 
 
 There is no distress or sorrow 
 
 Milly does not try to cheer ; 
 There is never fever raging 
 
 But you always find her near : 
 And she knows — at least I think so. 
 
 That I guess her secret pain, 
 Why her Love and why her Sorrow 
 
 Need be purified from stain, 
 Need in special consecration 
 Be restored to God again. 
 
104 
 
 A CASTLE IN THE AIR. 
 
 I BUILT myself a castle, 
 So noble, grand and fair ; 
 
 I built myself a castle, 
 A castle — in the air. 
 
 The fancies of my twilights 
 That fade in sober truth. 
 
 The longing of my sorrow, 
 And the vision of my youth ; 
 
 The plans of joyful futures 
 While still I dared to dream ; 
 
 The prayer that rose unbidden, 
 Half prayer — and half a dream. 
 
 The hopes that died unuttered 
 Within this heart of mine ; — 
 
 For all these tender treasures 
 My castle was the shrine. 
 
A Castle in the Air, 105 
 
 I looked at all the castles 
 
 That rise to grace the land, 
 But I never saw another, 
 
 So stately or so grand. 
 
 And now you see it shattered, 
 
 My castle in the air ; 
 It lies, a dreary ruin. 
 
 All desolate and bare. 
 
 I cannot build another, 
 
 I saw that one decay ; 
 And strength and heart and courage 
 
 Died out the self-same day. 
 
 Yet still, beside that ruin, 
 With hopes as deep and fond, 
 
 I wait with an infinite longing, 
 Only — I look beyond. 
 
106 
 
 PER PACEM AD LUCEM. 
 
 I DO not ask, Oh 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, Oh Lord, that thou shouldst shed 
 
 Full radiance here ; 
 Give but a ray of peace, that I may tread 
 
 Without a fear. 
 
Per Pacem ad Lucem. 1^7 
 
 I do not ask my cross to understand, 
 
 My way to see — 
 Better in darkness just to feel Thy hand 
 
 And follow Thee. 
 
 Joy is like restless day ; but peace divine 
 
 Like quiet night : 
 Lead me Oh Lord— till perfect Day shall shine, 
 
 Through Peace to Light. 
 
108 
 
 A LEGEND. 
 
 I. 
 
 The Monk was preaching : strong his earnest word, 
 From the abundance of his heart he spoke, « 
 
 And the flame spread — in every soul that heard 
 Sorrow and love and good resolve awoke : — 
 
 The poor lay Brother, ignorant and old, 
 
 Thanked God that he had heard such words of gold. 
 
 II. 
 
 " Still let the glory Lord be thine alone," 
 
 So prayed the Monk ; his heart absorbed in praise 
 
 " Thine be the glory : if my hands have sown 
 The harvest ripened in Thy mercy's rays. 
 
 It was Thy Blessing Lord that made my word. 
 
 Bring light and love to every soul that heard. 
 
 III. 
 
 " Oh Lord I thank Thee that my feeble strength 
 Has been so blest ; that sinful hearts and cold 
 
 Were melted at my pleading — knew at length 
 How sweet Thy service and how safe Thy fold : 
 
 While souls that loved Thee saw before them rise 
 
 Still holier heights of loving sacrifice." 
 
A Legend, 109 
 
 IT. 
 
 So prayed the Monk : when suddenly he heard 
 An Angel speaking thus — "Know, oh my Son, 
 
 Thy words had all been vain, but hearts were stirred, 
 And Saints were edified and sinners won 
 
 By his, the poor lay Brother's, humble aid 
 
 Who sat upon the Pulpit stair and prayed." 
 
110 
 
 BIRTHDAY GIFTS. 
 
 (for a child.) 
 
 I. 
 
 Why do you look sad my Minnie ? 
 
 Tell me darling — for to-day 
 Is the birthday of Our Lady, . 
 
 And Her children should be gay. 
 
 n. 
 
 What ? — You say that all the others, 
 
 Alice, Cyril, Effie, Paul, 
 All had got a gift to give Her, 
 
 Only you had none at all. 
 
 III. 
 
 Well dear, that does seem a pity : 
 Tell me how it came about 
 
 That the others bring a present. 
 And my Minnie comes without. 
 
Birthday Gifts. IH 
 
 IV. 
 
 Alice has a lovely Banner* 
 
 All embroidered blue and gold : 
 
 Then you know that Sister Alice 
 Is so clever and so old. 
 
 V. 
 
 Cyril has his two camelias ; 
 
 One deep red, and one pure white 
 They will stand at Benediction 
 
 On the Altar steps to-night. 
 
 VI. 
 
 Effie, steady little Effie, 
 
 Stitching many an hour away, 
 She has clothed a little orphan 
 
 All in honour of to-day. 
 
 VII. 
 
 With the skill the good Nuns taught her 
 
 Angela herself has made 
 Two tall stems of such real lilies. 
 
 They do all but smell — and fade. 
 
112 Birthday Gifts. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Then with look of grave importance 
 Comes our quiet little Paul 
 
 With the myrtle from his garden : — 
 He himself is not as tall. 
 
 IX. 
 
 Even Baby Agnes, kneeling 
 With half shy, half solemn air, 
 
 Held up one sweet rose to Mary, 
 Lisping out her tiny prayer. 
 
 X. 
 
 Well my Minnie — say — how was it ? 
 
 Shall I guess ? I think I know 
 All the griefs. Well, I will count them- 
 
 First your rose-tree would not blow ; 
 
 XI. 
 
 Then the fines have been so many 
 All the pennies melt away ; 
 
 Then for work — I know my Minnie 
 Cares so very much for play, 
 
Birth day G ifts. 113 
 
 XII. 
 
 That these little clumsy fingers 
 Scarcely yet have learut to aew, 
 
 Still less all the skilful fancies 
 Angela and Alice know. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 Yet my Minnie can't be treated 
 Quite as Baby was to-day, 
 
 When Mamma or Alice gave her 
 Something just to give away. 
 
 XIV. 
 
 WeU my darling, there are many 
 Who have neither time nor skill, 
 
 Gold nor silver, yet they ofier 
 Gifts to Mary if they will. 
 
 XV. 
 
 There are ways — our Lady knows them, 
 And Her children all should know 
 
 How to find a flower for Mary 
 Underneath the deepest snow ; 
 
 I 
 
114 Birtliday Gifts. 
 
 XVI. 
 
 How to make a lovely garland, 
 Winter though it be and cold ; 
 
 How to buy the rarest offering, 
 Costinoj — something — but not gold 
 
 XVII. 
 
 How to buy, and buy it dearly 
 Gifts that She will love to take ; 
 
 Nor to grudge the cost, but give it 
 Cheerfully for Mary's sake. 
 
 XVIII, 
 
 Does that seem so strange my Darling ? 
 
 Nay dear, it is nothing new ; 
 All can give Her noble presents — 
 
 Shall I tell you of a few ? 
 
 XIX. 
 
 What were those the Magi offered 
 
 Frankincense and gold and myrrh : — 
 
 Minnie thinks that Saints and Monarchs 
 Are quite different from Lor ! 
 
Birthday Gifts. 115 
 
 XX. 
 
 ...Sometimes it is hard to listen 
 To a word unkind or cold 
 
 And to smile a loving answer : 
 Do it — and you give Her gold. 
 
 XXI. 
 
 Thoughts of Her in work or playtime — 
 Those small grains of incense rare. 
 
 Cast upon a burning censer, 
 
 Rise in perfumed clouds of prayer. 
 
 XXII. 
 
 There are sometimes bitter fancies, 
 Little murmurs that will stir 
 
 Even a loving heart: — but crush them 
 And you give Our Lady myrrh. 
 
 XXIII. 
 
 Give your little crosses to her, 
 Which each day, each hour befall, 
 
 They remind Her of Her Jesus, 
 So she loves them best of all. 
 i2 
 
116 Birthday Gifts. 
 
 XXIV. 
 
 Some seem very poor and worthless, 
 Yet however small and slight, 
 
 Given to her by one who loves her 
 They are precious in her sight. 
 
 XXV. 
 
 One may be so hard to carry 
 
 That your hands will bleed and smart 
 Go and take it to Her Altar, 
 
 Go and place it in her heart ; 
 
 XXVI. 
 
 Check your tears and try to love it, 
 Love it as His sacred will — 
 
 So you set the cross with jewels, 
 Make your gift more precious still. 
 
 XXVII. 
 
 There are souls — alas ! too many 
 Who forget that Jesus died, 
 
 Who forget that sin for ever 
 Is the lance to pierce His side. 
 
Birthday Gifts. 117 
 
 XXVIII. 
 
 Hearts that turn away from Jesus ; 
 
 Sins that scourge Him and betray; 
 Cold and cruel souls that even 
 
 Crucify Him day by day. 
 
 XXIX. 
 
 Ah ! poor sinners ! Maiy loves them, 
 And she knows no royal gem 
 
 Half so noble or so precious 
 
 As the prayer you say for them ; 
 
 XXX. 
 
 Or resign some little pleasure, 
 Give it her instead, to win 
 
 Help for some poor soul in peril, 
 Grace for some poor heart in sin 
 
 XXXI. 
 
 Mercy for poor sinners— pleading 
 For their souls as for your own — 
 
 So you make a crown of jewels 
 Fit to lay before Her throne. 
 
118 Birthday Gifts. 
 
 XXXII. 
 
 Flowers — why I should never finish 
 If I tried to count them too — 
 
 If I told you how to know them, 
 In what garden-plot they grew. 
 
 XXXIII. 
 
 Yet I think my darling guesses 
 They are emblems and we trace 
 
 In the rarest and the loveliest 
 Acts of love and gifts of grace. 
 
 XXXIV. 
 
 Modest violets — meek snowdrops, 
 Holy lilies white and pure, 
 
 Faithful tendrils — herbs for healing — 
 If they only would endure ! 
 
 XXXV. 
 
 And they will — such flowers fade not ; 
 
 They are not of mortal birth — 
 And such garlands given to Mary 
 
 Die not like the gifts of Earth. 
 
Birthday Gifts. ^1^ 
 
 XXXVI. 
 
 WeU my Minnie— can you teU me 
 You have still no gift to lay 
 
 At the feet of your dear Mother, 
 Any hour, any day ? 
 
 xxxvn. 
 
 Give Her now— to-day— for ever, 
 
 One great gift— the first, the best- 
 Give your heart to Her, and ask her 
 How to give her all the rest. 
 
120 
 
 A BEGGAR. 
 
 I BEG of you, I beg of you, my brothers, 
 
 For my need is very sore ; 
 Not for gold and not for silver do I ask you, 
 
 But for something even more : 
 From the depths of your hearts pity let it be — 
 Pray for me. 
 
 I beg of you whose robes of radiant whiteness 
 
 Have been kept without a stain ; 
 Of you who, stung to death by serpent Pleasure, 
 
 Found the healing Angel Pain : 
 Whether holy or forgiven you may be — 
 Pray for me. 
 
 I beg of you calm souls whose wondering pity 
 
 Looks at paths you never trod : 
 I beg of you who suffer — for all sorrow 
 
 Must be very near to God — 
 And the need is even greater than you see — 
 Pray for me. 
 
A Beggar. 121 
 
 I beg of you oh children, for He loves you, 
 And He loves your prayers the best : 
 
 Fold your little hands together, and ask Jesus 
 That the ^eary may have rest. 
 
 That a bird caught in a net may be set free— 
 Pray for me. 
 
 I bec^ of you who stand before the Altai', 
 
 Whose anointed hands upraise 
 All the sm and all the sorrow of the Ages, 
 
 All the love and all the praise. 
 And the glory which was always and shall be — 
 Pray for me. 
 
 I beg of you — of you who through Life's battle 
 
 Our dear Lord has set apart, 
 That while we who love the peril are made captives, 
 
 Still the Church may have its Heart 
 Which is fettered that our souls may be set free— 
 Pray for me. 
 
 I beg of you, I beg of you my brothers, 
 
 For an ahns this very day ; 
 I am standmg on your doorstep as a Beggar 
 
 Who will not be turned away. 
 And the Charity you give my soul shall be— 
 Pray for me ! 
 
LINKS WITH HEAVEN. 
 
 Our God in Heaven, from that holy place, 
 To each of us an Angel guide has given ; 
 
 But Mothers of dead children have more grace — 
 For they give Angels to their God and Heaven. 
 
 How can a Mother's heart feel cold or weary 
 Knowing her dearer self safe, happy, warm ? 
 
 How can she feel her road too dark or dreary 
 
 Who knows her treasure sheltered from the storm. 
 
 How can she sin ? Our hearts may be unheeding— 
 Our God forgot — our holy Saints defied — 
 
 But can a mother hear her dead child pleading 
 And thrust those little angel hands aside ? 
 
 Those little hands stretched down to draw her ever 
 Nearer to God by mother love : — we all 
 
 Are blind and weak — yet surely She can never, 
 With such a stake in Heaven, fail or fall. 
 
Links with Heaven. 123 
 
 She knows tliat when the mighty Angels raise 
 Chorus in Heaven, one little silver tone 
 
 Is hers for ever — that one little praise, 
 One little happy voice is all her own. 
 
 We may not see her sacred crown of honour, 
 
 But all the Angels flitting to and fro 
 Pause smilmg as they pass— they look upon her 
 
 As mother of an angel whom they know. 
 
 One whom they left nestled at Mary's feet— 
 
 The children's place m Heaven — who softly sings 
 
 A little chant to please them, slow and sweet, 
 Or smiling strokes their little folded wmgs. 
 
 Or gives them Her white lilies or Her beads 
 To play with : — yet, in spite of flower or song 
 
 They often lift a wistful look that pleads 
 
 And asks Her why their mother stays so long. 
 
 Then om* dear Queen makes answer she will call 
 Her very soon : meanwhile they are beguiled 
 
 To wait and listen while She tells them all 
 A story of Her Jesus as a child. 
 
124 Links with Heaven, 
 
 Ah, Saints in Heaven may pray with earnest will 
 And pity for their weak and erring brothers : 
 
 Yet there is prayer in Heaven more tender still — 
 The little Children pleading for their Mothers. 
 
125 \ 
 
 HOMELESS. 
 
 It is cold dark midnight, yet listen 
 
 To that patter of tiny feet ! 
 Is it one of your dogs, fair lady. 
 
 Who whines in the bleak cold street ?- 
 Is it one of your silken spaniels 
 
 Shut out in the snow and the sleet ? 
 
 My dogs sleep warm in their baskets, 
 Safe from the darkness and snow ; 
 
 All the beasts in our Christian England, 
 Find pity wherever they go — 
 
 (Those are only the homeless children 
 Who are wandering to and fro.) 
 
 Look out in the gusty darkness — 
 I have seen it again and again, 
 
 That shadow, that flits so slowly 
 
 Up and down past the window pane :- 
 
 It is surely some criminal lurking 
 Out there in the frozen rain ? 
 
126 Homeless. 
 
 Nay, our Criminals all are sheltered, 
 They are pitied and taught and fed : 
 
 That is only a sister- woman 
 
 Who has got neither food nor bed — 
 
 And the Night cries ' sin to be living,' 
 And the River cries *sin to be dead.' 
 
 Look out at that farthest comer 
 
 Where the wall stands blank and bare : — 
 
 Can that be a pack which a Pedlar 
 Has left and forgotten there ? 
 
 His goods lying out unsheltered 
 
 Will be spoilt by the damp night air. 
 
 Nay ; — goods in our thrifty England 
 Are not left to lie and grow rotten, 
 
 For each man knows the market value 
 Of silk or woollen or cotton... 
 
 But in counting the riches of England 
 I think our Poor are foro-otten. 
 
 s" 
 
 Our Beasts and our Thieves and our Chattels 
 Have weight for good or for ill ; 
 
 But the Poor are only His image. 
 His presence. His word, His will — 
 
 And so Lazarus lies at our doorstep 
 And Dives neglects him still.