DAILY SONG FROM THE LIBRARY OF REV. LOUIS FITZGERALD BENSON, D. D. BEQUEATHED BY HIM TO THE LIBRARY OF PRINCETON THEOLOGICAL SEMINARY ^dx&TkAuJU- (/Ldtz/uM 2.o YEAR-BOOK OF CHEER A •S the bird trims her to the gale, I trim myself to the storm of time, I man the rudder, reef the sail, Obey the voice at eve obeyed at prime: " Lowly faithful, banish fear, Right onward drive unharmed; The port, well worth the cruise, is near, And every wave is charmed." Ralph Waldo Emerson. DAILY SOJsfefe * MAY 19 1933 '' \V Z'i A YEAR-BOOK SPIRITUAL CHEER / GOD, our help in ages past, Our hope for years to come, Our shelter from the stormy blast, And our eternal home: Under the shadow of Thy Throne Thy saints have dwelt secure; Sufficient is Thine arm alone, And our defence is sure. Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame, From everlasting Thou art God, To endless years the same. A thousand ages in Thy sight Are like an evening gone; Short as the watch that ends the night Before the rising sun. Time, like an ever-rolling stream, Bears all its sons away; They fly forgotten, as a dream Dies at the opening day. Our God, our help in ages past; Our hope for years to come; Be Thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home! IsAAC Watk J anu ary 3 1 33 BEYOND THE BELT OF DARKNESS * STILL the yea^.1 on More gently, but with not less mighty sweep. They gather up again and softly bear All the sweet lives that late were overwhelmed, And lost to sight — all that in them was good, Noble, and truly great and worthy of love — . . . — all are raised and borne By that great current on its onward sweep, Wandering and rippling with caressing waves Around green islands, fragrant with the breath Of flowers that never wither. So they pass, From stage to stage, along the shining course Of that fair river broadening like a sea. As its smooth eddies curl along their way, They bring old friends together; hands are clasped In joy unspeakable; the mother's arms Again are folded round the child she loved And lost. Old sorrows are forgotten now, Or but remembered to make sweet the hour That overpays them; wounded hearts that bled Or broke are healed forever. In the room Of this grief-shadowed Present there shall be A Present in whose reign no grief shall gnaw The heart, and never shall a tender tie Be broken — in whose reign the eternal Change That waits on growth and action shall proceed With everlasting Concord hand in hand. William Cullen Bryant 1 From The Flood of Years. Reprinted from Bryant's Cow- plete Poetical Works, by permission of D. Appleton and Company. 34 February 1 DO SOMETHING I F the world seems cool to you, Kindle fires to warm it! Let their comfort hide from you Winters that deform it. Hearts as frozen as your own To that radiance gather; You will soon forget to moan, "Ah! the cheerless weather!" If the world's a "vale of tears," Smile till rainbows span it; Breathe the love that life endears — Clear from clouds to fan it. Of your gladness lend a gleam Unto souls that shiver; Show them how dark sorrow's stream Blends with hope's bright river. Lucy Larcou F e b r u a r y 2 35 LOVE-SERVICE X HE sweetest lives are those to duty wed, Whose deeds, both great and small, Are close-knit strands of an unbroken thread, Where love ennobles all. The world may sound no trumpets, ring no bells: The book of life the shining record tells. Thy love shall chant its own beatitudes After its own life working. A child's kiss Set on thy sighing lips shall make thee glad, A sick man helped by thee shall make thee strong, Thou shalt be served thyself by every sense Of service which thou renderest. Elizabeth Barrett Browning 36 Feb r u ar y WINTER MEDITATION FROM "THE TASK" N. O noise is here, or none that hinders thought. The redbreast warbles still, but is content With slender notes, and more than half- suppressed; Pleased with his solitude, and flitting light From spray to spray, where'er he rests he shakes From many a twig the pendent drops of ice, That tinkle in the withered leaves below. Stillness, accompanied with sounds so soft, Charms more than silence. Meditation here May think down hours to moments. Here the heart May give an useful lesson to the head, And Learning wiser grow without his books. Knowledge and Wisdom far from being one, Have oftimes no connexion. Knowledge dwells In heads replete with thoughts of other men; Wisdom in minds attentive to their own. Knowledge, a rude unprofitable mass, The mere materials with which Wisdom builds. William Cowper February 4 37 THE BEAUTY OF LIFE J. _lOW beautiful it is to be alive! To wake each morn as if the Maker's grace Did us afresh from nothingness derive That we may sing "How happy is our case! How beautiful it is to be alive!" To read in God's great Book, until we feel Love for the love that gave it; then to kneel Close unto Him Whose truth our souls will shrive, While every moment's joy doth more reveal How beautiful it is to be alive. Rather to go without what might increase Our worldly standing, than our souls deprive Of frequent speech with God, or than to cease To feel, through having wasted health or peace, How beautiful it is to be alive. Not to forget, when pain and grief draw nigh, Into the ocean of time past to dive For memories of God's mercies, or to try To bear all sweetly, hoping still to cry "How beautiful it is to be alive!" Thus ever towards man's height of nobleness Strive still some new progression to contrive; Till, just as any other friend's, we press Death's hand; and, having died, feel none the less How beautiful it is to be alive. Henry Septimus Sutton 38 February 5 MORAL COSMETICS Y E who would have your features florid, Lithe limbs, bright eyes, unwrinkled forehead, From age's devastation horrid, Adopt this plan, — 'Twill make, in climate cold or torrid, A hale old man: Avoid in youth luxurious diet, Restrain the passions' lawless riot; Devoted to domestic quiet, Be wisely gay; So shall ye, spite of age's fiat, Resist decay. Seek not in Mammon's worship pleasure, But find your richest, dearest treasure In God, his word, his work, not leisure: The mind, not sense, Is the sole scale by which to measure Your opulence. This is the solace, this the science, Life's purest, sweetest, best appliance, That disappoints not man's reliance, Whate'er his state; But challenges, with calm defiance, Time, fortune, fate. Horace Smith February 6 39 WHAT MIGHT BE DONE V V HAT might be done if men were wise — What glorious deeds, my suffering brother, Would they unite In love and right, And cease their scorn of one another? Oppression's heart might be imbued With kindling drops of loving-kindness, And knowledge pour, From shore to shore, Light on the eyes of mental blindness. All slavery, warfare, lies, and wrongs, All vice and crime, might die together; And wine and corn, To each man born, Be free as warmth in summer weather. The meanest wretch that ever trod, The deepest sunk in guilt and sorrow, Might stand erect In self-respect, And share the teeming world to-morrow. What might be done? This might be done, And more than this, my suffering brother — More than the tongue E'er said or sung, If men were wise and Iov'd each other. Charles Mackay 40 February 7 AH! YET CONSIDER IT AGAIN V^/LE) things need not be therefore true, O brother men, nor yet the new; Ah! still awhile the old thought retain, And yet consider it again! The souls of now two thousand years Have laid up here their toils and fears, And all the earnings of their pain, — Ah, yet consider it again! We! what do we see? each a space Of some few yards before his face; Does that the whole wide plan explain? Ah, yet consider it again! Alas! the great world goes its way, And takes its truth from each new day; They do not quit, nor can retain, Far less consider it again. Arthur Hugh Clough February 8 41 HUMANITY \_ HERE is a soul above the soul of each, A mightier soul, which yet to each belongs: There is a sound made of all human speech, And numerous as the concourse of all songs: And in that soul lives each, in each that soul, Though all the ages are its lifetime vast; Each soul that dies, in its most sacred whole Receiveth life that shall forever last. And thus forever with a wider span Humanity o'erarches time and death; Man can elect the universal man, And live in life that ends not with his breath: And gather glory that increases still Till Time his glass with Death's last dust shal fill* Richard Watson Dixon 42 February HYMN TO ADVERSITY 1 y AUGHTER of Jove, relentless pow'r, Thou tamer of the human breast, Whose iron scourge and tort'ring hour The bad affright, afflict the best! Bound in thy adamantine chain, The proud are taught to taste of pain, And purple tyrants vainly groan With pangs unfelt before, unpitied and alone. When first thy sire to send on earth Virtue, his darling child, design'd, To thee he gave the heav'nly birth, And bade thee form her infant mind. Stern rugged nurse! thy rigid lore With patience many a year she bore: What sorrow was, thou bad'st her know And from her own she Iearn'd to melt at ether's woe. Thy form benign, O Goddess! wear, Thy milder influence impart, Thy philosophic train be there, To soften, not to wound my heart. The gen'rous spark extinct revive, Teach me to love and to forgive, Exact my own defects to scan, What others are, to feel, and know myself a man. Thomas Gray February 10 43 SHEPHERD BOY'S SONG IN THE VALLEY OF HUMILIATION FROM "PILGRIM'S PROGRESS," PART II XJ. E that is down needs fear no fall, He that is low, no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide. I am content with what I have, Little be it or much: And, Lord, contentment still I crave, ^Because Thou savest such. Fulness to such a burden is That go on pilgrimage: Here little, and hereafter bliss, Is best from age to age. John Bunyan 44 February 11 THE APPOINTED WAY X HOU earnest not to thy place by accident, It is the very place God meant for thee; And shouldst thou there small scope for action see, Do not for this give room to discontent; Nor let the time thou owest to God be spent In idly dreaming how thou mightest be In what concerns thy spiritual life, more free From outward hindrance or impediment: For presently this hindrance thou shalt find That without which all goodness were a task So slight, that Virtue never could grow strong: And wouldst thou do one duty to His mind, The Imposer's — over-burdened thou shalt ask, And own thy need of grace to help, ere long. Richard Chexevlx Trench February 12 45 ABRAHAM LINCOLN FROM "THE HARVARD COMMEMORATION ODE" JP OR him her Old-World moulds aside she threw, And, choosing sweet clay from the breast Of the unexhausted West, With stuff untainted shaped a hero new, Wise, steadfast in the strength of God, and true. Here was a type of the true elder race, And one of Plutarch's men talked with us face to face. I praise him not; it were too late; And some innative weakness there must be In him who condescends to victory Such as the Present gives, and cannot wait, Safe in himself as in a fate. So always firmly he: He knew to bide his time, And can his fame abide, Still patient in his simple faith sublime, Till the wise years decide. Great captains, with their guns and drums, Disturb our judgment for the hour, But at last silence comes; These all are gone, and, standing like a tower, Our children shall behold his fame, The kindly-earnest, brave, foreseeing man, Sagacious, patient, dreading praise, not blame, New birth of our new soil, the first American. James Russell Lowell (1865) 46 February IS TIME MISSPENT X HERE is no remedy for time misspent; No healing for the waste of idleness, Whose very languor is a punishment Heavier than active souls can feel or guess. O hours of indolence and discontent, Not now to be redeemed! ye sting not less Because I know this span of life was lent For lofty duties, not for selfishness. Not to be whiled away in aimless dreams, But to improve ourselves, and serve mankind, Life and its choicest faculties were given. Man should be ever better than he seems, And shape his acts, and discipline his mind, To walk adorning earth, with hope of heaven. Sir Aubrey De Vere February 14 47 WEALTH FROM "MISS KILMANSEGGE' G< r OLD! gold! gold! gold! Bright and yellow, hard and cold, Molten, graven, hammered and rolled; Heavy to get, and light to hold; Hoarded, bartered, bought, and sold, Stolen, borrowed, squandered, doled: Spurned by the young, but hugged by the old To the very verge of the churchyard mould; Price of many a crime untold: Gold! gold! gold! gold! Good or bad a thousand-fold! How widely its agencies vary, — To save, to ruin, to curse, to bless, — As even its minted coins express, Now stamped with the image of good Queen Bess, And now of a Bloody Mary. Thomas Hood 48 February 15 A PRAYER JVlY God! O let me call Thee mine! Weak, wretched sinner though I be; My trembling soul would fain be thine, My feeble faith still clings to thee. Not only for the past I grieve, The future fills me with dismay; Unless Thou hasten to relieve, I know my heart will fall away I cannot say my faith is strong, I have not hope my love is great; But strength and love to Thee belong: O do not leave me desolate! I know I owe my all to Thee; O take the heart I cannot give; Do Thou my Strength, my Saviour be, And make me to Thy glory live! Emily Bronte February 16 49 WAIT ON THE LORD VV HO seeketh finds: what shall be his relief Who hath no power to seek, no heart to pray, No sense of God, but bears as best he may, A lonely incommunicable grief? What shall he do? One only thing he knows, That his life flits a frail uneasy spark In the great vast of universal dark, And that the grave may not be all repose. Be still, sad soul! lift thou no passionate cry, But spread the desert of thy being bare To the full searching of the All-seeing eye: Wait — and through dark misgiving, blank despair, God will come down in pity, and fill the dry Dead place with light, and life, and vernal air. John Campbell Shairp 50 February 17 JESUS I ESUS, there is no dearer name than thine " Which Time has blazoned on his mighty scroll; No wreaths nor garlands ever did entwine So fair a temple of so vast a soul. There every virtue set his triumph-seal; Wisdom, conjoined with strength and radiant grace, In a sweet copy Heaven to reveal, And stamp perfection on a mortal face. Once on the earth wert thou, before men's eyes, That did not half thy beauteous brightness see; E'en as the emmet does not read the skies, Nor our weak orbs look through immensity. Theodore Parker February 18 51 HYMN OF TRUST V^/ LOVE Divine, that stooped to share Our sharpest pang, our bitterest tear, On Thee we cast each earth-born care, We smile at pain while Thou art near! Though long the weary way we tread, And sorrow crown each lingering year, No path we shun, no darkness dread, Our hearts still whispering, Thou art near! When drooping pleasure turns to grief, And trembling faith is changed to fear, The murmuring wind, the quivering leaf, Shall softly tell us, Thou art near! On Thee we fling our burdening woe, O Love Divine, forever dear, Content to suffer while we know, Living and dying, Thou art near! Oliver Wendell Holmes $2 February 19 SORROW'S MISSION FROM "OX THE DEATH OF A FRIEXd's CHILD" X IS sorrow builds the shining ladder up Whose golden rounds are our calamities, Whereon our firm feet planting, nearer God The spirit climbs, and hath its eyes unsealed. True is it that Death's face seems stern and cold, When he is sent to summon those we love, But all God's angels come to us disguised; Sorrow and sickness, poverty and death, One after other lift their frowning masks, And we behold the seraph's face beneath, All radiant with the glory and the calm Of having looked upon the front of God. With every anguish of our earthly part The spirit's sight grows clearer; this was meant When Jesus touched the blind man's lids with clay, Life is the jailer, Death the angel sent To draw the unwilling bolts and set us free. O, if Death More near approaches, meditates, and clasps Even now some dearer, more reluctant hand, God, strengthen thou my faith, that I may see That 'tis thine angel, who, with loving haste, Unto the service of the inner shrine Doth waken thy beloved with a kiss! James Russell Lowell F eb r u ar y 2 53 LIFE, LORD OF DEATH FROM "SNOW-BOUND" 11 ENCEFORWARD, listen as we will, The voices of that hearth are still; Look where we may, the wide earth o'er, Those lighted faces smile no more. We tread the paths their feet have worn, We sit beneath their orchard-trees, We hear, like them, the hum of bees And rustle of the bladed corn; We turn the pages that they read, Their written words we linger o'er, But in the sun they cast no shade, No voice is heard, no sign is made, No step is on the conscious floor! Yet Love will dream, and Faith will trust, (Since He who knows our need is just), That somehow, somewhere, meet we must. Alas for him who never sees The stars shine through his cypress-trees! Who, hopeless, lays his dead away, Nor looks to see the breaking day Across the mournful marbles play! Who hath not learned, in hours of faith, The truth to flesh and sense unknown, That Life is ever lord of Death, And Love can never lose its own! John Greenleaf Whittier 54 F ebr u ary 2 1 HOME W. HAT is House and what is Home, Where with freedom thou hast room, And may'st to all tyrants say, This you cannot take away? 'Tis no thing with doors and walls, Which at every earthquake falls; No fair towers, whose princely fashion Is but Plunder's invitation; No stout marble structure, where Walls Eternity do dare; No brass gates, no bars of steel, Tho' Time's teeth they scorn to feel: Brass is not so bold as Pride, If on Power's wings it ride; Marble's not so hard as Spite Arm'd with lawless Strength and Might. Seek no more abroad, say I, House and Home, but turn thine eye Inward, and observe thy breast; There alone dwells solid Rest. That's a close immured tower Which can mock all hostile power. To thyself a tenant be, And inhabit safe and free. Home is everywhere to thee Who canst thine own dwelling be. Joseph Beaumont Feb r u ar y 2 2 55 WASHINGTON FROM "UNDER THE ELM," 1 875 w. HAT figure more immovably august Than that grave strength so patient and so pure, Calm in good fortune, when it wavered, sure, That soul serene, impenetrably just, Modelled on classic lines, so simple they endure? That soul so softly radiant and so white The track it left seems less of fire than light, Cold but to such as love distemperature? And if pure light, as some deem, be the force That drives rejoicing planets on their course, Why for his power benign seek an impurer source? Soldier and statesman, rarest unison; High-poised example of great duties done Simply as breathing, a world's honors worn As life's indifferent gifts to all men born; Dumb for himself, unless it were to God, But for his barefoot soldiers eloquent, Tramping the snow to coral where they trod, Held by his awe in hollow-eyed content; Modest, yet firm as Nature's self; unblamed Save by the men his nobler temper shamed; Not honored then or now because he wooed The popular voice, but that he still withstood; Broad-minded, higher-souled, there is but one Who was all this, and ours, and all men's, — Washington. j AMES r ussell Lowell 56 February 23 NOW! FROM "THE VERDICT OF DEATH " X. J. OW does Death speak of our beloved When it has laid them low; When it has set its hallowing touch On speechless lip and brow? It takes each failing on our part, And brands it in upon the heart W'ith caustic power and cruel art. The small neglect that may have pained, A giant stature will have gained When it can never be explained; The little service which had proved How tenderly we watched and loved, And those mute lips to glad smiles moved; It shows our faults like fires at night; It sweeps their failings out of sight; It clothes their good in heavenly light. O Christ, our life! foredate the work of Death, And do this now! Thou who art love, thus hallow our beloved! Not Death, but Thou ! Elizabeth Rundle Charles February 24 57 LONGING FOR HEAVEN J[ HE roseate hues of early dawn, The brightness of the day, The crimson of the sunset sky, How fast they fade away! O for the pearly gates of heaven, O for the golden floor, O for the Sun of righteousness That setteth nevermore! The highest hopes we cherish here, How fast they tire and faint; How many a spot defiles the robe That wraps an earthly saint! O for a heart that never sins, O for a soul wash'd white, O for a voice to praise our King, Nor weary day or night! Here faith is ours, and heavenly hope, And grace, to lead us higher; But there are perfectness and peace, Beyond our best desire. Oh, by Thy love and anguish, Lord, And by Thy life laid down, Grant that we fall not from Thy grace, Nor cast away our crown. Cecil Frances Alexander 58 February 25 HYMN OF WINTER X IS Winter now; the fallen snow Has left the heavens all coldly clear; Through leafless boughs the sharp winds blow, And all the earth lies dead and drear. And yet God's love is not withdrawn; His life within the keen air breathes, His beauty paints the crimson dawn, And clothes the boughs with glitt'ring wreaths. And though abroad the sharp winds blow, And skies are chill, and frosts are keen, Home closer draws her circle now And warmer glows her light within. O God! who giv'st the winter's cold As well as summer's joyous days, Us warmly in Thy love enfold, And keep us through life's wintry days! Samuel Longfellow February 26 59 CONSCIENCE J\ KNOCKING at my heart — and what art thou? "I was the unforgiven; from your door You spurned me once and bade me come no more. / am the ever present suppliant now." A famine at my heart — and what art thou? " I was that Lazarus, of men the least Whom once you sent anhungered from your feast. / am the ever present hunger now." An aching at my heart — and what art thou? " I was that love you chose once to divide, Who, wounded, at your threshold fell and died. / am the ever present longing now." A sweetness at my heart — and what art thou? "I was the kindly deed you quite forgot, The joy bestowed that you remember not. I am your Angel of Forgiveness now." Theodosia Garrison 6o February 27 THE FLOWER OF THEIR SOULS FROM "IN MEMORY OF BARRY CORNWALL" J[ LME takes them home that we loved, fair names and famous, To the soft long sleep, to the broad sweet bosom of death ; But the flower of their souls he shall take not away to shame us, Nor the lips lack song forever that now lack breath. For with us shall the music and perfume that die not dwell, Though the dead to our dead bid welcome, and we farewell. Algernon Charles Swinburne February 28 61 THE GREEN GRASS UNDER THE SNOW J. HE work of the sun is slow, But as sure as heaven we know So we'll not forget, When the skies are wet, There's green grass under the snow. When the winds of winter blow Wailing like voices of woe, There are April showers, And buds and flowers, And green grass under the snow. We find that it's ever so In this life's uneven flow; We've only to wait In the face of fate For the green grass under the snow. Annie A. Preston 62 F eb r u ar y 2 9 "TO JANE — THE INVITATION B- i EST and brightest, come away! Fairer far than this fair Day, Which, like thee to those in sorrow, Comes to bid a sweet good-morrow To the rough Year just awake In its cradle on the brake, The brightest hour of unborn Spring, Through the winter wandering, Found, it seems, the halcyon Morn To hoar February born; Bending from Heaven, in azure mirth, It kissed the forehead of the Earth, And smiled upon the silent sea, And bade the frozen streams be free, And waked to music all their fountains, And breathed upon the frozen mountains, And like a prophetess of May Strewed flowers upon the barren way, Making the wintry world appear Like one on whom thou smilest, dear. Away, away, from men and towns, To the wild woods and the downs — To the silent wilderness Where the soul need not repress Its music lest it should not find An echo in another's mind, While the touch of Nature's art Harmonizes heart to heart. Percy Bysshe Shelley M ar ch 1 63 MARCH S. • LAYER of Winter, art thou here again? O welcome, thou that bring'st the summer nigh! The bitter wind makes not thy victory vain, Nor will we mock thee for thy faint blue sky. Welcome, O March! whose kindly days and dry Make April ready for the throstle's song, Thou first redresser of the winter's wrong! Yea, welcome, March! and though I die ere June, Yet for the hope of life I give thee praise, Striving to swell the burden of the tune That even now I hear thy brown birds raise, Unmindful of the past or coming days; Wko sing, "O joy! a new year is begun! What happiness to look upon the sun!" O, what begetteth all this storm of bliss, But Death himself, who, crying solemnly, Even from the heart of sweet Forgetfulness, Bids us, "Rejoice! lest pleasureless ye die. Within a little time must ye go by. Stretch forth your open hands, and, while ye live, Take all the gifts that Death and Life may give." William Morris 64 March 2 A SNOWDROP o 'NLY a tender little thing, So velvet soft and white it is; But March himself is not so strong, With all the great gales that are his. In vain his whistling storms he calls, In vain the cohorts of his power Ride down the sky on mighty blasts — He cannot crush the little flower. Its white spear parts the sod, the snows Than that white spear less snowy are, The rains roll off its crest like spray, It lifts again its spotless star. Blow, blow, dark March! To meet you here, Thrust upward from the central gloom, The stellar force of the old earth Pulses to life in this slight bloom. Harriet Prescott Spofford March? 65 THE CROCUS O UT of the frozen earth below, Out of the melting of the snow, No flower, but a film, I push to light; No stem, no bud, — yet I have burst The bars of winter, I am the first, Sun, to greet thee out of the night! Bare are the branches, cold is the air, Yet it is fire at the heart I bear, 1 come, a flame that is fed by none: The summer hath blossoms for her delight, Thick and dewy and waxen-white, Thou seest me golden, O golden Sun! Deep in the warm sleep underground Life is still, and the peace profound: Yet a beam that pierced, and a thrill that smote Call'd me and drew me from far away; — I rose, I came, to the open day I have won, unshelter'd, alone, remote. O Glory of heaven, O Ruler of morn, Dream that shap'd me, and I was born In thy likeness, starry, and flower of flame; 1 lie on earth, and to thee look up, Into thy image will grow my cup, Till a sunbeam dissolve it into the same. Harriet Eleanor Hamilton King 66 M arcb 4 HOPE FROM "PLEASURES OF HOPE" JfRlMEVAL Hope, the Aonian Muses say, When Man and Nature mourned their first decay, When every form of Death and every woe Shot from malignant stars to Earth below, When Murder bared her arms, and rampant War Yoked the red dragons of her iron car, When Peace and Mercy, banished from the plain, Sprung on the viewless winds to Heaven again; All, all forsook the friendless, guilty mind. But, Hope, the charmer, lingered still behind. Eternal Hope! when yonder spheres sublime Pealed their first notes to sound the march of time, Their joyous youth began — but not to fade. When all the sister planets have decayed; When, rapt in fire, the realms of ether glow, And Heaven's last thunder shakes the world below; Thou, undismayed, shalt o'er the ruins smile, And light thy torch at Nature's funeral pile! Thomas Campbell Mar c b 5 67 THE MASTER'S TOUCH XN the still air the music lies unheard; In the rough marble beauty hides unseen; To wake the music and the beauty needs The master's touch, the sculptor's chisel keen. Great Master, touch us with thy skilful hand, Let not the music that is in us die; Great Sculptor, hew and polish us; nor let, Hidden and lost, thy form within us lie. Spare not the stroke; do with us as thou wilt; Let there be nought unfmish'd, broken, marr'd; Complete thy purpose, that we may become Thy perfect image, O our God and Lord. HORATIUS BONAR 68 Mar c h 6 FOR A' THAT AND A' THAT I S there for honest poverty Wha hangs his head, and a' that? The coward slave, we pass him by; We dare be poor for a' that. For a' that, and a' that, Our toil's obscure, and a' that; The rank is but the guinea's stamp, — The man's the gowd for a' that. A prince can make a belted knight, A marquis, duke, and a' that; But an honest man's aboon his might — Guid faith, he maunna fa' that' For a' that, and a' that; Their dignities, and a' that, The pith o' sense, and pride o' worth, Are higher ranks than a' that. Then let us pray that come it may, — As come it will for a 'that, — That sense and worth, o'er a' the earth, May bear the gree, and a' that. For a' that, and a' that, It's coming yet, for a' that, — When man to man, the warld o'er, Shall brothers be for a' that! Robert Burns Mar cb 7 69 SHEPHERD AND KING FROM HENRY VI," PART III J\jNG HENRY. — O God! methfnks, it were a happy life, To be no better than a homely swain; To sit upon a hill, as I do now, To carve out dials quaintly, point by point, Thereby to see the minutes how they run: How many make the hour full complete, How many hours bring about the day, How many days will finish up the year, How many years a mortal man may live. When this is known, then to divide the times: — So many hours must I tend my flock, So many hours must I take my rest; So many hours must I contemplate; So many hours must I sport myself; So many days my ewes have been with young; So many weeks ere the poor fools will ean; So many years ere I shall shear the fleece: So minutes, hours, days, months, and years, Passed over to the end they were created, Would bring white hairs unto a quiet grave. Ah, what a life were this! how sweet! how lovely! Gives not the hawthorn bush a sweeter shade To shepherds, looking on their silly sheep, Than doth a rich embroidered canopy To kings that fear their subjects' treachery? Shakespeare 70 M ar c h 8 "IN EVERY THING GIVING THANKS' I THANK Thee, O my God! who made This earth so bright; So full of splendor and of joy, Beauty and light; So many glorious things are here, Noble and right! I thank Thee even that all our joy Is touched with pain; That shadows fall on brightest hours, That thorns remain; So that earth's bliss may be our guide, And not our chain. For Thou who knowest, Lord, how soon Our weak heart clings, Hast given us joys, tender and true, Yet all with wings; So that we see, gleaming on high, Diviner things. I thank Thee, Lord, that Thou hast kept The best in store; We have enough, yet not too much To long for more; A yearning for a deeper peace, Not known before. Adelaide Anne Procter Ma r c h 9 71 MY GOD, I LOVE THEE xVJ. Y God, I love thee! not because I hope for heaven thereby; Nor because those who love thee not Must burn eternally. Thou, O my Jesus, thou didst me Upon the cross embrace! For me didst bear the nails and spear, And manifold disgrace, And griefs and torments numberless, And sweat of agony, Yea, death itself, — and all for one That was thine enemy. Then why, O blessed Jesus Christ, Should I not love thee well? Not for the hope of winning heaven, Nor of escaping hell; Not with the hope of gaining aught, Not seeking a reward; But as thyself hast loved me, O everlasting Lord! E'en so I love thee, and will love, And in thy praise will sing, — Solely because thou art my God, And my eternal King. Latin of St. Francis Xavier Translation of Edward C as wall 72 Mar ch 10 THE EARLY BLUE-BIRD B, ► LUE-BIRD! on yon leafless tree, Dost thou carol thus to me, "Spring is coming! Spring is here!" Say'st thou so, my birdie dear? What is that, m misty shroud, Stealing from the darken'd cloud? Lo! the snow-flakes' gathering mound Settles o'er the whitened ground, Yet thou singest, blithe and clear, "Spring is coming! Spring is here!" Spring's a maid of mirth and glee, Rosy wreaths and revelry: Hast thou wooed some winged love To a nest in verdant grove? Sung to her of greenwood bower, Sunny skies that never lower? Lured her with thy promise fair Of a lot that knows no care? Pr'ythee, bird, in coat of blue, Though a lover, tell her true. Ask her if, when storms are long, She can sing a cheerful song? 'When the rude winds rock the tree, If she'll closer cling to thee? Then the blasts that sweep the sky, Unappalled shall pass thee by; Though thy curtained chamber show Siftings of untimely snow, \\ arm and glad thy heart shall be, Love shall make it Spring for thee. Charles Mackay Mar c h 11 73 THE ENGLISH ROBIN OEE yon robin on the spray; Look ye how his tiny form Swells, as when his merry lay Gushes forth amid the storm. Though the snow is falling fast, Specking o'er his coat with white, — Though loud roars the chilly blast, And the evening's lost in night, — Yet from out the darkness dreary Cometh still that cheerful note; Praiseful aye, and never weary, Is that little warbling throat. Thank him for his lesson's sake, Thank God's gentle minstrel there, Who, when storms make others quake, Sings of days that brighter were. Harrison Weir 74 March 12 RULES AND LESSONS w, HEN first thy eyes unveil, give thy soul leave To do the like; our bodies but forerun The spirit's duty. True hearts spread and heave Unto their God, as flowers do to the sun. Give Him thy first thoughts then; so shalt thou keep Him company all day, and in Him sleep. Walk with thy fellow-creatures. Note the hush And whispers amongst them. There's not a spring Or leaf but hath his morning hymn. Each bush And oak doth know I AM. Canst thou not sing? O leave thy cares and follies! Go this way, And thou art sure to prosper all the day. When the world's up, and every swarm abroad, Keep thou thy temper; mix not with each clay; Despatch necessities; life hath a load Which must be carried on, and safely may. Yet keep those cares without thee, let the heart Be God's alone, and choose the better part. When night comes, list thy deeds; make plain the way 'Twixt heaven and thee; block it not with delays, But perfect all before thou sleep'st: then say, "There's one sun more strung on my bead of days." What's good score up for joy: the bad well scanned Wash off with tears, and get thy Master's hand. Henry Vaughan MarcblS 75 SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NAUGHT AVAILETH i^AY not the struggle naught availeth, The labour and the wounds are vain, The enemy faints not, nor faileth, And as things have been they remain. If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars; It may be, in yon smoke conceal'd, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, Seem here no painful inch to gain, Far back, through creeks and inlets making, Comes silent, flooding in, the main. And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light; In front the sun climbs slow, how slowly! But westward, look, the land is bright! Arthur Hugh Clough 76 M arch 1 4 THE MEANS TO ATTAIN HAPPY LIFE M. ARTIAL, the things that do attain The happy life be these, I find, — The riches left, not got with pain; The fruitful ground, the quiet mind, The equal friend; no grudge, no strife; No charge of rule, nor governance; Without disease, the healthful life: The household of continuance; The mean diet, no delicate fare; True wisdom joined with simpleness; The night discharged of all care, Where wine the wit may not oppress; The faithful wife, without debate; Such sleeps as may beguile the night; Contented with thine own estate, Ne wish for death, ne fear his might. Henry Howard, Earl or Surrey M ar c b 1 5 77 THE DAILY WALK FROM "MORNING" V V E need not bid, for cloistered cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky. The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God. Seek we no more; content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, As Heaven shall bid them, come and go: — The secret this of rest below. Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love, Fit us for perfect rest above; And help us, this and every day To live more nearly as we pray. John Keble 78 March 16 DEATH THE LEVELLER J. HE glories of our blood and state Are shadows, not substantial things; There is no armour against fate; Death lays his icy hand on kings: Sceptre and Crown Must tumble down, And in the dust be equal made With the poor crooked scythe and spade. Some men with swords may reap the field, And plant fresh laurels where they kill: ♦But their strong nerves at last must yield; They tame but one another still: Early or late They stoop to fate, And must give up their murmuring breath When they, pale captives, creep to death. The garlands wither on your brow; Then boast no more your mighty deeds; Upon Death's purple altar now See where the victor-victim bleeds: Your heads must come To the cold tomb; Only the actions of the just Smell sweet, and blossom in their dust. James Shirley M ar ch 1 7 79 THE DYING CHRISTIAN TO HIS SOUL Vi ITAL spark of heav'nly flame! Quit, O quit this mortal frame: Trembling, hoping, ling' ring, flying, O the pain, the bliss of dying! Cease, fond Nature, cease thy strife, And let me languish into life. Hark! they whisper; angels say, Sister Spirit, come away! What is this absorbs me quite? Steals my senses, shuts my sight, Drowns my spirits, draws my breath? Tell me, my soul, can this be death? The world recedes; it disappears! Heav 'n opens on my eyes! my ears With sounds seraphic ring! Lend, lend your wings! I mount! I fly! O Grave! where is thy victory? O Death ! where is thy sting? Alexander Pope 8o March 18 CHRISTUS CONSOLATOR fjESIDE the dead I knelt for prayer, And felt a presence as I prayed. Lo! it was Jesus standing there. He smiled: "Be not afraid!" "Lord, Thou hast conquered death, we know; Restore again to life," I said, "This one who died an hour ago." He smiled: "She is not dead!" "Asleep then, as Thyself didst say; Yet Thou canst lift the lids that keep Her prisoned eyes from ours away!" He smiled: "She doth not sleep!" "Nay then, tho' haply she do wake, And look upon some fairer dawn, Restore her to our hearts that ache!" He smiled: "She is not gone!" "Yet our beloved seem so far, The while we yearn to feel them near, Albeit with Thee we trust they are." He smiled: "And I am here!" "Dear Lord, how shall we know that they Still walk unseen with us and Thee, Nor sleep, nor wander far away?" He smiled: "Abide in Me." Rossiter \Y. Raymond March 19 81 THE MESSAGE FROM "DEATH IN ARABIA " P AREWELL, friends! Yet not farewell; Where I am, ye, too, shall dwell. I am gone before your face, A moment's time, a little space. When ye come where I have stepp'd Ye will wonder why ye wept; Ye will know, by wise love taught, That here is all, and there is naught. Weep awhile, if ye are fain, — Sunshine still must follow rain; Only not at death, — for death, Now I know, is that first breath Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life centre. Be ye certain all seems love, View'd from Allah's throne above; Be ye stout of heart, and come Bravely onward to your home! La Allah ilia Allah! yea! Thou love divine! Thou love alway! He that died at Azan 1 gave This to those who made his grave. Sir Edwin Arnold * Azan, the Moslem hour of prayer, esteemed a blest time to die. 82 March 20 THE GOLDEN TEXT Y< OU ask for fame or power? Then up, and take for text: — This is my hour, And not the next, nor next! Oh, wander not in ways Of ease or indolence! Swift come the days, And swift the days go hence. Strike! while the hand is strong, Strike! while you can and may: Strength goes ere long, — Even yours will pass away. • . . . • But, would your heart aspire To noble things, — to claim Bard's, statesman's fire — Some measure of their fame; Or, would you seek and find The secret of success With mortal kind? Then, up from idleness! Up — up ! all fame, all power Lies in this golden text: This is my hour — And not the next, nor next ! George Frederick Cameron March 21 83 SPREAD SAIL! FROM "SEEN AND UNSEEN ' o THOU God's mariner, heart of mine Spread canvas to the airs divine! Spread sail! and let thy Fortune be Forgotten in thy Destiny. Life Ioveth life and good; then trust What most the spirit would, it must; Deep wishes, in the heart that be, Are blossoms of Necessity. A thread of Law runs through thy prayer, Stronger than iron cables are: And Love and Longing toward her goal Are pilots sweet to guide the soul. So Life must live, and Soul must sail, And Unseen over Seen prevail; And all God's argosies come to shore, Let ocean smile, or rage or roar. And so, 'mid storm or calm, my bark With snowy wake still nears her mark; Cheerly the trades of being blow, And sweeping down the wind I go. David A. Wasson 84 March 22 REMEMBER ME R EMEMBER me when I am gone away, Gone far away into the silent land; When you can no more hold me by the hand, Nor I half turn to go, yet turning stay. Remember me when no more day by day You tell me of our future that you plann'd: Only remember me; you understand It will be late to counsel then or pray. Yet if you should forget me for a while And afterwards remember, do not grieve: For if the darkness and corruption leave A vestige of the thoughts that once I had, Better by far you should forget and smile Than that you should remember and be sad. Christina Georgina Rossetti March 23 85 SPIRIT VISITANTS FROM "IN MEMORIAM" X J.OW pure at heart and sound in head, With what divine affections bold, Should be the man whose thought would hold An hour's communion with the dead. In vain shalt thou, or any, call The spirits from their golden day. Except, like them, thou too canst say My spirit is at peace with all. They haunt the silence of the breast, Imaginations calm and fair, The memory like a cloudless air, The conscience as a sea at rest: But when the heart is full of din, And doubt beside the portal waits, They can but listen at the gates And hear the household jar within. Alfred, Lord Tennyson 86 March 24 "MY SORROW IS MY THRONE" JLVJ.Y sorrow is my throne! It lifts me from the dust of earthly care; 'Tis calm and peaceful, though so cold and lone — And wider prospects stretch before me there. My sorrow is my crown! A glory round the worn and aching brow; I would not lay its thorny circlet down For any flowers earth has to offer now. Yet sometimes I could deem I heard his voice, loved voice that guides me, say, "The earth we loved must never trivial seem, Although our joy has passed from earth away. "Go down, at my behest, The smallest, humblest kindly task to do; / see the thorn-prints; hide them from the rest; Because thou Iov'st me so, love others too." Lucy Smith March 25 87 JOYES OF HEVENE X HER is Iyf withoute ony deth, And ther is youthe withoute ony eld; And ther is alle manner welthe to welde; And ther is rest without ony travaille; And ther is pees without ony strife, And ther is alle manner Iykinge of Iyf: — And ther is bright somer ever to se, And ther is nevere wynter in that countrie: — And ther is more worshipe and honour, Than evere had kynge other emperour. And ther is grete melodie of aungeles songe, And ther is preysing hym amonge. And ther is alle manner frendshippe that may be, And ther is evere perfect love and charitie; And ther is wisdom without folye, And ther is honeste without vilenye. All these a man may joyes of hevene call; As yette the most sovereyn joye of alle Is the sighte of Goddes bright face, In wham resteth alle mannere grace. Richard Rolle 88 March 26 R, REMEMBER IMFMBER Him, the only One, Now, ere the years flow by, — Now, while the smile is on thy lip, The light within thine eye. Now, ere for thee the sun have lost Its glory and its light, And earth rejoice thee not with flowers, Nor with the stars the night. Now, while thou Iovest earth, because She is so wondrous fair With daisies and with primroses, And sunlit, waving air; And not because her bosom holds Thy dearest and thy best, And some day will thyself infold In calm and peaceful rest. Now, while thou Iovest violets, Because mid grass they wave, And not because they bloom upon Some early-shapen grave. Now, while thou Iovest music's strains, Because they cheer thy heart, And not because from aching eyes They make the tear-drops start. Now, whilst thou Iovest all on earth And deemest all will last, Before thy hope is vanished quite, And every joy has past; Remember Him, the only One, Before the days draw nigh When thou shalt have no joy in them, And praying, yearn to die. Emma Lazarus March 27 89 LAUS INFANTIUM I N praise of little children I will say God first made man, then found a better way For woman, but his third way was the best. Of all created things, the loveliest And most divine are children. Nothing here Can be to us more gracious or more dear. And though, when God saw all his works were good, There was no rosy flower of babyhood, 'T was said of children in a later day That none could enter Heaven save such as they. The earth, which feels the flowering of a thorn, Was glad, O little child, when you were born; The earth, which thrills when skylarks scale the blue, Soared up itself to God's own Heaven in you; And Heaven, which loves to lean down and to glass Its beauty in each dewdrop on the grass, — Heaven laughed to find your face so pure and fair, And left, O little child, its reflex there. William Canton 90 M arcb 28 PROGRESS ETERNAL FROM "THE REFORMER" O BACKWARD-LOOKING son of time The new is old, the old is new, The cycle of a change sublime Still sweeping through. So wisely taught the Indian seer; Destroying Seva, forming Brahm, Who wake by turn Earth's love and fear, Are one, the same. Idly as thou, in that old day Thou mournest, did thy sire repine; So, in his time, thy child grown gray Shall sigh for thine. But life shall on and upward go; Th' eternal step of Progress beats To that great anthem, calm and slow, Which God repeats. Take heart! — the Waster builds again, — A charmed life old Goodness hath; The tares may perish, — but the grain Is not for death. God works in all things; all obey His first propulsion from the night: Wake thou and watch! — the world is gray With morning light! John Greenleaf Whittier Ma r c h 2 9 91 HIS PILGRIMAGE VJTIVE me my scallop-shell of quiet, My staff of faith to walk upon, My scrip of joy, immortal diet, My bottle of salvation, My gown of glory, hope's true gage; And thus I'll take my pilgrimage. Blood must be my body's balmer; No other balm will there be given; Whilst my soul, like quiet palmer, Travelleth towards the land of heaven; Over the silver mountains, Where spring the nectar fountains: There will I kiss The bowl of bliss; And drink mine everlasting fill Upon every milken hill. My soul will be a-dry before; But, after, it will thirst no more. E The Conclusion ,VEN such is Time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, our all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who in the dark and silent grave, When we have wander'd all our ways, Shuts up the story of our days; But from this earth, this grave, this dust, My God shall raise me up, I trust. Sir Walter Raleigh 92 Mar ch 30 SWEET IS THE ROSE FROM "THE FAERIE QUEENe" OWEET is the rose, but grows upon a brere; Sweet is the juniper, but sharp his bough; Sweet is the eglantine, but pricketh near; Sweet is the firbloom, but his branches rough; Sweet is the Cyprus, but his rind is tough; Sweet is the nut, but bitter is his pill; Sweet is the broom flower, but yet sour enough; And sweet is moly, but his root is ill; So, every sweet, with sour is tempered still, That maketh it be coveted the more: For easy things that may be got at will Most sorts of men do set but little store. Why then should I account of little pain, That endless pleasure shall unto me gain? Edmuxd Spenser M a r c h 3 1 93 PRAYER FROM "THE PASSING OF ARTHUR" ilND slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge: "The old order changeth, yielding place to new, And God fulfils himself in many ways, Lest one good custom should corrupt the world. Comfort thyself: what comfort is in me? I have Iiv'd my life, and that which I have done May He within himself make pure! but thou, If thou shouldst never see my face again, Pray for my soul. More things are wrought by prayer Than this world dreams of. Wherefore, let thy voice Rise like a fountain for me night and day. For what are men better than sheep or goats That nourish a blind life within the brain, If, knowing God, they lift not hands of prayer Both for themselves and those who call them friend? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God." Alfred, Lord Tennyson 94 p r i I 1 HOME THOUGHTS FROM ABROAD o Ht to be in England now that April's there And whoever wakes in England sees, some morning, unaware, That the lowest boughs and the brushwood sheaf Round the elm-tree bole are in tiny leaf, While the chaffinch sings on the orchard bough In England — now! II And after April, when May follows And the white-throat builds, and all the swallows! Hark, where my blossom'd pear-tree in the hedge Leans to the field and scatters on the clover Blossoms and dewdrops — at the bent spray's edge — That's the wise thrush: he sings each song twice over Lest you should think he never could recapture The first fine careless rapture! And, though the fields look rough with hoary dew, All will be gay when noontide wakes anew The buttercups, the little children's dower, Far brighter than this gaudy melon-flower! Robert Browning A p r i I 2 95 BLOSSOMING SPRING FROM "iN MEMORIAM" N« OW fades the last long streak of snow, Now burgeons every maze of quick About the flowering squares, and thick By ashen roots the violets blow. Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drown'd in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song. Now dance the lights on lawn and lea, The flocks are whiter down the vale, And milkier every milky sail On winding stream or distant sea; Where now the seamew pipes, or dives In yonder greening gleam, and fly The happy birds, that change their sky To build and brood; that live their lives From land to land; and in my breast Spring wakens too; and my regret Becomes an April violet, And buds and blossoms like the rest. Alfred, Lord Tennyson g6 AprilS THE UNSEEN FROM "A MYSTICAL BALLAD " I UST on the farther bound of sense, ^ Unproved by outward evidence, But known by a deep influence Which through our grosser clay doth shine With light unwaning and divine, Beyond where highest thought can fly Stretcheth the world of Mystery — And they not greatly overween Who deem that nothing true hath been Save the unspeakable Unseen. One step beyond life's work-day things, One more beat of the soul's broad wings, One deeper sorrow sometimes brings The spirit into that great Vast Where neither future is nor past; None knoweth how he entered there, But, waking, finds his spirit where He thought an angel could not soar, And, what he called false dreams before, The very air about his door. James Russell Lowell A p r i I 4 97 GOD AND MAN FROM "RABBI BEN EZRA" 1 HOUGHTS hardly to be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke through language and escaped: All I could never be, All, men ignored in me, This, I was worth to God, whose wheel the pitcher shaped. Ay, note that Potter's wheel, That metaphor! and feel Why time spins fast, why passive lies our clay, — Thou, to whom fools propound, When the wine makes its round, "Since life fleets, all is change; the Past gone, seize to-day!" Fool ! All that is, at all, Lasts ever, past recall; Earth changes, but thy soul and God stand sure: What entered into thee, That was, is, and shall be: Time's wheel runs back or stops: Potter and clay endure. Robert Browning 98 April 5 THY WILL, NOT MINE H E sendeth sun, he sendeth shower, Alike they're needful for the flower: And joys and tears alike are sent To give the soul fit nourishment. As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done! Can loving children e'er reprove With murmurs whom they trust and love? Creator! I would ever be A trusting, loving child to thee: As comes to me or cloud or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done! Oh, ne'er will I at life repine: Enough that thou hast made it mine. When falls the shadow cold of death I yet will sing, with parting breath, As comes to me or shade or sun, Father! thy will, not mine, be done! Sarah Flower Adams r i I 6 99 PEACE J_yJ_Y soul, there is a country Far beyond the stars, Where stands a winged sentry All skilful in the wars: There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crown' d with smiles, And One born in a manger Commands the beauteous files. He is thy gracious Friend, And — O my soul, awake! — Did in pure love descend To die here for thy sake. If thou canst get but thither, There grows the flower of Peace, The Rose that cannot wither, Thy fortress, and thy ease. Leave then thy foolish ranges; For none can thee secure But One who never changes — Thy God, thy life, thy cure. Henry Vaughan 100 April 7 DARWINISM W. HEN first the unflowering Fern-forest Shadowed the dim lagoons of old, A vague unconscious long unrest Swayed the great fronds of green and gold. Until the flexible stems grew rude, The fronds began to branch and bower, And Io! upon the unblossoming wood There breaks a dawn of apple-flower. Then on the fruitful Forest-boughs For ages long the unquiet ape Swung happy in his airy house And plucked the apple and sucked the grape. Until in him at length there stirred The old, unchanged, remote distress, That pierced his world of wind and bird With some divine unhappiness. Not Love, nor the wild fruits he sought; Nor the fierce battles of his clan Could still the unborn and aching thought Until the brute became the man. Long since. . . . And now the same unrest Goads to the same invisible goal, Till some new gift, undreamed, unguessed, End the new travail of the soul. Mrs. A. M. F. Robinson Darmesteter r i I 6 101 FROM "THE WATER-FALL" V V ITH what deep murmurs, through Time's silent stealth, Dost thy transparent, cool, and watery wealth Here flowing fall, And chide and call, As if his liquid, loose retinue stay'd Lingering, and were of this steep place afraid; — The common pass, As clear as glass, All must descend Not to an end, But quicken'd by this deep and rocky grave, Rise to a longer course, more bright and brave. Dear stream! dear bank! where often I Have sate, and pleased my pensive eye; Why, since each drop of thy quick store Runs thither where it flow'd before, Should poor souls fear a shade or night, Who came — sure — from a sea of light? Or, since those drops are all sent back So sure to thee that none doth lack, Why should frail flesh doubt any more That what God takes He'll not restore? Henry Vaughan 102 A p r i I 9 SHOW ME THE WAY S. I HOW me the way, O Lord, And make it plain: I would obey Thy Word, Speak yet again: I will not take one step until I know Which way it is that Thou wouldst have me go. Lord, I cannot see: Vouchsafe one light: The mist bewilders me, Impedes my sight: Hold Thou my hand, and lead me by Thy side; I dare not go alone, — be Thou my Guide. 1 will be patient, Lord, Trustful and still: I will not doubt Thy Word; My hopes fulfil: How can I perish, clinging to Thy side, My Comforter, my Saviour, and my Guide. Jane Eupheaiia Saxby AprillO 103 TEACH ME TO LIVE! J, EACH me to live! 'Tis easier far to die — Gently and silently to pass away — On earth's long night to close the heavy eye And waken in the glorious realms of day. Teach me that harder lesson — how to live, To serve Thee in the darkest paths of life: Arm me for conflict now, fresh vigour give, And make me more than conqueror in the strife. Teach me to live! No idler let me be But in Thy service hand and heart employ, Prepared to do Thy bidding cheerfully — Be this my highest and my holiest joy. Teach me to live! With kindly words for all, Wearing no cold, repulsive brow of gloom, Waiting with cheerful patience till Thy call Summons my spirit to its heavenly home. Ellen Elizabeth Burman 104 A p r i I 1 1 BATTLE-HYMN OF GUSTAVUS ADOLPHUS B »E not dismay 'd, thou little flock, Although the foe's fierce battle-shock Loud on all sides assail thee. Though o'er thy fall they laugh secure, Their triumph cannot long endure; Let not thy courage fail thee. Thy cause is God's: go at His call, And to His hand commit thy all; Fear thou no ill impending: His Gideon shall arise for thee, God's word and people manfully In God's own time defending. Our hope is sure in Jesus' might; Against themselves the godless fight, Themselves, not us, distressing; Shame and contempt their lot shall be; God is with us, with Him are we, To us belongs His blessing. Swedish of Dr. Jacob Fabricius Translation of Elizabeth Ruxdle Charles April 12 105 THE MORNING SPLENDOUR XNI OW, when the dusky shades of night, retreating Before the sun's red banner, swiftly flee; Now, when the terrors of the dark are fleeting, O Lord, we lift our thankful hearts to Thee, - — To Thee, whose word, the fount of life unsealing, When hill and dale in thickest darkness lay, Awoke bright rays across the dim earth stealing, And bade the eve and morn complete the day. Look from the tower of heaven, and send to cheer us Thy light and truth to guide us onward still; Still let Thy mercy, as of old, be near us, And lead us safely to Thy holy hill. So, when that morn of endless light is waking, And shades of evil from its splendours flee, Safe may we rise, the earth's dark breast forsaking, Through all the long bright day to dwell with Thee. Latin of Gregory the Great Translator Unknown io6 A v r i I 13 THE COMING OF SPRING FROM "ATALANTA IN CALYDON " VjOME with bows bent and with emptying of quivers, Maiden most perfect, lady of light, With a noise of winds and many rivers, With a clamour of waters, and with might; Bind on thy sandals, O thou most fleet, Over the splendour and speed of thy feet; For the faint east quickens, the wan west shivers, Round the feet of the day and the feet of the night. Where shall we find her, how shall we sing to her, Fold our hands round her knees, and cling? O that man's heart were as fire and could spring to her, Fire, or the strength of the streams that spring! For the stars and the winds are unto her As raiment, as songs of the harp-player; For the risen stars and the fallen cling to her, And the southwest-wind and the west-wind sing*. For winter's rains and ruins are over, And all the season of snows and sins; The days dividing lover and lover, The light that loses, the night that wins; And time remember'd is grief forgotten, And frosts are slain and flowers begotten, And in green underwood and cover Blossom by blossom the spring begins. Algernon Charles Swinburne A p r i I 1 4 107 THE KINGDOM I y lFT up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh: Now breathes a softer air, Now shines a milder sky; The early trees put forth Their new and tender leaf; Hushed is the morning wind That told of winter's grief. Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh: Now mount the laden clouds, Now flames the darkening sky. The early scattered drops Descend with heavy fall, And to the waiting earth The hidden thunders call. He comes, the wide world's King; He comes, the true heart's Friend; New gladness to begin And ancient wrong to end. He comes to fill with light The weary waiting jye: Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh. Thomas Toke Lynch io8 April 15 THE THROSTLE jUMMER is coming, summer is coming, I know it, I know it, I know it. Light again, leaf again, life again, love again. Yes, my wild little Poet. Sing the new year in under the blue. Last year you sung it as gladly. 'New, new, new, new!" Is it then so new That you should carol so madly? 'Love again, song again, nest again, young again," Never a prophet so crazy! And hardly a daisy as yet, little friend, See, there is hardly a daisy. "Here again, here, here, here, happy year!" O warble unchidden, unbidden! Summer is coming, is coming, my dear, And all the winters are hidden. Alfred, Lord Tennyson April 16 109 THE SPRING-TIDE HOUR 1 HE spring-tide hour Brings leaf and flower, With songs of life and love; And many a lay Wears out the day In many a leafy grove: Bird, flow'r, and tree Seem to agree Their choicest gifts to bring; But this poor heart Bears not its part, In it there is no spring. Lord! let Thy love Fresh from above, Soft as the south wind blow; Call forth its bloom, Wake its perfume, And bid its spices flow! And when Thy voice Makes earth rejoice, And the hills laugh and sing; Lord, make this heart To bear its part, And join the praise of spring! John Samuel Bewley Monseli 1 1 o A p r i I 1 7 THE TORCH OF LOVE FROM "THE BURIED LIFE" JjUT often, in the world's most crowded streets, But often, in the din of strife, There rises an unspeakable desire After the knowledge of our buried life; A thirst to spend our fire and restless force In tracking out our true, original course; A longing to inquire Into the mystery of this heart which beats So wild, so deep in us — to know Whence our lives come and where they go. And many a man in his own breast then delves, But deep enough, alas! none ever mines. Only — but this is rare — When a beloved hand is laid in ours, When, jaded with the rush and glare Of the interminable hours, Our eyes can in another's eyes read clear, When our world deafened ear Is by the tones of a loved voice caressed, — A bolt is shot back somewhere in our breast, And a lost pulse of feeling stirs again. The eyes sink inward and the heart lies plain, And what we mean, we say, and what we would, we know. A man becomes aware of his life's flow, And hears its winding murmur and he sees The meadow where it glides, the sun, the breeze. Matthew Arnold A p r i I 1 8 in BE THOU CONTENT J3E thou content; be still before Hfs face, at whose right hand doth reign Fulness of joy for evermore, Without whom all thy toil is vain. He is thy living spring, thy sun, whose rays Make glad with life and light thy dreary days. Be thou content. In Him is comfort, light, and grace, And changeless love beyond our thought; The sorest pang, the worst disgrace, If He is there, shall harm thee not. He can lift off thy cross, and loose thy bands, And calm thy fears, nay, death is in His hands. Be thou content. Or art thou friendless and alone, Hast none in whom thou canst confide? God careth for thee, lonely one, Comfort and help will He provide. He sees thy sorrows and thy hidden grief, He knoweth when to send thee quick relief; Be thou content. Paul Gerhakdt ii2 A p r i I 1 9 EASTER M- OST glorious Lord of Lyfe! that, on this day Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin And, having harrowd hell, didst bring away Captivity thence captive, us to win: This joyous day, deare Lord, with joy begin; And grant that we, for whom thou diddest dye, Being with Thy deare blood dene washt from sin, May live for ever in felicity! And that Thy love we weighing worthily, May likewise love Thee for the same againe; And for Thy sake, that all Iyke deare didst buy, With love may one another entertayne! So let us love, deare Love, Iyke as we ought, — Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught. Edmund Spenser A p r i I 2 113 COMFORT OPEAK low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet From out the hallelujahs, sweet and low, Lest I should fear and fall, and miss Thee so Who art not missed by any that entreat. Speak to me as to Alary at Thy feet! And if no precious gums my hands bestow, Let my tears drop like amber while I go In reach of Thy divinest voice complete In humanest affection — thus, in sooth, To lose the sense of losing. As a child, Whose song-bird seeks the wood for evermore, Is sung to in its stead by mother's mouth Till, sinking on her breast, love-reconciled, He sleeps the faster that he wept before. Elizabeth Barrett Browning U4 A pr i I 2 1 SWEET AFTER SHOWERS FROM "IN MEMORIAM" OWEET after showers, ambrosial air, That rollest from the gorgeous gloom Of evening over brake and bloom And meadow, slowly breathing bare The round of space, and rapt below Thro' all the dewy-tassell'd wood, And shadowing down the horned flood In ripples, fan my brows and blow The fever from my cheek, and sigh The full new life that feeds thy breath Throughout my frame, till Doubt and Death, III brethren, let the fancy fly From belt to belt of crimson seas On leagues of odour streaming far, To where in yonder orient star A hundred spirits whisper " Peace." Alfred, Lord Tennyson A p r i I 2 2 115 THE SEED GROWING SECRETLY D. 'EAR, secret greenness! nurst below Tempests and winds and winter nights! Vex not, that but One sees thee grow; That One made all these lesser lights. What needs a conscience calm and bright Within itself, an outward test? Who breaks his glass, to take more light, Makes way for storms into his rest. Then bless thy secret growth, nor catch At noise, but thrive unseen and dumb; Keep clean, bear fruit, earn life, and watch Till the white- winged reapers come! Henry Vaughan n6 April 23 SHAKESPEARE DIED APRIL 23, l6l6 V^/THERS abide our question. Thou art free. We ask and ask: Thou smilest and art still, Out-topping knowledge. For the loftiest hill That to the stars uncrown his majesty, Planting his steadfast footsteps in the sea, Making the heaven of heavens his dwelling-place, Spares but the cloudy border of his base To the foil'd searching of mortality; And thou, who didst the stars and sunbeams know, Self-schooI'd, self-scann'd, self-honoured, self- secure, Didst walk on earth unguess'd at. Better so! All pains the immortal spirit must endure, All weakness that impairs, all griefs that bow, Find their sole voice in that victorious brow. Matthew Arnold A p r i I 2 4 117 AT STRATFORD-ON-AVON Shakespeare, thy ,e ga e y of P ee r ,ess son g Reveals mankind in every age and place, In every joy, in every grief and wrong: 'Tis England's legacy to all our race. Little we know of all thine inner life, Little of all thy swift, thy wondrous years — Years filled with toil, rich years whose days were rife With strains that bring us mirth, that bring us tears. Little we know, and yet this much we know, Sense was thy guiding star — sense guided thee To live in this thy Stratford long ago, To live content in calm simplicity; Greatest of those who wrought with soul aflame At honest daily work — then found it fame. Mackenzie Bell u8 April 25 OUR LIVING DEAD G 'OD of the living, in Whose eyes Unveil'd Thy whole creation lies; All souls are Thine; we must not say That those are dead who pass away; From this our world of flesh set free, We know them living unto Thee. Released from earthly toil and strife, With Thee is hidden still their life; Thine are their thoughts, their works, their powers, All Thine, and yet most truly ours; For well we know, where'er they be, Our dead are living unto Thee. Not spilt like water on the ground, Not wrapp'd in dreamless sleep profound, Not wandering in unknown despair Beyond Thy voice, Thine arm, Thy care; Not left to lie like fallen tree; Not dead, but living unto Thee. Thy word is true, Thy will is just; To Thee we leave them, Lord, in trust; And bless Thee for the love which gave Thy Son to fill a human grave, That none might fear that world to see, Where all are living unto Thee. John Ellerton A p r i I 2 6 119 LIFE'S MYSTERY I > IFE'S mystery, — deep, restless as the ocean, — Hath surged and wailed for ages to and~fro; Earth's generations watch its ceaseless motion As in and out its hollow moanings flow; Shivering and yearning by that unknown sea, Let my soul calm itself, O Christ, in thee! The many waves of thought, the mighty tides, The ground-swell that rolls up from other lands, From far-off worlds, from dim eternal shores Whose echo dashes on life's wave-worn strands, — This vague, dark tumult of the inner sea Grows calm, grows bright, O risen Lord, in thee! Thy pierced hand guides the mysterious wheels; Thy thorn-crowned brow now wears the crown of power; And when the dark enigma presseth sore Thy patient voice saith, "Watch with me one hour!" As sinks the moaning river in the sea In silver peace, — so sinks my soul in Thee! Harriet Beecher Stowe J 120 Avril 2 7 PERSEVERANCE J\ SWALLOW in the spring Came to our granary, and 'neath the eaves Essayed to make a nest, and there did bring Wet earth and straw and leaves. Day after day she toiled With patient art, but ere her work was crowned, Some sad mishap the tiny fabric spoiled, And dashed it to the ground. She found the ruin wrought, But, not cast down, forth from the place she flew, And with her mate fresh earth and grasses brought And built her nest anew. But scarcely had she placed The last soft feather on its ample floor; When wicked hand, or chance, again laid waste And wrought the ruin o'er. But still her heart she kept, And toiled again, — and last night, hearing calls, I looked, — and Io! three little swallows slept Within the earth-made walls. What truth is here, O man! Hath hope been smitten in its early dawn? Have clouds o'ercast thy purpose, trust, or plan? Have faith, and struggle on! R. S. S. Axdros A pril 2 8 i2i NATURE'S MONITIONS FROM "DEVOTIONAL INCITEMENTS' E ,VERMORE, through years renew'd In undisturb'd vicissitude Of seasons balancing their flight On the swift wings of day and night, Kind Nature keeps a heavenly door Wide open for the scatter'd Poor. Where flower-breathed incense to the skies Is wafted in mute harmonies; And ground fresh-cloven by the plough Is fragrant with a humbler vow; Where birds and brooks from leafy dells Chime forth unwearied canticles, And vapours magnify and spread The glory of the sun's bright head: — Still constant in her worship, still Conforming to the eternal Will, Whether men sow or reap the fields, Divine monition Nature yields, That not by bread alone we live, Or what a hand of flesh can give; That every day should leave some part Free for a sabbath of the heart: So shall the seventh be truly blest, From morn to eve, with hallow'd rest. William Wordsworth 122 April29 MORNING HYMN SwEETMo r „I from counts cups of g o,d Thou Iiftest reverently on high More incense fine than earth can hold, To fill the sky. One interfusion wide of love, Thine airs and odors moist ascend, And 'mid the azure depths above, With light they blend. The lark, by his own carol blest, From thy green arbors eager springs; And his large heart in little breast Exulting sings. In man, O Morn! a loftier good, With conscious blessing, fills the soul, A life by reason understood, Which metes the whole. Like earth, awake, and warm and bright, With joy the spirit moves and burns; So up to Thee, O Fount of Light! Our light returns. John Sterling April 3 123 DAFFODILS X WANDERED lonely as a cloud That floats on high o'er vales and hills, When all at once I saw a crowd, A host, of golden daffodils; Beside the lake, beneath the trees, Fluttering and dancing in the breeze. Continuous as the stars that shine And twinkle on the milky way, They stretched in never-ending line Along the margin of a bay: Ten thousand saw I at a glance, Tossing their heads in sprightly dance. The waves beside them danced; but they Out-did the sparkling waves in glee: A poet could not but be gay, In such a jocund company: I gazed — and gazed — but little thought What wealth the show to me had brought: For oft, when on my couch I lie In vacant or in pensive mood, They flash upon that inward eye Which is the bliss of solitude; And then my heart with pleasure fills, And dances with the daffodils. William Wordsworth 124 May 1 AUTHORITY JL/AUNCHED upon ether float the worlds secure. Naught hath the truthful Maker to conceal. No trestle-work of adamant or steel Is that high firmament where these endure. Patient, majestic, round their cynosure In secular procession see them wheel; Self-poised, but not self-centred, for they feel In each tense fibre one all-conquering lure. And need I fret me, Father, for that Thou Dost will the weightiest verities to swing On viewless orbits? Nay, henceforth I cleave More firmly to the Credo; and my vow With readier footstep to thine altar bring, As one who counts it freedom to believe. William Reed Huntington May 2 125 THE PLOUGH A LANDSCAPE IN BERKSHIRE /iBOVE yOn sombre swell of land Thou see'st the dawn's grave orange hue, With one pale streak like yellow sand, And over that a vein of blue. The air is cold above the woods; All silent is the earth and sky, Except with his own lonely moods The blackbird holds a colloquy. Over the broad hill creeps a beam, Like hope that gilds a good man's brow; And now ascends the nostril-stream Of stalwart horses come to plough. Ye rigid Ploughmen, bear in mind Your labour is for future hours: Advance — spare not — nor look behind — Plough deep and straight with all your powers! Richard Henry Horne 126 May 3 TO THE DANDELION \_ y EAR common flower, that growest beside the way, . Fringing the dusty road with harmless gold, First pledge of blithesome May, Which children pluck, and, full of pride, uphold, High-hearted buccaneers, o'er joyed that they An Eldorado in the grass have found, Which not the rich earth's ample round May match in wealth, — thou art more dear to me Than all the prouder summer-blooms may be. Gold such as thine ne'er drew the Spanish prow Through the primeval hush of Indian seas, Nor wrinkled the lean brow Of age, to rob the lover's heart of ease; 'Tis the spring's largess, which she scatters now To rich and poor alike, with lavish hand, Though most hearts never understand To take it at God's value, but pass by The offered wealth with unrewarded eye. How like a prodigal doth nature seem, When thou, for all thy gold, so common art! Thou teachest me to deem More sacredly of every human heart, Since each reflects in joy its scanty gleam Of heaven, and could some wondrous secret show, Did we but pay the love we owe, And with a child's undoubting wisdom look On all these living pages of God's book. James Russell Lowell May 4 127 PATIENCE X3E patient! oh, be patient! Put your ear against the earth; Listen there how noiselessly the germ o' the seed has birth — How noiselessly and gently it upheaves its little way, Till it parts the scarcely broken ground, and the blade stands up in the day. Be patient! oh, be patient — go and watch the wheat ears grow — So imperceptibly that ye can mark nor change nor throe — Day after day, day after day, till the ear is fully grown, And then again day after day, till the ripened field is brown. Be patient! oh, be patient! — though yet our hopes are green, The harvest-fields of freedom shall be crowned with sunny sheen. Be ripening! be ripening! — mature your silent way, Till the whole broad land is tongued with fire on freedom's harvest day! Richard Chevenix Trench 128 May 5 SONG OF THE SILENT LAND I NTO the Silent Land! Ah! who shall lead us thither? Clouds in the evening sky more darkly gather, And shattered wrecks lie thicker on the strand. Who leads us with a gentle hand Thither, O thither, Into the Silent Land? Into the Silent Land! To you, ye boundless regions Of all perfection! Tender morning visions Of beauteous souls! The Future's pledge and band Who in Life's battle firm doth stand, Shall bear Hope's tender blossoms Into the Silent Land! OLand! O Land! For all the broken-hearted The mildest herald by our fate allotted, Beckons, and with inverted torch doth stand To lead us with a gentle hand Into the land of the great Departed, Into the Silent Land! German of Johann G. von Salis Translation of H. W. Longfellow May 6 129 THE OTHER WORLD I T lies around us like a cloud, The world we do not see; Yet the sweet closing of an eye May bring us there to be. Its gentle breezes fan our cheeks Amid our worldly cares; Its gentle voices whisper love, And mingle with our prayers. Sweet hearts around us throb and beat, Sweet helping hands are stirred, And palpitates the veil between, With breathings almost heard. Sweet souls around us! watch us still, Press nearer to our side; Into our thoughts, into our prayers, With gentle helping glide. Let death between us be as naught, A dried and vanished stream; Your joy be the reality, Our suffering life the dream. Harriet Beecher Stowe 130 May 7 THE LARGER HOPE FROM "IN MEMORIA.m" T, HE wish, that of the living whole No life may fail beyond the grave, Derives it not from what we have The Iikest God within the soul? Are God and Nature then at strife, That Nature lends such evil dreams? So careful of the type she seems, So careless of the single life; That I, considering everywhere Her secret meaning in her deeds, And finding that of fifty seeds She often brings but one to bear, I falter where I firmly trod, And falling with my weight of cares Upon the great world's altar-stairs That slope thro' darkness up to God, I stretch lame hands of faith, and grope, And gather dust and chaff, and call To what I feel is Lord of all, And faintly trust the larger hope. Alfred, Lord Tennyson May 8 131 STRONG SON OF GOD FROM "iN MEMORIAM " OTRONG Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen Thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove; Thou seemest human and divine, The highest, holiest manhood, Thou; Our wills are ours, we know not how; Our wills are ours, to make them Thine. Our little systems have their day; They have their day and cease to be; They are but broken lights of Thee, And Thou, oh Lord, art more then they. We have but faith: we cannot know; For knowledge is of things we see; And yet we trust it comes from Thee, A beam in darkness: let it grow. Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth: Forgiye them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. Alfred, Lord Tennyson 132 May 9 MAY AND THE POETS X. HERE is May in books forever; May will part from Spenser never; May's in Milton, May's in Prior, May's in Chaucer, Thomson, Dyer; May's in all the Italian books: — She has old and modern nooks, Where she sleeps with nymphs and elves, In happy places they call shelves, And will rise and dress your rooms With a drapery thick with blooms. Come, ye rains, then if ye will, May's at home, and with me still; But come rather, thou, good weather, And find us in the fields together. Leigh Hunt May 10 133 MORNING FROM "L'ALLEGRO" SOMETIME walking, not unseen, By hedgerow elms, on hillocks green, Right against the eastern gate Where the great Sun begins his state, Robed in flames and amber light, The clouds in thousand liveries dight; While the ploughman near at hand Whistles o'er the furrowed land, And the milkmaid singeth blithe, And the mower whets his scythe, And every shepherd tells his tale Under the hawthorn in the dale. Straight mine eye hath caught new pleasures, W r hilst the landscape round it measures: Russet lawns and fallows grey, Where the nibbling flocks do stray; Mountains on whose barren breast The labouring clouds do often rest; Meadows trim, with daisies pied, Shallow brooks, and rivers wide; Towers and battlements it sees Bosomed high in tufted trees, Where perhaps some beauty lies, The cynosure of neighbouring eyes. John Milton 134 May 1 1 TO THE CUCKOO H AIL, beauteous stranger of the grove! Thou messenger of spring! Now Heaven repairs thy rural seat, And woods thy welcome sing. What time the daisy decks the green, Thy certain voice we hear. Hast thou a star to guide thy path, Or mark the rolling year? Delightful visitant! with thee I hail the time of flowers, And hear the sound of music sweet From birds among the bowers. Sweet bird! thy bower is ever green, Thy sky is ever clear; Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, No winter in thy year! O, could I fly, I'd fly with thee! We'd make, with joyful wing, Our annual visit o'er the globe, Companions of the Spring. John Logan May 12 135 SPRING SWEETNESS FROM "DEDICATION" I STOOD tiptoe upon a little hill, The air was cooling, and so very still, That the sweet buds which with a modest pride Pull droopingly, in slanting curve aside, Their scantly-Ieaved, and finely-tapering stems, Had not yet lost their starry diadems Caught from the early sobbing of the morn. The clouds were pure and white as flocks new-shorn, And fresh from the clear brook; sweetly they slept On the blue fields of heaven, and then there crept A little noiseless noise among the leaves, Born of the very sigh that silence heaves; For not the faintest motion could be seen Of all the shades that slanted o'er the green. There was wide wandering for the greediest eye, To peer about upon variety; Far round the horizon's crystal air to skim, And trace the dwindled edgings of its brim; To picture out the quaint and curious bending Of a fresh woodland alley never-ending: Or by the bowery clefts, and leafy shelves, Guess where the jaunty streams refresh themselves. To where the hurrying freshnesses aye preach A natural sermon o'er their pebbly beds. John Keats 136 May 1 3 ON THE MOUNT OTAY, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill: A little longer let us linger still; With these three mighty ones of old beside, Near to the Awful Presence still abide; Before the throne of light we trembling stand, And catch a glimpse into the spirit-land. Stay, Master, stay! We breathe a purer air; This life is not the life that waits us there: Thoughts, feelings, flashes, glimpses come and go: We cannot speak them — nay, we do not know; Wrapt in this cloud of light we seem to be The thing we fain would grow — eternally. "No!" saith the Lord, "the hour is past, — we go; Our home, our life, our duties lie below. While here we kneel upon the mount of prayer, The plough lies waiting in the furrow there! Here we sought God that we might know His will: There we must do it, — serve Him, — seek Him still." If man aspires to reach the throne of God, O'er the dull plains of earth must lie the road. He who does best his lowly duty here Shall mount the highest in a nobler sphere. At God's own feet our spirits seek their rest, And he is nearest Him who serves Him best. Samuel Greg May 1 4 137 LABOR FROM "LABORARE EST ORARE" 1 y AROR is life! 'tis the still water faileth; Idleness ever despaireth, bewaileth; Keep the watch wound, or the dark rust assaileth; Flowers droop and die in the stillness of noon. Labor is glory! — the flying cloud lightens; Only the waving wing changes and brightens; Idle hearts only the dark future frightens; Play the sweet keys, wouldst thou keep them in tune! Labor is rest — from the sorrows that greet us; Rest from all petty vexations that meet us; Rest from sin-promptings that ever entreat us; Rest from world-sirens that lure us to ill. Work, — and pure slumbers shall wait on thy pillow; Work, — thou shalt ride over Care's coming billow; Lie not down wearied 'neath Woe's weeping willow, Work with a stout heart and resolute will! Droop not, — though shame, sin, and anguish are round thee! Bravely fling off the cold chain that hath bound thee! Look to the pure heaven smiling beyond thee! Rest not content in thy darkness, — a clod! Work for some good, be it ever so slowly! Cherish some flower, be it ever so lowly! Labor! — all labor is noble and holy; Let thy great deed be thy prayer to thy God. Frances Sargent Osgood 138 May 15 A CONTEMPLATION UPON FLOWERS B RAVE flowers — that I could gallant it like you, And be as little vain! You come abroad, and make a harmless show, And to your beds of earth again. You are not proud: you know your birth: For your embroider'd garments are from earth. You do obey your months and times, but I Would have it ever Spring: My fate would know no Winter, never die, Nor think of such a thing. O that I could my bed of earth but view And smile, and look as cheerfully as you! O teach me to see Death and not to fear, But rather to take truce! How often have I seen you at a bier, And there look fresh and spruce! You fragrant flowers! then teach me, that my breath Like yours may sweeten and perfume my death. Bishop Henry King May 1 6 139 THE USE OF FLOWERS G« TOD might have bade the earth bring forth Enough for great and small, The oak-tree and the cedar-tree, Without a flower at all. We might have had enough, enough For every want of ours, For luxury, medicine, and toil, And yet have had no flowers. Then wherefore, wherefore were they made, All dyed with rainbow light, All fashioned with supremest grace, Upsp ringing day and night: — Springing in valleys green and low, And on the mountains high, And in the silent wilderness Where no man passes by? Our outward life requires them not, — Then wherefore had they birth? — To minister delight to man, To beautify the earth; To comfort man, — to whisper hope, Whene'er his faith is dim, For who so careth for the flowers Will care much more for him! Mary Howitt 140 M ay 1 7 WHO GATHER GOLD X HEY soon grow old who grope for gold In marts where all is bought and sold: Who live for self and on some shelf In darkened vaults hoard up their pelf; Cankered and crusted o'er with mould — For them their youth itself is old. They ne'er grow old who gather gold Where spring awakes and flowers unfold; Where suns arise in joyous skies, And fill the soul within their eyes. For them the immortal bards have sung; For them old age itself is young. Andrew Bice Saxton May 18 141 THE POET M. .OST sweet is it with unuplifted eyes To pace the ground, if path be there or none, While a fair region round the traveller lies Which he forbears again to look upon; Pleased rather with some soft ideal scene, The work of fancy, or some happy tone Of meditation, slipping in between The beauty coming and the beauty gone. If thought and love desert us, from that day Let us break off all commerce with the Muse; With thought and love companions of our way, Whate'er the senses take or may refuse, The mind's internal heaven shall shed her dews Of inspiration on the humblest lay. William Wordsworth 142 M ay 1 9 AN EVENING HYMN J /ORD, should we oft forget to sing A thankful evening song of praise, This duty they to mind might bring Who chirp among the bushy sprays. For to their perches they retire, When first the twilight w r axeth dim; And every night that sweet-voiced choir Shuts up the daylight with a hymn. Ten thousand-fold more cause have we To close each day with praiseful voice, To offer thankful hearts to Thee, And in Thy mercies to rejoice. Therefore for all Thy mercies past, For those this evening doth afford, And which for times to come Thou hast, We give Thee hearty thanks, O Lord! George Wither May 2 143 STILL, STILL WITH THEE OTILL, still with Thee, when purple morning breaketh, When the bird waketh, and the shadows flee; Fairer than morning, lovelier than the daylight, Dawns the sweet consciousness, I am with Thee! Alone with Thee, amid the mystic shadows, The solemn hush of nature newly born; Alone with Thee in breathless adoration, In the calm dew and freshness of the morn. As in the dawning, o'er the waveless ocean, The image of the morning star doth rest, So in this stillness Thou beholdest only Thine image in the waters of my breast. When sinks the soul, subdued by toil, to slumber, Its closing eye looks up to Thee in prayer; Sweet the repose beneath Thy wings o'ershading, But sweeter still to wake and find Thee there. So shall it be at last, in that bright morning, When the soul waketh, and life's shadows flee; Oh! in that hour, fairer than daylight dawning, Shall rise the glorious thought, I am with Thee! Harriet Beecher Stowe 144 May 2 1 WIND AND SEA JL HE sea is a jovial comrade, He laughs wherever he goes; His merriment shines in the dimpling lines That wrinkle his hale repose; He lays himself down at the feet of the Sun, And shakes all over with glee, And the broad-backed billows fall faint on the shore, In the mirth of the mighty Sea! But the Wind is sad and restless, And cursed with an inward pain! You may hark as you will, by valley or hill, But you hear him still complain. He wails on the barren mountains, And shrieks on the wintry sea; He sobs in the cedar, and moans in the pine, And shudders all over the aspen tree. W'elcome are both their voices, And I know not which is best, — The laughter that slips from the Ocean's lips, Or the comfortless Wind's unrest. There's a pang in all rejoicing, A joy in the heart of pain, And the Wind that saddens, the Sea that gladdens, Are singing the self-same strain! Bayard Taylor May 2 2 145 THE INDIVIDUAL SOUL FROM "CALAMUS" X UMBLING on steadily, nothing dreading, Sunshine, storm, cold, heat, forever withstanding, passing, carrying, The Soul's realization and determination still inheriting, The fluid vacuum around and ahead still entering and dividing, No balk retarding, no anchor anchoring, on no rock striking, Swift, glad, content, unbereaved, nothing losing, Of all able and ready at any time to give strict account, The divine ship sails the divine sea. Whoever you are! motion and reflection are espe- cially for you, The divine ship sails the divine sea for you. Whoever you are! you are he or she for whom the earth is solid and liquid, You are he or she for whom the sun and moon hang in the sky, For none more than you are the present and the past, For none more than you is immortality. Each man to himself, and each woman to herself, is the word of the past and present, and the word of immortality, No one can acquire for another — not one! Not one can grow for another — not one! Walt Whitman 146 May 2 3 ROOTED IN LOVE O H thou of dark forebodings drear, Oh thou of such a faithless heart, Hast thou forgotten what thou art, That thou hast ventured so to fear? No weed on ocean's bosom cast, Borne by its never-resting foam This way and that, without a home, Till flung on some bleak shore at last: But thou the lotus, which above Sway'd here and there by wind and tide, Yet still below doth fix'd abide, Fast rooted in the eternal Love. Richard Chevexix Trench May 2 4 147 VIRTUE OWEET day, so cool, so calm, so bright, The bridal of the earth and sky; The dew shall weep thy fall to-night; For thou must die. Sweet rose, whose hue angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die. • Only a sweet and virtuous soul, Like seasoned timber, never gives; But though the whole world turn to coal, Then chiefly lives. George Herbert 148 May 2 5 THE PRAYER Wi ILT Thou not visit me? The plant beside me feels Thy gentle dew; And every blade of grass I see, From Thy deep earth its quickening moisture drew. Wilt Thou not visit me? Thy morning calls on me with cheering tone, And every hill and tree Lends but one voice, the voice of Thee alone. Come, for I need Thy love, More than the flower the dew, or grass the rain; Come, gently as Thy holy dove; And let me in Thy sight rejoice to live again. I will not hide from them, When Thy storms come, though fierce may be their wrath ; But bow with leafy stem, And strengthened follow on Thy chosen path. Yes, Thou wilt visit me; Nor plant nor tree Thine eye delights so well, As when, from sin set free, My spirit loves with Thine in peace to dwell. Jones Very M ay 2 6 149 TO THE HEIGHTS FROM "THE LADDER OF ST. A.UGUSTINE' A, .LL thoughts of ill: all evil deeds, That have their root in thoughts of ill: Whatever hinders or impedes The action of the nobler will ; — All these must first be trampled down Beneath our feet, if we would gain In the bright fields of fair renown The right of eminent domain. We have not wings, we cannot soar; But we have feet to scale and climb By slow degrees, by more and more, The cloudy summits of our time. The heights by great men reached and kept Were not attained by sudden flight, But they, while their companions slept, Were toiling upward in the night. Standing on what too long we bore With shoulders bent and downcast eyes, We may discern — unseen before — A path to higher destinies. Nor deem the irrevocable Past As wholly wasted, wholly vain, If, rising on its wrecks, at last, To something nobler we attain. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow 150 M ay 2 7 SUNRISE FROM "THE SEASONS' Y< ONDER comes the powerful king of day, Rejoicing in the east. The lessening cloud, The kindling azure, and the mountain's brow Illumed with fluid gold, his near approach Betoken glad. Lo! now, apparent all Aslant the dew-bright earth, and color'd air, He looks in boundless majesty abroad; And sheds the shining day, that burnish'd plays On rocks, and hills, and towers, and wandering streams, High gleaming from afar. Prime cheerer Light! Of all material beings first, and best! Efflux divine! Nature's resplendent robe! Without whose vesting beauty all were wrapt In unessential gloom; and thou, O Sun! Soul of surrounding worlds! in whom best seen Shines out thy Maker, may I sing of thee? James Thomson May 28 151 EVENING AND MORNING c lOMES, at times, a stillness as of even, Steeping the soul in memories of love, As when the glow is sinking out of heaven, As when the twilight deepens in the grove. Comes, at times, a voice of days departed, On the dying breath of evening borne, Sinks the traveller, faint and weary hearted, "Long is the way," it whispers, "and forlorn." Comes, at length, a sound of many voices, As when the waves break lightly on the shore; As when at dawn the feather'd choir rejoices, Singing aloud, because the night is o'er. Comes, at last, a voice of thrilling gladness, Borne on the breezes of the rising day; Saying, "The Lord shall make an end of sadness,' Saying, "The Lord shall wipe all tears away." Isaac Gregory Smith 152 May 29 FAITH AND REASON FROM "THE LIBRARY' 1 w. HEN first Religion came to bless the land, Her friends were then a firm believing band, To doubt was then to plunge in guilt extreme, And all was gospel that a monk could dream; Insulted Reason fled the grovelling soul, For Fear to guide, and visions to control; But now, when Reason has assumed her throne, She, in her turn, demands to reign alone; Rejecting all that lies beyond her view, And, being judge, will be a witness too: Insulted Faith then leaves the doubtful mind, To seek the truth, without a power to find: Ah! when will both in friendly beams unite, And pour on erring man resistless light? George Crabbe May SO 153 THE OLD AND THE NEW o SOMETIMES gleams upon our sight, Through present wrong, the Eternal Right! And step by step, since time began, We see the steady gain of man; — That all of good the past hath had Remains to make our own time glad, Our common daily life divine, And every land a Palestine. We lack but open eye and ear To find the Orient's marvels here, The still, small voice in autumn's hush, Yon maple wood the burning bush. For still the new transcends the old, In signs and tokens manifold; Slaves rise up men; the olive waves With roots deep set in battle graves. Through the harsh noises of our day A low, sweet prelude finds its way; Through clouds of doubt and creeds of fear A light is breaking, calm and clear. Henceforth my heart shall sigh no more For olden time and holier shore; God's love and blessing, then and there, Are now, and here, and everywhere. John Greenleaf Whittier i54 May 31 MAY I FEEL a newer life in every gale; The winds that fan the flowers, And with their welcome breathings fill the sail, Tell of serener hours, — Of hours that glide unfelt away Beneath the sky of May. The spirit of the gentle south-wind calls From his blue throne of air, And where his whispering voice in music falls, Beauty is budding there; The bright ones of the valley break Their slumbers, and awake. The waving verdure rolls along the plain, And the wide forest weaves, To welcome back its playful mates again, A canopy of leaves; And from its darkening shadow floats A gush of trembling notes. Fairer and brighter spreads the reign of May; The tresses of the woods With the light dallying of the west- wind play; And the full-brimming floods, As gladly to their goal they run, Hail the returning sun. James Gates Percival June 1 155 TWO INFINITIES A LONELY way, and as I went my eyes Could not unfasten from the Spring's sweet things, Lush-sprouted grass, and all that climbs and clings In loose, deep hedges, where the primrose lies In her own fairness, buried blooms surprise The plunderer bee and stop his murmurings, And the glad flutter of a finch's wings Outstartle small blue-speckled butterflies. Blissfully did one speedwell plot beguile My whole heart long; I Iov'd each separate flower, Kneeling. I Iook'd up suddenly — Dear God! There stretch'd the shining plain for many a mile, The mountains rose with what invincible power! And how the sky was fathomless and broad! Edward Dowden i 5 6 B, June 2 THE SKY-LARK IRD of the wilderness, BIythesome and cumberless, Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — O to abide in the desert with thee! Wild is thy lay and loud Far in the downy cloud, Love gives it energy, love gave it birth. Where, on thy dewy wing, Where art thou journeying? Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth. O'er fell and fountain sheen, O'er moor and mountain green, O'er the red streamer that heralds the day, Over the cloudlet dim, Over the rainbow's rim, Musical cherub, soar, singing, away! Then when the gloaming comes, Low in the heather glooms, Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness, Blest is thy dwelling-place — O to abide in the desert with thee! James Hogg June 3 157 LIFE VjOME, track with me this little vagrant rill, Wandering its wild course from the mountain's breast; Now with a brink fantastic, heather-drest, And playing with the stooping flowers at will; Now moving scarce, with noiseless step and still; Anon it seems to weary of its rest, And hurries on, leaping with sparkling zest Adown the ledges of the broken hill. So let us live. Is not the life well spent Which loves the lot that kindly Nature weaves For all, inheriting or adorning Earth? Which throws light pleasure over true content, Blossoms with fruitage, flowers as well as leaves, And sweetens wisdom with a taste of mirth? Thomas Doubleday . 5 8 June 4 THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE A. .S on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed, I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall, The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal, — A sunny phantom interlaced with shade; "Thanks be to heaven," in happier mood I said, "What sweeter aid my matins could befall Than this fair glory from the East hath made? What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all, To bid us feel and see! We are not free To say we see not, for the glory comes Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms; And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me With golden shadows to my secret rooms!" Charles Tennyson Turner J un e 5 159 HIDDEN JOYS JL LEASURES lie thickest where no pleasures seem: There's not a leaf that falls upon the ground But holds some joy, of silence, or of sound, Some sprite begotten of a summer dream. The very meanest things are made supreme With innate ecstasy. No grain of sand But moves a bright and million-peopled land, And hath its Edens and its Eves, I deem. For Love, though blind himself, a curious eye Hath lent me, to behold the hearts of things, And touch'd mine ear with power. Thus, far or nigh, Minute or mighty, fix'd or free with wings, Delight from many a nameless covert sly Peeps sparkling, and in tones familiar sings. Laman Blanchakd 160 J une 6 IN THESE CALM SHADES FROM "A FOREST HYMN"" L ET me often to these solitudes Retire, and in thy presence reassure My feeble virtue. Here its enemies, The passions, at thy plainer footsteps shrink And tremble, and are still. O God! when thou Dost scare the world with tempests, set on fire The heavens with falling thunderbolts, or fill, With all the waters of the firmament, The swift dark whirlwind that uproots the woods And drowns the villages; when, at thy call, Uprises the great deep, and throws himself Upon the continent, and overwhelms Its cities, — who forgets not, at the sight Of these tremendous tokens of thy power, His pride, and lays his strifes and follies by? O, from these sterner aspects of thy face Spare me and mine, nor let us need the wrath Of the mad unchained elements to teach Who rules them. Be it ours to meditate, In these calm shades, thy milder majesty, And to the beautiful order of thy works Learn to conform the order of our lives. William Cullen Bryant J u ne 7 161 A DREAM I DREAMED I had a plot of ground, Once when I chanced asleep to drop, And that a green hedge fenced it round, Cloudy with roses at the top. I saw a hundred mornings rise, -— So far a little dream may reach, — And Spring with Summer in her eyes Making the chiefest charm of each. A thousand vines were climbing o'er The hedge, I thought, but as I tried To pull them down, for evermore The flowers dropt off the other side! Waking, I said, "These things are signs Sent to instruct us that 'tis ours Duly to keep and dress our vines, — Waiting in patience for the flowers." And when the angel feared of all Across my hearth its shadow spread, "The rose that climbed my garden wall Has bloomed the other side," I said. Alice Cary \6i J v n e 8 TO HIS SAVIOUR, A CHILD A PRESENT BY A CHILD G< O, pretty child, and bear this flower Unto thy little Saviour; And tell Him, by that bud now blown, He is the Rose of Sharon known. When thou hast said so, stick it there Upon His bib or stomacher; And tell Him, for good handsel too, That thou hast brought a whistle new, Made of a clean straight oaten reed, To charm His cries at time of need. Tell Him, for coral, thou hast none, But if thou hadst, He should have one; But poor thou art, and known to be Even as moneyless as He. Lastly, if thou canst win a kiss From those mellifluous lips of His; Then never take a second on, To spoil the first impression. Robert Herrick June 9 163 THE MOSS ROSE X HE angel of the flowers, one day, Beneath a rose-tree sleeping lay, — That spirit to whose charge 'tis given To bathe young buds in dews of heaven. Awaking from his light repose, The angel whispered to the rose: "O fondest object of my care, Still fairest found, where all are fair; For the sweet shade thou giv'st to me Ask what thou wilt, 'tis granted thee." "Then," said the rose, with deepened glow, "On me another grace bestow." The spirit paused, in silent thought, What grace was there that flower had not? 'Twas but a moment, — o'er the rose A veil of moss the angel throws, And, robed in nature's simplest weed, Could there a flower that rose exceed? German of Friedrich Wilhelm Krummacher 164 June 10 FLOWERS I WILL not have the mad Clytie, Whose head is turn'd by the sun; The tulip is a courtly quean, Whom, therefore I will shun; The cowslip is a country wench, The violet is a nun; But I will woo the dainty rose, The queen of every one. The pea is but a wanton witch, In too much haste to wed, And clasps her rings on every hand; The wolfsbane I should dread; Nor will I dreary rosemarye, That always mourns the dead; But I will woo the dainty rose, With her cheeks of tender red. The lily is all in white, like a saint, And so is no mate for me, And the daisy's cheek is tipp'd with a blush, She is of such low degree; Jasmine is sweet, and has many loves, And the broom's betroth'd to the bee; But I will plight with the dainty rose, For fairest of all is she. Thouas Hood J un e 1 1 1 65 FROM "THOUGHTS IN A GARDEN' H, OW vainly men themselves amaze To win the palm, the oak, or bays, And their incessant labours see Crown'd from some single herb or tree, Whose short and narrow-verged shade Does prudently their toils upbraid; While all the flowers and trees do close To weave the garlands of repose! Meanwhile the mind from pleasure less Withdraws into its happiness; The mind, that ocean where each kind Does straight its own resemblance find; Yet it creates, transcending these, Far other worlds, and other seas; Annihilating all that's made To a green thought in a green shade. Here at the fountain's sliding foot, Or at some fruit-tree's mossy root, Casting the body's vest aside, My soul into the boughs does glide; There, like a bird, it sits and sings, Then whets and combs its silver wings, And, till prepared for longer flight, Waves in its plumes the various light. Andrew Marvell 66 J u n e 1 2 N RURAL SOUNDS FROM "THE TASK" OR rural sights alone, but rural sounds, Exhilarate the spirit, and restore The tone of languid nature. Mighty winds, That sweep the skirt of some far-spreading wood Of ancient growth, make music not unlike The dash of Ocean on his winding shore, And lull the spirit while they fill the mind; Unnumber'd branches waving in the blast, And all their leaves fast lluttering, all at once; Nor less composure waits upon the roar Of distant floods, or on the softer voice Of neighb'ring fountain, or of rills that slip Through the cleft rock, and, chiming as they fall Upon loose pebbles, lose themselves at length In matted grass, that with a livelier green Betrays the secret of their silent course. Nature inanimate employs sweet sounds, But animated nature sweeter still, To soothe and satisfy the human ear. Ten thousand warblers cheer the day, and one The live-long night: nor these alone, whose notes Nice-fmger'd Art must emulate in vain, But cawing rooks, and kites that swim sublime In still repeated circles, screaming loud, The jay, the pie, and even the boding owl, That hails the rising moon, have charms for me. Sounds inharmonious in themselves and harsh, let heard in scenes where peace for ever reigns, And only there, please highly for their sake. William Cowper June 13 167 A WOMAN'S WISH w« OULD I were lying in a field of clover, Of clover cool and soft, and soft and sweet, With dusky clouds in deep skies hanging over, And scented silence at my head and feet. Just for one hour to slip the leash of worry In eager haste from Thought's impatient neck, And watch it coursing — in its heedless hurry Disdaining Wisdom's whistles, Duty's beck. Ah, it were sweet where clover clumps are meeting, And daisies hiding, so to hide and rest; No sound except my own heart's steady beating, Rocking itself to sleep within my breast, — Just to lie there, filled with the deeper breathing That comes of listening to a free bird's song! Our souls require at times this full unsheathing — All swords will rust if scabbard-kept too long. And I am tired! — so tired of rigid duty, So tired of all my tired hands find to do! I yearn, I faint, for some of life's free beauty, Its loose beads with no straight string running through. Ay, laugh, if laugh you will, at my crude speech, But women sometimes die of such a greed, — Die for the small joys held beyond their reach, And the assurance they have all they need. Mary Ashley Townsend 168 June 14 TO THE SKYLARK E rTHEREAL minstrel! pilgrim of the sky! Dost thou despise the earth where cares abound Or, while the wings aspire, are heart and eye Both with thy nest upon the dewy ground? Thy nest, which thou canst drop into at will, Those quivering wings composed, that music still! To the last point of vision, and beyond, Mount, daring warbler! — that love-prompted strain, Twist thee and thine a never-failing bond, Thrills not the less the bosom of the plain; Yet mightst thou seem, proud privilege! to sing All independent of the leafy spring. Leave to the nightingale her shady wood; A privacy of glorious light is thine, Whence thou dost pour upon the world a flood Of harmony, with instinct more divine; Type of the wise, who soar, but never roam, — True to the kindred points of Heaven and Home! William Wordsworth June 15 169 O FAITH WORLD, thou choosest not the better part! It is not wisdom to be only wise, And on the inward vision close the eyes, But it is wisdom to believe the heart. Columbus found a world, and had no chart, Save one that faith deciphered in the skies; To trust the soul's invincible surmise Was all his science and his only art. Our knowledge is a torch of smoky pine That lights the pathway but one step ahead Across a void of mystery and dread. Bid, then, the tender light of faith to shine By which alone the mortal heart is led Unto the thinking of the thought divine. George Santayana 170 J u n e 1 6 THE UNKNOWN FROM "A NIGHT IN ITALY " V-jLOSE not thy hand upon the innocent joy That trusts itself within thy reach. It may, Or may not, linger. Thou canst but destroy The winged wanderer. Let it go or stay. Love thou the rose, yet leave it on its stem. Think! Midas starved by turning all to gold. Blessed are those that spare, and that withhold; Because the whole world shall be trusted them. Chase not too close the fading rapture. Leave To Love his long auroras, slowly seen. Be ready to release as to receive. Deem those the nearest, soul to soul, between Whose lips yet lingers reverence on a sigh. Judge what thy sense can reach not, most thine own, If once thy soul hath seized it. The unknown Is life to love, religion, poetry. George Meredith June 17 171 COST AND WORTH FROM "BITTER-SWEET" X HUS is it over all the earth! That which we call the fairest, And prize for its surpassing worth, Is always rarest. Iron is heaped in mountain piles, And gluts the laggard forges: But gold-flakes gleam in dim defiles And lonely gorges. The snowy marble flecks the land With heaped and rounded ledges, But diamonds hide within the sand Their starry edges. God gives no value unto men Unmatched by need of labor; And Cost, of Worth, has ever been The closest neighbor. Wide is the gate and broad the way That opens to perdition, And countless multitudes are they Who seek admission. But strait the gate, the path unkind, That leads to life immortal, And few the careful feet that find That hidden portal. Josiah Gilbert Holland June 18 MORNING HYMN 2"\\VAKE, my Soul, and with the sun, Thy daily stage of duty run; Shake of! dull sloth, and joyful rise, To pay thy morning sacrifice. Thy precious time misspent,- redeem; Each present day thy last esteem; Improve thy talent with due care, For the great day thyself prepare. Let all thy converse be sincere, Thy conscience as the noon-day clear; Think how all-seeing God thy ways, And all thy secret thoughts, surveys. By influence of the light divine, Let thy own light to others shine; Reflect all heaven's propitious rays, In ardent love, and cheerful praise. Lord, I my vows to Thee renew, Scatter my sins as morning dew; Guard my first springs of thought and will, And with Thyself my spirit fill. Praise God from whom all blessings flow, Praise Him, all creatures here below; Praise Him above, ye heavenly host, Praise Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Tiio^ias Ken J un e 19 173 THE CLOVER iOOME sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose, And 'the pansies and pinks that the summer-time throws In the green grassy lap of the medder that lays Blinkin' up at the skies through the sunshiny days; But what is the lily and all of the rest Of the flowers to a man with a heart in his breast That has dipped brimmin' full of the honey and dew Of the sweet clover-blossoms his babyhood knew? I never set eyes on a clover-field now, Or fool round a stable, or climb in the mow, But my childhood comes back, just as clear and as plain As the smell of the clover I'm sniffin' again; And I wander away in a barefooted dream, Where I tangle my toes in the blossoms that gleam With the dew of the dawn of the morning of love Ere it wept o'er the graves that I'm weepin' above. And so I love clover — it seems like a part Of the sacredest sorrows and joys of my heart; And wherever it blossoms, oh, there let me bow, And thank the good God as I'm thankin' him now; And I pray to him still for the strength, when I die, To go out in the clover and tell it good-by, And lovingly nestle my face in its bloom, While my soul slips away on a breath of perfume. James Whitcomb Riley 1 74 J un e 2 FIRST-DAY THOUGHTS I N calm and cool and silence, once again . I find my old accustomed place among My brethren, where, perchance, no human tongue Shall utter words; where never hymn is sung, Nor deep-tpned organ blown, nor censer swung, Nor dim light falling through the pictured pane! There, syllabled by silence, let me hear The still small voice which reached the prophet's ear; Read in my heart a still diviner law Than Israel's leader on his tables saw! There let me strive with each besetting sin, Recall my wandering fancies, and restrain The sore disquiet of a restless brain; And, as the path of duty is made plain, May grace be given that I may walk therein, Not like the hireling, for his selfish gain, With backward glances and reluctant tread, Making a merit of his coward dread, — But, cheerful, in the light around me thrown, Walking as one to pleasant service led; Doing God's will as if it were my own, Yet trusting not in mine, but in his strength alone! John Gree.\leaf Whittier J un e 2 1 175 INFLUENCE FROM "lUCILe" N< O stream from its source Flows seaward, how lonely soever its course, But what some land is gladdened. No star ever rose And set without influence somewhere. Who knows What earth needs from earth's lowest creature? No life Can be pure in its purpose and strong in its strife And all life not be purer and stronger thereby. The spirits of just men made perfect on high, The army of martyrs who stand by the throne And gaze into the face that makes glorious their own, Know this, surely, at last. Honest love, honest sorrow, Honest work for the day, honest hope for the morrow, Are these worth nothing more than the hand they make weary, The heart they have sadden'd, the life they leave dreary? Hush! the sevenfold heavens to the voice of the Spirit Echo: He that o'ercometh shall all things inherit. Edward Bulwer, Lord Lytton (Owen Meredith) 176 J u n e 2 2 LIFE I MADE a posie, while the day ran by: "Here will I smell my remnant out, and tie My life within this band." But Time did beckon to the flowers, and they By noon most cunningly did steal away, And withered in my hand. My hand was next to them, and then my heart; I took, without more thinking, in good part Time's gentle admonition; Who did so sweetly death's sad taste convey, Making my minde to smell my fatall day, Yet sug'ring the suspicion. Farewell, dear flowers! sweetly your time ye spent; Fit, while ye lived, for smell or ornament, And after death for cures. I follow straight without complaints or grief; Since, if my scent be good, I care not if It be as short as yours. George Herbert June 23 177 ASPIRATION L, EAVE me, O Love which readiest but to dust; And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things; Grow rich in that which never taketh rust; Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings. Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be; Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light, That doth both shine, and give us sight to see. O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide In this small course which birth draws out to death, And think how ill becometh him to slide, Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see: Eternal Love, maintain thy life in me! Sir Philip Sidney 178 June 24 NATURE'S GLADNESS FROM "TO A SKY-LARK." w, E look before and after, And pine for what is not; Our sincerest laughter With some pain is fraught; Our sweetest songs are those that tell of saddest thought. Yet if we could scorn Hate, and pride, and fear; If we were things born Not to shed a tear, I know not how thy joy we ever should come near. Better than all measures Of delightful sound, Better than all treasures That in books are found, Thy skill to poet were, thou scorner of the ground! Teach me half the gladness That thy brain must know, Such harmonious madness From my lips would flow, The world should listen then, as I am listening now. Percy Bysshe Shelley J u n e 2 5 179 THE HAPPIEST HEART W> HO drives the horses of the sun Shall lord it but a day; Better the lowly deed were done, And kept the humble way. The rust will find the sword of fame, The dust will hide the crown; Ay, none shall nail so high his name Time will not tear it down. The happiest heart that ever beat Was in some quiet breast That found the common daylight sweet And left to Heaven the rest. John Vance Cheney 1 80 J u n e 2 6 INVOCATION TO RAIN IN SUMMER O GENTLE, gentle summer rain, Let not the silver lily pine, The drooping lily pine in vain To feel that dewy touch of thine, — To drink thy freshness once again, O gentle, gentle summer rain! In heat the landscape quivering lies; The cattle pant beneath the tree; Through parching air and purple skies The earth looks up, in vain, for thee; For thee — for thee, it looks in vain, O gentle, gentle summer rain. Come thou, and brim the meadow streams, And soften all the hills with mist, O falling dew! from burning dreams By thee shall herb and flower be kissed, And Earth shall bless thee yet again, O gentle, gentle summer rain. William Cox Bexxett J un e 2 7 181 FROM "LIGHT" w HAT soul-like changes, evanescent moods, Upon the face of the still passive earth, Its hills, and fields, and woods, Thou with thy seasons and thy hours art ever call- ing forth! Even like a lord of music bent Over his instrument, Who gives to tears and smiles an equal birth! When clear as holiness the morning ray Casts the rock's dewy darkness at its feet, Mottling with shadows all the mountain gray: When, at the hour of sovereign noon, Infinite silent cataracts sheet Shadowless through the air of thunder-breeding June; And when a yellower glory slanting passes 'Twixt longer shadows o'er the meadow grasses; When now the moon lifts up her shining shield, High on the peak of a cloud-hill reveal'd; Now crescent, low, wandering sun-dazed away, Unconscious of her own star-mingled ray, Her still face seeming more to think than see, Makes the pale world lie dreaming dreams of thee! No mood of mind, no melody of soul, But lies within thy silent soft control. George Macdonald 1 82 June 2 8 SONG OF THE CLOUDS FROM "THE CLOUDS" I MMORTAL Clouds from the echoing shore Of the father of streams from the sounding sea, Dewy and fleet, let us rise and soar; Dewy and gleaming and fleet are we! Let us look on the tree-clad mountain-crest, On the sacred earth where the fruits rejoice, On the waters that murmur east and west, On the tumbling sea with his moaning voice. For unwearied glitters the Eye of the Air, And the bright rays gleam; Then cast we our shadows of mist, and fare In our deathless shapes to glance everywhere From the height of the heaven, on the land and air, And the Ocean Stream. Greek of Aristophanes Translation of Andrew Lang J u n e 2 9 183 TO THE GRASSHOPPER AND CRICKET G. REEN little vaulter in the sunny grass, Catching your heart up at the feel of June, — Sole voice that's heard amidst the lazy noon, When even the bees lag at the summoning brass; And you, warm little housekeeper, who class With those who think the candles come too soon, Loving the fire, and with your tricksome tune Nick the glad silent moments as they pass! O sweet and tiny cousins, that belong, One to the fields, the other to the hearth, Both have your sunshine; both, though small, are strong At your clear hearts; and both seem given to earth To sing in thoughtful ears this natural song, — In doors and out, summer and winter, mirth. Leigh Hunt 1 84 June JO THE WORTH OF HOURS B, 1 ELI EVE not that your inner eye Can ever in just measure try The worth of hours as they go by: For every man's weak self, alas! Makes him to see them, while they pass, As through a dim or tinted glass: But if in earnest care you would Mete out to each its part of good, Trust rather to your after-mood. So should we live, that every hour May die as dies the natural flower, — A self-reviving thing of power; That every thought and every deed May hold within itself the seed Of future good and future need: Esteeming sorrow, whose employ Is to develop not destroy. Far better than a barren joy. Richard Monckton Milnes, Lord Houghton J uly 1 185 LOVE T, HE fierce exulting worlds, the motes in rays, The churlish thistles, scented briers, The wind-swept bluebells on the sunny braes, Down to the central fires, Exist alike in Love. Love is a sea Filling all the abysses dim Of Iornest space, in whose deeps regally Suns and their bright broods swim. This mighty sea of Love, with wondrous tides, Is sternly just to sun and grain; 'Tis laving at this moment Saturn's sides, 'Tis in my blood and brain. All things have something more than barren use; There is a scent upon the brier, A tremulous splendour in the autumn dews, Cold morns are fringed with fire. The clodded earth goes up in sweet-breath 'd flowers; In music dies poor human speech, And into beauty blow those hearts of ours When Love is born in each. Daisies are white upon the churchyard sod, Sweet tears the clouds lean down and give, The world is very lovely. O my God, I thank Thee that I live! Alexander Smith 1 86 July 2 NIGHT-DEATH M YSTERIOUS Night! when our first parent knew Thee, from report divine, and heard thy name, Did he not tremble for this lovely frame, This glorious canopy of light and blue? Yet 'neath a curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And Io! creation widened in man's view. Who could have thought such darkness lay con- cealed Within thy beams, O Sun! or who could find, While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou madest us blind? Why do we then shun Death with anxious strife? If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? Joseph Blaxco White J u ly 3 187 MAN'S MEDLEY H ARK how the birds do sing And woods do ring: All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. Yet if we rightly measure, Man's joy and pleasure Rather hereafter than in present is. Not that he may not here Taste of the cheer; But as birds drink, and straight lift up their head, So must he sip, and think Of better drink He may attain to after he is dead. But as his joys are double, So is his trouble: He hath two winters, other things but one; Both frosts and thoughts do nip And bite his lip; And he of all things fears two deaths alone. Yet ev'n the greatest griefs May be reliefs, Could he but take them right and in their ways. Happy is he whose heart Hath found the art To turn his double pains to double praise! George Herbert 188 July 4 O CENTENNIAL HYMN 1876 UR fathers' God! from out whose hand The centuries fall like grains of sand, We meet to-day, united, free, And loyal to our land and Thee, To thank Thee for the era done, And trust Thee for the opening one. Here, where of old, by Thy design, The fathers spake that word of Thine Whose echo is the glad refrain Of rended bolt and falling chain, To grace our festal time, from all The zones of earth our guests we call. For art and labor met in truce, For beauty made the bride of use, We thank Thee; but, withal, we crave The austere virtues strong to save, The honor proof to place or gold, The manhood never bought nor sold! Oh make Thou us, through centuries long, In peace secure, in justice strong; Around our gift of freedom draw The safeguards of thy righteous law: And, cast in some diviner mould, Let the new cycle shame the old! John Greekleaf Whittier July 5 189 AMERICA N, OR force nor fraud shall sunder us! O ye Who north or south, on east or western land, Native to noble sounds, say truth for truth, Freedom for freedom, love for love, and God For God; O ye who in eternal youth Speak with a living and creative flood This universal English, and do stand Its breathing book, live worthy of that grand, Heroic utterance — parted, yet a whole, Far yet unsever'd, — children brave and free Of the great Mother-tongue, and ye shall be Lords of an empire wide as Shakespeare's soul, Sublime as Milton's immemorial theme, And rich as Chaucer's speech, and fair as Spenser's dream. Sidney Dobell ic)o J uly 6 THE GOLDEN MEAN .L/ICINIUS, you will safer steer, Not keeping always out to sea, Nor hugging treacherous coasts for fear Of gales too free. Whoever loves the Golden Mean Is safe from squalor's falling walls, Is wise avoiding Envy keen \\ ho eyes proud halls. The wind shakes oft the tallest pine; High towers fall with heavier crash; On lofty peaks the bolts divine More surely dash. 'Mid trials hope, 'mid triumphs dread, The lot reversed — a soul well taught; Repulsive winters, cold and dead, By Jove are brought And banished; what is bad to-day, To-morrow ends; Apollo's art Stirs the still Muse, and not for aye He wings his dart. When times are hard, be bold and brave In sight of men; be wise as well, And shorten sail when winds you crave Too favoring swell. Latin of Horace Transition of William Addison Houghton J uly 7 191 FIDELITY M ETHOUGHT that in a solemn church I stood; Its marble acres, worn with knees and feet, Lay spread from door to door, from street to street. Midway the form hung high upon the rood Of Him who gave His life to be our good; Beyond priests flitted, bowed, and murmured meet Among the candles shining still and sweet. Men came and went, and worshipped as they could, And still their dust a woman with her broom, Bowed to her work, kept sweeping to the door. Then saw I, slow through all the pillared gloom, Across the church a silent figure come: "Daughter," it said, "thou swcepest well my floor!" It is the Lord, I cried, and saw no more. George Macdonald FROM THE ELIXIR A SERVANT with this clause Makes drudgery divine; Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws Makes that and th' action fine. George Herbert 192 J uly 8 THE FLOWERS w, HEN Love arose in heart and deed To wake the world to greater joy, "What can she give me now?" said Greed, Who thought to win some costly toy. He rose, he ran, he stoop'd, he clutch'd; And soon the Flowers, that Love let fall, In Greed's hot grasp were fray'd and smutch'd, And Greed said, "Flowers! Can this be all?" He flung them down and went his way, He cared no jot for thyme or rose; But boys and girls came out to play, And some took these and some took those — Red, blue, and white, and green and gold; And at their touch the dew return'd, And all the bloom a thousandfold — So red, so ripe, the roses burn'd! William Brighty Rands July 9 193 THE PLEASANT LAIR X O one who has been long in city pent, 'Tis very sweet to look into the fair And open face of heaven, — to breathe a prayer Full in the smile of the blue firmament. Who is more happy, when, with heart's content, Fatigued he sinks into some pleasant lair Of wavy grass, and reads a debonair And gentle tale of love and Ianguishment? Returning home at evening, with an ear Catching the notes of Philomel, — an eye Watching the sailing cloudlet's bright career, He mourns that day so soon has glided by: E'en like the passage of an angel's tear That falls through the clear ether silently. John Keats 194 J uly 10 B YOUTH'S WARNING I 'EWARE, exulting youth, beware, When life's young pleasures woo, That ere you yield you shrive your heart, And keep your conscience true! For sake of silver spent to-day, Why pledge to-morrow's gold? Or in hot blood implant Remorse, To grow when blood is cold? If wrong you do, if false you play, In summer among the flowers, You must atone, you shall repay, I?i winter among the showers. II To turn the balances of Heaven Surpasses mortal power; For every white there is a black, For every sweet a sour. For every up there is a down, For every folly, shame; And retribution follows guilt, As burning follows flame. // wrong you do, if false you play, In summer among the flowers, You must atone, you shall repay, In winter among the showers. Charles Mack a. y July 11 1 95 O YET WE TRUST THAT SOMEHOW GOOD IN MEMORIAM o YET we trust that somehow good Will be the final goal of ill, To pangs of nature, sins of will, Defects of doubt, and taints of blood; That nothing walks with aimless feet; That not one life shall be destroyed, Or cast as rubbish to the void, When God hath made the pile complete; That not a worm is cloven in vain; That not a moth with vain desire Is shrivelled in a fruitless fire, Or but subserves another's gain. Behold, we know not anything; I can but trust that good shall fall At last — far off — at last, to all, And every winter change to spring. So runs my dream: but what am I? An infant crying in the night: An infant crying for the light: And with no language but a cry. Alfred, Lord Tennyson 1 96 J uly 12 PRAISE TO THE CREATOR V AIREST of all the lights above, Thou Sun, whose beams adorn the spheres, And with unwearied swiftness move To form the circles of our years: Praise the Creator of the skies, That dress'd thine orb in golden rays; Or may the Sun forget to rise, If he forget his Maker's praise! Thou reigning beauty of the night, Fair queen of silence, silver Moon, Whose gentle beams and borrow'd light Are softer rivals of the noon, — Arise, and to that Sovereign Power, Waxing and waning, honours pay, Who bade thee rule the dusky hour, And half supply the absent day. Ye twinkling Stars, who gild the skies When darkness has its curtains drawn, Who keep your watch, with wakeful eyes, When business, cares, and day are gone: Proclaim the glories of your Lord, Dispersed through all the heavenly street, Whose boundless treasures can afford So rich a pavement for His feet. Isaac Watts July 13 197 NATURE'S TRANQUILLITY FROM "TINTERN ABBEY" JL HESE beauteous forms, Through a long absence, have not been to me As is a landscape to a blind man's eye: But oft, in lonely rooms, and 'mid the din Of towns and cities, I have owed to them, In hours of weariness, sensations sweet, Felt in the blood, and felt along the heart; And passing even into my purer mind, With tranquil restoration: — feelings too Of unremembered pleasure: such, perhaps, As have no slight or trivial influence On that best portion of a good man's life, His little, nameless, unremembered acts Of kindness and of love. Nor less, I trust, To them I may have owed another gift, Of aspect more sublime; that blessed mood, In which the burden of the mystery, In which the heavy and the weary weight Of all this unintelligible world, Is lightened: — that serene and blessed mood, In which the affections gently lead us on, — Until, the breath of this corporeal frame And even the motion of our human blood Almost suspended, we are laid asleep In body, and become a living soul: While with an eye made quiet by the power Of harmony, and the deep power of joy, We see into the life of things. William Wordsworth 198 July 14 I TRUST AM Thy grass, O Lord! I grow up sweet and tall, But for a day, beneath Thy sword To lie at evenfall. Yet have I not enough In that brief day of mine? The wind, the bees, the wholesome stuff The sun pours out like wine. Behold, this is my crown, — Love will not let me be; Love holds me here; Love cuts me down; And it is well with me. Lord, Love, keep it but so; Thy purpose is full plain: I die that after I may grow As tall, as sweet again. LlZETTE WOODWORTH REESE July 15 199 THE LOVE OF GOD A HOU Grace Divine, encircling all, A soundless, shoreless sea! \\ herein at last our souls must fall, O Love of God most free ! When over dizzy heights we go, One soft hand blinds our eyes, The other leads us, safe and slow, O Love of God most wise! And though we turn us from thy face, And wander wide and long, Thou hold'st us still in thine embrace, O Love of God most strong! The saddened heart, the restless soul, The toil-worn frame and mind, Alike confess thy sweet control, O Love of God most kind! But not alone thy care we claim, Our wayward steps to win; We know thee by a dearer name, O Love of God within! And, filled and quickened by thy breath, Our souls are strong and free To rise o'er sin and fear and death, O Love of God, to thee! Eliza Scuoder 200 July 16 THE FOREST GLADE x~\.S one dark morn I trod a forest glade, A sunbeam enter'd at the further end, And ran to meet me thro' the yielding shade — As one, who in the distance sees a friend, And, smiling, hurries to him; but mine eyes, Bewilder'd by the change from dark to bright, Receiv'd the greeting with a quick surprise At first, and then with tears of pure delight; For sad my thoughts had been — the tempest's wrath Had gloom'd the night, and made the morrow gray; That heavenly guidance humble sorrow hath, Had turn'd my feet into that forest-way, Just when His morning light came down the path, Among the lonely woods at early day. Charles Tennyson Turner July 17 201 GULF-WEED 1JL WEARY weed, tossed to and fro, Drearily drenched in the ocean brine, Soaring high and sinking low, Lashed along without will of mine; Sport of the spume of the surging sea; Flung on the foam, afar and anear, Mark my manifold mystery, — Growth and grace in their place appear. I bear round berries, gray and red, Rootless and rover though I be; My spangled leaves, when nicely spread, Arboresce as a trunkless tree; Corals curious coat me o'er, White and hard in apt array; Mid the wild waves' rude uproar Gracefully grow I, night and day. Hearts there are on the sounding shore, Something whispers soft to me, Restless and roaming forevermore, Like this weary weed of the sea; Bear they yet on each beating breast The eternal type of the wondrous whole, Growth unfolding amidst unrest, Grace informing with silent soul. Cornelius George Fenner 202 Jul. IN A LECTURE-ROOM uTJLWAY, haunt thou not me, Thou vain Philosophy! Little hast thou bestead, Save to perplex the head, And leave the spirit dead. Unto thy broken cisterns wherefore go, While from the secret treasure-depths below, Fed by the skyey shower, And clouds that sink and rest on hill-tops high, Wisdom at once, and Power, Are welling, bubbling forth, unseen, incessantly? Why labor at the dull mechanic oar, When the fresh breeze is blowing, And the strong current flowing, Right onward to the Eternal Shore? Arthur Hugh Clough July 19 203 LIFE J /IFE! I know not what thou art, But know that thou and I must part; And when, or how, or where we met, I own to me's a secret yet. But this I know, when thou art fled, Where'er they lay these limbs, this head, No clod so valueless shall be As all that then remains of me. O whither, whither dost thou fly? Where bend unseen thy trackless course? And in this strange divorce, Ah, tell where I must seek this compound I? Life! we have been long together, Through pleasant and through cloudy weather; 'Tis hard to part when friends are dear; Perhaps 'twill cost a sigh, a tear; — Then steal away, give little warning, Choose thine own time; Say not Good-night, but in some brighter clime Bid me Good-morning! Anna L^etitia Barbauld 204 July 20 F, LOW SPIRITS EVER and fret and aimless stir, And disappointed strife, All chafing, unsuccessful things Make up the sum of life. Love adds anxiety to toil, And sameness doubles cares, While one unbroken chain of work The flagging temper wears. Voices are round me, smiles are near, Kind welcomes to be had, And yet my spirit is alone, Fretful, outworn, and sad. Sweet thought of God, now do thy work, As thou hast done before; Wake up, and tears will wake with thee, And the dull mood be o'er. The very thinking of the thought, Without or praise or prayer, Gives light to know, and life to do, And marvellous strength to bear. I bless Thee, Lord, for this kind check To spirits over free, And for all things that make me feel More helpless need of Thee. Frederick William Faber July 21 205 REST X. O spend the long warm days Silent beside the silent-stealing streams, To see, not gaze, — To hear, not listen, thoughts exchanged for dreams: See clouds that slowly pass Trailing their shadows o'er the far faint down, And ripening grass, While yet the meadows wear their starry crown: To hear the breezes sigh Cool in the silver leaves like falling rain, Pause and go by, Tired wanderers o'er the solitary plain: See far from all afright Shy river creatures play hour after hour, And night by night Low in the West the white moon's folding flower. Thus lost to human things, To blend at last with Nature, and to hear What song she sings Low to herself when there is no one near. Margaret L. Woods 2o6 July 2 2 A POET'S EPITAPH ROBERT BURNS: DIED JULY 21, 1 796 ^TOP, mortal! Here thy brother lies — The poet of the poor. His books were rivers, woods, and skies, The meadow and the moor; His teachers were the torn heart's wail, The tyrant, and the slave, The street, the factory, the jail, The palace — and the grave! Sin met thy brother everywhere! And is thy brother blam'd ? From passion, danger, doubt, and care He no exemption claim'd. The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm, He feared to scorn or hate; But, honoring in a peasant's form The equal of the great, He bless'd the steward, whose wealth makes The poor man's little, more; Yet Ioath'd the haughty wretch that takes From plunder'd labor's store. A hand to do, a head to plan, A heart to feel and dare — Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man Who drew them as they are. Ebenezer Elliott I J u ly 2 3 20' A BARD'S EPITAPH S there a whim-inspired fool, Owre fast for thought, owre hot for rule, Owre blate to seek, owre prood to snool, Let him draw near; And owre this grassy heap sing dool, And drap a tear. Is there a Bard of rustic song, Who, noteless, steals the crowds among That weekly this area throng, O, pass not by! But, with a f rater-feeling strong, Here, heave a sigh. Is there a man whose judgment clear, Can others teach the course to steer, Yet runs, himself, life's mad career Wild as the wave; Here pause — and, thro' the starting tear, Survey this grave. The poor Inhabitant below Was quick to learn, and wise to know, And keenly felt the friendly glow, And softer flame; But thoughtless follies laid him low, And stain'd his name! Reader, attend — whether thy soul Soars fancy's flights beyond the pole, Or darkling grubs this earthly hole, In low pursuit; Know, prudent, cautious, self-control Is wisdom's root. Robert Burns 2o8 July 2 4 ILKA BLADE O' GRASS KEPS ITS AIN DRAP O' DEW VjONFIDE ye aye in Providence, for Providence is kind, And bear ye a' life's changes \vi' a calm and tran- quil mind, Though pressed and hemmed on every side, ha'e faith and ye'll win through, For ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. In Iang, Iang days o' simmer, when the clear and cloudless sky Refuses ae wee drap o' rain to nature parched and dry, The genial night, wi' balmy breath, gars verdure spring anew, And ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. Sae, lest 'mid fortune's sunshine we should feel owre proud and hie, And in our pride forget to wipe the tear frae poor- tith's e'e, Some wee dark clouds o' sorrow come, we ken na whence or hoo, But ilka blade o' grass keps its ain drap o' dew. James Ballantine July 2 5 209 LIFE'S SWEETNESS OAD is our youth, for it is ever going, Crumbling away beneath our very feet: Sad is our life, for onward it is flowing In current unperceived, because so fleet: Sad are our hopes, for they were sweet in sowing, But tares, self-sown, have overtopped the wheat; Sad are our joys, for they were sweet in blowing; And still, O still, their dying breath is sweet; And sweet is youth, although it hath bereft us Of that which made our childhood sweeter still; And sweet our life's decline, for it hath left us A nearer Good to cure an older III: And sweet are all things, when we learn to prize them Not for their sake, but His who grants them or denies them! Aubrey Thomas De Vere 2io July 26 BEATI ILLI B» 'LEST is the man whose heart and hands are pure! He hath no sickness that he shall not cure, No sorrow that he may not well endure: His feet are steadfast and his hope is sure. Oh, blest is he who ne'er hath sold his soul, Whose will is perfect, and whose word is whole, Who hath not paid to common sense the toll Of self-disgrace, nor owned the world's control! Through clouds and shadows of the darkest night He will not lose a glimmering of the light, Nor, though the sun of day be shrouded quite, Swerve from the narrow path to left or right. John Addixgton Svmonds J uly 2 7 211 A PRAYER O GOD, our Father, if we had but truth! Lost truth — which thou perchance Didst let man lose, lest all his wayward youth He waste in song and dance; That he might gain, in searching, mightier powers For manlier use in those foreshadowed hours. If, blindly groping, he shall oft mistake, And follow twinkling motes Thinking them stars, and the one voice forsake Of Wisdom for the notes Which mocking Beauty utters here and there, Thou surely wilt forgive him, and forbear! Oh love us, for we love thee, Maker — God! And would creep near thy hand, And call thee "Father, Father," from the sod Where by our graves we stand, And pray to touch, fearless of scorn or blame, Thy garment's hem, which Truth and Good w name. Edward Rowland Sill 212 July 2 8 IF WE HAD BUT A DAY w, E should fill the hours with the sweetest things, If we had but a day; We should drink alone at the purest springs In our upward way; We should love with a life-time's love in an hour If the hours were few; We should rest, not for dreams, but for fresher power To be and to do. We should guide our wayward or wearied wills By the clearest light; We should keep our eyes on the heavenly hills, If they lay in sight; We should trample the pride and the discontent Beneath our feet; We should take whatever a good God sent With a trust complete. We should waste no moments in weak regret, If the day were but one; If what we remember and what we forget Went out with the sun; We should be from our clamorous selves set free, To work or to pray, And to be what the Father would have us be. If we had but a day. Mary Lowe Dickinson July 29 213 BODY AND SOUL 1 OOR Soul, the centre of my sinful earth, FooI'd by these rebel powers that thee array, Why dost thou pine within and suffer dearth, Painting thy outward walls so costly gay? Why so large cost, having so short a lease, Dost thou upon thy fading mansion spend? Shall worms, inheritors of this excess, Eat up thy charge? is this thy body's end? Then, soul, live thou upon thy servant's loss, And let that pine to aggravate thy store; Buy terms divine in selling hours of dross; Within be fed, without be rich no more: So shalt thou feed on Death, that feeds on men, And Death once dead, there's no more dying then. Shakespeare 214 J u I y 3 PIETY FROM "eGERIA 1 o PIETY! O heavenly Piety! She is not rigid as fanatics deem, But warm as Love, and beautiful as Hope. Prop of the weak, the crown of humbleness, The clue of doubt, the eyesight of the blind, The heavenly robe and garniture of clay. Sweet Piety! divinest Piety! She has a soul capacious as the spheres, A heart as large as all humanity. Who to his dwelling takes that visitant, Has a perpetual solace in all pain, A friend and comforter in every grief. The noblest domes, the haughtiest palaces, That know not her, have ever open gates Where Misery may enter at her will. But from the threshold of the poorest hut, Where she sits smiling, Sorrow passes b}% And owns the spell that robs her of her sting. Charles Mackay J u ly 3 1 215 THE CHILDHOOD FAITH FROM "ASTR/£A: the balance of illusions' w. HAT is thy creed?" a hundred lips inquire; 'Thou seekest God beneath what Christian spire?" Nor ask they idly, for uncounted lies Float upward on the smoke of sacrifice; When man's first incense rose above the plain, Of earth's two altars one was built by Cain! Uncursed by doubt, our earliest creed we take; We love the precepts for the teacher's sake; The simple lessons which the nursery taught Fell soft and stainless on the buds of thought, And the full blossom owes its fairest hue To those sweet tear-drops of affection's dew. Too oft the light that led our earlier hours Fades with the perfume of our cradle flowers; The clear, cold question chills to frozen doubt; Tired of beliefs, we dread to live without; Oh, then, if reason waver at thy side, Let humbler Memory be thy gentle guide; Go to thy birth-place, and, if faith was there, Repeat thy father's creed, thy mother's prayer! Oliver Wendell Holmes 2 1 6 August! COD'S FIRST TEMPLES FROM "A FOREST HYMN'" JL HE groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them — ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amid the cool and silence, he knelt down, And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. For his simple heart Might not resist the sacred influence Which, from the stilly twilight of the place, And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound Of the invisible breath that swayed at once All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed His spirit with the thought of boundless power And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect God's ancient sanctuaries, and adore Only among the crowd, and under roofs That our frail hands have raised? Let me, at least, Here in the shadow of this aged wood, Offer one hymn — thrice happy if it find Acceptance in His ear. William Cullex Bryant August 2 217 A NAME IN THE SAND A .LONE I walked the ocean strand. A pearly shell was in my hand; I stooped and wrote upon the sand My name — the year — the day. As onward from the spot I passed, One lingering look behind I cast; A wave came rolling high and fast, And washed my lines away. And so, methought, 'twill shortly be With every mark on earth from me: A wave of dark oblivion's sea Will sweep across the place Where I have trod the sandy shore Of time, and been, to be no more, Of me — my day — the name I bore, To leave nor track nor trace. And yet, with Him who counts the sands And holds the waters in his hands, I know a lasting record stands Inscribed against my name, Of all this mortal part has wrought, Of all this thinking soul has thought, And from these fleeting moments caught For glory or for shame. Hannah Flagg Gould 218 August 3 G, NATURE'S TEACHING FROM "RHCECUS" ^OD sends his teachers unto every age, To every clime, and every race of men, With revelations fitted to their growth And shape of mind, nor gives the realm of Truth Into the selfish rule of one sole race: Therefore each form of worship that hath swayed The life of man, and given it to grasp The master-key of knowledge, reverence, Enfolds some germs of goodness and of right; Else never had the eager soul, which loathes The slothful down of pampered ignorance, Found in it even a moment's fitful rest. There is an instinct in the human heart Which makes that all the fables it hath coined, To justify the reign of its belief And strengthen it by beauty's right divine, Veil in their inner cells a mystic gift, Which, like the hazel twig, in faithful hands, Points surely to the hidden springs of truth. ... In whatsoe'er the heart Hath fashioned for a solace to itself, To make its inspirations suit its creed, And from the niggard hands of falsehood wring Its needful food of truth, there ever is A sympathy with Nature, which reveals, Not less than her own works, pure gleams of light And earnest parables of inward lore. James Russell Lowell August 4 219 THE OVER-SOUL FROM "THE PROBLEM* N. OT from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought; Never from lips of cunning fell The thrilling Delphic oracle; Out from the heart of nature rolled The burdens of the Bible old; The litanies of nations came, Like the volcano's tongue of flame, Up from the burning core below, — The canticles of love and woe; The hand that rounded Peter's dome, And groined the aisles of Christian Rome, Wrought in a sad sincerity; Himself from God he could not free; He builded better than he knew; — The conscious stone to beauty grew. The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken; The word by seers or sibyls told, In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost. Ralph Waldo Emerson 220 AugUSt I PRAISED THE EARTH I PRAISED the earth, in beauty seen With garlands gay of various green; I praised the sea, whose ample field Shone glorious as a silver shield; And earth and ocean seemed to say, "Our beauties are but for a day." I praised the sun, whose chariot rolled On wheels of amber and of gold; I praised the moon, whose softer eye Gleamed sweetly through the summer sky; And moon and sun in answer said, "Our days of light are numbered." O God! O Good beyond compare! If thus thy meaner works are fair If thus thy bounties gild the span Of ruined earth and sinful man, How glorious must the mansion be "Where Thy Redeemed shall dwell with Thee! Reginald Heber A U g U S t 6 221 THE INNER CALM V> HITE little hands! Pink little feet! Dimpled all over, Sweet, sweet, sweet! What dost thou wail for? The unknown?'the unseen? The ills that are coming, The joys that have been? Cling to me closer, Closer and closer, Till the pain that is purer Hath banish'd the grosser. Drain, drain at the stream, love, Thy hunger is freeing, That was born in a dream, love, Along with thy being! Little fingers that feel For their home on my breast, Little lips that appeal For their nurture, their rest! Why, why dost thou weep, dear? Nay, stifle thy cries, Till the dew of thy sleep, dear, Lies soft on thine eyes. Alfred Austin September 11 257 THE BABIE N, AE shoon to hide her tiny taes, Nae stockin' on her feet; Her supple ankles white as snaw, Or early blossoms sweet. Her simple dress o' sprinkled pink, Her double, dimplit chin, Her puckered lips an' baumy mou', With na ane tooth within. Her een sae like her mither's een, Twa gentle, liquid things; Her face is like an angel's face, We're glad she has nae wings. She is the buddin' o' our Iuve, A giftie God gied us: We maun na Iuve the gift owre weel, 'Twad be nae blessing thus. We still maun Io'e the Giver mair, An' see Him in the given; An' sae she'll lead us up to Him, Our babie straight frae Heaven. Jeremiah Eames Rankin 258 September 12 THINGS CELESTIAL JL O music bent is my retired mind, And fain would I some song of pleasure sing; But in vain joys no comfort now I find; From heavenly thoughts all true delight doth spring: Thy power, O God, Thy mercies to record, Will sweeten every note and every word. All earthly pomp or beauty to express Is but to carve in snow, on waves to write; Celestial things, though men conceive them less, Yet fullest are they in themselves of light: Such beams they yield as know no means to die; Such heat they cast as lifts the spirit high. Thomas Campion September 13 259 GOD'S GRACE M, O keep the lamp alive, With oil we fill the bowl; 'Tis water makes the willow thrive, And grace that feeds the soul. The Lord's unsparing hand Supplies the living stream; It is not at our own command, But still derived from Him. Beware of Peter's word, Nor confidently say, "I never will deny Thee, Lord," — But, — "Grant I never may." Man's wisdom is to seek His strength in God alone; And e'en an Angel would be weak Who trusted in his own. William Cowper i6o September 14 HALLOWED GROUND w, HAT'S hallowed ground? Has earth a clod Its Maker meant not should be trod By man, the image of his God, Erect and free, Unscourged by Superstition's rod To bow the knee? That's hallowed ground where, mourned and missed, The lips repose our love has kissed; — But where's their memory's mansion? Is't Yon churchyard's bowers? No! in ourselves their souls exist, A part of ours. But strew his ashes to the wind Whose sword or voice has served mankind, — And is he dead, whose glorious mind Lifts thine on high? — To live in hearts we leave behind Is not to die. What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth To sacred thoughts in souls of worth! — Peace! Independence! Truth! go forth Earth's compass round; And your high-priesthood shall make earth All halloxced ground. Thomas Campbell September 15 261 THE FALLEN TOWER ode on the death of the duke of Wellington" M OURN, for to us he seems the last, Remembering all his greatness in the Past. No more in soldier fashion will he greet With lifted hand the gazer in the street. O friends, our chief state-oracle is mute: Mourn for the man of long-enduring blood, The statesman-warrior, moderate, resolute, Whole in himself, a common good. Mourn for the man of amplest influence, Yet clearest of ambitious crime, Our greatest yet with least pretence, Great in council and great in war, Foremost captain of his time, Rich in saving common-sense, And, as the greatest only are, In his simplicity sublime. O good gray head which all men knew, O voice from which their omens all men drew, O iron nerve to true occasion true, O falPn at length that tower of strength Which stood four-square to all the winds that blew! Such was he whom we deplore. The long self-sacrifice of life is o'er. The great World-victor's victor will be seen no more. Died Sept. 14, 1S62 Alfred, Lord Tennyson 262 September 16 THE CURTAIN OF THE DARK FROM "HINTS" M. HE curtain of the dark Is pierced by many a rent: Out of the star-wells, spark on spark Trickles through night's torn tent. Grief is a tattered tent Where through God's light doth shine. Who glances up, at every rent Shall catch a ray divine. Lucy Larcom September 17 263 PRAYER X RAYER is the soul's sincere desire, Utter'd, or unexpress'd; The motion of a hidden fire That trembles in the breast. Prayer is the burden of a sigh, The falling of a tear; The upward glancing of an eye, When none but God is near. Prayer is the simplest form of speech That infant lips can try; Prayer, the sublimest strains that reach The Majesty on high. Prayer is the contrite sinner's voice Returning from his ways; While Angels in their songs rejoice, And cry, Behold, he prays! Prayer is the Christian's vital breath, The Christian's native air; His watch- word at the gates of death; He enters Heaven with prayer. O Thou, by Whom we come to God, The Life, the Truth, the Way! The path of prayer Thyself hast trod: Lord! teach us how to pray! James Montgomery 264 September 18 NATURE FROM "GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SL'\"' VJ"IVE me the splendid silent sun, with all his beams full-dazzling; Give me juicy autumnal fruit, ripe and red from the orchard; Give me a field where the unmow'd grass grows; Give me an arbor, give me the trellis'd grape; Give me fresh corn and wheat — give me serene- moving animals, teaching content; Give me nights perfectly quiet, as on high plateaus west of the Mississippi, and I looking up at the stars; Give me odorous at sunrise a garden of beautiful flowers where I can walk undisturbed; Give me for marriage a sweet-breath'd woman of whom I should never tire; Give me a perfect child — give me, away, aside from the noise of the world, a rural domestic life; Give me to warble spontaneous songs reliev'd, recluse by myself, for my own ears only; Give me solitude — give me Nature — gi\e me again, O Nature, your primal sanities! Walt Whitman •% September 19 265 THE CITY FROM "GIVE ME THE SPLENDID SILENT SUN" K .EEP your splendid silent sun; Keep your woods, O Nature, and the quiet places by the woods; Keep your fields of clover and timothy, and your cornfields and orchards; Keep the blossoming buckwheat fields, where the Ninth-month bees hum; Give me faces and streets! give me these phantoms incessant and endless along the trottoirs! Give me interminable eyes! give me women! give me comrades and lovers by the thousand! Let me see new ones every day! let me hold new ones by the hand every day! Give me such shows! give me the streets of Man- hattan! Give me Broadway, with the soldiers marching — give me the sound of the trumpets and drums! (The soldiers in companies or regiments — some, starting away, flush'd and reckless; Some, their time up, returning, with thinn'd ranks — young, yet very old, worn, marching, notic- ing nothing;) — Give me the shores and the wharves heavy- fringed with the black ships! O such for me! O an intense life! O full to repletion, and varied! W alt Whitman 266 September 20 SONG " JAMES LEE' o, H, good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth, This autumn morning! How he sets his bones To bask i' the sun, and thrusts out knees and feet For the ripple to run over in its mirth; Listening the while, where on the heap of stones The white breast of the sea-lark twitters sweet. That is the doctrine, simple, ancient, true; Such is life's trial, as old earth smiles and knows. If you loved only what were worth your love, Love were clear gain, and wholly well for you: Make the low nature better by your throes! Give earth yourself, go up for gain above! Robert Browning September 21 267 IN A SEPTEMBER NIGHT X HERE the moon leans out and blesses All the dreamy hills below: Here the willows wash their tresses Where the water-lilies blow In the stream that glideth slow. High in heaven, in serried ranges, Cloud-wreaths float through pallid light, Like a flock of swans that changes In the middle Autumn night North for South in ordered flight. What know ye, who hover yonder, More than I, of that veiled good Whither all things tend, I wonder, That ye follow the wind's mood In such patient quietude? F. Wyville Home 268 September 2 2 AT SEA w< ORN voyagers, who watch for land Across the endless wastes of sea, Who gaze before and on each hand, Why look ye not to what ye flee? The stars by which the sailors steer Not always rise before the prow; Though forward nought but clouds appear, Behind, they may be breaking now. What though we may not turn again To shores of childhood that we leave, Are those old signs we followed vain? Can guides so oft found true deceive? Oh, sail we to the south or north, Oh, sail we to the east or west, The port from which we first put forth Is our heart's home, is our life's best. Francis William Bourdillon September 2 3 269 ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP R< .OCKED in the cradle of the deep I lay me down in peace to sleep; Secure I rest upon the wave, For thou, O Lord! hast power to save. I know Thou wilt not slight my call, For Thou dost mark the sparrow's fall; And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep. When in the dead of night I lie And gaze upon the trackless sky, The star-bespangled heavenly scroll, The boundless waters as they roll, — I feel thy wondrous power to save From perils of the stormy wave: Rocked in the cradle of the deep, I calmly rest and soundly sleep. And such the trust that still were mine, Though stormy winds swept o'er the brine, Or though the tempest's fiery breath Roused me from sleep to wreck and death. In ocean cave, still safe with Thee The germ of immortality! And calm and peaceful shall I sleep, Rocked in the cradle of the deep. Emma Hart Willard 270 September 2 4 THROUGH LIFE W. E slight the gifts that every season bears, And let them fall unheeded from our grasp, In our great eagerness to reach and clasp The promised treasure of the coming years; Or else we mourn some great good passed away, And, in the shadow of our grief shut in, Refuse the lesser good we yet might win, The offered peace and gladness of to-day. So through the chambers of our life we pass, And leave them one by one and never stay, Not knowing how much pleasantness there was In each, until the closing of the door Has sounded through the house and died away, And in our hearts we sigh, "Forevermore!" The Humbler Poets September 2 5 271 HUMAN GREATNESS FROM "AN ESSAY ON MAN* H ONOR and shame from no condition rise; Act well your part, there all the honor lies. Fortune in men has some small difference made, One flaunts in rags, one flutters in brocade; The cobbler aproned, and the parson gowned, The friar hooded, and the monarch crowned. "What differ more (you cry) than crown and cowl?" I'll tell you, friend; a wise man and a fool. You'll find, if once the monarch acts the monk, Or, cobbler-like, the parson will be drunk, Worth makes the man, and want of it the fellow, The rest is all but leather or prunella. Who wickedly is wise, or madly brave, Is but the more a fool, the more a knave. Who noble ends by noble means obtains, Or, failing, smiles in exile or in chains, Like good Aurelius let him reign, or bleed Like Socrates, that man is great indeed. Alexander Pope 272 September 2 6 VAN ELSEN G< r 0D spake three times and saved Van Elsen's soul; He spake by sickness first and made him whole; Van Elsen heard him not, Or soon forgot. God spake to him by wealth, the world outpoured Its treasures at his feet, and called him Lord; Van Elsen's heart grew fat And proud thereat. God spake the third time when the great world smiled, And in the sunshine slew his little child; Van Elsen like a tree Fell hopelessly. Then in the darkness came a voice which said, "As thy heart bleedeth, so my heart hath bled, As I have need of thee, Thou needest me." That night Van Elsen kissed the baby feet, And, kneeling by the narrow winding sheet, Praised Him with fervent breath Who conquered death. Frederick George Scott September 2 7 273 THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE o THOU great Friend to all the sons of men, Who once appeared in humblest guise below, Sin to rebuke, to break the captive's chain, And call thy brethren forth from want and woe, — ■ We look to thee! thy truth is still the Light Which guides the nations, groping on their way, Stumbling and falling in disastrous night, Yet hoping ever for the perfect day. Yes; thou art still the Life, thou art the Way The holiest know; Light, Life, the Way of heaven! And they who dearest hope and deepest pray, Toil by the Light, Life, Way, which thou hast given. Theodore Parker 274 September 28 CONFIDO ET CONQUIESCO J7 RET not, poor soul: while doubt and fear Disturb thy breast, The pitying angels, who can see How vain thy wild regret must be, Say, Trust and Rest. Plan not, nor scheme, — but calmly wait; His choice is best. While blind and errir.g is thy sight, His wisdom sees and judges right, So Trust and Rest. Strive not, nor struggle: thy poor might Can never wrest The meanest thing to serve thy will; All power is His alone: Be still, And Trust and Rest. Desire not: self-love is strong Within thy breast; And yet He loves thee better still, So let Him do His loving will, And Trust and Rest. What dost thou fear? His wisdom. reigns Supreme confessed; His power is infinite; His love Thy deepest, fondest dreams above; — So Trust and Rest. Adelaide Anne Procter September 2 9 275 FAIRY SONG 1OH ED no tear! O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Weep no more! O, weep no more! Young buds sleep in the root's white core. Dry your eyes! O, dry your eyes! For I was taught in Paradise To ease my brerst of melodies, — Shed no tear. Overhead! look overhead! 'Mong the blossoms white and red, — Look up, look up! I flutter now On this fresh pomegranate bough. See me! 'tis this silvery bill Ever cures the good man's ill, Shed no tear! O, shed no tear! The flower will bloom another year. Adieu, adieu — I fly — adieu! I vanish in the heaven's blue, — Adieu, adieu! John Keats 276 September SO TO THINE OWN SELF BE TRUE B Y thine own soul's law learn to live, And if men thwart thee take no heed, And if men hate thee have no care; Sing thou thy song and do thy deed, Hope thou thy hope and pray thy prayer, And claim no crown they will not give, Nor bays they grudge thee for thy hair. Keep thou thy soul-sworn steadfast oath, And to thy heart be true thy heart; What thy soul teaches learn to know, And play out thine appointed part; And thou shalt reap as thou shalt sow, Nor helped nor hindered in thy growth, To thy full stature thou shalt grow. Fix on the future's goal thy face, And let thy feet be lured to stray Nowhither, but be swift to run, And nowhere tarry by the way, Until at last the end is won, And thou mayst look back from thy place And see thy long day's journey done. Pakenham Beatty October 1 277 THE EVENING CLOUD jL\. CLOUD lay cradled near the setting sun, A gleam of crimson tinged its braided snow: Long had I watched the glory moving on O'er the still radiance of the lake below. Tranquil its spirit seemed, and floated slow! Even in its very motion there was rest; While every breath of eve that chanced to blow Wafted the traveller to the beauteous west. Emblem, methought, of the departed soul, To whose white robe the gleam of bliss is given; And by the breath of mercy made to roll Right onwards to the golden gates of heaven, Where to the eye of faith it peaceful lies, And tells to man his glorious destinies. John Wilson {Christopher North) 2-8 October 2 HARVEST-HOURS H, OW peacefully the broad and golden moon Comes up to gaze upon the reaper's toil! That they who own the land for many a mile, May bless her beams, and they who take the boon Of scatter'd ears; Oh! beautiful! how soon The dusk is turn'd to silver without soil, Which makes the fair sheaves fairer than at noon, And guides the gleaner to his slender spoil; So, to our souls, the Lord of love and might Sends harvest-hours, when daylight disappears; When age and sorrow, like a coming night, Darken our field of work with doubts and fears, He times the presence of His heavenly light To rise up softly o'er our silver hairs. Charles Tennyson Turner October 3 279 PICTURES OF OUR PAST W. E shape ourselves the joy or fear Of which the coming life is made, And fill our Future's atmosphere With sunshine or with shade. The tissue of the Life to be We weave with colors all our own, And in the field of Destiny We reap as we have sown. Still shall the soul around it call The shadows which it gathered here, And painted on the eternal wall The Past shall reappear. Think ye the notes of holy song Or Milton's tuneful ear have died? Think ye that Raphael's angel throng Has vanished from his side? Oh no! — We live our life again: Or warmly touched or coldly dim The pictures of the Past remain, — Man's works shall follow him! John Greenleaf Whittier 280 October 4 AFFLICTIONS V^iOUNT each affliction, whether light or grave, God's messenger sent down to thee; do thou With courtesy receive him; rise and bow; And, ere his shadow pass thy threshold, crave Permission first his heavenly feet to lave; Then lay before him all thou hast. Allow No cloud of passion to usurp thy brow, Or mar thy hospitality; no wave Of mortal tumult to obliterate The soul's marmoreal calmness. Grief should be Like joy, majestic, equable, sedate, Confirming, cleansing, raising, making free; Strong to consume small troubles; to commend Great thoughts, grave thoughts, thoughts lasting to the end. Aubrey Thomas De Vere October 5 281 HYMN TO THE CITY N, OT in the solitude Alone may man commune with Heaven, or see Only in savage wood And sunny vale, the present Deity; Or only hear His voice Where the winds whisper and the waves rejoice. Even here do I behold Thy steps, Almighty! — here, amidst the crowd, Through the great city rolled, With everlasting murmur deep and loud — Choking the ways that wind 'Mongst the proud piles, the work of human kind. Thy Spirit is around, Quickening the restless mass that sweeps along; And this eternal sound — Voices and footfalls of the numberless throng — Like the resounding sea, Or like the rainy tempest, speaks of Thee. And when the hours of rest Come, like a calm upon the mid-sea brine, Hushing its billowy breast — The quiet of that moment too is Thine; It breathes of Him who keeps The vast and helpless city while it sleeps. William Cullen Bryant 282 October 6 MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS M Y minde to me a kingdom is; Such perfect joy therein I fmde As farre exceeds all earthly blisse That God or nature hath assignde; Though much I want that most would have, Yet still my minde forbids to crave. Content I live; this is my stay, — I seek no more than may suffice. I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look, what I lack my mind supplies. Loe, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. Some have too much, yet still they crave; I little have, yet seek no more. They are but poore, though much they have, And I am rich with little store. They poor, I rich; they beg, I give; They Iacke, I lend; they pine, I live. The court ne cart I like ne loath, — Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and feares no fall; This is my choyce; for why, I fmde No wealth is like a quiet minde. Sir Edward Dyer October 7 283 FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT JL RUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control That o'er thee swell and throng; They will condense within thy soul, And change to purpose strong. But he who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow, Shrinks when hard service must be done, And faints at every woe. Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, Where hearts and wills are weigh'd, Than brightest transports, choicest prayers, Which bloom their hour and fade. John Henry Newman 284 OctoberS ENRICHING LOVE from " evangeline" .ZjLND thereupon the priest, her friend and father- confessor, Said, with a smile, — "O daughter! thy God thus speaketh within thee! Talk not of wasted affection, affection never was wasted; If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, re- turning Back to their springs, like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment; That which the fountain sends forth returns again to the fountain. Patience; accomplish thy labor; accomplish thy work of affection ! Sorrow and silence are strong, and patient endur- ance is godlike. Therefore accomplish thy labor of love, till the heart is made godlike, Purified, strengthened, perfected, and rendered more worthy of heaven!" Cheered by the good man's words, Evangeline labored and waited. Henry Wadsworth Longfellow October 9 285 'TIS BUT A LITTLE FADED FLOWER T IS but a little faded flower, But oh, how fondly dear! 'Twill bring me back one golden hour, Through many a weary year. I may not to the world impart The secret of its power, But treasured in my inmost heart, I keep my faded flower. Where is the heart that doth not keep, Within its inmost core, Some fond remembrance, hidden deep, Of days that are no more? Who hath not saved some trifling thing More prized than jewels rare — A faded flower, a broken ring, A tress of golden hair? Ellen Clementine Howarth 286 October 10 IN MANY PARTS G. OD of the Dew, In gentlest minstrelsy, — As silently Would I some soul refresh anew. God of the Sun, * Far flaming heat and light, — Be my delight On radiant errands swift to run. God of the Star, To its stern orbit true, — My soul imbue With dread, lest I thy order mar. God of the Sea, Majestic, vast, profound, — Enlarge my bound, Broader and deeper may I be. Maltbie Davenport Babcock October 11 287 A PSALM OF PRAISE I PRAISE God that he gave man breath To breathe the mountains and the seas; I praise Him that He sends us death To give us solitude and ease. I praise God that He gave man sight And knowledge of the lakes and streams; I praise Him that He sends us night And blinding mystery of dreams. I praise God that He gave man speech And thoughts that lap the world with fire; I praise Him that He orders each To set a bound to his desire. I praise God that He gave man love, And faith, and truth, and simple joys; I praise Him that the stars above Are not subservient to our noise. I praise God that He built man's brain Wide open to the sense's thrill; I praise Him that He sends us pain To break the thraldom of the will. I praise God for the darts that sting, The age-long toil, the ceaseless strife; I praise God that He made man king To choose in freedom death or life. Frederick George Scott 288 October 12 AUTUMN JEWELS FROM "THE BOTHIE OF TOBER-NA VUOLICH I .T was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October, Then when brackens are changed, and heather- blooms are faded, And amid russet of heather and fern green trees are bonnie; Alders are green and oaks; the rowan scarlet and yellow; One great glory of broad gold pieces appears the aspen, And the jewels of gold that were hung in the hair of the birch-tree, Pendulous, here and there, her coronet, necklace, and ear-rings, Cover her now o'er and o'er; she is weary and scatters them from her. Arthur Hugh Clough October IS 289 BEAUTY'S SADNESS A) .LL beautiful things bring sadness, nor alone Music, w hereof that wisest poet spake; Because in us keen longings they awake After the good for which we pine and groan, From which exil'd we make continual moan, Till once again we may our spirits slake At those clear streams, which man did first forsake, When he would dig for fountains of his own. All beauty makes us sad, yet not in vain: For who would be ungracious to refuse, Or not to use, this sadness without pain, Whether it flows upon us from the hues Of sunset, from the time of stars and dews, From the clear sky, or waters pure of stain? Richard Chevenix Trench 290 October 14 TIMES GO BY TURNS A. HE lopped tree in time may grow again, Most naked plants renew both fruit and flower; The sorest wight may find release of pain, The driest soil suck in some moist'ning shower; Times go by turns and chances change by course, From foul to fair, from better hap to worse. The sea of Fortune doth not ever flow, She draws her favours to the lowest ebb; Her time hath equal times to come and go, Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web; No joy so great but runneth to an end, No hap so hard but may in fine amend. Not always fall of leaf nor ever spring, No endless night yet not eternal day; The saddest birds a season find to sing, The roughest storm a calm may soon allay: Thus with succeeding turns God tempereth all, That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall. A chance may win that by mischance was lost; The net that holds no great, takes little fish; In some things all, in all things none are crost, Few all they need, but none have all the}- wish; Unmeddled joys here to no man befall: Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all. Robert Southwell October 15 291 TAKE THE WORLD AS IT IS X AKE the world as it is! — there are good and bad in it, And good and bad will be from now to the end; And they, who expect to make saints in a minute, Are in danger of marring more hearts than they'll mend. If ye wish to be happy ne'er seek for the faults, Or you're sure to find something or other amiss; 'Mid much that debases, and much that exalts, The world's not a bad one if left as it is. Take the world as it is! — with its smiles and its sorrow, Its love and its friendship, — its falsehood and truth, Its schemes that depend on the breath of to-morrow Its hopes which pass by like the dreams of our youth: Yet, oh! whilst the light of affection may shine, The heart in Ltself hath a fountain of bliss; In the worst there's some spark of a nature divine, And the wisest and best take the world as it is. Charles Swain 292 October 16 NIGHT THOUGHTS )M "the pains of sleep' E RE on my bed my limbs I lay, It hath not been my use to pray With moving lips or bended knees; But silently, by slow degrees, My spirit I to love compose, In humble trust mine eyelids close, With reverential resignation, No wish conceived, no thought expressed! Only a sense of supplication, A sense o'er all my soul imprest That I am weak, yet not unblest, Since, in me, round me, everywhere, Eternal Strength and Wisdom are. Samuel Taylor Coleridge October 17 293 HIS LOVE AND CARE FROM "THE ETERNAL GOODNESS ' I SEE the wrong that round me lies, I feel the guilt within; I hear, with groan and travail-cries, The world confess its sin. Yet, in the maddening maze of things, And tossed by storm and flood, To one fixed tryst my spirit clings; I know that God is good! And so beside the Siler.t Sea I wait the muffled oar; No harm from Him can come to me On ocean or on shore. I know not where His islands lift Their fronded palms in air; I only know I cannot drift Beyond His love and care. O brothers! if my faith is vain, If hopes like these betray, Pray for me that my feet may gain The sure and safer way. And Thou, O Lord! by whom are seen Thy creatures as they be, Forgive me if too close I lean My human heart on Thee! John Greenleaf Whittier 294 October 18 TO AUTUMN Season **•-.*.««.- Close bosom-friend of the maturing sun; Conspiring with him how to load and bless With fruit the vines that round the thatch-eaves run; To bend with apples the moss'd cottage-trees, And fill all fruit with ripeness to the core; To swell the gourd, and plump the hazel shells With a sweet kernel; to set budding more, And still more, later flowers for the bees, Until they think warm days will never cease, For Summer has o'er-brimm'd their clammy cells. Where are the songs of Spring? Ay, where are they? Think not of them, thou hast thy music too, — While barred clouds bloom the soft-dying day, And touch the stubble-plains with rosy hue; Then in a wailful choir the small gnats mourn Among the river sallows, borne aloft Or sinking as the light wind lives or dies; And full-grown Iambs loud bleat from hilly bourn; Hedge-crickets sing; and now with treble soft The redbreast whistles from a garden-croft; And gathering swallows twitter in the skies. John Keats October 19 295 MOONLIGHT H/TERNE Apollo! that thy sister fair Is of all these the gentlier-mightiest. When thy gold breath is misting in the west, She unobserved steals unto her throne, And there she sits most meek and most alone; As if she had not pomp subservient; As if thine eye, high Poet! was not bent Towards her with the muses in thine heart; As if the ministering stars kept not apart, Waiting for silver-footed messages. O Moon! the oldest shades 'mong oldest trees Feel palpitations when thou Iookest in: O Moon! old boughs lisp forth a holier din The while they feel thine airy fellowship. Thou dost bless everywhere, with silver lip Kissing dead things to life. The sleeping kine, Couched in thy brightness, dream of fields divine: Innumerable mountains rise, and rise, Ambitious for the hallowing of thine eyes; And yet thy benediction passeth not One obscure hiding-place, one little spot Where pleasure may be sent. . . . John Keats 2(j6 October 20 A SONG OF LOW DEGREE FROM THE GREY BRETHREN L, fORD, I am small, and yet so great, The whole world stands to my estate, And in Thine Image I create. The sea is mine; and the broad sky Is mine in its immensity: The river and the river's gold; The earth's hid treasure manifold; The love of creatures small and great, Save where I reap a previous hate; The noon-tide sun with hot caress, The night with quiet loveliness, The wind that bends the pliant trees, The whisper of the summer breeze; The kiss of snow and rain; the star That shines a greeting from afar; All, all are mine; and yet so small Am I that Io, I needs must call, Great King, upon the Babe in Thee, And crave that Thou would'st give to me The grace of Thy humility. Michael Fairless October 21 297 TO AN ENEMY ALTHOUGH I love my friend, still let me yield This tribute to thy worth, mine enemy! Unjust thou art, perchance, no doubt unkind, Yet much I owe to thee, stern monitor! Faults though thou hast, due honor shall be thine. Close, keen-eyed critic, oft thy scrutiny Hath made me blush defenceless, and in shame Turn from my darling idols. Thou hast set Full oft in paths of righteousness my feet, That else had wandered in forbidden ways, Lovely yet treacherous, and thy censure harsh Hath oft rebuked my days of dalliance In pleasant fields where pitfalls hid in flowers Awaited me with secret perils. Yea, Thy sneer hath been a sword to prod me on To duty; it hath been a goading spur To make me win a race I counted lost. Thy jeer hath oft aroused me till I swore To reach success despite thy prophecies Of my defeat; thy challenge, like a blast Of trumpets when the battle hangs in doubt, Hath nerved my hand to snatch the victor's wreath That else had never graced my brows. . . . Stern friend, Not thine to soothe with silken flatteries, Nor gloze with unctuous phrases; it is thine To do much more — to save me from myself! Walter Malone 298 October 22 PATIENT ENDURANCE FROM " COLUMBUS " Xi/NDURANCE is the crowning quality, And patience all the passion of great hearts; These are their stay, and when the leaden world Sets its hard face against their fateful thought, And brute strength, like a scornful conqueror, Clangs his huge mace down in the other scale, The inspired soul but flings his patience in, And slowly that outweighs the ponderous globe, — One faith against a whole earth's unbelief, One soul against the flesh of all mankind. Thus ever seems it when my soul can hear The voice that errs not; . . . One day more These muttering shoalbrains leave the helm to me. God, let me not in their dull ooze be stranded; Let not this one frail bark, to hollow which I have dug out the pith and sinewy heart Of my aspiring life's fair trunk, be so Cast up to warp and blacken in the sun, Just as the opposing wind 'gins whistle off His cheek-swollen mates, and from the leaning mast Fortune's full sail strains forward! One poor day ! — Remember whose and not how short it is! It is God's day, it is Columbus's. A lavish day! One day, with life and heart, Is more than time enough to find a world. 1 " James Russell Lowell 1 On October 22 Columbus discovered the Western World. October 23 299 ON HIS BLINDNESS W, HEN I consider how my light is spent, Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent, which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, — though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest He, returning, chide, — "Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?" I fondly ask: But Patience, to prevent That murmur, soon replies, "God doth not need Either man's work or His own gifts: Who best Bear His mild yoke, they serve Him best: His state Is Kingly: Thousands at His bidding speed, And post o'er land and ocean without rest: They also serve who only stand and wait." Milton 300 October 24 DIVINE REFRESHING W, HEN first I saw true beauty, and Thy joys Active as light, and calm without all noise, Shined on my soul, I felt through all my powers Such a rich air of sweets, as evening showers Fanned by a gentle gale convey, and breathe On some parched bank, crowned with a flowery wreath; Odors, and myrrh, and balm in one rich flood, O'erran my heart, and spirited my blood; My thoughts did swim in comforts, and mine eye Confessed the world did only paint and lie. And where before I did no safe course steer, But wandered under tempests all the year; Went bleak and bare in body as in mind, And was blown through by every storm and wind, I am so warmed now by this glance on me, That midst all storms I feel a ray of Thee. So have I known some beauteous paysage rise In sudden flowers and arbors to my eyes, And in the depth and dead of winter bring To my cold thoughts a lively sense of spring. Thus fed by Thee, who dost all beings nourish, My withered leaves again look green and flourish. Henry Vaughan October 25 301 PRAYER JL/ORD, what a change within us one short hour Spent in Thy presence will prevail to make, What heavy burdens from our bosoms take, What parched grounds refresh, as with a shower! We kneel, and all around us seems to lower; We rise, and all, the distant and the near, Stands forth in sunny outline, brave and clear; We kneel how weak, we rise how full of power. Why therefore should we do ourselves this wrong, Or others — that we are not always strong, That we are ever overborne with care, That we should ever weak or heartless be, Anxious or troubled, when with us is prayer, And joy and strength and courage are with Thee. Richard Chevenix Trench 302 October 26 EVENING A. IS gone, that bright and orbed blaze, Fast fading from our wistful gaze; Yon mantling cloud has hid from sight The last faint pulse of quivering light. In darkness and in weariness The traveller on his way must press, No gleam to watch on tree or tower, Whiling away the lonesome hour. Sun of my soul! Thou Saviour dear, It is not night if Thou be near: Oh! may no earth-born cloud arise To hide Thee from Thy servant's eyes. When the soft dews of kindly sleep My wearied eyelids gently steep, Be my last thought, how sweet to rest For ever on my Saviour's breast. Abide with me from morn till eve, For without Thee I cannot live: Abide with me when night is nigh, For without Thee I dare not die. John Keble October 27 303 LATE OCTOBER H< . OW peacefully the sunlight fell Across the woodland's pleasant reaches, And like a shower of gilded rain The leaves dropped from the golden beeches! Far down the shadowy aisles I heard An undertone of plaintive sighing, As if the waning Summer wept For all her glories dead and dying. The golden-rod, with drooping plume, Had lost its aureole of gladness; The starless mullein by the road Dropped down its seeds like tears of sadness; The far-off hill, veiled like a bride, Seemed wedded to the sky immortal; And through the sunset's golden gate There flashed the gleam of heaven's portal. O peaceful hour, O faith renewed, That touched the fading earth with sweetness, And lifted up my heart in thanks For life's glad measure of completeness! Though dead leaves rustle at my feet, And all the fields are brown and sober, The heart may blossom with new hope Beneath the gray skies of October. D. M. Jordan 304 October 28 HOW DO WE KNOW? H, OW can we tell who sinned more than we? How can we tell? We think our brother walked guiltily, -Judging him in self-righteousness. Ah, well! Perhaps had we been driven through the hell Of his untold temptations, we might be Less upright in our daily walk than he — How can we tell? Dare we condemn the ills that others do? Dare we condemn? Their strength is small, their trials not a few, The tide of wrong is difficult to stem ; And if to us more clearly than to them Is given knowledge of the great and true, More do they need our help and pity too — Dare we condemn? God help us all, and lead us day by day, — God help us all! We cannot walk alone the perfect way. Evil allures us, tempts us, and we fall. We are but human, and our power is small; Not one of us may boast, and not a day Rolls o'er our heads but each hath need to say, God help us all! The Humbler Poets October 29 305 JUDGE NOT I UDGE not; the workings of his brain And of his heart thou canst not see; What looks to thy dim eyes a stain, In God's pure light may only be A scar, brought from some well-won field, Where thou wouldst only faint and yield. The look, the air, that frets thy sight May be a token that below The soul has closed in deadly fight With some infernal fiery foe, Whose glance would scorch thy smiling grace, And cast thee shuddering on thy face! The fall thou darest to despise, — May be the angel's slackened hand Has suffered it, that he may rise And take a firmer, surer stand; Or, trusting less to earthly things, May henceforth learn to use his wings. And judge none lost; but wait and see, With hopeful pity, not disdain; The depth of the abyss may be The measure of the height of pain And love and glory that may raise This soul to God in after days! Adelaide Anne Procter 306 October 30 THE SPIRIT WORLD FROM "LAODOMIA" - P, EACE!" he said, — She looked upon him and was calmed and cheered: The ghastly colour from his lips had fled; In his deportment, shape, and mien, appeared Elysian beauty, melancholy grace, Brought from a pensive though a happy place. He spake of love, such love as spirits feel In worlds whose course is equable and pure; No fears to beat away, no strife to heal, The past unsighed for, and the future sure; Spake of heroic arts in graver mood Revived, with finer harmony pursued; Of all that is most beauteous — imaged there In happier beauty: more pellucid streams, An ampler ether, a diviner air, And fields invested with purpureal gleams; Climes which the sun, who sheds the brightest day Earth knows, is all unworthy to survey. William Wordsworth October 31 307 MINISTERING ANGELS FROM "THE FAERIE QUEENe" A. .ND is there care in heaven? and is there love In heavenly spirits to these creatures base, That may compassion of their evils move? There is: — else much more wretched were the case Of men than beasts. But oh! th' exceeding grace Of Highest God that loves his creatures so, And all his works with mercy doth embrace, That blessed angels he sends to and fro, To serve to wicked man, to serve his wicked foe! How oft do they their silver bowers leave To come to succor us that succor want! How oft do they with golden pinions cleave The flitting skies, like flying pursuivant, Against foul fiends to aid us militant! They for us fight, they watch and duly ward, And their bright squadrons round about us plant; And all for love and nothing for reward; Oh, why should Heavenly God to men have such regard ! Edmund Spenser 3 o8 November 1 LORD, I HAVE LAIN .L/ORD, I have Iain Barren too long, and fain I would redeem the time, that I may be Fruitful to Thee; Fruitful in knowledge, love, obedience, Ere I go hence: That when I come At harvest to be reaped, and brought home, Thine angels may My soul in Thy celestial garner lay, Where perfect joy and bliss Eternal is. If to entreat A crop of purest wheat, A blessing too transcendent should appear For me to hear, Lord, makeVne what Thou wilt, so Thou wilt take What thou dost make, And not disdain To house me, though among Thy coarsest grain; So I may be Laid with the gleanings gathered by Thee, When the full sheaves are spent, I am content. Francis Quarles November 2 309 QUIET WORK o NE lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee, One lesson which in every wind is blown, One lesson of two duties kept at one Though the loud world proclaim their enmity — Of toil unsevered from tranquillity; Of labor, that in lasting fruit outgrows Far noisier schemes, accomplished in repose, Too great for haste, too high for rivalry. Yes, while on earth a thousand discords ring, Man's senseless uproar mingling with his toil, Still do thy quiet ministers move on, Their glorious tasks in silence perfecting; Still working, blaming still our vain turmoil, Laborers that shall not fail, when man is gone. Matthew Arnold 310 November^ QUESTIONS FROM "MY SOUL AND i" OTAND still, my soul, in the silent dark I would question thee, Alone in the shadow drear and stark With God and me! What, my soul, was thy errand here? Was it mirth or ease, Or heaping up dust from year to year? "Nay, none of these!" Speak, soul, aright in His holy sight Whose eye looks still And steadily on thee through the night: "To do His will!" What hast thou done, oh soul of mine That thou tremblest so? — Has thou wrought His task, and kept the line He bade thee go? What hast thou wrought for Right and Truth, For God and Man, From the golden hours of bright-eyed youth To Life's mid-span? Ah, soul of mine, thy tones I hear, But weak and low, Like far sad murmurs on my ear They come and go. John Greexleaf Whittier November 4 311 "DO THE NEXT THING' M. ANY a questioning, many a fear, Many a doubt, hath its quieting here — Moment by moment, led down from heaven, Time, opportunity, guidance are given! Fear not to-morrows, Child of the King! Trust them with Jesus — "Do the next thing." Do it immediately, do it with prayer, Do it reliantly, casting all care; Do it with reverence, tracing His hand Who hath placed it before thee with earnest command. Stayed on Omnipotence, safe neath His wing, Leave all resultings — "Do the next thing." M. E. Paull 312 November 5 WHAT OF THAT? 1 IRED! Well, what of that? Didst fancy life was spent on beds of ease, Fluttering the rose leaves scattered by the breeze? Come, rouse thee! work while it is called to-day! Coward, arise! go forth upon thy way! Lonely ! And what of that? Some must be lonely! 'tis not given to all To feel a heart responsive rise and fall, To blend another life into its own. Work may be done in loneliness. Work on. Dark! Well, and what of that? Didst fondly dream the sun would never set? Dost fear to lose thy way? Take courage yet! Learn thou to walk by faith and not by sight; Thy steps will guided be, and guided right. Hard! Well, and what of that? Didst fancy life one summer holiday, With lessons none to learn, and nought but play? Go, get thee to thy task! Conquer or die! It must be learned! Learn it then patiently. No help! Nay, it's not so! Though human help be far, thy God is nigh. Who feeds the ravens, hears his children's cry. He's near thee, wheresoe'er thy footsteps roam, And he will guide thee, light thee, help thee home. Detroit Free Press November 6 313 THOU KNOWEST A HOU knowest, O my Father! Why should I Weary high heaven with restless prayers and tears! Thou knowest all! My heart's unuttered cry Hath soared beyond the stars and reached Thine Thou knowest, — ah, Thou knowest! Then what need, O, loving God, to tell Thee o'er and o'er, And with persistent iteration plead As one who crieth at some closed door? "Tease not!" we mothers to our children say, — "Our wiser love will grant whate'er is best." Shall we, Thy children, run to Thee alway, Begging for this and that in wild unrest? I dare not clamor at the heavenly gate, Lest I should lose the high, sweet strains within; O, Love Divine! I can but stand and wait Till Perfect Wisdom bids me enter in! Julia Caroline Ripley Dorr 314 November 7 D RAIN ASHING in big drops on the narrow pane, And making mournful music for the mind, While plays his interlude the wizard wind, I hear the ringing of the frequent rain: How doth its dreamy tone the spirit lull, Bringing a sweet forgetfulness of pain, While busy thought calls up the past again, And lingers mid the pure and beautiful Visions of early childhood! Sunny faces Meet us with looks of love, and in the moans Of the faint wind we hear familiar tones, And tread again in old familiar places! Such is thy power, O rain! the heart to bless, Wiling the soul away from its own wretchedness. William Henry Burleigh November 8 315 SONG N< O, no, the falling blossom is no sign Of loveliness destroy'd and sorrow mute; The blossom sheds its loveliness divine; — Its mission is to prophecy the fruit. Nor is the day of love for ever dead, When young enchantment and romance are gone; The veil is drawn, but all the future dread Is lightened by the finger of the dawn. Love moves with life along a darker way, They cast a shadow and they call it death: But rich is the fulfilment of their day; The purer passion and the firmer faith. George Meredith 316 November 9 REST I LAY me down to sleep, With little thought or care Whether my waking find Me here, or there. A bowing, burdened head, That only asks to rest, Unquestioning, upon A loving breast. My good right hand forgets Its cunning now; To march the weary march I know not how. I am not eager, bold, Nor strong — all that is past; I am ready not to do At last, at last. My half day's work is done, And this is all my part; I give a patient God My patient heart, And grasp His banner still, Though all its blue be dim; These stripes, no less than stars, Lead after Him. Mary Woolsf.y Howlaxd November 10 317 HYMN O LI'L' Iamb out in de col', De Mastah call you to de foI', O IiT Iamb! He hyeah you bleatin' on de hill; Come hyeah an' keep yo' mou'nin' still, O IiT Iamb! De Mastah sen' de Shepud fo'f; He wandah souf, he wandah no'f, O IiT Iamb! He wandah eas', he wandah wes'; De win' a-wrenchin' at his breas', O IiT Iamb! Oh, tell de Shepud whaih you hide; He want you walkin' by his side, O IiT Iamb! He know you weak, he know you so'; But come, don't stay away no mo', O IiT Iamb! An' af ah while de Iamb he hyeah De Shepud's voice a-callin' cleah — Sweet IiT Iamb! He answah f'om de brambles thick, "O Shepud, I's a-comin' quick" — O IiT Iamb! Paul Laurence Dunbar 3 1 8 N ov etnb er 1 1 A GIRL OF POMPEII l\ PUBLIC haunt they found her in: She lay asleep, a lovely child; The only thing left undefiled Where all things else bore taint of sin. Her charming contours fixed in clay The universal law suspend, And turn Time's chariot back, and blend, A thousand years with yesterday. A sinless touch, austere yet warm, Around her girlish figure pressed, Caught the sweet imprint of her breast, And held her, surely clasped, from harm. Truer than work of sculptor's art Comes this dear maid of long ago, Sheltered from woful chance, to show A spirit's lovely counterpart, And bid mistrustful men be sure That form shall fate of flesh escape, And, quit of eartn's corruptions, shape Itself, imperishably pure. Edward Saxford Martin November 12 319 JUDGMENT FROM "TO THE UNCO GUId' JL HEN gently scan your brother man, Still gentler sister woman; Though they may gang a kennin' wrang, To step aside is human. One point must still be greatly dark, The moving why they do it; And just as lamely can ye mark How far perhaps they rue it. Who made the heart, 'tis He alone Decidedly can try us; He knows each chord, — its various tone, Each spring, — its various bias: Then at the balance let's be mute, We never can adjust it; What's done we partly may compute, But know not what's resisted. Robert Burns 320 November 13 CALM "T X IS a dull, sullen day, — the gray beach o'er In rippling curves the ebbing ocean flows; Along each tiny crest that nears the shore A line of soft green shadows rises, glides, and goes. The tide recedes, the flat smooth beach grows bare, More faint the low sweet plashing on my ears, Yet still I watch the dimpling shadows fair, As each is born, glides, pauses, disappears. What channel needs our faith, except the eyes? God leaves no spot of earth unglorified; Profuse and wasteful, lovelinesses rise; New beauties dawn before the old have died. Trust thou thy joys in keeping of the Power Who holds these changing shadows in His hand; Believe and live, and know that hour by hour Will ripple newer beauty to thy strand. Thomas Wentwortb Higginson November 14 321 HOPE FROM "WITHIN AND WITHOUT"" ^jLND do not fear to hope. Can poet's brain More than the Father's heart rich good invent ? Each time we smell the autumn's dying scent, We know the primrose time will come again; Not more we hope, nor less would soothe our pain. Be bounteous in thy faith, for not misspent Is confidence unto the Father lent: Thy need is sown and rooted for His rain. His thoughts are as thine own; nor are His ways Other than thine, but by their loftier sense Of beauty infinite and love intense. Work on. One day, beyond all thoughts of praise, A sunny joy will crown thee with its rays; Nor other than thy need, thy recompense. George Macdonald 322 November 15 THE LARGENESS OF TRUTH from "astr.ca: the balance of illusions" A HESE lines may teach, rough-spoken though they be, Thy gentle creed, divinest Charity! Truth is at heart not always as she seems, Judged by our sleeping or our waking dreams. We trust and doubt, we question and believe, From life's dark threads a trembling faith to weave, Frail as the web that misty night has spun, Whose dew-gemmed awnings glitter in the sun. Though Sovereign Wisdom, at His creatures' call, Has taught us much, He has not taught us all; When Sinai's summit was Jehovah's throne, The chosen Prophet knew His voice alone; When Pilate's hall that awful question heard, The Heavenly Captive answered not a word. Eternal Truth ! Beyond our hopes and fears Sweep the vast orbits of thy myriad spheres! From age to age while History carves sublime On her waste rock the flaming curves of time, How the wild swayings of our planet show That worlds unseen surround the world we know! Oliver Wendell Holmes November 16 323 TEARS w, HEN I consider Life and its few years — A wisp of fog betwixt us and the sun; A call to battle, and the battle done Ere the last echo dies within our ears; A rose choked in the grass; an hour of fears; The gusts that past.a darkening shore do beat; The burst of music down an unlistening street — I wonder at the idleness of tears. Ye old, old dead, and ye of yesternight, Chieftains, and bards, and keepers of the sheep, By every cup of sorrow that you had, Loose me from tears, and make me see aright How each hath back what once he stayed to weep; Homer his sight, David his little lad! LlZETTE WOODWORTH REESE 324 November 17 NOW LIKE A RED LEAF' I N youth how slowly passed the golden day! As if upon the stillness of some brook You threw a rose-leaf, and the rose-leaf took Its own sweet time to loiter to the bay; The lark sang always; life was endless play; We lived on nectar from a poet's book; Drifting along by many a sunny nook, Little we cared — it would be ever May! Now, like a red leaf on the autumnal stream That cannot steer nor stop — that cannot sink — Swiftly I glide. As in some fateful dream There is no time to pause — no time to think; The cataract roars — I see the white foam gleam Within the gorge — it draws me to the brink! Lloyd Mifflin November 18 325 said 1 not so? OAID I not so, — that I would sin no more? Witness, my God, I did; Yet I am run again upon the score: My faults cannot be hid. What shall I do? — make vows and break them still? 'Twill be but labor lost; My good cannot prevail against mine ill: The business will be crost. "O, say not so; thou canst not tell what strength Thy God may give thee at the length. Renew thy vows, and if thou keep the last, Thy God will pardon all that's past. Vow while thou canst; while thou canst vow, thou mayst Perhaps perform it when thou thinkest least. "Thy God hath not denied thee all, Whilst he permits thee but to call. Call to thy God for grace to keep Thy vows; and if thou break them, weep. Weep for thy broken vows, and vow again: Vows made with tears cannot be still in vain." Then once again I vow to mend my ways; Lord, say Amen, And thine be all the praise. George Herbert 326 November 19 I LAY IN SORROW, DEEP DISTRESSED I I LAY in sorrow, deep distressed: My grief a proud man heard; His looks were cold, he gave me gold, But not a kindly word. My sorrow passed, — I paid him back The gold he gave to me; Then stood erect and spoke my thanks, And blessed his Charity. II I lay in want, in grief and pain; A poor man passed my way; He bound my head, he gave me bread, He watched me night and day. How shall I pay him back again, For all he did to me? Oh, gold is great, but greater far Is heavenly Sympathy! Charles Mackay November 20 327 HUMAN SYMPATHY FROM ION T IS a little thing To give a cup of water; yet its draught Of cool refreshment, drained by fevered lips, May give a shock of pleasure to the frame More exquisite than when nectarean juice Renews the life of joy in happier hours. It is a little thing to speak a phrase Of common comfort which by daily use Has almost lost its sense, yet on the ear Of him who thought to die unmourned 'twill fall Like choicest music, fill the glazing eye With gentle tears, relax the knotted hand To know the bonds of fellowship again; And shed on the departing soul a sense, More precious than the benison of friends About the honored death-bed of the rich, To him who else were lonely, that another Of the great family is near and feels. Sir Thomas Noon Talfourd 328 November 21 OUTWARDS OR HOMEWARDS OTILL are the ships that in haven ride, Waiting fair winds or a turn of the tide; Nothing they fret, though they do not get Out on the glorious ocean wide. Oh, wild hearts, that yearn to be free, Look, and learn from the ships of the sea! Bravely the ships, in the tempest tossed, Buffet the waves till the sea be crossed; Not in despair of the haven fair, Though winds blow backward, and leagues be lost; Oh, weary hearts, that yearn for sleep, Look, and learn from the ships of the deep! Francis William Bourdillon November 2 2 329 MY TIMES ARE IN THY HAND M Y times are in thy hand! I know not what a day Or e'en an hour may bring to me, But I am safe while trusting thee, Though all things fade away. All weakness, I On him rely Who fix'd the earth and spread the starry sky. My times are in thy hand! Pale poverty or wealth, Corroding care or calm repose, Spring's balmy breath or winter's snows, Sickness or buoyant health, — Whate'er betide, If God provide, 'Tis for the best; I wish no lot beside. My times are in thy hand! Should friendship pure illume And strew my path with fairest flowers, Or should I spend life's dreary hours In solitude's dark gloom, Thou art a friend, Till time shall end Unchangeably the same; in thee all beauties blend. Christopher Newman Hall 330 Nov ember 2 3 n L. E. L.'S " LAST QUESTION " Do you think of me as I think of you?" From her Poem written during the Voyage to the Cape O you think of me as I think of you, My friends, my friends?" — She said it from the sea, The English minstrel in her minstrelsy, While, under brighter skies than erst she knew, Her heart grew dark, and groped there as the blind To reach across the waves friends left behind — "Do you think of me as I think of you?" It seemed not much to ask — "as / of you?" We all do ask the same; no eyelids cover Within the meekest eyes that question over: And little in the world the Loving do But sit (among the rocks?) and listen for The echo of their own love evermore — "Do But while on mortal lips I shape anew A sigh to mortal issues, verily Above the unshaken stars that see us die, A vocal pathos rolls; and He who drew All life from dust, and for all tasted death, By death and life and love, appealing saith, Do you think oj me as I think of you ? Elizabeth Barrett Browning 1 Laetitia Elteabeth Landon, the poetess. November 2 4 331 THY WILL BE DONE JL HY way, not mine, O Lord, However dark it be! Lead me by Thine own hand, Choose out the path for me. Smooth let it be or rough, It will be still the best; Winding or straight, it leads Right onward to Thy rest. I dare not choose my lot; I would not, if I might; Choose Thou for me, my God; So shall I walk aright. The kingdom that I seek Is Thine; so let the way That leads to it be Thine; Else I must surely stray. Take Thou my cup, and it With joy or sorrow fill, As best to Thee may seem; Choose Thou my good and ill; Not mine, not mine the choice, In things or great or small; Be Thou my guide, my strength, My wisdom, and my all! HORATIUS BONAR 332 N ov em b er 2 5 NOVEMBER JL HE mellow year is hastening to its close; The little birds have almost sung their last, Their small notes twitter in the dreary blast — That shrill-piped harbinger of early snows; The patient beauty of the scentless rose, Oft with the Morn's hoar crystal quaintly glass'd Hangs, a pale mourner for the summer past, And makes a little summer where it grows: In the chill sunbeam of the faint brief day The dusky waters shudder as they shine, The russet leaves obstruct the straggling way Of oozy brooks, which no deep banks define, And the gaunt woods, in ragged, scant array, Wrap their old limbs with sombre ivy twine. Hartley Coleridge N ov em b er 2 6 333 LESSONS FROM THE GORSE ' To win the secret of a weed's plain heart." — Lowell. M. .OUNTAIN gorses, ever golden, Cankered not the whole year long, Do ye teach us to be strong, Howsoever pricked and holden, Like your thorny blooms, and so Trodden on by rain and snow, Up the hillside of this life, as bleak as where ye grow? Mountain blossoms, shining blossoms, Do ye teach us to be glad When no summer can be had, # Blooming in our inward bosoms? — Ye whom God preserveth still, Set as lights upon a hill, Tokens to the wintry earth that beauty Iiveth still. Mountain gorses, do ye teach us From that academic chair Canopied with azure air, That the wisest word man reaches Is the humblest he can speak? — Ye who live on mountain peak, Yet live low along the ground, beside the grasses meek. Elizabeth Barrett Browning 334 November 27 THE JUDGMENT 1 HOU hast done evil And given place to the devil; Yet so cunningly thou concealest The thing which thou feelest, That no eye espieth it, Satan himself denieth it. Go where it chooseth thee, There is none that accuseth thee; Neither foe nor lover Will the wrong uncover; The world's breath raiseth thee, And thy own past praiseth thee. Yet know thou this: At quick of thy being Is an eye all-seeing, The snake's wit evadeth not, The charmed lip persuadeth not; So thoroughly it despiseth The thing thy hand prizeth, Though the sun were thy clothing, It should count thee for nothing. Thine own eye divineth thee, Thine own soul arraigneth thee; God himself cannot shrive thee Till that judge forgive thee. Dora Read Goodale N ov em her 2 8 335 FOR DIVINE STRENGTH Jl ATHER, in thy mysterious presence kneeling, Fain would our souls feel all thy kindling love; For we are weak and need some deep revealing Of trust and strength and calmness from above. Lord, we have wandered forth through doubt and sorrow, And thou hast made each step an onward one; And we will ever trust each unknown morrow — Thou wilt sustain us till its work is done. In the heart's depths a peace serene and holy Abides; and when pain seems to have her will, Or we despair, oh! may that peace rise slowly, Stronger than agony, and we be still. Now, Father — now, in thy dear presence kneeling, Our spirits yearn to feel thy kindling love; Now make us strong — we need thy deep revealing Of trust, and strength, and calmness from above. Samuel Johnson 336 November 29 THE CRESCENT AND THE CROSS K, .IND was my friend who, in the Eastern land, Remembered me with such a gracious hand, And sent this Moorish Crescent which has been Worn on the tawny bosom of a queen. No more it sinks and rises in unrest To the soft music of her heathen breast; No barbarous chief shall bow before it more, No turban'd slave shall envy and adore! I place beside this relic of the Sun A Cross of Cedar brought from Lebanon, Once borne, perchance, by some pale monk who trod The desert to Jerusalem — and his God! Here do they lie, two symbols of two creeds, Each meaning something to our human needs, Both stained with blood, and sacred made by faith, By tears, and prayers, and martyrdom, and death. That for the Moslem is, but this for me! The waning Crescent lacks divinity: It gives me dreams of battles, and the woes Of women shut in hushed seraglios. But when this Cross of simple wood I see, The Star of Bethlehem shines again for me, And glorious visions break upon my gloom — The patient Christ, and Mary at the Tomb! Thomas Bailey Aldrich Nov e m her SO 337 THE AUTUMN OF LIFE FROM "INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY" A. HOUGH nothing can bring back the hour Of splendour in the grass, of glory in the flower; We will grieve not, rather find Strength in what remains behind; In the primal sympathy Which having been must ever be; In the soothing thoughts that spring Out of human suffering; In the faith that looks through death, In years that bring the philosophic mind. And oh ye fountains, meadows, hills, and groves, Think not of any severing of our loves! Yet in my heart of hearts I feel your might; I only have relinquished one delight, To live beneath your more habitual sway. I love the brooks, which down their channels fret, Even more than when I tripped lightly as they: The innocent brightness of a new-born day Is lovely yet; The Clouds that gather round the setting sun Do take a sober colouring from an eye That hath kept watch o'er man's mortality; Another race hath been, and other palms are won. Thanks to the human heart by which we live, Thanks to its tenderness, its joys, and fears, To me the meanest flower that blows can give Thoughts that do often lie too deep for tears. William Wordsworth 338 December 1 DECEMBER X. HE beech is bare, and bare the ash, The thickets white below; The fir-tree scowls with rfoar moustache, He cannot sing for snow. The body-guard of veteran pines, A grim battalion, stands; They ground their arms, in ordered lines, For Winter so commands. The waves are dumb along the shore, The river's pulse is still; The north-wind's bugle blows no more Reveille from the hill. The rustling sift of falling snow, The muffled crush of leaves, These are the sounds suppressed, that show How much the forest grieves; But, as the blind and vacant Day Crawls to his ashy bed, I hear dull echoes far away, Like drums above the dead. Sigh with me, Pine that never changed! Thou wear'st the Summer's hue; Her other loves are all estranged, But thou and I are true! Bayard Taylor December 2 339 ON HIS DIVINE POEMS Wi HEN we for age could neither read nor write, The subject made us able to indite: The soul, with nobler resolutions deck'd, The body stooping, does herself erect: No mortal parts are requisite to raise Her, that unbody'd can her Maker praise. The seas are quiet, when the winds give o'er: So, calm are we, when passions are no more! For then we know how vain it was to boast Of fleeting things, so certain to be lost. Clouds of affection from our younger eyes Conceal that emptiness, which age descries. The soul's dark cottage, batter'd and decay'd, Lets in new light, through chinks that time has made: Stronger by weakness, wiser men become, As they draw near to their eternal home: Leaving the old, both worlds at once they view, That stand upon the threshold of the new. Edmund Waller 340 December 3 N« LAST LINES O coward soul is mine, No trembler in the world's storm-troubled sphere: I see Heaven's glories shine, And faith shines equal, arming me from fear. O God within my breast, Almighty, ever-present Deity! Life — that in me has rest, As I — undying Life — have power in Thee! Vain are the thousand creeds That move men's hearts: unutterably vain; Worthless as wither'd weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main, To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by Thine infinity; So surely anchor'd on The steadfast rock of immortality. With wide-embracing love Thy Spirit animates eternal years, Pervades and broods above, Changes, sustains, dissolves, creates, and rears. Though earth and man were gone, And suns and universes cease to be, And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. Emily Bronte December 4 341 O LOVE OF GOD o LOVE of God, how strong and true! Eternal, and yet ever new; Uncomprehended and unbought, Beyond all knowledge and all thought! O heavenly Love, how precious still! In days of weariness and ill, In nights of pain and helplessness, To heal, to comfort, and to bless! O wide-embracing, wondrous Love, We read Thee in the sky above; We read Thee in the earth below, In seas that swell and streams that flow. We read Thee best in Him who came To bear for us the cross of shame, Sent by the Father from on high, Our life to live, our death to die. O Love of God, our shield and stay Through all the perils of our way; Eternal love, in thee we rest, Forever safe, forever blest. HORATIUS BONAR 3-p December 5 WINTER SONG OUMMER joys are o'er; Flowerets bloom no more, Wintry winds are sweeping; Through the snow-drifts peeping, Cheerful evergreen Rarely now is seen. Now no plumed throng Charms the wood with song; Ice-bound trees are glittering; Merry snow-birds, twittering, Fondly strive to cheer Scenes so cold and drear. Winter, still I see Many charms in thee, — Love thy chilly greeting, Snow-storms fiercely beating, And the dear delights Of the long, long nights. German of Ludwig H. C. Holty Translation of Charles Timothy Brooks December 6 343 SONG OF THE ROSES FROM "GARDEN FAIRIES" ^OFTLY sinking through the snow, To our winter rest we go, Underneath the snow to house Till the birds be in the boughs, And the boughs with leaves be fair, And the sun shine everywhere. "Softly through the snow we settle, Little snow-drops press each petal. Oh, the snow is kind and white, — Soft it is, and very light; Soon we shall be where no light is, But where sleep is, and where night is, — Sleep of every wind unshaken, Till our Summer bids us waken." Then toward some far-off goal that singing drew; Then altogether ceas'd; more steely blue The blue stars shone; but. in my spirit grew Hope of Summer, love of Roses, Certainty that Sorrow closes. Philip Bourke Marston 344 December 7 THE GRAND OLD NAME FROM M IN MEMORIA.m" 1 HE churl in spirit, howe'er he veil His want in forms for fashion's sake, Will let his coltish nature break At seasons through the gilded pale: For who can always act? But he, To whom a thousand memories call, Not being less but more than all The gentleness he seemed to be, So wore his outward best, and joined Each office of the social hour To noble manners, as the flower And native growth of noble mind; Nor ever narrowness or spite, Or villain fancy fleeting by, Drew in the expression of an eye, Where God and Nature met in light; And thus he bore without abuse The grand old name of gentleman, Defamed by every charlatan, And soiled with all ignoble use. Alfred, Lord Tennyson w. December 8 345 SIR PHILIP SIDNEY DIED DECEMBER 7, 1 683 AN ELEGY ON A FRIEND'S PASSION FOR HIS astrophill" ITHIN these woods of Arcadie He chiefe delight and pleasure tooke, And on the mountaine Parthenie, Upon the chrystall liquid brooke, The Muses met him ev'ry day, That taught him sing, to write, and say. When he descended downe to the mount, His personage seemed most divine, A thousand graces one might count Upon his lovely, cheerfull eine; To heare him speake and sweetly smile, You were in Paradise the while. A sweet attractive kinde of grace, A full assurance given by Iookes, Continuall comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospell bookes; I trowe that countenance cannot lie, Whose thoughts are legible in the eie. Was never eie did see that face, Was never eare did heare that tong, Was never minde did minde his grace, That ever thought the travell long; But eies, and eares, and ev'ry thought, Were with his sweet perfections caught. Matthew Royden 346 December 9 MILTON BORN DECEMBER 9, 1608 H, IS feet were shod with music and had wings Like Hermes: far upon the peaks of song His sandals sounded silverly along; The dull world blossomed into beauteous things Where'er he trod; and Heliconian springs Gushed from the rocks he touched; round him throng Of fair invisibles, seraphic, strong, Struck Orphean murmurs out of golden strings; But he, spreading keen pinions for a white Immensity of radiance and of peace, Up-looming to the Empyrean infinite, Far through ethereal fields, and zenith seas, High, with strong wing-beats and with eagle ease, Soared in a solitude of glorious light! Lloyd Mifflin December 10 347 SWEET FORGETTING I .N a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy tree, Thy branches ne'er remember Their green felicity: The north cannot undo them With a sleety whistle through them, Nor frozen thawings glue them From budding at the prime. In a drear-nighted December, Too happy, happy brook, Thy bubblings ne'er remember Apollo's summer look; But with a sweet forgetting They stay their crystal fretting, Never, never petting About the frozen time. Ah! would 'twere so with many A gentle girl and boy! But were there ever any Writhed not at passed joy? To know the change and feel it, When there is none to heal it Nor numbed sense to steal it — Was never said in rhyme. John Keats 348 December 11 THE FIRE OF LOVE FROM THE "EXAMEN MISCELLANEL M, " I ~o8 T. HE fire of love in youthful blood, Like what is kindled in brushwood, But for a moment burns; Yet in that moment makes a mighty noise; It crackles, and to vapor turns, And soon itself destroys. But when crept into aged veins It slowly burns, and then long remains, And with a silent heat, Like fire in logs, it glows and warms 'em long And though the flame be not so great, Vet is the heat as strong. Charles Sackvllle, Earl of Dorset December 12 349 TREASURES AND FRIENDS H, OW seldom, friend! a good great man inherits Honor or wealth, with all his worth and pains! It sounds like stories from the land of spirits, If any man obtain that which he merits, Or any merit that which he obtains. For shame, dear friend! renounce this canting strain! What wouldst thou have a good great man obtain? Place, titles, salary — a gilded chain — Or throne of corses which his sword hath slain? Greatness and goodness are not means, but ends! Hath he not always treasures, always friends, The good great man? — three treasures, love and light, And calm thoughts, regular as infant's breath; And three firm friends, more sure than day and night — Himself, his Maker, and the angel Death. Samuel Taylor Coleridge 350 December 13 THE PROSPECT M ETHINKS we do as fretful children do, Leaning their faces on the window-pane To sigh the glass dim with their own breath's stain, And shut the sky and landscape from their view: And thus, alas, since God the maker drew A mystic separation 'twixt those twain, The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, We miss the prospect which we are called unto By grief we are fools to use. Be still and strong, O man, my brother! hold thy sobbing breath, And keep thy soul's large window pure from wrong, That so, as life's appointment issueth, Thy vision may be clear to watch along The sunset consummation-lights of death. Elizabeth Barrett Browning B December 14 OLD LETTERS FROM "iN MEMORIAm" UT when those others, one by one, Withdrew themselves from me and night, And in the house light after light Went out, and I was all alone, A hunger seized my heart; I read Of that glad year which once had been, In those fall'n leaves which kept their green, The noble letters of the dead: And strangely on the silence broke The silent-speaking words, and strange Was love's dumb cry defying change To test his worth; and strangely spoke The faith, the vigour, bold to dwell On doubts that drive the coward back, And keen thro' wordy snares to track Suggestion to her inmost cell. So word by word, and line by line, The dead man touch'd me from the past, And all at once it seem'd at last The living soul was flash'd on mine, And mine in his was wound, and whirl'd About empyreal heights of thought, And came on that which is, and caught The deep pulsations of the world. Alfred, Lord Tennyson 35 December 15 LUX EST UMBRA DEI N. AY, Death, thou art a shadow! Even as light Is but the shadow of invisible God, And of that shade the shadow is thin Night, Veiling the earth whereon our feet have trod; So art Thou but the shadow of this life, Itself the pale and unsubstantial shade Of living God, fulfill'd by love and strife Throughout the universe Himself hath made: And as frail Night, following the flight of earth, Obscures the world we breathe in for a while, So Thou, the reflex of our mortal birth, Yeilest the life wherein we weep and smile: But when both earth and life are whirl'd away, What shade can shroud us from God's deathless day? John Addixgtox Symoxds December 16 353 DEATH D EATH, be not proud, though some have called thee Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so: # For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow Die not, poor Death; nor yet canst thou kill me. From Rest and Sleep, which but thy picture be, Much pleasure, then from thee much more must flow; And soonest our best men with thee do go — Rest of their bones and souls' delivery! Thou'rt slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men, And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell; And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well And better than thy stroke. Why swell' st thou then? One short sleep past, we wake eternally, And Death shall be no more: Death, thou shalt die! John Donne 354 December 17 WHAT LIFE HATH 1 ^ TFF hath its barren years, When blossoms fall untimely down, When ripened fruitage fails to crown The summer toil, when Nature's frown Looks only on our tears. Life hath its valleys too, Where we must walk with vain regret, With mourning clothed, with wild rain wet — Towards sunlit hopes that soon must set, All quenched in pitying dew. Life hath its harvest moons, Its tasselled corn and purple-weighted vine, Its gathered sheaves of grain, the blessed sign Of plenteous ripening, bread, and pure, rich wine; Full hearts for harvest tunes. Life hath its hopes fulfilled, Its glad fruitions, its blessed answered prayers, Sweeter for waiting long, whose holy air, Indrawn to silent souls, breathes forth its rare, Grand speech by joy distilled. Life hath its Tabor heights, Its lofty mounts of heavenly recognition, Whose unveiled glories flash to earth, munition Of love and truth and clear intuition. Hail! mount of all delights. Sarah Doudney December 18 355 COMPENSATION A. EARS wash away the atoms in the eye That smarted for a day; Rain-clouds that spoiled the splendours of the sky The fields with flowers array. No chamber of pain but has some hidden door That promises release; No solitude so drear but yields its store Of thought and inward peace. No night so wild but brings the constant sun With love and power untold; No time so dark but through its woof there run Some blessed threads of gold. And through the long and storm-tost centuries burn In changing calm and strife The Pharos-lights of truth, where'er we turn, — The unquenched lamps of life. O Light divine! we need no fuller test That all is ordered well; We know enough to trust that all is best Where Love and Wisdom dwell. Christopher Pearse Cranch 356 December 19 THE WIND AND THE PINE FROM " EDWIN THE FAIR" X. HE wind, when first he rose and went abroad Through the waste region, felt himself at fault, Wanting a voice; and suddenly to earth Descended with a wafture and a swoop, Where, wandering volatile from kind to kind, He woo'd the several trees to give him one. First he besought the ash; the voice she lent Fitfully with a free and lashing change Flung here and there its sad uncertainties: The aspen next; a flutter'd frivolous twitter Was her sole tribute: from the willow came, So long as dainty summer dress'd her out, A whispering sweetness, but her winter note Was hissing, dry, and reedy: lastly the pine Did he solicit, and from her he drew A voice so constant, soft, and lowly deep, That there he rested, welcoming in her A mild memorial of the ocean-cave Where he was born. Sir Hexry Taylor December 20 337 E FROM "FANCY" ^VER let the Fancy roam, Pleasure never is at home: At a touch sweet Pleasure melteth, Like to bubbles when rain pelteth; Then let winged Fancy wander Through the thought still spread beyond her: Open wide the mind's cage-door, She'll dart forth, and cloudward soar. O sweet Fancy! let her loose; Summer's joys are spoilt by use, And the enjoying of the Spring Fades as does its blossoming: Autumn's red-Iipp'd fruitage too, Blushing through the mist and dew, Cloys with tasting: What do then? Sit thee by the ingle, when The sear faggot blazes bright, Spirit of a winter's night; When the soundless earth is muffled, And the caked snow is shuffled From the ploughboy's heavy shoon; When the Night doth meet the Noon In a dark conspiracy To banish Even from her sky. Sit thee there, and send abroad, With a mind self-overawed, Fancy, high-commission'd: — send her! John Keats 358 D e c e m b e r THE FOREFATHERS 1 X HAT handful of half-starved fanatics," so Their gifted, but o'er delicate scion writes Of his brave forbears, yet their praise recites, As men whose planting was ordained to grow. "That handful"! But they faced the savage foe, They cleared, tilled, builded, scorning vain delights. "Half-starved"? In spite of dearth, hale appetites Found wholesome cheer, such as we seldom know. "Fanatics"? As we count fanatics, yes! Their God was real; they sought him on their knees; Sin they abhorred, and punished to excess, Since God alone they feared, and yearned to please. With all their faults, give us true men like these To blaze a path through our rank wilderness! William Addison Houghtox 1 " Hawthorne." by Henry James. ' Eng. Men of Letters'": " He was fond of it [New England history], and he was proud of it. as any Xew Englander must be, measuring the part of that handful of half- starved fanatics who formed his earliest precursors, in laying the foundations of a mighty empire."' December 2 2 359 THE PILGRIM FATHERS A HE breaking waves dashed high, On a stern and rock-bound coast, And the woods against a stormy sky Their giant branches tossed. And the heavy night hung dark, The hills and waters o'er, When a band of exiles moor'd their bark On the wild New England shore. Not as the conqueror comes, They, the true-hearted, came; Not with the roll of the stirring drums, And the trumpet that sings of fame; Not as the flying come, In silence, and in fear; - They shook the depths of the desert's gloom With their hymns of lofty cheer. What sought they thus afar? Bright jewels of the mine? The wealth of seas? the spoils of war? No — 'twas a faith's pure shrine. Yes, call that holy ground, Which first their brave feet trod! They have left unstain'd what there they found Freedom to worship God! Felicia Dorothea Hemans 360 December 23 CROWDED OUT 1 N. OBODY ain't Christmas shoppin' Fur bis stockin'. Nobody ain't cotch no turkey, Nobody ain't bake no pie, Nobody's laid nuthin' by, Santa Claus don't cut no figger Fur bis mammy's little nigger. Seems Iak everybody's rushin' An 'er crushin', Crowdin' shops and jammin' trolleys, Buvin' shoes an' shirts and toys Fur de white folks' girls and boys; But no hobby horse ain't rockin' Fur bii. little wore out stockin'. He ain't quar'Iin', recollec'; He don't spec' Nuthin', hit's his not expectin' Makes his mammy wish-O-Laws! Fur er nigger Santy Claus Totin jus er toy balloon Fur his mammy's little coon. Rosalie M. Jones 1 An appeal through the newspapers for a Pickaninny Christ- mas Tree, in remembrance of " the city's dusky poor." December 2 4 361 THE BELLS OF YULE FROM "iN MEMORIAm" JL HE time draws near the birth of Christ: The moon is hid; the night is still; The Christmas bells from hill to hill Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Swell out and fail, as if a door Were shut between me and the sound: Each voice four changes on the wind, That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and goodwill, goodwill and peace, f eace and goodwill, to all mankind. This year I slept and woke with pain, I almost wish'd no more to wake, And that my hold on life would break Before I heard those bells again: But they my troubled spirit rule, For they controIPd me when a boy: They bring me sorrow touch'd with joy, The merry merry bells of Yule. Alfred, Lord Tennyson 362 December 2 5 THE VOICE OF THE CHRIST CHILD A. HE earth has grown old with its burden of care, But at Christmas is always young. The heart of the jewel burns beauteous and fair, And its soul full of music breaks forth on the air When the song of the angels is sung. It is coming, old earth, it is coming to-night On the snowflakes which cover the sod, The feet of the Christ-child fall gentle and white And the voice of the Christ-child tells out with delight That mankind are the children of God. On the sad and the lowly, the wretched and poor, The voice of the Christ-child shall fall. And to every blind wanderer open the door Of a hope that he dared not to dream of before With a sunshine of welcome for all. The feet of the humblest may walk in the fields Where the feet of the Holiest have trod, This, this is the marvel to mortals revealed When the silvery trumpets of Christmas have pealed, That mankind are the children of God. Phillips Brooks December 2 6 363 FAITHS A. .NUBIS and Osiris, Bast and Baal, These faiths are as blown sand before the wind, And where redoubtable Amnion was enshrined Only the prowling desert beasts prevail. Prone are the temples in the Delphian dale, And the Cumsean Sibyl who shall find? Proud Ashtoreth from glory has declined, And Thor is but a dim-remembered tale. Their signs and symbols are but perished things, Engulfed for aye in the abyss of night; But one clear star its fadeless splendour flings Adown the years, unchanging to the sight; And, though death winnow with its darksome wings, Still points the way unto the Perfect Light. Clinton Scollard 364 December 2 7 THE SADDEST FATE JL O touch a broken lute, To strike a jangled string, To strive with tones forever mute The dear old tunes to sing — What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas! dear child, never to sing at all. To sigh for pleasures flown, To weep for withered flowers, To count the blessings we have known, Lost with the vanish'd hours — What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas ! dear child, ne'er to have known them all. To dream of love and rest, To know the dream has passed, To bear within an aching breast Only a void at last — What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas ! dear child, ne'er to have loved at all. To trust an unknown good, To hope, but all in vain. Over a far-off bliss to brood Only to find it pain — What sadder fate could any heart befall? Alas ! dear child, never to hope at all. Anonymous December 28 365 TO MY FRIENDS from "proem": to "the bells" j[ E friends that gild my humbler way! Ye stars that brighten year by year! I know your hearts are with him here Who seeks to tread a wider sphere; I know the words that ye would say. And thou, O friend! I have not seen! Whose hand has never grasped my own, Whose ear has never caught a tone From lips of mine, to whom I'm known In thoughts, and not by form or mien; May I not hope some passing tone May start thy sleeping memory, May bring some clouded joy to thee? 'Twere sweet to know, though strangers we, Thy heart is chiming with my own! Thomas Bailey Aldrich 3 66 December 29 THE HARVEST OF LOVE FROM "THE CURSE OF KEHAMa" A HEY sin who tell us love can die: With life all other passions fly, All others are but vanity. In Heaven ambition cannot dwell, Nor avarice in the vaults of Hell: Earthly these passions, as of Earth, They perish where they have their birth. But Love is indestructible; Its holy flame for ever burneth, From Heaven it came, to Heaven returneth. Too oft on Earth a troubled guest, At times deceived, at times opprest; It here is tried and purified, And hath in Heaven its perfect rest. It soweth here with toil and care, But the harvest-time of Love is there. Oh! when a mother meets on high The babe she lost in infancy, Hath she not then for pains and fears, The day of woe, the anxious night, For all her sorrow, all her tears, An over-payment of delight? Robert Southey December 3 367 PEACE ON EARTH! FROM "THE END OF THE PLAY" V_>jOME wealth or want, come good or ill, Let young and old accept their part, And bow before the awful will, And bear it with an honest heart. Who misses or who wins the prize — Go, lose or conquer as you can; But if you fail, or if you rise, Be each, pray God, a gentleman. A gentleman, or old or young! (Bear kindly with my humble lays;) The sacred chorus first was sung Upon the first of Christmas days; The shepherds heard it overhead — The joyful angels rais'd it then: Glory to heaven on high, it said, And peace on earth to gentle men! My song, save this, is little worth; I lay the weary pen aside, And wish you health, and love, and mirth, As fits the solemn Christmas-tide. As fits the holy Christmas birth, Be this, good friends, our carol still: Be peace on earth, be peace on earth, To men of gentle will. William Makepeace Thackeray 368 December 31 HYMN FOR THE NEW YEAR* VjOME, let us anew Our journey pursue — Roll round with the year, And never stand still till the Master appear: His adorable will Let us gladly fulfill, And our talents improve By the patience of hope, and the labor of love. Our life is a dream; Our time, as a stream, Glides swiftly away, And the fugitive moment refuses to stay: The arrow is flown, The moment is gone: The millennial year Rushes on to our view, and eten ity's near. O that each, in the day Of His coming, may say, "I have fought my way through; I have finished the work Thou didst give me tc do." O that each from his Lord May receive the glad word, "Well and faithfully done! Enter into My joy, and sit down on My throne!" Charles Wesley 1 Used much by the Methodists, and by many old-fashioned relig- ious families, as a Watch-night Hymn at midnight, when the old year passes into the new. INDEX OF FIRST LINES INDEX OF FIRST LINES Above yon sombre swell of land . . A cloud lay cradled near the setting sun A garden is a Iovesome thing, God wot! A good that never satisfies the mind A knocking at my heart — and what art thou? All are not taken! there are left behind All beautiful things bring sadness . All thoughts of ill: all evil deeds Alone I walked the ocean strand . A lonely way, and as I went my eyes. Although I love my friend, still let me yield And do not fear to hope. Can poet's brain And is there care in heaven? .... And slowly answer'd Arthur from the barge And thereupon the priest, her friend and father confessor Anubis and Osiris, Bast and Baal . A public haunt they found her in . Art thou poor, yet hast thou golden slumbers As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed As one dark morn I trod a forest glade . As pants the hart for cooling streams . A swallow in the spring Awake, my Soul, and with the sun. Away, haunt thou not me .... A weary weed, tossed to and fro Beautiful, sublime and glorious. Be firm! one constant element in luck Believe not that your inner eye Beneath the shadow of Dawn's aerial cope Be not afraid to pray — to pray is right 37i 125 277 247 18 59 248 289 149 217 155 297 321 207 93 284 363 318 255 158 200 236 120 172 202 201 260 222 184 13 16 372 Index of First Lines PAGE Be not dismay'd, thou little flock . . . . 104 Be patient! Oh, be patient! 127 Beside the de.'d I knelt for prayer .... 80 Best and brightest, come away! .... 62 Be thou content; be still before . . . . in Beware, exulting youth, beware 194 Be wise to-day: 'tis madness to defer ... 10 Bird of the wilderness 156 Blest is the man whose heart and hands are pure 210 Blue-bird! on your leafless tree 72 Brave flowers — that I could gallant it like you 138 But often, in the worlds most crowded streets 1 10 But when those others, one by one . 35 1 By all means use sometimes to be alone . . 3 By thine own soul's law learn to live . . . 276 Calm me, my God, and keep me calm . . . 221 Close not thy hand upon the innocent joy . 170 Come, let us anew 368 Comes, at times, a stillness as of even . . 151 Come, track with me this little vagrant rill . 157 Come wealth or want, come good or ill . 367 Come with bent bows and with emptying of quivers 106 Confide ye aye in Providence .... 208 Count each affliction, whether light or grave 280 Darkness before, all joy behind! .... 223 Dashing in big drops on the narrow pane . 314 Daughter of Jove, relentless pow'r .... 42 Dear common flower, that grow'st beside the way 126 Dear, secret greenness! nurst below . . 115 Death, be not proud, though some have called thee .-353 Doth the bright sun from the high arch of heaven 235 Index of First Lines 373 Do you think 01 me as I think of you. Endurance is the crowning quality Ere on my bed my limbs J lay .... Eterne Apollo! that thy sister fair Ethereal minstrel ! pilgrim of the sky ! . Ever let the Fancy roam Evermore, through years renew'd . Fairest of all the lights above .... Farewell, friends! Yet not farewell Father, in thy mysterious presence kneeling Fever and fret and aimless stir Few know of life's beginnings .... For him her old-world moulds aside she threw For Winter came; the wind was his whip . Fresh fields and woods! the earth's fair face Fret not, poor soul: while doubt and fear . From child to youth: from youth to arduous man Give me my scallop-shell of quiet . Give me the splendid silent sun God might have bade the earth bring forth God of the dew God of the living, in Whose eyes God sends his teachers unto every age . God spake three times and saved Van Elsen's soul Gold! gold! gold! gold! ...... Go, pretty child, and bear this flower . Great Ocean! strongest of creation's seas . Green little vaulter in the sunny grass . Hail, beauteous stranger of the grove . Hark how the birds do sing Hark, my soul, how everything. Henceforward, listen as we will .... He sendeth sun, he sendeth shower PAGE 330 298 292 295 168 357 121 196 81 335 204 22 45 9 246 274 29 9i 264 139 287 118 218 272 47 162 225 183 134 187 237 53 98 374 Index oj Fir si Lines I le that is down need fear no fall His feet were shod with music and had wings Honor and shame from no condition rise . How beautiful is genius when combined How beautiful it is to be alive. How can we tell who sinned more than we? How desolate were nature, and how void. How does Death speak of our beloved How fine has the day been! how bright was the sun! How happy is he born and taught How oft I've watch' d thee from the garden croft How peacefully the broad and golden moon How peacefully the sunlight fell How pure at heart and sound in head How seldom, friends! a good great man in- herits How vainly men themselves amaze I am Thy grass, O Lord .... I come from haunts of coot and hern I do not ask, O Lord, that life may be I dreamed I had a plot of ground I feel a newer life in every gale If the world seems cool to you I have seen a curious child, who dwelt tract I lay in sorrow, deep distressed I lay me down to sleep .... I like the man who faces what he must I made a posie, while the day ran by Immortal Clouds from the echoing shore In a drear-nighted December .... In calm and cool and silence, once again In praise of little children I will say . In the still air the music lies unheard Into the Silent Land! In youth how slowly passed the golden day upon a Index oj First Lines 375 PAGE I praise God that he gave man breath . . 287 I praised the earth, in beauty seen . . . 220 I saw old Time, destroyer of mankind . . 31 I see the wrong that round me lies . . . 293 Is there a whim-inspired fool 207 Is there for honest poverty 68 I stood tiptoe upon a little hill . . . . 135 I thank Thee, O My God! who made ... 70 It lies around us like a cloud 129 It was on Saturday eve, in the gorgeous bright October 288 I weigh not fortune's frown or smile . . .231 I wandered lonely as a cloud 123 I will not have the mad Clytie 164 Jesus, there is no dearer name than thine . . 50 Judge not; the workings of his brain. . . 305 Just on the farther bound of sense ... 96 Keep your splendid silent sun 265 Kind was my friend, who, in the Eastern land 336 Labor is life! 'tis the still water faileth . . 137 Launched upon ether floats the world secure 124 Leave me, O Love which reachest but to dust 177 Let me often to these solitudes 160 Licinius, you will safer steer 190 Life hath its barren years 354 Life! I know not what thou art .... 203 Life's mystery, — deep, restless as the ocean 119 Lift up 3 r our heads, rejoice 107 Look in my face; my name is Might-have- been 14 Lord, I am small, and yet so great . . . 296 Lord, I have Iain 308 Lord, should we oft forget to sing . . . 142 Lord, what a change within us one short hour 301 ; 376 Index of First Lines PAGE Many a questioning, many a fear . . . . 311 Martial, the things that do attain .... 76 Master of human destinies am I . 6 Methinks we do as fretful children do . . 350 Methought that in a solemn church I stood . 191 Most glorious Lord of Lyfe 112 Most sweet it is with unuplifted eyes . . 141 Mountain gorses, ever golden . 333 Mourn, for to us he seems the last . . . 261 My God, I love thee! not because .... 71 My God! O let me call Thee mine ... 48 My God, where is that ancient heat ... 20 My minde to me a kingdom is .... 282 My sorrow is my throne 86 My soul, there is a country 99 Mysterious night! when our first parent knew 189 My times are in Thy hands 329 Nae shoon to hide her tiny taes .... 257 Nay, Death, thou art a shadow. Even as light r . . . . - .- ■ • • ■ 35 2 Nobody ain't Christmas shoppin' .... 360 No coward soul is mine 340 No noise is here, or none that hinders thought 36 No, no, the falling blossom is no sign . . 315 Nor force nor fraud shall sunder us! . . . 189 Nor rural sights alone, but rural sounds . 166 No stream from its source 175 Not from a vain or shallow thought . . . 219 Not in the solitude 281 Not seldom, clad in radiant vest . . . .252 Now fades the last long streak of snow . . 95 Now when the dusky shades of night, retreat- ing 105 O backward-looking son of time! .... 90 O day of life, of light, of love 242 O gentle, gentle summer rain . . . . 180 O God, impart thy blessing to my cries . . 226 Index of First Lines 377 O God! methinks it were a happy life . O God, our Father, if we had but truth! O God, our help in ages past .... Oh good gigantic smile o' the brown old earth Oh! it is great to feel that nought of earth Oh, to be in England now that April's there Old things need not therefore be true O let me be alone awhile O IiT Iamb out in de col' O Love Divine, that stooped to share O love of God, how strong and true! . One lesson, Nature, let me learn of thee . Only a tender little thing O Piety! O heavenly Piety! .... O soft embalmer of the still midnight O, sometimes gleams upon our sight . O star on the breast of the river! Others abide our question. Thou art free O thou God's mariner, heart of mine! O thou great Friend to all the sons of men Oh thou of dark forebodings drear O unseen Spirit! now a calm divine . Our fathers' God! from out whose hand Out of the frozen earth below Out of the night that covers me O world, thou choosest not the better part! O yet we trust that somehow good . "Peace!" he said Pleasures lie thickest where no pleasures seem Poor Soul, the center of my sinful earth . Prayer is the soul's sincere desire . Prime thou thy words, the thought control Primeval Hope, the Aonian Muses say Remember Him, the only One Remember me when I am gone away Rocked in the cradle of the deep . PAGE 69 211 32 266 243 94 40 232 317 5i 34i 309 64 214 27 153 238 116 83 273 146 249 188 65 24 169 195 306 159 213 263 283 66 84 269 378 Index of First Lines Sad Hesper o'er the buried sun Sad is our youth, for it is ever going Said I not so, — that I would sin no more? Say not the struggle naught availeth . Season of mists and mellow fruitfulness . See yon blithe child that dances in our sight See yon robin on the spray Shakespeare, thy legacy of peerless song Shed no tear! O shed no tear . Show me the way, O Lord Shun delays, they breed remorse . Sin clouds the mind's clear vision Slaver of Winter, art thou here again Softly sinking through the snow Some sings of the lily, and daisy, and rose Sometime walking, not unseen Speak low to me, my Saviour, low and sweet Stand still, my soul, in the silent dark . Stay, Master, stay upon this heavenly hill Still are the ships that in haven ride Still, still with thee, when purple morning breaketh Still the years roll on Stop, mortal! Here thy brother lies . Strong Son of God, immortal Love Summer is coming, summer is coming Summer joys are o'er Sweet after showers, ambrosial air Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright Sweet is the rose, but grows upon a brier Sweet Morn! from countless cups of gold PAGE 241 209 325 75 294 239 73 117 275 102 1 1 227 63 343 i~3 133 113 310 136 328 U3 33 206 131 108 342 114 147 92 122 Take the world as it is! — there are good and bad in it 291 Teach me to live! 'Tis easier far to die Tears wash away the atoms in the eye . "That handful of half-starved fanatics," so The angel of the flowers, one day The beech is bare, and bare the ash . 103 35$ 358 163 33S Index of First Lines 379 The blessed morn has come again The breaking waves dashed high . The churl in spirit, howe'er he veil The curtain of the dark The earth has grown old with its burden of care The fierce exulting worlds, the motes in ray The fire of love in youthful blood The glories of our blood and state The groves were God's first temples . The harp" at Nature's advent strung . The lopped tree in time may grow again The mellow year is hastening to its close Then gently scan your brother man . There is a soul above the soul of each There is May in brooks forever There is no remedy for time misspent . There shall never be one lost good There's never an always cloudless sky . There the moon leans out and blesses Ther is Iyf withoute ony deth .... The roseate hues of early dawn . The sea is a jovial comrade ..... These beauteous forms These lines my teach, rough-spoken though they be The spring-tide hour The sweetest lives are those to duty wed The time draws near the birth of Christ. The wind, when first he rose and went abroad The wish, that of the living whole . The work of the sun is slow .... The world is ever as we take it They do me wrong who say I come no mor< They sin who tell us love can die . They soon grow old who grope for gold This only grant me, that my means may lie Thou blind man's mark, thou fool's self- chosen snare ........... PAGE 8 359 344 262 362 185 348 78 216 234 290 332 319 41 132 46 245 251 267 87 57 144 197 322 109 35 361 356 130 61 26 7 366 140 230 17 380 Index 0} First Lines PAGE Thou earnest not to thy place by accident . 44 Though nothing can bring back the hour 337 Thoughts hardly to be packed 97 Thou Grace Divine, encircling all ... 199 Thou hast done evil 334 Thou knowest, O my Father! Why should I 313 Thus is it over all the earth 171 Thy way, not mine, O Lord 331 Time takes them home that we loved . . 60 Tired! Well, what of that? 312 'Tis a dull, sullen day, — the gray beach o'er 320 'Tis a little thing to give a cup of water 327 'Tis but a little faded flower 285 'Tis gone that bright and orbed blaze 302 'Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up 52 'Tis Winter now, the fallen snow .... 58 To keep the lamp alive .... 259 To music bent is my retired mind . . . 258 To one who has been long in city pent . . 193 To spend the long warm days .... 205 To touch a broken lute 364 Tumbling on steadily, nothing dreading . . 145 Turn, Fortune, turn thy wheel and lower the proud 25 'Twixt gleams of joy and clouds of doubt 253 Vital spark of heav'nly flame! .... 79 We lack, yet cannot fix upon the lack . 12 We look before and after 178 We need not bid, for cloistered cell ... 77 We shape ourselves the joy or fear . . 279 We should fill the hours with the sweetest things 212 We slight the gifts that every season bears . 270 What figure more immovably august . 55 What is House, and what is Home ... 54 "What is thy creed?" a hundred lips inquire 215 What might be done if men were wise . . 39 1 ndex oj F ir st Line s 381 What's hallowed ground? What soul-like changes, evanescent moods What then remains? To seek What were a God outside creation dwelling When first I saw true beauty, and Thy joys When first Religion came to bless the land When first the unflowering Fern-forest . When first thy eyes unveil .... When God at first made man .... When I consider how my light is spent . When I consider Life and its few years . When Love arose in heart and deed . When one can die with the proud conscious ness ... When we for age could neither read nor write White little hands Who drives the horses of the sun . Who seeketh, finds: what shall be his relief Why mourn we for the golden prime Wilt Thou not visit me? Within these woods of Arcadie With what deep murmurs, through time's silent stealth Worn voyagers, who watch for land . Would I were lying in a field of clover . Ye distant spires, ye antique towers . Ye friends that gild my humbler way Ye who would have your features florid . Yonder comes the powerful King of day You ask for fame or power? .... PAGE 260 181 23 5 300 152 100 74 19 299 323 192 244 339 256 179 49 4 148 345 101 268 167 228 365 38 150 82 \