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 FROM THE LIBRARY OF 
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 BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO 
 
 THE LIBRARY OF 
 
 PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY 
 
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RAMPOLLI 
 
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 L DEC 28 1935 
 
 RAMPOLLI: 
 
 GROWTHS FROM A LONG-PLANTED 
 ROOT 
 
 BEING TRANSLATIONS, NEW AND OLD, 
 CHIEFLY FROM THE GERMAN ; 
 
 ALONG WITH 
 
 A YEAR'S DIARY OF AN OLD SOUL 
 
 BY 
 
 GEORGE MAC DONALD 
 
 LONGMANS, GREEN, AND CO. 
 
 39 PATERNOSTER ROW, LONDON 
 NEW YORK AND BOMBAY 
 
 l8 9 7 
 
 All rights reserved 
 
Printed by Ballantyne, Hanson & Co 
 At the Ballantyne Press 
 
PREFACE 
 TO THE TRANSLATIONS. 
 
 I think every man who can should help his people 
 to inherit the earth by bringing into his own of the 
 wealth of other tongues. In the flower-pots of trans- 
 lation I offer these few exotics, with no little labour 
 taught to exist, I hope to breathe, in English air. 
 Such labour is to me no less serious than delightful, 
 for to do a man's work, in the process of carrying over, 
 more injury than must be, is a serious wrong. 
 
 I have endeavoured, first of all, to give the spirit 
 of the poetry. 
 
 Next, I have sought to retain each individual mean- 
 ing that goes to form the matter of a poem. 
 
 Third, I have aimed at preserving the peculiar 
 mode, the aroma of the poet's style, so far as I could 
 do it without offence to the translating English. 
 
 Fourth, both rhythm and rime being essential ele- 
 ments of every poem in which they are used, I have 
 sought to respect them rigorously. 
 
 Fifth, spirit, matter, and form truly represented, the 
 more literal the translation the more satisfactory will 
 be the result. 
 
 After all, translation is but a continuous effort after 
 the impossible. There is in it a general difficulty 
 whose root has a thousand ramifications, the whole 
 affair being but an accommodation of difficulties, and 
 
vi Preface 
 
 a perfect translation from one language into another 
 a thing that cannot be effected. One is tempted even 
 to say that in the whole range of speech there is no 
 such thing as a synonym. 
 
 Much difficulty arises from the comparative paucity 
 in English of double, or feminine rimes. But I can 
 remember only one case in which, yielding to impossi- 
 bility, I have sacrificed the feminine rime : where one 
 thing or another must go, the less valuable must be 
 the victim. 
 
 But sometimes a whole passage has had to suffer that 
 a specially poetic line might retain its character. 
 
 With regard to the Hymns to the Night and the 
 Spiritual Songs of Friedrich von Hardenberg, commonly 
 called Novalis, it is desirable to mention that they were 
 written when the shadow of the death of his betrothed 
 had begun to thin before the approaching dawn of his 
 own new life. He died in 1801, at the age of twenty- 
 nine. His parents belonged to the sect called Mora- 
 vians, but he had become a Roman Catholic. 
 
 Perhaps some of Luther's Songs might as well have 
 been omitted, but they are all translated that the Song- 
 book might be a whole. Some, I cannot tell how many 
 or which, are from the Latin. His work is rugged, and 
 where an occasional fault in rime occurs I have repro- 
 duced it. 
 
 In the few poems from the Italian, I have found 
 the representation of the feminine rimes, so frequent 
 in that language, an impossibility. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PREFACE TO THE TRANSLATIONS v 
 
 TRANSLATIONS— 
 
 From NOVALIS i 
 
 SCHILLER 43 
 
 GOETHE 67 
 
 UHLAND 75 
 
 HEINE 81 
 
 VON SALIS-SEEWIS 91 
 
 CLAUDIUS 97 
 
 From the DUTCH OF GENESTET . . .101 
 
 From the GERMAN — Author to me unknown . . 102 
 
 From PETRARCH 103 
 
 MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS 107 
 
 LUTHER'S SONG-BOOK 113 
 
 A YEAR'S DIARY OF AN OLD SOUL . . .179 
 
FROM NOVALIS 
 
FROM NOVALIS. 
 
 I'AGE 
 
 Hymns to the Night 3 
 
 Spiritual Songs ...... 17 
 
 A Parable 37 
 
 [From The Disciples at Sais) 
 
FROM NOVALIS. 
 
 HTMNS TO THE NIGHT. 
 
 Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space 
 around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all- 
 joyous light, with its colours, its rays and undulations, 
 its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening 
 Day ? The giant world of the unresting constellations 
 inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing 
 in its azure flood ; the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the 
 thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning, multi- 
 form beast-world inhales it ; but more than all, the lordly 
 stranger with the meaning eyes, the swaying walk, and the 
 sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly 
 nature, it rouses every force to countless transforma- 
 tions, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs 
 its heavenly form around every earthly substance. Its 
 presence alone reveals the marvellous splendour of the 
 kingdoms of the world. 
 
 Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious 
 Night. Afar lies the world, sunk in a deep grave ; 
 waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the 
 bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in 
 drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes. — The distances 
 of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of child- 
 hood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, 
 arise in gray garments, like an evening vapour after the 
 
4 From Novalis. 
 
 sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its 
 joyous tents : what if it should never return to its chil- 
 dren, who wait for it with the faith of innocence ? 
 
 What springs up all at once so sweetly boding in my 
 heart, and stills the soft air of sadness ? Dost thou also 
 take a pleasure in us, dusky Night ? What holdest thou 
 under thy mantle, that with hidden power affects my 
 soul? Precious balm drips from thy hand out of its 
 bundle of poppies. Thou upliftest the heavy-laden 
 pinions of the soul. Darkly and inexpressibly are we 
 moved : joy-startled, I see a grave countenance that, 
 tender and worshipful, inclines toward me, and, amid 
 manifold entangled locks, reveals the youthful loveliness 
 of the Mother. How poor and childish a thing seems 
 to me now the light ! how joyous and welcome the de- 
 parture of the day ! — Didst thou not only therefore, 
 because the Night turns away from thee thy servants, 
 strew in the gulfs of space those flashing globes, to pro- 
 claim, in seasons of thy absence, thy omnipotence, and 
 thy return ? 
 
 More heavenly than those glittering stars we hold 
 the eternal eyes which the Night hath opened within 
 us. Farther they see than the palest of those countless 
 hosts. Needing no aid from the light, they penetrate 
 the depths of a loving soul that fills a loftier region with 
 bliss ineffable. Glory to the queen of the world, to the 
 great prophetess of holier worlds, to the foster-mother 
 of blissful love ! she sends thee to me, thou tenderly be- 
 loved, the gracious sun of the Night. Now am I awake, 
 for now am I thine and mine. Thou hast made me 
 know the Night, and brought her to me to be my life ; 
 thou hast made of me a man. Consume my body with 
 the ardour of my soul, that I, turned to finer air, may 
 mingle more closely with thee, and then our bridal night 
 endure for ever. 
 
Hymns to the Night. 
 
 Must the morning always return ? Will the despotism 
 of the earthly never cease ? Unholy activity consumes 
 the angel-visit of the Night. Will the time never come 
 when Love's hidden sacrifice shall burn eternally? To 
 the Light a season was set j but everlasting and bound- 
 less is the dominion of the Night. Endless is the dura- 
 tion of sleep. Holy Sleep, gladden not too seldom in this 
 earthly day-labour, the devoted servant of the Night. 
 Fools alone mistake thee, knowing nought of sleep but 
 the shadow which, in the gloaming of the real night, 
 thou pitifully castest over us. They feel thee not in 
 the golden flood of the grapes, in the magic oil of the 
 almond tree, and the brown juice of the poppy. They 
 know not that it is thou who hauntest the bosom of the 
 tender maiden, and makest a heaven of her lap ; never 
 suspect it is thou, the portress of heaven, that steppest 
 to meet them out of ancient stories, bearing the key to 
 the dwellings of the blessed, silent messenger of secrets 
 infinite. 
 
 in. 
 
 Once when I was shedding bitter tears, when, dis- 
 solved in pain, my hope was melting away, and I stood 
 alone by the barren hillock which in its narrow dark 
 bosom hid the vanished form of my Life, lonely as never 
 yet was lonely man, driven by anguish unspeakable, 
 powerless, and no longer aught but a conscious misery; — 
 as there I looked about me for help, unable to go on 
 or to turn back, and clung to the fleeting, extinguished 
 life with an endless longing : then, out of the blue dis- 
 tances, from the hills of my ancient bliss, came a shiver 
 of twilight, and at once snapt the bond of birth, the 
 fetter of the Light. Away fled the glory of the world, 
 
6 From Novalis. 
 
 and with it my mourning ; the sadness flowed together 
 into a new, unfathomable world. Thou, soul of the Night, 
 heavenly Slumber, didst come upon me; the region gently 
 upheaved itself, and over it hovered my unbound, new- 
 born spirit. The hillock became a cloud of dust, and 
 through the cloud I saw the glorified face of my beloved. 
 In her eyes eternity reposed. I laid hold of her hands, 
 and the tears became a sparkling chain that could not 
 be broken. Into the distance swept by, like a tempest, 
 thousands of years. On her neck I welcomed the new 
 life with ecstatic tears. Never was such another dream; 
 then first and ever since I hold fast an eternal, unchange- 
 able faith in the heaven of the Night, and its sun, the 
 Beloved. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Now I know when will come the last morning : when 
 the light no more scares away Night and Love, when 
 sleep shall be without waking, and but one continuous 
 dream. I feel in me a celestial exhaustion. Long and 
 weariful was my pilgrimage to the holy grave, and crush- 
 ing was the cross. The crystal wave, which, impercep- 
 tible to the ordinary sense, springs in the dark bosom 
 of the hillock against whose foot breaks the flood of the 
 world, he who has tasted it, he who has stood on the 
 mountain frontier of the world, and looked across into 
 the new land, into the abode of the Night, verily he 
 turns not again into the tumult of the world, into the 
 land where dwells the Light in ceaseless unrest. 
 
 On those heights he builds for himself tabernacles — 
 tabernacles of peace ; there longs and loves and gazes 
 across, until the welcomest of all hours draws him down 
 into the waters of the spring. Afloat above remains what 
 is earthly, and is swept back in storms ; but what be- 
 came holy by the touch of Love, runs free through hidden 
 ways to the region beyond, where, like odours, it mingles 
 
Hymns to the Night. 7 
 
 with love asleep. Still wakest thou, cheerful Light, the 
 weary man to his labour, and into me pourest gladsome 
 life ; but thou wilest me not away from Memory's moss- 
 grown monument. Gladly will I bestir the deedy hands, 
 everywhere behold where thou hast need of me ; bepraise 
 the rich pomp of thy splendour ; pursue unwearied the 
 lovely harmonies of thy skilled handicraft ; gladly con- 
 template the thoughtful pace of thy mighty, radiant 
 clock ; explore the balance of the forces and the laws of 
 the wondrous play of countless worlds and their seasons ; 
 but true to the Night remains my secret heart, and to 
 creative Love, her daughter. Canst thou show me a 
 heart eternally true? Has thy sun friendly eyes that 
 know me ? Do thy stars lay hold of my longing hand ? 
 Do they return me the tender pressure and the caressing 
 word ? Was it thou didst bedeck them with colours and 
 a flickering outline? Or was it she who gave to thy 
 jewels a higher, a dearer significance? What delight, 
 what pleasure offers thy life, to outweigh the transports 
 of Death? Wears not everything that inspirits us the 
 livery of the Night'? Thy mother, it is she who brings 
 thee forth, and to her thou owest all thy glory. Thou 
 wouldst vanish into thyself, thou wouldst dissipate in 
 boundless space, if she did not hold thee fast, if she 
 swaddled thee not, so that thou grewest warm, and, 
 flaming, gavest birth to the universe. Verily I was be- 
 fore thou wast ; the mother sent me with my sisters to 
 inhabit thy world, to sanctify it with love that it might 
 be an ever present memorial, to plant it with flowers 
 unfading. As yet they have not ripened, these thoughts 
 divine ; as yet is there small trace of our coming apoca- 
 lypse. One day thy clock will point to the end of Time, 
 and then thou shalt be as one of us, and shalt, full of 
 ardent longing, be extinguished and die. I feel in me 
 the close of thy activity, I taste heavenly freedom, and 
 happy restoration. With wild pangs I recognize thy 
 distance from our home, thy feud with the ancient lordly 
 
8 From Novalis. 
 
 Heaven. Thy rage and thy raving are in vain. In- 
 consumable stands the cross, victory-flag of our race. 
 
 Over I pilgrim 
 
 Where every pain 
 
 Zest only of pleasure 
 
 Shall one day remain. 
 
 Yet a few moments 
 
 Then free am I, 
 
 And intoxicated 
 
 In Love's lap lie. 
 
 Life everlasting 
 
 Lifts, wave-like, at me : 
 
 I gaze from its summit 
 
 Down after thee. 
 
 Oh Sun, thou must vanish 
 
 Yon hillock beneath ; 
 
 A shadow will bring thee 
 
 Thy cooling wreath. 
 
 Oh draw at my heart, love, 
 
 Draw till I'm gone ; 
 
 That, fallen asleep, I 
 
 Still may love on ! 
 
 I feel the flow of 
 
 Death's youth-giving flood ; 
 
 To balsam and aether, it 
 
 Changes my blood ! 
 
 I live all the daytime 
 
 In faith and in might : 
 
 In holy rapture 
 
 I die every night. 
 
Hymns to the Night. 
 
 v. 
 
 In ancient times an iron Fate lorded it, with dumb 
 force, over the widespread families of men. A gloomy 
 oppression swathed their anxious souls : the Earth was 
 boundless, the abode of the gods and their home. 
 From eternal ages stood its mysterious structure. Be- 
 yond the red hills of the morning, in the sacred bosom 
 of the sea, dwelt the sun, the all-enkindling, live lumi- 
 nary. An aged giant upbore the happy world. Prisoned 
 beneath mountains lay the first-born sons of mother 
 Earth, helpless in their destroying fury against the 
 new, glorious race of gods, and their kindred, glad- 
 hearted men. Ocean's dusky, green abyss was the lap 
 of a goddess. In the crystal grottoes revelled a wanton 
 folk. Rivers, trees, flowers, and beasts had human wits. 
 Sweeter tasted the wine, poured out by youth imper- 
 sonated ; a god was in the grape-clusters ; a loving, 
 motherly goddess upgrew in the full golden sheaves; 
 love's sacred carousal was a sweet worship of the fairest 
 of the goddesses. Life revelled through the centuries 
 like one spring-time, an ever-variegated festival of the 
 children of heaven and the dwellers on the earth. All 
 races childlike adored the ethereal, thousandfold flame, 
 as the one sublimest thing in the world. 
 
 It was but a fancy, a horrible dream-shape — 
 
 That fearsome to the merry tables strode, 
 And wrapt the spirit in wild consternation. 
 The gods themselves here counsel knew nor showed 
 To fill the stifling heart with consolation. 
 Mysterious was the monster's pathless road, 
 Whose rage would heed no prayer and no oblation ; 
 'Twas Death who broke the banquet up with fears, 
 With anguish, with dire pain, and bitter tears. 
 
io From Novalis. 
 
 Eternally from all things here disparted 
 That sway the heart with pleasure's joyous flow, 
 Divided from the loved, whom, broken-hearted, 
 Vain longing tosses and unceasing woe — 
 In a dull dream to struggle, faint and thwarted, 
 Seemed all was granted to the dead below ! 
 Broke lay the merry wave of human glory 
 On Death's inevitable promontory. 
 
 With daring flight, aloft Thought's pinions sweep j 
 The horrid thing with beauty's robe men cover : 
 A gentle youth puts out his torch, to sleep ; 
 Sweet comes the end, like moaning lute of lover. 
 Cool shadow-floods o'er melting memory creep : 
 So sang the song, for Misery was the mover. 
 Still undeciphered lay the endless Night — 
 The solemn symbol of a far-off Might. 
 
 The old world began to decline. The pleasure-garden 
 of the young race withered away j up into opener regions 
 and desolate, forsaking his childhood, struggled the grow- 
 ing man. The gods vanished with their retinue. Nature 
 stood alone and lifeless. Dry Number and rigid Measure 
 bound her with iron chains. As into dust and air the 
 priceless blossoms of life fell away in words obscure. 
 Gone was wonder-working Faith, and the all-transform- 
 ing, all-uniting angel-comrade, the Imagination. A cold 
 north wind blew unkindly over the torpid plain, and 
 the wonderland first froze, then evaporated into aether. 
 The far depths of heaven filled with flashing worlds. 
 Into the deeper sanctuary, into the more exalted region 
 of the mind, the soul of the world retired with all her 
 powers, there to rule until the dawn should break of 
 the glory universal. No longer was the Light the abode 
 of the gods, and the heavenly token of their presence : 
 they cast over them the veil of the Night. The Night 
 
Hymns to the Night. i i 
 
 became the mighty womb of revelations ; into it the gods 
 went back, and fell asleep, to go abroad in new and more 
 glorious shapes over the transfigured world. Among the 
 people which, untimely ripe, was become of all the most 
 scornful and insolently hostile to the blessed innocence 
 of youth, appeared the New World, in guise never seen 
 before, in the song-favouring hut of poverty, a son of the 
 first maid and mother, the eternal fruit of mysterious 
 embrace. The foreseeing, rich-blossoming wisdom of the 
 East at once recognized the beginning of the new age ; a 
 star showed it the way to the lowly cradle of the king. 
 In the name of the far-reaching future, they did him 
 homage with lustre and odour, the highest wonders of 
 Nature. In solitude the heavenly heart unfolded itself 
 to a flower-chalice of almighty love, upturned to the 
 supreme face of the father, and resting on the bliss- 
 boding bosom of the sweetly solemn mother. With 
 deifying fervour the prophetic eye of the blooming child 
 beheld the years to come, foresaw, untroubled over the 
 earthly lot of his own days, the beloved offspring of his 
 divine stem. Ere long the most childlike souls, by 
 true love marvellously possessed, gathered about him. 
 Like flowers sprang up a new strange life in his presence. 
 Words inexhaustible and tidings the most joyful fell 
 like sparks of a divine spirit from his friendly lips. From 
 a far shore came a singer, born under the clear sky of 
 Hellas, to Palestine, and gave up his whole heart to 
 the marvellous child : — 
 
 The youth art thou who ages long hast stood 
 Upon our graves, lost in a maze of weening ; 
 Sign in the darkness of God's tidings good, 
 \Y T hence hints of growth humanity is gleaning ; 
 For that we long, on that we sweetly brood 
 Which erst in woe had lost all life and meaning ; 
 In everlasting life death found its goal, 
 For thou art Death, and thou first mak'st us whole. 
 
12 From Novalis. 
 
 Filled with joy, the singer went on to Indostan, his 
 heart intoxicated with sweetest love, and poured it out in 
 fiery songs under that tender sky, so that a thousand 
 hearts bowed to him, and the good news sprang up with 
 a thousand branches. Soon after the singer's departure, 
 his precious life was made a sacrifice for the deep 
 fall of man. He died in his youth, torn away from his 
 loved world, from his weeping mother, and his trembling 
 friends. His lovely mouth emptied the dark cup of 
 unspeakable wrongs. In horrible anguish the birth of 
 the new world drew near. Hard he wrestled with the 
 terrors of old Death ; heavy lay the weight of the old 
 world upon him. Yet once more he looked kindly at 
 his mother ; then came the releasing hand of the Love 
 eternal, and he fell asleep. Only a few days hung a 
 deep veil over the roaring sea, over the quaking land ; 
 countless tears wept his loved ones; the mystery was 
 unsealed : heavenly spirits heaved the ancient stone 
 from the gloomy grave. Angels sat by the sleeper, sweetly 
 outbodied from his dreams; awaked in new Godlike 
 glory, he clomb the apex of the new-born world, 
 buried with his own hand the old corpse in the forsaken 
 cavity, and with hand almighty laid upon it the stone 
 which no power shall again upheave. 
 
 Yet weep thy loved ones over thy grave tears of joy, 
 tears of emotion, tears of endless thanksgiving; ever 
 afresh, with joyous start, see thee rise again, and them- 
 selves with thee; behold thee weep with soft fervour 
 on the blessed bosom of thy mother, walk in thoughtful 
 communion with thy friends, uttering words plucked as 
 from the tree of life ; see thee hasten, full of longing, into 
 thy fathers arms, bearing with thee youthful Humanity, 
 and the inexhaustible cup of the golden Future. Soon 
 the mother hastened after thee in heavenly triumph ; she 
 was the first with thee in the new home. Since then, 
 long ages have flowed past, and in splendour ever in- 
 creasing hath bestirred itself thy new creation, and 
 
Hymns to the Night. 13 
 
 thousands have, out of pangs and tortures, followed 
 thee, filled with faith and longing and truth, and are 
 walking about with thee and the heavenly virgin in the 
 kingdom of Love, minister in the temple of heavenly 
 Death, and are for ever thine. 
 
 Uplifted is the stone, 
 And all mankind is risen ; 
 We all remain thine own, 
 And vanished is our prison. 
 All troubles flee away 
 Before thy golden cup ; 
 For Earth nor Life can stay 
 When with our Lord we sup. 
 
 To the marriage Death doth call ; 
 No virgin holdeth back ; 
 The lamps bum lustrous all j 
 Of oil there is no lack. 
 Would thy far feet were waking 
 The echoes of our street ! 
 And that the stars were making 
 Signal with voices sweet ! 
 
 To thee, O mother maiden, 
 Ten thousand hearts aspire ; 
 In this life, sorrow-laden, 
 Thee only they desire; 
 In thee they hope for healing ; 
 In thee expect true rest, 
 When thou, their safety sealing, 
 Shalt clasp them to thy breast. 
 
 With disappointment burning 
 Who made in hell their bed, 
 At last from this world turning 
 To thee have looked and fled : 
 
14 From Novalis. 
 
 Helpful thou hast appeared 
 To us in many a pain : 
 Now to thy home we're neared, 
 Not to go out again ! 
 
 Now at no grave are weeping 
 Such as do love and pray ; 
 The gift that Love is keeping 
 From none is taken away. 
 To soothe and quiet our longing 
 Night comes, and stills the smart ; 
 Heaven's children round us thronging 
 Now watch and ward our heart. 
 
 Courage ! for life is striding 
 To endless life along ; 
 The Sense, in love abiding, 
 Grows clearer and more strong. 
 One day the stars, down dripping, 
 Shall flow in golden wine : 
 We, of that nectar sipping, 
 As living stars shall shine ! 
 
 Free, from the tomb emerges 
 
 Love, to die never more ; 
 
 Fulfilled, life heaves and surges 
 
 A sea without a shore ! 
 
 All night ! all blissful leisure ! 
 
 One jubilating ode ! 
 
 And the sun of all our pleasure 
 
 The countenance of God ! 
 
Hymns to the Night. 15 
 
 VI. 
 LONGING AFTER DEATH. 
 
 Into the bosom of the earth ! 
 Out of the Light's dominions ! 
 Death's pains are but the bursting forth 
 Of glad Departure's pinions ! 
 Swift in the narrow little boat, 
 Swift to the heavenly shore we float ! 
 
 Blest be the everlasting Night, 
 And blest the endless Slumber ! 
 We are heated with the day too bright, 
 And withered up with cumber ! 
 We're weary of that life abroad : 
 Come, we will now go home to God ! 
 
 Why longer in this world abide ? 
 Why love and truth here cherish ? 
 That which is old is set aside — 
 For us the new may perish ! 
 Alone he stands and sore downcast 
 Who loves with pious warmth the Pabt. 
 
 The Past where yet the human spirit 
 In lofty flames did rise ; 
 Where men the Father did inherit, 
 His countenance recognize ; 
 And, in simplicity made ripe, 
 Many grew like their archetype. 
 
 The Past wherein, still rich in bloom, 
 Old stems did burgeon glorious ; 
 And children, for the world to come, 
 Sought pain and death victorious ; 
 And, though both life and pleasure spake, 
 Yet many a heart for love did break. 
 
1 6 From Novalis. 
 
 The Past, where to the glow of youth 
 God yet himself declared ; 
 And early death, in loving truth 
 The young beheld, and dared — 
 Anguish and torture patient bore 
 To prove they loved him as of yore. 
 
 With anxious yearning now we see 
 That Past in darkness drenched ; 
 With this world's water never we 
 Shall find our hot thirst quenched : 
 To our old home we have to go 
 That blessed time again to know. 
 
 What yet doth hinder our return ? 
 Long since repose our precious ! 
 Their grave is of our life the bourn ; 
 We shrink from times ungracious ! 
 By not a hope are we decoyed : 
 The heart is full ; the world is void ! 
 
 Infinite and mysterious, 
 Thrills through me a sweet trembling, 
 As if from far there echoed thus 
 A sigh, our grief resembling : 
 The dear ones long as well as I, 
 And send to me their waiting sigh. 
 
 Down to the sweet bride, and away 
 To the beloved Jesus ! 
 Courage ! the evening shades grow gray, 
 Of all our griefs to ease us ! 
 A dream will dash our chains apart, 
 And lay us on the Father's heart. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 17 
 
 SPIRITUAL SONGS. 
 
 Without thee, what were life or being 
 Without thee, what had I not grown ! 
 From fear and anguish vainly fleeing, 
 I in the world had stood alone ; 
 For all I loved could trust no shelter ; 
 The future a dim gulf had lain ; 
 And when my heart in tears did welter, 
 To whom had I poured out my pain ? 
 
 Consumed in love and longing lonely 
 Each day had worn the night's dull face ; 
 With hot tears I had followed only 
 Afar life's wildly rushing race. 
 No rest for me, tumultuous driven ! 
 A hopeless sorrow by the hearth ! — 
 Who, that had not a friend in heaven, 
 Could to the end hold out on earth ? 
 
 But if his heart once Jesus bareth, 
 
 And I of him right sure can be, 
 
 How soon a living glory scareth 
 
 The bottomless obscurity ! 
 
 Manhood in him first man attaineth ; 
 
 His fate in Him transfigured glows ; 
 
 On freezing Iceland India gaineth, 
 
 And round the loved one blooms and blows. 
 
 B 
 
1 8 From Novalis. 
 
 Life grows a twilight softly stealing ; 
 The world speaks all of love and glee ; 
 For every wound grows herb of healing, 
 And every heart beats full and free. 
 I, his ten thousand gifts receiving, 
 Humble like him, his knees embrace ; 
 Sure that we share his presence living 
 When two are gathered in one place. 
 
 Forth, forth to all highways and hedges ! 
 Compel the wanderers to come in ; 
 Stretch out the hand that good will pledges, 
 And gladly call them to their kin. 
 See heaven high over earth up-dawning ! 
 In faith we see it rise and spread : 
 To all with us one spirit owning — 
 To them with us 'tis opened. 
 
 An ancient, heavy guilt-illusion 
 Haunted our hearts, a changeless doom ; 
 Blindly we strayed in night's confusion ; 
 Gladness and grief alike consume. 
 Whate'er we did, some law was broken ! 
 Mankind appeared God's enemy ; 
 And if we thought the heavens had spoken, 
 They spoke but death and misery. 
 
 The heart, of life the fountain swelling — 
 
 An evil creature lay therein ; 
 
 If more light shone into our dwelling, 
 
 More unrest only did we win. 
 
 Down to the earth an iron fetter 
 
 Fast held us, trembling captive crew ; 
 
 Fear of Law's sword, grim Death the whetter, 
 
 Did swallow up hope's residue. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 19 
 
 Then came a saviour to deliver — 
 
 A Son of Man, in love and might ! 
 
 A holy fire, of life all-giver, 
 
 He in our hearts has fanned alight. 
 
 Then first heaven opened — and, no fable, 
 
 Our own old fatherland we trod ! 
 
 To hope and trust we straight were able, 
 
 And knew ourselves akin to God. 
 
 Then vanished Sin's old spectre dismal ; 
 Our every step grew glad and brave. 
 Best natal gift, in rite baptismal, 
 Their own faith men their children gave. 
 Holy in him, Life since hath floated, 
 A happy dream, through every heart ; 
 We, to his love and joy devoted, 
 Scarce know the moment we depart. 
 
 Still standeth, in his wondrous glory, 
 The holy loved one with his own ; 
 His crown of thorns, his faithful story 
 Still move our hearts, still make us groan. 
 Whoso from deadly sleep will waken, 
 And grasp his hand of sacrifice, 
 Into his heart with us is taken, 
 To ripen a fruit of Paradise. 
 
20 From Novalis. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Dawn, far eastward, on the mountain ! 
 Gray old times are growing young : 
 From the flashing colour-fountain 
 I will quaff it deep and long ! — 
 Granted boon to Longing's long privation ! 
 Sweet love in divine transfiguration ! 
 
 Comes at last, our old Earth's native, 
 
 All-Heaven's one child, simple, kind ! 
 
 Blows again, in song creative, 
 
 Round the earth a living wind ; 
 
 Blows to clear new flames that rush together 
 
 Sparks extinguished long by earthly weather. 
 
 Everywhere, from graves upspringing, 
 
 Rises new-born life, new blood ! 
 
 Endless peace up to us bringing, 
 
 Dives he underneath life's flood ; 
 
 Stands in midst, with full hands, eyes caressing- 
 
 Hardly waits the prayer to grant the blessing. 
 
 Let his mild looks of invading 
 
 Deep into thy spirit go ; 
 
 By his blessedness unfading 
 
 Thou thy heart possessed shalt know. 
 
 Hearts of all men, spirits all, and senses 
 
 Mingle, and a new glad dance commences. 
 
 Grasp his hands with boldness yearning ; 
 Stamp his face thy heart upon • 
 Turning toward him, ever turning, 
 Thou, the flower, must face thy sun. 
 Who to him his heart's last fold unfoldeth, 
 True as wife's his heart for ever holdeth. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 21 
 
 Ours is now that Godhead's splendour 
 At whose name we used to quake ! 
 South and north, its breathings tender 
 Heavenly germs at once awake ! 
 Let us then in God's full garden labour, 
 And to every bud and bloom be neighbour ! 
 
 in. 
 
 Who in his chamber sitteth lonely, 
 And weepeth heavy, bitter tears ; 
 
 To whom in doleful colours, only 
 Of want and woe, the world appears ; 
 
 Who of the Past, gulf-like receding, 
 
 Would search with questing eyes the core, 
 
 Down into which a sweet woe, pleading, 
 Wiles him from all sides evermore — 
 
 As if a treasure past believing 
 
 Lay there below, for him high-piled, 
 
 After whose lock, with bosom heaving, 
 He breathless grasps in longing wild : 
 
 He sees the Future, waste and arid, 
 In hideous length before him stretch ; 
 
 About he roams, alone and harried, 
 And seeks himself, poor restless wretch 
 
 I fall upon his bosom, tearful : 
 
 I once, like thee, with woe was wan ; 
 
 But I grew well, am strong and cheerful, 
 And know the eternal rest of man. 
 
22 From Novalis. 
 
 Thou too must find the one consoler 
 Who inly loved, endured, and died — 
 
 Even for them that wrought his dolour 
 With thousand-fold rejoicing died. 
 
 He died — and yet, fresh each to-morrow, 
 His love and him thy heart doth hold ; 
 
 Thou mayst, consoled for every sorrow, 
 Him in thy arms with ardour fold. 
 
 New blood shall from his heart be driven 
 Through thy dead bones like living wine ; 
 
 And once thy heart to him is given, 
 Then is his heart for ever thine. 
 
 What thou didst lose, he keeps it for thee ; 
 
 With him thy lost love thou shalt find ; 
 And what his hand doth once restore thee, 
 
 That hand to thee will changeless bind. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Of the thousand hours me meeting, 
 And with gladsome promise greeting, 
 
 One alone hath kept its faith — 
 One wherein — ah, sorely grieved ! — 
 In my heart I first perceived 
 
 Who for us did die the death. 
 
 All to dust my world was beaten ; 
 As a worm had through them eaten 
 Withered in me bud and flower ; 
 All my life had sought or cherished 
 In the grave had sunk and perished j 
 Pain sat in my ruined bower. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 23 
 
 While I thus, in silence sighing, 
 Ever wept, on Death still crying, 
 
 Still to sad delusions tied, 
 All at once the night was cloven, 
 From my grave the stone was hoven, 
 
 And my inner doors thrown wide. 
 
 Whom I saw, and who the other, 
 Ask me not, or friend or brother ! — 
 
 Sight seen once, and evermore ! 
 Lone in all life's eves and morrows, 
 This hour only, like my sorrows, 
 
 Ever shines my eyes before. 
 
 v. 
 
 If I him but have,* 
 
 If he be but mine, 
 If my heart, hence to the grave, 
 
 Ne'er forgets his love divine — 
 Know I nought of sadness, 
 Feel I nought but worship, love, and gladness. 
 
 If I him but have, 
 
 Pleased from all I part ; 
 Follow, on my pilgrim staff, 
 
 None but him, with honest heart j 
 Leave the rest, nought saying, 
 On broad, bright, and crowded highways straying. 
 
 * Here I found the double or feminine rhyme impossible without the 
 loss of the far more precious simplicity of the original, which could be 
 retained only by a literal translation. 
 
24 From Novalis. 
 
 If I him but have, 
 
 Glad to sleep I sink ; 
 From his heart the flood he gave 
 
 Shall to mine be food and drink ; 
 And, with sweet compelling, 
 Mine shall soften, deep throughout it welling. 
 
 If I him but have, 
 
 Mine the world I hail ; 
 Happy, like a cherub grave 
 
 Holding back the Virgin's veil : 
 I, deep sunk in gazing, 
 Hear no more the Earth or its poor praising. 
 
 Where I have but him 
 
 Is my fatherland ; 
 Every gift a precious gem 
 
 Come to me from his own hand ! 
 Brothers long deplored, 
 Lo, in his disciples, all restored ! 
 
 VI. 
 
 My faith to thee I break not, 
 
 If all should faithless be, 
 That gratitude forsake not 
 
 The world eternally. 
 For my sake Death did sting thee 
 
 With anguish keen and sore ; 
 Therefore with joy I bring thee 
 
 This heart for evermore. 
 
 Oft weep I like a river 
 
 That thou art dead, and yet 
 
 So many of thine thee, Giver 
 Of life, life-long forget ! 
 
Spiritual Songs. 25 
 
 By love alone possessed, 
 
 Such great things thou hast done ! 
 But thou art dead, O Blessed, 
 
 And no one thinks thereon ! 
 
 Thou stand'st with love unshaken 
 
 Ever by every man ; 
 And if by all forsaken, 
 
 Art still the faithful one. 
 Such love must win the wrestle ; 
 
 At last thy love they'll see, 
 Weep bitterly, and nestle 
 
 Like children to thy knee. 
 
 Thou with thy love hast found me ! 
 
 O do not let me go ! 
 Keep me where thou hast bound me 
 
 Till one with thee I grow. 
 My brothers yet will waken, 
 
 One look to heaven will dart — 
 Then sink down, love-o'ertaken, 
 
 And fall upon thy heart. 
 
 VII. 
 
 HYMN. 
 
 Few understand 
 
 The mystery of Love, 
 
 Know insatiableness, 
 
 And thirst eternal. 
 
 Of the Last Supper 
 
 The divine meaning 
 
 Is to the earthly senses a riddle ; 
 
 But he that ever 
 
 From warm, beloved lips, 
 
 Drew breath of life ; 
 
26 From Novalis. 
 
 In whom the holy glow 
 
 Ever melted the heart in trembling waves ; 
 
 Whose eye ever opened so 
 
 As to fathom 
 
 The bottomless deeps of heaven — 
 
 Will eat of his body 
 
 And drink of his blood 
 
 Everlastingly. 
 
 Who of the earthly body 
 
 Has divined the lofty sense ? 
 
 Who can say 
 
 That he understands the blood ? 
 
 One day all is body, 
 
 One body : 
 
 In heavenly blood 
 
 Swims the blissful two. 
 
 Oh that the ocean 
 
 Were even now flushing ! 
 
 And in odorous flesh 
 
 The rock were upswelling ! 
 
 Never endeth the sweet repast \ 
 
 Never doth Love satisfy itself; 
 
 Never close enough, never enough its own, 
 
 Can it have the beloved ! 
 
 By ever tenderer lips 
 
 Transformed, the Partaken 
 
 Goes deeper, grows nearer. 
 
 Pleasure more ardent 
 
 Thrills through the soul ; 
 
 Thirstier and hungrier 
 
 Becomes the heart ; 
 
 And so endureth Love's delight 
 
 From everlasting to everlasting. 
 
 Had the refraining 
 
 Tasted but once, 
 
 All had they left 
 
SrmiTUAL Songs. 27 
 
 To set themselves down with us 
 To the table of longing 
 Which will never be bare ; 
 Then had they known Love's 
 Infinite fullness, 
 
 And commended the sustenance 
 Of body and blood. 
 
 VIII. 
 
 Weep I must — my heart runs over : 
 Would he once himself discover — 
 
 If but once, from far away ! 
 Holy sorrow ! still prevailing 
 Is my weeping, is my wailing : 
 
 Would that I were turned to clay ! 
 
 Evermore I hear him crying 
 To his Father, see him dying : 
 
 Will this heart for ever beat ! 
 Will my eyes in death close never ? 
 Weeping all into a river 
 
 Were a bliss for me too sweet ! 
 
 Hear I none but me bewailing ? 
 Dies his name an echo failing? 
 
 Is the world at once struck dead ? 
 Shall I from his eyes, ah ! never 
 More drink love and life for ever ? 
 
 Is he now for always dead ? 
 
 Dead? W T hat means that sound of dolour ? 
 Tell me, tell me thou, a scholar, 
 
 What it means, that word so grim. 
 He is silent ; all turn from me ! 
 No one on the earth will show me 
 
 Where my heart may look for him ! 
 
28 From Novalis. 
 
 Earth no more, whate'er befall me, 
 Can to any gladness call me ! 
 
 She is but one dream of woe ! 
 I too am with him departed : 
 Would I lay with him, still-hearted, 
 
 In the region down below ! 
 
 Hear, me, hear, his and my father ! 
 My dead bones, I pray thee, gather 
 
 Unto his — and soon, I pray ! 
 Grass his hillock soon will cover, 
 Soon the wind will wander over, 
 
 Soon his form will fade away. 
 
 If his love they once perceived, 
 Soon, soon all men had believed, 
 
 Letting all things else go by ! 
 Lord of love him only owning, 
 All would weep with me bemoanim 
 
 And in bitter woe would die I 
 
 IX. 
 
 He lives ! he's risen from the dead ! 
 
 To every man I shout ; 
 His presence over us is spread, 
 
 Goes with us in and out. 
 
 To each I say it ; each apace 
 His comrades telleth too — 
 
 That straight will dawn in every place 
 The heavenly kingdom new. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 29 
 
 Now, to the new mind, first appears 
 
 The world a fatherland ; 
 A new life men receive, with tears 
 
 Of rapture, from his hand. 
 
 Down into deepest gulfs of sea 
 Grim Death hath sunk away ; 
 
 And now each man, with holy glee, 
 Can face his coming day. 
 
 The darksome road that he hath gone 
 Leads out on heaven's floor ; 
 
 Who heeds the counsel of the Son 
 Enters the Father's door. 
 
 Down here weeps no one any more 
 For friend that shuts his eyes ; 
 
 For, soon or late, the parting sore 
 Will change to glad surprise. 
 
 And now to every friendly deed 
 Each heart will warmer glow ; 
 
 For many a fold the fresh-sown seed 
 In lovelier fields will blow. 
 
 He lives — will sit beside our hearths, 
 The greatest with the least ; 
 
 Therefore this day shall be our Earth's 
 Glad Renovation-feast. 
 
30 From Novalis. 
 
 X. 
 
 The times are all so wretched ! 
 
 The heart so full of cares ! 
 The future, far outstretched, 
 
 A spectral horror wears. 
 
 Wild terrors creep and hover 
 With foot so ghastly soft ! 
 
 Our souls black midnights cover 
 With mountains piled aloft. 
 
 Firm props like reeds are waving ; 
 
 For trust is left no stay ; 
 Our thoughts, like whirlpool raving, 
 
 No more the will obey ! 
 
 Frenzy, with eye resistless, 
 Decoys from Truth's defence ; 
 
 Life's pulse is flagging listless, 
 And dull is every sense. 
 
 Who hath the cross upheaved 
 
 To shelter every soul ? 
 Who lives, on high received, 
 
 To make the wounded whole ? 
 
 Go to the tree of wonder ; 
 
 Give silent longing room : 
 Issuing flames asunder 
 
 Thy bad dream will consume. 
 
 Draws thee an angel tender 
 
 In safety to the strand : 
 Lo, at thy feet in splendour 
 
 Lies spread the Promised Land ! 
 
Spiritual Songs. 31 
 
 XI. 
 
 I know not what were left to draw me, 
 Had I but him who is my bliss ; 
 
 If still his eye with pleasure saw me, 
 And, dwelling with me, me would miss. 
 
 So many search, round all ways going, 
 With face distorted, anxious eye, 
 
 Who call themselves the wise and knowing, 
 Yet ever pass this treasure by ! 
 
 One man believes that he has found it, 
 And what he has is nought but gold; 
 
 One takes the world by sailing round it : 
 The deed recorded, all is told ! 
 
 One man runs well to gain the laurel j 
 Another, in Victory's fane a niche : 
 
 By different Shows in bright apparel 
 All are befooled, not one made rich ! 
 
 Hath He not then to you appeared ? 
 
 Have ye forgot Him turning wan 
 Whose side for love of us was speared — 
 
 The scorned, rejected Son of Man ? 
 
 Of Him have you not read the story — 
 Heard one poor word upon the wind ? 
 
 What heavenly goodness was his glory, 
 Or what a gift he left behind ? 
 
 How he descended from the Father, 
 Of loveliest mother infant grand ? 
 
 What Word the nations from him gather ? 
 How many bless his healing hand? 
 
32 From Novalis. 
 
 How, thereto urged by mere love, wholly 
 He gave himself to us away, 
 
 And down in earth, foundation lowly, 
 First stone of God's new city, lay ? 
 
 Can such news fail to touch us mortals ? 
 
 Is not to know the man pure bliss ? 
 Will you not open all your portals 
 
 To him who closed for you the abyss ? 
 
 Will you not let the world go faring ? 
 
 For Him your dearest wish deny ? 
 To him alone your heart keep baring, 
 
 Who you has shown such favour high ? 
 
 Hero of love, oh, take me, take me ! 
 
 Thou art my life ! my world ! my gold ! 
 Should every earthly thing forsake me, 
 
 I know who will me scatheless hold ! 
 
 I see Thee my lost loves restoring ! 
 
 True evermore to me thou art ! 
 Low at thy feet heaven sinks adoring, 
 
 And yet thou dwellest in my heart ! 
 
 XII. 
 
 Earth's Consolation, why so slow ? 
 Thy inn is ready long ago ; 
 Each lifts to thee his hungering eyes, 
 And open to thy blessing lies. 
 
 O Father, pour him forth with might ; 
 Out of thine arms, oh yield him quite ! 
 Shyness alone, sweet shame, I know, 
 Kept him from coming long ago ! 
 
Spiritual Songs. 35 
 
 Haste him from thine into our arm 
 To take him with thy breath yet warm ; 
 Thick clouds around the baby wrap, 
 And let him down into our lap. 
 
 In the cool streams send him to us ; 
 
 In flames let him glow tremulous ; 
 
 In air and oil, in sound and dew, 
 
 Let him pierce all Earth's structure through. 
 
 So shall the holy fight be fought, 
 So come the rage of hell to nought ; 
 And, ever blooming, dawn again 
 The ancient Paradise of men. 
 
 Earth stirs once more, grows green and live ; 
 Full of the Spirit, all things strive 
 To clasp with love the Saviour-guest, 
 And offer him the mother-breast. 
 
 Winter gives way ; a year new-born 
 Stands at the manger's altar-horn ; 
 'Tis the first year of that new Earth 
 Claimed by the child in right of birth. 
 
 Our eyes they see the Saviour well, 
 Yet in them doth the Saviour dwell ; 
 With flowers his head is wreathed about ; 
 From every flower himself smiles out. 
 
 He is the star ; he is the sun ; 
 Life's well that evermore will run ; 
 From herb, stone, sea, and light's expanse 
 Glimmers his childish countenance. 
 
 c 
 
34 From Novalis. 
 
 His childlike labour things to mend, 
 His ardent love will never end ; 
 He nestles, with unconscious art, 
 Divinely fast to every heart. 
 
 To us a God, to himself a child, 
 He loves us all, self-undefiled ; 
 Becomes our drink, becomes our food- 
 His dearest thanks, a heart that's good. 
 
 The misery grows yet more and more ; 
 A gloomy grief afflicts us sore : 
 Keep him no longer, Father, thus ; 
 He will come home again with us! 
 
 XIII. 
 
 When in hours of fear and failing, 
 
 All but quite our heart despairs ; 
 When, with sickness driven to wailing. 
 
 Anguish at our bosom tears ; 
 Then our loved ones we remember ; 
 
 All their grief and trouble rue ; 
 Clouds close in on our December 
 
 And no beam of hope shines through ! 
 
 Oh but then God bends him o'er us ! 
 
 Then his love comes very near ! 
 Long we heavenward then — before us 
 
 Lo, his angel standing clear ! 
 Life's cup fresh to us he reaches ; 
 
 Whispers comfort, courage new ; 
 Nor in vain our prayer beseeches 
 
 Rest for our beloved ones too. 
 
Spiritual Songs. 35 
 
 XIV. 
 
 Who once hath seen thee, Mother fair, 
 
 Destruction him shall never snare ; 
 
 His fear is, from thee to be parted ; 
 
 He loves thee evermore, true-hearted ; 
 
 Thy grace remembered is the source 
 
 Whereout springs hence his spirit's highest force. 
 
 My heart is very true to thee ; 
 
 My every failing thou dost see : 
 
 Let me, sweet mother, yet essay thee — 
 
 Give me one happy sign, I pray thee. 
 
 My whole existence rests in thee : 
 
 One moment, only one, be thou with me. 
 
 I used to see thee in my dreams, 
 So fair, so full of tenderest beams ! 
 The little God in thine arms lying 
 Took pity on his playmate crying : 
 But thou with high look me didst awe, 
 And into clouds of glory didst withdraw. 
 
 What have I done to thee, poor wretch ? 
 To thee my longing arms I stretch ! 
 Are not thy holy chapels ever 
 My resting-spots in life's endeavour ? 
 O Queen, of saints and angels blest, 
 This heart and life take up into thy rest ! 
 
 Thou know'st that I, beloved Queen, 
 
 All thine and only thine have been ! 
 
 Have I not now, years of long measure, 
 
 In silence learned thy grace to treasure ? 
 
 While to myself yet scarce confest, 
 
 Even then I drew milk from thy holy breast. 
 
36 From Novalis. 
 
 Oh, countless times thou stood'st by me ! 
 
 I, merry child, looked up to thee ! 
 
 His hands thy little infant gave me 
 
 In sign that one day he would save me ; 
 
 Thou smiledst, full of tenderness, 
 
 And then didst kiss me : oh the heavenly bliss ! 
 
 Afar stands now that gladness brief; 
 Long have I companied with grief; 
 Restless I stray outside the garden ! 
 Have I then sinned beyond thy pardon ? 
 Childlike thy garment's hem I pull : 
 Oh wake me from this dream so weariful ! 
 
 If only children see thy face, 
 
 And, confident, may trust thy grace, 
 
 From age's bonds, oh, me deliver, 
 
 And make me thine own child for ever ! 
 
 The love and truth of childhood's prime 
 
 Dwell in me yet from that same golden time. 
 
 xv. 
 
 In countless pictures I behold thee, 
 
 O Mary, lovelily expressed, 
 But of them all none can unfold thee 
 
 As I have seen thee in my breast ! 
 I only know the world's loud splendour 
 
 Since then is like a dream o'erblown ; 
 And that a heaven, for words too tender, 
 
 My quieted spirit fills alone. 
 
A Parable. 37 
 
 J TAR ABLE. 
 
 Long ago, there lived far to the west a very young man, 
 good, but extremely odd. He tormented himself con- 
 tinually about this nothing and that nothing, always walked 
 in silence and straight before him, sat down alone when 
 the others were at their sports and merry-makings, and 
 brooded over strange things. Caves and woods were his 
 dearest haunts; and there he talked on and on with 
 beasts and birds, with trees and rocks — of course not 
 one rational word, but mere idiotic stuff, to make one 
 laugh to death. He continued, however, always moody 
 and serious, in spite of the utmost pains that the squirrel, 
 the monkey, the parrot, and the bullfinch could take to 
 divert him, and set him in the right way. The goose 
 told stories, the brook jingled a ballad between, a great 
 thick stone cut ridiculous capers, the rose stole lovingly 
 about him from behind and crept through his locks, 
 while the ivy stroked his troubled brow. But his melan- 
 choly and gravity were stubborn. His parents were much 
 troubled, and did not know what to do. He was in good 
 health, and ate well enough ; they had never caused him 
 any offence ; and, until a few years ago, he had been the 
 liveliest and merriest of them all, foremost in all their 
 games, and a favourite with all the maidens. He was 
 very handsome, looked like a picture, and danced like 
 an angel. Amongst the maidens was one, a charm- 
 ing and beautiful creature, who looked like wax, had hair 
 like golden silk, and cherry-red lips, was a doll for size, 
 and had coal-black, yes, raven-black eyes. Whoever saw 
 her was ready to swoon, she was so lovely. Now Rosebud, 
 for that was her name, was heartily fond of the handsome 
 Hyacinth, for that was his name, and he loved her fit to 
 die. The other children knew nothing of it. A violet 
 
38 From Novalis. 
 
 told them of it first. The little house-cats had been quite 
 aware of it, for the houses of their parents lay near each 
 other. So when Hyacinth stood at night by his window, 
 and Rosebud at hers, and the cats ran past mouse-hunt- 
 ing, they saw the two standing there, and often laughed 
 and tittered so loud that they heard it and were offended. 
 The violet told it in confidence to the strawberry, and 
 she told it to her friend, the raspberry, who never ceased 
 rasping when Hyacinth came along \ so that by and by 
 the whole garden and wood were in the secret, and when 
 Hyacinth went out, he heard on all sides the cry : " Little 
 Rosy is my posy ! " This vexed him ; but the next 
 moment he could not help laughing from the bottom of 
 his heart, when the little lizard came slipping along, sat 
 down on a warm stone, waggled his tail, and sang — 
 
 11 Little Rosebud, good and wise, 
 All at once has lost her eyes : 
 Taking Hyacinth for her mother, 
 Round his neck her arms she flings ; 
 Then perceiving 'tis another — 
 Starts with terror ? — no, but clings — 
 Think of that ! — fast as before, 
 Only kissing all the more ! " 
 
 Alas, how soon was the grand time over ! There 
 came a man out of strange lands, who had travelled won- 
 drous far and wide, had a long beard, deep eyes, frightful 
 eyebrows, and a strange garment with many folds, and in- 
 woven with curious figures. He seated himself before the 
 house of Hyacinth's parents. Hyacinth at once became 
 very inquisitive, and sat down beside him, and brought 
 him bread and wine. Then parted he his white beard, 
 and told stories deep into the night ; and Hyacinth never 
 stirred or tired of listening. This much they learned 
 afterward, that he talked a great deal about strange lands, 
 unknown countries, and amazingly wonderful things; 
 
A Parable. 39 
 
 stopped there three days, and crept with Hyacinth down 
 into deep shafts. Little Rosebud execrated the old sor- 
 cerer pretty thoroughly, for Hyacinth was altogether ab- 
 sorbed in his conversation, and paid no heed to anything 
 else, hardly even to the swallowing of a mouthful of food. 
 At length the man took his departure, but left with Hya- 
 cinth a little book which no man could read. Hyacinth 
 gave him fruit, and bread, and wine to take with him, and 
 accompanied him a long way. Then he came back sunk 
 in thought, and thereafter took up a quite new mode of 
 life. Rosebud was in a very sad way about him, for from 
 that time forward he made little of her, and kept himself 
 always to himself. But it came to pass that one day he 
 came home, and was like one born again. He fell on his 
 parents' neck and wept. " I must away to a foreign 
 land ! " he said : " the strange old woman in the wood 
 has told me what I must do to get well ; she has thrown 
 the book into the fire, and has made me come to you to 
 ask your blessing. Perhaps I shall be back soon, per- 
 haps never more. Say good-bye to Rosebud for me. I 
 should have been glad to have a talk with her ; I do not 
 know what has come to me : I must go ! When I would 
 think to recall old times, immediately come thoughts 
 more potent in between ; my rest is gone, and my 
 heart and love with it ; and I must go find them ! I 
 would gladly tell you whither, but do not myself know ; 
 it is where dwells the mother of things, the virgin with 
 the veil ; for her my spirit is on fire. Farewell ! " He 
 tore himself from them, and went out. His parents 
 lamented and shed tears. Rosebud kept her chamber, 
 and wept bitterly. 
 
 Hyacinth now ran, as fast as he could, through valleys 
 and wildernesses, over mountains and streams, toward 
 the land of mystery. Everywhere he inquired — of men 
 and beasts, of rocks and trees, — after the sacred goddess 
 Isis. Many laughed, many held their peace ; nowhere 
 did he get an answer. At first he passed through a 
 
40 From Novalis. 
 
 rugged wild country ; mists and clouds threw themselves 
 in his way, but he rushed on impetuously. Then he came 
 to boundless deserts of sand — mere glowing dust; and as 
 he went his mood changed also ; the time became tedious 
 to him, and his inward unrest abated ; he grew gentler, 
 and the stormy impulse in him passed by degrees into 
 a mild yet powerful attraction, wherein his whole spirit 
 was dissolved. It seemed as if many years lay behind 
 him. 
 
 And now the country became again richer and more 
 varied, the air soft and blue, the way smoother. Green 
 bushes enticed him with their pleasant shadows, but he 
 did not understand their speech; they seemed indeed 
 not to speak, and yet they filled his heart with their 
 green hues, and their cool, still presence. Ever higher 
 in him waxed that same sweet longing, and ever broader 
 and juicier grew the leaves, ever louder and more jocund 
 the birds and beasts, balmier the fruits, darker the 
 heavenly blue, warmer the air, and more ardent his love. 
 The time went ever faster, as if it knew itself near the 
 goal. 
 
 One day he met a crystal rivulet, and a multitude 
 of flowers, coming down into a valley between dark, 
 columnar cliffs. They greeted him friendlily, with fami- 
 liar words. "Dear country-folk," said he, "where shall 
 I find the sacred dwelling of Isis ? Hereabouts it must 
 be, and here, I guess, you are more at home than I." 
 " We also are but passing through," replied the flowers ; 
 "a spirit-family is on its travels, and we are preparing 
 for them their road and quarters. A little way back, 
 however, we passed through a country where we heard 
 her name mentioned. Only go up, where we came 
 down, and thou wilt soon learn more." The flowers 
 and the brook smiled as they said it, offered him a 
 cool draught, and went on their way. Hyacinth followed 
 their counsel, kept asking, and came at last to that 
 dwelling he had sought so long, which lay hid among 
 
A Parable. 41 
 
 palms and other rare plants. His heart beat with an in- 
 finite longing, and the sweetest apprehension thrilled him 
 in this abode of the eternal seasons. Amid heavenly 
 odours he fell asleep, for Dream alone could lead him 
 into the holy of holies. In marvellous mode Dream con- 
 ducted him through endless rooms full of strange things, 
 by means of witching sounds and changeful harmonies. 
 All seemed to him so familiar, and yet strange with an 
 unknown splendour; then vanished the last film of the 
 perishable as if melted into air, and he stood before the 
 celestial virgin. Then he lifted the thin glistening veil, 
 and — Rosebud sank into his arms. A far-off music 
 surrounded the mysteries of love's reunion and the out- 
 pouring of their longings, and shut out from the scene of 
 their rapture everything alien to it. 
 
 Hyacinth lived a long time after with Rosebud and 
 his happy parents and old playmates ; and numberless 
 grandchildren thanked the wonderful old wise woman 
 for her counsel and her uprousing ; for in those days 
 people had as many children as they pleased. 
 
FROM SCHILLER. 
 
FROM SCHILLER. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Tryst 45 
 
 Hope 47 
 
 The Words of Faith 48 
 
 The Words of Vanity 49 
 
 The Metaphysician 50 
 
 The Philosophers 51 
 
 Sayings of Confucius 53 
 
 Knowledge 54 
 
 My Faith 54 
 
 Friend and Foe 55 
 
 Expectation and Fulfilment .... 55 
 
 The Diver 5 6 
 
 Knight Toggenburg 61 
 
 Longing 64 
 
FROM SCHILLER. 
 
 THE TRTST. 
 
 That was the sound of the wicket ! 
 That was the latch as it rose ! 
 
 No — the wind that through the thicket 
 
 Of the poplars whirring goes. 
 
 Put on thy beauty, foliage-vaulted roof, 
 
 Her to receive : with silent welcome grace her ; 
 
 Ye branches build a shadowy room, eye-proof, 
 
 With lovely night and stillness to embrace her ; 
 
 Ye airs caressing, wake, nor keep aloof, 
 
 In sport and gambol turning still to face her, 
 
 As, with its load of beauty, lightly borne, 
 
 Glides in the fairy foot, and dawns my morn. 
 
 What is that rustling the hedges ? 
 She, with her hurrying pace ? 
 
 No, a bird among the sedges, 
 
 Startled from its hiding-place ! 
 
 Quench thy sunk torch, O Day ! Steal out, appear, 
 Dim, ghostly Night, with dumbness us entrancing ! 
 Spread thy rose-purple veil about us here ; 
 Weave round us twigs, the mystery enhancing : 
 Love's rapture flees the lurking listening ear — 
 Flies from the Day, so indiscreetly glancing ; 
 Hesper alone — no tattling tell-tale he — 
 Far-gazing, still, her confidant may be. 
 
46 From Schiller. 
 
 That was a voice, but far distant, 
 
 Faint, like a whispering low ! 
 
 No ; the swan that draws persistent 
 Through the pond his circles slow ! 
 
 About mine ears harmonious breathings flow ; 
 The fountain falls in sweetly wavering rushes ; 
 The flower beneath the west wind's kiss bends slow ; 
 Delight from each to every thing outgushes ; 
 Grape-clusters beckon ; peaches luring glow, 
 And hide half in their leaves, up-swelling luscious ; 
 The air, which aromatic odours streak, 
 Drinks up the glow upon my burning cheek. 
 
 Hear I not echoing footfalls 
 
 Hither adown the pleach'd walk ? 
 No ; the over-ripened fruit falls, 
 Heavy-swollen, from off its stalk ! 
 
 Day's flaming eye at last is quenched quite ; 
 
 In gentle death its colours all are paling ; 
 
 Now boldly open in the fair twilight 
 
 The cups which in his blaze had long been quailing ; 
 
 Slow lifts the moon her visage calmly bright ; 
 
 Into great masses molten, earth sinks failing j 
 
 From every charm the zone drops unaware, 
 
 And shrouded beauty dawns upon me bare. 
 
 Yonder I see a white shimmer — 
 
 Silky — of robe or of shawl ? 
 
 No ; it is the column's glimmer 
 'Gainst the dipt yews' gloomy wall ! 
 
 O longing heart, no more thyself befool, 
 Flouted by Fancy's loveliness unreal ! 
 The empty arm no burning heart will cool, 
 No shadow-joy hold place for Love's Ideal ! 
 
Hope. 47 
 
 O bring my live love all my heart to rule ! 
 Give me her hand to hold, my every weal ! 
 Or but the shadow of her mantle's hem — 
 And straight my dreams shall live, and I in them ! 
 
 And soft as, from hills rosy-golden 
 The dews of still gladness descend, 
 So had she drawn nigh unbeholden, 
 And wakened with kisses her friend. 
 
 HOPE. 
 
 Men talk with their lips and dream with their soul 
 
 Of better days hitherward pacing ; 
 To a happy, a glorious, golden goal 
 
 See them go running and chasing ! 
 The world grows old and to youth returns, 
 But still for the Better man's bosom burns. 
 
 It is Hope leads him into life and its light ; 
 
 She haunts the little one merry ; 
 The youth is inspired by her magic might ; 
 
 Her the graybeard cannot bury : 
 When he finds at the grave his ended scope, 
 On the grave itself he planteth Hope. 
 
 She was never begotten in Folly's brain, 
 
 An empty illusion, to flatter; 
 In the Heart she cries, aloud and plain : 
 
 We are born to something better ! 
 And that which the inner voice doth say 
 The hoping spirit will not betray. 
 
48 From Schiller. 
 
 THE WORDS OF FAITH. 
 
 Three words I will tell you, of meaning full : 
 
 The lips of the many shout them ; 
 Yet were they born of no sect or school, 
 The heart only knows about them : 
 That man is of everything worth bereft 
 Who in those three words has no faith left 
 
 Man is born free — and is free alway 
 
 Even were he born in fetters ! 
 Let not the mob's cry lead you astray, 
 Or the misdeeds of frantic upsetters : 
 
 Fear not the slave when he breaks his bands ; 
 Fear nothing from any free man's hands. 
 
 And Virtue — it is no empty sound • 
 
 That a man can obey her, no folly ; 
 Even if he stumble all over the ground 
 He yet can follow the Holy ; 
 
 And what never wisdom of wise man knew 
 A child4ike spirit can simply do. 
 
 And a God there is — a steadfast Will, 
 
 However the human shrinketh ! 
 High over space and time He still, 
 
 The live Thought, doth what He thinketh ; 
 And though all things keep circling, to change 
 
 confined, 
 He keeps, in all changes, a changeless mind. 
 
The Words of Vanity. 49 
 
 These three words cherish — of meaning full : 
 From mouth to mouth send them faring ; 
 For, although they spring from no sect or school, 
 Your hearts them witness are bearing ; 
 And man is never of worth bereft 
 While yet he has faith in those three words left. 
 
 THE WORDS OF VANITY. 
 
 Three words there are of weighty sound, 
 And from good men's lips they hail us j 
 But a tinkling cymbal, a drum's rebound, 
 For help or for comfort they fail us ! 
 His Life's fruit away he forfeit flings 
 Who catches after those shadows of things 
 
 Who still believes in a Golden Age, 
 
 Where the Right and the Good reign in 
 splendour : 
 The Right and the Good war ever must wage — 
 Their foe will never surrender ; 
 
 And chok'st thou him not in the upper air, 
 His strength he will still on the earth repair. 
 
 Who yet believes that Fortune, the jilt, 
 To the noble will bind herself ever : 
 Her love-looks follow the man of guilt ; 
 The world to the good belongs never ; 
 He is in it a stranger ; he wanders away 
 Seeking a house that will not decay. 
 
 D 
 
50 From Schiller. 
 
 Who still believes that to human gaze 
 
 Truth ever her visage discloses : 
 
 Her veil no mortal hand shall raise ; 
 
 Man only thinks and supposes : 
 
 Thou mayst prison the spirit in sounding form, 
 But the Fetterless walks away on the storm. 
 
 Then, noble spirit, from folly break free, 
 
 This heav'nly faith holding and handing : 
 What the ear never heard, what no eye can see, 
 Is the lovely, the true, notwithstanding ; 
 Outside, the fool seeks for it evermore ; 
 The wise man finds it with closed door ! 
 
 THE METAPHYSICIAN. 
 
 " How far the world lies under me ! 
 
 Scarce can I see the men below there crawling ! 
 
 How high it bears me up, my lofty calling ! 
 
 How near the heavenly canopy ! " 
 
 Thus, from tower-roof where he doth clamber, 
 
 Calls out the slater ; and with him the small big man, 
 
 Jack Metaphysicus, down in his writing-chamber ! 
 
 Tell me, thou little great big man, — 
 
 The tower, whence thou so grandly all things hast 
 
 inspected, 
 Of what is it ? — Whereon is it erected ? 
 How cam'st thou up thyself? Its heights so smooth 
 
 and bare — 
 How serve they thee but thence into the vale to stare 1 
 
The Philosophers. 51 
 
 THE PHILOSOPHERS. 
 
 The principle whence everything 
 
 To life and shape ascended — 
 The pulley whereon Zeus the ring 
 Of Earth, which else in sherds would spring, 
 
 Has carefully suspended — 
 To genius I yield him a claim 
 Who fathoms for me what its name, 
 
 Save I withdraw its curtain : 
 
 It is — ten is not thirteen. 
 
 That snow makes cold, that fire burns, 
 
 That man on two feet goeth, 
 That in the heavens the sun sojourns— 
 This much the man who logic spurns 
 Through his own senses knoweth ; 
 But metaphysics who has got, 
 Knows he that burneth, freezeth not ; 
 Knows 'tis the moist that wetteth, 
 And 'tis the rough that fretteth. 
 
 Great Homer sings his epic high ; 
 
 The hero fronts his dangers ; 
 The brave his duty still doth ply — 
 And did it while, I won't deny, 
 
 Philosophers were strangers : 
 But grant by heart and brain achiev'd 
 What Locke and Des Cartes ne'er conceiv'd- 
 
 By them yet, as behoved, 
 
 It possible was proved. 
 
52 From Schiller. 
 
 Strength for the Right is counted still ; 
 
 Bold laughs the strong hyena ; 
 Who rule not, servants' parts must fill ; 
 It goes quite tolerably ill 
 
 Upon this world's arena ; 
 But how it would be, if the plan 
 Of the universe now first began, 
 
 In many a moral system 
 
 All men may read who list 'em. 
 
 " Man needs with man must linked be 
 To reach the goal of growing ; 
 
 In the whole only worketh he ; 
 
 Many drops go to make the sea ; 
 Much water sets mills going. 
 
 Then with the wild wolves do not stand, 
 
 But knit the state's enduring band : " 
 From doctor's chair thus, tranquil, 
 Herr Pufendorf and swan-quill. 
 
 But since to all, what doctors say 
 
 Flies not as soon as spoken, 
 Nature will use her mother-way, 
 See that her chain fly not in tway, 
 
 The circle be not broken : 
 Meantime, until the world's great round 
 Philosophy in one hath bound, 
 
 She keeps it on the move, sir, 
 
 By hunger and by love, sir. 
 
Sayings of Confucius. 53 
 
 SAVINGS OF CONFUCIUS. 
 
 Threefold is of Time the tread : 
 Lingering comes the Future pacing hither ; 
 Dartlike is the Now gone thither ; 
 Stands the Past aye moveless, foot and head. 
 
 No impatience wings its idle 
 Tread of leisurely delay ; 
 Fear or doubt it cannot bridle 
 Should it headlong run away ; 
 No remorse, no incantation 
 Moves the standing from its station. 
 
 Wouldst thou end thy earthly journey 
 Wise and of good fortune full, 
 Make the Lingering thine attorney 
 Thee to counsel — not thy tool ; 
 Not for friend the Flying take, 
 Nor thy foe the Standing make. 
 
 11. 
 
 Threefold is of Space the way : 
 On unresting, without stay, 
 Strives the Length into the distance ; 
 Ceaseless pours the Breadth's insistence 
 Bottomless the Depth goes down. 
 
54 From Schiller. 
 
 For a sign the three are sent thee : 
 
 Onward must alone content thee — 
 Weary, thou must not stand still 
 Wouldst thou thy perfection fill ! 
 Thou must spread thee wider, bigger, 
 Wouldst thou have the world take figure ! 
 To the deep the man descendeth 
 Who existence comprehendeth. 
 
 Leads persistence to the goal ; 
 
 Leads abundance to precision ; 
 
 Dwells in the abyss the Vision. 
 
 In the following epigrams I have altered the form, 
 zvhich in the original is the elegiac distich. 
 
 KNOWLEDGE. 
 
 To this man, 'tis a goddess tall, 
 Who lifts a star-encircled head ; 
 
 To that, a fine cow in a stall, 
 
 Which gives him butter to his bread. 
 
 MY FAITH. 
 
 Which religion I profess ? 
 
 None of which you mention make. 
 Wherefore so ? — And can't you guess ? 
 
 For Religion's sake. 
 
Expectation and Fulfilment. 55 
 
 FRIEND AND FOE. 
 
 Dear is my friend, but my foe too 
 
 Is friendly to my good ; 
 My friend the thing shows I can do, 
 
 My foe, the thing I should. 
 
 EXPECTATION AND FULFILMENT. 
 
 Thousand-masted, mighty float, 
 Out to sea Youth's navy goes : 
 
 Silent, in his one saved boat, 
 Age into the harbour rows. 
 
56 From Schiller. 
 
 THE DIVER. 
 
 " Which of you, knight or squire, will dare 
 
 Plunge into yonder gulf? 
 A golden beaker I fling in it — there ! 
 
 The black mouth swallows it like a wolf ! 
 Who brings me the cup again, whoever, 
 It is his own — he may keep it for ever ! " 
 
 Tis the king who speaks ; and he flings from the brow 
 
 Of the cliff, that, rugged and steep, 
 Hangs out o'er the endless sea below, 
 
 The cup in the whirlpool's howling heap : — 
 "Again I ask, what hero will follow? 
 What brave heart plunge into yon dark hollow ? " 
 
 The knights and the squires, the king about, 
 
 Hear him, and dumbly stare 
 Into the wild sea's tumbling rout ; 
 
 But to win the beaker, they hardly care ! 
 The king, for the third time, round him glaring — 
 " Not a soul of you has the daring ? " 
 
 Speechless all, as before, they stand ; 
 
 When a vassal bold, gentle, and gay, 
 Steps out from his comrades' shrinking band, 
 
 Flinging his girdle and cloak away ; 
 And all the women and men that surrounded 
 Gazed on the grand-looking youth, astounded. 
 
The Diver. 57 
 
 And when he stepped to the rock's rough brow 
 
 Looking down on the gulf so black, 
 The waters which it had swallowed, now 
 
 Charybdis bellowing rendered back ; 
 And, with a roar as of distant thunder, 
 Foaming they burst from the dark lap under. 
 
 It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, 
 
 As when water wrestles with fire, 
 Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout ; 
 
 And flood upon flood keeps mounting higher : 
 It will never its endless coil unravel, 
 As the sea with another sea were in travail ! 
 
 But, at last, slow sinks the writhing spasm, 
 And, black through the foaming white, 
 
 Downward gapes a yawning chasm — 
 Bottomless, cloven to hell's wide night; 
 
 And, sucked up, see the billows roaring 
 
 Down through the whirling funnel pouring ! 
 
 Then in haste, ere the out-rage return again, 
 
 The youth to his God doth pray, 
 And — ascends a cry of horror and pain — 
 
 Already the vortex hath swept him away ! 
 And o'er the bold swimmer, in darkness eternal, 
 Close the great jaws of the gulf infernal ! 
 
 Then the water above grows smooth as glass, 
 
 While, below, dull roarings ply ; 
 And, trembling, they hear the murmur pass — 
 
 li High-hearted youth, farewell ! good-bye ! " 
 And, hollower still, comes the howl affraying, 
 Till their hearts are sick with the frightful delaying. 
 
58 From Schiller. 
 
 If the crown itself thou in should fling, 
 And say, " Who back with it hies 
 
 Himself shall wear it, and shall be king," 
 I should not covet the precious prize ! 
 
 What Ocean hides in that howling hell of it, 
 
 Live soul will never come back to tell of it ! 
 
 Ships many, caught in that whirling surge, 
 Shot sheer to their dismal doom : 
 
 Keel and mast only did ever emerge, 
 
 Shattered, from out the all-gulping tomb ! — 
 
 Like the bluster of tempest, clearer and clearer, 
 
 Comes its roaring nearer and ever nearer ! 
 
 It wallows, seethes, hisses, in raging rout, 
 As when water wrestles with fire, 
 
 Till to heaven the yeasty tongues they spout, 
 Wave upon wave's back mounting higher ; 
 
 And as with the rumble of distant thunder 
 
 Bellowing it bursts from the dark lap under. 
 
 And see, from its bosom, flowing dark, 
 Something heave up, swan-white ! 
 
 An arm and a shining neck they mark, 
 And it rows with unrelaxing might ! 
 
 It is he ! and aloft in his left hand holden, 
 
 He swings, recovered, the beaker golden ! 
 
 With long deep breaths his path he ploughed, 
 
 Glad greeting the heavenly day ; 
 Jubilant shouted the gazing crowd, 
 
 " He lives ! he is free ! he has burst his way ! 
 Out of the grave, the whirlpool uproarious, 
 The hero hath rescued his life victorious ! " 
 
The Diver. 59 
 
 He comes ; they surround him with shouts of glee j 
 
 At the king's feet he sinks on the sod, 
 And hands him the beaker upon his knee. 
 
 To his lovely daughter the king gives a nod : 
 She fills it brim-full of wine sparkling and raying ; 
 And then to the monarch the youth turned, saying : 
 
 11 Long live the king ! — Ah, well doth he fare 
 
 Who breathes in this rosy light ! 
 For frightful, yea, horrible is it down there j 
 
 And man ought not to tempt the heavenly Might, 
 Or long to see, with prying unwholesome, 
 What He graciously covers with darkness dolesome ! 
 
 " It tore me down as on lightning's wing — 
 When a shaft in a rock outpours, 
 
 Wild-rushing against me, a torrent spring : 
 Its conflict seized me with raging force 
 
 And like a top, with giddy twisting, 
 
 Spun me about : there was no resisting ! 
 
 " Then God did show me, sore beseeching 
 
 In deepest, frightfullest need, 
 Up from the bottom a rock-ledge reaching — 
 
 At it I caught, and from death was freed ! 
 And behold, on spiked corals the beaker suspended 
 Which had else to the very abyss descended ! 
 
 " For below me it lay yet mountain-deep 
 
 The purply darksome maw ! 
 And, though to the ear it was dead asleep, 
 
 The ghasted eye, down staring, saw 
 How, with dragons, lizards, salamanders,, crawling, 
 The hell-jaws horrible were sprawling ! 
 
60 From Schiller. 
 
 " Black-swarming, in medley miscreate, 
 
 In masses lumped hideously, 
 Wallowed the conger, the thorny skate, 
 
 The lobster's grisly deformity ; 
 And, baring its teeth with cruel sheen, a 
 Terrible shark, the sea's hyena. 
 
 " So there I hung, and shuddering knew 
 
 That human help was none ; 
 One thinking soul mid the horrid crew, 
 
 In the ghastly desert I was alone — 
 Deeper than human speech e'er sounded, 
 By the sad waste's dismal monsters surrounded ! 
 
 "Thus thought I, and shivered. Then a something 
 crept near 
 Upon legs with a hundred joints ! 
 It snaps at me suddenly : frantic with fear 
 
 I lost my grasp of the coral points : 
 Away the whirl in its raging tore me — 
 
 But it was my salvation, and upward bore me ! " 
 
 The king at the tale is filled with amaze : — 
 
 "The beaker, well won, is thine; 
 And this ring I will give thee too," he says, 
 
 II Precious with gems that are more than fine, 
 If thou dare it yet once, and bring me the story 
 Of what's in the sea's lowest repertory." 
 
 His daughter she hears him with tender dismay, 
 And with sweet words suasive doth plead : 
 
 " Father, enough of this cruel play ! 
 
 For you he has done an unheard-of deed ! 
 
 If you may not master your heart's desire, 
 
 'Tis the knights' turn now to shame the squire ! " 
 
Knight Toggkndurg. 6i 
 
 The king sudden snatches and hurls the cup 
 
 Into the swirling pool : — 
 11 If thou bring me once more that beaker up, 
 
 Thou art best of my knights, the most worshipful ! 
 And this very day to thy home thou shalt lead her 
 Who stands there — for thee such a pitiful pleader." 
 
 A passion divine his being invades j 
 
 His eyes dart a lightning ray ; 
 He sees of her blushes the changeful shades, 
 
 He sees her grow pallid and sink away ! 
 Determination thorough him flashes, 
 And downward for life or for death he dashes ! 
 
 They hear the dull roar : 'tis returning again, 
 
 Announced by the thunderous brawl ! 
 Downward they bend with loving strain : 
 
 They come ! they are coming, the waters all ! — 
 They rush up ! — they rush down ! they rush ever and ever : 
 The youth to the daylight rises never ! 
 
 KNIGHT TOGGENBURG. 
 
 True love, knight, as to a brother, 
 
 Yield I you again ; 
 Ask me not for any other, 
 
 For it gives me pain. 
 Calmly I behold you come in, 
 
 Calm behold you go ; 
 Your sad eyes the weeping dumb in 
 
 I nor read nor know. 
 
62 From Schiller. 
 
 And he hears her uncomplaining, 
 
 Tears him free by force ; 
 To his heart but once her straining, 
 
 Flings him on his horse ; 
 Sends to all his vassals merry 
 
 In old Switzerland ; 
 To the holy grave they hurry, 
 
 White-crossed pilgrim band. 
 
 Mighty deeds, the foe outbraving, 
 
 Works their hero-arm ; 
 From their helms the plumes float waving 
 
 Mid the heathen swarm ; 
 Still his " Toggenburg " up waking 
 
 Frays the Mussulman ; 
 But his heart its grievous aching 
 
 Quiet never can. 
 
 One whole year he did endure it, 
 
 Then his patience lost ; 
 Peace, he never could secure it, 
 
 And forsakes the host ; 
 Sees a ship by Joppa's entry 
 
 At her cable saw ; 
 Sails him home to that dear country 
 
 Where she breath doth draw. 
 
 At the gate, her castle under, 
 
 Pilgrim sad, he knocked ; 
 Straight, as with a word of thunder 
 
 Was the gate unlocked : 
 " She you seek, with rites most solemn 
 
 Is betrothed to heaven ; 
 Yesterday, beneath that column, 
 
 She to Christ was given." 
 
Knight Toggenburg. 63 
 
 Then the halls he leaves for ever 
 
 Of his ancestors ; 
 Shield or sword sets eyes on never, 
 
 Or his faithful horse. 
 Down from Toggenburg he fareth, 
 
 None to see or care ; 
 On his noble limbs he wcareth 
 
 Sackcloth made of hair ; 
 
 And himself a hovel buildeth 
 
 That same cloister nigh, 
 Where the lime-tree thicket yieldeth 
 
 Cover whence to spy. 
 There, from morning's earliest traces 
 
 Till red evening shone, 
 Thither turned his hoping face is, 
 
 There he sits alone. 
 
 On the walls so high above him, 
 
 His eyes waiting hang, 
 Waiting, though she would not love him, 
 
 For her lattice-clang — 
 Waiting till the loved should send her 
 
 Glance into the vale, 
 And, unthinking, toward it bend her 
 
 Visage, angel-pale. 
 
 Then he laid him, sadness scorning, 
 
 Comforted to sleep j 
 Quietly joyous till the morning 
 
 Out again should peep. 
 And so sat he, years a many, 
 
 Years without a pang, 
 Waiting without murmur any 
 
 Till her window rang — 
 
64 From Schiller. 
 
 For the lovely one to send her 
 
 Glance into the vale, 
 And, unseeing, toward him bend her 
 
 Angel visage pale. 
 And thus sat he, staring wanly, 
 
 His last morning there : 
 Toward her window still the manly 
 
 Silent face did stare. 
 
 LONGING. 
 
 Ah, from out this valley hollow, 
 
 By cold fogs always oppressed, 
 Could I but the outpath follow — 
 
 Ah, how were my spirit blest ! 
 Hills I see there, glad dominions, 
 
 Ever young, and green for aye ! 
 Had I wings, oh, had I pinions, 
 
 To the hills were I away ! 
 
 Harmonies I hear there ringing, 
 
 Tones of sweetest heavenly rest ; 
 And the gentle winds are bringing 
 
 Balmy odours to my breast ! 
 Golden fruits peep out there, glowing 
 
 Through the leaves to Zephyr's play ; 
 And the flowers that there are blowing 
 
 Will become no winter's prey ! 
 
 Oh, what happy things are meeting 
 There, in endless sunshine free ! 
 
 And the airs on those hills greeting, 
 How reviving must they be ! 
 
Longing. 65 
 
 But me checks yon raving river 
 That betwixt doth chafe and roll ; 
 
 And its dark waves rising ever 
 Strike a horror to my soul ! 
 
 See a skiff on wild wave heaving ! 
 
 But no sailor walks the mole. 
 Quick into it, firm believing, 
 
 For its sails they have a soul ! 
 Thou must trust, nor wait to ponder : 
 
 God will give no pledge in hand ; 
 Nought but miracle bears yonder 
 
 To the lovely wonderland ! 
 
FROM GOETHE. 
 
FROM GOETHE. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 Poems 69 
 
 Legend 69 
 
 The Castle on the Mountain. . . 72 
 
FROM GOETHE. 
 
 TOEMS. 
 
 Poems are painted window-panes : 
 
 Look from the square into the church — 
 
 Gloom and dusk are all your gains ! 
 
 Sir Philistine is left in the lurch : 
 
 Outside he stands — spies nothing or use of it, 
 
 And nought is left him save the abuse of it. 
 
 But you, I pray you, just step in ; 
 Make in the chapel your obeisance : 
 All at once 'tis a radiant pleasaunce ; 
 Device and story flash to presence ; 
 A gracious splendour works to win. 
 This to God's children is full measure : 
 It edifies and gives them pleasure. 
 
 LEGEND. 
 
 AFTER THE MANNER OF HANS SACHS. 
 
 While yet unknown, and very low, 
 Our Lord on earth went to and fro ; 
 And some of his scholars his word so good 
 Very strangely misunderstood — 
 
 69 
 
70 From Goethe. 
 
 He much preferred to hold his court 
 In streets and places of resort, 
 Because under the heaven's face 
 Words better and freer flow apace : 
 There he gave them the highest lore 
 Out of his holy mouth in store ; 
 Wondrously, by parable and example, 
 Made every market-place a temple. 
 
 So faring, in his heart content, 
 
 Once with them to a town he went — 
 
 Saw something blinking on the way, 
 
 And there a broken horse-shoe lay ! 
 
 He said thereon St. Peter to, 
 
 " Prithee now, pick up that shoe." 
 
 St. Peter was not in fitting mood : 
 
 He had been dreaming all the road 
 
 Some stuff about ruling of the world, 
 
 Round which so many brains are twirled — 
 
 For in the head it seems so easy ! 
 
 And with it his thoughts were often busy ; 
 
 Therefore the finding was much too mean : 
 
 Crown and sceptre it should have been ! 
 
 He was not one his back to bow 
 
 After half an iron-shoe ! 
 
 Therefore aside his head he bended, 
 
 And that he had not heard pretended. 
 
 In his forbearance the Lord did stoop 
 And lift himself the horse-shoe up j 
 Then for the present he did wait. 
 But when they reach the city-gate, 
 He goes up to a blacksmith's door, 
 Receives three pence the horse-shoe for ; 
 And as they through the market fare, 
 Seeing for sale fine cherries there, 
 
Legend. 71 
 
 He buys of them so few or so many 
 As they will give for a three-penny ; 
 Which he, thereon, after his way, 
 Up in his sleeve did quietly lay. 
 
 Now, from the other gate, they trod 
 
 Through fields and meads a houseless road ; 
 
 The path of trees was desolate, 
 
 The sun shone out, the heat was great ; 
 
 So that one in a region such 
 
 For a drink of water had given much. 
 
 The Lord goes ever before them all, 
 
 And as by chance lets a cherry fall : 
 
 In a trice St. Peter was after it there 
 
 As if a golden apple it were ! 
 
 Sweet to his palate was the berry. 
 
 Then by and by, another cherry 
 
 Down on the ground the Master sends, 
 
 For which St. Peter as quickly bends. 
 
 So, many a time, the Lord doth let 
 
 Him bend his back a cherry to get. 
 
 A long time thus He let him glean ; 
 
 Then said the Lord, with look serene : 
 
 " If at the right time thou hadst bent, 
 
 Thou hadst found it more convenient ! 
 
 Of little things who little doth make 
 
 For lesser things must trouble take." 
 
72 From Goethe. 
 
 THE CASTLE ON THE MOUNTAIN. 
 
 Up there, upon yonder mountain. 
 Stands a castle old, in the gorse, 
 
 Where once, behind doors and portals, 
 Lurking lay knight and horse. 
 
 Burnt are the doors and the portals ; 
 
 All round it is very still ; 
 Its old walls, tumbled in ruins, 
 
 I scramble about at my will. 
 
 Close hereby lay a cellar 
 
 Full of wine that was old and rare ; 
 But the cheery maid with the pitchers 
 
 No more comes down the stair ; 
 
 No more in the hall, sedately 
 Sets the beaker before the guest ; 
 
 No more at the festival stately, 
 The flagon fills for the priest ; 
 
 No more to the page so thirsty 
 Gives a draught in the corridor • 
 
 And receives for the hurried favour 
 The hurried thanks no more. 
 
 For every rafter and ceiling 
 
 Long ago were to ashes burned, 
 
 And stair and passage and chapel 
 To rubbish and ruin turned. 
 
The Castle on the Mountain 73 
 
 Yet when, with flask and cittern, 
 On a day in the summer's prime, 
 
 Up to the rocky summit 
 
 I watched my darling climb — 
 
 Out came the old joy reviving 
 
 On the face of the ancient rest, 
 And on went the old life driving, 
 
 In its lordliness and zest ; 
 
 It seemed as for strangers distinguished 
 Their state-rooms they did prepare, 
 
 And out of that brave time, shadowy 
 Came stepping a youthful pair. 
 
 And the worthy priest in his chapel 
 
 Stood already in priestly dress, 
 And asked — Will you two take one another? 
 
 And smiling we answered — Yes; 
 
 And the hymns with deep pulsation 
 
 Stirred every heart at once ; 
 And instead of the congregation 
 
 The echo yelled response. 
 
 And when, in the gathered evening, 
 
 Profound the stillness grew, 
 And the red-glowing sun at the broken 
 
 Gable came peering through, 
 
 Then damsel and page, in his rays, are 
 
 Grandees of the olden prime ; 
 She tastes of his cup at her leisure, 
 
 And he to thank her takes time. 
 
FROM UHLAND. 
 
FROM UHLAND. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Lost Church 77 
 
 The Dream 79 
 
FROM UHLAND. 
 
 THE LOST CHURCH. 
 
 In the far forest, overhead, 
 
 A bell is often heard obscurely ; 
 How long since first, no one can tell — 
 
 Nor can report explain it surely : 
 From the lost church, the rumour hath, 
 
 Out on the winds the ringing goeth ; 
 Once full of pilgrims was the path — 
 
 Now where to find it, no one knoweth. 
 
 Deep in the wood I lately went 
 
 Where no foot-trodden way is lying ; 
 From times corrupt, on evil bent, 
 
 My heart to God went out in sighing : 
 There, in the wild wood's deep repose, 
 
 I heard the ringing somewhat nearer ; 
 The higher that my longing rose 
 
 Its peal grew fuller and came clearer. 
 
 My thoughts upon themselves did brood ; 
 
 My sense was with the sound so busy 
 That I have never understood 
 
 How I did climb that steep so dizzy. 
 It seemed more than a hundred years 
 
 Had passed me over, dreaming, sighing- 
 When far above the clouds appears 
 
 An open space in sunlight lying. 
 
78 From Uhland. 
 
 Dark-blue the heavens above it bowed ; 
 
 The sun was radiant, large, and glowing 
 And, see, a minster's structure proud 
 
 Stood in the rich light, golden showing. 
 The clouds around it, sunny-clear, 
 
 Seemed bearing it aloft like pinions ; 
 Its spire-point seemed to disappear, 
 
 Slow vanishing in heaven's dominions. 
 
 The bell's clear tones, of rapture full, 
 
 Boomed in the tower and made it quiver ; 
 No mortal hand that rope did pull — 
 
 A dumb storm made it swing and shiver. 
 It seemed to heave my throbbing breast, 
 
 That heavenly storm with torrent blended 
 With wavering step, yet hopeful quest, 
 
 Into the church my way I wended. 
 
 What met me there as in I trode 
 
 With syllables cannot be painted ; 
 Darksome yet clear, the windows glowed 
 
 With forms of all the martyrs sainted. 
 Then saw I, radiantly unfurled, 
 
 Form swell to life and break its barriers ; 
 I looked abroad into a world 
 
 Of holy women and Gobi's warriors. 
 
 Down at the altar I kneeled soft, 
 
 With love and prayer my heart allegiant : 
 Upon the ceiling, far aloft, 
 
 Was painted Heaven's resplendent pageant ; 
 But when again I lift mine eyes, 
 
 Lo, the high vault has flown asunder ! 
 The upward gate wide open lies, 
 
 And every veil unveils a wonder. 
 
The Dream. 79 
 
 What gloriousness I then beheld 
 
 With silent worship, speechless wonder ; 
 What blessed sounds upon me swelled, 
 
 Like organs' and like trumpets' thunder — 
 No human words could ever tell ! — 
 
 But who for such is sighing sorest, 
 Let him give heed unto the bell 
 
 That dimly soundeth in the forest. 
 
 THE T>REAM. 
 
 In a garden sweet went walking 
 
 Two lovers hand in hand ; 
 Two pallid figures, low talking, 
 
 They sat in the flowery land. 
 
 They kissed on the cheek one another, 
 And they kissed upon the mouth ; 
 
 They held in their arms each the other, 
 And back came their health and youth. 
 
 Two little bells rang shrilly — 
 And the lovely dream was dead ! 
 
 She lay in the cloister chilly ; 
 He afar on his dungeon-bed. 
 
FROM HEINE. 
 
FROM HEINE. 
 
 
 
 PAGE 
 
 LlEDER, IV. . 
 
 
 83 
 
 Lyrisches Intermezzo, 
 
 xxxviii. 
 
 83 
 
 »> 55 
 
 XLI. . 
 
 84 
 
 )» )» 
 
 XLV. . 
 
 S5 
 
 >J ) J 
 
 LXIV. . 
 
 85 
 
 Die Heimkehr, lx. . 
 
 
 87 
 
 ,, LXII. 
 
 
 87 
 
 Die Nordsee, First Cycle, xii. 
 
 88 
 
FROM HEINE, 
 
 LIEDER. 
 
 IV. 
 
 Thy little hand lay on my bosom, dear : 
 
 What a knocking in that little chamber ! — dost hear ? 
 
 There dwelleth a carpenter evil, and he 
 
 Is hard at work on a coffin for me. 
 
 He hammers and knocks by night and by day ; 
 Tis long since he drove all my sleep away : 
 Ah, haste thee, carpenter, busy keep, 
 That I the sooner may go to sleep ! 
 
 LTRISCHES INTERMEZZO. 
 
 XXXVIII. 
 
 The phantoms of times forgotten 
 
 Arise from out their grave, 
 And show me how once in thy presence 
 
 I lived the life it gave. 
 
 In the day I wandered dreaming, 
 
 Through the streets with unsteady foot ; 
 
 The people looked at me in wonder, 
 I was so mournful and mute. 
 
 33 
 
 ' 
 
84 From Heine. 
 
 At night, then it was better, 
 For empty was the town ; 
 
 I and my shadow together 
 
 Walked speechless up and down. 
 
 My way, with echoing footstep, 
 Over the bridge I took ; 
 
 The moon broke out of the waters, 
 And gave me a meaning look. 
 
 I stopped before thy dwelling, 
 And gazed, and gazed again — 
 
 Stood staring up at thy window, 
 My heart was in such pain. 
 
 I know that thou from thy window 
 Didst often look downward — and 
 
 Sawest me, there in the moonlight, 
 A motionless pillar stand. 
 
 XLI. 
 
 I dreamt of the daughter of a king, 
 With white cheeks tear-bewetted ; 
 
 We sat 'neath the lime-tree's leavy ring, 
 In love's embraces netted. 
 
 " I would not have thy father's throne, 
 His crown or his golden sceptre ; 
 
 I want my lovely princess alone — 
 
 From Fate that so long hath kept her." 
 
 " That cannot be," she said to me : 
 " I lie in the grave uncheerly ; 
 
 And only at night I come to thee, 
 Because I love thee so dearly." 
 
Lyrisches Intermezzo. 85 
 
 XLV. 
 
 In the sunny summer morning 
 
 Into the garden I come ; 
 The flowers are whispering and talking, 
 
 But for me, I wander dumb. 
 
 The flowers are whispering and talking ; 
 
 They pity my look so wan : 
 " Thou must not be cross with our sister, 
 
 Thou sorrowful, pale-faced man ! " 
 
 LXIV. 
 
 Night lay upon mine eyelids ; 
 
 Upon my mouth lay lead ; 
 With rigid brain and bosom, 
 
 I lay among the dead. 
 
 How long it was I know not 
 That sleep oblivion gave ; 
 
 I wakened up, and, listening, 
 
 Heard a knocking at my grave. 
 
 " Tis time to rise up, Henry ! 
 
 The eternal day draws on ; 
 The dead are all arisen — 
 
 The eternal joy's begun." 
 
 II My love, I cannot raise me ; 
 
 For I have lost my sight : 
 My eyes with bitter weeping 
 They are extinguished quite." 
 
86 From Heine. 
 
 " From thy dear eyelids, Henry, 
 
 I'll kiss the night away ; 
 Thou shalt behold the angels, 
 
 And Heaven's superb display." 
 
 " My love, I cannot raise me ; 
 
 Still bleeds my bosom gored, 
 Where thou heart-deep didst stab me 
 
 With a keen-pointed word." 
 
 " Soft I will lay it, Henry, 
 My hand soft on thy heart ; 
 
 And that will stop its bleeding, 
 And soothe at once the smart." 
 
 " My love, I cannot raise me — 
 My head is bleeding too ; 
 
 When thou wast stolen from me 
 I shot it through and through ! " 
 
 " I with my tresses, Henry, 
 Will stop the fountain red ; 
 
 Press back again the blood-stream, 
 And heal thy wounded head." 
 
 She begged so sweetly, dearly, 
 
 I could no more say no ; 
 I tried, I strove to raise me, 
 
 And to my darling go. 
 
 Then the wounds again burst open ; 
 
 With torrent force outbrake 
 From head and breast the blood-stream, 
 
 And, lo, I came awake ! 
 
Die Heimkehr. 87 
 
 DIE HEIMKEHR. 
 
 LX. 
 
 They have company this evening, 
 And the house is full of light ; 
 
 Up there at the shining window 
 Moves a shadowy form in white. 
 
 Thou seest me not — in the darkness 
 I stand here below, apart ; 
 
 Yet less, ah less thou seest 
 Into my gloomy heart ! 
 
 My gloomy heart it loves thee, 
 Loves thee in every spot : 
 
 It breaks, it bleeds, it shudders — 
 But into it thou seest not ! 
 
 LXII. 
 
 Diamonds hast thou, and pearls, 
 And all by which men lay store ; 
 
 And of eyes thou hast the fairest — 
 Darling, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
 Upon thine eyes so lovely 
 Have I a whole army-corps 
 
 Of undying songs composed — 
 Dearest, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
 And with thine eyes so lovely 
 Thou hast tortured me very sore, 
 
 And hast ruined me altogether — 
 Darling, what wouldst thou more ? 
 
88 From Heine. 
 
 <DIE V^ORDSEE. 
 
 FIRST CYCLE. 
 XII. 
 
 PEACE* 
 
 High in heaven the sun was glowing, 
 
 White cloud-waves were round him flowing ; 
 
 The sea was still and gray. 
 
 Thinking in dreams, by the helm I lay : 
 
 Half waking, half in slumber, then 
 
 Saw I Christ, the Saviour of men. 
 
 In undulating garments white 
 
 He walked in giant shape and height 
 
 Over land and sea. 
 
 High in the heaven up towered his head ; 
 
 His hands in blessing forth he spread 
 
 Over land and sea. 
 
 And for a heart, in his breast 
 
 He bore the sun ; there did it rest. 
 
 The red, flaming heart of the Lord 
 
 Out its gracious radiance poured, 
 
 Its fair and love-caressing light 
 
 With illuminating and warming might 
 
 Over land and sea. 
 
 Sounds of solemn bells that go 
 Through the air to and fro, 
 Drew, like swans in rosy traces, 
 With soft, solemn, stately graces, 
 
 * I have here used rimes although the original has none. With 
 notions of translating severer now than when, many years ago, I 
 attempted this poem, I should not now take such a liberty. In a few 
 other points also the translation is not quite close enough to please me ; 
 but it must stand. 
 
Die Nordsee. 89 
 
 The gliding ship to the green shore — 
 Peopled, for many a century hoar, 
 By men who dwell at rest in a mighty 
 Far-spreading and high-towered city. 
 
 Oh, wonder of peace, how still was the town ! 
 The hollow tumult had all gone down 
 Of the babbling and stifling trades ; 
 And through each clean and echoing street 
 Walked men and women, and youths and maids, 
 White clothes wearing, 
 Palm branches bearing ; 
 And ever and always when two did meet, 
 They gazed with eyes that plain did tell 
 They understood each other well ; 
 And trembling, in self-renouncement and love, 
 Each a kiss on the other's forehead laid, 
 And looked up to the Saviour's sunheart above, 
 Which, in joyful atoning, its red blood rayed 
 Down upon all ; and the people said, 
 From hearts with threefold gladness blest, 
 Lauded be Jesus Christ ! 
 
FROM VON SALIS-SEEWIS. 
 
FROM VON SALIS-SEEWIS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Grave 93 
 
 Psyche's Mourning . .... 94 
 
FROM VON SALIS-SEEWIS. 
 
 THE ^RAVE. 
 
 The grave is deep and soundless, 
 Its brink is ghastly lone ; 
 
 With veil all dark and boundless 
 It hides a land unknown. 
 
 The nightingale's sweet closes 
 Down there come not at all ; 
 
 And friendship's withered roses 
 On the mossy hillock fall. 
 
 Their hands young brides forsaken 
 Wring bleeding there in vain ; 
 
 The cries of orphans waken 
 No answer to their pain. 
 
 Yet nowhere else for mortals 
 Dwells their implored repose ; 
 
 Through none but those dark portals 
 Home to his rest man goes. 
 
 The poor heart, here for ever 
 By storm on storm beat sore, 
 
 Its true peace gaineth never 
 But where it beats no more. 
 
 93 
 
94 From Von Salis-Seewis. 
 
 TSTCHE'S fMOURNING. 
 
 Psyche moans, in deep-sunk, darksome prison, 
 For redemption ; ah ! for light she aches ; 
 Fears, hopes, after every noise doth listen — 
 Whether Fate her bars of iron breaks. 
 
 Bound are Psyche's pinions — airy, soaring j 
 Yet high-hearted is she, groaning low ; 
 Knows that under clouds whence rain is pouring 
 Sprouts the palm that crowns the victor's brow ; 
 
 Knows among the thorns the rose yet reigneth ; 
 Golden flowers spring from the desert grave 
 She her garland through denial gaineth, 
 And her strength is steeled by winds that rave. 
 
 'Tis through lack that she her blisses buyeth ; 
 Sorrow's dream comes true by longing long j 
 Lest light break the sleep wherein she lieth, 
 Round her tree of life the shadows throng. 
 
 Psyche's wail is but a fluted sadness 
 Heard from willows the moon silvereth ; 
 Psyche's tears are dews of morning redness, 
 And her sighs the sweet night-violet's breath ! 
 
 Yews o'ershade the myrtle of her probation ; 
 Much she loves for great has been her dole ; 
 Love leads through the paths of separation, 
 Leads her to reunion's joyous goal. 
 
 She endures ; bravely bears every burden, 
 Dumb before the will of Fate bends low ; 
 Lies her bliss the patient tranquil word in ; 
 Her one cordial, feeling's overflow ! 
 
Psyche's Mourning. 95 
 
 Preconviction — ah ! the call, the token, 
 Spreading wings the darksome sky to cleave ! 
 'Tis but boding ! 'tis but knowledge broken ! 
 Truth's but what she truly doth believe ! 
 
 Darkness hides the goal of Psyche's mission ; 
 For the eyes that tears so often gall 
 Reach not to the summit of completion 
 Where illusion's vaporous veil doth fall ! 
 
FROM CLAUDIUS. 
 
FROM CLAUDIUS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 The Mother by the Cradle .... 99 
 Contentment 99 
 
FROM CLAUDIUS. 
 
 THE MOTHER BY THE CRADLE. 
 
 Sleep, baby boy, sleep sweet, secure ; 
 
 Thy father's very miniature ! 
 That art thou, though thy father goes 
 And says that thou hast not his nose. 
 
 This very moment here was he, 
 
 His face o'er thine did pose, 
 And said — Much has he sure of me, 
 
 But no, 'tis not my nose. 
 
 I think myself, it is too small, 
 
 But it is his nose after all ; 
 
 For if thy nose his nose be not, 
 
 Whence came the nose that thou hast got ? 
 
 Sleep, boy ! thy father only chose 
 
 To tease me — that's his part ! 
 Never you mind about his nose, 
 
 But see you have his heart. 
 
 CONTENTMENT. 
 
 I am content. In triumph's tone 
 My song, let people know ! 
 
 And many a mighty man, with throne 
 And sceptre, is not so. 
 
 And if he is, why then, I cry, 
 
 The man is just the same as I. 
 
 99 
 
ioo From Claudius. 
 
 The Mogul's gold, the Sultan's show, 
 The hero's bliss, who, vext 
 
 To find no other world below, 
 Up to the moon looked next — 
 
 I'd none of them ; for things like that 
 
 Are only fit for laughing at. 
 
 My motto is — Content with this. 
 
 Gold — rank — I prize not such. 
 That which I have, my measure is ; 
 
 Wise men desire not much. 
 Men wish and wish, and have their will, 
 And wish again, as hungry still. 
 
 And gold or honour, though it rings, 
 
 Is but a brittle glass ; 
 Experience of changing things 
 
 Might teach a very ass ! 
 Right often Many turns to None, 
 And honour has but a short run. 
 
 To do right, to be good and clear, 
 Is more than rank and gold ; 
 
 Then art thou always of good cheer, 
 And blisses hast untold ; 
 
 Then art thou with thyself at one, 
 
 And hatest no man, fearest none. 
 
 I am content. In triumph's tone, 
 My song, let people know ! 
 
 And many a mighty man, with throne 
 And sceptre, is not so. 
 
 And if he is, why then, I cry, 
 
 The man is just the same as I. 
 
From the Dutch ioi 
 
 THREE TAIRS AND ONE. 
 
 FROM GENESTET. 
 
 You have two ears — and but one mouth : 
 
 Let this, friend, be a token — 
 Much should be heard, and not so much 
 Be spoken. 
 
 You have two eyes — and but one mouth : 
 
 That is an indication — 
 Much must you see, but little serves 
 Relation. 
 
 You have two hands — and but one mouth 
 
 Receive the hint you meet with — 
 For labour two, but only one 
 To eat with. 
 
102 From the German. 
 
 SONG OF THE LONELY. 
 
 Son, first-born, at home abiding ! 
 
 All without is cold and bare : 
 Hide me from the tempest's chiding 
 
 Warm beside the Father's chair. 
 
 I am homesick, Lord of splendour ! 
 
 Twilight fills my soul with fright : 
 Let thy countenance befriend her, 
 
 Shining from the halls of light. 
 
 I am homesick, loving Father ! 
 
 Long years hath the pain increased 
 Soon, oh soon ! thy children gather 
 
 To the endless marriage-feast. 
 
FROM PETRARCH. 
 
From Petrarch. 105 
 
 PART I. SONNET LIX. 
 
 I am so weary with the burden old 
 
 Of foregone faults, and power of custom base, 
 
 That much I fear to perish from the ways, 
 
 And fall into my enemy's grim fold. 
 
 True, a high friend, to free me, not with gold, 
 
 Came, of ineffable and utmost grace — 
 
 Then straightway vanished from before my face, 
 
 So that in vain I strive him to behold. 
 
 But his voice yet comes echoing below : 
 
 O ye that labour, the way open lies ! 
 
 Come unto me lest some one shut the gate ! 
 
 — What heavenly grace — what love will — or what fate- 
 
 The pinions of a dove on me bestow 
 
 That I may rest, and from the earth arise? 
 
io6 From Petrarch. 
 
 PART II. SONNET LXXV. 
 
 The elect angels and the souls in bliss, 
 The citizens of heaven, when, that first day, 
 My lady passed from me and went their way, 
 Of marvel and pity full, did round her press. 
 "What light is this, and what new loveliness?" 
 They said among them ; " for such sweet display 
 Did never mount, that from the earth did stray 
 To this high dwelling, all this age, we guess ! " * 
 She, well content her lodging chang'd to find, 
 Shows perfect, by her peers most perfect placed ; 
 And now and then half turning looks behind 
 To see if I walk in the way she traced : 
 Hence I lift heavenward all my heart and mind 
 Because I hear her pray me to make haste. 
 
 * Pure English of Petrarch's time. 
 
MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS. 
 
 The Italian scholar will understand that the retention of 
 the feminine rimes in translation from this language is an 
 impossibility. 
 
MILTON'S ITALIAN POEMS. 
 
 O lady fair, whose honoured name doth grace 
 Green vale and noble ford of Rheno's stream — 
 Of all worth void the man I surely deem 
 Whom thy fair soul enamoureth not apace, 
 When softly self-revealed to time and space 
 By actions sweet with which thy will doth teem, 
 And fair gifts that Love's bow and arrows seem — 
 But are the flowers that crown thy perfect race. 
 When thou dost lightsome talk or gladsome sing,- 
 A power to draw the hill-trees, rooted hard — 
 The doors of eyes and ears let that man keep 
 Who knows himself unworthy thy regard ! 
 Grace from above alone him help can bring 
 That Passion in his heart strike not too deep. 
 
 ii 
 
 As in the twilight brown, on hillside bare, 
 
 Useth to go the little shepherd maid, 
 
 Watering some strange fair plant, poorly displayed, 
 
 111 thriving in unwonted soil and air 
 109 
 
no Milton's Italian Poems. 
 
 Far from its native springtime's genial care ; 
 
 So on my ready tongue hath Love assayed 
 
 In a strange speech to wake new flower and blade, 
 
 While I of thee, proud yet so debonair, 
 
 Sing songs whose sense is to my people lost — 
 
 Yield the fair Thames, and the fair Arno gain. 
 
 Love willed it so, and I, at others' cost, 
 
 Already knew Love never willed in vain : 
 
 Would my heart slow and bosom hard were found 
 
 To him who plants from heaven so fair a ground ! 
 
 in. 
 
 CANZONE. 
 
 Ladies, and youths that in their favour bask, 
 
 With mocking smiles come round me : Prithee, why. 
 
 Why dost thou with an unknown language cope, 
 
 Love-riming ? Whence thy courage for the task ? 
 
 Tell us — so never frustrate be thy hope, 
 
 And the best thought still to thy thinking fly ! 
 
 Thus me they mock : Thee other streams, they cry, 
 
 Thee other shores, another sea demands 
 
 Upon whose verdant strands 
 
 Are budding, even this moment, for thy hair 
 
 Immortal guerdon, bays that will not die : 
 
 An over-burden on thy back why bear? — 
 
 Song, I will tell thee ; thou for me reply : 
 
 My lady saith — and her word is my heart — 
 
 This is Love's mother-tongue, and fits his part. 
 
Milton's Italian Poems. hi 
 
 IV. 
 
 Diodati — and I muse to tell the tale — 
 
 This stubborn I, that Love was wont despise 
 
 And make a laughter of his snares, unwise, 
 
 Am fallen — where honest feet will sometimes fail. 
 
 Not golden tresses, not a cheek vermeil, 
 
 Dazzle me thus ; but, in a new-world guise, 
 
 A foreign Fair my heart beatifies — 
 
 With mien where high-souled modesty I hail ; 
 
 Eyes softly splendent with a darkness dear ; 
 
 A speech that more than one tongue vassal hath ; 
 
 A voice that in the middle hemisphere 
 
 Might make the tired moon wander from her path ; 
 
 While from her eyes such gracious flashes shoot 
 
 That stopping hard my ears were little boot. 
 
 Certes, my lady sweet, your blessed eyes — 
 
 It cannot be but that they are my sun ; 
 
 As strong they smite me as he smites upon 
 
 The man whose way o'er Libyan desert lies, 
 
 The while a vapour hot doth me surprise 
 
 From that side springing where my pain doth won : 
 
 Perchance accustomed lovers — I am none 
 
 And know not — in their speech call such things sighs: 
 
 A part shut in, sore vexed, itself conceals, 
 
 And shakes my bosom ; part, undisciplined, 
 
 Breaks forth, and all around to ice congeals ; 
 
 But that which to mine eyes the way doth find, 
 
 Makes all my nights in silent showers abound, 
 
 Until my dawn * returns, with roses crowned. 
 
 * Alba — where I suspect a hint at the lady's name. 
 
ii2 Milton's Italian Poems. 
 
 VI. 
 
 A modest youth, in love a simpleton, 
 When to escape myself I seek and shift, 
 Lady, I of my heart the humble gift 
 Vow unto thee. In trials many a one, 
 True, brave, I've found it, firm to things begun : 
 By gracious, prudent, worthy thoughts uplift. 
 When roars the great world, in the thunder-rift, 
 Its own self, armour adamant, it will don, 
 From chance and envy as securely barred, 
 From fears and hopes that still the crowd abuse, 
 As inward gifts and high worth coveting, 
 And the resounding lyre, and every Muse : 
 There only wilt thou find it not so hard 
 Where Love hath fixed his ever cureless sting. 
 
LUTHER'S SONG-BOOK. 
 
 H 
 
Luther's Song-Book. 115 
 
 DAME MUSIC. 
 
 Of all the joys earth possesses, 
 None the gladness fine surpasses 
 Which I give you with my singing, 
 And with much harmonious ringing. 
 
 An evil spirit cannot dwell 
 Where companions are singing well j 
 Here strife, wrath, envy, hate, are not ; 
 Every heartache must leave the spot : 
 Greed, care, all things that hard oppress 
 Troop off with great unwillingness. 
 
 Also each man is free to this — 
 For such a joy no trespass is, 
 God himself pleasing better far 
 Than all the joys on earth that are ; 
 It breaks the toils by Satan spun, 
 And many a murder keeps undone. 
 
 Of this, King David is the proof, 
 Who often Saul did hold aloof, 
 All with his harping sweet and well, 
 That he not into murder fell. 
 
 For God's own truth, in word and will 
 It makes the heart ready and still ; 
 That knew Elisha well, I wot, 
 When he the Spirit by harping got 
 
u6 
 
 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 The best time of the year is mine, 
 When all the little birds sing fine, 
 Fill heaven and earth full of their strain 
 Much good singing is going then ; 
 The nightingale the lead she takes, 
 And everything right merry makes 
 With her gladsome lovely song, 
 For which great thanks to her belong. 
 
 But more to our dear Lord God, much, 
 Who has created the bird such, 
 A songstress of the true right sort, 
 A mistress of the music-art : 
 She sings and springs, both nights and days, 
 To him, not weary of his praise. 
 Him lauding come my songs as well, 
 My everlasting thanks to tell. 
 
LUTHER'S SONG-BOOK. 
 
 PACE 
 
 I. Advent 119 
 
 II. Christmas 121 
 
 III. Epiphany 127 
 
 IV. Easter 128 
 
 V. Pentecost 131 
 
 VI. The Trinity 134 
 
 VII. The Church and Word of God . 136 
 
 VIII. Grace 147 
 
 IX. The Commandments 152 
 
 X. The Creed 156 
 
 XI. Prayer 158 
 
 XII. Baptism 163 
 
 XIII. Repentance . ... . .166 
 
 XIV. The Lord's Supper 168 
 
 XV. Death 171 
 
 XVI. The Praise of God 174 
 
 Of Life at Court . 177 
 
LUTHER'S SONG-BOOK. 
 I. 
 
 JDFENT. 
 
 Come, saviour of nations wild, 
 Of the maiden owned the child 
 That may wonder all the earth 
 God should grant it such a birth. 
 
 Not of man's flesh or man's blood 
 
 Only of the Spirit of God 
 
 Is God's Word a man become, 
 
 And blooms the fruit of woman's womb. 
 
 Maiden, she was found with child, 
 Nor was chastity defiled ; 
 Many a virtue from her shone : 
 God was there upon his throne. 
 
 From that chamber of content, 
 Royal palace pure, he went ; 
 God by kind, in human grace 
 Forth he comes to run his race. 
 
 From the Father came his road, 
 And returns again to God ; 
 Unto hell it did go down, 
 Up then to the Father's throne. 
 
120 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Thou, the Father's form express, 
 Get thee victory in the flesh, 
 That thy godlike power in us 
 Make sick flesh victorious. 
 
 Shines thy manger bright and fair ; 
 Sets the night a new star there : 
 Darkness thence must keep away ; 
 Faith dwells ever in the day. 
 
 Honour unto God be done ; 
 Honour to his only son ; 
 Honour to the Holy Ghost, 
 Now, and ever, ending not. Amen. 
 
Christmas. 121 
 
 II. 
 
 CHRISTMAS. 
 
 1. 
 
 Jesus we now must laud and sing, 
 The maiden Mary's son and king, 
 Far as the blessed sun doth shine, 
 And reaches to earth's utmost line.* 
 
 The blessed maker of all we view 
 On him a servant's body drew, 
 The flesh to save at flesh's cost, 
 Else his creation had been lost. 
 
 From heaven high the Godlike grace 
 In the chaste mother found a place ; 
 A secret pledge a maiden bore — 
 A thing to earth unknown before. 
 
 The tender heart, house modest, low, 
 Straightway a temple of God did grow : 
 Whom never man hath touched or known 
 By God's word she with child is grown. 
 
 The noble mother hath brought forth 
 Whom Gabriel promised to the earth ; 
 Him John did greet in joyous way 
 While in his mother's womb he lay. 
 
 * Luther's own construction. 
 
122 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Right poorly lies in hay the boy ; 
 Th' hard manger him did not annoy ; 
 A little milk made him content 
 Away who no bird hungry sent. 
 
 Therefore the heavenly choir is loud ; 
 The angels sing their praise to God, 
 And tell poor men their flocks who keep 
 He's come who made and keeps their sheep. 
 
 Praise, honour, thanks, to thee be said, 
 Christ Jesus, born of holy maid ! 
 With God the Father and Holy Ghost, 
 Now and for ever, ending not. Amen ! 
 
 & %on$ of Picatee for tljc TBtrt^j of our JLorn 3le*u0 CTjrtsst. 
 
 Praised be thou, O Jesus Christ, 
 That a man on earth thou liest ! 
 Born of a maiden — it is true — 
 In this exults the heavenly crew. 
 Kyrioleis.* 
 
 The Father's only son begot 
 In the man ger has his cot, 
 In our poor dying flesh and blood 
 Doth mask itself the eternal Good. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 *Kvpie ekiriabv : Lord, have mercy. 
 
Christmas. 123 
 
 Whom all the world could not enwrap 
 Lieth he in Mary's lap ; 
 A little child he now is grown 
 Who everything upholds alone. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Id him the eternal light breaks through, 
 Gives the world a glory new ; 
 A great light shines amid the night, 
 And makes us children of the light. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 The Father's son, so God his name, 
 A guest into this world he came ; 
 And leads us from the vale of tears : 
 He in his palace make us heirs. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Poor to the earth he cometh thus, 
 Pity so to take on us ; 
 And makes us rich in heaven above, 
 And like the angels of his love. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 All this for us hath Jesus done, 
 And his great love to us hath shown 
 Let Christendom rejoice therefore, 
 And give him thanks for evermore ! 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
124 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 hi. 
 
 a §>ong of tfje little C^iln Sleflttjs, for CfjtlDren at &Ijttetmas. 
 
 TAKEN OUT OF THE SECOND CHAPTER OF THE 
 GOSPEL OF ST. LUKE. 
 
 From heaven high I come to you, 
 I bring a story good and new : 
 Of goodly news so much I bring, 
 Of it I must both speak and sing. 
 
 To you a child is come this morn, 
 A child of chosen maiden born, 
 A little babe so sweet and mild 
 Your joy and bliss shall be that child. 
 
 'Tis the Lord Christ, our very God. 
 He will you ease of all your load ; 
 He'll be himself your Saviour sure 
 And from all sinning make you pure. 
 
 He brings you all the news so glad 
 Which God the Father ready had — 
 That you shall in his heavenly house 
 Live now and evermore with us. 
 
 Take heed then to the token sure — 
 The crib, the swaddling clothes so poor : 
 The infant you shall find laid there 
 Who all the world doth hold and bear. 
 
 Hence let us all be gladsome then, 
 And with the shepherd-folk go in 
 To see what God to us hath given 
 With his dear honoured Son from heaven. 
 
Christmas. 125 
 
 Take note, my heart ; see there ! look low : 
 What lies then in the manger so ? 
 Whose is the lovely little child ? 
 It is the darling Jesus-child. 
 
 Hail, noble guest in humble guise, 
 Poor sinners who didst not despise, 
 And com'st to me in misery ! 
 My thoughts must all be thanks to thee ! 
 
 Ah Lord ! the maker of us all ! 
 How hast thou grown so poor and small 
 That there thou liest on withered grass, 
 The supper of the ox and ass ! 
 
 Were the world wider many fold, 
 And decked with gems and cloth of gold, 
 'T were far too mean and narrow all 
 To be for thee a cradle small ! 
 
 The silk and velvet that are thine 
 Are rough hay, linen not too fine j 
 Thereon thou, king so rich and great, 
 Liest as if in heavenly state. 
 
 And this hath therefore pleased thee, 
 To make this truth right plain to me, 
 That all the world's power, honour, wealth 
 Are nothing to thy heart or health. 
 
 Ah, little Christ ! my heart's poor shed 
 Would make thee a soft, little bed : 
 Rest there as in a lowly shrine, 
 And make that heart for ever thine, 
 
 That so I always gladsome be, 
 Ready to dance, and sing to thee 
 The lullaby thou lovest best, 
 With sweetest hymn for dearest guest. 
 
126 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Glory to God on highest throne 
 Who gave to us his only Own ! 
 For this the angel troop sings in 
 A New Year with gladsome din 
 
 IV. 
 
 another <£T)risit>%ong;. 
 
 From heaven the angel-troop come near 
 And to the shepherds plain appear : 
 A tender little child, they cry, 
 In a rough manger lies hard by, 
 
 In Bethlehem, David's town of old, 
 As Prophet Micah has foretold ; 
 Tis the Lord Jesus Christ, I wis, 
 Who of you all the saviour is. 
 
 And ye may well break out in mirth 
 That God is one with you henceforth ; 
 For he is born your flesh and blood — 
 Your brother is the eternal Good. 
 
 He will nor can from you go hence ; 
 Put you in him your confidence. 
 However many you assail, 
 Defy them — He can never fail ! 
 
 What can death do to you, or sin ? 
 The true God is to you come in. 
 Let hell and Satan raging go — 
 The Son of God's your comrade now ! 
 
 At last you must approval win, 
 For you are now become God's kin : 
 For this go thanking God alway, 
 Happy and patient every day. Amen. 
 
Epiphany. 127 
 
 III. 
 
 EPIPHANY. 
 
 Herod, why dreadest thou a foe 
 Because the Christ comes born below ? 
 He seeks no mortal kingdom thus, 
 But brings his kingdom down to us. 
 
 After the star the wise men go : 
 
 That light the true light them did show ; 
 
 They signify with presents three 
 
 This child — God, Man, and King to be. 
 
 In Jordan baptism he did take, 
 
 This Lamb of God, for our poor sake ; 
 
 Thus he who never did a sin 
 
 Hath washed us clean both out and in. 
 
 A miracle straightway befell : 
 Six pots of stone — they saw, who tell — 
 Of water full, which, changing, heard 
 And turned to red wine at his word. 
 
 Praise, honour, thanks to thee be said, 
 Jesus, born of the holy maid ! 
 With the Father and the Holy Ghost, 
 Now, and henceforward, evermore. Amen. 
 
i28 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 IV. 
 EASTER. 
 
 i. 
 
 Death held our Lord in prison 
 
 For sin that did undo us ; 
 
 But he hath up arisen 
 
 And brought our life back to us. 
 
 Therefore must we gladsome be, 
 
 Praise our God, and thankful be, 
 
 And sing out halleluja ! Halleluja ! 
 
 No man yet Death overcame — 
 
 All sons of men were helpless ; 
 
 Sin for this was all to blame, 
 
 For no one yet was guiltless. 
 
 So Death came that early hour, 
 
 Over us took up the power, 
 
 Us held in's kingdom captive. Halleluja 
 
 Jesus Christ, God's only Son, 
 
 Into our place descending, 
 
 Away with all our sins hath done, 
 
 And therewith from Death rending 
 
 Right and might, made him a jape, 
 
 Left him nothing but Death's shape : 
 
 His ancient sting — he has lost it : Halleluja ! 
 
Easter. 129 
 
 That was a right wondrous strife 
 
 When Death in Life's grip wallowed : 
 
 Off victorious came Life, 
 
 Death he hath upswallowed. 
 
 Scripture itself has told us that — 
 
 How one Death the other ate : * 
 
 Now is Death become a laughter. Halleluja ! 
 
 Here is the true Easter-lamb, 
 
 That God said must be shared, 
 
 Which up on the cross's stem 
 
 In Love's fire is prepared. 
 
 His blood on our door-post lies ; 
 
 Faith holds that before Death's eyes : 
 
 The destroyer dares not touch us : Halleluja ! 
 
 So we keep high feast of grace ! 
 
 Hearty the joy and glee is 
 
 That shines on us from his face : 
 
 The sun himself, ah ! he is, 
 
 Who, by his brightness divine, 
 
 Through and through makes our hearts shine : 
 
 The night of our sins is over. Halleluja ! 
 
 We eat — and well so we fare — 
 
 True Easter cakes sans leaven ; 
 
 For th' old leaven shall not share 
 
 In the new word from heaven. 
 
 Christ himself will be the food, 
 
 He alone fill us with good : 
 
 Faith will live on nothing other. Halleluja 
 
 * Certain eastern tales of rival enchanters seem to have been present 
 to Luther's mind when he thought of our Lord as the Death of Evil 
 devouring the Death of Good. I have translated very closely. 
 
 I 
 
130 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 ii. 
 
 a %>oxi$ of Praise for <£a$ttu 
 
 Jesus Christ, our Saviour true 
 He who Death overthrew, 
 Is up arisen, 
 
 And sin hath put in prison. 
 Kyrieeleison. 
 
 Born whom Mary sinless hath, 
 Bore he for us God's wrath, 
 Hath reconciled us : 
 Favour God doth now yield us. 
 Kyrieeleison. 
 
 Death and sin, and life and grace, 
 All to his hands we trace : 
 He can deliver 
 All who seek the life-giver. 
 Kyrieeleison. 
 
Pentecost. 13 1 
 
 v. 
 
 TENTECOST. 
 
 Come, God, Creator, Holy Ghost, 
 
 Visit the heart of all thy men ; 
 
 Fill them with grace the way thou know'st : 
 
 What was thine, make so again ; 
 
 Our Comforter to soothe or chide ; 
 
 The blessed gift of highest God ! 
 
 A ghostly chrism to us applied, 
 
 Live streams — fire — love spread abroad ! 
 
 O kindle in our minds a light ; 
 Give in our hearts love's glowing gift ; 
 Our weak flesh, known to thee aright, 
 With thy strength and grace uplift. 
 
 In giving gifts thou art sevenfold — 
 The finger thou on God's right hand ! 
 His word by thee right soon is told 
 With clov'n tongues in every land. 
 
 Drive far the cunning of the foe ; 
 
 Thy grace bring peace and make us whole, 
 
 That we glad after thee may go, 
 
 And shun that which hurts the soul. 
 
132 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Teach us to know the Father right, 
 And Jesus Christ, his son, that so 
 We may with faith be filled quite, 
 Spirit of both, thee to know ! 
 
 Praise God the Father, and the Son 
 Who from the dead arose in power ; 
 Like praise to the Consoling One, 
 Evermore and every hour ! Amen. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Come, Holy Spirit, Lord and God, 
 Fill full with thine own gracious good 
 Thy faithful ones' heart, mind, desire ! 
 Light in them of thy love the fire. 
 O Lord, through thy light, flashing fast, 
 Into the faith thou gathered hast 
 People of all tongues under heaven : 
 That to thy glory, Lord, be given ! 
 Halleluja! Halleluja ! 
 
 Thou holy light, retreat from strife, 
 Cause shine on us the word of life, 
 That we the truth of God gather, 
 Call him heartily our Father. 
 O Lord, protect us from strange lore, 
 That we for teachers seek no more, 
 But with true faith Jesus solely, 
 And him with all our might trust wholly : 
 Halleluja! Halleluja! 
 
 Thou holy fire, thou comfort sweet, 
 Now help us ; with good cheer us meet ; 
 That in thy service nought shake us, 
 Trouble never leave thee make us. 
 
Pentecost. 133 
 
 O Lord, by thy might us prepare, 
 And make the weak flesh strong to bear, 
 That we strive * like knights campaigning, 
 Through death and life to thee straining : 
 Halleluja! Halleluja ! 
 
 ill. 
 
 3 ^ong of Praise. 
 
 Now let us pray the Holy Ghost, 
 Of all things, for the true faith most, 
 In that to preserve us when we are dying, 
 And going home out of this vale of crying : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thou noble light, shine as thou hast shone ; 
 Teach us to know Jesus Christ alone, 
 That we the true Saviour hold by the hand 
 Who us has brought to the real fatherland : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thou sweet Love, grant us thy favour, that so 
 We feel of thy love the inward glow, 
 That we from our hearts may love each the other, 
 Dwelling in peace, of one mind together : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Comfort highest, in danger or blame 
 Help us to fear neither death nor shame ; 
 Nor let weak senses with fears confuse us 
 When the enemy comes to accuse us : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 * The Scotch war sic would he perfect. 
 
134 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 VI. 
 
 THE TRINITT. 
 
 God, the Father, with us be, 
 Let us not fall to badness ; 
 Make us from all sinning free, 
 And help us die in gladness. 
 'Gainst the devil well us ware, 
 And keep our faith from failing, 
 Our hope in thee from quailing. 
 Our hearts upon thee staying, 
 Make us wholly trust thy care ! 
 Us, with good Christians sharing, 
 Save from the devil snaring, 
 Him with God's weapons daring. 
 Amen ! well now may we fare ! 
 Now sing we Halleluja ! 
 
 Jesus, Master, with us be, 
 
 Let us not fall to badness ; &c. 
 
 Holy Spirit, with us be, 
 
 Let us not fall to badness ; &c. 
 
The Trinity 135 
 
 11. 
 
 Thou who art three in unity, 
 
 A true God from eternity, 
 
 The sun's daylight withdraws his shine : 
 
 Lighten us with thy light divine. 
 
 At morn we praise thee with the day, 
 At evening, too, to thee we pray ; 
 Our poor song glorifieth thee 
 Now, ever, and eternally. 
 
 God, Father, always be adored ! 
 
 God, Son, thou art our only Lord ! 
 
 Thee Comforter, the Holy Ghost, 
 
 We praise now and for evermore ! Amen. 
 
136 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 VII. 
 
 THE CHURCH AND WORD OF qOD. 
 i. 
 
 Ah God, from heaven look down and view ; 
 
 Let it thy pity waken ; 
 
 Behold thy saints how very few ! 
 
 We wretches are forsaken. 
 
 Thy word they grant nor true nor right, 
 
 And faith is thus extinguished quite 
 
 Among the sons of Adam. 
 
 They teach a cunning false and fine — 
 In their own wits they found it ; 
 Their heart in one doth not combine, 
 Nor on God's word they ground it ; 
 One chooses this, the other that ; 
 Endless division they are at, 
 And yet they keep smooth faces. 
 
 God will outroot the teachers all 
 Who with false shows present us ; 
 Besides, their proud tongues loudly call — 
 Tush ! tush ! — who can prevent us ? 
 We have the right and might in full ; 
 And what we say, that is the rule ; 
 Who dares to give us lessons ! 
 
The Church and Word of God. 137 
 
 Therefore saith God : I must be up ; 
 
 My poor ones ill are faring ; 
 
 Their sighs crowd up to Zion's top, 
 
 My ear their cry is hearing. 
 
 My wholesome word shall speedily 
 
 With comfort fill them, fresh and free, 
 
 And strength be to the needy. 
 
 Silver that seven times is tried 
 
 With fire, is found the purer ; 
 
 God's word the same test must abide — 
 
 It still comes out the surer. 
 
 It shall by crosses proved be ; 
 
 Men shall its power and glory see 
 
 Shine strong upon the nations. 
 
 God will its purity defend 
 
 From this ill generation. 
 
 Let us ourselves to thee commend 
 
 Lest we fall from our station ; 
 
 The godless rout is all around 
 
 Where these rude wanton ones are found 
 
 Against thy folk exalted. 
 
 11. 
 
 3ET)e jFourtcentlj Psalm. 
 
 Although the fools say with their mouth 
 
 Great God, we magnify him ; 
 
 Their heart cares nothing for the truth, 
 
 In action they deny him. 
 
 Their being is corrupted quite ; 
 
 To God it is a horrid sight ; 
 
 Not one of them works goodness. 
 
138 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 From heaven God downward cast his eye 
 
 Upon men's sons so many ; 
 
 He set himself to look and spy 
 
 If he could find out any 
 
 Who their own reason up had stirred 
 
 Earnestly to obey God's word, 
 
 After his will enquiring. 
 
 Upon the right path there was none ; 
 From it they all were straying ; 
 Each followed fancies of his own, 
 Them to ill deeds bewraying. 
 Not one of them did good even once, 
 Though many, fooled by arrogance, 
 Thought God with them well pleased. 
 
 How long by lies will they be led 
 Who vain attempts redouble ! 
 They eat my people up as bread, 
 And live upon their trouble ! 
 In God stands not their confidence ; 
 From ill they ask not his defence : 
 They would themselves look after. 
 
 Therefore their heart is never still 
 But always full of fearing. 
 Dwell with the good the Father will, 
 Those who have ears for hearing. 
 But ye despise the poor man's ways, 
 And scorn at everything he says 
 Concerning God his comfort. 
 
The Church and Word of God. 139 
 
 Who will to Israel, poor flock — 
 
 To Zion send salvation ? 
 
 God will take pity on his folk, 
 
 And free his captive nation ; 
 
 That will he do through Christ his Son — 
 
 And then is Jacob's weeping done, 
 
 And Isr'el filled with gladness. Amen. 
 
 in. 
 
 Our God he is a castle strong, 
 A good mail-coat and weapon ; 
 He sets us free from every wrong 
 That wickedness would heap on. 
 The ancient wicked foe 
 He means earnest now ; 
 Force and cunning sly 
 His horrid policy, — 
 On earth there's no one like him ' 
 
 Our strength is vain ; do what we can 
 
 Our hopes are soon dejected ; 
 
 But He fights for us, the right man, 
 
 By God himself elected. 
 
 Ask'st thou who is this ? 
 
 Jesus Christ it is ; 
 
 He is the Lord of Hosts 
 
 In whom his people boasts ; 
 
 And he must win the battle. 
 
140 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 And did the world with devils swarm 
 
 All gaping to devour us, 
 
 We fear not from them the least harm ; 
 
 Success lies sure before us. 
 
 This world's prince accurst, 
 
 Let him rage his worst, 
 
 Only roars about ; 
 
 His doom it is gone out, 
 
 A word can overthrow him. 
 
 The Word they'll have to let it bide, 
 
 Nor there claim any merit ; 
 
 He is with us, and on our side 
 
 With his own gifts and spirit ! 
 
 Let them take our life, 
 
 Goods, name, child, and wife — 
 
 Everything may go : 
 
 To them it is no gain ; 
 
 The kingdom ours remaineth. 
 
 IV. 
 
 ^e i^untireD aim ^Ttoent^fourt}) P*alm. 
 
 Were God not with us all the time — 
 Israel may loud declare it — 
 Were God not with us all the time, 
 We must have now despaired ; 
 For we are such a little flock 
 Despised by such a crowd of folk, 
 Who all do set upon us ! 
 
 'Gainst us so angry is their mood, 
 If God had given them tether 
 Us they had swallowed where we stood, 
 Body and soul together. 
 
The Church and Word of God. 141 
 
 We should have been drowned all, like those 
 O'er whom the waters great did close, 
 And swept them off relentless. 
 
 Thank God ! their throat who did not let 
 
 Us swallow when it gaped ; 
 
 As from a snare a bird doth flit 
 
 So is our soul escaped. 
 
 The snare's in two, and we are through : 
 
 The name of God it standeth true, 
 
 The God of earth and heaven. Amen. 
 
 v. 
 
 GUjiltiren'jJ .Song, to §>inp; against tlje tJEtoo arc!); 
 enemies* of Christ aitu lug ipolp GEtjurcfj, tTie Pope ano 
 t!je fJEurkti. 
 
 Lord, keep us by thy word in hope, 
 And check the murder of Turk and Pope, 
 Who Jesus Christ, thine only Son, 
 Would fain from off thy throne cast down. 
 
 Proof of thy strength, Lord Christ, afford, 
 For thou of all the lords art Lord ; 
 Thy own poor Christendom defend, 
 That it may praise thee without end. 
 
 God Holy Ghost, who Comfort art, 
 Give to thy folk on earth one heart ; 
 Stand by us breathing our last breath : 
 Into life lead us out of death. 
 
142 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 VI. 
 
 a §>0ttp; of tbe I£olp Christian CTjurrt), from t|)e CtoelftTj 
 chapter of t!je apocalypse. 
 
 Her, the worthy maid, my heart doth hold, 
 And I shall not forget her. 
 Praise, honour, virtue of her are told ; 
 Than all I love her better. 
 
 I seek her good, 
 
 And if I should 
 
 Right evil fare, 
 
 I do not care : 
 With that she'll make me merry ! 
 With love and truth that never tire 
 Glad she will make me very, 
 And do all my desire. 
 
 She wears a crown of pure gold, where 
 Twelve stars their rays are twining • 
 Her raiment like the sun is fair, 
 And bright from far is shining. 
 
 Her feet the moon 
 
 Are set upon ; 
 
 She is the bride 
 
 By Jesus' side ! 
 She hath sorrow, must be mother 
 To her fair child, the noble Son, 
 Of all men lord and brother, 
 Her king, her crowned one. 
 
 That makes the old dragon ramp and roar ; 
 The child he tries to swallow ; 
 His rage is rage and nothing more ! 
 No hurt that rage will follow. 
 
The Church and Word of God. 143 
 
 The child up high 
 
 Into the sky 
 
 Away is heft, 
 
 And he is left 
 On earth, all mad with murder. 
 The mother all alone is she, 
 But God will watch and ward her, 
 And her true Father be. 
 
 VII 
 
 % ^ong concerning tlje fEtoo Q9artprss of dfjrtjst, rmrnt at 
 TBrujJsfeljJ bp trjc Isopfjigtss of ILouuainc, toTjicIj took place 
 in rtje pear 1523. 
 
 A new song here shall be begun — 
 The Lord God help our singing ! — 
 Of what our God himself hath done, 
 Praise, honour to him bringing : 
 At Brussels in the Netherlands, 
 By two young boys, He gracious 
 Displays the wonders of his hands, 
 Giving them gifts right precious, 
 And richly them adorning. 
 
 The first right fitly John was named, 
 
 So rich he in God's favour ; 
 
 His brother, Henry — one unblamed. 
 
 Whose salt had lost no savour. 
 
 From this world they are gone away, 
 
 The diadem they've gained ! 
 
 Honest, like God's good children, they 
 
 For his word life disdained, 
 
 And have become his martyrs. 
 
144 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 The ancient foe on them laid hold, 
 With terrors did enwrap them ; 
 To lie against God's word them told, 
 With cunning would entrap them : 
 From Louvaine too, to see the game 
 And in his curst nets take them, 
 Many a sophist gathered came : 
 The Spirit fools did make them — 
 Their cunning could gain nothing. 
 
 Oh ! they sung sweet, and they sung sour ; 
 
 Oh ! they tried every double ; 
 
 The boys they stood firm as a tower, 
 
 And mocked the sophists' trouble. 
 
 The serpent old it filled with hate 
 
 To be thuswise defeated 
 
 By two such youngsters — he, so great ! — 
 
 His wrath sevenfold was heated, 
 
 And he resolved to burn them. 
 
 Their cloister-garments off they tore, 
 
 Undid their consecrations ; 
 
 All this the boys were ready for, 
 
 And said Amen with patience. 
 
 To God their Father they gave thanks 
 
 That they would soon be rescued 
 
 From Satan's scoffs and mumming pranks, 
 
 Whereby with false pretences 
 
 The world he so befooleth. 
 
 Then gracious God did grant to them 
 To pass true priesthood's border, 
 And offer up themselves to him, 
 Thus entering Christ's own order ; 
 
The Church and Word of God. 145 
 
 So to the world to die outright, 
 With falsehood make a schism : 
 And coming to heaven pure and white 
 Give monkery the besom, 
 And leave behind men's prattle. 
 
 They wrote for them a paper small : 
 
 At their request they read it ; 
 
 They showed them every point there, all 
 
 To which themselves gave credit. 
 
 There was an error great indeed ! 
 
 In God we should trust solely : 
 
 To cheat and lie, man maketh speed ; 
 
 We should distrust him wholly: 
 
 For that they burn to ashes. 
 
 Two awful fires they kindled then, 
 The boys they carried to them ; 
 Great wonder seizes every man 
 That with contempt they view them. 
 With joy themselves they yielded quite, 
 With singing and God-praising : 
 The sophists had small appetite 
 For these new things so dazing 
 Which God was thus revealing. 
 
 They now repent the deed of blame, 
 Would gladly gloze it over ; 
 They dare not glory in their shame ; 
 The facts almost they cover. 
 In their hearts gnaweth infamy — 
 They to their friends deplore it : 
 The Spirit cannot silent be ; 
 Good Abel's blood out-poured 
 Must still old Cain discover ! 
 
146 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 To spread, their ashes will not cease ; 
 
 Into all lands they scatter ; 
 
 Stream, hole, ditch, grave will them release ; 
 
 All winds shall tell the matter. 
 
 Them whom from life their murderous hand 
 
 Drove down to silence triple, 
 
 They hear them now in every land, 
 
 In tongues of every people, 
 
 Go about gladly singing. 
 
 Still their foul lies they will not leave, 
 But trim and dress the murther ; 
 The fable false which out they give 
 Shows conscience grinds them further. 
 God's holy ones, even after death, 
 They still go on belying ; 
 They say that with their latest breath 
 The boys, in act of dying, 
 Repented and recanted ! 
 
 Let them lie on for evermore — 
 Nothing by that they're gaining ; 
 For us, we thank our God therefore : 
 His word is yet remaining ! 
 Even at the door is summer nigh, 
 The winter hard is ended, 
 The tender flowers come out to spy : 
 His hand when once extended 
 Stays not till it has finished. Amen. 
 
Grace. 147 
 
 VIII. 
 
 gRJCE. 
 
 Would that the Lord would grant us grace, 
 
 And in his volume write us ! 
 
 With its clear shining let his face 
 
 To life eternal light us ; 
 
 That we may know his work at length, 
 
 And what men him have faith in ; 
 
 And Jesus Christ our health and strength 
 
 Be known to all the heathen, 
 
 And unto God convert them. 
 
 God then will thank, and thee will praise 
 
 The heathen with glad voices ; 
 
 Let all the world for joy upraise 
 
 A song with mighty noises, 
 
 Because thou art earth's judge, O Lord, 
 
 Nor leav'st the righteous quailing ; 
 
 Thy word it is both bed and board, 
 
 And for all folk availing 
 
 In the right path to keep them. 
 
 Let them thank God, and thee adore, 
 Thy folk of deeds of grace full. 
 The land grows fruitful more and more ; 
 Thy word it is successful. 
 
148 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Bless us the Father and the Son, 
 And bless us, God, the Holy Ghost, 
 To whom by all be honour done ! 
 Before him fear the human host ! 
 Now heartily say Amen. 
 
 11. 
 
 3Hje it)tmtireti attu QLtoznty-eitfttl) psalm. 
 
 Happy who in God's fear doth stay, 
 And in it goeth on his way ; 
 Thine own hand thee shall find thy food, 
 So liv'st thou right, and all is good. 
 
 So shall thy wife be, in thy house, 
 Like vine with clusters plenteous, 
 Thy children sit thy table round 
 Like olive plants all fresh and sound. 
 
 See, such rich blessing hangs him on 
 Whom God's fear maketh live a man ; 
 From him the old curse away is worn 
 To which the sons of men are born. 
 
 From Zion God will prosper thee ; 
 Thou shalt behold continually 
 Jerusalem's now happy case 
 So pleasing to the God of grace. 
 
 He will thy days prolong for thee, 
 
 With goodness ever nigh thee be 
 
 That thou with thy sons' sons may'st dwell, 
 
 And there be peace in Israel. 
 
Grace. 149 
 
 in. 
 
 3 %>on$ of ^Eljanfejsgitnng for tfje T5encfitj3 most <25rm toljtcl) 
 @oo Ijatl) ssTjoton to ms in Christ. 
 
 Dear Christians, let us now rejoice, 
 
 And dance in joyous measure ; 
 
 That, of good cheer, and with one voice, 
 
 We sing in love and pleasure 
 
 Of what to us our God hath shown, 
 
 And the sweet wonder he hath done : 
 
 Full dearly hath he bought it ! 
 
 Forlorn and lost in death I lay 
 
 A captive to the devil ; 
 
 My sin lay heavy, night and day, 
 
 For I was born in evil. 
 
 I fell but deeper for my strife 
 
 There was no good in all my life, 
 
 For sin had all-possessed me. 
 
 My good works they were worthless quite, 
 
 A mock was all my merit ; 
 
 My free will hates God's judging light, 
 
 To all good dead and buried. 
 
 Me to despair my anguish drove, 
 
 Down unto death my soul did shove : 
 
 I must be plunged in hell-fire ! 
 
 Then God was sorry on his throne 
 To see such torment rend me ; 
 His tender mercy he thought on, 
 And his good help would send me. 
 He turned to me his father-heart : 
 Ah, then was His no easy part ; 
 His very best it cost him ! 
 
150 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 To his dear son he said : Go down ; 
 
 Things go in piteous fashion ; 
 
 Go thou, my heart's exalted crown. 
 
 Be the poor man's salvation. 
 
 Lift him from out sin's scorn and scathe j 
 
 Strangle for him that cruel Death, 
 
 And take him to live with thee. 
 
 The son he heard obediently ; 
 
 And, by a maiden mother, 
 
 Pure, tender — down he came to me, 
 
 For he must be my brother ! 
 
 Concealed he brought his strength enorm, 
 
 And went about in my poor form, 
 
 Meaning to catch the devil. 
 
 He said unto me : Hold by me, 
 
 Thy matters I will settle ; 
 
 I give myself all up for thee, 
 
 And I will fight thy battle. 
 
 For I am thine, and thou art mine, 
 
 And my house also shall be thine ; 
 
 The enemy shall not part us. 
 
 Like water he will shed my blood, 
 
 Of life my heart bereaving ; 
 
 All this I suffer for thy good — 
 
 That hold with firm believing ; 
 
 My Life shall swallow up that Death ; 
 
 My innocence bears thy sins, He saith, 
 
 So henceforth thou art happy. 
 
 To heaven unto my Father high, 
 From this life I am going ; 
 But there thy master still am I, 
 My spirit on thee bestowing, 
 
Grace. 151 
 
 Whose comfort shall thy trouble quell, 
 And teach thy heart to know me well, 
 Thee into all truth guiding. 
 
 What I have done, what I have said, 
 
 Thou must go doing, teaching ; 
 
 That so the kingdom of God may spread, 
 
 To His praise all men reaching. 
 
 But take heed what men bid thee do — 
 
 That will corrupt the treasure true : 
 
 With this last word I leave thee. Amen. 
 
152 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 IX. 
 
 THE COMMANDMENTS. 
 
 i. 
 
 These are the holy ten commands 
 Which came to us from God's own hands 
 By Moses, who thus did his will 
 On the top of Sinai's hill. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 I am the Lord thy God alone ; 
 Of Gods besides thou shalt have none ; 
 Thou shalt thyself trust all to me, 
 And love me right heartily. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thou shalt not speak like idle word 
 The name of God who is thy Lord ; 
 As right or good thou shalt not praise 
 Except what God does and says. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thou shalt keep holy the seventh day, 
 That rest thou and thy household may ; 
 From thine own work thou must keep free, 
 That God his work have in thee. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
The Commandments. 153 
 
 Honour thou shalt and shalt obey 
 Thy father and thy mother alway ; 
 To serve them ready be thy hand 
 That thou live long in the land. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 In anger hot thou shalt not kill, 
 Nor hate, nor take revenge for ill ; 
 Be patient and of gentle mood, 
 And ev'n to thy foe do good. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thy marriage-bond thou shalt keep clean, 
 That to no other thy heart lean ; 
 Thy life thou must keep pure and free, 
 Temperate, with fine chastity. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Money or goods steal not, nor yet 
 Traffic in others' blood and sweat ; 
 But open wide thy kindly hand 
 To the poor man in thy land. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Evil reports thou shalt not bear, 
 Nor 'gainst thy neighbour falsely swear ; 
 His innocence thou shalt defend, 
 And hide his shame from foe or friend. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thy neighbour's wife or house to win 
 Thou shalt not seek — or aught therein ; 
 But wish all good to him may be, 
 As thy own heart doth to thee. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
154 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 To us come these commands, that so 
 Thou, son of man, thy sins mayst know, 
 And with this lesson thy heart fill, 
 That man must live for God's will. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 May Christ our Lord help us in this, 
 For he our mediator is ; 
 Our own work is a hopeless thing, 
 Wrath alone all it can bring. 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 ii. 
 
 Oh man, wouldst thou live blissfully, 
 And dwell with God eternally, 
 Thou shalt observe the ten commands, 
 Written by God with his hands : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 Thy God and Lord I am alway ; 
 No other God shall make thee stray ; 
 Thy heart must ever trust in me ; 
 Mine own kingdom shalt thou be : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 My name to honour thou shalt heed, 
 And call on me in time of need. 
 Thou shalt keep whole the sabbath day, 
 That so in thee I work may : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
The Commandments. 155 
 
 To thy father and mother thou 
 Shalt, next me, in obedience bow ; 
 None kill, nor yield to anger wild ; 
 And keep thy marriage undented : 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
 From any one thou shalt not steal ; 
 Falsely with others never deal ; 
 Thy neighbour's wife thou shalt not eye : 
 Let his be his welcomely ! 
 Kyrioleis. 
 
156 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 x. 
 
 THE CREED. 
 
 In one true God we all believe, 
 Maker of the earth and heaven ; 
 Who, us as children to receive, 
 Hath himself as father given. 
 Now and henceforth he will feed us, 
 Soul and body, will be round us ; 
 'Gainst mischances all will heed us ; 
 Nought shall come on us to wound us. 
 He watches for us, cares, defends ; 
 And everything to his might bends. 
 
 And we believe in Jesus Christ, 
 
 His son, our Lord. Evermore he 
 
 Sits beside the Father high'st, 
 
 Equal God in might and glory. 
 
 He of Mary, the young maiden, 
 
 Verily was born true human 
 
 By the Holy Ghost. Grief-laden 
 
 For our sakes, lost man and woman, 
 
 He on the cross expired in faith, 
 
 And rose again, through God, from death. 
 
 We believe in the Holy Ghost 
 With the Father and the Saviour, 
 In whom the fearful learn to boast, 
 Who the meek doth crown with favour. 
 
The Creed. 157 
 
 Christendom, in earth and heaven, 
 Of one heart and mind he keepeth. 
 Here all sins shall be forgiven ; 
 Wake too shall the flesh that sleepeth ; 
 After these sufferings there shall be 
 Life to all eternity. Amen. 
 
158 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 XL 
 
 TRATER. 
 
 €$e JLoru'si Prapet, briefly ana plainly get fottlj, ant) 
 turncu into £|9etre. 
 
 Our Father in the heaven who art, 
 Who tellest all of us, in heart 
 Brothers to be, and on thee call, 
 And wilt have prayer from us all — 
 Grant, not from mouth alone it flow ; 
 From deepest heart oh let it go ! 
 
 Hallowed be thy name, O Lord ; 
 Amongst us oh keep pure thy word, 
 That we too may live holily, 
 And in thy true name worthily ! 
 Defend us, Lord, from lying lore ; 
 Thy poor misguided folk restore. 
 
 Thy kingdom come now here below ! 
 
 And after there on ever go ! 
 
 The Holy Ghost his temple hold 
 
 In us with graces manifold! 
 
 The devil's wrath and greatness strong 
 
 Crush, that he do thy church no wrong. 
 
Prayer. 159 
 
 Thy will be done the same, Lord God, 
 
 On earth as in thy high abode ! 
 
 In pain give patience for relief, 
 
 Obedience in love and grief; 
 
 All flesh and blood keep off and check 
 
 That 'gainst thy will makes a stiff neck. 
 
 Give us this day our daily bread, 
 And all that doth the body stead ; 
 From strife and war, Lord, keep us free, 
 From sickness and from scarcity ; 
 That we in happy peace may rest, 
 By care and greed all undistrest. 
 
 Forgive, Lord, all our trespasses, 
 That they to us have no access ; 
 As to our debtors we gladly let 
 Pass every wrong and every debt. 
 To serve make us all ready be 
 In honest love and unity. 
 
 Into temptation lead us not. 
 When th' evil spirit makes battle hot 
 Upon the left and the right hand, 
 Help us with vigour to withstand 
 Firm in the faith, armed 'gainst a host 
 Through comfort of the Holy Ghost. 
 
 From all that's evil free thy sons — 
 The time, the days are wicked ones. 
 Deliver us from endless death ; 
 Comfort us in our latest breath ; 
 Grant us also a blessed end : 
 Our spirit take into thy hand. 
 
160 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Amen ! that is, let this come true ! 
 Strengthen our faith ever anew, 
 That we may never be in doubt 
 Of that we here have prayed about. 
 In thy name, trusting in thy word, 
 We say a soft Amen, O Lord. 
 
 ii. 
 
 3Hje JUtanp. 
 
 i. Chorus : Kyrie, 2. Chorus : Eleison. 
 
 1. Christe, 2. Eleison. 
 
 1. Kyrie, 2. Eleison. 
 
 1. O Christ, 2. Hear us ! 
 
 1. Lord God, the Father in heaven, 
 1. Lord God, the Son, Saviour of the world, 
 
 1. Lord God, the Holy Ghost, 
 
 2. Have pity upon us. 
 
 1. Be gracious unto us. 
 
 2. Spare us, dear Lord God. 
 
 1. Be gracious unto us. 
 
 2. Help us, dear Lord God. 
 
 1. From all sins, 
 From all error, 
 From all evil, 
 
 2. Defend us, dear Lord God. 
 
 1. From the deceit and wiles of the devil, 
 From violent, sudden death, 
 
 From pestilence and famine, 
 From war and bloodshed, 
 From uproar and discord, 
 From fire and flood, 
 From hail and tempest, 
 From the eternal death, 
 
 2. Defend us, dear Lord God. 
 
Prayer. 161 
 
 i. Through thy holy birth, 
 
 Through thy death-struggle and bloody sweat, 
 Through thy cross and death, 
 2. Help us, dear Lord God. 
 i. Through thy holy resurrection and ascension, 
 In our final distress, 
 At the last judgment, 
 2. Help us, dear Lord God. 
 i. We poor sinners pray 
 
 2. That thou wouldst hear us, dear Lord God ! 
 i. And thy holy Church govern and lead. 
 
 All bishops, parsons, and clerks, keep in the whole- 
 some word and holy life. 
 All factions and offences prevent. 
 All that wander and all that are led astray, bring 
 
 back. 
 Tread Satan under our feet. 
 Into thy harvest send forth true labourers. 
 Give to the word thy spirit and power. 
 All that are troubled and faint-hearted help and 
 
 comfort them. 
 To all kings and princes give peace and concord. 
 To our emperor grant constant victory over his 
 
 enemies. 
 Our governors, and all their mighty ones, guide and 
 
 defend. 
 Our council, school, and congregation, bless and 
 
 protect. 
 To all in distress and on a journey, appear with help. 
 To all that are with child and that give suck, grant 
 
 happy result and good success. 
 All children and sick persons foster and tend. 
 All prisoners loose and unburden. 
 All widows and orphans defend and provide for. 
 Take pity upon all men. 
 
 Our enemies, persecutors, and slanderers, forgive 
 and convert. 
 
162 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 The fruits of the earth give and preserve ; 
 And graciously hear us. 
 2. Hear us, dear Lord God. 
 i. O Jesus Christ, God's Son, 
 2. Have pity upon us. 
 i. O thou Lamb of God, that bearest the sins of the 
 
 world, 
 2. Have pity upon us. 
 i. O thou Lamb of God, that bearest the sins of the 
 
 world, 
 2. Have pity upon us. 
 i. O thou Lamb of God, that bearest the sins of the 
 
 world, 
 2. Grant us lasting peace. 
 
 i. Christ, 2. Hear us. 
 
 i. Lord, 2. Have pity. 
 
 i. Christ, 2. Have pity. 
 
 i. 2. Lord, have pity. Amen. 
 
 in. 
 
 Peace to us in thy mercy grant ; 
 
 In our times, Lord, it settle ; 
 Sure there is not another one 
 
 Able to fight our battle 
 
 Except thee, our Lord God, only. 
 
Baptism 163 
 
 XII. 
 
 "BAPTISM. 
 
 a Spiritual %onn;, concerning our polp baptism, tuljcrcin is 
 litieftp container) touat it is, tol)o fjass institutcu it, toTjercto 
 it scrfacs, $c. 
 
 To Jordan when our Lord had gone, 
 His Father's pleasure willing, 
 He took his baptism of St. John, 
 His work and charge fulfilling ; 
 Therein he did appoint a bath 
 To wash us from defilement, 
 And there to drown that cruel Death 
 In his blood of assoilment : 
 'Twas no less than a new life. 
 
 Let all then hear and right receive 
 
 The baptism of the Father ; 
 
 And learn what Christians must believe. 
 
 Shunning where heretics gather. 
 
 Water indeed, not water mere 
 
 Therein can work his pleasure : 
 
 His holy Word is also there 
 
 With Spirit rich, unmeasured : 
 
 He is the one baptizer. 
 
 This clearly showed He by his word 
 Of open recognition ; 
 The Father's voice men plainly heard 
 At Jordan claim his mission. 
 
1 64 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 God said, This is my own dear Son 
 In whom I am well contented ; 
 To you I send him, every one — 
 That all may hear I have sent him, 
 And follow what he teaches. 
 
 Also God's Son himself here stands 
 In human presentation • 
 On him the Holy Ghost descends 
 In dove-like shape and fashion, 
 That not a doubt should ever rise 
 That, when we are baptized, 
 All the three Persons do baptize ; 
 And they be recognized 
 Themselves come to dwell with us. 
 
 Christ to his scholars says : Go forth, 
 Give to all men acquaintance 
 That lost in sin lies the whole earth, 
 And must turn to repentance. 
 Believe, and be baptized, and then 
 Each man is blest for ever ; 
 From that hour he's a new-born man, 
 And thenceforth, dying never, 
 The kingdom shall inherit. 
 
 But who in this grace puts no faith 
 Abides in sin, life misses ; 
 He is condemned to endless death 
 Deep down in hell's abysses. 
 Nothing avails his righteousness, 
 And lost are all his merits ; 
 Sin original holds its place — 
 The sin which he inherits ; 
 And help himself he cannot. 
 
Baptism. 165 
 
 The eye but water doth behold 
 As from man's hand it floweth ; 
 But inward faith the power untold 
 Of Jesus Christ's blood knoweth : 
 Faith sees therein a red flood roll, 
 With Christ's blood dyed and blended, 
 Which hurt of every kind makes whole, 
 Whether from Adam heired 
 Or by ourselves committed. 
 
66 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 XIII. 
 
 REPENTANCE. 
 
 Witt ^unurctj aitn Qftttittl) Psalm. 
 
 From trouble deep I cry to thee ; 
 Lord God, hear thou my crying ; 
 Thy gracious ear oh turn to me, 
 Open it to my sighing. 
 For if thou mean'st to look upon 
 The wrong and evil that is done, 
 Who, Lord, can stand before thee ? 
 
 With thee availeth nought but grace 
 
 To cover trespass mortal ; 
 
 Our good deeds cannot show their face, 
 
 In best life they come short all. 
 
 Before thee no one glory can, 
 
 And so must tremble every man, 
 
 And live by thy grace only. 
 
 Hope therefore in my God will I, 
 On my deserts nought founding ; 
 Upon him shall my heart rely, 
 All on his goodness grounding. 
 What his true word doth promise me 
 My comfort shall and refuge be ; 
 That will I always wait for. 
 
Repentance. 167 
 
 And if it last into the night, 
 
 And last again till morning, 
 
 Yet shall my heart hope in God's might, 
 
 Despair and foresight scorning. 
 
 Thus Israel must keep his post, 
 
 For he was born of the Holy Ghost, 
 
 And for his God must tarry. 
 
 Although our sin be great, God's grace 
 
 Is greater to relieve us ; 
 
 His hand from helping nothing stays, 
 
 Howe'er the hurt be grievous. 
 
 The shepherd good alone is He, 
 
 Who will at last set Israel free, 
 
 From all and every trespass. 
 
168 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 XIV. 
 THE LORD'S SUPPER. 
 
 i. 
 
 ^ottg of %t. 3IoTjn ^usiss, improbcB bp Dr. Spartin ILutljcr. 
 
 Christ Jesus, our Redeemer born, 
 Who from us did God's anger turn 
 Through his sufferings sore and main 
 Help he us all out of hell-pain ! 
 
 That we never should forget it, 
 Gave he us his flesh, to eat it, 
 Hid in poor bread, gift divine, 
 And, to drink, his blood in the wine. 
 
 Who will draw near to that table, 
 Must take heed, all he is able ! 
 Who unworthy thither goes, 
 Thence death instead of life he sows. 
 
 God the Father praise thou duly, 
 That he thee would feed so truly, 
 And for ill deeds by thee done . 
 Up unto death has given his son. 
 
 Have this faith, and do not waver, 
 'Tis a food for every craver 
 Who, his heart with sin opprest, 
 Can no more for its anguish rest. 
 
The Lord's Supper. 169 
 
 Such kindness and such grace to get 
 Seeks a heart with labour great. 
 Is it well with thee ? take care 
 Lest at last thou shouldst evil fare. 
 
 He doth say, Come hither, O ye 
 Poor, that I may pity show ye : 
 From the leech the sound will start, 
 And make a mockery of his art. 
 
 Hadst thou any skill to offer 
 Why for thee should I then suffer ? 
 Table this is not for thee 
 If saviour thou thine own canst be. 
 
 If such faith thy heart possesses 
 And the same thy mouth confesses, 
 Fit guest then thou art indeed 
 And so this food thy soul will feed. 
 
 But bear fruit, or lose thy labour : 
 Take thou heed thou love thy neighbour, 
 That thou food to him mayst be 
 As thy God makes himself to thee. 
 
 11. 
 
 2. Werner, of Jpratge. 
 
 Let God be blest, be praised, and be thanked, 
 Who to us himself hath granted 
 This his own flesh and blood to feed and save us ! 
 May we take right what he gave us : 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 
\yo Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 By thy holy body dead in shame, 
 Lord, which from thy mother, Mary, came, 
 And by thy holy blood 
 Ease us, Lord, from all our load : 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 
 The holy body is for us laid lowly 
 Down in death, that we live holy ; 
 No greater goodness he to us could render 
 Than make us mind his love tender. 
 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 Lord, thy love so great was, it hath driven 
 Thee to death, and us great gifts hath given ; 
 Our old debt it has paid, 
 And God has gracious made : 
 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 
 God on us all his blessing free bestow now 
 That we in his ways may go now, 
 Right-hearted love and brother-truth ensuing, 
 Never the Lord's supper ruing ! 
 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 Let thy good Ghost us not forsake, 
 Let him make us the just way take 
 That thy poor Christendom 
 Into peace and union come ! 
 
 Lord, be merciful to us. 
 
Death. 171 
 
 xv. 
 
 DEATH. 
 
 In the midst of life, we are 
 Aye in Death's embraces. 
 Who is there who help us can 
 And in safety place us ? 
 Lord, thou art he, thou only. 
 From our ill deeds we sorrowing turn 
 That have made thy anger burn. 
 Holy, holy Lord God, 
 Holy, mighty Lord God, 
 Holy Saviour with the tender heart, 
 Everlasting God, 
 Let us not be swallowed 
 In the misery of death : 
 Lord, have mercy upon us. 
 
 In the midst of death, behold 
 Hell's jaws gaping at us ! 
 Who will from such dire distress 
 Free and scathless set us ? 
 Lord, that dost thou, thou only : 
 It fills thy tender heart with woe 
 We should sin and suffer so. 
 Holy, holy Lord God, 
 Holy, mighty Lord God, 
 
172 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Holy Saviour with the tender heart, 
 Everlasting God, 
 Let us not be gasted 
 By hell's hollows all aglow : 
 Lord, have mercy upon us. 
 
 When amidst the pains of hell 
 Us our sins are baiting ; 
 Whither shall we flee away 
 Where relief is waiting ? 
 To thee, Lord Christ, thee only 
 Who didst outpour thy precious blood 
 For our sins sufficing good : 
 Holy, holy Lord God, 
 Holy, mighty Lord God, 
 Holy Saviour with the tender heart, 
 Everlasting God, 
 Let us not fall from thee, 
 From comfort of the right faith : 
 Lord, have mercy upon us. 
 
 ii. 
 
 %imeon tfje Patriarch's §>ottg of Pratsfe. 
 
 In peace and joy I now depart, 
 For God hath willed it. 
 Comforted is my mind and heart, 
 For he hath stilled it ; 
 As my God did promise me, 
 Death is grown only slumber. 
 
 That shows that Christ is God's own Son, 
 
 And our saviour so, 
 
 Whom thou, O Lord, to me hast shown, 
 
Death. 173 
 
 Making me know 
 
 Him the Life eternal, 
 
 And health in pain and dying. 
 
 In the fore-front thou hast him placed, 
 
 In him delighted ; 
 
 The whole world to his kingdom blest 
 
 Hast invited 
 
 Through thy precious wholesome word 
 
 In every place resounding. 
 
 He is the health and happy light 
 
 Of the heathen, 
 
 To ope their eyes, and give them sight 
 
 Thee to see then. 
 
 He to thy people, Isr'el, 
 
 Is glory, honour, pleasure. 
 
74 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 xvl 
 
 THE TRJISE OF gOD. 
 
 Unto the seer, Isaiah, it was given 
 
 That, in the spirit, he saw the Lord of heaven 
 
 Up on a lofty throne, in radiance bright ; 
 
 The skirt of his garment filled the temple quite ; 
 
 Two seraphs at his side were standing there ; 
 
 Six wings, he saw, each one of them did wear : 
 
 Two over their bright visages did meet, 
 
 With two of them they covered up their feet, 
 
 And with the other twain abroad did fly. 
 
 Each to the other called with a great cry, 
 
 Holy is God, the Lord of Zebaoth ! 
 
 Holy is God, the Lord of Zebaoth ! 
 
 Holy is God, the Lord of Zebaoth ! 
 
 His glory great the whole world filled hath. 
 
 At the loud cry the beams and threshold shook, 
 
 And the whole house was full of cloud and smoke. 
 
The Praise of God. 175 
 
 11. 
 
 tlfje ■Song of Praise " 3Te ^Tcttm Ilautjainujs," tutncD into 
 ©erman fop Dr. #9att. JLutljer. 
 
 Tfie first Choir. — Lord God, thee praise do we. 
 The second Choir. — Lord, we give thanks to thee. 
 
 1. Thee, Father, eternal God, 
 
 2. Earth praises, far and broad. 
 
 1. All angels and heaven's host, 
 
 2. All that in thy service boast, 
 
 1. The cherubim and seraphim 
 
 2. Sing thee ever with lofty hymn : 
 
 1. Holy is our Lord God ! 
 
 2. Holy is our Lord God ! 
 
 Both Choirs. — Holy is our God, the Lord of Sabaoth. 
 
 1. Thy godlike might and lordship go 
 
 2. Wide over heaven and earth below. 
 
 1. To thee the holy twelve do call, 
 
 2. And thy beloved prophets all : 
 
 1. The precious martyrs, with one voice, 
 
 2. Praise thee, O Lord, with mighty noise. 
 
 1. From all thy worthy Christendom 
 
 2. To thee each day thy praises come ; 
 
 1. To Thee, the Father, on highest throne, 
 
 2. Thy true and only-begotten Son ; 
 
 1. The holy Comforter always, 
 
 2. With service true they thank and praise. 
 
 1. Thou, king of glory, Christ, alone 
 
 2. Art the Father's eternal Son ; 
 
 t. Didst not the virgin's womb despise, 
 2. That so the human race might rise ; 
 
176 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 i. Thou on the might of Death didst tread, 
 
 2. And Christians all to heaven dost lead. 
 
 i. Thou sittest now at God's right hand, 
 
 2. With glory of all i' th' heavenly land ; 
 
 i. The hour shall come when thou shalt yet 
 
 2. To judge the dead and living sit ; 
 
 i. Now to thy servants help afford, 
 
 2. Ransomed with thy dear blood, O Lord ; 
 
 i. Let us in heaven have our dole, 
 
 2. And with the holy be always whole. 
 
 i. Thy folk, Lord Christ, help and advance, 
 
 2. And bless thine own inheritance; 
 
 i. Them watch and ward, Lord, every day, 
 
 2. And lift them always up, we pray. 
 
 i. Daily, Lord God, we honour thee, 
 
 2. And praise thy name continually. 
 
 i. O God of truth, keep us this day 
 
 2. From every sin and evil way. 
 
 i. Be gracious to us, Lord, we plead — 
 
 2. Be gracious to us in every need. 
 
 i. Show unto us thy pitying grace, 
 
 2. For all our hope in thee we place. 
 
 i. Dear Lord, our hope is in thy name ; 
 
 2. Let us be never put to shame. Amen. 
 
Of Life at Court. 177 
 
 OF LIFE AT COURT. 
 To the Tune — Ein Liippisch Mann : A Silly Man. 
 
 Who number one 
 
 Keeps in the van, 
 
 And gently can 
 
 His hoop drive on 
 
 And fawn and fan, 
 
 And every man 
 
 Counts dust and bran — 
 
 Is now the cock to crow to Pan. 
 
 Who has in sight 
 
 To live upright, 
 
 Keep honour bright, 
 
 And be true quite— 
 
 In vain shall fight 
 
 And lose his might, 
 
 Shall meet with slight 
 
 And scorn and spite, 
 
 And serve the rest, unhappy wight. 
 
 By flattery's rod 
 
 There's many a lad 
 
 Great wealth has had, 
 
 And praises glad ; 
 
 1 )own in the mud 
 
 He'll others tread 
 
 And honour wed : 
 
 So goes the world heels over head ! 
 
 M 
 
178 Luther's Song-Book. 
 
 Whatever man 
 
 Has no such plan, 
 
 From court must run ; 
 
 Such never won 
 
 But scoff and ban. 
 
 Who flatter can, 
 
 And sting and tan — 
 
 He is at court the best o' the clan ! 
 
A YEAR'S DIARY OF AN 
 OLD SOUL. 
 
JANUARY. 
 
THE DIARY OF AN 
 OLD SOUL. 
 
 JANUARY. 
 
 Lord, what I once had done with youthful might, 
 Had I been from the first true to the truth, 
 Grant me, now old, to do — with better sight, 
 And humbler heart, if not the brain of youth ; 
 So wilt thou, in thy gentleness and ruth, 
 Lead back thy old soul, by the path of pain, 
 Round to his best — young eyes and heart and brain. 
 
 2. 
 
 A dim aurora rises in my east, 
 
 Beyond the line of jagged questions hoar, 
 
 As if the head of our intombed High Priest 
 
 Began to glow behind the unopened door : 
 
 Sure the gold wings will soon rise from the 
 
 gray!— 
 They rise not. Up I rise, press on the more, 
 To meet the slow coming of the Master's day. 
 
184 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 3- 
 Sometimes I wake, and, lo ! I have forgot, 
 And drifted out upon an ebbing sea ! 
 My soul that was at rest now resteth not, 
 For I am with myself and not with thee ; 
 Truth seems a blind moon in a glaring morn, 
 Where nothing is but sick-heart vanity : 
 Oh, thou who knowest ! save thy child forlorn. 
 
 4- 
 Death, like high faith, levelling, lifteth all. 
 When I awake, my daughter and my son, 
 Grown sister and brother, in my arms shall fall, 
 Tenfold my girl and boy. Sure every one 
 Of all the brood to the old wings will run. 
 Whole-hearted is my worship of the man 
 From whom my earthly history began. 
 
 5- • 
 Thy fishes breathe but where thy waters roll ; 
 Thy birds fly but within thy airy sea ; 
 My soul breathes only in thy infinite soul ; 
 I breathe, I think, I love, I live but thee. 
 Oh breathe, oh think, — O Love, live into me ; 
 Unworthy is my life till all divine, 
 Till thou see in me only what is thine. 
 
 Then shall I breathe in sweetest sharing, then 
 Think in harmonious consort with my kin ; 
 Then shall I love well all my father's men, 
 Feel one with theirs the life my heart within. 
 Oh brothers ! sisters holy ! hearts divine ! 
 Then I shall be all yours, and nothing mine — 
 To every human heart a mother-twin. 
 
January. 185 
 
 7- 
 I see a child before an empty house, 
 Knocking and knocking at the closed door ; 
 He wakes dull echoes — but nor man nor mouse, 
 If he stood knocking there for evermore. — 
 A mother angel, see ! folding each wing, 
 Soft-walking, crosses straight the empty floor, 
 And opens to the obstinate praying thing. 
 
 8. 
 
 Were there but some deep, holy spell, whereby 
 
 Always I should remember thee — some mode 
 
 Of feeling the pure heat-throb momently 
 
 Of the spirit-fire still uttering this If — 
 
 Lord, see thou to it, take thou remembrance' load : 
 
 Only when I bethink me can I cry ; 
 
 Remember thou, and prick me with love's goad. 
 
 9- 
 If to myself — " God sometimes interferes " — 
 I said, my faith at once would be struck blind. 
 I see him all in all, the lifing mind, 
 Or nowhere in the vacant miles and years. 
 A love he is that watches and that hears, 
 Or but a mist fumed up from minds of men, 
 Whose fear and hope reach out beyond their ken. 
 
 10. 
 
 When I no more can stir my soul to move, 
 And life is but the ashes of a fire ; 
 When I can but remember that my heart 
 Once used to live and love, long and aspire, — 
 Oh, be thou then the first, the one thou art ; 
 Be thou the calling, before all answering love, 
 And in me wake hope, fear, boundless desire. 
 
186 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 I thought that I had lost thee ; but, behold ! 
 
 Thou comest to me from the horizon low, 
 
 Across the fields outspread of green and gold — 
 
 Fair carpet for thy feet to come and go. 
 
 Whence I know not, or how to me thou art come ! — 
 
 Not less my spirit with calm bliss doth glow, 
 
 Meeting thee only thus, in nature vague and dumb. 
 
 12. 
 
 Doubt swells and surges, with swelling doubt behind ! 
 
 My soul in storm is but a tattered sail, 
 
 Streaming its ribbons on the torrent gale ; 
 
 In calm, 'tis but a limp and flapping thing : 
 
 Oh ! swell it with thy breath ; make it a wing, — 
 
 To sweep through thee the ocean, with thee the wind, 
 
 Nor rest until in thee its haven it shall find. 
 
 The idle flapping of the sail is doubt ; 
 
 Faith swells it full to breast the breasting seas. 
 
 Hold, conscience, fast, and rule the ruling helm ; 
 
 Hell's freezing north no tempest can send out, 
 
 But it shall toss thee homeward to thy leas ; 
 
 Boisterous wave-crest never shall o'erwhelm 
 
 Thy sea-float bark as safe as field-borne rooted elm. 
 
 14. 
 
 Sometimes, hard-trying, it seems I cannot pray — 
 For doubt, and pain, and anger, and all strife. 
 Yet some poor half-fledged prayer-bird from the nest 
 May fall, flit, fly, perch — crouch in the bowery breast 
 Of the large, nation-healing tree of life ; — 
 Moveless there sit through all the burning day, 
 And on my heart at night a fresh leaf cooling lay. 
 
January. 187 
 
 15- 
 My harvest withers. Health, my means to live — 
 All things seem rushing straight into the dark. 
 But the dark still is God. I would not give 
 The smallest silver-piece to turn the rush 
 Backward or sideways. Am I not a spark 
 Of him who is the light ? — Fair hope doth flush 
 My east. — Divine success Oh, hush and hark ! 
 
 16. 
 
 Thy will be done. I yield up everything. 
 
 " The life is more than meat " — then more than health ; 
 
 " The body more than raiment " — then than wealth ; 
 
 The hairs I made not, thou art numbering. 
 
 Thou art my life — I the brook, thou the spring. 
 
 Because thine eyes are open, I can see ; 
 
 Because thou art thyself, 'tis therefore I am me. 
 
 17- 
 No sickness can come near to blast my health ; 
 My life depends not upon any meat ; 
 My bread comes not from any human tilth ; 
 No wings will grow upon my changeless wealth ; 
 Wrong cannot touch it, violence or deceit ; 
 Thou art my life, my health, my bank, my barn — 
 And from all other gods thou plain dost warn. 
 
 Care thou for mine whom I must leave behind ; 
 Care that they know who 'tis for them takes care ; 
 Thy present patience help them still to bear ; 
 Lord, keep them clearing, growing, heart and mind ; 
 In one thy oneness us together bind ; 
 Last earthly prayer with which to thee I cling — 
 Grant that, save love, we owe not anything. 
 
1 88 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 i 9 . 
 
 Tis well, for unembodied thought a live, 
 True house to build — of stubble, wood, nor hay ; 
 So, like bees round the flower by which they thrive, 
 My thoughts are busy with the informing truth, 
 And as I build, I feed, and grow in youth — 
 Hoping to stand fresh, clean, and strong, and gay, 
 When up the east comes dawning His great day. 
 
 Thy will is truth — 'tis therefore fate, the strong. 
 
 Would that my will did sweep full swing with thine ! 
 
 Then harmony with every spheric song, 
 
 And conscious power, would give sureness divine. 
 
 Who thinks to thread thy great laws' onward throng, 
 
 Is as a fly that creeps his foolish way 
 
 Athwart an engine's wheels in smooth resistless play. 
 
 Thou in my heart hast planted, gardener divine, 
 A scion of the tree of life : it grows ; 
 But not in every wind or weather it blows ; 
 The leaves fall sometimes from the baby tree, 
 And the life-power seems melting into pine ; 
 Yet still the sap keeps struggling to the shine, 
 And the unseen root clings cramplike unto thee. 
 
 22. 
 
 Do thou, my God, my spirit's weather control ; 
 
 And as I do not gloom though the day be dun, 
 
 Let me not gloom when earth-born vapours roll 
 
 Across the infinite zenith of my soul. 
 
 Should sudden brain-frost through the heart's summer run, 
 
 Cold, weary, joyless, waste of air and sun, 
 
 Thou art my south, my summer-wind, my all, my one. 
 
January. 189 
 
 2 3- 
 O Life, why dost thou close me up in death ? 
 
 Health, why make me inhabit heaviness ? — 
 
 1 ask, yet know : the sum of this distress, 
 Pang-haunted body, sore-dismayed mind, 
 
 Is but the egg that rounds the winged faith ; 
 
 When that its path into the air shall find, 
 
 My heart will follow, high above cold, rain, and wind. 
 
 24, 
 
 I can no more than lift my weary eyes ; 
 Therefore I lift my weary eyes — no more. 
 But my eyes pull my heart, and that, before 
 Tis well awake, knocks where the conscience lies ; 
 Conscience runs quick to the spirit's hidden door : 
 Straightway, from every sky-ward window, cries 
 Up to the Father's listening ears arise. 
 
 2 5- 
 Not in my fancy now I search to find thee ; 
 Not in its loftiest forms would shape or bind thee ; 
 I cry to one whom I can never know, 
 Filling me with an infinite overflow ; 
 Not to a shape that dwells within my heart, 
 Clothed in perfections love and truth assigned thee, 
 But to the God thou knowest that thou art. 
 
 26. 
 
 Not, Lord, because I have done well or ill ; 
 
 Not that my mind looks up to thee clear-eyed : 
 
 Not that it struggles in fast cerements tied ; 
 
 Not that I need thee daily sorer still ; 
 
 Not that I wretched, wander from thy will ; 
 
 Not now for any cause to thee I cry. 
 
 But this, that thou art thou, and here am I. 
 
190 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 27. 
 
 Yestereve, Death came, and knocked at my thin door. 
 
 I from my window looked : the thing I saw, 
 
 The shape uncouth, I had not seen before. 
 
 I was disturbed — with fear, in sooth, not awe ; 
 
 Whereof ashamed, I instantly did rouse 
 
 My will to seek thee — only to fear the more : 
 
 Alas ! I could not find thee in the house. 
 
 28. 
 
 I was like Peter when he began to sink. 
 
 To thee a new prayer therefore I have got — 
 
 That, when Death comes in earnest to my door, 
 
 Thou wouldst thyself go, when the latch doth clink, 
 
 And lead him to my room, up to my cot ; 
 
 Then hold thy child's hand, hold and leave him not, 
 
 Till Death has done with him for evermore. 
 
 29. 
 
 Till Death has done with him ? — Ah, leave me then ! 
 
 And Death has done with me, oh, nevermore ! 
 
 He comes — and goes — to leave me in thy arms, 
 
 Nearer thy heart, oh, nearer than before ! 
 
 To lay thy child, naked, new-born again 
 
 Of mother earth, crept free through many harms, 
 
 Upon thy bosom — still to the very core. 
 
 3°- 
 Come to me, Lord : I will not speculate how, 
 Nor think at which door I would have thee appear, 
 Nor put off calling till my floors be swept, 
 But cry, " Come, Lord, come any way, come now." 
 Doors, windows, I throw wide ; my head I bow, 
 And sit like some one who so long has slept 
 That he knows nothing till his life draw near. 
 
January. i 
 
 3«- 
 
 O Lord, I have been talking to the people ; 
 
 Thought's wheels have round me whirled a fiery zone, 
 
 And the recoil of my words' airy ripple 
 
 My heart unheedful has puffed up and blown. 
 
 Therefore I cast myself before thee prone : 
 
 Lay cool hands on my burning brain, and press 
 
 From my weak heart the swelling emptiness. 
 
FEBRUARY 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 195 
 
 FEBRUJRr. 
 
 I to myself have neither power nor worth, 
 Patience nor love, nor anything right good ; 
 My soul is a poor land, plenteous in dearth — 
 Here blades of grass, there a small herb for food 
 A nothing that would be something if it could ; 
 But if obedience, Lord, in me do grow, 
 I shall one day be better than I know. 
 
 2. 
 
 The worst power of an evil mood is this — 
 
 It makes the bastard self seem in the right, 
 
 Self, self the end, the goal of human bliss. 
 
 But if the Christ-self in us be the might 
 
 Of saving God, why should I spend my force 
 
 With a dark thing to reason of the light — 
 
 Not push it rough aside, and hold obedient course ? 
 
 3- 
 
 Back still it comes to this : there was a man 
 Who said, " I am the truth, the life, the way :"- 
 Shall I pass on, or shall I stop and hear ? — 
 " Come to the Father but by me none can : " 
 What then is this ? — am I not also one 
 Of those who live in fatherless dismay? 
 I stand, I look, I listen, I draw near. 
 
196 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 
 My Lord, I find that nothing else will do, 
 But follow where thou goest, sit at thy feet, 
 And where I have thee not, still run to meet. 
 Roses are scentless, hopeless are the morns, 
 Rest is but weakness, laughter crackling thorns, 
 If thou, the Truth, do not make them the true : 
 Thou art my life, O Christ, and nothing else will do. 
 
 5- 
 Thou art here — in heaven, I know, but not from here- 
 Although thy separate self do not appear ; 
 If I could part the light from out the day, 
 There I should have thee ! But thou art too near : 
 How find thee walking, when thou art the way ? 
 Oh, present Christ ! make my eyes keen as stings, 
 To see thee at their heart, the glory even of things. 
 
 6. 
 
 That thou art nowhere to be found, agree 
 Wise men, whose eyes are but for surfaces ; 
 Men with eyes opened by the second birth, 
 To whom the seen, husk of the unseen is, 
 Descry thee soul of everything on earth. 
 Who know thy ends, thy means and motions see ; 
 Eyes made for glory soon discover thee. 
 
 7- 
 Thou near then, I draw nearer — to thy feet, 
 And sitting in thy shadow, look out on the shine ; 
 Ready at thy first word to leave my seat — 
 Not thee : thou goest too. From every clod 
 Into thy footprint flows the indwelling wine ; 
 And in my daily bread, keen-eyed I greet 
 Its being's heart, the very body of God. 
 
February. 197 
 
 8. 
 
 Thou wilt interpret life to me, and men, 
 
 Art, nature, yea, my own soul's mysteries — 
 
 Bringing truth out, clear-joyous, to my ken, 
 
 Fair as the morn trampling the dull night. Then 
 
 The lone hill-side shall hear exultant cries ; 
 
 The joyous see me joy, the weeping weep ; 
 
 The watching smile, as Death breathes on me his cold sleep. 
 
 9- 
 I search my heart — I search, and find no faith. 
 Hidden He may be in its many folds — 
 I see him not revealed in all the world ; 
 Duty's firm shape thins to a misty wraith. 
 No good seems likely. To and fro I am hurled. 
 I have no stay. Only obedience holds : — 
 I haste, I rise, I do the thing he saith. 
 
 10. 
 
 Thou wouldst not have thy man crushed back to clay ; 
 
 It must be, God, thou hast a strength to give 
 
 To him that fain would do what thou dost say ; 
 
 Else how shall any soul repentant live, 
 
 Old griefs and new fears hurrying on dismay ? 
 
 Let pain be what thou wilt, kind and degree, 
 
 Only in pain calm thou my heart with thee. 
 
 11. 
 
 I will not shift my ground like Moab's king, 
 But from this spot whereon I stand, I pray — 
 From this same barren rock to thee I say, 
 " Lord, in my commonness, in this very thing 
 That haunts my soul with folly — through the clay 
 Of this my pitcher, see the lamp's dim flake j 
 And hear the blow that would the pitcher break." 
 
198 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 Be thou the well by which I lie and rest ; 
 
 Be thou my tree of life, my garden ground ; 
 
 Be thou my home, my fire, my chamber blest, 
 
 My book of wisdom, loved of all the best ; 
 
 Oh, be my friend, each day still newer found, 
 
 As the eternal days and nights go round ! 
 
 Nay, nay — thou art my God, in whom all loves are bound ! 
 
 13. 
 
 Two things at once, thou know'st I cannot think. 
 
 When busy with the work thou givest me, 
 
 I cannot conciously think then of thee. 
 
 Then why, when next thou lookest o'er the brink 
 
 Of my horizon, should my spirit shrink, 
 
 Reproached and fearful, nor to greet thee run ? 
 
 Can I be two when I am only one ? 
 
 14. 
 
 My soul must unawares have sunk awry. 
 
 Some care, poor eagerness, ambition of work, 
 
 Some old offence that unforgiving did lurk, 
 
 Or some self-gratulation, soft and sly — 
 
 Something not thy sweet will, not the good part, 
 
 While the home-guard looked out, stirred up the old murk, 
 
 And so I gloomed away from thee, my Heart. 
 
 Therefore I make provision, ere I begin 
 To do the thing thou givest me to do, 
 Praying, — Lord, wake me oftener, lest I sin. 
 Amidst my work, open thine eyes on me, 
 That I may wake and laugh, and know and see, 
 Then with healed heart afresh catch up the clue, 
 And singing drop into my work anew. 
 
February. 199 
 
 16. 
 
 If I should slow diverge, and listless stray 
 Into some thought, feeling, or dream unright, 
 
 Watcher, my backsliding soul affray ; 
 Let me not perish of the ghastly blight. 
 Be thou, O Life eternal, in me light ; 
 Then merest approach of selfish or impure 
 Shall start me up alive, awake, secure. 
 
 Lord, I have fallen again — a human clod ! 
 
 Selfish I was, and heedless to offend ; 
 
 Stood on my rights. Thy own child would not send 
 
 Away his shreds of nothing for the whole God ! 
 
 Wretched, to thee who savest, low I bend : 
 
 Give me the power to let my rag-rights go 
 
 In the great wind that from thy gulf doth blow. 
 
 18. 
 
 Keep me from wrath, let it seem ever so right : 
 My wrath will never work thy righteousness. 
 Up, up the hill, to the whiter than snow-shine, 
 Help me to climb, and dwell in pardon's light. 
 
 1 must be pure as thou, or ever less 
 Than thy design of me — therefore incline 
 
 My heart to take men's wrongs as thou tak'st mine. 
 
 19. 
 
 Lord, in thy spirit's hurricane, I pray, 
 Strip my soul naked — dress it then thy way. 
 Change for me all my rags to cloth of gold. 
 Who would not poverty for riches yield ? 
 A hovel sell to buy a treasure-field ? 
 Who would a mess of porridge careful hold 
 Against the universe's birthright old ? 
 
200 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 Help me to yield my will, in labour even, 
 Nor toil on toil, greedy of doing, heap — 
 Fretting I cannot more than me is given ; 
 That with the finest clay my wheel runs slow, 
 Nor lets the lovely thing the shapely grow ; 
 That memory what thought gives it cannot keep, 
 And nightly rimes ere morn like cistus-petals go. 
 
 21. 
 
 'Tis — shall thy will be done for me ? — or mine, 
 And I be made a thing not after thine — 
 My own, and dear in paltriest details ? 
 Shall I be born of God, or of mere man ? 
 Be made like Christ, or on some other plan ? — 
 I let all run : — set thou and trim my sails ; 
 Home then my course, let blow whatever gales. 
 
 22. 
 
 With thee on board, each sailor is a king, 
 Nor I mere captain of my vessel then, 
 But heir of earth and heaven, eternal child ; 
 Daring all truth, nor fearing anything ; 
 Mighty in love, the servant of all men ; 
 Resenting nothing, taking rage and blare 
 Into the Godlike silence of a loving care. 
 
 23- 
 I cannot see, my God, a reason why 
 From morn to night I go not gladsome, free ; 
 For, if thou art what my soul thinketh thee, 
 There is no burden but should lightly lie, 
 No duty but a joy at heart must be : 
 Love's perfect will can be nor sore nor small, 
 For God is light — in him no darkness is at all. 
 
February. 201 
 
 24. 
 
 'Tis something thus to think, and half to trust — 
 But, ah ! my very heart, God-born, should lie 
 Spread to the light, clean, clear of mire and rust, 
 And like a sponge drink the divine sunbeams. 
 What resolution then, strong, swift, and high ! 
 What pure devotion, or to live or die ! 
 And in my sleep, what true, what perfect dreams ! 
 
 2 5- 
 There is a misty twilight of the soul, 
 A sickly eclipse, low brooding o'er a man, 
 When the poor brain is as an empty bowl, 
 And the thought-spirit, weariful and wan, 
 Turning from that which yet it loves the best, 
 Sinks moveless, with life-poverty opprest : — 
 Watch then, O Lord, thy feebly glimmering coal. 
 
 26. 
 
 I cannot think ; in me is but a void j 
 
 I have felt much, and want to feel no more ; 
 
 My soul is hungry for some poorer fare — 
 
 Some earthly nectar, gold not unalloyed : — 
 
 The little child that's happy to the core, 
 
 Will leave his mother's lap, run down the stair, 
 
 Play with the servants — is his mother annoyed ? 
 
 27. 
 
 I would not have it so. Weary and worn, 
 
 Why not to thee run straight, and be at rest ? 
 
 Motherward, with toy new, or garment torn, 
 
 The child that late forsook her changeless breast, 
 
 Runs to home's heart, the heaven that's heavenliest : 
 
 In joy or sorrow, feebleness or might, 
 
 Peace or commotion, be thou, Father, my delight. 
 
202 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 The thing I would say, still comes forth with doubt 
 
 And difference : — is it that thou shap'st my ends ? 
 
 Or is it only the necessity 
 
 Of stubborn words, that shift sluggish about, 
 
 Warping my thought as it the sentence bends ? — 
 
 Have thou a part in it, O Lord, and I 
 
 Shall say a truth, if not the thing I try. 
 
 29. 
 
 Gather my broken fragments to a whole, 
 As these four quarters make a shining day. 
 Into thy basket, for my golden bowl, 
 Take up the things that I have cast away 
 In vice or indolence or unwise play. 
 Let mine be a merry, all-receiving heart, 
 But make it a whole, with light in every part. 
 
MARCH. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 205 
 
 MARCH. 
 
 1. 
 
 The song birds that come to me night and morn, 
 
 Fly oft away and vanish if I sleep, 
 
 Nor to my fowling-net will one return : 
 
 Is the thing ever ours we cannot keep ? — 
 
 But their souls go not out into the deep. 
 
 What matter if with changed song they come back ? 
 
 Old strength nor yet fresh beauty shall they lack. 
 
 2. 
 
 Gloriously wasteful, O my Lord, art thou ! 
 Sunset faints after sunset into the night, 
 Splendorously dying from thy window-sill — 
 For ever. Sad our poverty doth bow 
 Before the riches of thy making might : 
 Sweep from thy space thy systems at thy will — 
 In thee the sun sets every sunset still. 
 
 3- 
 And in the perfect time, O perfect God, 
 When we are in our home, our natal home, 
 When joy shall carry every sacred load, 
 And from its life and peace no heart shall roam, 
 What if thou make us able to make like thee — 
 To light with moons, to clothe with greenery, 
 To hang gold sunsets o'er a rose and purple sea ! 
 
206 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 Then to his neighbour one may call out, " Come 
 Brother, come hither — I would show you a thing 
 And lo, a vision of his imagining, 
 Informed of thought which else had rested dumb, 
 Before the neighbour's truth-delighted eyes, 
 In the great sether of existence rise, 
 And two hearts each to each the closer cling ! 
 
 5- 
 
 We make, but thou art the creating core. 
 
 Whatever thing I dream, invent, or feel, 
 
 Thou art the heart of it, the atmosphere. 
 
 Thou art inside all love man ever bore ; 
 
 Yea, the love itself, whatever thing be dear. 
 
 Man calls his dog, he follows at his heel, 
 
 Because thou first art love, self-caused, essential, mere. 
 
 6. 
 
 This day be with me, Lord, when I go forth, 
 Be nearer to me than I am able to ask. 
 In merriment, in converse, or in task, 
 Walking the street, listening to men of worth, 
 Or greeting such as only talk and bask, 
 Be thy thought still my waiting soul around, 
 And if He come, I shall be watching found. 
 
 7- 
 What if, writing, I always seem to leave 
 Some better thing, or better way, behind, 
 Why should I therefore fret at all, or grieve ! 
 The worse I drop, that I the better find ; 
 The best is only in thy perfect mind. 
 Fallen threads I will not search for — I will weave. 
 Who makes the mill-wheel backward strike to grind ! 
 
March. 207 
 
 Be with me, Lord. Keep me beyond all prayers : 
 For more than all my prayers my need of thee, 
 And thou beyond all need, all unknown cares ; 
 What the heart's dear imagination dares, 
 Thou dost transcend in measureless majesty 
 All prayers in one — my God, be unto me 
 Thy own eternal self, absolutely. 
 
 9- 
 Where should the unknown treasures of the truth 
 Lie, but there whence the truth comes out the most- 
 In the Son of man, folded in love and ruth ? 
 Fair shore we see, fair ocean ; but behind 
 Lie infinite reaches bathing many a coast — 
 The human thought of the eternal mind, 
 Pulsed by a living tide, blown by a living wind. 
 
 10. 
 
 Thou, healthful Father, art the Ancient of Days, 
 
 And Jesus is the eternal youth of thee. 
 
 Our old age is the scorching of the bush 
 
 By life's indwelling, incorruptible blaze. 
 
 O Life, burn at this feeble shell of me, 
 
 Till I the sore singed garment off shall push, 
 
 Flap out my Psyche wings, and to thee rush. 
 
 11. 
 
 But shall I then rush to thee like a dart ? 
 
 Or lie long hours reonian yet betwixt 
 
 This hunger in me, and the Father's heart? — 
 
 It shall be good, how ever, and not ill ; 
 
 Of things and thoughts even now thou art my next ; 
 
 Sole neighbour, and no space between, thou art — 
 
 And yet art drawing nearer, nearer still. 
 
208 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 Therefore, my brothers, therefore, sisters dear, 
 
 However I, troubled or selfish, fail 
 
 In tenderness, or grace, or service clear, 
 
 I every moment draw to you more near ; 
 
 God in us from our hearts veil after veil 
 
 Keeps lifting, till we see with his own sight, 
 
 And all together run in unity's delight. 
 
 I love thee, Lord, for very greed of love — 
 
 Not of the precious streams that towards me move, 
 
 But of the indwelling, outgoing, fountain store : 
 
 Than mine, oh, many an ignorant heart loves more ! 
 
 Therefore the more, with Mary at thy feet, 
 
 I must sit worshipping — that, in my core, 
 
 Thy words may fan to a flame the low primeval heat. 
 
 14. 
 
 Oh my beloved, gone to heaven from me ! 
 
 I would be rich in love to heap you with love ; 
 
 I long to love you, sweet ones, perfectly — 
 
 Like God, who sees no spanning vault above, 
 
 No earth below, and feels no circling air — 
 
 Infinitely, no boundary anywhere ! 
 
 I am a beast until I love as God doth love. 
 
 Ah, say not, 'tis but perfect self I want ; 
 
 But if it were, that self is fit to live 
 
 Whose perfectness is still itself to scant, 
 
 Which never longs to have, but still to give. 
 
 A self I must have, or not be at all : 
 
 Love, give me a self self-giving — or let me fall 
 
 To endless darkness back, and free me from life's thrall. 
 
March. 209 
 
 16. 
 
 " Back," said I ! Whither back ? How to the dark ? 
 From no dark came I, but the depths of light \ 
 From the sun-heart I came, of love a spark : 
 What should I do but love with all my might ? 
 To die of love severe and pure and stark, 
 Were scarcely loss j to lord a loveless height — 
 That were a living death, damnation's positive night. 
 
 17- 
 But love is life. To die of love is then 
 The only pass to higher life than this. 
 All love is death to loving, living men ; 
 All deaths are leaps across clefts to the abyss. 
 Our life is the broken current, Lord, of thine, 
 Flashing from morn to morn with conscious shine — 
 Then first by willing death self-made, then life divine. 
 
 18. 
 
 I love you, my sweet children, who are gone 
 
 Into another mansion ; but I know 
 
 I love you not as I shall love you yet. 
 
 I love you, sweet dead children ; there are none 
 
 In the land to which ye vanished to go, 
 
 Whose hearts more truly on your hearts are set — 
 
 Yet should I die of grief to love you only so. 
 
 19. 
 
 " I am but as a beast before thee, Lord." — 
 
 Great poet-king, I thank thee for the word. — 
 
 Leave not thy son half-made in beastly guise — 
 
 Less than a man, with more than human cries — 
 
 An unshaped thing in which thyself cries out ! 
 
 Finish me, Father ; now I am but a doubt ; 
 
 Oh! make thy moaning thing for joy to leap and shout. 
 
2io Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 Let my soul talk to thee in ordered words, 
 O king of kings, O lord of only lords ! — 
 When I am thinking thee within my heart, 
 From the broken reflex be not far apart. 
 The troubled water, dim with upstirred soil, 
 Makes not the image which it yet can spoil : — 
 Come nearer, Lord, and smooth the wrinkled coil. 
 
 21. 
 
 Lord, when I do think of my departed, 
 
 1 think of thee who art the death of parting ; 
 Of him who crying Father breathed his last, 
 Then radiant from the sepulchre upstarted. — 
 
 Even then, I think, thy hands and feet kept smarting: 
 With us the bitterness of death is past, 
 But by the feet he still doth hold us fast. 
 
 22. 
 
 Therefore our hands thy feet do hold as fast. 
 
 We pray not to be spared the sorest pang, 
 
 But only — be thou with us to the last. 
 
 Let not our heart be troubled at the clang 
 
 Of hammer and nails, nor dread the spear's keen fang, 
 
 Nor the ghast sickening that comes of pain, 
 
 Nor yet the last clutch of the banished brain. 
 
 23- 
 Lord, pity us : we have no making power • 
 Then give us making will, adopting thine. 
 Make, make, and make us ; temper, and refine. 
 Be in us patience — neither to start nor cower. 
 Christ, if thou be not with us — not by sign, 
 But presence, actual as the wounds that bleed — 
 We shall not bear it. but shall die indeed. 
 
March. 211 
 
 24. 
 
 O Christ, have pity on all men when they come 
 Unto the border haunted of dismay ; 
 When that they know not draweth very near — 
 The other thing, the opposite of day, 
 Formless and ghastly, sick, and gaping-dumb, 
 Before which even love doth lose his cheer : 
 O radiant Christ, remember then thy fear. 
 
 2 5- 
 Be by me, Lord, this day. Thou know'st I mean — 
 Lord, make me mind thee. I herewith forestall 
 My own forgetfulness, when I stoop to glean 
 The corn of earth — which yet thy hand lets fall. 
 Be for me then against myself. Oh lean 
 Over me then when I invert my cup ; 
 Take me, if by the hair, and lift me up. 
 
 26. 
 
 Lord of essential life, help me to die. 
 
 To will to die is one with highest life, 
 
 The mightiest act that to Will's hand doth lie — 
 
 Born of God's essence, and of man's hard strife : 
 
 God, give me strength my evil self to kill, 
 
 And die into the heaven of thy pure will. — 
 
 Then shall this body's death be very tolerable. 
 
 2 7- 
 As to our mothers came help in our birth — 
 Not lost in lifing us, but saved and blest — 
 Self bearing self, although right sorely prest, 
 Shall nothing lose, but die and be at rest 
 In life eternal, beyond all care and dearth. 
 God-born then truly, a man does no more ill, 
 Perfectly loves, and has whate'er he will. 
 
212 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 As our dear animals do suffer less 
 
 Because their pain spreads neither right nor left, 
 
 Lost in oblivion and foresightlessness — 
 
 Our suffering sore by faith shall be bereft 
 
 Of all dismay, and every weak excess. 
 
 His presence shall be better in our pain, 
 
 Than even self-absence to the weaker brain. 
 
 29. 
 
 " Father, let this cup pass." He prayed — was heard. 
 What cup was it that passed away from him ? 
 Sure not the death-cup, now filled to the brim ! 
 There was no quailing in the awful word ; 
 He still was king of kings, of lords the lord : — 
 He feared lest, in the suffering waste and grim, 
 His faith might grow too faint and sickly dim. 
 
 30. 
 Thy mind, my master, I will dare explore ; 
 What we are told, that we are meant to know. 
 Into thy soul I search yet more and more, 
 Led by the lamp of my desire and woe. 
 If thee, my Lord, I may not understand, 
 I am a wanderer in a houseless land, 
 A weeping thirst by hot winds ever fanned. 
 
 3i- 
 Therefore I look again — and think I see 
 That, when at last he did cry out, " My God, 
 Why hast thou me forsaken ? " straight man's rod 
 Was turned aside ; for, that same moment, he 
 Cried " Father ! " and gave up will and breath and spirit 
 Into his hands whose all he did inherit — 
 Delivered, glorified eternally. 
 
APRIL, 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 215 
 
 JPRIL. 
 
 Lord, I do choose the higher than my will. 
 I would be handled by thy nursing arms 
 After thy will, not my infant alarms. 
 Hurt me thou wilt — but then more loving still, 
 If more can be and less, in Love's perfect zone ! 
 My fancy shrinks from least of all thy harms, 
 But do thy will with me — I am thine own. 
 
 2. 
 
 Some things wilt thou not one day turn to dreams ? 
 Some dreams wilt thou not one day turn to fact ? 
 The thing that painful, more than should be, seems, 
 Shall not thy sliding years with them retract — 
 Shall fair realities not counteract ? 
 The thing that was well dreamed of bliss and joy — 
 Wilt thou not breathe thy life into the toy? 
 
 3- 
 
 I have had dreams 01 absolute delight 
 Beyond all waking bliss— only of grass, 
 Flowers, wind, a peak, a limb of marble white; 
 They dwell with me like things half come to pass, 
 True prophecies : — when I with thee am right, 
 If I pray, waking, for such a joy of sight, 
 Thou with the gold, wilt not refuse the brass. 
 
216 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 
 I think I shall not ever pray for such ; 
 
 Thy bliss will overflood my heart and brain, 
 
 And I want no unripe things back again. 
 
 Love ever fresher, lovelier than of old — 
 
 How should it want its more excbanged for much ? 
 
 Love will not backward sigh, but forward strain 
 
 On in the tale still telling, never told. 
 
 5- 
 What has been, shall not only be, but is. 
 The hues of dreamland, strange and sweet and tender, 
 Are but hint-shadows of full many a splendour 
 Which the high Parent-love will yet unroll 
 Before his child's obedient, humble soul. 
 Ah me, my God ! in thee lies every bliss 
 Whose shadow men go hunting wearily amiss. 
 
 6. 
 
 Now, ere I sleep, I wonder what I shall dream. 
 
 Some sense of being, utter new, may come 
 
 Into my soul while I am blind and dumb — 
 
 With shapes and airs and scents which dark hours teem, 
 
 Of other sort than those that haunt the day, 
 
 Hinting at precious things, ages away 
 
 In the long tale of us God to himself doth say. 
 
 7- 
 
 Late, in a dream, an unknown lady I saw 
 
 Stand on a tomb ; down she to me stepped thence. 
 
 " They tell me," quoth I, " thou art one of the dead ! " 
 
 And scarce believed for gladness the yea she said ; 
 
 A strange auroral bliss, an arctic awe, 
 
 A new, outworldish joy awoke intense, 
 
 To think I talked with one that verily was dead. 
 
April. 217 
 
 8. 
 
 Thou dost demand our love, holy Lord Christ, 
 
 And batest nothing of thy modesty ; — 
 
 Thou know'st no other way to bliss the highest 
 
 Than loving thee, the loving, perfectly. 
 
 Thou lovest perfectly— that is thy bliss : 
 
 We must love like thee, or our being miss — 
 
 So, to love perfectly, love perfect Love, love thee. 
 
 9- 
 Here is my heart, O Christ ; thou know'st I love thee. 
 But wretched is the thing I call my love. 
 
 I ,ove divine, rise up in me and move me — 
 
 1 follow surely when thou first dost move. 
 To love the perfect love, is primal, mere 
 Necessity ; and he who holds life dear, 
 Must love thee every hope and heart above. 
 
 Might I but scatter interfering things — 
 Questions and doubts, distrusts and anxious pride, 
 And in thy garment, as under gathering wings, 
 Nestle obedient to thy loving side, 
 Easy it were to love thee. But when thou 
 Send'st me to think and labour from thee wide, 
 Love falls to asking many a why and how. 
 
 11. 
 
 Easier it were, but poorer were the love. 
 Lord, I would have me love thee from the deeps — 
 Of troubled thought, of pain, of weariness. 
 Through seething wastes below, billows above, 
 My soul should rise in eager, hungering leaps ; 
 Through thorny thicks, through sands unstable press- 
 Out of my dream to him who slumbers not nor sleeps. 
 
218 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 I do not fear the greatness of thy command — 
 
 To keep heart-open-house to brother men ; 
 
 But till in thy God's love perfect I stand, 
 
 My door not wide enough will open. Then 
 
 Each man will be love-awful in my sight ; 
 
 And, open to the eternal morning's might, 
 
 Each human face will shine my window for thy light. 
 
 / x 3- 
 Make me all patience and all diligence ; 
 Patience, that thou mayst have thy time with me ; 
 Diligence, that I waste not thy expense 
 In sending out to bring me home to thee. 
 What though thy work in me transcends my sense — 
 Too fine, too high, for me to understand — 
 I hope entirely. On, Lord, with thy labour grand. 
 
 14. 
 
 Lest I be humbled at the last, and told 
 That my great labour was but for my peace 
 That not for love or truth had I been bold, 
 But merely for a prisoned heart's release ; 
 Careful, I humble me now before thy feet : 
 Whate'er I be, I cry, and will not cease — 
 Let me not perish, though favour be not meet. 
 
 15. 
 
 For, what I seek thou knowest I must find, 
 
 Or miserably die for lack of love. 
 
 I justify thee : what is in thy mind, 
 
 If it be shame to me, all shame above, 
 
 Thou know'st I choose it — know'st I would not shove 
 
 The hand away that stripped me for the rod — 
 
 If so it pleased my Life, my love-made-angry God. 
 
April. 219 
 
 I see a door, a multitude near by, 
 In creed and quarrel, sure disciples all ! 
 Gladly they would, they say, enter the hall, 
 But cannot, the stone threshold is so high. 
 From unseen hand, full many a feeding crumb, 
 Slow dropping o'er the threshold high doth come : 
 They gather and eat, with much disputing hum. 
 
 Still and anon, a loud clear voice doth call — 
 
 " Make your feet clean, and enter so the hall." 
 
 They hear, they stoop, they gather each a crumb. 
 
 Oh the deaf people ! would they were also dumb ! 
 
 Hear how they talk, and lack of Christ deplore, 
 
 Stamping with muddy feet about the door, 
 
 And will not wipe them clean to walk upon his floor. 
 
 18. 
 
 But see, one comes ; he listens to the voice ; 
 
 Careful he wipes his weary dusty feet ! 
 
 The voice hath spoken — to him is left no choice ; 
 
 He hurries to obey — that only is meet. 
 
 Low sinks the threshold, levelled with the ground ; 
 
 The man leaps in — to liberty he's bound. 
 
 The rest go talking, walking, picking round. 
 
 19. 
 
 If I, thus writing, rebuke my neighbour dull, 
 And talk, and write, and enter not the door, 
 Than all the rest I wrong Christ tenfold more, 
 Making his gift of vision void and null. 
 Help me this day to be thy humble sheep, 
 Eating thy grass, and following, thou before ; 
 From wolfish lies my life, O Shepherd, keep. 
 
220 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 God, help me, dull of heart, to trust in thee. 
 Thou art the father of me — not any mood 
 Can part me from the One> the verily Good. 
 When fog and failure o'er my being brood, 
 When life looks but a glimmering marshy clod, 
 No fire out flashing from the living God — 
 Then, then, to rest in faith were worthy victory ! 
 
 21. 
 
 To trust is gain and growth, not mere sown seed ! 
 Faith heaves the world round to the heavenly dawn 
 In whose great light the soul doth spell and read 
 Itself high-born, its being derived and drawn 
 From the eternal self-existent fire, 
 Then, mazed with joy of its own heavenly breed, 
 Exultant-humble falls before its awful sire. 
 
 22. 
 
 Art thou not, Jesus, busy like to us ? 
 Thee shall I image as one sitting still, 
 Ordering all things in thy potent will, 
 Silent, and thinking ever to thy father, 
 Whose thought through thee flows multitudinous ? 
 Or shall I think of thee as journeying, rather 
 Ceaseless through space, because thou everything 
 dost fill? 
 
 23. 
 
 That all things thou dost fill, I well may think — 
 Thy power doth reach me in so many ways. 
 Thou who in one the universe dost bind, 
 Passest through all the channels of my mind ; 
 The sun of thought, across the farthest brink 
 Of consciousness thou sendest me thy rays ; 
 Nor drawest them in when lost in sleep I sink. 
 
April. 221 
 
 24. 
 
 So common are thy paths, thy coming seems 
 
 Only another phase oft of my me ; 
 
 But nearer is my 7, O Lord, to thee, 
 
 Than is my /to what itself it deems ; 
 
 How better then couldst thou, O master, come, 
 
 Than from thy home across into my home, 
 
 Straight o'er the marches that I cannot see ! 
 
 25- 
 Marches ? — 'Twixt thee and me there's no division, 
 Except the meeting of thy will and mine, 
 The loves that love, the wills that will the same. 
 Where thine meets mine is my life's true condition ; 
 Yea, only there it burns with any flame. 
 Thy will but holds me to my life's fruition. 
 
 God, I would — I have no mine that is not thine. 
 
 26. 
 
 1 look for thee, and do not see thee come. — 
 If I could see thee, 'twere a commoner thing, 
 And shallower comfort would thy coming bring. 
 Earth, sea, and air lie round me moveless dumb, 
 Never a tremble, an expectant hum, 
 
 To tell the Lord of Hearts is drawing near : 
 
 Lo ! in the looking eyes, the looked for Lord is here. 
 
 27- 
 I take a comfort from my very badness : 
 It is for lack of thee that I am bad. 
 How close, how infinitely closer yet 
 Must I come to thee, ere I can pay one debt 
 Which mere humanity has on me set ! 
 " How close to thee !" — no wonder, soul, thou art glad 
 Oneness with him is the eternal gladness. 
 
222 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 What can there be so close as making and made ? 
 Nought twinned can be so near ; thou art more nigh 
 To me, my God, than is this thinking / 
 To that I mean when / by me is said : 
 Thou art more near me, than is my ready will 
 Near to my love, though both one place do fill j — 
 Yet, till we are one, — Ah me ! the long until! 
 
 29. 
 
 Then shall my heart behold thee everywhere. 
 
 The vision rises of a speechless thing, 
 
 A perfectness of bliss beyond compare ! 
 
 A time when I nor breathe nor think nor move, 
 
 But I do breathe and think and feel thy love, 
 
 The soul of all the songs the saints do sing ! — 
 
 And life dies out in bliss, to come again in prayer. 
 
 30. 
 In the great glow of that great love, this death 
 Would melt away like a fantastic cloud ; 
 I should no more shrink from it than from the breath 
 That makes in the frosty air a nimbus-shroud ; 
 Thou, Love, hast conquered death, and I aloud 
 Shall triumph over him, with thy saintly crowd, 
 That where the Lamb goes ever followeth. 
 
MAY. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 225 
 
 MAY. 
 
 1. 
 
 What though my words glance sideways from the thing 
 
 Which I would utter in thine ear, my sire ! 
 
 Truth in the inward parts thou dost desire — 
 
 Wise hunger, not a fitness fine of speech : 
 
 The little child that clamouring fails to reach 
 
 With upstretched hand the fringe of her attire, 
 
 Yet meets the mother's hand down hurrying. 
 
 Even when their foolish words they turned on him, 
 He did not his disciples send away ; 
 He knew their hearts were foolish, eyes were dim, 
 And therefore by his side needs must they stay. 
 Thou wilt not, Lord, send me away from thee. 
 When I am foolish, make thy cock crow grim ; 
 If that is not enough, turn, Lord, and look on me. 
 
 3- 
 
 Another day of gloom and slanting rain ! 
 Of closed skies, cold winds, and blight and bane ! 
 Such not the weather, Lord, which thou art fain 
 To give thy chosen, sweet to heart and brain ! — 
 Until we mourn, thou keep'st the merry tune ; 
 Thy hand unloved its pleasure must restrain, 
 Nor spoil both gift and child by lavishing too soon. 
 
 p 
 
226 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 
 But all things shall be ours ! Up, heart, and sing. 
 
 All things were made for us — we are God's heirs — 
 
 Moon, sun, and wildest comets that do trail 
 
 A crowd of small worlds for a swiftness-tail I 
 
 Up from Thy depths in me, my child-heart bring — 
 
 The child alone inherits anything : 
 
 God's little children-gods — all things are theirs ! 
 
 5- 
 Thy great deliverance is a greater thing 
 Than purest imagination can foregrasp ; 
 A thing beyond all conscious hungering, 
 Beyond all hope that makes the poet sing. 
 It takes the clinging world, undoes its clasp, 
 Floats it afar upon a mighty sea, 
 And leaves us quiet with love and liberty and thee. 
 
 6. 
 
 Through all the fog, through all earth's wintery sighs, 
 I scent Thy spring, I feel the eternal air, 
 Warm, soft, and dewy, filled with flowery eyes, 
 And gentle, murmuring motions everywhere — 
 Of life in heart, and tree, and brook, and moss ; 
 Thy breath wakes beauty, love, and bliss, and prayer, 
 And strength to hang with nails upon thy cross. 
 
 7- 
 If thou hadst closed my life in seed and husk, 
 And cast me into soft, warm, damp, dark mould, 
 All unaware of light come through the dusk, 
 I yet should feel the split of each shelly fold, 
 Should feel the growing of my prisoned heart, 
 And dully dream of being slow unrolled, 
 And in some other vagueness taking part. 
 
May. 227 
 
 And little as the world I should foreknow 
 
 Up into which I was about to rise — 
 
 Its rains, its radiance, airs, and warmth, and skies, 
 
 How it would greet me, how its wind would blow — 
 
 As little, it may be, I do know the good 
 
 Which I for years half darkling have pursued — 
 
 The second birth for which my nature cries. 
 
 9- 
 The life that knows not, patient waits, nor longs : — 
 I know, and would be patient, yet would long. 
 I can be patient for all coming songs, 
 But let me sing my one monotonous song. 
 To me the time is slow my mould among ; 
 To quicker life I fain would spur and start 
 The aching growth at my dull-swelling heart. 
 
 10. 
 
 Christ is the pledge that I shall one day see ; 
 
 That one day, still with him, I shall awake, 
 
 And know my God, at one with him and free. 
 
 O lordly essence, come to life in me ; 
 
 The will-throb let me feel that doth me make ; 
 
 Now have I many a mighty hope in thee, 
 
 Then shall I rest although the universe should quake. 
 
 11. 
 
 Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine 
 Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving ; 
 Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving, 
 Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine. 
 Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong ; 
 Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine, 
 Is torn by passion's raving, maniac throng. 
 
228 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 Fair freshness of the God-breathed spirit air, 
 Pass through my soul, and make it strong to love ; 
 Wither with gracious cold what demons dare 
 Shoot from my hell into my world above ; 
 Let them drop down, like leaves the sun doth sear, 
 And flutter far into the inane and bare, 
 Leaving my middle-earth calm, wise, and clear. 
 
 Even thou canst give me neither thought nor thing, 
 Were it the priceless pearl hid in the land, 
 Which, if I fix thereon a greedy gaze, 
 Becomes not poison that doth burn and cling ; 
 Their own bad look my foolish eyes doth daze, 
 They see the gift, see not the giving hand — 
 From the living root the apple dead I wring. 
 
 14. 
 
 This versing, even the reading of the tale 
 That brings my heart its joy unspeakable, 
 Sometimes will softly, unsuspectedly hale 
 That heart from thee, and all its pulses quell. 
 Discovery's pride, joy's bliss, take aback my sail, 
 And sweep me from thy presence and my grace, 
 Because my eyes dropped from the master's face. 
 
 *5- 
 
 Afresh I seek thee. Lead me — once more I pray — 
 
 Even should it be against my will, thy way. 
 
 Let me not feel thee foreign any hour, 
 
 Or shrink from thee as an estranged power. 
 
 Through doubt, through faith, through bliss, through 
 
 stark dismay, 
 Through sunshine, wind, or snow, or fog, or shower, 
 Draw me to thee who art my only day. 
 
May. 229 
 
 16. 
 
 I would go near thee — but I cannot press 
 
 Into thy presence — it helps not to presume. 
 
 Thy doors are deeds; the handles are their doing. 
 
 He whose day-life is obedient righteousness, 
 
 Who, after failure, or a poor success, 
 
 Rises up, stronger effort yet renewing — 
 
 He finds thee, Lord, at length, in his own common room. 
 
 Lord, thou hast carried me through this evening's duty ; 
 
 I am released, weary, and well content. 
 
 O soul, put on the evening dress of beauty, 
 
 Thy sunset-flush, of gold and purple blent ! — 
 
 Alas, the moment I turn to my heart, 
 
 Feeling runs out of doors, or stands apart ! 
 
 But such as I am, Lord, take me as thou art. 
 
 The word he then did speak, fits now as then, 
 For the same kind of men doth mock at it. 
 God-fools, God-drunkards these do call the men 
 Who think the poverty of their all not fit, 
 Borne humbly by their art, their voice, their pen, 
 Save for its allness, at thy feet to fling, 
 For whom all is unfit that is not everything. 
 
 19. 
 
 O Christ, my life, possess me utterly. 
 
 Take me and make a little Christ of me. 
 
 If I am anything but thy father's son, 
 
 'Tis something not yet from the darkness won. 
 
 Oh, give me light to live with open eyes. 
 
 Oh, give me life to hope above all skies. 
 
 Give me thy spirit to haunt the Father with my cries. 
 
230 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 Tis hard for man to rouse his spirit up — 
 
 It is the human creative agony, 
 
 Though but to hold the heart an empty cup, 
 
 Or tighten on the team the rigid rein. 
 
 Many will rather lie among the slain 
 
 Than creep through narrow ways the light to gain- 
 
 Than wake the will, and be born bitterly. 
 
 But he who would be born again indeed, 
 Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day 
 And urge himself to life with holy greed ; 
 Now ope his bosom to the Wind's free play ; 
 And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still, 
 Submiss and ready to the making will, 
 Athirst and empty, for God's breath to fill. 
 
 22. 
 
 All times are thine whose will is our remede. 
 
 Man turns to thee, thou hast not turned away ; 
 
 The look he casts, thy labour that did breed — 
 
 It is thy work, thy business all the day : 
 
 That look, not foregone fitness, thou dost heed. 
 
 For duty absolute how be fitter than now ? 
 
 Or learn by shunning ? — Lord, I come ; help thou. 
 
 23- 
 Ever above my coldness and my doubt 
 Rises up something, reaching forth a hand : 
 This thing I know, but cannot understand. 
 Is it the God in me that rises out 
 Beyond my self, trailing it up with him 
 Toward the spirit-home, the freedom-land, 
 Beyond my conscious ken, my near horizon's brim ? 
 
May. 231 
 
 24. 
 
 God of man, my heart would worship all 
 My fellow men, the flashes from thy fire ; 
 Them in good sooth my lofty kindred call, 
 Born of the same one heart, the perfect sire ; 
 Love of my kind alone can set me free ; 
 Help me to welcome all that come to me, 
 
 Not close my doors and dream solitude liberty I 
 
 25- 
 A loving word may set some door ajar 
 Where seemed no door, and that may enter in 
 Which lay at the heart of that same loving word. 
 In my still chamber dwell thou always, Lord ; 
 Thy presence there will carriage true afford ; 
 True words will flow, pure of design to win ; 
 And to my men my door shall have no bar. 
 
 26. 
 
 My prayers, my God, flow from what I am not ; 
 
 1 think thy answers make me what I am. 
 
 Like weary waves thought follows upon thought, 
 But the still depth beneath is all thine own, 
 And there thou mov'st in paths to us unknown. 
 Out of strange strife thy peace is strangely wrought ; 
 If the lion in us pray — thou answerest the lamb. 
 
 27. 
 
 So bound in selfishness am I, so chained, 
 
 I know it must be glorious to be free, 
 
 But know not what, full-fraught, the word doth mean. 
 
 By loss on loss I have severely gained 
 
 Wisdom enough my slavery to see j 
 
 But liberty, pure, absolute, serene, 
 
 No freest-visioned slave has ever seen. 
 
232 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 For, that great freedom how should such as I 
 Be able to imagine in such a self? 
 Less hopeless far the miser man might try 
 To image the delight of friend-shared pelf. 
 Freedom is to be like thee, face and heart ; 
 To know it, Lord, I must be as thou art ; 
 I cannot breed the imagination high. 
 
 29. 
 
 Yet hints come to me from the realm unknown ; 
 Airs drift across the twilight border-land, 
 Odoured with life ; and as from some far strand 
 Sea-murmured, whispers to my heart are blown 
 That fill me with a joy I cannot speak, 
 Yea, from whose shadow words drop faint and weak : 
 Thee, God, I shadow in that region grand. 
 
 3°- 
 O Christ, who didst appear in Judah land, 
 Thence by the cross go back to God's right hand, 
 Plain history, and things our sense beyond, 
 In thee together come and correspond : 
 How rulest thou from the undiscovered bourne 
 The world-wise world that laughs thee still to scorn ? 
 Please, Lord, let thy disciple understand ! 
 
 3i- 
 'Tis heart on heart thou rulest. Thou art the same 
 At God's right hand as here exposed to shame, 
 And therefore workest now as thou didst then — 
 Feeding the faint divine in humble men. 
 Through all thy realms from thee goes out heart-power, 
 Working the holy, satisfying hour 
 When all shall love, and all be loved again. 
 
JUNE. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 235 
 
 JUNE. 
 
 From thine, as then, the healing virtue goes 
 Into our hearts — that is the Father's plan. 
 From heart to heart it sinks, it steals, it flows, 
 From these that know thee still infecting those. 
 Here is my heart — from thine, Lord, fill it up, 
 That I may offer it as the holy cup 
 Of thy communion to my every man. 
 
 2. 
 
 When thou dost send out whirlwinds on thy seas, 
 
 Alternatest thy lightning with its roar, 
 
 Thy night with morning, and thy clouds with stars 
 
 Or, mightier force unseen in midst of these, 
 
 Orderest the life in every airy pore ; 
 
 Guidest men's efforts, rul'st mishaps and jars, — 
 
 'Tis only for their hearts, and nothing more. 
 
 This, this alone thy father careth for — 
 
 That men should live hearted throughout with thee ; 
 
 Because the simple, only life thou art — 
 
 Of the very truth of living, the pure heart. 
 
 For this, deep waters whelm the fruitful lea, 
 
 Wars ravage, famine wastes, plague withers, nor 
 
 Shall cease till men have chosen the better part. 
 
236 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 But, like a virtuous medicine, self-diffused 
 Through all men's hearts thy love shall sink and float, 
 Till every feeling false, and thought unwise, 
 Selfish and seeking, shall, sternly disused, 
 Wither, and die, and shrivel up to nought ; 
 And Christ, whom they did hang 'twixt earth and skies, 
 Up in the inner world of men shall rise. 
 
 5- 
 
 Make me a fellow worker with thee, Christ : 
 
 Nought else befits a God-born energy ; 
 
 Of all that's lovely, only lives the highest, 
 
 Lifing the rest that it shall never die. 
 
 Up I would be to help thee — for thou liest 
 
 Not, linen-swathed in Joseph's garden-tomb, 
 
 But walkest crowned, creation's heart and bloom. 
 
 My God, when I would lift my heart to thee, 
 
 Imagination instantly doth set 
 
 A cloudy something, thin, and vast, and vague, 
 
 To stand for Him who is the fact of me. 
 
 Up starts the will then, and doth her weakness plague 
 
 To pay the heart in full her imagined debt, 
 
 Showing the face that hearkeneth to the plea. 
 
 7- 
 
 And hence it comes that thou at times dost seem 
 
 To fade into an image of my mind ; 
 
 I, dreamer, cover, hide thee up with dream, — 
 
 Thee, primal, individual entity ! — 
 
 No likeness will I seek to frame or find, 
 
 But cry to that which thou dost choose to be, 
 
 To that which is my sight, therefore I cannot see. 
 
June. 237 
 
 8. 
 
 No likeness ? Lo, the Christ ! Oh, large Enough ! 
 
 I see, yet fathom not the face he wore ! 
 
 He is — and outside Him there is no stuff 
 
 To make a man. Let fail me every spark 
 
 Of further vision on my pathway rough, 
 
 I have seen — and trust the unseen perfect More, 
 
 While to his feet my faith crosses the wayless dark. 
 
 9- 
 Faith is the human shadow of thy might. 
 Thou art the one self-perfect life, and we 
 Who trust thy life, therein join on to thee, 
 Taking our part in self-creating Light. 
 To trust is to step forward out of the night — 
 To be — to share in the outgoing Will 
 That lives and is, because outgoing still. 
 
 I am lost before thee, Father ! yet I will 
 
 Claim of thee my birthright ineffable. 
 
 Thou lay'st it on me, son, to claim thee, sire ; 
 
 To that which thou hast made me, I aspire ; 
 
 To thee, the sun, upflames thy kindled fire. 
 
 No man presumes in that to which he was born j 
 
 Less than the gift to claim, would be the giver to scorn. 
 
 11. 
 
 Henceforth all things thy dealings are with me, 
 
 For out of thee is nothing, or can be j 
 
 And all things are to draw us home to thee. 
 
 W T hat matter that the knowers scoffing say, 
 
 " This is old folly, plain to the new day " ! — 
 
 If thou be such as thou, and they as they, 
 
 Until thy Let there /?e, they still must answer Nay. 
 
238 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 They will not, therefore cannot, do not know him. 
 Nothing they could know, could be God. In sooth, 
 Unto the true alone exists the truth. 
 They say well, saying Nature doth not show him : 
 Truly she shows not what she cannot show ; 
 And they deny the thing they cannot know. 
 Who sees a glory, toward it will go. 
 
 13- 
 
 Faster no step moves God because the fool 
 Shouts to the universe God there is none j 
 The blindest man will not preach out the sun, 
 Though on his darkness he should found a school. 
 It may be, when he finds he is not dead, 
 Though world and body, sight and sound are fled, 
 Some eyes may open in his foolish head. 
 
 14. 
 
 When I am very weary with hard thought, 
 And yet the question burns and is not quenched, 
 My heart grows cool when to remembrance wrought 
 That thou v/ho know'st the light-born answer sought 
 Know'st too the dark where the doubt lies entrenched — 
 Know'st with what seemings I am sore perplexed, 
 And that with thee I wait, nor needs my soul be vexed. 
 
 15- 
 
 Who sets himself not sternly to be good, 
 Is but a fool, who judgment of true things 
 Has none, however oft the claim renewed. 
 And he who thinks, in his great plenitude, 
 To right himself, and set his spirit free 
 Without the might of higher communings, 
 Is foolish also — save he willed himself to be ! 
 
June. 239 
 
 16. 
 
 How many helps thou giv'st to those would learn ! 
 To some sore pain, to others a sinking heart j 
 To some a weariness worse than any smart ; 
 To some a haunting, fearing, blind concern ; 
 Madness to some ; to some the shaking dart 
 Of hideous death still following as they turn ; 
 To some a hunger that will not depart. 
 
 17- 
 
 To some thou giv'st a deep unrest — a scorn 
 
 Of all they are or see upon the earth • 
 
 A gaze, at dusky night and clearing morn, 
 
 As on a land of emptiness and dearth j 
 
 To some a bitter sorrow ; to some the sting 
 
 Of love misprized — of sick abandoning ; 
 
 To some a frozen heart, oh, worse than anything ! 
 
 To some a mocking demon, that doth set 
 
 The poor foiled will to scoff at the ideal, 
 
 But loathsome makes to them their life of jar. 
 
 The messengers of Satan think to mar, 
 
 But make — driving the soul from false to feal — 
 
 To thee, the reconciler, the one real, 
 
 In whom alone the would be and the is are met. 
 
 19. 
 
 Me thou hast given an infinite unrest, 
 
 A hunger — not at first after known good, 
 
 But something vague I knew not, and yet would— 
 
 The veiled Isis, thy will not understood ; 
 
 A conscience tossing ever in my breast ; 
 
 And something deeper, that will not be expressed 
 
 Save as the Spirit thinking in the Spirit's brood. 
 
240 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 But now the Spirit and I are one in this — 
 
 My hunger now is after righteousness ; 
 
 My spirit hopes in God to set me free 
 
 From the low self loathed of the higher me. 
 
 Great elder brother of my second birth, 
 
 Dear o'er all names but one, in heaven or earth, 
 
 Teach me all day to love eternally. 
 
 21. 
 
 Lo, Lord, thou know'st, I would not anything 
 
 That in the heart of God holds not its root ; 
 
 Nor falsely deem there is any life at all 
 
 That doth in him nor sleep nor shine nor sing ; 
 
 I know the plants that bear the noisome fruit 
 
 Of burning and of ashes and of gall — 
 
 From God's heart torn, rootless to man's they cling. 
 
 22. 
 
 Life-giving love rots to devouring fire ; 
 Justice corrupts to despicable revenge ; 
 Motherhood chokes in the dam's jealous mire ; 
 Hunger for growth turns fluctuating change ; 
 Love's anger grand grows spiteful human wrath, 
 Hunting men out of conscience' holy path ; 
 And human kindness takes the tattler's range. 
 
 23- 
 Nothing can draw the heart of man but good ; 
 Low good it is that draws him from the higher — 
 So evil — poison uncreate from food. 
 Never a foul thing, with temptation dire, 
 Tempts hellward force created to aspire, 
 But walks in wronged strength of imprisoned Truth, 
 Whose mantle also oft the Shame indu'th. 
 
Junk. 241 
 
 24. 
 
 Love in the prime not yet I understand — 
 Scarce know the love that loveth at first hand : 
 Help me my selfishness to scatter and scout ; 
 Blow on me till my love loves burningly ; 
 Then the great love will burn the mean self out, 
 And I, in glorious simplicity, 
 Living by love, shall love unspeakably. 
 
 2 5- 
 Oh, make my anger pure — let no worst wrong 
 Rouse in me the old niggard selfishness. 
 Give me thine indignation — which is love 
 Turned on the evil that would part love's throng ; 
 Thy anger scathes because it needs must bless, 
 Gathering into union calm and strong 
 All things on earth, and under, and above. 
 
 26. 
 
 Make my forgiveness downright — such as I 
 Should perish if I did not have from thee ; 
 I let the wrong go, withered up and dry, 
 Cursed with divine forgetfulness in me. 
 'Tis but self-pity, pleasant, mean, and sly, 
 Low whispering bids the paltry memory live : — 
 What am I brother for, but to forgive ! 
 
 27. 
 
 "Thou art my father's child — come to my heart : " 
 
 Thus must I say, or Thou must say, " Depart ; " 
 
 Thus I would say — I would be as thou art ; 
 
 Thus I must say, or still I work athwart 
 
 The absolute necessity and law 
 
 That dwells in me, and will me asunder draw, 
 
 If in obedience I leave any flaw. 
 
 Q 
 
242 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 Lord, I forgive — and step in unto thee. 
 
 If I have enemies, Christ deal with them : 
 
 He hath forgiven me and Jerusalem. 
 
 Lord, set me from self-inspiration free, 
 
 And let me live and think from thee, not me — 
 
 Rather, from deepest me then think and feel, 
 
 At centre of thought's swift-revolving wheel. 
 
 29. 
 
 I sit o'ercanopied with Beauty's tent, 
 
 Through which flies many a golden-winged dove, 
 
 Well watched of Fancy's tender eyes up bent ; 
 
 A hundred Powers wait on me, ministering ; 
 
 A thousand treasures Art and Knowledge bring ; 
 
 Will, Conscience, Reason tower the rest above ; 
 
 But in the midst, alone, I gladness am and love. 
 
 3°- 
 
 'Tis but a vision, Lord ; I do not mean 
 That thus I am, or have one moment been — 
 'Tis but a picture hung upon my wall 
 To measure dull contentment therewithal, 
 And know behind the human how I fall ; — 
 A vision true, of what one day shall be 
 When thou hast had thy very will with me. 
 
JULY. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 245 
 
 JULT. 
 
 1. 
 
 Alas, my tent ! see through it a whirlwind sweep ! 
 
 Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away ; 
 
 I sit alone, a Sorrow half asleep, 
 
 My Consciousness the blackness all astir ; 
 
 No pilgrim I, a homeless wanderer — 
 
 For how canst Thou be in the darkness deep 
 
 Who dwellest only in the living day ? 
 
 It must be, somewhere in my fluttering tent 
 Strange creatures, half tamed only yet, are pent — 
 Dragons, lop-winged birds, and small- eyed snakes ! 
 Hark ! through the storm the saddest howling breaks ! 
 Or are they loose, roaming about the bent, 
 The darkness dire deepening with moan and scream ?— 
 My Morning, rise, and all shall be a dream. 
 
 3- 
 Not thine, my Lord, the darkness all is mine — 
 Save that, as mine, my darkness too is thine : 
 All things are thine to save or to destroy — 
 Destroy my darkness, rise my perfect joy ; 
 Love primal, the live coal of every night, 
 Flame out, scare the ill things with radiant fright, 
 And fill my tent with laughing morn's delight. 
 
246 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4. 
 Master, thou workest with such common things — 
 Low souls, weak hearts, I mean — and hast to use, 
 Therefore, such common means and rescuings, 
 That hard we find it, as we sit and muse, 
 To think thou workest in us verily : 
 Bad sea-boats we, and manned with wretched crews : 
 We doubt the captain, watch the storm-spray flee ! 
 
 5- 
 
 Thou art hampered in thy natural working then 
 When beings designed on freedom's holy plan 
 Will not be free : with thy poor, foolish men, 
 Thou therefore hast to work just like a man. 
 But when, tangling thyself in their sore need, 
 Thou hast to freedom fashioned them indeed, 
 Then wilt thou grandly move, and Godlike speed. 
 
 6. 
 
 Will this not then show grandest fact of all — 
 
 In thy creation victory most renowned — 
 
 That thou hast wrought thy will by slow and small, 
 
 And made men like thee, though thy making was bound 
 
 By that which they were not and could not be 
 
 Until thou mad'st them make along with thee ? — 
 
 Master, the tardiness is but in me. 
 
 7- 
 Hence come thy checks — because I still would run 
 My head into the sand, nor flutter aloft 
 Toward thy home, with thy wind under me. 
 'Tis because I am mean, thy ways so oft 
 Look mean to me ; my rise is low begun ; 
 But scarce thy will doth grasp me, ere I see, 
 For my arrest and rise, its stern necessity. 
 
July. 247 
 
 8. 
 
 Like clogs upon the pinions of thy plan 
 
 We hang — like captives on thy chariot-wheels, 
 
 Who should climb up and ride with Death's conqueror ; 
 
 Therefore thy train along the world's highway steals 
 
 So slow to the peace of heart-reluctant man. 
 
 What shall we do to spread the wing and soar, 
 
 Nor straiten thy deliverance any more ? 
 
 9- 
 The sole way to put flight into the wing, 
 To preen its feathers, and to make them grow, 
 Is to heed humbly every smallest thing 
 With which the Christ in us has aught to do. 
 So will that Christ from child to manhood go, 
 Obedient to the father Christ ; and so 
 Sweet holy change will turn all our old things to new. 
 
 10. 
 
 Creation Thou dost work by faint degrees, 
 
 By shade and shadow from unseen beginning ; 
 
 Far, far apart, in unthought mysteries 
 
 Of thy own dark, unfathomable seas, 
 
 Thou will'st thy will ; and thence, upon the earth — 
 
 Slow travelling, his way through centuries winning — 
 
 A child at length arrives at never ending birth. 
 
 11. 
 
 Well mayst thou then work on indocile hearts 
 
 By small successes, disappointments small ; 
 
 By nature, weather, failure, or sore fall ; 
 
 By shame, anxiety, bitterness, and smarts j 
 
 By loneliness, by weary loss of zest : — 
 
 The rags, the husks, the swine, the hunger-quest, 
 
 Drive home the wanderer to the Father's breast. 
 
248 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 How suddenly some rapid turn of thought 
 May throw the life-machine all out of gear, 
 Clouding the windows with the steam of doubt, 
 Filling the eyes with dust, with noise the ear ! 
 Who knows not then where dwells the engineer, 
 Rushes aghast into the pathless night, 
 And wanders in a land of dreary fright. 
 
 Amazed at sightless whirring of their wheels, 
 Confounded with the recklessness and strife, 
 Distract with fears of what may next ensue, 
 Some break rude exit from the house of life, 
 And plunge into a silence out of view — 
 Whence not a cry, no wafture once reveals 
 What door they have broke open with the knife. 
 
 14. 
 
 Help me, my Father, in whatever dismay, 
 
 Whatever terror in whatever shape, 
 
 To hold the faster by thy garment's hem ; 
 
 When my heart sinks, oh, lift it up, I pray ; 
 
 Thy child should never fear though hell should gape, 
 
 Not blench though all the ills that men affray 
 
 Stood round him like the Romans round Jerusalem. 
 
 15- 
 
 Too eager I must not be to understand. 
 
 How should the work the master goes about 
 
 Fit the vague sketch my compasses have planned? 
 
 I am his house — for him to go in and out. 
 
 He builds me now — and if I cannot see 
 
 At any time what he is doing with me, 
 
 'Tis that he makes the house for me too grand. 
 
July. 249 
 
 16. 
 
 The house is not for me — it is for him. 
 
 His royal thoughts require many a stair, 
 
 Many a tower, many an outlook fair, 
 
 Of which I have no thought, and need no care. 
 
 Where I am most perplexed, it may be there 
 
 Thou mak'st a secret chamber, holy-dim, 
 
 Where thou wilt come to help my deepest prayer 
 
 I cannot tell why this day I am ill ; 
 
 But I am well because it is thy will — 
 
 Which is to make me pure and right like thee. 
 
 Not yet I need escape — 'tis bearable 
 
 Because thou knowest. And when harder things 
 
 Shall rise and gather, and overshadow me, 
 
 I shall have comfort in thy strengthenings. 
 
 18. 
 
 How do I live when thou art far away ? — 
 W T hen I am sunk, and lost, and dead in sleep, 
 Or in some dream with no sense in its play ? 
 When weary-dull, or drowned in study deep ? — ■ 
 
 Lord, I live so utterly on thee, 
 
 1 live when I forget thee utterly — 
 
 Forget, not that thou thinkest of, but thinkest me. 
 
 19. 
 
 Thou far! — that word the holy truth doth blur. 
 Doth the great ocean from the small fish run 
 When it sleeps fast in its low weedy bower? 
 Is the sun far from any smallest flower 
 That lives by his dear presence every hour ? 
 Are they not one in oneness without stir — 
 The flower the flower because the sun the sun ? 
 
250 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 " Dear presence every hour" ! — what of the Night, 
 When crumpled daisies shut gold sadness in ; 
 And some do hang the head for lack of light, 
 Sick almost unto death with absence-blight ? — 
 Thy memory then, warm-lingering in the ground, 
 Mourned dewy in the air, keeps their hearts sound 
 Till fresh with day their lapsed life begin. 
 
 21. 
 
 All things are shadows of the shining True : 
 Sun, sea, and air — close, potent, hurtless fire — 
 Flowers from their mother's prison — dove, and dew — 
 Every thing holds a slender guiding clue 
 Back to the mighty oneness : — hearts of faith 
 Know thee than light, than heat, endlessly nigher, 
 Our life's life, carpenter of Nazareth. 
 
 22. 
 
 Sometimes, perhaps, the spiritual blood runs slow, 
 
 And soft along the veins of Will doth flow, 
 
 Seeking God's arteries from which it came. 
 
 Or does the ethereal, creative flame 
 
 Turn back upon itself, and latent grow ? — 
 
 It matters not what figure or what name, 
 
 If thou art in me, and I am not to blame. 
 
 23- 
 
 In such God-silence, the soul's nest, so long 
 As all is still, no flutter and no song, 
 Is safe. But if my soul begin to act 
 Without some waking to the eternal fact 
 That my dear life is hid with Christ in God — 
 I think and move a creature of earth's clod, 
 Stand on the finite, act upon the wrong. 
 
July. 251 
 
 24. 
 
 My soul this sermon hence for itself prepares : — 
 
 "Then is there nothing vile thou mayst not do, 
 
 Buffeted in a tumult of low cares, 
 
 And treacheries of the old man 'gainst the new." — 
 
 Lord, in my spirit let thy spirit move, 
 
 Warning, that it may not have to reprove : — 
 
 In my dead moments, master, stir the prayers. 
 
 25- 
 Lord, let my soul o'erburdened then feel thee 
 Thrilling through all its brain's stupidity. 
 If I must slumber, heedless of ill harms, 
 Let it not be but in my Father's arms ; 
 Outside the shelter of his garment's fold, 
 All is a waste, a terror-haunted wold. — 
 Lord, keep me. 'Tis thy child that cries. Behold. 
 
 26. 
 
 Some say that thou their endless love hast won 
 
 By deeds for them which I may not believe 
 
 Thou ever didst, or ever willedst done : 
 
 What matter, so they love thee ? They receive 
 
 Eternal more than the poor loom and wheel 
 
 Of their invention ever wove and spun. — 
 
 I love thee for I must, thine all from head to heel. 
 
 27. 
 
 The love of thee will set all notions right. 
 Right save by love no thought can be or may ; 
 Only love's knowledge is the primal light. 
 Questions keep camp along love's shining coast — 
 Challenge my love and would my entrance stay : 
 Across the buzzing, doubting, challenging host 
 I rush to thee, and cling, and cry — Thou know'st. 
 
252 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 Oh, let me live in thy realities, 
 
 Nor substitute my notions for thy facts, 
 
 Notion with notion making leagues and pacts ; 
 
 They are to truth but as dream-deeds to acts, 
 
 And questioned, make me doubt of everything. — 
 
 " O Lord, my God," my heart gets up and cries, 
 
 "Come thy own self, and with thee my faith bring." 
 
 29. 
 
 master, my desires to work, to know, 
 To be aware that I do live and grow — 
 All restless wish for anything not thee, 
 
 1 yield, and on thy altar offer me. 
 
 Let me no more from out thy presence go, 
 But keep me waiting watchful for thy will — 
 Even while I do it, waiting watchful still. 
 
 3°- 
 Thou art the Lord of life, the secret thing. 
 Thou wilt give endless more than I could find, 
 Even if without thee I could go and seek ; 
 For thou art one, Christ, with my deepest mind, 
 Duty alive, self-willed, in me dost speak, 
 And to a deeper purer being sting : 
 I come to thee, my life, my causing kind. 
 
 3 1 - 
 
 Nothing is alien in thy world immense — 
 
 No look of sky or earth or man or beast ; 
 
 " In the great hand of God I stand, and thence " 
 
 Look out on life, his endless, holy feast. 
 
 To try to feel is but to court despair, 
 
 To dig for a sun within a garden-fence : 
 
 Who does thy will, O God, he lives upon thy air. 
 
AUGUST. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 255 
 
 jug u ST. 
 
 So shall abundant entrance me be given 
 
 Into the truth, my life's inheritance. 
 
 Lo ! as the sun shoots straight from out his tomb, 
 
 God-floated, casting round a lordly glance 
 
 Into the corners of his endless room, 
 
 So, through the rent which thou, O Christ, hast riven, 
 
 I enter liberty's divine expanse. 
 
 It will be so — ah, so it is not now ! 
 Who seeks thee for a little lazy peace, 
 Then, like a man all weary of the plough, 
 That leaves it standing in the furrow's crease, 
 Turns from thy presence for a foolish while, 
 Till comes again the rasp of unrest's file, 
 From liberty is distant many a mile. 
 
 3- 
 
 Like one that stops, and drinks, and turns, and goes 
 
 Into a land where never water flows, 
 
 There travels on, the dry and thirsty day, 
 
 Until the hot night veils the farther way, 
 
 Then turns and finds again the bubbling pool — 
 
 Here would I build my house, take up my stay, 
 
 Nor ever ieave my Sychar's margin cool. 
 
256 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4. 
 Keep me. Lord, with thee. I call from out the dark- 
 Hear in thy light, of which I am a spark. 
 I know not what is mine and what is thine — 
 Of branch and stem I miss the differing mark— 
 But if a mere hair's-breadth me separateth, 
 That hair's-breadth is eternal, infinite death. 
 For sap thy dead branch calls, O living vine ! 
 
 5- 
 
 I have no choice, I must do what I can ; 
 But thou dost me, and all things else as well ; 
 Thou wilt take care thy child shall grow a man. 
 Rouse thee, my faith ; be king ; with life be one ; 
 To trust in God is action's highest kind ; 
 Who trusts in God, his heart with life doth swell ; 
 Faith opens all the windows to God's wind. 
 
 6. 
 
 O Father, thou art my eternity. 
 
 Not on the clasp of consciousness — on thee 
 
 My life depends ; and I can well afford 
 
 All to forget, so thou remember, Lord. 
 
 In thee I rest ; in sleep thou dost me fold ; 
 
 In thee I labour ; still in thee, grow old ; 
 
 And dying, shall I not in thee, my Life, be bold ? 
 
 7- 
 In holy things may be unholy greed. 
 Thou giv'st a glimpse of many a lovely thing 
 Not to be stored for use in any mind, 
 But only for the present spiritual need. 
 The holiest bread, if hoarded, soon will breed 
 The mammon-moth, the having-pride, I find. 
 'Tis momently thy heart gives out heart-quickening. 
 
August. 257 
 
 It is thyself, and neither this nor that, 
 
 Nor anything told, taught, or dreamed of thee, 
 
 That keeps us live. The holy maid who sat 
 
 Low at thy feet, choosing the better part, 
 
 Rising, bore with her — what a memory ! 
 
 Yet, brooding only on that treasure, she 
 
 Had soon been roused by conscious loss of heart. 
 
 9- 
 I am a fool when I would stop and think, 
 And, lest I lose my thoughts, from duty shrink. 
 It is but avarice in another shape. 
 Tis as the vine-branch were to hoard the grape, 
 Nor trust the living root beneath the sod. 
 What trouble is that child to thee, my God, 
 Who sips thy gracious cup, and will not drink ! 
 
 True, faithful action only is the life, 
 The grapes for which we feel the pruning knife. 
 Thoughts are but leaves ; they fall and feed the ground. 
 The holy seasons, swift and slow, go round ; 
 The ministering leaves return, fresh, large, and rife — 
 But fresher, larger, more thoughts to the brain : — 
 Farewell, my dove ! — come back, hope-laden, through 
 the rain. 
 
 11. 
 
 Well may this body poorer, feebler grow ! 
 
 It is undressing for its last sweet bed ; 
 
 But why should the soul, which death shall never know, 
 
 Authority, and power, and memory shed ? 
 
 It is that Love with absolute Faith would wed : 
 
 God takes the inmost garments off his child 
 
 To have him in his arms naked and undefiled. 
 
 R 
 
258 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 Thou art my knowledge and my memory, 
 
 No less than my real, deeper life, my love. 
 
 I will not fool, degrade myself to trust 
 
 In less than that which maketh me say Me, 
 
 In less than that causing itself to be. 
 
 Thou art within me, behind, beneath, above — 
 
 I will be thine because I may and must. 
 
 Thou art the truth, the life. Thou, Lord, wilt see 
 
 To every question that perplexes me. 
 
 I am thy being ; and my dignity 
 
 Is written with my name down in thy book ; 
 
 Thou wilt care for it. Never shall I think 
 
 Of anything that thou mightst overlook : — 
 
 In faith-born triumph at thy feet I sink. 
 
 14. 
 
 Thou carest more for that which I call mine, 
 
 In same sort — better manner than I could, 
 
 Even if I knew creation's ends divine 
 
 Rousing in me this vague desire of good. 
 
 Thou art more to me than my desires' whole brood ; 
 
 Thou art the only person, and I cry 
 
 Unto the father / of this my I. 
 
 i5- 
 
 Thou who inspirest prayer, then bend'st thine ear 
 Its crying with love's grand respect to hear ! 
 I cannot give myself to thee aright — 
 With the triumphant uttermost of gift ; 
 That cannot be till I am full of light — 
 To perfect deed a perfect will must lift : — 
 Inspire, possess, compel me, First of every might. 
 
August. 259 
 
 16. 
 
 I do not wonder men can ill believe 
 
 Who make poor claims upon thee, perfect Lord ; 
 
 Then most I trust when most I would receive. 
 
 I wonder not that such do pray and grieve — 
 
 The God they think, to be God is not fit. 
 
 Then only in thy glory I seem to sit 
 
 When my heart claims from thine an infinite accord. 
 
 17. 
 More life I need ere I myself can be. 
 Sometimes, when the eternal tide ebbs low, 
 A moment weary of my life I grow — 
 Weary of my existence' self, I mean, 
 Not of its plodding, not its wind and snow ! 
 Then to thy knee trusting I turn, and lean : 
 Thou will'st I live, and I do will with thee. 
 
 18. 
 
 Dost thou mean sometimes that we should forget thee, 
 Dropping the veil of things 'twixt thee and us ? — 
 Ah, not that we should lose thee and regret thee ! 
 But that, we turning from our windows thus, 
 The frost-fixed God should vanish from the pane 
 Sun-melted, and a moment, Father, let thee 
 Look like thyself straight into heart and brain. 
 
 19. 
 For sometimes when I am busy among men, 
 With heart and brain an open thoroughfare 
 For faces, words, and thoughts other than mine, 
 And a pause comes at length — oh, sudden then, 
 Back throbs thy tide with rush exultant rare ; 
 And for a gentle moment I divine 
 Thy dawning presence flush my tremulous air. 
 
260 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 If I have to forget thee, do thou see 
 
 It be a good, not bad forgetfulness ; 
 
 That all its mellow, truthful air be free 
 
 From dusty noes, and soft with many a yes ; 
 
 That as thy breath my life, my life may be 
 
 Man's breath. So when thou com'st at hour unknown, 
 
 Thou shalt find nothing in me but thine own. 
 
 21. 
 
 Thou being in me, r in my deepest me 
 
 Through all the time I do not think of thee, 
 
 Shall I not grow at last so true within 
 
 As to forget thee and yet never sin ? 
 
 Shall I not walk the loud world's busy way, 
 
 Yet in thy palace-porch sit all the day ? 
 
 Not conscious think of thee, yet never from thee stray ? 
 
 22. 
 
 Forget ! — Oh, must it be ? — Would it were rather 
 That every sense was so filled with my father 
 That not in anything could I forget him, 
 But deepest, highest must in all things set him ! — 
 Yet if thou think in me, God, what great matter 
 Though my poor thought to former break and latter — 
 As now my best thoughts break, before thee foiled, and 
 scatter ! 
 
 23- 
 Some way there must be of my not forgetting, 
 And thither thou art leading me, my God. 
 The child that, weary of his mother's petting, 
 Runs out the moment that his feet are shod, 
 May see her face in every flower he sees ; 
 And she, although beyond the window sitting, 
 Be nearer him than when he sat upon her knees. 
 
August. 261 
 
 24. 
 
 What if, when I at last, at the long last, 
 Shall see thy face, my Lord, my life's delight, 
 It should not be the face that hath been glassed 
 In poor Imagination's mirror slight ! 
 Will my soul sink, and shall I stand aghast, 
 Beggared of hope, my heart a conscious blight, 
 Amazed and lost — death's bitterness come and not 
 passed ? 
 
 2 5- 
 Ah, no ! for from thy heart the love will press, 
 x\nd shining from thy perfect human face, 
 Will sink into me like the father's kiss ; 
 And deepening wide the gulf of consciousness 
 Beyond imagination's lowest abyss, 
 Will, with the potency of creative grace, 
 Lord it throughout the larger thinking-place. 
 
 26. 
 
 Thus God-possessed, new born, ah, not for long 
 
 Should I the sight behold, beatified — 
 
 Know it creating in me, feel the throng 
 
 Of speechless hopes out-throbbing like a tide, 
 
 And my heart rushing, borne aloft the flood, 
 
 To offer at his feet its living blood — 
 
 Ere, glory-hid, the other face I spied. 
 
 27. 
 
 For our Imagination is, in small, 
 
 And with the making-difference that must be, 
 
 Mirror of God's creating mirror ; all 
 
 That shows itself therein, that formeth he ; 
 
 And there is Christ — no bodiless vanity, 
 
 Though, face to face, the mighty perfectness 
 
 W T ith glory blurs the dim-reflected Less. 
 
262 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 I clasp thy feet, O father of the living ! 
 Thou wilt not let my fluttering hopes be more, 
 Or lovelier, or greater than thy giving ! 
 Surely thy ships will bring to my poor shore, 
 Of gold and peacocks such a shining store 
 As will laugh all the dreams to holy scorn, 
 Of love and sorrow that were ever born. 
 
 29. 
 
 Sometimes it seems pure natural to trust, 
 And trust right largely, grandly, infinitely, 
 Daring the splendour of the giver's part ; 
 At other times, the whole earth is but dust, 
 The sky is dust, yea, dust the human heart ; 
 Then art thou nowhere, there is no room for thee 
 In the great dust-heap of eternity. 
 
 30- 
 But why should it be possible to mistrust — 
 Nor possible only, but its opposite hard ? 
 Why should not man believe because he must — 
 By sight's compulsion ? Why should he be scarred 
 With conflict ? worn with doubting fine and long ? — 
 No man is fit for heaven's musician throng 
 Who has not tuned an instrument all shook and jarred. 
 
 Therefore, O Lord, when all things common seem, 
 
 When all is dust, and self the centre clod, 
 
 When grandeur is a hopeless, foolish dream, 
 
 And anxious care more reasonable than God, — 
 
 Out of Job's ashes I will call to thee — 
 
 In spite of dead distrust call earnestly : — 
 
 Oh thou who livest, call, then answer dying me. 
 
SEPTEMBER. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 265 
 
 SEPTEMBER. 
 
 1. 
 
 We are a shadow and a shining, we ! 
 
 One moment nothing seems but what we see, 
 
 Or aught to rule but common Circumstance — 
 
 Nought is to seek but praise, to shun but chance ; 
 
 A moment more, and God is all in all, 
 
 And not a sparrow from its nest can fall 
 
 But from the ground its chirp goes up into his hall 
 
 I know at least which is the better mood. 
 
 When on a heap of cares I sit and brood, 
 
 Like Job upon his ashes, sorely vext, 
 
 1 feel a lower thing than when I stood 
 
 The world's true heir, fearless as, on its stalk, 
 
 A lily meeting Jesus in his walk : 
 
 I am not all mood — I can judge betwixt. 
 
 3- 
 
 Such differing moods can scarce to one belong ; 
 
 Shall the same fountain sweet and bitter yield ? 
 
 Shall what bore late the dust-mood, think and brood 
 
 Till it bring forth the great believing mood ? 
 
 Or that which bore the grand mood, bald and peeled 
 
 Sit down to croon the shabby sensual song, 
 
 To hug itself, and sink from wrong to meaner wrong ? 
 
266 Diary of an Old Soul 
 
 In the low mood, the mere man acts alone, 
 
 Moved by impulses which, if from within, 
 
 Yet far outside the central man begin ; 
 
 But in the grand mood, every softest tone 
 
 Comes from the living God at very heart — 
 
 From thee who infinite core of being art, 
 
 Thee who didst call our names ere ever we could sin. 
 
 5- 
 There is a coward sparing in the heart, 
 Offspring of penury and low-born fear : — 
 Prayer must take heed, nor overdo its part 
 Asking too much of him with open ear ! 
 Sinners must wait, nor claim the very best — 
 Must cry for peace, and be of middling cheer ! — 
 False heart ! thou cheatest God, and dost thy life molest. 
 
 6. 
 
 Thou hungerest not, thou thirstest not enough. 
 
 Thou art a temporizing thing, mean heart. 
 
 Down-drawn, thou pick'st up straws and wretched stuff, 
 
 Stooping as if the world's floor were the chart 
 
 Of the long way thy lazy feet must tread. 
 
 Thou dreamest of the crown hung o'er thy head — 
 
 But that is safe : thou gatherest hairs and fluff ! 
 
 7. 
 
 Man's highest action is to reach up higher, 
 
 Stir up himself to take hold of his sire. 
 
 Then best I love you, dearest, when I go 
 
 And cry to love's life I may love you so 
 
 As to content the yearning, making love, 
 
 That perfects strength divine in weakness' fire, 
 
 And from the broken pots calls out the silver dove. 
 
September. 267 
 
 Poor am I, God knows, poor as withered leaf; 
 
 Poorer or richer than ? — I dare not ask. 
 
 To love aright, for me were hopeless task, 
 
 Eternities too high to comprehend. 
 
 But shall I tear my heart in hopeless grief, 
 
 Or rise and climb, and run and kneel, and bend 
 
 To drink the primal love — so love in chief? 
 
 9- 
 Then love shall wake and be its own high life. 
 Then shall I know 'tis I that love indeed — 
 Ready, without a moment's questioning strife, 
 To be forgot, like bursting water-bead, 
 For the high good of the eternal dear ; 
 All hope, all claim resting, with spirit clear, 
 Upon the living love that every love doth breed. 
 
 10. 
 
 Ever I seem to fail in utterance. 
 Sometimes amid the swift melodious dance 
 Of fluttering words — as if it had not been, 
 The thought has melted, vanished into night ; 
 Sometimes I say a thing I did not mean, 
 And lo ! 'tis better, by thy ordered chance, 
 Than what eluded me, floating too feathery light. 
 
 n. 
 
 If thou would have me speak, Lord, give me speech. 
 So many cries are uttered now-a-days, 
 That scarce a song, however clear and true, 
 Will thread the jostling tumult safe, and reach 
 The ears of men buz-filled with poor denays : 
 Barb thou my words with light, make my song new, 
 And men will hear, or when I sing or preach. 
 
268 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 Can anything go wrong with me ? I ask — 
 And the same moment, at a sudden pain, 
 Stand trembling. Up from the great river's brim 
 Comes a cold breath ; the farther bank is dim ; 
 The heaven is black with clouds and coming rain ; 
 High soaring faith is grown a heavy task, 
 And all is wrong with weary heart and brain. 
 
 1 3- 
 " Things do go wrong. I know grief, pain, and fear. 
 I see them lord it sore and wide around." 
 From her fair twilight answers Truth, star-crowned : 
 " Things wrong are needful where wrong things abound. 
 Things go not wrong ; but Pain, with dog and spear, 
 False faith from human hearts will hunt and hound. 
 The earth shall quake 'neath them that trust the solid 
 ground." 
 
 14. 
 
 Things go not wrong when sudden I fall prone, 
 But when I snatch my upheld hand from thine, 
 And, proud or careless, think to walk alone. 
 Then things go wrong, when I, poor, silly sheep, 
 To shelves and pits from the good pasture creep ; 
 Not when the shepherd leaves the ninety and nine, 
 And to the mountains goes, after the foolish one. 
 
 Lo ! now thy swift dogs, over stone and bush, 
 
 After me, straying sheep, loud barking, rush. 
 
 There's Fear, and Shame, and Empty-heart, and Lack, 
 
 And Lost-love, and a thousand at their back ! 
 
 I see thee not, but know thou hound'st them on, 
 
 And I am lost indeed — escape is none. 
 
 See ! there they come, down streaming on my track ! 
 
September. 269 
 
 16. 
 
 I rise and run, staggering— double and run. — 
 But whither? — whither? — whither for escape? 
 The sea lies all about this long-necked cape — 
 There come the dogs, straight for me every one — 
 Me, live despair, live centre of alarms ! — 
 Ah ! lo ! 'twixt me and all his barking harms, 
 The shepherd, lo ! — I run — fall folded in his arms. 
 
 17- 
 
 There let the dogs yelp, let them growl and leap ! 
 It is no matter — I will go to sleep. 
 Like a spent cloud pass pain and grief and fear ; 
 Out from behind it unchanged love shines clear. — 
 Oh, save me, Christ ! — I know not what I am ; 
 I was thy stupid, self-willed, greedy lamb — 
 Would be thy honest and obedient sheep. 
 
 18. 
 
 Why is it that so often I return 
 
 From social converse with a spirit worn, 
 
 A lack, a disappointment — even a sting 
 
 Of shame, as for some low, unworthy thing ? — 
 
 Because I have not, careful, first of all, 
 
 Set my door open wide, back to the wall, 
 
 Ere I at others' doors did knock and call. 
 
 Yet more and more of me thou dost demand ; 
 
 My faith and hope in God alone shall stand, 
 
 The life of law — not trust the rain and sun 
 
 To draw the golden harvest o'er the land. 
 
 I must not say — "This too will pass and die," 
 
 "The wind will change," " Round will the seasons run." 
 
 Law is the body of Will, of conscious harmony 
 
270 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 Who trusts a law, might worship a god of wood ; 
 
 Half his soul slumbers, if it be not dead. 
 
 He is a live thing shut in chaos crude, 
 
 Hemmed in with dragons — a remorseless head 
 
 Still hanging over its uplifted eyes. 
 
 No ; God is all in all, and nowhere dies — 
 
 The present heart and thinking will of good. 
 
 21. 
 
 Law is our schoolmaster. Our master, Christ, 
 
 Lived under all our laws, yet always prayed — 
 
 So walked the water when the storm was highest. — 
 
 Law is Thy father's ; thou hast it obeyed, 
 
 And it thereby subject to thee hast made — 
 
 To rule it, master, for thy brethren's sakes : — 
 
 Well may he guide the law by whom law's maker makes 
 
 22. 
 
 Death haunts our souls with dissolution's strife ; 
 Soaks them with unrest ; makes our every breath 
 A throe, not action ; from God's purest gift 
 Wipes off the bloom ; and on the harp of faith 
 Its fretted strings doth slacken still and shift : 
 Life everywhere, perfect, and always life, 
 Is sole redemption from this haunting death. 
 
 23- 
 God, thou from death dost lift me. As I rise, 
 Its Lethe from my garment drips and flows. 
 Ere long I shall be safe in upper air 
 With thee, my life — with thee, my answered prayer ! 
 Where thou art God in every wind that blows, 
 And self alone, and ever, softly dies, 
 There shall my being blossom, and I shall know it fair. 
 
September. 271 
 
 24. 
 
 I would dig, Master, in no field but thine, 
 
 Would build my house only upon thy rock, 
 
 Yet am but a dull day, with a sea-sheen ! 
 
 Why should I wonder then that they should mock 
 
 Who, in the limbo of things heard and seen 
 
 Hither and thither blowing, lose the shine 
 
 Of every light that hangs in the firmament divine ! 
 
 2 5- 
 Lord, loosen in me the hold of visible things ; 
 Help me to walk by faith and not by sight ; 
 I would, through thickest veils and coverings, 
 See into the chambers of the living light. 
 Lord, in the land of things that swell and seem, 
 Help me to walk by the other light supreme 
 Which shows thy facts behind man's vaguely hinting 
 dream. 
 
 26. 
 
 I see a little child whose eager hands 
 Search the thick stream that drains the crowded street 
 For possible things hid in its current slow. 
 Near by, behind him, a great palace stands 
 Where kings might welcome nobles to their feet. 
 Soft sounds, sweet scents, fair sights there only go — 
 There the child's father lives, but the child does not 
 know. 
 
 27- 
 Oh, eager, hungry, busy-seeking child, 
 Rise up, turn round, run in, run up the stair : 
 Far in a chamber from rude noise exiled, 
 Thy father sits, pondering how thou dost fare. 
 The mighty man will clasp thee to his breast ; 
 Will kiss thee, stroke the tangles of thy hair, 
 And lap thee warm in fold on fold of lovely rest. 
 
272 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 The prince of this world came, and nothing found 
 
 In thee, O master ; but, ah, woe is me ! 
 
 He cannot pass me, on other business bound, 
 
 But, spying in me things familiar, he 
 
 Casts over me the shadow of his flight, 
 
 And straight I moan in darkness — and my fight 
 
 Begins afresh betwixt the world and thee. 
 
 29. 
 
 In my own heart, O master, in my thought, 
 Betwixt the woolly sheep and hairy goat 
 Not clearly I distinguish ; but I think 
 Thou knowest that I fight upon thy side. 
 The how I am ashamed of ; for I shrink 
 From many a blow — am borne on the battle-tide, 
 When I should rush to the front, and take thy foe by 
 the throat. 
 
 3°- 
 
 The enemy still hath many things in me ; 
 Yea, many an evil nest with open hole 
 Gapes out to him, at which he enters free. 
 But, like the impact of a burning coal, 
 His presence mere straight rouses the garrison, 
 And all are up in arms, and down on knee, 
 Fighting and praying till the foe is gone. 
 
OCTOBER. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 275 
 
 OCTOBER. 
 
 Remember, Lord, thou hast not made me good. 
 
 Or if thou didst, it was so long ago 
 
 I have forgotten — and never understood, 
 
 I humbly think. At best it was a crude, 
 
 A rough-hewn goodness, that did need this woe, 
 
 This sin, these harms of all kinds fierce and rude, 
 
 To shape it out, making it live and grow. 
 
 2. 
 
 But thou art making me, I thank thee, sire. 
 
 What thou hast done and doest thou know'st well, 
 
 And I will help thee : — gently in thy fire 
 
 I will lie burning ; on thy potter's-wheel 
 
 I will whirl patient, though my brain should reel : 
 
 Thy grace shall be enough the grief to quell, 
 
 And growing strength perfect through weakness dire. 
 
 3- 
 I have not knowledge, wisdom, insight, thought, 
 Or understanding, fit to justify 
 Thee in thy work, O Perfect. Thou hast brought 
 Me up to this — and, lo ! what thou hast wrought, 
 I cannot call it good. But I can cry — 
 " O enemy, the maker hath not done : 
 One day thou shalt behold, and from the sight wilt run. 
 
276 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4- 
 
 The faith I will, aside is easily bent ; 
 
 But of thy love, my God, one glimpse alone 
 
 Can make me absolutely confident — 
 
 With faith, hope, joy, in love responsive blent 
 
 My soul then, in the vision mighty grown, 
 
 Its father and its fate securely known, 
 
 Falls on thy bosom with exultant moan. 
 
 5- 
 
 Thou workest perfectly. And if it seem 
 Some things are not so well, 'tis but because 
 They are too loving-deep, too lofty-wise, 
 For me, poor child, to understand their laws : 
 My highest wisdom half is but a dream ; 
 My love runs helpless like a falling stream : 
 Thy good embraces ill, and lo, its illness dies ! 
 
 From sleep I wake, and wake to think of thee. 
 But wherefore not with sudden glorious glee ? 
 Why burst not gracious on me heaven and earth 
 In all the splendour of a new-day-birth ? 
 Why hangs a cloud betwixt my lord and me ? 
 The moment that my eyes the morning greet, 
 My soul should panting rush to clasp thy father-feet 
 
 7- 
 Is it because it is not thou I see, 
 But only my poor, blotted fancy of thee ? 
 Oh, never till thyself reveal thy face, 
 Shall I be flooded with life's vital grace ! 
 Oh make my mirror-heart thy shining-place, 
 And then my soul, awaking with the morn, 
 Shall be a waking joy, eternally new-born. 
 
October. 277 
 
 8. 
 
 Lord, in my silver is much metal base, 
 Else should my being by this time have shown 
 Thee thy own self therein. Therefore do I 
 Wake in the furnace. I know thou sittest by, 
 Refining — look, keep looking in to try 
 Thy silver ; master, look and see thy face, 
 Else here I lie for ever, blank as any stone. 
 
 9- 
 But when in the dim silver thou dost look, 
 I do behold thy face, though blurred and faint. 
 Oh joy ! no flaw in me thy grace will brook, 
 But still refine : slow shall the silver pass 
 From bright to brighter, till, sans spot or taint, 
 Love, well content, shall see no speck of brass, 
 And I his perfect face shall hold as in a glass. 
 
 With every morn my life afresh must break 
 
 The crust of self, gathered about me fresh, 
 
 That thy wind-spirit may rush in and shake 
 
 The darkness out of me, and rend the mesh 
 
 The spider-devils spin out of the flesh — 
 
 Eager to net the soul before it wake 
 
 That it may slumberous lie, and listen to the snake. 
 
 11. 
 
 'Tis that I am not good — that is enough ; 
 
 I pry no farther — that is not the way. 
 
 Here, O my potter, is thy making-stuff! 
 
 Set thy wheel going ; let it whir and play. 
 
 The chips in me, the stones, the straws, the sand, 
 
 Cast them out with fine separating hand, 
 
 And make a vessel of thy yielding clay. 
 
278 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 What if it take a thousand years to make me, 
 
 So me he leave not, angry, on the floor ! — 
 
 Nay, thou art never angry ! — that would break me ! 
 
 Would I tried never thy dear patience sore, 
 
 But were as good as thou couldst well expect me, 
 
 Whilst thou dost make, I mar, and thou correct me ! 
 
 Then were I now content, waiting for something more. 
 
 x 3- 
 Only, my God, see thou that I content thee — 
 Oh, take thy own content upon me, God ! 
 Ah, never, never, sure, wilt thou repent thee 
 That thou hast called thy Adam from the clod ! 
 Yet must I mourn that thou shouldst ever find me 
 One moment sluggish, needing more of the rod 
 Than thou didst think when thy desire designed me. 
 
 14. 
 
 My God, it troubles me I am not better. 
 
 More help, I pray, still more. Thy perfect debtor 
 
 I shall be when thy perfect child I am grown. 
 
 My Father, help me — am I not thine own ? 
 
 Lo, other lords have had dominion o'er me, 
 
 But now thy will alone I set before me : 
 
 Thy own heart's life — Lord, thou wilt not abhor me ! 
 
 In youth, when once again I had set out 
 
 To find thee, Lord, my life, my liberty, 
 
 A window now and then, clouds all about, 
 
 Would open into heaven : my heart forlorn 
 
 First all would tremble with a solemn glee, 
 
 Then, whelmed in peace, rest like a man outworn, 
 
 That sees the dawn slow part the closed lids of the morn. 
 
October. 279 
 
 16. 
 
 Now I grow old, and the soft-gathered years 
 
 Have calmed, yea dulled the heart's swift fluttering heat 
 
 But a quiet hope that keeps its household seat 
 
 Is better than recurrent glories fleet. 
 
 To know thee, Lord, is worth a many tears j 
 
 And when this mildew, age, has dried away, 
 
 My heart will beat again as young and strong and gay. 
 
 Stronger and gayer tenfold ! — but, O friends, 
 Not for itself, nor any hoarded bliss. 
 I see but vaguely whither my being tends, 
 All vaguely spy a glory shadow-blent, 
 Vaguely desire the " individual kiss ; " 
 But when I think of God, a large content 
 Fills the dull air of my gray cloudy tent. 
 
 Father of me, thou art my bliss secure. 
 
 Make of me, maker, whatsoe'er thou wilt. 
 
 Let fancy's wings hang moulting, hope grow poor, 
 
 And doubt steam up from where a joy was spilt — 
 
 I lose no time to reason it plain and clear, 
 
 But fly to thee, my life's perfection dear : — 
 
 Not what I think, but what thou art, makes sure. 
 
 19. 
 
 This utterance of spirit through still thought, 
 
 This forming of heart-stuff in moulds of brain, 
 
 Is helpful to the soul by which 'tis wrought, 
 
 The shape reacting on the heart again ; 
 
 But when I am quite old, and words are slow, 
 
 Like dying things that keep their holes for woe, 
 
 And memory's withering tendrils clasp with effort vain ? 
 
280 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 Thou, then as now, no less wilt be my life, 
 And I shall know it better than before, 
 Praying and trusting, hoping, claiming more. 
 From effort vain, sick foil, and bootless strife, 
 I shall, with childness fresh, look up to thee ; 
 Thou, seeing thy child with age encumbered sore, 
 Wilt round him bend thine arm more carefully. 
 
 21. 
 
 And when grim Death doth take me by the throat, 
 Thou wilt have pity on thy handiwork ; 
 Thou wilt not let him on my suffering gloat, 
 But draw my soul out — gladder than man or boy 
 When thy saved creatures from the narrow ark 
 Rushed out, and leaped and laughed and cried for joy, 
 And the great rainbow strode across the dark. 
 
 22. 
 
 Against my fears, my doubts, my ignorance, 
 
 I trust in thee, O father of my Lord ! 
 
 The world went on in this same broken dance 
 
 When, worn and mocked, He trusted and adored : 
 
 I too will trust, and gather my poor best 
 
 To face the truth-faced false. So in his nest 
 
 I shall awake at length, a little scarred and scored. 
 
 23- 
 Things cannot look all right so long as I 
 Am not all right who see — therefore not right 
 Can see. The lamp within sends out the light 
 Which shows the things ; and if its rays go wry, 
 Or are not white, they must part show a lie. 
 The man, half-cured, did men not trees conclude, 
 Because he moving saw what else had seemed a wood. 
 
October. 281 
 
 24. 
 
 Give me, take from me, as thou wilt. I learn — 
 Slowly and stubbornly I learn to yield 
 With a strange hopefulness. As from the field 
 Of hard-fought battle won, the victor chief 
 Turns thankfully, although his heart do yearn, 
 So from my old things to thy new I turn 
 With sad, thee-trusting heart, and not in grief. 
 
 25- 
 If with my father I did wander free, 
 Floating o'er hill and field where'er we would, 
 And, lighting on the sward before the door, 
 Strange faces through the window-panes should see, 
 And strange feet standing where the loved had stood — 
 The dear old place theirs all, as ours before — 
 Should I be sorrowful, father, having thee ? 
 
 26. 
 
 So, Lord, if thou tak'st from me all the rest, 
 
 Thyself with each resumption drawing nigher, 
 
 It shall but hurt me as the thorns of the briar 
 
 When I reach to the pale flower in their breast. 
 
 To have thee, Lord, is to have all thy best, 
 
 Holding it by its very life divine — 
 
 To let my friend's hand go, and take his heart in mine. 
 
 27- 
 Take from me leisure, all familiar places ; 
 Take all the lovely things of earth and air ; 
 Take from me books ; take all my precious faces ; 
 Take words melodious, and their songful linking ; 
 Take scents, and sounds, take all thy outsides fair : 
 Draw nearer, taking, and, to my sober thinking, 
 Thou bring'st them nearer all, more ready to my prayer. 
 
282 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 No place on earth henceforth I shall count strange, 
 
 For every place belongeth to my Christ. 
 
 I will go calm where'er thou bid'st me range ; 
 
 Whoe'er my neighbour, thou art still my nighest. 
 
 Oh my heart's life, my owner, will of my being ! 
 
 Into my soul thou every moment diest, 
 
 In thee my life thus evermore decreeing. 
 
 29. 
 
 What though things change and pass, nor come again 
 Thou, the life-heart of all things, changest never. 
 The sun shines on ; the fair clouds turn to rain, 
 And glad the earth with many a spring and river. 
 The hearts that answer change with chill and shiver, 
 That mourn the past, sad-sick, with hopeless pain, 
 They know not thee, our changeless heart and brain. 
 
 My halting words will some day turn to song — 
 
 Some far-off day, in holy other times ! 
 
 The melody now prisoned in my rimes 
 
 Will one day break aloft, and from the throng 
 
 Of wrestling thoughts and words spring up the air ; 
 
 As from the flower its colour's sweet despair 
 
 Issues in odour, and the sky's low levels climbs. 
 
 3 1 - 
 
 My surgent thought shoots lark-like up to thee. 
 
 Thou like the heaven art all about the lark. 
 
 Whatever I surmise or know in me, 
 
 Idea, or but symbol on the dark, 
 
 Is living, working, thought-creating power 
 
 In thee, the timeless father of the hour. 
 
 I am thy book, thy song — thy child would be. 
 
NOVEMBER. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 285 
 
 2{pyEMBER. 
 1. 
 
 Thou art of this world, Christ. Thou know'st it all ; 
 Thou know'st our evens, our morns, our red and gray ; 
 How moons, and hearts, and seasons rise and fall ; 
 How we grow weary plodding on the way ■ 
 Of future joy how present pain bereaves, 
 Rounding us with a dark of mere decay, 
 Tossed with a drift of summer-fallen leaves. 
 
 2. 
 
 Thou knowest all our weeping, fainting, striving ; 
 
 Thou know'st how very hard it is to be ; 
 
 How hard to rouse faint will not yet reviving ; 
 
 To do the pure thing, trusting all to thee ; 
 
 To hold thou art there, for all no face we see ; 
 
 How hard to think, through cold and dark and dearth, 
 
 That thou art nearer now than when eye-seen on earth. 
 
 3- 
 Have pity on us for the look of things, 
 When blank denial stares us in the face. 
 Although the serpent mask have lied before, 
 It fascinates the bird that darkling sings, 
 And numbs the little prayer-bird's beating wings. 
 For how believe thee somewhere in blank space 
 When through the darkness comes no knocking to our 
 door? 
 
286 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 If we might sit until the darkness go, 
 
 Possess our souls in patience perhaps we might ; 
 
 But there is always something to be done, 
 
 Though no heart left to do it. To and fro 
 
 The dull thought surges, as the driven waves fight 
 
 In gulfy channels. Oh ! victorious one, 
 
 Give strength to rise, go out, and meet thee in the night. 
 
 5- 
 " Wake, thou that sleepest ; rise up from the dead, 
 And Christ will give thee light." I do not know 
 What sleep is, what is death, or what is light ; 
 But I am waked enough to feel a woe, 
 To rise and leave death. Stumbling through the night, 
 To my dim lattice, O calling Christ ! I go, 
 And out into the dark look for thy star-crowned head. 
 
 6. 
 
 There are who come to me, and write, and send, 
 
 Whom I would love, giving good things to all, 
 
 But friend — that name I cannot on them spend; 
 
 'Tis from the centre of self-love they call 
 
 For cherishing — for which they first must know 
 
 How to be still, and take the seat that's low : 
 
 When, Lord, shall I be fit — when wilt thou call me friend? 
 
 7- 
 Wilt thou not one day, Lord ? In all my wrong, 
 Self-love and weakness, laziness and fear, 
 This one thing I can say : / am content 
 To be and have what i?i thy heart I am meant 
 To be and have. In my best times I long 
 After thy will, and think it glorious-dear ; 
 Even in my worst, perforce my will to thine is bent. 
 
November. 287 
 
 8. 
 
 My God, I look to thee for tenderness 
 
 Such as I could not seek from any man, 
 
 Or in a human heart fancy or plan — 
 
 A something deepest prayer will not express : 
 
 Lord, with thy breath blow on my being's fires, 
 
 Until, even to the soul with self-love wan, 
 
 I yield the primal love, that no return desires. 
 
 9- 
 
 Only no word of mine must ever foster 
 The self that in a brother's bosom gnaws ; 
 I may not fondle failing, nor the boaster 
 Encourage with the breath of my applause. 
 Weakness needs pity, sometimes love's rebuke : 
 Strength only sympathy deserves and draws — 
 And grows by every faithful loving look. 
 
 10. 
 
 Tis but as men draw nigh to thee, my Lord, 
 They can draw nigh each other and not hurt. 
 Who with the gospel of thy peace are girt, 
 The belt from which doth hang the Spirit's sword, 
 Shall breathe on dead bones, and the benes shall live ; 
 Sweet poison to the evil self shall give ; 
 And, clean themselves, lift men clean from the mire 
 abhorred. 
 
 n. 
 
 My Lord, I have no clothes to come to thee ; 
 My shoes are pierced and broken with the road ; 
 I am torn and weathered, wounded with the goad, 
 And soiled with tugging at my weary load : 
 The more I need thee ! A very prodigal 
 I stagger into thy presence, Lord of me : 
 One look, my Christ, and at thy feet I fall ! 
 
288 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 Why should I still hang back, like one in a dream, 
 Who vainly strives to clothe himself aright, 
 That in great presence he may seemly seem ? 
 Why call up feeling ? — dress me in the faint, 
 Worn, faded, cast-off nimbus of some saint ? 
 Why of old mood bring back a ghostly gleam — 
 While there He waits, love's heart and Loss's blight ! 
 
 13- 
 
 Son of the Father, elder brother mine, 
 
 See thy poor brother's plight ! See how he stands 
 
 Defiled and feeble, hanging down his hands ! 
 
 Make me clean, brother, with thy burning shine ; 
 
 From thy rich treasures, householder divine, 
 
 Bring forth fair garments, old and new, I pray, 
 
 And like thy brother dress me, in the old home-bred way. 
 
 14. 
 
 My prayer-bird was cold — would not away, 
 Although I set it on the edge of the nest. 
 Then I bethought me of the story old — 
 Love-fact or loving fable, thou know'st best — 
 How, when the children had made sparrows of clay, 
 Thou mad'st them birds, with wings to flutter and fold : 
 Take, Lord, my prayer in thy hand, and make it pray. 
 
 15- 
 
 My poor clay-sparrow seems turned to a stone, 
 And from my heart will neither fly nor run. 
 I cannot feel as thou and I both would, 
 But, Father, I am willing — make me good. 
 What art thou father for, but to help thy son ? 
 Look deep, yet deeper, in my heart, and there, 
 Beyond where I can feel, read thou the prayer. 
 
November. 289 
 
 16. 
 
 Oh what it were to be right sure of thee ! 
 
 Sure that thou art, and the same as thy son, Jesus ! 
 
 Oh, faith is deeper, wider than the sea, 
 
 Yea, than the blue of heaven that ever flees us ! 
 
 Yet simple as the cry of sore-hurt child, 
 
 Or as his shout, with sudden gladness wild, 
 
 When home from school he runs, till morn set free. 
 
 If I were sure thou, Father, verily art, 
 
 True father of the Nazarene as true, 
 
 Sure as I am of my wife's shielding heart, 
 
 Sure as of sunrise in the watching blue, 
 
 Sure as I am that I do eat and drink 
 
 And have a heart to love and laugh and think, 
 
 Meseems in flame the joy might from my body start. 
 
 18. 
 
 But I must know thee in a deeper way 
 
 Than any of these ways, or know thee not ; 
 
 My heart at peace far loftier proof must lay 
 
 Than if the wind thou me the wave didst roll, 
 
 Than if I lay before thee a sunny spot, 
 
 Or knew thee as the body knows its soul, 
 
 Or even as the part doth know its perfect whole. 
 
 19. 
 
 There is no word to tell how I must know thee j 
 No wind clasped ever a low meadow-flower 
 So close that as to nearness it could show thee ; 
 No rainbow so makes one the sun and shower. 
 A something with thee, I am a nothing fro' thee. 
 Because I am not save as I am in thee, 
 My soul is ever setting out to win thee. 
 
 T 
 
290 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 I know not how — for that I first must know thee. 
 I know I know thee not as I would know thee. 
 For my heart burns like theirs that did not know him 
 Till he broke bread, and therein they must know him. 
 I know thee, knowing that I do not know thee, 
 Nor ever shall till one with me I know thee — 
 Even as thy son, the eternal man, doth know thee. 
 
 21. 
 
 Creation under me, in, and above, 
 Slopes upward from the base, a pyramid, 
 On whose point I shall stand at last, and love. 
 From the first rush of vapour at thy will 
 To the last poet-word that darkness chid, 
 Thou hast been sending up creation's hill 
 To lift thy souls aloft in faithful Godhead free. 
 
 22. 
 
 I think my thought, and fancy I think thee. — 
 Lord, wake me up ; rend swift my coffin-planks ; 
 I pray thee, let me live — alive and free. 
 My soul will break forth in melodious thanks, 
 Aware at last what thou wouldst have it be, 
 When thy life shall be light in me, and when 
 My life to thine is answer and amen. 
 
 2 3- 
 How oft I say the same things in these lines ! 
 Even as a man, buried in during dark, 
 Turns ever where the edge of twilight shines, 
 Prays ever toward the vague eternal mark ; 
 Or as the sleeper, having dreamed he drinks, 
 Back straightway into thirstful dreaming sinks, 
 So turns my will to thee, for thee still longs, still pines. 
 
November. 291 
 
 24. 
 
 The mortal man, all careful, wise, and troubled, 
 The eternal child in the nursery doth keep. 
 To-morrow on to-day the man heaps doubled ; 
 The child laughs, hopeful, even in his sleep. 
 The man rebukes the child for foolish trust ; 
 The child replies, " Thy care is for poor dust ; 
 Be still, and let me wake that thou mayst sleep." 
 
 25- 
 Till I am one, with oneness manifold, 
 I must breed contradiction, strife, and doubt ; 
 Things tread Thy court — look real — take proving hold — 
 My Christ is not yet grown to cast them out ; 
 Alas ! to me, false-judging 'twixt the twain, 
 The Unseen oft fancy seems, while, all about, 
 The Seen doth lord it with a mighty train. 
 
 26. 
 
 But when the Will hath learned obedience royal, 
 He straight will set the child upon the throne ; 
 To whom the seen things all, grown instant loyal, 
 Will gather to his feet, in homage prone — 
 The child their master they have ever known ; 
 Then shall the visible fabric plainly lean 
 On a Reality that never can be seen. 
 
 27- 
 Thy ways are wonderful, maker of men ! 
 Thou gavest me a child, and I have fed 
 And clothed and loved her, many a growing year ; 
 Lo ! now a friend of months draws gently near, 
 And claims her future — all beyond his ken — 
 There he hath never loved her nor hath led : 
 She weeps and moans, but turns, and leaves her home 
 so dear. 
 
292 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 28. 
 
 She leaves, but not forsakes. Oft in the night, 
 
 Oft at mid-day when all is still around, 
 
 Sudden will rise, in dim pathetic light, 
 
 Some childish memory of household bliss, 
 
 Or sorrow by love's service robed and crowned ; 
 
 Rich in his love, she yet will sometimes miss 
 
 The mother's folding arms, the mother's sealing kiss. 
 
 29. 
 
 Then first, I think, our eldest-born, although 
 Loving, devoted, tender, watchful, dear, 
 The innermost of home-bred love shall know ! 
 Yea, when at last the janitor draws near, 
 A still, pale joy will through the darkness go 
 At thought of lying in those arms again 
 Which once were heaven enough for any pain. 
 
 By love doth love grow mighty in its love : 
 
 Once thou shalt love us, child, as we love thee. 
 
 Father of loves, is it not thy decree 
 
 That, by our long, far-wandering remove 
 
 From thee, our life, our home, our being blest, 
 
 We learn at last to love thee true and best, 
 
 And rush with all our loves back to thy infinite rest ! 
 
DECEMBER. 
 
Diary of an Old Soul. 295 
 
 DECEMBER. 
 
 I am a little weary of my life — 
 
 Not thy life, blessed Father ! Or the blood 
 
 Too slowly laves the coral shores of thought, 
 
 Or I am weary of weariness and strife. 
 
 Open my soul-gates to thy living flood j 
 
 I ask not larger heart-throbs, vigour-fraught, 
 
 I pray thy presence with strong patience rife. 
 
 I will what thou will'st — only keep me sure 
 That thou art willing ; call to me now and then. 
 So, ceasing to enjoy, I shall endure 
 With perfect patience — willing beyond my ken, 
 Beyond my love, beyond my thinking-scope ; 
 Willing to be because thy will is pure ; 
 Willing thy will beyond all bounds of hope. 
 
 3- 
 This weariness of mine, may it not come 
 From something that doth need no setting right ? 
 Shall fruit be blamed if it hang wearily 
 A day before it perfected drop plumb 
 To the sad earth from off its nursing tree ? 
 Ripeness must always come with loss of might, 
 The weary evening fall before the resting night. 
 
296 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 4. 
 
 Hither if I have come through earth and air, 
 Through fire and water — I am not of them ; 
 Born in the darkness, what fair- flashing gem 
 Would to the earth go back and nestle there ? 
 Not of this world, this world my life doth hem ; 
 What if I weary, then, and look to the door, 
 Because my unknown life is swelling at the core ? 
 
 All winged things came from the waters first ; 
 Airward still many a one from the water springs ; 
 In dens and caves wind-loving things are nursed : — 
 I lie like unhatched bird, upfolded, dumb, 
 While all the air is trembling with the hum 
 Of songs and beating hearts and whirring wings 
 That call my slumbering life to wake to happy things. 
 
 6. 
 
 I lay last night and knew not why I was sad. 
 
 " 'Tis well with God," I said, " and he is the truth ; 
 
 Let that content me." — 'Tis not strength, nor youth, 
 
 Nor buoyant health, nor a heart merry-mad, 
 
 That makes the fact of things wherein men live : 
 
 He is the life, and doth my life outgive ; 
 
 In him there is no gloom, but all is solemn-glad. 
 
 7- 
 I said to myself, " Lo, I lie in a dream 
 Of separation, where there comes no sign ; 
 My waking life is hid with Christ in God 
 Where all is true and potent — fact divine." 
 I will not heed the thing that doth but seem ; 
 I will be quiet as lark upon the sod ; 
 God's will, the seed, shall rest in me the pod. 
 
December. 297 
 
 And when that will shall blossom — then, my God, 
 
 There will be jubilation in a world ! 
 
 The glad lark, soaring heavenward from the sod, 
 
 Up the swift spiral of its own song whirled, 
 
 Never such jubilation wild out-poured 
 
 As from my soul will break at thy feet, Lord, 
 
 Like a great tide from sea-heart shoreward hurled. 
 
 9- 
 For then thou wilt be able, then at last, 
 To glad me as thou hungerest to do ; 
 Then shall thy life my heart all open find, 
 A thoroughfare to thy great spirit-wind ; 
 Then shall I rest within thy holy Vast, 
 One with the bliss of the eternal mind ; 
 And all creation rise in me created new. 
 
 10. 
 
 What makes thy being a bliss shall then make mine, 
 
 For I shall love as thou, and love in thee ; 
 
 Then shall I have whatever I desire, 
 
 My every faintest wish being all divine ; 
 
 Power thou wilt give me to work mightily, 
 
 Even as my Lord, leading thy low men nigher — 
 
 With dance and song to cast their best upon thy fire. 
 
 n. 
 
 Then shall I live such an essential life 
 
 That a mere flower will then to me unfold 
 
 More bliss than now grandest orchestral strife : 
 
 By love made and obedience humble-bold, 
 
 I shall straight through its window God behold. 
 
 God, I shall feed on thee, thy creature, blest 
 
 With very being — shall work at one with sweetest rest. 
 
298 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 12. 
 
 Give me a world to part — for praise to sunder. 
 
 The brooks be bells ; the winds, in caverns dumb, 
 
 Wake fife and flute and flageolet and voice ; 
 
 The fire-shook earth itself be the great drum ; 
 
 And let the air the region's bass out thunder \ 
 
 The firs be violins ; the reeds hautboys ; 
 
 Rivers, seas, icebergs fill the great score up and under ! 
 
 13- 
 
 But rather dost thou hear the blundered words 
 
 Of breathing creatures ; the music-lowing herds 
 
 Of thy great cattle ; thy soft-bleating sheep, 
 
 O'erhovered by the trebles of thy birds, 
 
 Whose Christ-praised carelessness song-fills the deep ; 
 
 Still rather a child's talk who apart doth hide him, 
 
 And make a tent for God to come and sit beside him. 
 
 14. 
 
 This is not life ; this being is not enough. 
 
 But thou art life, and thou hast life for me. 
 
 Thou mad'st the worm — to cast the wormy slough, 
 
 And fly abroad — a glory flit and flee : 
 
 Thou hast me, statue-like, hewn in the rough, 
 
 Meaning at last to shape me perfectly. 
 
 Lord, thou hast called me forth, I turn and call on thee ! 
 
 15. 
 'Tis thine to make, mine to rejoice in thine. 
 As, hungering for his mother's face and eyes, 
 The child throws wide the door, back to the wall, 
 I run to thee, the refuge from poor lies : 
 Lean dogs behind me whimper, yelp, and whine ; 
 Life lieth ever sick, Death's writhing thrall, 
 In slavery endless, hopeless, and supine. 
 
December. 299 
 
 16. 
 
 The life that hath not willed itself to be, 
 Must clasp the life that willed, and be at peace ; 
 Or, like a leaf wind-blown, through chaos flee — 
 A life-husk into which the demons go, 
 And work their will, and drive it to and fro ; 
 A thing that neither is, nor yet can cease, 
 Which uncreation can alone release. 
 
 But when I turn and grasp the making hand, 
 
 And will the making will, with confidence 
 
 I ride the crest of the creation-wave, 
 
 Helpless no more, no more existence' slave ; 
 
 In the heart of love's creating fire I stand, 
 
 And, love-possessed in heart and soul and sense, 
 
 Take up the making share the making Master gave. 
 
 18. 
 
 That man alone who does the Father's works 
 Can be the Father's son ; yea, only he 
 Who sonlike can create, can ever be ; 
 Who with God wills not, is no son, not free. 
 
 Father, send the demon-doubt that lurks 
 Behind the hope, out into the abyss : 
 
 Who trusts in knowledge all its good shall miss. 
 
 19. 
 
 Thy beasts are sinless, and do live before thee ; 
 Thy child is sinful, and must run to thee. 
 Thy angels sin not, and in peace adore thee ; 
 But I must will, or never more be free. 
 
 1 from thy heart came, how can I ignore thee ? — 
 Back to my home I hurry, haste, and flee ; 
 There I shall dwell, love-praising evermore thee. 
 
300 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 20. 
 
 My holy self, thy pure ideal, lies 
 
 Calm in thy bosom, which it cannot leave ; 
 
 My self unholy, no ideal, hies 
 
 Hither and thither, gathering store to grieve — 
 
 Not now, O Father ! now it mounts, it flies 
 
 To join the true self in thy heart that waits, 
 
 And, one with it, be one with all the heavenly mates. 
 
 21. 
 
 Trusting thee, Christ, I kneel, and clasp thy knee ; 
 Cast myself down, and kiss thy brother-feet — 
 One self thou and the Father's thought of thee ! 
 Ideal son, thou hast left the perfect home, 
 Ideal brother, to seek thy brothers art come ! 
 Thou know'st our angels all, God's children sweet, 
 And of each two wilt make one holy child complete. 
 
 To a slow end I draw these daily words, 
 
 Nor think such words often to write again — 
 
 Rather, as light the power to me affords, 
 
 Christ's new and old would to my friends unbind ; 
 
 Through words he spoke help to his thought behind : 
 
 Unveil the heart with which he draws all men ; 
 
 Set forth his rule o'er devils, animals, corn, and wind. 
 
 I do remember how one time I thought, 
 " God must be lonely — oh, so lonely lone ! 
 I will be very good to him — ah, nought 
 Can reach the heart of his great loneliness ! 
 My whole heart I will bring him, with a moan 
 That I may not come nearer ; I will lie prone 
 Before the awful loveliness in loneliness' excess." 
 
December. 301 
 
 24. 
 
 A God must have a God for company. 
 
 And lo ! thou hast the Son-God to thy friend 
 
 Thou honour'st his obedience, he thy law. 
 
 Into thy secret life-will He doth see ; 
 
 Thou fold'st him round in live love perfectly — 
 
 One two, without beginning, without end : 
 
 In love, life, strength, truth, each is perfect without a flaw. 
 
 2 5- 
 Thou hast not made, or taught me, Lord, to care 
 For times and seasons — but this one glad day 
 Is the blue sapphire clasping all the lights 
 That flash in the girdle of the year so fair 
 When thou wast born a man — because alway 
 Thou wast and art a man through all the flights 
 Of thought, and time, and thousandfold creation's play. 
 
 26. 
 
 We all are lonely, Maker — each a soul 
 
 Shut in by itself, a sundered atom of thee. 
 
 No two yet loved themselves into a whole; 
 
 Even when we weep together we are two. 
 
 Of two to make one, which yet two shall be, 
 
 Is thy creation's problem, deep, and true,' 
 
 To which thou only hold'st the happy, hurting clue. 
 
 27. 
 
 No less than thou, O Father, do we need 
 
 A God to friend each lonely one of us. 
 
 As touch not in the sack two grains of seed, 
 
 Touch no two hearts in great worlds populous. 
 
 Outside the making God we cannot meet 
 
 Him he has made our brother : homeward, thus, 
 
 We first, to find our kin, must turn our wandering feet. 
 
302 Diary of an Old Soul. 
 
 23. 
 
 It must be possible that the soul made 
 Should absolutely meet the soul that makes ; 
 Then, in that bearing soul, meet every other 
 There also born, each sister and each brother : 
 Lord, till I meet thee thus, life is delayed ; 
 I am not I until that morning breaks, 
 Not I until my consciousness eternal wakes. 
 
 29. 
 
 Again I shall behold thee, daughter true \ 
 
 The hour will come when I shall hold thee fast 
 
 In God's name, loving thee all through and through. 
 
 Somewhere in his grand thought this waits for us. 
 
 Then shall I see a smile not like thy last — 
 
 For that great thing which came when all was past, 
 
 Was not a smile, but God's peace glorious. 
 
 30. 
 Twilight of the transfiguration-joy, 
 Gleam-faced, pure-eyed, strong-willed, high-hearted boy ! 
 Hardly thy life clear forth of heaven was sent 
 Ere it broke out into a smile, and went. 
 So swift thy growth, so true thy goalward bent, 
 Thou, child and sage inextricably blent, 
 Must surely one day come to teach thy father in some 
 heavenly tent ! 
 
 3 1 - 
 Go, my beloved children, live your life. 
 Wounded, faint, bleeding, never yield the strife. 
 Stunned, fallen — awake, arise, and fight again. 
 Before you victory stands, with shining train 
 Of hopes not credible until they are. 
 Beyond morass and mountain swells the star 
 Of perfect love — the home of longing heart and brain. 
 
Christ, who well knowest why my lips are sealed — 
 Knowest my wrath, and my proud sense of wrong 
 One word of thine a comfort sad doth yield, 
 Makes me with pardoning endurance strong, 
 And hope of cleansing sorrow on its way : 
 That " nought is covered but shall be revealed, 
 And nothing hid but shall be known one day." 
 
 THE END. 
 
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