ill a>-: »»»^^^^^»M»1IS11^» ^^^mmmKKKKm^ MMnw § mhmHI ' ■■;. ..■ ...'-x.-vNv;- . ;C-a\ \X\V\\C yN\\\^\\^Vxv^VwSw»S»§w»JjS»»J^S3^jSMSSsS!roS«rSM^n^M»IMR «»t;: ' «• •'■ • ''.'N'-nN •■<•:•'."'• \ • • •.' S .•: ^^■4.4's4;;: mvw® >>.v .'• 'WvSV'Xv vS i vN n'nVxNV «\ *v i*l-iy>jN*l‘>t^yM^iKj Ctbrarp of Che Cheolo^ical (£emfnary PRINCETON * NEW JERSEY PRESENTED BY The Estate of Rockwell S. Brank O ti ni > W (d4- I Digitized by the Internet Archive in 2019 with funding from Princeton Theological Seminary Library https://archive.org/details/worldsgreatrelig00hill_0 J I THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 4 THE MACMILLAN COMPANY NEW YORK • BOSTON • CHICAGO • DALI AS ATLANTA • SAN FRANCISCO MACMILLAN & CO., Limited LONDON • BOMBAY • CALCUTTA MELBOURNE THE MACMILLAN CO. OF CANADA, Lro, TORONTO THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY jRcto ffotft THE MACMILLAN COMPANY 1926 All rights reserved COPYRIGHTED First edition published January 1923. edition with corrections, June 1923. printed September 1924, May 1925 August 1926. New Re- and Printed in the United States of America By The Cornwall Press ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Thanks are due to the following publishers for permission to include selections from the volumes enumerated below: The Macmillan Company for Selections from the collected poems of: Ananda Acharya Matthew Arnold Alice Brown Dinah Muloch Craik Mary Carolyn Davies Edward Dowden Mrs. Edward Dowden Norman Gale Hamlin Garland Wilfrid W. Gibson Wm. Ernest Henley Ralph Hodgson William Noel Hodgson Horace Holley Kabir (E. Indian, trans, by Tagore) Vachel Lindsay Percy Mackaye John Masefield Frederick Wm. H. Myers John G. Neihardt Edwin Arlington Robinson George Wm. Russell (A. E .) James Stephens Rabindranath Tagore Sara Teasdale Edith M. Thomas Alfred Tennyson William Watson William B. Yeats Israel Zangwill D. Appleton and Company for William Cullen Bryant — From Thanatopsis. William Cullen Bryant — To a Waterfowl. William Cullen Bryant — The Poet. Wm. E. H. Lecky — Of an Old Song. Richard Henry Dana — Immortality. Allen and Unwin for Edward Carpenter — Five selections from “Towards Democracy.” Basil Blackwell for Gerald Gould — The Happy Tree (from “Collected Poems”). Bobbs-Merrill Company for James W. Riley — Away! (from “Collected Poems”). Boni and Liveright for Two selections from “The Modern Book of French Verse.” One selection from “The Path of the Rainbow” (Cronyn). Brentano’s for Harry Kemp — He Did Not Know (from “Chanteys and Ballads”). Harry Kemp — God the Architect and Prayer (from “The Cry of Youth”). A. C. Fifield for Wm. H. Davies — Christ the Man (from “Songs of Joy”). Century Company for Wm. C. Gannett — The Highway. Wm. C. Gannett — The Stream of Faith. Wm. C. Gannett — Consider the Lilies (from “Collected Poems”). V VI ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Helen Keller — The Garden of the Lord (from “The World I Live In”}. S. Weir Mitchell — Vespers (from “Complete Poems”). James Oppenheim — The New God (from “War and Laughter”). Cale Young Rice — The Mystic (from “Collected Poems and Plays”). Cale Young Rice — Providence (from “Wraiths and Realities”). Cale Young Rice — Litany for Latter Day Mystics (from “Earth and New Earth”). Richard Wightman — The Pilgrim, and The Servants (from “Ashes and Sparks”). Cambridge University Press for Chas. Hamilton Sorley — Selections from “Marlborough and other Poems.” W. B. Conkey Company for Selections from the collected poems of Ella Wheeler Wilcox. T. Y. Crowell Company for Selections from collected poems of George Eliot, Sarah K. Bolton, Alice Cary, Phoebe Cary. George H. Doran Company for Wilton Agnew Barrett — A New England Church (from “Songs of the Journey”). Joyce Kilmer— Trees, and Poets (from “Collected Poems”). Charles Hanson Towne — Silence. Charles Hanson Towne — Of One Self-Slain (from “A World of Win¬ dows”). John Oxenham — Some Blesseds (from “The Vision Splendid”). E. P. Dutton and Company for Katharine Lee Bates — America the Beautiful Katharine Lee Bates — The Kings of the East (from “The Return”). Mrs. Edward Dowden — Adrift. Frances Ridley Havergal — Reality. Frances Ridley Havergal — Thou Art Coming! Winifred M. Letts — The Spires of Oxford. Sir Alfred C. Lyall — Meditations of a Hindu Prince. George MacDonald — Prayer. George MacDonald — Lost and Found. George MacDonald — That Holy Thing. St. Patrick— The Deer’s Cry (from “Ancient Irish Poetry”). Sir Lewis Morris — Beginnings of Faith. May Riley Smith — The Uninvited Guest. Double day , Page and Company for Rudyard Kipling — The Sons of Martha. Rudyard Kipling — L’Envoi. Edwin Markham— Poesy (from “Gates of Paradise and other Poems”). Edwin Markham — Prayer, and The Man with the Hoe (from “The Man with the Hoe and Other Poems”). Edwin Markham — Revelation (from “The Shoes of Happiness and other Poems”). Edwin Markham — A Guard of the Sepulcher (from “Lincoln and other Poems”). Seumas MacManus— In Dark Hour. Walt Whitman — Five selections from collected works. Duffield and Company for Richard Hovey — Immanence. Richard Hovey — Transcendence. Richard Hovey — Unmanifest Destiny. D. H. Lawrence — Dreams Old and Nascent. George Santayana — Two sonnets. William Sharp (Fiona. Macleod)—Y\ve selections from “Collected Poems.” ACKNOWLEDGMENTS Vll Four Seas Company for Richard Aldington — Vicarious Atonement. Funk and. IV agnails Company for Richard Realf — The Word. Israel Zangwill — Selections from “Blind Children.” Harcourt, Brace and Company for Louis Untermeyer — Prayer (from “Challenge”). Carl Sandburg — Manufactured Gods (from “Smoke and Steel”). Harr Wagner Company (San Francisco) for Joaquin Miller — The Fortunate Isles (from “Complete Poetical Works”). I Harper and Brothers for Don Marquis — The God-Maker, Man (from “Dreams and Dust”). Algernon C. Swinburne — The Hymn of Man. Albert Bigelow Paine — The Hills of Rest. Henry Holt and Company for Arthur Colton— Harps Hung Up in Babylon. Carl Sandburg — To a Contemporary Bunkshooter (from “Chicago Poems”). Herbert Trench — I Seek Thee in the Heart Alone. Margaret Widdemer — Barter. Margaret Widdemer — The New Victory. Margaret Widdemer — The Awakened War God. Houghton, Mifflin Company for Selections from collected works of: Joel Benton Anna H. Branch John Burroughs Christopher Pearse Cranch Sir Aubrey deVere Hilda Doolittle Ralph Waldo Emerson Oliver W. Holmes Julia Ward Howe Richard Watson Gilder John Hay Emma Lazarus Henry W. Longfellow Samuel Longfellow Amy Lowell James Russell Lowell Edward Rowland Sill Wm. Wetmore Story Edmund C. Stedman Harriet Beecher Stowe Henry D. Thoreau Edith M. Thomas John Drinkwater Margaret Deland Wm. Dean Howells Wm. Vaughn Moody John G. Whittier Josephine P. Peabody Jones Very B. W. Huebsch for D. H. Lawrence — Dreams Old and Nascent (from “Amores”). Irene Rutherford Macleod — The Rebel. Mitchell Kennerly for Florence Kiper Frank — The Jew to Jesus. Yone Noguchi — The Poet. Shaemas O’Sheel — “They Went Forth to Battle, but They Always Fell.” Shaemas O’Sheel — “He Whom a Dream Hath Possessed.” Alfred A. Knopf for Eunice Tietjens — The Great Man. ' Osbert Sitwell — How Shall We Rise to Greet the Dawn? (from “Argonaut and Juggernaut”). John Lane Company for Lascelles Abercrombie — Selection from “The Seeker.” Rupert Brooke — Three Sonnets. Ethel Clifford — The Harp of Sorrow (from “Songs and Dreams”). William J. Dawson — Inspirations (from “America and Other Poems”). Ernest Dowson — Vitae Summae Brevis (from “Collected Poems”). ACKNOWLEDGMENTS G. K. Chesterton— Five selections from “Collected Poems.” Angela Morgan — Hail Man! and God Prays! (from “Forward March”). Sir Henry Newbolt — The Final Mystery. Stephen Philipps — Grief and God, and The Poet’s Prayer (from “New Poems”). Francis Thompson — Three selections from “Collected Works.” Richard Le Gallienne — The Second Crucifixion. Little, Brown and Company for Selections from collected works of: Edwin Arnold Francis W. Bourdillon John White Chadwick Emily Dickinson Helen Hunt Jackson Jean Ingelow Edward Everett Hale Longmans, Green and Company for Eva Gore Booth — Harvest. Eva Gore Booth— Crucifixion. William Morris — The Day is Coming. Lothrop, Lee and Shepard Company for Richard Burton — God’s Garden and The Song of the Unsuccessful (from “Message and Melody”). Alfred Domett — A Christmas Hymn. Sam Walter Foss — The Higher Catechism, and The House by the Side of the Road (from “Dreams in Homespun”). Ednah D. Cheney — The Larger Prayer. Thomas Bird Mosher for Thomas S. Jones, jr. — The Path of the Stars (from “A Voice in the Silence”). Lizette Woodworth Reese — A Little Song of Life (from “A Wayside Lute”). John Addington Symonds — Invocation, and The Human Outlook (from “Collected Poems”). Arthur W. Upson — Failures (from “Collected Poems”). John Vance Cheney — The Happiest Heart. Ncwbegin for Thomas Edward Brown.- — Disguises, and My Garden. The Oxford University Press for Rhys Carpenter — The Master Singers. Rhys Carpenter — Who Bids Us Sing? (from “The Sun-Thief and Other Poems”). John Clare — The Peasant Poet. William Rider and Son for Arthur Edward Waite — Selections from “Collected PcemSi” G. P. Putnam's Sons for T,Vm. H. Carruth — Each in His Own Tongue and other Poems. Jeannette Gilder — My Creed ( Putnam’s Magazine). Ella Heath — Poetry. Charles Hamilton Sorley— The Seekers, Expectans Expectavi, and another selection from “Marlborough.” A. M. Robertson (San Francisco) for George Sterling — Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium (from “The Breakers”). Sidgwick and Jackson for Lawrence Housman — The Continuing City (from “Selected Poems”). Katherine Tynan Hinkson — Three selected poems. ACKNOWLEDGMENTS IX Elliott Stock (London) for H. C. Leonard — Selections from “Sacred Songs of the World.” Charles Scribner’s Sons for Selections from collected poems of: Maltbie Babcock. Map" Mapes Dodge. Josiah Gilbert Holland. Sidney Lanier. Alan Seeger. Robert Louis Stevenson. Henry van Dyke. John Hall Wheelock. Skeffington & Sons (London) for John S. Arkwright — The Supreme Sacrifice. F. A. Stokes Company for . Stephen Crane — The Peaks (from “War is Kind”). Talbot Press (Dublin, Ireland) for Joseph Mary Plunkett — I See His Blood upon the Rose. James T. White and Company for Thomas Curtis Clark — Selections from “Love Off to the War.” MAGAZINES Asia Magazine for Rabindranath Tagore — Autumn. The Chap-Book (London) for Shane Leslie — Priest or Poet. The Detroit Free Press for Elizabeth York Case — There Is No Unbelief. The Masses for Max Eastman — Invocation. Max Eastman — At the Aquarium. Sarah N. Cleghorn — Comrade Jesus. New York Sun for Charles Wharton Stork — God, You Have Been too Good to Me. The Outlook for Hamlin Garland — The Cry of the Age. The Poetry Review (London) for Ivan Adair — Real Presence. Saturday Review (London) for Louis Golding — Second Seeing. Scribner’s Magazine for Theodosia Garrison — Stains. Yale University Press for Karle Wilson Baker — Creeds, Good Company, the Ploughman (from “Blue Smoke”). William Rose Benet — The Falconer of God (from “The Falconer of God and Other Poems”). Gamaliel Bradford — God (from “Shadow Verses”). William A, Percy — Farmers (from “In April Once”). x ACKNOWLEDGMENTS And to the following authors: James Vila Blake- — In Him. Witter Bynner — Ecce Homo. Witter Bynner — The New God. John Vance Cheney— The Happiest Heart. Rhys Carpenter — The Master Singers. Rhys Carpenter — Who Bids Us Sing? Alice Corbin Henderson — Nodes. Dudley Foulke — The City. Arthur Guiterman— In the Hospital. Fanny Heaslip Lea — The Dead Faith. Shane Leslie — Priest or Poet. Harold Monro — God (from “Dawn”). Angela Morgan — Reality, the Poet, Hail Man! and God Prays. James Oppenheim — The New God. James Oppenheim — Death. Edwin Ford Piper- — The Church. Mrs. William Sharp — Selections from W. Sharp ( Fiona Macleod) . Victor Starbuck — The Seekers. Arthur Edward Waite— At the End of Things. Seumas MacManus — In Dark Hour. John Oxenham — Seeds. Kenneth Saunders — Translation of Proofs of Buddha’s Existence. The generous cooperation of poets and publishers has made possible the inclusion of many poems which are still in copyright. We wish to express our grateful obligation to those poets who have added their per¬ mission to that of their publishers. EDITOR’S PREFACE The most obvious facts about this collection of poetry are that it is not all great and that it makes strange combinations and sequences. It ranges from the Psalms of David and the Hymn of Cleanthes to the latest free verse. The great ‘hymns that are translated from the Latin and the most radical of the twentieth century verse are alike only in that they show human feeling about the concept that is the foundation of all religion. Many poems that are far from being great belong here because they are significant. There are some persons who say that our age has no religion ; others say it is more sincerely religious than any of the great ages of faith that are gone. The most intelligent thought of the present bases the authority of religion, not upon revelation, but upon the nature of man. Man’s hunger for God is as funda¬ mental and legitimate as his hunger for food and love. Our age may be lost as to what it should believe, but we were never so sure that we must and do believe. The good swimmer knows best how to trust the water; the best life is most reliant upon what some call the Integrity of the Universe and one of the greatest poets called the Everlasting Arms. The great poets have always spoken with authority. In them has the Word been made flesh. Now a war-weary world in search of faith turns to them. The Bible is an anthology of Hebrew literature — the Great Anthology. If no future poets ever rise to so great a height of constructive imagination as those of the classic Hebrew period it will always remain the Bible of the race. A cursory view of other religious poetry shows little that is not based upon the biblical poetry, but the spiritual assets of mankind have never been gathered together that we may see what they are. This book is a step in that direction. Its purpose is to furnish delightful reading, to give comfort xi Xll EDITOR’S PREFACE and consolation, to “restore the soul” as well as to supply ma^ terial for the study of the history and psychology of religion — the last subject to be approached by scientific methods. The poems have been arranged in twelve divisions under the twelve religious concepts, a few of which have been arranged chronologically. The Idea of God is the core of the collection and furnishes the clue for the study of the thought moulds of different periods of thought. The longing for companionship with God has the highest emotional coloring of any of the approaches to Reality. The Faith section contains many poems of doubt which represent the work of the groping intellect. Merely sentimental poetry has been avoided. The poems of Nature and of the Search after God will be perhaps the most interesting to the twentieth century. Nature makes mystics of us all. The section on Immortality will be eagerly sought by those who are already sending their souls through the invisible, “some letter of that after life to spell.” The cumulative effect of reading so many religious poems, of seeing so many glimpses of the invisible through so many eyes and during so many centuries is both elevating and sobering. To know only hymns is to be carried away against one’s will, but to read the world poetry of religion is to be convinced by a cloud of witnesses. There must be a spiritual world. The telescope and the microscope and the X-ray have opened new worlds to us. What is there that will open the spiritual world ? A common language might be a great step to knowledge of spiritual things. The oriental religions, Christianity and the modern cults all use different terms, but seek the same realities. There was a prophet-poet who lived in Galilee who said “I am the Way.” The path He took, with all the greatest saints of all religions is the only path we know to the Other World. His language regarding the eternal verities has been the greatest unifying force ever projected into the world of human rela¬ tions. The language of poetry is universal and may lead to the outer gate. Caroline Miles Hill, Ph.D. INTRODUCTION THE RELIGIOUS SPIRIT IN THE WORLD’S POETRY Herbert L. Willett, Ph.D. It is significant that the narrative of world beginnings with which the Bible opens has been called the Poem of Creation. For though it purports to describe the origin of the heavens and the earth in accordance with the inherited tradition of the Semitic peoples, it handles the materials of that tradition with the masterful genius of the poet, the true creator of fresh and inspiring ideals. It is the type and symbol of all real poetry. It is rhythmical, artistic, imaginative, and marked by the crea¬ tive passion that reforms and vitalizes the common materials and conceptions of a time, and brings into being a majestic, beautiful and inspiring work of art. All poetry that is worthy of the name is essentially creative. There may be verses that conform in all the outward marks of rhyme and metre to poetic canons, and yet are only the assem¬ bling of words in description or argument. Poetry moves on the higher levels of power and emotion. It is the product of a maker of ideas, not a finder and collector of phrases. In all poetic writing that has possessed the power of survival, some¬ thing of this high and impressive quality resides. Only the creative artist is gifted with the ability to take the common facts and experiences of human life and invest them with the character of epic and enduring realities. As Ruskin has in¬ sisted, he is not a mere troubadour or finder; he is a poet, a creator. Poetry is the natural language of youth, freedom, joyousness and love of beauty. It is therefore the language of childhood, and of the youth of the race. The great poetry that has sur¬ vived the centuries is rarely the result of formal compliance with rule and convention. It is the bold, free, spontaneous Xlll XIV INTRODUCTION utterance of the youthful spirit of romance, adventure, admira¬ tion, the quest of the wonder and mystery of the world. What¬ ever touches the soul of man with the sense of marvel, of yearning and hope, kindles the flame of poetic passion and speech. Of all the interests which have engaged the attention of humanity, religion has proved the most powerful and the most inspiring. It is only one among many such objects of attention, but it appears the most pervasive and unescapable. Men have concerned themselves with a great variety of affairs, such as food, clothing, shelter, mating, family life, industry, war, government, institutions, customs and traditions. But above all there has been the brooding and persistent sense of relationship with higher powers. Inspired by that sense the innumerable expressions of the religious life have taken form in doctrine and ritual. Hardly a community in all the world is without them. Individuals there are who appear to be religionless, but no race or nation or tribe. It would seem to be the most essential characteristic of the intellectual and emotional life of mankind. If this is true, it is not strange that the poetry of religion should be the most natural and universal sort of composition. The spirit of man seeks expression for its most elemental feel¬ ings in the elevated phrases of rhythmic speech. Other forms of verse have occupied the attention of the bards and singers of all the ages, but religion has had the primal place. This is true in a double sense. The themes deliberately chosen by the great poets, as by the supreme artists in other areas of human interest, have been those related to the moral and spiritual life. It is largely true that the masterpieces of painting, sculpture, architecture and music, as well as poetry, have had a religious theme or purpose. In a very real sense they were works of devotion, the effort to give artistic utterance to the mood of worship. But it is also true that the best product of the artistic mind is essentially religious. The purpose to put into an epic, a statue, a landscape, an edifice or a symphony the supreme effort of which the artist is capable, with the resolution to make it an instrument of education, happiness, and inspira¬ tion to noble ideals and worthful living, is truly religious. Indeed it is doubtful if any genuinely great work of the sort can be successfully performed without the religious motive. INTRODUCTION xv One of the sure tests of great poetry is its power of survival. The race preserves what it prizes. To be sure there are trage-. dies that destroy some of the past’s incalculable hoard of liter¬ ary treasures. Many of the Greek dramas were swept away in the fire that destroyed the Alexandrian library when Omar, the Moslem, burned that priceless collection of documents. But in most instances the books and other writings that have won their way to the souls of men have been preserved and handed on. Probably this is the reason why so much of the poetry that has come down from the distant past is of the religious character. But the same sifting process will decide between the best and the second best in this and all later days. The larger number of the poems that endure will continue to deal with religion. From all the centuries and from all the nations, these poems of the faith have come. The life of God is limited to no nation or age. He has never left Himself without witness among any people. The Babylonian records of the beginnings of time were hymns in celebration of Marduk and the other gods of the pantheon. The Assyrians treasured the temple psalms in honor of Asshur and Ishtar. The Egyptians paid the tribute of prayers and honorific inscriptions to Ammon, Mut and Khonsu. The ancient Aryans of India composed their Vedic hymns to the glory of Brahma, Vishnu and Siva. The Greeks immortalized their religious conceptions in their epics and tragedies, and made the names of Zeus, Artemis and Apollo familiar to the whole of the Mediterranean world. In all the other regions of the east and west the worship of the Eternal has provided the central theme of poetic inspiration, though the names by which He has been known have been as varied as the hundred divine titles graven on Akbar’s tomb. The literature of religion is as farflung as humanity. Every people has had its bible. Much of this holy writing was in the form of poetry. Nothing less artistic and elevated was deemed worthy of the faith. It was natural, therefore, that the Hebrew writings that have survived to us should deal with the central theme of religion. They are a curious illustration of the fact that religious material tended always to take precedence of other writings in their survival value. The Hebrews must have had a considerable body of writings of various sorts during XVI INTRODUCTION the classic period while Hebrew was a living speech. Yet, all •that has survived to us is the collection we know as the Old Testament, and this deals almost wholly with the religious life of the nation. Furthermore, a large portion of this surviv¬ ing group of documents is poetic in form. The Book of Job is the unapproached masterpiece of the ages. The Psalms are the most beautiful of lyrics dealing with the life of trust. The Proverbs are a marvellous anthology of wit and wisdom based upon the moral ideals of the sages. Much of the preaching of the prophets is in the form of poetic oracles, and even the prose narratives of national life are made vivid by the use of such ancient poems as the Song by the Sea, the Song of Deborah, and the Song of the Bow. The New Testament, the source-book for a study of the origins of Christianity, is less moved by the poetic motive than the older collection. Its writers were the friends of Jesus, who went forth in a sort of breathless haste to tell the story of his life and work. The Gospels are brief and simple narratives of the Master’s ministry. The Book of Acts is a short and vivid record of the beginnings of the new society. The Epistles are direct and searching messages to churches and individuals who needed instruction. And the Apocalypse is a fierce and force¬ ful denunciation of the imperial power of Rome, and a triumphant announcement of its speedy overthrow. Here is little opportunity for the poetic spirit to utter itself. And yet from the pages of the New Testament have come such great hymns as the Gloria in Excelsis, the Ave Maria, the Nunc Dimittis, the Benedictus, Paul’s Psalm of Love, and the com¬ forting and exultant songs of the Revelation. Such a group of writings as the Bible contains, selected from a vastly larger literature, and made the canon of religious instruction and the manual of devotion for the whole of Christendom, could hardly fail to stimulate the production of a vast body of writings through all the centuries since the days of Jesus. It is of every sort, historical, sermonic, doctrinal, apologetic, expository and devotional. But perhaps no order of literature dealing with the Christian religion has equalled in volume the poetry which it has inspired. Men and women who have had no zest for formal treatises regarding the faith have poured out their souls in poems which have become INTRODUCTION XVII immortal. Movements and crises come and go in the history of religion; controversies break out and die away; sects, parties and denominations rise and decline;, but the stream of poetic reflection upon the supreme facts of life and death is constant and refreshing. It is little concerned with the disputes of theologians or the researches of critics. It is above the sky¬ line of creedal animosities. It is the utterance of those who are seeking the inner way which the pilgrims of all the ages have trodden toward the city of God. The poetry of religion is as varied as are the experiences of humanity in its experiments with the great mystery of the soul’s relationship to God. In the anthology of the singers of the faith there are all sorts of voices, and all moods of the spirit. As in the Bible itself, so in this larger bible of the ages, all notes are struck from those of rapturous confidence to those of darkest doubt and uttermost despair. The vast prob¬ lems of sorrow, sin, temptation, failure, scepticism, cynicism, inquiry, hope, confidence, attainment, and rapturous fulfilment are all included in the many-sided complex of expression which is taking form in the ever-changing multitude of human striv¬ ings for life. Seekers after God are all the sons of men. He is the soul’s companion and necessity. But who of all the race have found and fully known Him? Only those choice spirits whom history has enshrined as the prophets of the faith. Them, and One who passed this way, not so long ago, and not so far from where we dwell; One whose words hang in the air like banners, and whose sentences walk through all the earth like spirits. These have known, and they have stretched the terms of human speech to their utmost tension to give us some adequate conception of the great reality. Next after the prophets, in whose ranks the Master finds his appointed place, come the poets, whose eyes have seen some¬ thing of the vision, whose hearts have been stirred by the divine emotion, and out of these rich experiences they have given us their interpretations of the mystery. They do not deal in argument. They have little formal logic or careful science to bring to our aid. But they provide us with a knowledge that comes only from the depths of emotion and the wells of expe¬ rience. And so they have made us their continual debtors, for we have little to draw with, and the wells are deep XV111 INTRODUCTION Though the poets speak in all tones of confidence or doubt, their best messages are those of assurance, and they leave us with the conviction that it is faith and not denial that has the last word. Such an anthology of religious poetry as has been attempted in this volume must, in the nature of the case, be limited to a small portion of the great total of such materials lying at hand in the storehouse of the years. To make selection where the store is so rich and so abundant is an act of courage. Along the fringes of the collection there will be room for much variation of judgment. Some things will be missed that one would have included ; some are given place that one would have passed by. This would be true of any such amalgam of religious poetry. But the heart and core of the best works of the spirit of reverence and devotion which the years have produced will be found here. And that is much; perhaps it is enough. To wander through the aisles of this great cathedral of music and song; to thread these forest paths where the saints have walked; to drink of these streams m which the generations of suffering and rejoicing pilgrims of the holy life have quenched their thirst — this is itself a joy and an enrich¬ ment, a renewal of fellowship with the best who have gone this way, a fresh discovery of the eternal secret of friendship with God. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A collection from all ages and several languages arranged under the following headings : I. INSPIRATION. a. How to the Singer Comes the Song? b. Whence to the Singer Comes the Song? II. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD. a. The Successful Searchers. b. The Unsuccessful Searchers. III. THE IDEA OF GOD. a. Pre-Christian. b. Early Christian and Mediaeval. c. . Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries. d. Eighteenth Century. e. Nineteenth Century. f. Twentieth Century. IV. FAITH. a. The Old Faith. b. Modern Faith. c. New Voices. V. GOD IN NATURE. a. Immanence in Nature in General. b. The Country. c. Trees. d. Gardens and Flowers. e. Animals. f. The Heavens. g. Mountains. h. The Ocean. VI. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN. a. Immanent in the Soul. b. Revealed in the Life of Christ. c. Revealed in the Guidance of Individual Lives. d. Revealed in Historical Events. e. Embodied in Groups or Organizations of Individuals. 1. In the Family. 2. In the City. 3. In the Church. VII. PRAYERS. a. Descriptions of Prayer. b. General Prayers. c. Prayers of Invocation. d. Prayers for Comfort in Prospect of Death. e. Prayers for Guidance. f. Prayers of Gratitude. g. War Prayers. h. Prayers for Special Things. VIII. WORSHIP. a. Pre-Christian Period. b. Early Christian and Mediaeval. c. Reformation Period. d. Seventeenth Century. e. Evangelical Period. f. Nineteenth Century. g. Twentieth Century. IX. COMFORT IN SORROW. a. Submission to the Will of God. b. The Ministry of Pain. c. Bravery Is Its Own Consolation. d. Victory on the Spiritual Plane. e. Is There No Immediate Relief? X. CONDUCT OF LIFE. a. Personal. 1. High Aims. 2. Self-Control. 3. Work. 4. Humility. 5. Opportunity. 6. Loyalty to Your Best Self. 7. Loyalty to Duty. 8. Creeds. b. Social — God in All Great Movements. 1. Social Struggle. 2. National Affairs. 3. International Affairs. XI. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY. a. Personal Immortality. b. Impersonal Immortality. c. Eternal Rest. XII. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE. a. The Mediaeval Conception — The City Supernal. b. The Modern Conception. 1. There Is a Future Life But We Do Not Know What It Is. 2. We Are Builders of the City on Earth. TABLE OF CONTENTS t. INSPIRATION a. Kow to the Singer Comes the Song? Benton, Joel . The Poet . . . . Blake, William . The Bard . . Bourdillon, Francis W . From “A Lost God” . Browning, Eliz. Barrett . The Poet . Clare, John . The Peasant Poet . . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . The Poet’s Call . » . Cowper, William . Fragment . Cranch, Christopher Pearse. .. Thought . . . Dawson, William James . Inspirations . Firdausi (tr. by A. V. W. Jack- son) . The Dream of Dakiki . Gibson, Wilfrid W . Inspiration . Gilder, Richard W . How to the Singer Comes the Song? . Heath, Ella . Poetry . Kilmer, Joyce . Poets . Lecky, Wm. E. H . Of an Old Song . , Longfellow, Henry W . The Fate of the Prophets (From The Divine Tragedy) . Lowell, Amy . The Poet . Markham, Edwin . The Poet . Mifflin, Lloyd . Sovereign Poets . Noguchi, Yone . The Poet . Pushkin, Alexander . The Prophet . Tabb, John B . Inspiration . Teasdale, Sara . Song Making . . . Watson, William . The Sovereign Poet . b. Whence to the Singer Comes the Song? Carpenter, Rhys . Who Bids Us Sing? . . Carpenter, Rhys . The Master Singers . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . .The Problem . Howell, Elizabeth Lloyd . Milton’s Prayer for Patience .... Johnson, Samuel . Inspiration . Lowell, Amy . Fragment . Lowell, James Russell . God Is Not Dumb (From Bibliol¬ ater) . . . , . Morgan, Angela . ....The Poet . . PAGE 1 2 2 3 3 4 4 5 6 6 7 8 9 9 10 1 1 1 1 12 12 13 13 14 15 15 16 1 6 17 19 20 22 22. 23 xix XX TABLE OF CONTENTS O Sheel, Shaemas . He Whom a Dream Hath Pos¬ sessed . Sharp, William (Fiona Mac- leod) . The Founts of Song . Thoreau, Henry David . Inspiration . White, Edward Lucas . Genius . II. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD a. The Successful Searchers Browning, Robert . From “Pauline” . Browning, Robert . The Awakening of Man (From “Paracelsus,” pt. V) . Buddhist Sisters . A Psalm of the Early Buddhist Sisters . , . Carman, Bliss . Vestigia . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . The Search . Davies, Mary Carolyn . Feet . Dowden. Edward . Seeking God . Gale, Norman . Child of Loneliness . Hey wood, Thomas . . . Hierarchie of the Blessed Angel.. Holley, Horace . The Hill . MacDonald, George . Lost and Found . Markham, Edwin . Revelation . Moulton's Modern Readers’ Bible (XLII) . The Search . Robinson, Edward Arlington ..Credo . Russell, George Wm . The Unknown God . Scudder, Eliza . Who by Searching Can Find God? Teasdale. Sara . Mastery . Tennyson, Alfred . Doubt (From “In Memoriam,” XCVI) . Tennyson, Alfred . ..The Larger Hope (From “In Me¬ moriam,” LVI) . Thompson, Francis . In No Strange Land . Thompson, Francis . The Hound of Heaven . Waite, Arthur Edward . At the End of Things . Watson, William . God-Seeking . Wooley, Celia Parker . Refracted Lights . Zoroaster (tr. by A. V. W. Jack- son) . Zoroaster Devoutly Questions Or- mazd . b. The Unsuccessful Searchers Benet, William Rose . .The Falconer of God . Bradford, Gamaliel . God . Branch, Anna Hempstead . An Unbeliever . Chesterton, Gilbert K. . . The Wild Knight . Eastman, Max . At the Aquarium . Herrick, Robert . To Finde God . PAGE 2 3 24 25 26 2 9 30 3 1 32 33 34 34 34 35 38 39 40 50 40 41 41 42 42 43 44 45 51 53 54 55 55 57 57 58 59 6r TABLE OF CONTENTS Job XI, 7-8 (From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible ) . Job’s Comforters . Khayyam, Omar (tr. by Ed¬ ward Fitzgerald) . From the Rubaiyat . Lindsay, Vachel . I Went Down Into the Desert to Meet Elijah . Lyall, Sir Alfred C . Meditations of a Hindu Prince.. Masefield, John . The Seekers . Rice, Cale Young . The Mystic . Starbuck, Victor . The Seekers . Underwood, Wilbur . The Cattle of His Hand . C. The Search Is Its Own Reward Browning, Robert . Foss, Sam Walter . Hodgson, Ralph . Holland, Josiah G . Meynell, Alice . Sassoon, Siegfried . Sorley, Charles Hamilton . . Sorley, Charles Hamilton . . Watson, William . . A Grammarian’s Funeral The Higher Catechism . The Mystery . Gradatim . Via, Veritas, et Vita . . . Before Day . The Seekers . From Marlborough . . . . Epigram . III. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD a. Pre-Christian East Indian Rig-Veda, X, 129 (1500 B.C.).. Brahma The World Idea . Anon. (Fourth Century B.C.) .. Proofs of Buddha’s Existence.... Egyptian and Babylonian. See Section VIII a. See also Sections II, III, V, VI, VIII, IX, XI and XII for Psalms. b. Early Christian and Mediaeval Seneca . The End of Being . Rascas, Bernard . The Love of God (From the Pro¬ vencal) . Panatattu (E. Indian, 10th Cen¬ tury A.D.) . The Unity of God . Panatattu (E. Indian, 10th Cen¬ tury A.D.) . True Knowledge . . . See also the Hymns in Section VIII. C. Sixteenth and Seventeenth Centuries de Aldana, Francisco (tr. by H. W. Longfellow) . The Image of God . Bible, Moulton’s Modern Readers’: Psalm XXIII . The Protection of Jehovah . Psalm XXVII . The Deliverance of Jehovah . Psalm XCIII . Jehovah’s Immovable Throne .... xxii TABLE OF CONTENTS Milton, John . Smart, Christopher . Spenser, Edmund . Sternhold, Thomas . d. Eighteenth Century Coleridge, Samuel Taylor Dryden, John . Grant, Sir Robert . Pope, Alexander . The Plan of Salvation (From Para¬ dise Lost ) . . Song to David . From “Hymn of Heavenly Beauty” The Majesty of God . Religious Musings . From Religio Laici . The Majesty and Mercy of God. . From “The Essay on Man” . e. Nineteenth Century Browning, Eliz. Barrett . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . de Vere, Sir Aubrey . . . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Gilman, Charlotte P . Ibsen, Hendrik . Meredith. George . Myers, Frederick W. IT. Sharp, William (Fiona leod) . Symonds, John Addington Tabb, John B . Wallace, James Cowden . Whitman, Walt . Whittier, John G . Wilcox, Ella Wheeler . . Wordsworth, William . . . ... .From “Aurora Leigh” . , . . . . Abt Vogler . .....Caliban upon Setebos . .... Saul . . Reality . .....From “Woodnotes” . . The Bohemian Hymn . ....The Living God . ....Brand Speaks . . . .' . . From The Test of Manhood . ....The Inner Light . Mac- . ...The Redeemer . ....An Invocation . ....Communion . .... God . . From “The Passage to India” ... .... The Over-Heart . . . .... Illusion . ....From “The Excursion . f. Twentieth Century Abercombie, Lascelles . The Seeker . Bynner, Witter . Ecce Homo . Bynner, Witter . The New God . Call, Mark Wilks . Renunciation . Carruth, William Herbert . Each in His Own Tongue Doolittle, Hilda (Mrs. Richard Aldington) . Pygmalion . Gilman, Charlotte P . A Common Inference .... Gilman, Charlotte P . Give Way! . Hardy, Thomas . Agnosto Theo . Hardy, Thomas . God’s Funeral . Lawrence, D. H . Dreams Old and Nascent . Marquis, Don . The God-Maker, Man .... Monro. Harold . God (From Dawn) . PAGE 93 95 9S 99 100 101 104 105 105 107 II X 119 126 1 26 128 128 130 131 132 133 133 1.35 135 136 138 140 141 142 143 144 145 145 146 147 148 149 149 152 IS4 156 TABLE OF CONTENTS Morgan, Angela . Reality . Oppenheim, James . The New God . Sandburg, Carl . Manufactured Gods . Sassoon, Siegfried . A Mystic as Soldier . Shepard, Odell . The Hidden Weaver . Sitwell, Osbert . How Shall We Rise to Greet the Dawn ? . Stephens, James . What Tomas an Buile Said in a Pub . Tagore, Rabindranath . From “Gitanjali” (45, 46, 72, 73) Watson, William . The Hope of the World . Watson, William . The Unknown God . Widdemer, Margaret . The Awakened War God . Yeats, William B . An Indian upon God . Zangwill, Israel . Jehovah . Zangwill, Israel . At the Worst . PAGE 158 160 161 161 162 163 164 165 167 171 U3 i74 US 1 77 TV. FAITH a. The Old Faith Cowper, William . Light Shining Out of Darkness.. 181 Guyon, Madame . A Little Bird I Am . 182 Herrick, Robert . To God . 183 Hinkson, Katharine Tynan ....The Flying Wheel . 183 Watts, Isaac . The Incomprehensible . 184 Williams, Roger . God Makes a Path . 185 b. Modern Faith Bronte, Anne . Burroughs, John . Case, Elizabeth York . . . Clough, Arthur Hugh . . Clough, Arthur Hugh . . Dowden, Mrs. Edward . Eliot, George . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Gannett, Wm. Channing Gregh, Fernand . Holland, Josiah G . Holland, Josiah G . Howells, William Dean Hugo, Victor . Jackson, Helen Hunt . . Morris, Sir Lewis . Pope, Alexander . Stevenson, Robert Louis Tabb, John B . Tennyson, Alfred . The Doubter’s Prayer . Waiting . There Is No Unbelief . Jlope Evermore and Believe . With Whom Is No Variableness. . Adrift . The Tide of Faith . Brahma . Each and All . The Stream of Faith . , Doubt . .A Song of Doubt . A Song of Faith . Faith . The Poet’s Simple Faith . Doubt . The Beginnings of Faith . Faith . If This Were Faith . Faith . .From “In Memoriam” (Proem).. 186 187 1S8 189 190 190 190 191 192 193 194 195 195 196 196 197 197 198 199 200 200 XXIV TABLE OF CONTENTS Tennyson, Alfred . The Ancient Sage ... Tennyson, Alfred . The Higher Pantheism Whittier, John G . Adjustment . Whittier, John G . Faith . Whittier, John G . The Eternal Goodness c. New Voices Acharya, Sri Ananda . My Faith . Australian Soldier . Victory . Carpenter, Edward . Have Faith . . Guiterman, Arthur . In the Hospital . Kemp, Harry . God the Architect .... Lea, Fanny Heaslip . The Dead Faith . McLeod, Irene Rutherford .... From The Rebel . Masefield, John . Sonnets . Meredith, George . From A Faith on Trial Meredith, George . Sense and Spirit . Santayana. George . Faith . PAGB 202 202 203 204 205 208 209 209 2X0 21 I 2X2 212 213 215 215 216 V. GOD IN NATURE a. Immanence in Nature in General Brown, Alice . ..Hora Christi . Brown, Alice . Revelation . Brown, Thomas Edward . Disguises . Browning, Robert . Song from “Pippa Passes" . Carman, Bliss . The Heretic . Dickinson, Emily . Some Keep Sunday Going to Church . . . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Forbearance . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Good-bye, Proud World . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Music . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Waldeinsamkeit . Hale, Edward E . Omnipresence . Hinkson, Katharine Tynan ....The Epitaph . Hovey, Richard . Immanence . Hovey, Richard . Transcendence . Kabir (tr. by Tagore) . Songs of Kabir (1440 A.D. c.).. Kerr, Watson . The Ancient Thought . Lanier, Sidney . The Marshes of Glynn . Larcom, Lucy . A Strip of Blue . Moody, William Vaughn . From “The Fire Bringer” . Moulton’s Modern Readers ’ Bible . Hymn of the World Without (Psalm CIV) . Realf, Richard . The Word . . Russell, George Wm. (A. E.)..Dust . Russell, George Wm. (A. E.)..The Great Breath . Sarett, Lew . God Is at the Anvil 2:9 220 220 221 222 223 224 224 225 226 229 229 230 231 231 232 233 236 238 227 239 240 240 241 TABLE OF CONTENTS Sharp. William (Fiona Mac- leod) . Stephens, James . Stephens, James . Tagore, Rabindranath . Vaughn, Henry . Watson, William . Wordsworth, William . Wordsworth, William . Madonna Natura . The Voice of God . The Whisperer . Autumn . Fragment . Ode in May . Lines Composed a Few Miles above Tintern Abbey . The World Is Too Much with Us b. The Country Anonymous . Out in the Fields with God Gale, Norman . The Country Faith . Percy, William Alexander . Farmers . c. Trees Baker, Karle Wilson . Good Company . ., . Gould, Gerald . The Happy Tree . Hinkson, Katharine Tynan ....Of an Orchard . Kilmer, Joyce . Trees . L . Lanier, Sidney . A Ballad of the Trees and the Master . Markham, Edwin . A Prayer . d. Gardens and Flowers Brown, Thomas Edward . My Garden . Burton, Richard . God’s Garden . Carpenter, Edward . Among the Ferns . Chesterton, Gilbert K . The Holy of Holies . Gannett, William Channing ...Consider the Lilies . Gurney, Dorothy F . The Lord God Planted a Garden.. Meynell, Alice . To a Daisy . Nichols, Robert . The Secret Garden . Parkwood, Rose . The Garden . Plunkett, Joseph Mary . I See His Blood upon the Rose.. Tennyson, Alfred . Flower in the Crannied Wall .... e. Animals Blake, William . Blake, William . Blake, William . Bryant, William Cullen Carpenter. Edward . . . . Chesterton, Gilbert K. Peabody, Josephine P. Whitman, Walt . Auguries of Innocence . The Lamb . The Tiger . To a Waterfowl . The Songs of the Birds . The Donkey . To a Dog . Song of Myself (From “Leaves of Grass”) . XXV PAGE 241 243 243 245 245 246 247 248 249 250 250 251 251 252 253 253 254 254 255 255 258 258 259 260 260 261 262 263 263 264 265 266 267 268 268 269 XXVI TABLE OF CONTENTS f. The Heavens Addison, Joseph . Psalm XIX . Gilder, Richard Watson . The Invisible . Jones, Thomas S., Jr . The Path of the Stars . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Heavens Above and the Law Within (Psalm XIX) . £. Mountains Coleridge, Samuel Taylor . Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamounix . Towne, Charles Hanson . Silence . h. The Ocean Byron, Lord . To the Ocean (From Childe Har¬ old’s Pilgrimage ) . . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Ocean (Psalm CVII) . Willard, Emma . Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep VI. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN a. Immanent in the Soul Adair, Ivan . Real Presence . . . Blake, James Vila . In Him . Blake, William . The Divine Image . Booth, Eva Gore . Harvest . Deland, Margaret . . . Life . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . The Informing Spirit . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . From Voluntaries . Henderson, Alice Corbin . Nodes . Heywood, Thomas . From The Cherubim . Holmes, Oliver Wendell . The Living Temple . Hosmer, Frederick Lucian . The Indwelling God . Kabir (tr. by Tagore) . Songs of Kabir (1440 A.D. c.)... MacDonald, George . From Within and Without . Morgan, Angela . Hail Man! . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Hymn of the World Within (Psalm CIII) . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Searcher of Hearts -Is Thy Maker (Psalm CXXXIX) . Rice, Cale Young . Providence . Swinburne, Algernon Charles ..From “The Hymn of Man” . Tagore, Rabindranath . From “Gitanjali” . Tennyson, Alfred . From “In Memoriam,” CXXIV. . Trench, Herbert . I Seek Thee in the Heart Alone.. Underhill, Evelyn (Mrs. Stuart Moore) . Introversion . PAGE 270 272 273 271 274 276 277 278 279 283 283 284 285 285 286 286 290 29 1 292 294 295 29 7 298 287 289 300 300 303 304 304 305 TABLE OF CONTENTS XXVll PAGE Underhill, Evelyn (Mrs. Stuart Moore) . Supersensual . 306 Underhill, Evelyn (Mrs. Stuart Moore) . Theophany . 307 Vaughan, Henry . The Dwelling Place . 307 Very. Jones . ....Health of Body Dependent on Soul 308 Very, Jones . The Light from Within . 309 Whitman, Walt . Song of Myself (From “Leaves of Grass”) . 309 b. Revealed in the Life of Jesus Christ 1. Mediaeval and Modern Browning, Robert . Karshish, the Arab Physician ... Crashaw, Richard . The Holy Nativity of Our Lord God . Domett, Alfred . A Christmas Hymn . Fletcher, Giles . Excellency of Christ . Gilder, Richard Watson . The Song of a Heathen . Goethe . Easter Chorus from Faust . Golding, Louis . Second Seeing . Havergal, Frances Ridley . Reality . MacDonald, George . That Holy Thing . Milton, John . On the Morning of Christ’s Na¬ tivity . Parker, Theodore? . The Way, the Truth, and the Life Rossetti, Gabriel Charles Dante. Mary’s Girlhood . Watson, William . Domme Quo Vadis? . Willis, Nathaniel P . The Leper . . 2. Recent Adams, Francis . To the Christians . . Bates, Katharine Lee . The Kings of the East . . Booth, Eva Gore . Crucifixion . Boundy, Rex . A Virile Christ . Bynner, Witter . The Poet . . Cleghorn, Sarah N . Comrade Jesus . . Davies, William Henry . Christ the Man . Frank, Florence Kiper . The Jew to Jesus . Le Gallienne, Richard . The Second Crucifixion . Markham, Edwin . A Guard of the Sepulcher . Robinson, Edwin Arlington .... Calvary . Sandburg, Carl . ....To a Contemporary Bunkshooter. Sassoon, Siegfried . The Redeemer . Tietjens, Eunice . The Great Man . Van Dyke, Henry . A Lost Word of Jesus . C. Revealed in the Guidance of Individual Lives Anon. (tr. by Wm. Taylor)... A Good Bishop (Old High Ger¬ man, 10th Century A.D.) . 310 3i7 321 323 323 323 324 325 327 327 334 335 335 3 38 342 342 343 34A 345 345 346 347 347 349 350 350 352 354 354 356 XXV111 TABLE OF CONTENTS Browning, Robert . . Chaucer . Crashaw, Richard . Dwight, Timothy . Gannett, Wm. Channing .... Goldsmith, Oliver . Housman, Laurence . Keller, Helen . Lowell, James Russell . Markham, Edwin . d. Revealed in Historical Events Byron, Lord . Emerson, Ralph Waldo . Heber, Reginald . Hugo. Victor . Shakespeare, William . FAGE Rabbi ben Ezra . 357 The Good Parson . 363 Hymn to St. Teresa . 364 The Smooth Divine . 369 The Highway . 370 The Village Parson . 371 From “All Fellows” . 372 In the Garden of the Lord . 373 From “The Vision of Sir Launfal” 373 The Man with the Hoe . 375 The Destruction of Sennacherib.. 377 Boston Hymn . 378 Who Follows in His Train? .... 381 The Age Is Great and Strong .... 382 Cranmer’s Prophecy of Queen Elizabeth (From Henry VIII) 383 e. Revealed in Groups or Organizations of Individuals 1. In the Family: Burns, Robert . The Cotter’s Saturday Night .... 385 Carpenter, Edward . . Love’s Vision . 387 2. In the City: Arnold, Matthew . Calm Soul of All Things Arnold, Matthew . East London . Carpenter, Edward . Over the Great City . . Foulke, Dudley . The City’s Crown . Russell, George William (A. E.).The City . Russell, George William (A. E.) .The Garden of God .... Van Dyke, Henry . The Gospel of Labor . . . Zangwill, Israel . In the City . 3. In the Church: Barrett. Wilson Agnew . A New England Church Clough, Arthur Hugh . The Latest Decalogue . Hardy, Thomas . The Impercipient . E. H. K . The City Church . Leslie, Shane . Priest or Poet . Piper, Edwin Ford . Tbe Church . Romain, Jules . The Church . Thompson, Francis . Lillium Regis . Watson, William . The Church Today .... 388 388 389 390 390 392 392 393 394 395 396 397 398 398 40c 405 405 VII. PRAYERS a. Descriptions of Prayer Crane, Stephen . The Peaks . 409 de Vere, Sir Aubrey . The Right Use of Prayer . 410 TABLE OF CONTENTS XXIX Montgomery, James . What Is Prayer? . Morgan, Angela . . . God Prays . Neihardt, John G . Envoi . Tennyson, Alfred . Prayer (From Idylls of the King) Thomas, Edith M . A Far Cry to Heaven . Trench, Richard C . Pra3rer . Washbourne, Thomas . Prayer . Wlddemer, Margaret . Barter . Wilcox, Ella Wheeler . Unanswered Prayers . PAGE 410 411 414 414 415 416 416 417 418 b. General Prayers Arnold, Matthew . . . Brown, Alice . Cheney, Ednah D. . . Ellwood, Thomas .... Lazariis, Emma . Phillips, Stephen . . . Pope, Alexander .... Rice, Cale Young . . . Sill, Edward Rowland Van Dyke, Henry . . Verlaine, Paul . Desire . Pagan Prayer . The Larger Prayer . Prayer . Gifts . The Poet’s Prayer . The Universal Prayer . A Litany for Latter-Day Mystics The Fool’s Prayer . Prayer . A Confession . 419 421 421 422 422 424 425 427 427 429 429 c. Prayers of Invocation Carman, Bliss . Veni Creator . 431 Cleanthes (tr. by Plumptre) . . . . Hymn to Zeus . 433 Derzhavin (tr. by Sir John Bow¬ ring) . O Thou Eternal One! . 435 Eastman, Max . Invocation . 438 Tennyson, Alfred . The Prayer (From “In Memo- riam,” CXXXI) . 438 d. Prays for Comfort in Prospect of Death Burns. Robert . A Prayer in the Prospect of Death 439 Mary Queen of Scots . Prayer before Execution . 439 e. Prayers for Guidance Drinkwater, John . Garland, Hamlin . Gilman, Charlotte P . Herbert, George . . Newman, John Henry . Sharp, William (Fiona Mac- leod) . Sutton, Henry Septimus . f. Prayers of Gratitude Herrick, Robert . Howells, William Dean . A Prayer . 440 The Cry of the Age . 441 Two Prayers . 442 The Elixir . 442 The Pillar of the Cloud . 443 The Mystic’s Prayer . 444 The Inward Light . 444 A Thanksgiving to God . 445 A Prayer . 447 XXX TABLE OF CONTENTS PAGE Kemp, Harry . Prayer . 447 Stork, Charles Wharton . God, You Have Been Too Good to Me . 448 g. War Prayers Aldington, Richard . Vicarious Atonement . 448 Chesterton, Gilbert K . Prayer . 449 Hodgson, William Noel . Before Action . 450 Mackaye, Percy . A Prayer of the Peoples ....... 451 h. Prayers for Special Things Buonarotti, Michelangelo (tr. by William Wordsworth) ....For Inspiration . Chippewa Indians (tr. by Tan¬ ner) . A Voyager’s Prayer . Donne, John . For Forgiveness . East Indian Toda . ..To a Sacred Cow . Kalevala (Finnish) . Prayer for Rain . MacDonald, George . Epitaph . . Navajo Indians (tr. by Cronyn) . Prayer to the Mountain Spirit.... Neihardt, John G . Prayer for Pain . Osage Indians . A Dance Chant . Untermeyer, Louis . Prayer . Whitman, Walt . Prayer of Columbus . 452 453 453 454 454 455 456 45^ 457 458 458 VIII. WORSHIP a. Pre-Christian Period Assyrian (2000? B.C.) . Hymn to Marduk (Two Selec¬ tions) . 463, 464 Babylonian (2000? B.C.) . Penitential Psalm (Two Selec¬ tions) . 465, 467 East Indian . See Buddhist Sisters, Section II a. Egyptian (1700 B.C.) . Hymn to Amen Ra, the Sun God. 468 Greek (fiEschylus, 525-456 B.C. ?) . Hymn to Zeus (Chorus from Aga- memmon) . . 473 Greek (Sophocles, 490-405 B.C.?) . Chorus from CEdipus Rex . 474 b. Early Christian and Mediaeval Periods Solomon, Ode VI of . Inspiration . 475 Solomon, Ode XXXVIII of ...To Truth . * 477 Clement of Alexandria (1st Century) . Earliest Christian Plymn of . 478 Anonymous . De Profundis . 480 Anonymous . Gloria in Excelsis . 480 Anonymous . Magnificat . . 481 TABLE OF CONTENTS XXXI Anonymous . Nunc Dimittis . Anonymous . Te Deura Laudamus . de Benedicts, Jacobus . Stabat Mater . St. Patrick (400 A.D. c.) . The Deer’s Cry . Gregory the Great (600 A.D. c.) Morning Hymn . Bede, the Venerable (735 A.D.).A Hymn . Tamil Saivite Saints (600-800 A.D.) . The Soul’s Bitter Cry . . Charlemagne (800 A.D. c.) . ...Veni Creator Spiritus . . . St. Joseph of the Stadium (850 A.D. c.) . The Finished Course . Sivaite Puritans (10th Century A.D.) . Hymn of . Robert of France (1000 A.D. c.) . Strength, Love, Light . Bernard of Cluny (1145 A.D.) . Jerusalem the Golden (See Sec. XII) Bernard of Glairvaux (1x50 A.D.) . Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts St. Francis of Assisi (1225 A.D.) . Canticle 0f the Sun . St. Thomas Aquinas (1250 A.D. c.) . Hymn . . . Kabir (1440 A.D.) (tr. by Ra¬ bindranath Tagore) . Songs of Kabir (see Sections V, VI) East Indian (1469 A.D.) . From Nanak and the Sikhs . PAGE 481 482 483 485 487 487 488 489 491 492 493 494 494 495 497 c. Reformation Period Luther, Martin (1521) . Hymn . 498 St. Francis Xavier (1550) . Hymn . 500 Calvin, John (1560) . . Salutation to Jesus Christ . 501 Kethe, William (1560) . Scotch Te Deum . 502 “F. B. P.” (1583) . O Mother Dear, Jerusalem . 503 Gustavus Adolphus (1630) . Battle Hymn . 504 d. Seventeenth Century Anon, (from German) . Fairest Lord Jesus . 505 Anon, (from French) (tr. by Percy Allen) . A Mystic Song . 506 de la Barca, Pedro Calderon ... Thou Art of All Created Things.. 506 Milton, John (1623) . Let Us with a Gladsome Mind... 507 Maratha, Saints (East Indian ' 1608-1649) . The Restless Heart . 509 Milton, John . Adam’s Morning Hymn . 509 Racine, Jean B. (1690) . Chorus from Athalie . 51 1 Guyon, Madame (1700) . Adoration . 512 XXX11 TABLE OF CONTENTS e. Evangelical Period (18th Century) Watts, Isaac (1707) . When I Survey the Wondrous Cross . . Pope, Alexander (1712) . Rise, Crowned with Light, Impe¬ rial Salem Rise! . Watts, Isaac (1719) . Jesus Shall Reign Where’er the Sun . Watts, Isaac (1719) . Oh God, Our Help in Ages Past.. Wesley, Charles (1720) . Divine Love . Wesley, Charles (1740) . Jesus, Lover of My Soul . Cennick, John (1743) . Children of the Heavenly King... Williams, Wm. (1745) . The Christian Pilgrim’s Hymn .. Anon. (1751) . . . Adeste Fideles . Doddridge, Philip (1755) . Awake My Soul! . Wesley, Charles (1757) . Come, Thou Almighty King . Toplady, Augustus M. (i776)..Rock of Ages . Perronet, Edward (1779) . Coronation (English Te Deum) . . . Newton, John (1779) . Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken . . “K.” in Rippon’s Selections (1787) . How Firm a Foundation . f. Nineteenth Century Heber, Reginald (1811) . Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning . Grant, Sir Robert (1815) . The Majesty and Mercy of God (see Sect. Ill, d). Heber, Reginald (1819) . From Greenland’s Icy Mountains. Bowring, Sir John (1825) . In the Cross of Christ I Glory... Binney, Thomas (1826) . Eternal Light! . Muhlenberg, Wm. A. (1826) .. .Fulfillment . Heber, Reginald (1827) . Thrice Holy . Heber, Reginald (1827) . Who Follows in His Train? (See Section VI a). Palmer, Ray (1830) . My Faith Looks Up to Thee .... Smith, Samuel (1832) . The Morning Light Is Breaking.. Bacon, Leonard (1833) . The Pilgrim Fathers . Stone, Samuel J. (1866) . The Church’s One Foundation ... Adams, Sarah Flower (1841 ).. Nearer, My God, to Thee . Alford, Henry (1844) . Harvest Home . Lyte, Henry F. (1847) . Abide with Me . Alexander, Cecil F. (1848) ...There Is a Green Hill Far Away Faber, Frederick W. (1854)... God Our Father . Lynch, Thomas T. (1856) . Lift Up Your Heads, Rejoice!... Gilmore, Joseph H. (1859) - He Leadeth Me . Holmes, Oliver Wendell (i860). A Sun-Day Hymn . Johnson, Samuel (i860) . City of God . Wordsworth, Christopher (1862)0 Day of Rest and Gladness _ PAGE 512 513 513 514 515 516 517 518 519 520 520 521 522 523 524 525 526 527 527 528 529 529 530 53 1 532 533 534 535 536 536 537 538 539 540 541 TABLE OF CONTENTS XXXlll Howe, Wm. Walsham (1864) .. Funeral Hymn . Whittier, John G. (1866) . Our Master . Baring-Gould, Sabine (1867) ... Onward, Christian Soldiers . Ingemann, Bernard (1825) (tr. by S. Baring-Gould, 1867) ... Pilgrim’s Song . Baring-Gould, Sabine ( 1868) ... Child’s Evening Hymn . Brooks, Phillips (1868) . O Little Town of Bethlehem .... Clephane, Elizabeth C. ( 1868) .. There Were Ninety and Nine.... Ellerton, John (1871) . Now the Labourer’s Task Is O’er Havergal, Frances R. ( 1873) .... Thou Art Coming . Bickersteth, E. H. (1875) . Peace, Perfect Peace . Lathbury, Mary A. (1877) ....The Day Is Dying in the West... Gladden, Washington (i879)...0 Master, Let Me Walk with Thee Matheson, George (1882) . O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go Modern Chinese (1890) . The New Heart . Iroquois Indians (tr. by E. S. Parker) . A Dance Chant . Hay, John (1891) . Not in Dumb Resignation . Longfellow, Samuel (1891) ....The Church Universal . Hosmer, Frederick L. (1891)... Thy Kingdom Come . Kipling, Rudyard (1897) . Recessional . g. Twentieth Century Bates, Katharine Lee ( 1905) ... America the Beautiful , . Hosmer, Frederick L. (1903)... Thy Kingdom Come, O Lord .... North, Frank Mason (1903)... The City . Scudder, Vida (1905) . Thy Kingdom, Lord, We Long For Stork, Charles Wharton . The Troubadour of God . Merrill, William Pierson (i9ii)Festal Sone . IX. COMFORT IN SORROW o. Submission to the Will of God Arkwright, John S . The Supreme Sacrifice . Baker, Karle Wilson . The Ploughman. . Browning, Eliz. Barrett . Substitution . ^Eschylus (tr. by Eliz. Barrett . Browning) . The Wail of Prometheus Bound.. Cary, Phoebe . Nearer Home . Massey, Gerald . His Banner Over Me . Phillips, Stephen . Grief and God . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . . . The Refuge (Psalm XLVI) . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Everlasting Arms (Psalm XCI) . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Pilgrim’s Song (Psalm CXXI) Proctor, Adelaide . The Lost Chord . PAGE 542 543 544 545 546 547 548 549 550 551 552 553 553 554 555 556 556 557 558 559 560 56r 561 563 564 567 568 568 569 570 571 572 574 575 576 576 XXXI V TABLE OF CONTENTS The Ministry of Pain de Vere, Sir Aubrey . Sorrow . Goethe . Who Never Ate with Tears His Bread . . Ingelow, Jean . Sorrows Humanize Our Race . . . Lowell, James Russell . ’Tis Sorrow Builds the Shining Ladder Up . Proctor, Adelaide A . Cleansing Fires . Smith, May Riley . My Uninvited Guest . Stedman, Edmund Clarence ....From The Ordeal by Fire . Stevenson, Robert Louis . The Celestial Surgeon . Stringer, Arthur . A Wanderer’s Litany . Van Dyke, Henry . If All the Skies . Wattles, Willard . . Pisgah . . Whittier, John G . The Angel of Patience . Bravery Is Its Own Consolation Bolton, Sarah K . The Inevitable . Brooke, Stopford . Courage . Carlyle, Thomas . Cui Bono? . Driscoll, Louise . God’s Pity . Henley, William Ernest . Invictus . Underwood, Wilbur . To the Brave Soul . d. Victory on the Spiritual Plane O Sheel, Shaemus . “They Went Forth to Battle, but They Always Fell” . Reese, Lizette Woodworth ....Tears . Story, William Wetmore . Io Victis . . . Upson, Arthur W . Failures . e. Is There No Immediate Relief? 1. Heaven Only Can Heal Gerhardt, Paul . Longfellow, Samuel . MacMannus, Seumas . Moore, Thomas . Santayana, George . 2. Love Only Can Heal Clifford, Ethel . 3. Service Only Can Heal Milton, John . 4. Time Only Can Heal Dickinson, Emily . Tilton, Theodore . X. CONDUCT OF LIFE a. Personal 1. High Aims Cawein, Madison . Holmes, Oliver Wendell ... Courage . The Christian Life . In Dark Hour . Come, Ye Disconsolate . Sorrow . The Harp of Sorrow . Sonnet on His Blindness . Sorrow . Even This Shall Pass Away . . . . Attainment . The Chambered Nautilus PAGE 577 578 578 529 580 580 582 583 583 584 585 585 586 586 587 588 588 589 589 590 590 592 593 594 595 596 596 597 597 598 598 603 604 TABLE OF CONTENTS xxxv PAGB Sorley, Chas. Hamilton . Expectans Expectavi . 605 Wilcox, Ella Wheeler . Attainment . 606 2. Self-Control Arnold, Matthew . Self-Dependence . 607 Carpenter, Edward . The Stupid Old Body . 608 Carpenter, Edward . The Wandering Lunatic Mind .. 609 Dyer, Sir Edward . My Minde to Me a Kingdom Is.. 610 Wotton, Sir Henry . The Happy Life . 612 3. Work Acharya, Sri Ananda . Realization . Blake, Wiilliam . To the Christians . Blake, William . From Milton . Burton, Richard . The Song of the Unsuccessful.... Hunt, Leigh . Abou ben Adhem . Kipling, Rudyard . The Sons of Martha . 613 614 614 615 616 617 4. Humility Bunyan, John . The Shepherd Boy Sings . Cheney, John Vance . The Happiest Heart . Foss, Sam Walter . The House by the Side of the Road . Knox, William . O Why Should the Spirit of Mor¬ tal Be Proud? . 619 619 620 621 5. Opportunity Carlyle, Thomas . Doudney, Sara . . Plummer, Mary Wright Sill, Edward Rowland Today . The Water Mill Irrevocable Opportunity . . . 623 623 625 625 6. Loyalty to Vour Best Self Colton, Arthur . Harps Hung Up in Babylon . 626 Herbert, George . Virtue . 627 Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . The Tree and the Chaff (Psalm I) 628 Wightman, Richard . The Pilgrim . 629 Wightman, Richard . The Servants . 629 7. Loyalty to Duty Gilman, Charlotte P. Hale, Edward E. ... MacDonald, George . Thomas. Edith . Wordsworth, William 8. Creeds Baker, Karle Wilson Cary, Alice . Resolve . The Nameless Saints Obedience . The Reply of Socrates Ode to Duty . Creeds . My Creed . 630 631 632 633 634 63s 636 XXXVI TABLE OF CONTENTS Gilder, Jeanette . My Creed . Hay, John . Religion and Doctrine McLeod, Norman . A Creed . Oxenham, John . Some Blesseds . Phelps, Elizabeth Stuart . A Generous Creed ... Teluga (East Indian, 16th Cen¬ tury) . Ritual Not Religion .. b. Social — God in All Great Movements 1. Social Struggle Lowell, James Russell . The Present Crisis Procto-r, Adelaide A . The Present . 2. National Affairs . Howe, Julia Ward . Hovey, Richard . Longfellow, Henry W. . Moody, William Vaughn 3. International Affairs Raleigh, Sir Walter . The Soul’s Errand Shepard, Odell . In the Dawn . Widdemer, Margaret . The New Victory . Wilcox, Ella Wheeler . An Inspiration . . Battle Hymn of the Republic . . . . Unmanifest Destiny . The Republic . . . From Gloucester Moors . XI. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY a. Personal Immortality Anonymous . Anonymous . Arnold, Edwin . Arnold, Matthew . Babcock, Maltbie . Browning, Robert . Chadwick, John White Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dodge, Mary Mapes . . . Ellerton, John . Fuller, Margaret . Gilder, Richard Watson Ingelow, Jean . Kemp, Harry . Milton, John . Mitchell, S. Weir . Oppenheim, James .... .A Traveller . , Resurgam . • . After Death in Arabia Rugby Chapel . Death . Prospice . Auld Lang Syne .... The Chariot . Death . Death . Resurgam . Thirst . . Two Mysteries . The God of the Living Dryad Song . Call Me Not Dead ... Longing for Home . . . He Did Not Know . . , Lycidas . Vespers . Death . PAGE 637 6 37 639 640 641 642 642 643 644 645 646 647 648 650 655 656 661 661 663 665 670 670 671 672 673 673 674 674 674 675 6 77 6 77 67 7 679 680 685 685 TABLE OF CONTENTS xxxvii O’Reilly, John Boyle . Forever . Oxenham, John . Seeds . Raleigh, Sir Walter . -...The Conclusion . Riley, James W . Away! . Russell, George Wm. (A. E.) .. Immortality . Savage, Minot J . My Birth . Shelley, Percy B . From “Adonais” Teasdale, Sara . Immortal . Tennyson, Alfred . Crossing the Bar Towne, Charles Hanson . Of One Self-Slain White, Joseph Blanco . ,.To Night . Whittier, John G . At Last . PAGE 686 686 688 688v 689 689 691 692 693 693 694 694 b. Impersonal Immortality Anonymous . Missing . 695 Blind, Mathilde . The Dead . 696 Bourdillon, Francis William ...Where Runs the River? . 696 Bronte, Emily . Last Lines . 697 Brooke, Rupert . Death . 698 Brooke, Rupert . Peace . 698 Bryant, William Cullen . Thanatopsis . 699 Byron, Lord . The Immortal Mind . 701 Clough, Arthur Hugh . Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth . 700 Craik, Dinah Mulock . Now and Afterwards . 703 Dana, Richard Henry . Immortality . 703 De Long, Juanita . My Hereafter . 7 04 Dowson, Ernest . Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam . 705 Driscoll. Louise . Epitaph . 706 Eliot, George . Oh, May I Join the Choir Invisible 707 Foulke, Dudley . Life’s Evening . 708 Hosmer, Frederick Lucian ....My Dead . 709 Jackson, Helen Hunt . Habeas Corpus . 709 Job XIV, 1-12; XIX, 25-27 (Moulton’s Modern Readers ’ Bible ) . . . Immortality . 71 1, 712 Jordan, David Starr . Men Told Me, Lord . 712 Khayyam, Omar (tr. by Fitz¬ gerald) . From The Rubaiyat . 713 Kipling, Rudyard . L’Envoi . 71 5 Lee-Hamilton, Eugene . My Own Hererafter . 7l6 Masefield, John . A Creed . 7J6 Masefield, John . The Tragedy of Pompey the Great 718 Masefield, John . From The Everlasting Mercy .... 718 Masefield, John . Truth . 719 Meredith, George . The Question Whither . 720 XXXV111 TABLE OF CONTENTS Meynell, Alice . A Song of Derivations . Newbolt, Sir Henry . The Final Mystery . Nichols, Robert . Our Dead . c. Eternal Rest Browning, Eliz. Barrett . The Sleep . Henley, Win. Ernest . Margaritae Sorori . Paine, Albert Bigelow . The Hills of Rest . Russell, George William (A. E.) The Place of Rest . Seeger, Alan . The Rendezvous . Sharp, William (Fiona Mac- leod) . Dream Fantasy . Sterling, George . Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium . . . Stevenson, Robert Louis ....Requiem . Wheelock, John Hall . Exile from God . Williams, Sarah . Deep Sea Soundings . Wordsworth, William . From “Ode, Intimations of Im¬ mortality” . XII. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE o. The Mediaeval Conception — The City Supernal Anonymous . Jerusalem, My Happy Home .... Bernard of Cluny . . Jerusalem, the Golden . Croly, George . Death and Resurrection . Dante (tr. by Cary) . The Saints in Glorv . Dante (tr. by Longfellow) .... The Celestial Pilot . Dante (tr. by Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti) . From “Vita Nuova” . Demarest, Mary Lee . My Ain Countree . Dickinson, Emily . Chartless . . Dickinson, Emily . The Child’s Question . Faber, Frederick W . O Paradise! O Paradise! . Isaiah LXIII (Moulton’s Mod¬ ern Readers’ Bible) . Vision of the Day of Judgment.. Lindsay, Vachel . General William Booth Enters Heaven . Nairne, Lady . The Land o’ the Lea! . Raleigh, Sir Walter . My Pilgrimage . Rossetti, Christina . Marvel of Marvels . Rossetti, Christina . Paradise . Rossetti, Christina . Uphill . Scheffler, Johannes . The Cherubic Pilgrim . St. Teresa . The Life Above, the Life on High Thomas of Celano . Dies Iras . Vaughan, Henry . Peace . Vaughan, Henry . The World . Vaughan, Henry . The World of Light . Watts, Isaac . Heaven . PAGE 721 722 723 723 725 726 726 727 728 729 729 730 730 731 735 736 737 738 740 741 743 744 745 745 746 747 749 750 752 753 754 755 756 757 759 760 762 763 TABLE OF CONTENTS XXXIX I b. The Modern Conception page i. There Is a Future Life, but We Do Not Know What It Is Brooke, Rupert . Heaven . 764 Clough, Arthur Hugh . Where Lies the Land? . 765 Miller, Joaquin . The Fortunate Isles . 766 Sioux Indians, Song of the .... The Land of the Evening Mirage 766 Stowe, Harriet Beecher . The Other World . 767 Whitman, Walt . Darest Thou Now, O Soul? . 769 Whitman, Walt . The Imprisoned Soul . 769 2. We Are Builders of the City Adler, Felix . Chesterton, Gilbert K . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . Garrison, Theodosia . Hayne, Paul Hamilton . Housman, Laurence . Letts, Winifred M . Morris, William . Palgrave, Francis Turner . . Symonds, John Addington .. Wheelock, John Hall . Hail! the Glorious Golden City.. Home at Last . Bugle Song of Peace . Stains . The True Heaven . The Continuing City . The Spires of Oxford . The Day Is Coming . The City of God . The Human Outlook . The Far Land . 77 0 77J 77J 772 77.3 774 775 776 77 8 779 775 . . ..... • t ■ • ' '' • > . , THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 1. Inspiration a. HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG? b. WHENCE TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG? I. Inspiration a. HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG? THE POET Joel Benton The poet’s words are winged with fire, Forever young is his desire, — Touched by some charm the gods impart, Time writes no wrinkles on his heart. The messenger and priest of truth, His thought breathes of immortal youth; Though summer hours are far away, Midsummer haunts him day by day. The harsh fates do not chill his soul, — For him all streams of splendor roll; Sweet hints come to him from the sky, — Birds teach him wisdom as they fly. He gathers good in all he meets, The fields pour out for him their sweets; Life is excess; one sunset’s glow Gives him a bliss no others know. i 2 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Beauty to him is Paradise — He never tires of lustrous eyes; Quaffing his joy, the world apart, Love lives a summer in his heart. His lan,ds are never bought nor sold — His wealth is more to him than gold; On the green hills, when life is done, He sleeps like fair Endymion. THE BARD William Blake Hear the voice of the Bard, Who present, past and future sees ; Whose ears have heard The Holy Word That walked among the ancient trees. From A LOST GOD Francis W. Bourdillon Ah, happy who have seen Him, whom the world Calls madmen ! These alone are poets — not The apt mellifluous metrist, — not the deft Industrious rhymer, — needs the fire of heaven, The earthquake, the long lonely hour with God, Before our flower-edged lyric rivulets Flood over with the impetuous dithyramb. What is it makes a poet’s utterance strong Except the striving to make wings of words, And mount from apprehended thought to thought Unapprehended? And what impulse moves To such ill-guerdoned labor but the sense Of things insensuous, the glint of rays INSPIRATION 3 Nebulous, indistinguished, which the eyes Must gaze and gaze at till they fix the star, — Visions of water in the vacant sand, — Elysian stands in the waste of sea? Such have I seen, such phantasms all my life Have followed, knowing somewhere they must lie Discoverable — in our eyes unreal, Yet real somewhere. THE POET Elizabeth Barrett Browning The poet hath the child’s sight in his breast, And sees all new. What oftenest he has viewed, He views with the first glory. Fair and good Pall never on him, at the fairest, best, But stand before him holy and undressed In week-day false conventions, such as would Drag other men down from the altitude Of primal types, too early dispossessed. Why, God would tire of all his heavens, as soon As thou, O godlike, childlike poet, didst, Of daily and nightly sights of sun and moon ! And therefore hath he set thee in the midst, Where men may hear thy wonder’s ceaseless tune. And praise his world forever, as thou bidst. THE PEASANT POET John Clare He loved the brook’s soft sound, The swallow swimming by, He loved the daisy-covered ground, The cloud-bedappled sky. To him the dismal storm appeared The very voice of God : THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And where the evening rock was reared Stood Moses with his rod. And everything his eyes surveyed, The insects in the brake, Were creatures God Almighty made, He loved them for His sake — A silent man in life’s affairs, A thinker from a boy, A peasant in his daily cares, A poet in his joy. THE POET’S CALL Thomas Curtis Clarke By day the fields and meadows cry; By night the bright stars plead ; He hears the message from on high, And to the call gives heed. The roses tremble as he nears, And cry, “Rejoice, rejoice!” The rocks break forth as he appears, “God sends a Voice, a Voice!” FRAGMENT William Cowper Pity, Religion has so seldom found A skilful guide into poetic ground ! The flowers would spring where’er she deigned to stray And every muse attend her on her way. INSPIRATION 5 THOUGHT Christopher Pearse Cranch Thought is deeper than all speech, Feeling deeper than all thought, Souls to souls can never teach What unto themselves was taught. We are spirits clad in veils; Man by man was never seen; All our deep communing fails To remove the shadowy screen. Heart to heart was never known; Mind with mind did never meet; We are columns left alone Of a temple once complete. Like the stars that gem the sky, Far apart, though seeming near, In our light we scattered lie ; All is thus but starlight here. What is social company But a babbling summer stream? What our wise philosophy But the glancing of a dream? Only when the sun of love Melts the scattered stars of thought, Only when we live above What the dim-eyed world hath taught, Only when our souls are fed By the fount which gave them birth, And by inspiration led Which they never drew from earth, 6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY We, like parted drops of rain, Swelling till they meet and run. Shall be all absorbed again, Melting, flowing into one. INSPIRATIONS William James Dawson Sometimes, I know not why, nor how, nor whence A change comes over me, and then the task Of common life slips from me. Would you ask What power is this which bids the world go hence? Who knows? I only feel a faint perfume Steal through the rooms of life ; a saddened sense Of something lost; a music as of brooks That babble to the sea; pathetic looks Of closing eyes that in a darkened room Once dwelt on mine : I feel the general doom Creep nearer, and with God I stand alone. O mystic sense of sudden quickening ! Hope’s lark-song rings, or life’s deep undertone Wails through my heart — and then I needs must sing. THE DREAM OF DAKIKI Firdausi (From the Persian) Translated by A. V. Williams Jackson I a. My heart was fired, as from his sight it turned Toward the world’s Sovereign Throne, and inly yearned, ‘May I lay hand upon that book some day And tell, in my own words, that ancient lay V Countless the persons whom I sought for aid, As I of fleeting time was sore afraid Lest I in turn not long enough should live, But to another’s hand the task must give. INSPIRATION 7 Nay, more — lest that my means should ne’er suffice, — For such a work there was no buyer’s price; The age forsooth was filled with wars of greed, A straitened world it was for those in need. Some time in that condition did I live, Yet of my secret not a word did give, Finding no person who my aims would share, Nor act for me with friendly patron care . . . By hap, a friend beloved at Tus I had; Thou would’st have said ‘Two souls in one skin clad!’ To me he spake, ‘Good is thy whole project, Thy foot toward fortune now is turned direct; That book, which written is in Pahlavi, I’ll get for thee ; but slack thou must not be ; Thine is the gift of speech; and youth is thine To tell the tale of champions’ deeds — in fine, Do thou the Kingly Book anew relate And seek through it renown among the great/ When he at last that book before me laid He made ablaze with light my soul of shade ! INSPIRATION Wilfrid Wilson Gibson On the outermost far-flung ridge of ice and snow That over pits of sunset fire hangs sheer My naked spirit poises, then hangs clear From the cold crystal into the furnace glow Of ruby and amber lucencies, and dives, In the brief moment of ten thousand lives Through fathomless infinities of light, Then cleansed by lustral flame and frost returns ; And for an instant through my body burns; The immortal fires of cold-white ecstasy As down the darkening valley of the night I keep the old track of mortality. 8 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY HOW TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG? Richard Watson Gilder I How to the singer comes the song? At times a joy, alone; A wordless tone Caught from the crystal gleam of ice-bound trees; Or from the violet-perfumed breeze ; Or the sharp smell of the seas In sunlight glittering many an emerald mile; Or the keen memory of a love-lit smile. II Thus to the singer comes the song: Gazing at crimson skies Where burns and dies On day’s wide hearth the calm celestial fire, The poet with a wild desire Strikes the impassioned lyre, Takes into tuned sound the flaming sight And ushers with new song the ancient night. III How to the singer comes the song? Bowed down by ill and sorrow On every morrow — The umvorded pain breaks forth in heavenly singing Not all too late dear solace bringing To broken spirits winging Through mortal anguish to the unknown rest — A lyric balm for every wounded breast. IV How to the singer comes the song? How to the summer fields INSPIRATION 9 Come flowers? How yields Darkness to happy dawn? How doth the night Bring stars? O, how do love and light Leap at the sound and sight Of her who makes this dark world seem less wrong — Life of his life, and soul of all his song ! POETRY Ella Heath I am the reality of things that seem : The great transmuter, melting loss to gain, Languor to love, and fining joy from pain; I am the waking, who am called the dream; I am the sun, all light reflects my gleam; I am the altar fire within the fane ; I am the force of the refreshing rain ; I am the sea which flows to every stream; I am the utmost height there is to climb; I am the truth mirrored in fancy’s glass ; I am stability, all else will pass; I am eternity, encircling time; Kill me, none may; conquer me, nothing can, — I am God’s soul, fused in the soul of man. POETS Joyce Kilmer Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells That the wind sways above a ruined shrine. Vainer his voice in whom no longer dwells Hunger that craves immortal Bread and Wine. Light songs we breathe that perish with our breath Out of our lips that have not kissed the rod. They shall not live who have not tasted death. They only sing who are struck dumb by God. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY OF AN OLD SONG Wm. E. H. Lecky Little snatch of an ancient song, What has made thee live so long? Flying on thy wings of rhyme Lightly down the depths of time, Telling nothing strange or rare, Scarce a thought or image there, Nothing but the old, old tale Of a hapless lover’s wail ; Offspring of an idle hour, Whence has come thy lasting power? By what turn of rhythm or phrase, By what subtle careless grace, Can thy music charm our ears, After full three hundred years? Landmarks of the human mind One by one are left behind, And a subtle change is wrought In the mould and cast of thought: Modes of reasoning pass away, Types of beauty lose their sway; Creeds and Causes that have made Many noble lives must fade, And the words that thrilled of old Now seem hueless, dead and cold; Fancy’s rainbow tints are flying, Thoughts, like men, are slowly dying: All things perish and the strongest Often do not last the longest; The stately ship is seen no more, The fragile skiff attains the shore; And while the great and wise decay, And all their trophies pass away, Some sudden thought, some careless rhyme Still floats above the wrecks of Time. INSPIRATION ii THE FATE OF THE PROPHETS Henry Wadsworth Longfellow From The Divine Tragedy Alas ! how full of fear Is the fate of the Prophet and Seer ! For evermore, for evermore, It shall be as it hath been heretofore; The age in which they live will not forgive The splendor of the everlasting light, That makes their foreheads bright, Nor the sublime Fore-running of their time ! THE POET Amy Lowell What instinct forces man to journey on, Urged by a longing blind but dominant ! Nothing he sees can hold him, nothing daunt His never-failing eagerness. The sun Setting in splendor every night has won His vassalage ; those towers flamboyant Of airy cloudland palaces now haunt His daylight wanderings. Forever done With simple joys and quiet happiness Lie guards the vision of the sunset sky ; Though faint with weariness he must possess Some fragments of the sunset’s majesty; He spurns life’s human friendships to profess Life’s loneliness of dreaming ecstasy. 12 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE POET Edwin Markham * His home is on the heights; to him Men wage a battle weird and dim, Life is a mission stern as fate, And Song a dread apostolate. The toils of prophecy are his, To hail the coming centuries — To ease the steps and lift the load Of souls that falter on the road. The perilous music that he hears Falls from the vortice of the spheres. He presses on before the race And sings out of a silent place. Like faint notes of a forest bird On heights afar that voice is heard; And the dim path he breaks today Will sometime be the trodden way. But when the race comes toiling on That voice of wonder will be gone — But heard on higher peaks afar, Moved upward with the morning star. O men of earth, that wandering voice Still goes the upward way: rejoice! SOVEREIGN POETS • Lloyd Mifflin They who create rob death of half its stings; They, from the dim inane and vague opaque Of nothingness, build with their thought, and make Enduring entities and beauteous things ; They are the Poets — they give airy wings INSPIRATION 13 To shapes marmorean; or they overtake The Ideal with the brush, or, soaring, wake Far in the rolling clouds their glorious strings. The Poet is the only potentate; His sceptre reaches o’er remotest zones; His thought remembered and his golden tones Shall, in the ears of nations uncreate, Roll on for ages and reverberate When kings are dust beside forgotten thrones. THE POET Yone Noguchi Out of the deep and the dark, A sparkling mystery, a shape, Something perfect, Comes like the stir of the day : One whose breath is an odor, Whose eyes show the road to stars, The breeze in his face, The glory of Heaven on his back, He steps like vision hung in air, Diffusing the passion of Eternity; His abode is the sunlight of morn, The music of eve his speech : In his sight One shall turn from the dust of the grave, And move upward to the woodland. THE PROPHET Alexander Pushkin Translated by Babette Deutsch I dragged my feet through desert gloom, Tormented by the spirit’s yearning, And saw a six-winged Seraph bloom Upon the footpath’s barren turning. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And as a dream in slumber lies So light his finger on my eyes, — My wizard eyes grew wide and wary : An eagle’s, started from her eyrie. He touched my ears. And lo ! a sea Of storming voices burst on me, I heard the whirling heaven’s tremor, The angel’s flight and soaring sweep, The sea-snakes coiling in the deep, And sap the vine’s green tendrils carry. And to my lips the Seraph clung — And tore from me my sinful tongue, My cunning tongue and idle-worded; The subtle serpent’s sting he set Between my lips — his hand was wet, His bloody hand my mouth begirded. And with a sword he cleft my breast And took the heart with terror turning, And in my gaping bosom pressed A coal that throbbed there, black and burning. Upon the wastes, a lifeless clod, I lay, I heard the voice of God; “Arise, oh prophet, watch and hearken, And with my Will thy soul engird Through lands that din and seas that darken, Burn thou men’s hearts with this, my Word.’; INSPIRATION John B. Tabb No hint upon the hill top shows The flush of climbing feet; But where the heaven above it glows Triumphal glances meet, INSPIRATION 15 Anon to vanish in the plain, And leave the hill its heaven again. No sign celestial hath the soul Its coming dreams to tell, Unheralded the tidal roll Returns — a rhythmic swell, Anon with silence, as with sand, To strew the surf-forsaken strand. SONG MAKING Sara Teasdale My heart cried like a beaten child Ceaselessly the whole night long; I had to take my own cries And thread them into a song. One was a cry at black midnight And one when the first cock crew— My heart was like a beaten child, But no one ever knew. Life, you have put me in your debt And I must serve you long — But oh, the debt is terrible That must be paid in song. THE SOVEREIGN POET William Watson He sits above the clang and dust of Time, With the world’s secret trembling in his lip He asks not converse nor companionship In the cold starlight where thou canst not climb. i6 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The undelivered tidings in his breast Suffer him not to rest. He sees afar the immemorable throng, And binds the scattered ages with a song. The glorious riddle of his rhythmic breath, His might, his spell, we know not what they be : We only feel, whatever he uttereth, This savours not of death, This hath a relish of eternity. b. WHENCE TO THE SINGER COMES THE SONG? WHO BIDS US SING? Rhys Carpenter Who bids us sing? What need has the world for song, What need of the spring when autumn is harsh and strong The winter comes, the winter drear, The year is dead, the marvellous fruitful year; Who bids us sing? What need has the world for song? What need? Under the earth the blossoms hide Through all the cold of the winter tide ; Who shall waken them, who shall call When the first sweet days of the springtime fall? Who else? Under the earth the blossoms hide. THE MASTER SINGERS Rhys Carpenter They move on tracks of never-ending light; They pierce the darkness with the burning thorn Of star-point and of sun; with shadows torn From wind and rain, with storm clouds in their flight, INSPIRATION 1 7 * They glut the whirlpools of abysmal night; They gather up the flaming shreds of morn; With streams and forests of a world unborn They set the hills of Eden in her sight. True poet-soul, is ought beyond your power? The very sea in all her caves is still When you, prophetic, from life’s utmost hill, With song’s unearthly vision in your eyes, Stretch forth your hands, — a watcher on his tower, God in his heaven bidding light arise. THE PROBLEM Ralph Waldo Emerson I like a church ; I like a cowl ; I love a prophet of the soul ; And on my heart monastic aisles Fall like sweet strains or pensive smiles: Yet not for all his faith can see, Would I that cowled churchman be. Why should the vest on him allure, Which I could not on me endure? Not from a vain or shallow thought His awful Jove young Phidias brought; Never from the- lips of cunning fell The thrilling Delphic oracle ; Out of 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; i8 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY He builded better than he knew; — The conscious stone to beauty grew. Know’st thou what wove yon woodbird’s nest Of leaves, and feathers from her breast? Or how the fish outbuilt her shell, Painting with morn each annual cell ? Or how the sacred pine-tree adds To her old leaves new myriads? Such and so grew these holy piles, Whilst love and terror laid the tiles. Earth proudly wears the Parthenon, As the best gem upon her zone, And Morning opes with haste her lids, To gaze upon the Pyramids; O’er England’s abbeys bends the sky, As on its friends, with kindred eye ; For, out of Thought’s interior sphere, These wonders rose to upper air ; And Nature gladly gave them place, Adopted them into her race, And granted them an equal date With Andes and with Ararat. These temples grew as grows the grass ; Art might obey but not surpass. The passive master lent his hand, To the vast soul that o'er him planned; And the same power that reared the shrine Bestrode the tribes that knelt within. Ever the fiery Pentecost Girds with one flame the countless host, Trances the heart through chanting choirs, And through the priest the mind inspires. The word unto the prophet spoken Was writ on tables yet unbroken; The word by seer or sibyls told, • In groves of oak, or fanes of gold, Still floats upon the morning wind, INSPIRATION i9 Still whispers to the willing mind. One accent of the Holy Ghost The heedless world hath never lost. I know what say the fathers wise, — The Book itself before me lies, — Old Chrysostom, best Augustine, And he who blent both in his line, The younger Golden Lips or mines, Taylor, the Shakespeare of divines. His words are music in my ear, I see his cowled portrait dear; And yet, for all his faith could see, I would not the good bishop be. MILTON’S PRAYER FOR PATIENCE Elizabeth Lloyd Howell I am old and blind ! Men point at me as smitten by God’s frown: Afflicted and deserted of my kind, Yet am I not cast down. I am weak, yet strong ; I murmur not that I no longer see ; Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong, Father supreme, to thee! All-merciful One ! When men are furthest, then art Thou most near ; When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun, Thy chariot I hear. Thy glorious face Is leaning toward me ; and its holy light Shines in upon my lonely dwelling place, — And there is no more night. On my bended knee I recognize thy purpose clearly shown : My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see Thyself, thyself alone. 20 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I have naught to fear; This darkness is the shadow of thy wing; Beneath it I am almost sacred; here Can come no evil thing. Oh, I seem to stand Trembling, where foot of mortal ne’er hath been, Wrapt in that radiance from the sinless land, Which eye hath never seen ! Visions come and go: Shapes of resplendent beauty around me throng; From angel lips I seem to hear the flow Of soft and holy song. It is nothing now, When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes, When airs from Paradise refresh my brow, That earth in darkness lies. In a purer clime My being fills with rapture, — waves of thought Roll in upon my spirit, — strains sublime Break over me unsought. Give me now my lyre ! I feel the stirrings of a gift divine: Within my bosom glows unearthly fire. Lit by no skill of mine. INSPIRATION Samuel Johnson Life of Ages, richly poured, Love of God unspent and free, Flowing in the Prophet’s word And the People’s liberty. INSPIRATION 21 Never was to chosen race That unstinted tide confined; Thine is every time and place, Fountain sweet of heart and mind! Secret of the morning stars, Motion of the oldest hours, Pledge through elemental wars Of the coming spirits powers ! Rolling planet, flaming sun, Stand in nobler man complete ; Prescient laws thine errands run, Frame the shrine for Godhead meet. Homeward led, the wandering eye Upward yearned in joy or awe, Found the love that waited nigh, Guidance of thy guardian Law. In the touch of earth it thrilled; Down from mystic skies it burned; Right obeyed and passion stilled It eternal gladness earned. Breathing in the thinker’s creed, Pulsing in the hero’s blood, Nerving simplest thought and deed, Freshening time with truth and good. Consecrating art and song, Holy book and pilgrim track, Hurling floods of tyrant wrong From the sacred limits back. Life of Ages, richly poured, Love of God, unspent and free, Flow still in the Prophet’s word, And the People’s Liberty ! 22 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FRAGMENT Amy Lowell What is poetry? Is it a mosaic Of colored stones which curiously are wrought Into a pattern ? Rather glass that’s taught By patient labor any hue to take And glowing with a sumptuous splendor, make Beauty a thing of awe ; where sunbeams caught, Transmuted fall in sheafs of rainbows fraught With storied meaning for religion’s sake. GOD IS NOT DUMB * James Russell Lowell From Bibliolaters God is not dumb, that He should speak no more; If thou hast wanderings in the wilderness And findest not Sinai, ’tis thy soul is poor; There towers the Mountain of the Voice no less, Which whoso seeks shall find; but he who bends, Intent on manna still and mortal ends, Sees it not, neither hears its thundered lore. Slowly the Bible of the race is writ, And not on paper leaves nor leaves of stone; Each age, each kindred, adds a verse to it, Texts of despair and hope, of joy or moan. While swings the sea, while mists the mountains shroud, While thunders’ surges burst on cliff of cloud, Still at the prophets’ feet the nations sit. INSPIRATION 23 THE POET Angela Morgan Why hast thou breathed, O God, upon my thoughts And tuned my pulse to thy high melodies, Lighting my soul with love, my heart with flame, Thrilling my ear with songs I cannot keep — Only to set me in the market place Amid the clamor of the bartering throng, Whose ears are deaf to my impassioned plea, Whose hearts are heedless of the word I bring? And yet — dear God, forgive ! I will sing on. I will sing until that shining day When one, perchance, one only may it be— Shall turn aside from out the sordid way, Listening with eager ears that understand Until that day — thy day — help me to bear The hurt of cold indifference and the pain Of seeing all the multitude rush by, Drowning thy music with their cry for gold ! HE WHOM A DREAM HATH POSSESSED Shaemus O Sheel He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of doubting, For mist and the blowing of winds and the mouthing of words he scorns; Not the sinuous speech of schools he hears, but a knightly shouting, And never comes darkness down, yet he greeteth a million morns. He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of roaming ; All roads and the flowing of waves and the speediest flight he knows, 24 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But wherever his feet are set, his soul is forever homing, And going, he comes, and coming he heareth a call and goes. He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of sorrow, At death and the dropping of leaves and the fading of suns he smiles, For a dream remembers no past, and scorns the desire of a morrow, And a dream in a sea of doom sets surely the ultimate isles. He whom a dream hath possessed treads the impalpable marches, From the dust of the day’s long road he leaps to a laughing star, And the ruin of worlds that fall he views from eternal arches, And rides God’s battlefield in a flashing and golden car. THE FOUNTS OF SONG William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) " What is the song I am singing?” Said the pine tree to the wave : “Do you not know the song You have sung so long Down in the dim green alleys of the sea, And where the great blind tides go swinging Mysteriously, And where the countless herds of the billows are hurl’d On all the wild and lonely beaches of the world?” “Ah, pine tree,” sighed the wave, “I have no song but what I catch from thee : Far off I hear thy strain Of infinite sweet pain That floats along the lovely phantom land. I sigh, and murmur it o’er and o’er and o’er, When ’neath the slow compelling hand That guides me back and far from the loved shore, INSPIRATION 25 I wander long Where never falls the breath of any song, But only the loud, empty, crashing roar Of seas swung this way and that for evermore.” “What is the song I am singing ?” Said the poet to the pine : “Do you not know the song You have sung so long Here in the dim green alleys of the woods, Where the wild winds go wandering in all moods, And whisper often o’er and o’er Or in tempestuous clamours roar Their dark eternal secret evermore?” “Oh, Poet,” said the pine, “Thine Is that song ! Not mine ! I have known it, loved it, long! Nothing I know of what the wild winds cry Through dusk and storm and night, Or prophesy When tempests whirl us with their awful might. Only, I know that when The poet’s voice is heard Among the woods The infinite pain from out the hearts of men Is sweeter than the voice of wave or branch or bird In these dumb solitudes.” From INSPIRATION Henry David Thoreau If with light head erect I sing, Though all the Muses lend their force, From my poor love of anything, The verse is weak and shallow as its source. 26 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But if with bended neck I grope, Listening behind me for my wit, With faith superior to hope, More anxious to keep back than forward it, — Making my soul accomplice there Unto the flame my heart hath lit, Then will the verse forever wear, — Time cannot bend the line that God hath writ. I hearing get, who had but ears, And sight, who had but eyes before ; I moments live, who lived but years, And truth discern, who knew but learning’s lore. GENIUS Edward Lucas White He cried aloud to God: “The men below Are happy, for I see them come and go, Parents and mates and friends, paired, clothed with love; They heed not, see not, need me not above, — * I am alone here. Grant me love and peace, Or if not them, grant me at least release.” God answered him: “I set you here on high Upon my beacon tower, you know not why, Your soul-torch by the cruel gale is blown, As desperate as our aching heart is lone. You may not guess but that it shines in vain, Yet, till it is burned out, you must remain.” II. The Search after God a. THE SUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS b. THE UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS C. THE SEARCH IS ITS OWN REWARD ( ‘ II. The Search after God a. THE SUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS From PAULINE Robert Browning O God, where do they tend — these struggling aims ? What would I have ? What is this ‘sleep’ which seems To bound all? Can there be a ‘waking’ point Of crowning life? The soul would never rule; It would be first in all things, it would have Its utmost pleasure filled, — but, that complete, Commanding for commanding sickens it. The last point I can trace is, rest beneath Some better essence than itself — in weakness; This is ‘myself’ — not what I think should be, And what is that I hunger for but God? My God, my God, let me for once look on thee As though naught else existed, we alone ! And as creation crumbles, my soul’s spark Expands till I can say, ‘Even from myself I need thee, and I feel thee, and I love thee ; I do not plead my rapture in thy works For love of thee, nor that I feel as one Who cannot die : but there is that in me Which turns to thee, which loves, or which should love.’ Why have I girt myself with this hell-dress? Why have I laboured to put out my life? Is it not in my nature to adore, And e’en for all my reason do I not Feel him, and thank him, and pray to him — now f 29 30 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Can I forgo the trust that he loves me ? Do I not feel a love which only one . . . O thou pale form, so dimly seen, deep-eyed ! I have denied thee calmly — do I not Pant when I read of thy consummate power, And burn to see thy calm pure truths out-flash The brightest gleams of earth’s philosophy ? Do I not shake to hear aught question thee? If I am erring save me, madden me, Take from me powers and pleasures, — let me die Ages, so I see thee ! I am knit round As with a charm, by sin and lust and pride, Yet though my wandering dreams have seen all shapes Of strange delight, oft have I stood by thee — Have I been keeping lonely watch with thee In the damp night by weeping Olivet, Or leaning on thy bosom, proudly less, Or dying with thee on the lonely cross, Or witnessing thine outburst from the tomb ! THE AWAKENING OF MAN Robert Browning From Paracelsus, Pt. V Progress is The law of life, man is not Man as yet. Nor shall I deem his object served, his end Attained, his genuine strength put fairly forth, While only here and there a star dispels The darkness, here and there a towering mind O’erlooks its prostrate fellows: when the host Is out at once to the despair of night, When all mankind alike is perfected, Equal in full-blown powers — then, not till then, I say, begins man’s general infancy. For wherefore make account of feverish starts Of restless members of a dormant whole, THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 31 9 Impatient nerves which quiver while the body Slumbers as in a grave ? Oh, long ago The brow was twitched, the tremulous lids astir, The peaceful mouth disturbed; half uttered speech Ruffled the lip, and then the teeth were set, The breath drawn sharp, the strong right hand clenched stronger, As it would pluck a lion by the jaw; The glorious creature laughed out, even in sleep ! But when full roused, each giant-limb awake, Each sinew strung, the great heart pulsing fast, He shall start up and stand on his own earth, Then shall his long triumphant march begin, Thence shall his being date — thus wholly roused. What he achieves shall be set down to him. When all the race is perfected alike As man, that is; all tended to mankind, And, man produced, all has its end thus far; But in completed man begins anew A tendency to God. Prognostics told Man’s near approach ; so in man’s self arise August anticipations, symbols, types Of a dim splendor ever on before In that eternal circle life pursues. For men begin to pass their nature’s bound, And find new hopes and cares which fast supplant Their proper joys and griefs; they grow too great For narrow creeds of right and wrong, which fade Before the unmeasured thirst for good; while peace Rises within them ever more and more. Such men are even now upon the earth. Serene amid the half-formed creatures round Who should be saved by them and joined with them. A PSALM OF THE EARLY BUDDHIST SISTERS Now here, now there, lightheaded, crazed with grief, Mourning my child, I wandered up and down. Naked, unheeding, streaming hair unkempt, 32 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY « Lodging in scourings of the streets, and where The dead lay still, and by the chariot-roads — So three years long I fared, starving, athirst. And then at last I saw Him, as He went Within that blessed city Mithila : Great Tamer of untamed hearts, yea, Him, The Very Buddha, Banisher of fear. Came back my heart to me, my errant mind; Forthwith to Him I went low worshipping, And there, e’en at His feet I heard the Norm. For of His great compassion on us all, ’Twas He who taught me, even Gotama. I heeded all He said and left the world And all its cares behind, and gave myself To follow where He taught, and realize Life in the Path to great good fortune bound. Now all my sorrows are hewn down, cast out, Uprooted, brought to utter end, In that I now can grasp and understand The base on which my miseries were built. VESTIGIA Bliss Carman I took a day to search for God, And found Him not. But as I trod By rocky ledge, through woods untamed, Just where one scarlet lily flamed, I saw His footprint in the sod. Then suddenly, all unaware, Far off in the deep shadows, where A solitary hermit thrush Sang through the holy twilight hush — I heard His voice upon the air. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 33 And even as I marveled how God gives us Heaven here and now, In a stir of wind that hardly shook The poplar leaves beside the brook — His hand was light upon my brow. At last with evening as I turned Homeward, and thought what I had learned And all that there was still to probe — I caught the glory of His robe Where the last fires of sunset burned. Back to the world with quickening start I looked and longed for any part In making saving Beauty be . . . And from that kindling ecstasy I knew God dwelt within my heart. THE SEARCH Thomas Curtis Clarke I sought his love in sun and stars, And where the wild seas roll, And found it not. As mute I stood, Fear overwhelmed my soul ; But when I gave to one in need, I found the Lord of Love indeed. I sought his love in lore of books. In charts of science’ skill ; They left me orphaned as before — His love eluded still ; Then in despair I breathed a prayer; The Lord of Love was standing there ! THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FEET Mary Carolyn Davies Where the sun shines in the street There are very many feet Seeking God, all unaware That their hastening is a prayer. Perhaps these feet would deem it odd (Who think they are on business bent) If some one went, And told them, “You are seeking God.” SEEKING GOD Edward Dowden I said, “I will find God,” and forth I went To seek him in the clearness of the sky, But he over me, stood unendurably Only a pitiless sapphire firmament Ringing the world, — blank splendor; yet intent Still to find God, “I will go seek,” said I, “His way upon the waters,” and drew nigh An ocean marge weed-strewn and foam-besprent; And the waves dashed on idle sand and stone, And very vacant was the long, blue sea ; But in the evening as I sat alone, My window open to the vanishing day, Dear God ! I could not choose but kneel and pray, And it sufficed that I was found of Thee. CHILD OF LONELINESS Norman Gale • ••••••*••• The pith of faith is gone. And as there lie Along the desert shanks of lions slain, So in this world whose needs are grown so high, Half hid, half seen, Faith moulders in the plain! THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 35 Tenderly take the priceless wondrous bones, And wend away from all that plucks thy dress, And with a few chance boughs or scattered stones Build up thine altar, Child of loneliness. The Master is not only in the court Where doves are sold and money-changers cry : Nor will He leave the country-side untaught If ears be open as He passes by: In ‘secret paths that thread the forest land He waits to heal thee and divinely bless; While from the hill with voice and waving hand The shepherd calls thee, Child of loneliness. But be thou faithful to thine altar set Within the temple of the stilly glade, For Christ is there, nor will His heart forget The striving of thy soul. Be not afraid ! O priest and people mingled into and one, Within thy green cathedral aisles no less He stands above thee when, the prayer begun, Thou callest Him, O Child of loneliness. ’Tis sweet where every downy throat’s a well Of song itself — to worship in the grass, Thine altar’s base fast-founded on a swell Near a glade where elms and beeches pass : There is space for breath, and there, content, If aught should be forgiven, kneel, confess; Over thy head the boundless firmament, God’s love, God’s wisdom, Child of loneliness. rom the HIERARCHIE OF THE BLESSED ANGELS Thomas Heywood I sought thee round about, O thou my God! In thine abode. I said unto the earth, “Speak, art thou he?” She answered me. 36 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY “I am not.” I inquired of creatures all, In general, Contained therein. They with one voice proclaim That none amongst them challenged such a name. I asked the seas and all the deeps below, My God to know; I asked the reptiles and whatever is In the abyss, — Even from the shrimp to the leviathan Inquiry ran; But in those deserts which no line can sound, The God I sought for was not to be found. I asked the air if that were he! but lo! It told me “No.” I from the towering eagle to the wren Demanded then If any feathered fowl ’mongst them were such; But they all, much Offended with my question, in full choir, Answered, “To find thy God thou must look higher.” I asked the heavens, sun, moon, and stars; but they Said, “We obey The God thou seekest.” I asked what eye or ear Could see or hear, — What in the world I might descry or know Above, below ; With an unanimous voice, all these things said, “We are not God, but we by him were made.” I asked the world’s great universal mass If that God was; Which with a mighty and strong voice replied, As stupefied, — “I am not he, O man ! for know that I By him on high Was fashioned first of nothing; thus instated And swayed by him by whom I was created.” THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 37 I sought the court ; but smooth-tongued flattery there Deceived each ear; I’ the thronged city there was selling, buying, Swearing, and lying; I’ the country, craft in simpleness arrayed, And then I said, — “Vain is my search, although my pains be great; Where my God is there can be no deceit.” A scrutiny within myself I then Even thus began : “O man, what art thou?” What more could I say Than dust and clay, — Frail, mortal, fading, a mere puff, a blast, That cannot last; Enthroned today, tomorrow in an urn, Formed from that earth to which I must return? I asked myself what this great God might be That fashioned me. I answered : The all-potent, sole, immense, Surpassing sense; Unspeakable, inscrutable, eternal, Lord over all ; The only terrible, strong, just, and true, Who hath no end, and no beginning knew. He is the well of life, for he doth give To all that live Both breath and being; he is the Creator Both of the water, Earth, air, and fire. Of all things that subsist He hath the list, — Of all the heavenly host, or what earth claims, He keeps the scroll, and calls them by their names. And now, my God, by thine illumining grace, Thy glorious face (So far forth as it may discovered be) Methinks I see ; 38 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And though invisible and infinite, To human sight Thou, in thy mercy, justice, truth, appearest, In which, to our frail senses thou comst nearest. O, make us apt to seek and quick to find, Thou, God, most kind ! Give us love, hope, and faith, in thee to trust, Thou, God, most just! Remit all our offences, we entreat, Most good ! most great ! Grant that our willing, though unworthy quest May, through thy grace, admit us ’mongst the blest. THE HILL Horace Holley Be not too certain, life ! (Or is that power of death, that tedious power Which with insistent sneer Shatters continually and steeps in slime The difficult house I raise The house of consciousness?) — Be not too certain of me ; Deem me not wholly tamed, Content with labour ineffectual Upon this ruined house of thought; Or, turning to things outside, Content to hurry a life-time through these streets Darkened with vaster ineffectiveness Even this sea-flung, sea-swift fog Makes so pathetic romance of ! Count not too long upon my slavehood ! For as I have often dreamed, There is a hill Sloping against the dizzy, mystic sky Whither, in a moment, I can go. There is a hill THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 39 And, pausing for courageous breath Pace after pace I’ll climb Fleeing from thee, O insufficient life ! A weak, yet conscious Christ Bearing his cross of aspiration, O, bleeding and gasping on that hill To me the vision of things Already perfect, consummated present Sudden will rise, and I shall thrill With powers you know not of, Old tedious world of streets, — Inevitable failure, self-deception Death-in-life ; For, writhing as I might be In supreme pain, and broken Upon the wheel of dissolution, Never was so great aspiration void; And I shall wholly triumph Convinced at last of my own perfect soul, And God, the soul’s desire. LOST AND FOUND George MacDonald I missed him when the sun began to bend ; I found him not when I had lost his rim; With many tears I went in search of him, Climbing high mountains which did still ascend, And gave me echoes when I called my friend; Through cities vast and charnel-houses grim, And high cathedrals where the light was dim, Through books and arts and works without an end, But found him not — the friend whom I had lost. And yet I found him — as I found the lark, A sound in fields I heard but could not mark; I found him nearest when I missed him most; I found him in my heart, a life in frost, A light I knew not till my soul was dark. 4o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY REVELATION Edwin Markham I made a pilgrimage to find the God: I listened for His voice at holy tombs, Searched for the print of His immortal feet In dust of broken altars : yet turned back With empty heart. But on the homeward road, A great light came upon me, and I heard The God’s voice singing in a nestling lark ; Felt his sweet wonder in a swaying rose; Received his blessing from a wayside well; Looked on his beauty in a lover’s face ; Saw his bright hand send signals from the suns. CREDO Edwin Arlington Robinson I cannot find my way : there is no star In all the shrouded heavens anywhere; And there is not a whisper in the air Of any living voice but one so far That I can hear it only as a bar Of lost, imperial music, played when fair And angel fingers wove, and unaware, Dead leaves to garlands where no roses are. No, there is not a glimmer, nor a call, For one that welcomes, welcomes when he fears, The black and awful chaos of the night ; For through it all, — above, beyond it all, — I know the far-sent message of the years, I feel the coming glory of the Light ! THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 4i THE UNKNOWN GOD George William Russell (A. E .) Far up the dim twilight fluttered Moth wings of vapour and flame : The lights danced over the mountains, Star after star they came. The lights grew thicker unheeded, For silent and still were we; Our hearts were drunk with a beauty Our eyes could never see. WHO BY SEARCHING CAN FIND OUT GOD? Eliza Scudder I cannot find Thee ! Still on rfestless pinion My spirit beats the void where Thou dost dwell; I wander lost through all Thy vast dominion, And shrink beneath Thy light ineffable. I cannot find Thee ! Even when most adoring Before Thy shrine I bend in lowliest prayer, Beyond these bounds of thought, my thought upsoaring, From farthest quest comes back : Thou art not there. Yet high above the limits of my seeing, And folded far within the inmost heart, And deep below the deeps of conscious being, Thy splendor shineth ; there, O God, Thou art. 1 cannot lose Thee ! Still in Thee abiding The end is clear, how wide so e’er I roam; The Law that holds the worlds my steps is guiding, And I must rest at last in Thee, my home. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY MASTERY Sara Teasdale I would not have a god come in To shield me suddenly from sin, And set my house of life to rights; Nor angels with bright burning wings Ordering my earthly thoughts and things ; Rather my own frail guttering lights Windblown and nearly beaten out, Rather the terror of the nights And long sich groping after doubt. Rather be lost than let my soul Slip vaguely from my own control — Of my own spirit let me be In sole, though feeble, mastery. DOUBT Alfred Tennyson From In Memoricun, XCVI You say, but with no touch of scorn, Sweet-hearted, you, whose light-blue eyes Are tender over drowning flies, You tell me, doubt is Devil-born. I know not: one indeed I knew In many a subtle question versed, Wdio touched a jarring lyre at first, But ever strove to make it true; Perplexed in faith, but pure in deeds, At last he beat his music out. There lives more faith in honest doubt, Believe me, than in half the creeds. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 43 He fought his doubts and gather’d strength, He would not make his judgment blind, He faced the spectres of the mind And laid them : Thus he came at length To find a stronger faith his own, And Power was with him in the night, Which makes the darkness and the light, And dwells not in the light alone, But in the darkness and the cloud, As over Sinai’s peaks of old, While Israel made their gods of gold, Although the trumpet blew so loud. THE LARGER HOPE Alfred Tennyson From In Memoriam, LIV 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. 44 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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. IN NO STRANGE LAND Francis Thompson O world invisible, we view thee, O world intangible, we touch thee, O world unknowable, we know thee, Inapprehensible, we clutch thee ! Does the fish soar to find the ocean, The eagle plunge to find the air That we ask of the stars in motion If they have rumor of thee there? Not where the wheeling systems darken, And our benumbed conceiving soars ! The drift of pinions, would we harken, Beats at our own clay-shuttered doors. The angels keep their ancient places; — Turn but a stone and start a wing ! ’Tis ye, ’tis your estranged faces, That miss the tnany-splendored thing. But (when so sad thou canst not sadder) Cry; and upon thy so sore loss Shall shine the traffic of Jacob’s ladder Pitched between Heaven and Charing Cross, Yea, in the night, my Soul, my daughter, Cry, clinging heaven by the hems : And lo, Christ walking on the water, Not of Gennesaret, but Thames ! THE SEARCH AFTER GOD THE HOUND OF HEAVEN Francis Thompson I fled Him, down the nights and down the days; I fled Him down the arches of the years ; • I fled Him down the labyrinthine ways^ Of my own mind; and in the midst of tears. I hid from Him and under running laughter. Up vistaed hopes I sped; And shot, precipitated Adown titanic glooms of chasmed fears, From those strong Feet that followed, followed after. But with unhurrying chase And unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy They beat — and a Voice beat More instant than the Feet — “All things betray thee, who betrayest Me.” I pleaded, outlaw-wise, By many a hearted casement, curtained red, Trellised with intertwining charities; (For, though I knew His love Who followed, Yet I was sore adread Lest having Him I must have naught beside;) But, if one little casement parted wide, The gust of His approach would clash it to. Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue. Across the margent of the world I fled, And troubled the gold gateways of the stars, Smiting for shelter on their clanged bars ; Fretted to dulcet jars And silvern chatter the pale ports o’ the moon. I said to dawn, Be sudden ; to eve, Be soon ; With thy young skyey blossoms heap me over From this tremendous Lover! Float thy vague veil about me, lest He see ! I tempted all His servitors, but to find 46 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY My own betrayal in their constancy, In faith to Him their fickleness to me, Their traitorous trueness, and their loyal deceit. To all swift things for swiftness did I sue; Clung to the whistling mane of every wind. But whether they swept, smoothly fleet, The long savannahs of the blue ; Or, whether, thunder-driven, They clanged His chariot ’thwart a heaven Plashy with flying lightnings round the spurn o’ their feet; — Fear wist not to evade as Love wist to pursue. Still with unhurrying chase And unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy, Came on the following Feet, And a Voice above their beat — “Naught shelters thee, who wilt not shelter Me/’ I sought no more that after which I strayed, In face of man or maid; But still within the little children’s eyes Seems something, something that replies; They are at least for me, surely for me ! I turned me to them very wistfully; But just as their young eyes grew sudden fair With dawning answers there, Their angel plucked them from me by the hair. “Come, then, ye other children — Nature’s — share With me” (said I) “your delicate fellowship; Let me greet you, lip to lip, Let me twine you with caresses, Wantoning With our Lady Mother’s vagrant tresses, Banqueting With her in her wind-walled palace, Underneath her azure dais. Quaffing, as your taintless way is, From a chalice Lucent-weeping out of the dayspring. ” So it was done : THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 47 I in their delicate fellowship was one — Drew the bolt of nature’s secrecies. I knew all the swift importings Of the wilful face of the skies, I knew how the clouds arise Spumed of the wild sea snortings; All that’s born or dies Rose and drooped with — made them shapers Of mine own moods, or wailful or Divine — i With them joyed or was bereaven. I was heavy with the even When she lit her glimmering tapers Round the day’s dead sanctities. I laughed in the morning’s eyes. I triumphed and I saddened with all weather, Heaven and I wept together, And its sweet tears were salt with mortal mine; Against the red throb of its sunset-heart I laid my own to beat, And share commingling heat ; But not by that, by that, was eased my human smart. In vain my tears were wet on Heaven’s grey cheek. For ah ! we know not what each other says, These things and I ; in sound I speak — Their sound is but their stir, they speak by silences. Nature, poor stepdame, cannot slake my drouth; Let her, if she would owe me, Drop yon blue bosom-veil of sky’, and show me The breasts o’ her tenderness: Never did any milk of hers once bless My thirsting mouth. Nigh and nigh draws the chase With unperturbed pace, Deliberate speed, majestic instancy; And past those noised Feet A voice comes yet more fleet — “Lo, naught contents thee, who content’st not Me.” Naked I wait thy love’s uplifted stroke. My harness, piece by piece, thou hast hewn from me, 48 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And smitten me to my knee; I am defenseless utterly. I slept, methinks, and woke And slowly gazing, find me stripped in sleep. In the rash lustihood of my young powers, I stood the pillaring hours And pulled my life upon me ; grimed with smears I stand amid the dust o’ the mounded years — My mangled youth lies dead beneath the heap. My days have crackled and gone up in smoke, Have puffed and burst as sun-starts on a stream. Yea, faileth now even dream The dreamer, and the lute the lutanist ; Even the linked fantasies in whose blossomy twist I swung the earth, a trinket at my wrist, Are yielding; cords of all too weak account For earth with heavy griefs so overplussed. Ah ! is Thy love indeed A weed, albeit an amaranthine weed, Suffering no flowers except its own to mount? Ah ! must — Designer Infinite ! — Ah, must Thou char the wood ere Thou canst limn with it? My freshness spent its wavering shower i’ the dust: And now my heart is as a broken fount, Wherein tear-drippings stagnate, spilt down ever From the dank thoughts that shiver Upon the sighful branches of my mind. Such is ; what is to be ? The pulp so bitter, how shall taste the rind? I dimly guess what Time in mists confounds: Yet ever and anon a trumpet sounds From the hid battlements of Eternity; Those shaken mists a space unsettle, then Round the half-glimpsed turrets slowly wash again. But not ere him who summoneth I first have seen, enwound With glooming robes purpureal, cypress-crowned; THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 49 His name I know and what his trumpet saith. Whether man’s heart or life it be which yields Thee harvest, must Thy harvest fields Be dunged with rotten death? Now of that long pursuit Comes on at hand the bruit; That Voice is round me like a bursting sea: “And is thy earth so marred, Shattered in shard on shard? Lo, all things fly thee, for thou flyest Me ! Strange, piteous, futile thing, Wherefore should any set thee love apart? Seeing none but I makes much of naught” (He said), “And human love needs human meriting: How hast thou merited — Of all man’s clotted clay the dingiest clot? Alack, thou knowest not How little worthy of any love thou art ! Whom wilt thou find to love ignoble thee Save Me, save only Me? All which I took from thee, I did but take Not for thy harms, But just that thou mightst seek it in My arms. All which thy child’s mistake Fancies as lost, I have stored for thee at home : Rise, clasp My hand and come !” Halts by me that footfall : Is my gloom, after all, Shade of His hand, outstretched caressingly? “Ah, fondest, blindest, weakest, I am He Whom thou seekest ! Thou dravest love from thee, who dravest Me.” 50 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE SEARCH Psalms XLII and XLIII From Moulton’s Modern Readers' Bible As the hart panteth after the water brooks, So panteth my soul after thee, O God. My soul thirsteth for God, for the living God: When shall I come and appear before God : My tears have been my meat day and night, While they continually say unto me, Where is thy God? These things I remember, And pour out my soul within me, How I went with the throng, and led them to the house of God, With the voice of joy and praise, a multitude keeping holyday. Refrain : Why art thou cast down , O my soul ? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God For I shall yet praise Him , Who is the health of my countenance , And my God . My soul is cast down within me : Therefore do I remember thee from the land of Jordan, And the Hermons, from the hill Mizar. Deep calleth unto deep at the noise of thy water-spouts : All thy waves and thy billows are gone over me. Yet the Lord will command his loving kindness in the daytime, And in the night his song shall be with me, Even as a prayer unto the God of my life. I will say unto God my rock, Why hast thou forgotten me? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of mine enemy? As with a sword in my bones, mine adversaries reproach me; While they continually say unto me, Where is thy God? THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 51 Refrain : Why art thou cast down, O my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God For I shall yet praise Him, Who is the health of my countenance, And my God. Judge me, O God, and plead my cause against an ungodly nation : O deliver me from the deceitful and unjust man. For thou art the God of my strength, why hast thou cast me off? Why go I mourning because of the oppression of mine enemy? O send out thy light and thy truth; Let them lead me : Let them bring me unto the holy hill, And to thy tabernacles. Then will I go unto the altar of God, Unto God my exceeding joy: And upon the harp will I praise thee, O God, my God. Refrain : Why art thou cast down, 0 my soul? And why art thou disquieted within me? Hope thou in God For I shall yet praise Him, Who is the health of my countenance, And my God . AT THE END OF THINGS Arthur Edward Waite The world uprose as a man to find Him — Ten thousand methods, ten thousand ends — Some bent on treasure; the more on pleasure; And some on the chaplet which fame attends : But the great deep’s voice in the distance dim Said : Peace, it is well ; they are seeking Him. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY When I heard that all the world was questing, I look’d for a palmer’s staff and found, By a reed-fringed pond, a fork’d hazel wand On a twisted tree, in a bann’d waste-ground; But I knew not then what the sounding strings Of the sea harps say at the end of things. They told me, world, you were keen on seeking; I cast around for a scrip to hold Such meagre needs as the roots of weeds — All weeds, but one with a root of gold; Yet I knew not then how the clangs ascend When the sea horns peal and the searchings end. An old worn wallet was that they gave me, With twelve old signs on its seven old skins; And a star I stole for the good of my soul, Lest the darkness come down on my sins ; For I knew not who in their life had heard Of the sea pipes shrilling a secret word. I join’d the quest that the world was making, Which follow’d the false ways far and wide, While a thousand cheats in the lanes and streets Offer’d that wavering crowd to guide; But what did they know of the sea reed’s speech When the peace-words breathe at the end for each ? The fools fell down in the swamps and marshes; The fools died hard on the crags and hills; The lies which cheated, so long repeated, Deceived, in spite of their evil wills, Some knaves themselves at the end of all — Though how should they hearken when sea flutes call But me the scrip and the staff had strengthen’d; I carried the star ; that star led me : The paths I’ve taken, of most forsaken, Do surely lead to an open sea : As a clamour of voices heard in sleep, Come shouts through the dark on the shrouded deep. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 53 Now it is noon; in the hush prevailing Pipes, harps and horns into flute-notes fall; The sea, conceding my star’s true leading, In tongues sublime at the end of all Gives resonant utterance far and near : — “Cast away fear; Be of good cheer; He is here, Is here!” And now I know that I sought Him only Even as child, when for flowers I sought; In the sins of youth, as in search for truth, To find Him, hold Him alone I wrought. The knaves too seek Him, and fools beguiled — - So speak to them also, sea voices mild ! Which then was wisdom and which was folly? Did my star more than the cozening guide ? The fool, as I think, at the chasm’s brink, Prone by the swamp or the marsh’s side, Did, even as I, in the end rejoice, Since the voice of death must be His true voice. GOD-SEEKING William Watson God-seeking thou hast journeyed far and nigh. On dawn-lit mountain top thy soul did yearn To hear His trailing garments wander by: And where, ’mid thunderous glooms great sunsets burn,. Vainly thou soughtest His shadow on sea and sky: Or, gazing up, at noon tide, couldst discern Only a neutral heaven’s indifferent eye And countenance austerely taciturn. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Yet whom thou soughtest I have found at last, Neither where tempest dims the world below, Nor where the westering daylight reels aghast In conflagrations of red overthrow; But where this virgin brooklet silvers past And yellowing either bank the king-cups blow. REFRACTED LIGHTS Celia Parker Wooley The evening star that softly sheds Its tender light on me, Hath other place in the heavenly blue, Than that I seem to see. Too faint and slender is that beam To keep its pathway true In the vast space of cloud and mist It seeks an exit through. Nor light of star nor truth of God To earth-born clouds and doubts Can straightway pierce the hearts of men And drive the darkness out. On bent, misshapen lines of faith We backward strive to trace The love and glory that we ne’er Could look on face to face. Each fails thru dim and wandering sight The vision whole to see ; But none are there so poor and blind But catch some glimpse of Thee — Some knowledge of the better way And of that life divine Of which our yearning hope is both The prophecy and sign. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 55 ZOROASTER DEVOUTLY QUESTIONS ORMAZD Translated by A. V. Williams Jackson This I ask Thee — tell it to me truly, Lord ! Who the Sire was, Father first of Holiness? Who the pathway for the sun and stars ordained? Who, through whom its moon doth wax and wane again? This and much else do I long, O God, to know. This I ask Thee — tell it to me truly, Lord ! Who set firmly earth below, and kept the sky Sure from falling? Who the streams and trees did make? Who their swiftness to the winds and clouds hath yoked? Who, O Mazda, was the Founder of Good Thought? This I ask Thee — tell it to me truly, Lord ! Who, benignant, made the darkness and the light? Who, benignant, sleep and waking did create? Who the morning, noon, and evening did decree As reminders to the wise, of duty’s call? b. THE UNSUCCESSFUL SEARCHERS THE FALCONER OF GOD William Rose Bemet I flung my soul to the air like a falcon flying. I said, “Wait on! wait on! while I ride below! I shall start a heron soon In the marsh beneath the moon — A strange white heron, rising with silver on its wings, Rising and crying Wordless, wondrous things; 56 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The secret of the stars, of the world’s heart-strings, The answer to their woe. Then stoop thou upon him, and grip and hold him so !” My soul waited on as falcons hover. I beat the reedy fens as I trampled past. I heard the mournful loon In the marsh beneath the moon. And then, with feathery thunder, the bird of my desire Broke from the cover Flashing silver fire. High up among the stars I saw his pinions spire. The pale clouds gazed aghast As my falcon stooped upon him, and gript and held him fast. My soul dropped through the air — -with heavenly plunder? — Gripping the dazzling bird my dreaming knew ? Nay ! but a piteous freight, A dark and heavy weight Despoiled of silver plumage, its voice forever stilled — All of the wonder Gone that ever filled Its guise with glory. O bird that I have killed, How brilliantly you flew Across my rapturous vision when first I dreamed of you ! Yet I fling my soul on high with new endeavor, As I ride the world below with a joyful mind. I shall start a heron soon In the marsh belozv the moon — A wondrous silver heron its inner darkness fledges! I beat forever The fens and the sedges. The pledge is still the same — for all disastrous pledges, All hopes resigned ! My soul still flies above me for the quarry it shall find ! THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 57 GOD Gamaliel Bradford Day and night I wander widely through the wilderness of thought, Catching dainty things of fancy most reluctant to be caught, Shining tangles leading nowhere persistently unravel, Tread strange paths of meditation very intricate to travel. Gleaming bits of quaint desire tempt my steps beyond the decent, I confound old solid glory with publicity too recent. But my one unchanged obsession, wheresoe’er my feet have trod, Is a keen, enormous, haunting, never-sated thirst for God. AN UNBELIEVER Anna Hempstead Branch All these on whom the sacred seal was set, They could forsake thee while thine eyes were wet. Brother, not once have I believed in thee, Yet, having seen, I cannot once forget. I have looked long into those friendly eyes, And found thee dreaming, fragile and unwise. Brother, not once have I believed in thee, Yet have I loved thee for thy gracious lies. One broke with thee a kiss at eventide, And he that loved thee well has thrice denied. Brother, I have no faith in thee at all, Yet must I seek thy hands, thy feet, thy side. Behold that John that leaned upon thy breast; His eyes grew heavy and he needs must rest. I watched unseen through dark Gethsemane And might not slumber, for I loved thee best. 58 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Peace thou wilt give to them of troubled mind, Bread to the hungry, spittle to the blind. My heart is broken for my unbelief, But that thou canst not heal, though thou art kind. They asked one day to sit beside thy throne; I made one prayer, in silence and alone. Brother, thou knowest my unbelief in thee. Bear not my sins, for thou must bear thine own. Even he that grieves thee most, “Lord, Lord,” he saith, So will I call on thee with my last breath ! Brother, not once have I believed in thee. Yet I am wounded for thee unto death. THE WILD KNIGHT Gilbert K. Chesterton Prologue The wasting thistle whitens on my crest, The barren grasses blow upon my spear, A green pale pennon: blazon of my faith And love of fruitless things : yea, of my love, Among the golden loves of all the knights Alone : most hopeless, sweet and blasphemous, The love of God : I hear the crumbling creeds Like cliffs, washed down by water, change and pass; I hear a noise of words, age after age, A new cold wind that blows across the plains, And all the shrines stand empty; and to me All these things are nothing : priests and schools may doubt Who never have believed : but I have loved. Ah, friends, I know it passing well, the love Wherewith I love : it shall not bring to me Return or hire or any pleasant thing — THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 59 Ay, I have tried it : Ay, I know its roots. Earthquake and plague have burst on it in vain, And rolled back shattered — Babbling neo-phytes ! Blind, startled fools — think you I know it not? Think you to teach me? Know I not His ways? Strange-visaged blunders — mystic cruelties ; All ! all ! I know Him for I love Him. Go ! So, with the wan waste grasses in my spear, I ride forever, seeking after God. My hair grows whiter than my thistle-plume, And all my bones are loose ; but in my eyes The star of an unconquerable praise : For in my soul one hope forever sings. That at the next white corner of a road My eyes may look on Him. . . . Hush — I shall know The place where it is found : a twisted path Under a twisted pear-tree — this I saw In the first dream I had e’er I was born, Wherein He spoke. . . . But the grey clouds come down In hail upon the icy plains : I ride Burning forever in consuming fire. AT THE AQUARIUM Max Eastman Serene the silver fishes glide Stern-lipped, and pale, and wonder-eyed ! As through the aged deeps of ocean, They glide with wan and wavy motion ! They have no pathway where they go, They flow like water to and fro. They watch with never winking eyes, They watch with staring, cold surprise, 6o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The level people in the air, The people peering, peering there; They also wander to and fro, And know not why or where they go, Yet have a wonder in their eyes, Sometimes a pale and cold surprise. From THE RUBAIYAT Omar Khayyam Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Myself when young did eagerly frequent Doctor and Saint, and heard great argument About it and about : but evermore Came out by the same door where in I went. With them the seed of Wisdom did I sow, And with mine own hand wrought to make it grow ; And this was all the Harvest that I reaped — “I came like Water, and like Wind I go.” Into this Universe and Why not Knowing Nor Whence, like Water willy-nilly flowing; And out of it, as Wind along the Waste, I know not Whither, willy-nilly blowing. What, without asking, hither hurried Whence? And, without asking, Whither hurried hence? Oh, many a Cup of this forbidden Wine Must drown the memory of that insolence ! Up from Earth’s Center, through the Seventh Gate I rose, and on the Throne of Saturn sate, And many a Knot unravelled by the Road ; But not the Master Knot of Human Fate. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 61 There was the Door to which I found no Key; There was the Veil through which I might not see; Some little talk awhile of Me and Thee There was — and then no more of Thee and Me. Earth could not answer, nor the Seas that mourn In flowing purple, of their kird forlorn; Nor rolling Heaven, with all his signs revealed And hidden by the sleeve of Night and Morn. Then of the Thee in Me who works behind The Veil, I lifted up my hands to find A lamp amid the darkness; and I heard, As from without — ((The Me within Thee blind.” Then to the Lip of this poor earthen Urn I leaned, the Secret of my Life to learn: And, Lip to Lip, it murmured — “While you live, Drink ! — for, once dead, you never shall return.” • «••«•••• I sent my soul through the Invisible Some letter of that After-life to spell: And by and by my soul returned to me, And answered, “I Myself am Heaven and Hell.” Heaven but the Vision of fulfilled Desire And Hell the shadow of a Soul on fire Cast on the Darkness into which Ourselves So late emerged from, shall so soon expire. TO FINDE GOD Robert Herrick Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find A way to measure out the wind; Distinguish all those floods that are Mixt in that watrie theater; And taste thou them as saltless there. As in their channel first they were. 62 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Tell me the peoples that do keep Within the king-domes of the deep ; Or fetch me back that cloud againe, Beshivered into seeds of raine ; Tell me the motes, dust, sand and speares Of corn, when summer shakes his eares ; Show me that world of stars, and whence They noiseless spill their influence : This if thou canst; then shew me Him That rides the glorious Cherubim! JOB’S COMFORTERS Job XI, 7-8 From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible Canst thou by searching find out God? Canst thou find out the Almighty unto perfection? It is as high as heaven; What canst thou do? Deeper than Sheol ; What canst thou know? The measure thereof is longer than the earth, And broader than the sea. If he pass through, and shut up, And call unto judgment, then who can hinder him? I WENT DOWN INTO THE DESERT TO MEET ELIJAH Vachel Lindsay I went down into the desert To meet Elijah Arisen from the dead. I thought to find him in an echoing cave, For so my dream had said. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 63 I went down into the desert To meet John the Baptist, I walked with feet that bled, Seeking that prophet lean and brown and bold, I spied the foul fiends instead. I went down into the desert To meet my God By Him be comforted. I went down into the desert To meet my God And I met the devil in red. I went down into the desert To meet my God Oh, Lord, my God, awaken from the dead! I see you there, your thorn crown on the ground, I see you there half-buried in the sand; I see you there, your white bones, glistening, bare, The carrion-birds a-wheeling round your head. MEDITATIONS OF A HINDU PRINCE Sir Alfred Comyns Lyall All over the world, I wonder, in lands that I never have trod. Are the people eternally seeking for the signs and steps of a God? Westward across the ocean, and northward ayont the snow, Do they all stand gazing, as ever, and what do the wisest know ? Here in this mystical India, the deities hover and swarm, Like wild bees heard in the tree tops, or the gusts of a gath¬ ering storm; In the air men hear their voices, their feet on the rocks are seen Yet we all say, “whence is the message, and what may the wonders mean?” 64 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A million shrines stand open, and ever the censer swings, As they bow to a mystic symbol or the figures of ancient kings, And the incense rises ever, and rises the endless cry Of those who are heavy laden, and of cowards loath to die. For Destiny drives us together like deer in the pass of the hills; Above is the sky, and around us the sound and shot that kills; Pushed by a power we see not, and struck by a hand unknown, We pray to the trees for shelter and press our lips to a stone. The trees wave a shadowy answer and the rocks frown hollow and grim, And the form and nod of a demon are caught in the twilight dim; And we look at the sunlight falling afar on the mountain crest : — Is there never a path runs upward to a refuge there and a rest? The path, ah ! who has shown it, and who is the faithful guide ? The haven, ah! who has known it? for steep is the mountain side, Forever the shot strikes surely, and ever the wasted breath Of the praying multitude rises, whose answer only is death. Here are the tombs of my kinsfolk, the first of an ancient name, Chiefs who were slain on the war-field, and women who died in flame ; They are gods, these kings of the foretime, they are spirits who guard our race; Forever I watch and worship ; they sit with a marble face. And the myriad idols around me, and the legion of muttering priests, The revels and rites unholy, the dark, unspeakable feasts ! What have they wrung from the Silence ? Hath ever a whisper come Of the secret ? Whence and whither ? Alas ! for the gods are dumb. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 65 Shall I list to the word of the English who come from the uttermost sea? “The secret ! Hath it been told you, and what is your message to me ?” It is naught but the world-wide story, how the heavens and earth began, How the gods are glad and angry, and the Deity once was man. I had thought “Perchance in the cities, where the rulers of India dwell, Whose orders flash from the far land, who girdle the earth with a spell, They have fathomed the depths we float on, they have meas¬ ur’d the unknown main.” Sadly they turn from the venture, and say that the quest is vain. Is life, then, a dream and delusion, and where shall the dreamer awake ? Is the world seen like shadows on water? And what if the mirror break? Shall it pass as a camp that is struck, as a tent that is gathered and gone ? From the sands that were lamp-lit at eve, and at morning are level and lone? Is there naught in the heavens above, whence the rain and leaven are hurled But the wind that is swept around us by the rush of the rolling world ? The wind that shall scatter my ashes, and bear me to silence and sleep With the dirge, and the sound of lamenting and voices of women who weep ? 66 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE SEEKERS John Masefield Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode, But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road. Not for us are content, and quiet, and peace of mind, For we go seeking a city that we shall never find. There is no solace on earth for us — for such as we — Who search for a hidden city that we shall never see. Only the road and the dawn, the sun, the wind, and the rain, And the watch fire under stars, and sleep, and the road again. We seek the City of God, and the haunt where beauty dwells, And we find the noisy mart and the sound of burial bells. Never the golden city, where the radiant people meet, But the dolorous town where mourners are going about the street. We travel the dusty road till the light of the day is dim, And sunset shows us spires away on the world’s rim. We travel from dawn to dusk, till the day is past and by, Seeking the Holy City beyond the rim of the sky. Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode, But the hope of the City of God at the other end of the road. THE MYSTIC Cale Young Rice There is a quest that calls me In nights when I am lone, The need to ride where the ways divide THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 67 The unknown from the known. I mount what thought is near me And soon I reach the place, The tenuous rim where the Seen grows dim And the Sightless hides its face. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the sea, I have ridden the moon and stars, I have set my feet in the stirrup seat Of a comet coursing Mars. And everywhere, Thro’ earth and air My thought speeds, lightning-shod, It comes to a place where checking pace It cries, “ Beyond lies God.” It calls me out of the darkness, It calls me out of sleep, “Ride, ride ! for you must, to the end of Dust !” It bids — and on I sweep To the wide outposts of Being Where there is Gulf alone — And thro’ a vast that was never passed I listen for Life’s tone. I have ridden the zvind I have ridden the night, I have ridden the ghosts that flee From the vaults of death like a chilling breath Over eternity . And everywhere Is the world laid bare — Ether and star and clod — Until I wind to its brink and find But the cry, “ Beyond lies God!” It calls me and ever calls me ! And vainly I reply, “Fools only ride where the ways divide What Is from the Whence and Why !” I 68 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I’m lifted into the saddle Of thoughts too strong to tame And down the deeps and over the steeps I find — ever the same. I have ridden the wind, I have ridden the stars I have ridden the force that flies With far intent through the firmament And each to each allies. And everywhere That a thought may dare To gallop, mine has trod — Only to stand at last on the strand Where just beyond lies God. THE SEEKERS Victor Starbuck One asked a sign fyom God; and day by day The sun arose in pearl, in scarlet set, Each night the stars appeared in bright array, Each morn the thirsting grass with dew was wet. The corn failed not its harvest, nor the vine. And yet he saw no sign. One longed to hear a prophet; and he strayed Through crowded streets, and by the open sea. He saw men send their ships for distant trade, And build for generations yet to be. He saw the farmer sow his acres wide, But went unsatisfied. One prayed a sight of heaven; and erewhile He saw a workman at his noontime rest. He saw one dare for honor, and the smile Of one who held a babe upon her breast ; At dusk two lovers walking hand in hand; But did not understand. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 69 THE CATTLE OF HIS HAND Wilbur Underwood All night long, through the starlit air and the stillness, Through the wanness of dawn and the burning of noontide, Onward we strain with a mighty resounding of hoof-beats. Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling; Wild straying of feet of a vast and hastening army; Wistful eyes that helplessly seek one another. Hushed is the dark to hear the plaint of our lowing, Mournful cry of the dumb-tired hearts within us, Faint to death with thirst and the gnawing of hunger. Day by day through the dust and the heat have we thirsted ; Day by day through stony ways have we hungered ; Naught but a few bitter herbs that grew by the wayside. What we flee that is far behind in the darkness, Where the place of abiding for us, we know not; Only we hark for the voice of the Master Herdsman. Many a weary day must pass ere we hear it, Blown on the winds, now close, now far in the distance, Deep as the void above us and sweet as the dawn-star. He it is who drives us and urges us always, Faint with a need that is ever present within us, Struggling onward and toiling one by the other. Ever we long and cry for rest, but it comes not; Broke are our feet and sore and bruised by the climbing; Sharp is his goad in our quivering flanks when we falter. And some fall down with a plaintive moaning and perish ; But upward we strain nor stop, for the Voice comes to us, Driving us on once more to the press and the struggle. 70 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Then when we know His Presence the hard way lightens ; Turn we our piteous eyes to the far-stretching highway; Struggle ahead in the dark as trusting as children. What we flee that is far behind in the darkness, Where the place of abiding for us, we know not; Only we hark for the Voice — till hope fades from us. Heaven and earth are ashake with the terrible trampling, Wild straying feet of a vast and hastening army, Wistful hearts that helplessly seek one another. All night long through the star-lit air and the stillness, Through the cool wanness of dawn and the burning of noontide, Onward we strain with mighty resounding of hoof-beats. C. THE SEARCH IS ITS OWN REWARD A GRAMMARIAN’S FUNERAL SHORTLY AFTER THE REVIVAL OF LEARNING IN EUROPE Robert Browning Let us begin and carry up this corpse, Singing together. Leave we the common crofts, the vulgar thorpes, Each in its tether Sleeping safe on the bosom of the plain, Cared-for till cock-crow: Look out if yonder be not day again Rimming the rock-row ! That’s the appropriate country; there, man’s thought, Rarer, intenser, Self-gathered for an outbreak, as it ought. Chafes in the censer. • ••••••*• Till lo, the little touch, and youth was gone ! Cramped and diminished, THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 7 1 Moaned he, “New measures, other feet anon! My dance is finished”? No, that’s the world’s way: (keep the mountainside, Make for the city ! ) He knew the signal, and stepped on with pride Over men’s pity; Left play for work, and grappled with the world Bent on escaping : “What’s in the scroll,” quoth he, “thou keepest furled? Show me their shaping, Theirs who most studied man, the bard and sage, — Give!” — So, he gowned him, Straight got by heart that book to its last page : Learned, we found him. Yea, but we found him bald too, eyes like lead, Accents uncertain : “Time to taste life,” another would have said, “Up with the curtain!” This man said rather, “Actual life comes next? Patience a moment ! Grant I have mastered learning’s crabbed text, Still there’s the comment. Let me know all ! Prate not of most or least, Painful or easy ! Even to the crumbs I’d fain eat up the feast, Ay, nor feel queasy.” Oh, such a life as he resolved to live, When he had learned it, When he had gathered all books had to give ! Sooner, he spurned it. Image the whole, then execute the parts — Fancy the fabric Quite, ere you build, ere steel strike fire from quartz, Ere mortar dab brick ! (Here’s the town-gate reached; there’s the market-place Gaping before us.) Yea, this in him was the peculiar grace (Hearten our chorus!) 72 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY That before living he’d learn how to live — No end to learning: Earn the means first — God surely will contrive Use for our earning. Others mistrust and say, “But time escapes ! Live now or never!” He said, “What’s time? Leave Now for dogs and apes! Man has Forever.” Back to his book then : deeper drooped his head : Calculus racked him : Leaden before, his eyes grew dross of lead : Tussis attacked him. “Now, master, take a little rest!” — not he! (Caution redoubled, Step two abreast, the way winds narrowly!) Not a whit troubled, Back to his studies, fresher than at first, Fierce as a dragon He (soul-hydroptic with a sacred thirst) Sucked at the flagon. Oh, if we draw a circle premature, Heedless of far gain, Greedy for quick returns of profit, sure Bad is our bargain ! Was it not great? did not he throw on God, (He loves the burthen) — God’s task to make the heavenly period Perfect the earthen ? Did not he magnify the mind, show clear Just what it all meant? He would not discount life, as fools do here, Paid by instalment. He ventured neck or nothing — heaven’s success Found, or earth’s failure : “Wilt thou trust death or not?” He answered “Yes! Hence with life’s pale lure!” That low man seeks a little thing to do, Sees it and does it : This high man, with a great thing to pursue, Dies ere he knows it. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 73 That low man goes on adding one to one, His hundred’s soon hit : This high man, aiming at a million, Misses an unit. That, has the world here — should he need the next, Let the world mind him ! This, throws himself on God, and unperplexed Seeking shall find Him. So, with the throttling hands of death at strife, Ground he at grammar; Still, thro’ the rattle, parts of speech were rife : While he could stammer He settled Hoti’s business — let it be ! — Properly based Oun — Gave us the doctrine of the enclitic De, Dead from the waist down. Well, here’s the platform, here’s the proper place: Hail to your purlieus, All ye highfliers of the feathered race, Swallows and curlews : Here’s the top-peak; the multitude below Live, for they can, there : This man decided not to Live but Know — Bury this man there ? Here — here’s his place, where meteors shoot, clouds form, Lightnings are loosened, Stars come and go! Let joy break with the storm, Peace let the dew send ! Lofty designs must close in like effects : Loftily lying, Leave him — still loftier than the world suspects, Living and dying. THE HIGHER CATECHISM Sam Walter Foss Let us ask ourselves some questions ; for that man is truly wise Who can make a catechism that will really catechise. All can make a catechism, — none can keep it in repair. 74 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Where’s the workman can construct one that he’ll guarantee will wear? We are confronted from our birthday onward to the day we die With a maximum of questions and a minimum reply. So we make our catechism; but our work is never done — For a father’s catechism never fits a father’s son. What are we here for ? That’s the first one ; that’s the first we want to know. We are here and all born little, just because we’re here to grow. What is sin? Why sin’s not growing; all that stops the growth within, Plagues the eternal upward impulse, stunts the spirit — that is sin. Who are sinners? All are sinners; but this is no hopeless plaint, For there never was a sinner who was not likewise a saint. What’s the devil ? A convenient but imagined elf Each man builds to throw his sins on when he won’t “own up” himself. And where is hell? And where is heaven? In some vague distance dim? No, they are here and now in you — in me, in her, in him. When is the Judgment Day to dawn? Its true date who can say ? Look in your calendar and see what day it is today ! Today is always Judgment Day; and Conscience throned within Brings up before its judgment seat each soul to face his sin. We march to judgment, each along an uncompanioned way — Stand up, man, and accuse yourself and meet your Judgment Day. Where shall we get religion? Beneath the open sky, The sphere of crystal silence surcharged with deity. The winds blow from a thousand ways and waft their balms abroad, The winds blow toward a million goals — but all winds blow from God. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 75 The stars the old Chaldeans saw still weave their maze on high And write a thousand thousand years their bible in the skv. The midnight earth sends incense up sweet with the breath of prayer — Go out beneath the naked night and get religion there. Where shall we get religion ? Beneath the blooming tree, Beside the hill-encircling brooks that loiter to the sea, Beside all twilight waters, beneath the noonday shades, Beneath the dark cathedral pines and through the tangled glades ; Wherever the old urge of life provokes the dumb dead sod To tell its thought in violets, the soul takes hold on God. Go smell the growing clover, and scent the blooming pear, Go forth to seek religion — and find it anywhere. What is the church? The church is man when his awed soul goes out, In reverence to a mystery that swathes him all about. When any living man in awe gropes godward in his search ; Then in that hour, that living man becomes the living church, Then, though in wilderness or in waste, his soul is swept along Down naves of prayer, through aisles of praise, up altar-stairs of song. And where man fronts the Mystery with spirit bowed in prayer, There is the universal church — the church of God is there. Where are the prophets of the soul? Where dwells the sacred clan ? Ah, they live in fields and cities, yea, wrherever dwells a man, Whether he prays in cloistered cell or delves the hillside clod, Wherever beats the heart of man, there dwells a priest of God. Who are the apostolic line? The men who hear a voice Well from the soul within the soul that cries aloud, “Rejoice!” Who listen to themselves and hear this world-old voice divine — These are the lineage of seers, the apostolic line. 76 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And what is faith? The anchored trust that at the core of things Health, goodness, animating strength flow from exhaustless springs ; That no star rolls unguided down the rings of endless maze, That no feet tread an aimless path through wastes of empty days ; That trusts the everlasting voice, the glad, calm voice that saith That Order grows from Chaos, and that life is born from death ; That from the wreck of rendering stars behind the storm and scathe, There dwells a heart of central calm; — and this, and this is faith. What is the world’s true Bible — ’tis the highest thought of man, The thought distilled through ages since the dawn of thought began. And each age adds a word thereto, some psalm or promise sweet — And the canon is unfinished and forever incomplete. O’er the chapters that are written long and lovingly we pore — But the best is yet unwritten, for we grow from more to more. Let us heed the voice within us and its messages rehearse ; Let us build the growing Bible — for we too must write a verse. What is the purport of the scheme toward which all time is gone ? What is the great seonian goal? The joy of going on. And are there any souls so strong, such feet with swiftness shod, That they shall reach it, reach some bourne, the ultimate of God? There is no bourne, no ultimate. The very farthest star But rims a sea of other stars that stretches just as far. There’s no beginning and no end. As in the ages gone, The greatest joy of joys shall be the joy of going on. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 77 THE MYSTERY Ralph Hodgson He came and took me by the hand Up to a red rose tree, He kept His meaning to Himself, But gave a rose to me. I did not pray Him to lay bare The mystery to me ; Enough the rose was heaven to smell, And His own face to see. GRADATIM Josiah Gilbert Holland Heaven is not reached by a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit round by round. I count this thing to be grandly true : That a noble deed is a step toward God, Lifting the soul from the common clod To a purer air and a broader view. We rise by the things that are under feet; By what we have mastered of good and gain; By the pride deposed and the passion slain, And the vanquished ills that we hourly meet. We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, When the morning calls us to life and light, But our hearts grow weary, and, ere the night, Our lives are trailing the sordid dust. We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings 78 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Beyond the recall of sensual things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. Wings for angels but feet for men ! We may borrow the wings to find the way — We may hope and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone Heaven is not reached by a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit, round by round. VIA, VERITAS, ET VITA Alice Meynell “You never attained to Him/’ “If to attain Be to abide, then that may be.” “Endless the way, followed with how much pain.” “The way was He.” BEFORE DAY Siegfried Sassoon Come in this hour to set my spirit free When earth is no more mine though night goes out And stretching forth these arms I cannot be Lord of winged sunrise and dim Arcady : When fieldward boys far off with clack and shout From orchards scare the birds in sudden rout, Come, ere my heart grows cold and full of doubt In the still summer dawns that waken me. THE SEARCH AFTER GOD 79 When the first lark goes up to look for day, And morning glimmers out of dreams, come then, Out of the songless valleys, over gray Wide misty lands to bring me on my way: For I am lone, a dweller among men, Hungered for what my heart shall never say. THE SEEKERS Charles Hamilton Sorley The gates are open on the road That leads to beauty and to God. Perhaps the gates are not so fair, Nor quite so bright as once they were, When God Himself on earth did stand And gave to Abraham His hand And led him to a better land. For lo ! the unclean walk therein, And those that have been soiled with sin. The publican and harlot pass Along : they do not stain its grass. In it the needy has his share, In it the foolish do not err. Yes, spurned and fool and sinner stray Along the highway and the way. And what if all its ways are trod By those whom sin brings near to God? This journey soon will make them clean: Their faith is greater than their sin. 9 For still they travel slowly by Beneath the promise of the sky, Scorned and rejected utterly; Unhonoured; things of little worth Upon the highroads of this earth; 8o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Afflicted, destitute and weak : Nor find the beauty that they seek, The God they set their trust upon: — Yet still they march rejoicing on. From MARLBOROUGH Charles Hamilton Sorley So, there, when sunset made the downs look new And earth gave up her colours to the sky, And far away the little city grew Half into sight, new-visioned was my eye. I, who have lived, and trod her lovely earth, Raced with her winds and listened to her birds, Have cared but little for their worldy worth Nor sought to put my passion into words. But now it’s different; and I have no rest Because my hand must search, dissect and spell The beauty that is better not expressed, The thing that all can feel, but none can tell. EPIGRAM William Watson When whelmed are altar, priest and creed; When all the faiths are passed; Perhaps from darkening incense freed, God may emerge at last. III. The Existence and Idea of God a. PRE-CHRISTIAN b. EARLY CHRISTIAN AND MEDI/EVAL C. SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTPI CENTURIES d. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY e. NINETEENTH CENTURY f. TWENTIETH CENTURY III. The Existence and Idea of God a. PRE-CHRISTIAN BRAHMA, THE WORLD IDEA Rig-Veda, X, 129 (East Indian), 1500 B. G, Not-Being was not, Being was not then, Air was not, nor sky beyond. What was the covering — where, in whose ward? Was there water, deep, profound? Death was not, nor deathlessness then, No token was there of night or day. The One breathed windless, of its own power; Beyond this there was naught whatsoever. Darkness there was, hidden in darkness, at first; This universe was a tokenless flood. When the living was covered by the void, By the power of Heat was born the One. Desire in the beginning came upon it, Which was the first seed of Thought. The root of Being in Not-Being was found By sages tracing it with understanding in their hearts. Was their line stretched out across, Or was it below, or was it above? Sowers of seed there were, Powers there were, Potency beneath, Energy beyond. Who knows in sooth, who may declare here, Whence this creation was born, whence it was? 83 84 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The gods were later in the creating thereof ; So who knows whence it arose ? Whence this creation arose, Whether He made it or not, He who watches over it in the highest heaven Knows indeed — or haply knows not. PROOFS OF BUDDHA’S EXISTENCE Anonymous, Fourth Century B. C. As men who see a city fitly planned Infer the greatness of its architect, So when the ‘City of Good Law’ is scanned Work of the Blessed One can those who will detect. As men who see the ocean rollers break Infer the greatness of th’ encompassing sea, So may they judge of him whose teachings take Throughout the listening world their course of victory^ Of him, the Victor who allays all grief Who purged his heart of Tanha, seed of woe, Well may the men to whom he brings relief Cry, ‘Great our Master, far his goodly precepts flow !’ As men who see far-off Himalaya’s snows Can judge the mountain-barrier’s soaring height: So they on whom the Teacher peace bestows Behold the ‘Mount of Dharma’ gleaming clear and white. Steadfast, unshaken, towering on high, Unmoved by all the passion-blasts of lust, In air serene, where ill and Karma die, Infer ‘How great the Hero in whose word we trust!’ As those who find some track of elephant Infer the vastness of his kingly form, So when they see the work of Bhagavant, ‘How mighty,’ cry they, ‘was the Teacher of the Norm!’ THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 85 As men behold the jungle-folk afraid And know ‘The King of beasts is surely near/ So when false teachers fly, and are dismayed, We judge ‘ ’Tis wisdom of the royal Sage they fear !’ And when the earth rejoices fresh and green, ‘The gracious rain,’ we say, ‘hath come at last/ So judge we, when the hearts of weary men Rejoice, ‘His gracious words into their lives have passed/ Seeing the wide fields turned into a flood, ‘Some mighty stream hath poured its waters here/ Men cry: so judge they of the Law how good It is, because they see men here and everywhere. In the wide ocean of its waters pure, Cleansed from the mud of sin and suffering. As men who scent the fragrant air are sure That the great forest trees hard-by are blossoming; So, finding righteous actions wafting round All sweet fragrance of their loveliness, Men gladly sniff the air, and cries resound, ‘Here surely lived a Buddha, Lord of Righteousness!’ For Egyptian and Babylonian and Greek see Section Villa. See also Sections II, III , V, VI, VIII, IX, XI, XII for Psalms. b. EARLY CHRISTIAN AND MEDIAEVAL THE END OF BEING Seneca, Fourth Century B. C. Translated by H. C. Leonard. The end of being is to find out God ! And what is God? A vast almighty Power Great and unlimited, whose potent will Brings to achievement whatsoe’er He please. 86 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY He is all mind. His being infinite — All that we see and all that we do not see. The Lord of heaven and earth, the God of Gods. Without Him nothing is. Yet what He is We know not! When we strive to comprehend Our feeble guesses leave the most concealed. To Him we owe all good we call our own. To Him we live, to Him ourselves approve. He is a friend forever at our side. What cares He for the bleeding sacrifice? O purge your hearts and lead the life of good! Not in the pride of temples made with stone His pleasure lies, but in the piety Of consecrated hearts and. lives devout. THE LOVE OF GOD Bernard Rascas From the Provencal Translated by William Cullen Bryant All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye. The forms of men shall be as they had never been ; The blasted groves shall lose their fresh and tender green; The birds of the thicket shall end their pleasant song, And the nightingale shall cease to chant the evening long. The kine of the pasture shall feel the dart that kills, And all the fair white flocks shall perish from the hills. The goat and antlered stag, the wolf and the fox, The wild boar of the wood, and the chamois of the rocks, And the strong and fearless bear, in the trodden dust shall lie ; And the dolphin of the sea, and the mighty whale, shall die. And realms shall be dissolved, and empires be no more, And they shall bow to death, who ruled from shore to shore; And the great globe itself, so the Holy Writings tell, THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 87 With the rolling firmament, where the starry armies dwell, Shall melt with fervent heat, — they shall all pass away, Except the love of God, which shall live and last for aye ! Note: Bernard Rascas was a Limousin poet who died in 1353. He is said to have been kinsman of the popes Clement VI and Innocent VI. He endowed the Hospital of St. Bernard, at Avignon, THE UNITY OF GOD Panatattu, E. Indian, 10th Century A. D. Into the bosom of the one great sea Flow streams that come from hills on every side. Their names are various as their springs. And thus in every land do men bow down To one great God, though known by many names. This mighty Being we would worship now. What though the six religions loudly shout That each alone is true, all else are false ? Yet when in each the wise man worships God, The great almighty One receives the prayer. Oh Lord, when may I hope To find the clue that leads From out the labyrinth Of brawling erring sects? Six blind men once described an elephant That stood before them all. One felt the back. The second noticed pendent ears. The third Could only find the tail. The beauteous tusks Absorbed the admiration of the fourth. While of the other two, one grasped the trunk. The last sought for small things and found Four thick and clumsy feet. From what each learned, He drew the beast. Six monsters stood revealed. 88 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Just so the six religions learned of God, And tell their wondrous tales. Our God is one. Men talk of penance, fastings, sacred streams — Make pilgrimage to temples, offer gifts; Performing to the letter all the rules Of senseless complicated ritual. Yet are they doomed to sorrow’s deepest pain. Oh, fling such things away and fix thy heart On rest and peace to come. Seek that alone. To them that fully know the heavenly truth, There is no good or ill; nor anything To be desired, unclean or purely clean. To them there is no good can come from fast Or penance pains. To them the earth has naught For hope or fear, in thought or word or deed. They hear the four great Vedas shout aloud That he who has true wisdom in his heart Can have no thought for fleeting worldly things. Where God is seen, there can be naught but God. His heart can have no place for fear or shame, For caste, uncleanness, hate or wandering thought. Impure and pure are all alike to him. TRUE KNOWLEDGE Panatattu, E. Indian, ioth Century A. D. My God is not a chiselled stone, Or lime-block, so clear and bright: Nor is he cleaned with tamarind. Like images of bronze. I cannot worship such as these, But loudly make my boast That in my heart I place the feet, The golden feet of God. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 89 If He be mine what can I need? My God is everywhere ! Within, beyond man's highest word, My God existeth still. In sacred books, in darkest night, In deepest, bluest sky, In those who know the truth, and in The faithful few on earth ; — My God is found in all of these, But can the Deity Descend to images of stone Or copper dark or red? Whene'er wind blows or compass points, God’s light doth stream and shine, Yet see yon fool — beneath his arm He bears the sacred roil. How carefully he folds the page And draws the closing string ! See how he binds the living book That not a leaf escape ! Ah ! Yes ; the truth should fill his heart, But 'tis beneath his arm. To him who “knows," the sun is high; To this, 'tis starless night. If still, oh sinful man, with ash Thou dost besmear thy face, Or bathest oft, that thus thy soul May cast awray its load, Thou knowest naught of God, nor of Regeneration's work. Your mantras, what are they? The Veds Are burdened with their weight. 90 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY If knowledge be not thine, thou art As one in deep mid-stream, A stream so wide that both the banks Are hidden from thine eyes. Alas ! How long did I adore The chiselled stone, and serve An image made of lime or brass That’s cleaned with tamarind. See also the Hymns in Section VIII. C. SIXTEENTH AND SEVENTEENTH CENTURIES THE IMAGE OF GOD Francesco de Aldana (From the Spanish) Translated by Henry W. Longfellow O Lord! who seest from yon starry height, Centred in one the future and the past, Fashioned in thine own image, see how fast The world obscures in me what once was bright ! Eternal sun ! the warmth which thou hast given, To cheer life’s flowery April, fast decays; Yet in the hoary winter of my days, Forever green shall be my trust in heaven. Celestial King ! oh, let thy presence pass Before my spirit, and an image fair Shall meet that look of mercy from on high, As the reflected image in a glass Doth meet the look of him who seeks it there, And owes its being to the gazer’s eye. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 9i THE PROTECTION OF JEHOVAH Psalm XXIII From Moulton’s Modern Readers' Bible The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures : He leadeth me beside still waters. He restoreth my soul : He guideth me in paths of righteousness for his name’s sake. Yea, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death I will fear no evil; For thou art with me: Thy rod and thy staff, they comfort me. Thou preparest a table before me In the presence of mine enemies': Thou anointest my head with oil : My cup runneth over. Surely goodness and mercy shall follow me all the days of my life : And I will dwell in the house of the Lord forever. THE DELIVERANCE OF JEHOVAH Psalm XXVII From Moulton’s Modern Readers' Bible The Lord is my light and my salvation; Whom shall I fear? The Lord is the strength of my life; Of whom shall I be afraid? 92 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY When evil-doers came upon me To eat up my flesh, Even mine adversaries and my foes, They stumbled and fell. Though an host should encamp against me, My heart shall not fear: Though war should rise against me, Even then will I be confident. One thing have I asked of the Lord, That will I seek after; That I may dwell in the house of the Lord All the days of my life, To behold the beauty of the Lord, And to inquire in his temple. For in the day of trouble he shall keep me secretly in his pavilion, In the covert of his tabernacle shall he hide me ; He shall lift me up upon a rock. And now shall mine head be lifted up above mine enemies round about me; 1 will offer in his tabernacle sacrifices of joy; I will sing, yea, I will sing praises unto the Lord. “Hear, O Lord, when I cry with my voice: Have mercy also upon me and answer me. “Seek ye my face” — “My heart said unto thee, Thy face, Lord, will I seek. Hide not thy face from me; Put not thy servant away in anger. “Thou hast been my help, cast me not off: Neither forsake me, O God of my salvation. When my father and my mother forsake me, The Lord will take me up. “Teach me thy way, O Lord, And lead me in a plain path because of mine enemies ; Deliver me not over to the will of mine adversaries : For false witnesses are risen up against me, and such as breathe out cruelty.” THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 93 I had fainted, unless I had believed to see the goodness of the Lord In the land of the living. Wait on the Lord: be strong and let thine heart take courage; Yea, wait thou on the Lord. JEHOVAH’S IMMOVABLE THRONE Psalm XCIII The Lord reigneth; he is apparelled with majesty; The Lord is apparelled, he hath girded himself with strength. The world also is stablished, that it cannot be moved : Thy throne is established of old : thou art from everlasting. The floods have lifted up, O Lord, The floods have lifted up their voice ; The floods lift up their waves. Above the voices of many waters, The mighty breakers of the sea, The Lord on high is mighty. Thy testimonies are very sure : Lloliness becometh thine house, O Lord, forevermore. THE PLAN OF SALVATION John Milton From Paradise Lost , Bk. Ill (Speech of the Almighty) O thou in heaven and earth the only peace Found out for mankind under wrath, O thou My sole complacence ! well thou know’st how dear To me are all my works, nor man the least, Though last created, that for him I spare THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS FOETRY Thee from my bosom and right hand, to save, By losing thee awhile, the whole race lost. Thou therefore whom thou only can’st redeem Their nature also to thy nature join; And be thyself Man among men on earth, Made flesh, when time shall be, of virgin seed, By wondrous birth : be thou in Adam’s room The head of all mankind, though Adam’s son. As in him perish all men, so in thee, As from a second root, shall be restored, As many as are restored, without thee none. His crime makes guilty all his sons; thy merit Imputed shall absolve them who renounce Their own both righteous and unrighteous deeds, And live in thee transplanted, and from thee Receive new life. So man, as is most just. Shall satisfy for man, be judged and die; And dying rise, and rising with him raise His brethren, ransomed with his own dear life. So heavenly love shall outdo hellish hate, Giving to death, and dying to redeem, So dearly to redeem what hellish hate So easily destroyed, and still destroys In those who, when they may, accept not grace. Nor shalt thou by descending to assume Man’s nature lessen or degrade thine own. Because thou hast, though throned in highest bliss Equal to God, and equally enjoying God-like fruition, quitted all to save A world from utter loss, and hast been found By merit more than birthright, Son of God, Found worthiest to be so by being good, Far more than great or high; because in thee Love hath abounded more than glory abounds ; Therefore thy humiliation shall exalt With thee thy manhood also to this throne; Here shalt thou sit incarnate, here shalt reign Both God and Man, Son both of God and Man, Anointed universal king; all power I give thee, reign for ever, and assume THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 95 Thy merits; under thee as head supreme Thrones, Princedoms, Powers, Dominions, I reduce: All knees to thee shall bow, of them that bide In heaven, or earth, or under earth in hell. When thou, attended gloriously from heaven, Shalt in the sky appear, and from thee send The summoning archangels to proclaim Thy dread tribunal, forthwith from all winds The living, and forthwith the cited dead Of all past ages, to the general doom Shall hasten, such a peal shall rouse their sleep. Then, all thy saints assembled, thou shalt judge Bad men and angels; they arraigned shall sink Beneath thy sentence ; hell, her numbers full, Thenceforth shall be forever shut. Meanwhile The world shall burn, and from her ashes spring New heaven and earth, wherein the just shall dwell, And after all their tribulations long See golden days, fruitful of golden deeds, With joy and love triumphing, and fair truth: Then thou thy regal sceptre shalt lay by, For regal sceptre then no more shall need, God shall be All in All. But all ye Gods Adore Him, who to compass all this dies. Adore the Son, and honour him as me. From SONG TO DAVID Christopher Smart Tell them, I am, Jehovah said To Moses; while earth heard in dread, And, smitten to the heart, At once above, beneath, around, All Nature, without voice or sound, Replied, O Lord, Thou art. Thou art — to give and to confirm For each his talent and his term; 96 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY All flesh thy bounties share : Thou shalt not call thy brother fool ; The porches of the Christian school Are meekness, peace, and pray’r. Sweet is the dew that falls betimes, And drops upon the leafy limes ; Sweet Hermon’s fragrant air : Sweet is the lily’s silver bell, And sweet the wakeful tapers’ smell, That watch for early pray’r. Sweet the young nurse with love intense, Which smiles o’er sleeping innocence ; Sweet when the lost arrive : Sweet the musician’s ardour beats, While his vague mind’s in quest of sweets The choicest flow’rs to hive. Sweeter in all the strains of love, The language of thy turtle dove, Pair’d to thy swelling chord; Sweeter with ev’ry grace endued, The glory of thy gratitude, Respir’d unto the Lord. Strong is the lion — like a coal His eye-ball — like a bastion’s mole His chest against the foes : Strong the gier-eagle on his sail, Strong against tide, th’ enormous whale Emerges, as he goes. But stronger still, in earth and air, And in the sea, the man of pray’r ; And far beneath the tide; And in the seat to faith assign’d, Where ask is have, where seek is find, Where knock is open side. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 97 Beauteous the fleet before the gale ; Beauteous the multitudes in mail, Rank’d arms and crested heads : Beauteous the garden’s umbrage mild — Walk, water, meditated wild, And all the bloomy beds. Beauteous the moon full on the lawn; And beauteous, when the veil’s withdrawn, The virgin to her spouse : Beauteous the temple deck’d and fill’d, When to the heav’n of heav’ns they build Their heart-directed vows. Precious the penitential tear; And precious is the sigh sincere. Acceptable to God : And precious are the winning flow’rs, In gladsome Israel’s feast of bow’rs Bound on the hallow’d sod. More precious that diviner part Of David, ev’n the Lord’s own heart, Great, beautiful, and new : In all things where it was intent, In all estreams, in each event, Proof — answ’ring true to true. Glorious the sun in mid career, Glorious th’ assembled fires appear, Glorious the comet’s train : Glorious the trumpet and alarm, Glorious th’ Almighty’s stretch’d-out arm, Glorious th’ enraptur’d main : Glorious the northern lights astream, Glorious the song, when God’s the theme, Glorious the thunder’s roar : Glorious hosanna from the den, Glorious the Catholic amen, Glorious the martyr’s gore : 98 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Glorious — more glorious — is the crown Of Him, that brought salvation down By meekness, call’d Thy Son; Thou that stupendous truth believ’d; — And now the matchless deed’s achiev’d, Determin’d, dar’d, and done ! From AN HYMN OF HEAVENLY BEAUTY Edmund Spenser But whoso may, thrice happy man him hold Of all on earth whom God so much doth grace And lets his own Beloved to behold; For in the view of her celestial face All joy, all bliss, all happiness have place; Ne ought on earth can want unto the wight Who of herself can win the wishful sight. For she out of her secret treasury, Plenty of riches forth on him will pour, Even heavenly riches, which there hidden lie Within the closet of her chastest bower, The eternal portion of her precious dower, Which mighty God hath given to her free, And to all those which thereof worthy be. None thereof worthy be but those whom she Vouchsafeth to her presence to receive, And letteth them her lovely face to see, Whereof such wondrous pleasure they conceive, And sweet contentment, that it doth bereave Their soul of sense, through infinite del ight, And them transport from flesh into the spright. In which they see such admirable things As carries them into ecstasy, And hear such heavenly notes and carollings Of God’s high praise, that fills the brazen sky; THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 99 And feel such joy and pleasure inwardly That maketh them all worldly cares forget, And only think on that before them set. Ah, then, my hungry soul ! which long hast fed On idle fancies of thy foolish thought, And, with false beauties’ flattering bait misled, Hast after vain deceitful shadows sought, Which all are fled, and now have left thee nought But late repentance through thy folly’s prief ; Ah ! cease to gaze on matter of thy grief. And look at last up to that sovereign Light, From whose pure beams all perfect beauty springs, That kindleth love in every godly spright, Even the Love of God; which loathing brings Of this vile world and these gay-seeming things; With whose sweet pleasures being so possessed, Thy straying thoughts henceforth forever rest. THE MAJESTY OF GOD Thomas Sternhold The Lord descended from above, And bowed the heavens most high, And underneath his feet he cast The darkness of the sky. On Cherubim and Seraphim Full royally he rode, On the wings of mighty winds Came flying all abroad. He sat serene upon the floods, Their fury to restrain; And he, as sovereign Lord and King Forevermore shall reign. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY d. EIGHTEENTH CENTURY RELIGIOUS MUSINGS Samuel Taylor Coleridge I There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind, Omnific. His most holy name is Love. Truth of subliming import! With the which Who feeds and saturates his constant soul, He from his small particular orbit flies, With blest outstarting ! from Himself he flies, Stands in the Sun, and with no partial gaze Views all creation; and he loves it all, And blesses it, and calls it very good ! This is indeed to dwell with the Most High ! Cherubs and rapture — trembling Seraphim Can press no nearer to the Almighty’s throne. But that we roam unconscious, or with hearts Unfeeling of our universal Sire, And that in His vast family no Cain Injures uninjured (in her best-aimed blow Victorious Murder a blind Suicide) Haply for this some younger Angel now Looks down on Human Nature: and behold! A sea of blood bestrewed with wrecks, where mad Embattling Interests on each other rush With unhelmed Rage ! ’Tis the sublime of man Our noontide majesty, to know ourselves Parts and proportions of one wondrous whole ! This fraternizes man, this constitutes Our charities and bearings. But ’tis God Diffused through all that doth make all one whole; Aught to desire, Supreme Reality ! The plentitude and permanence of bliss ! THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD IOI II Toy-bewitched, Made blind by lusts, disinherited of soul, No common center Man, no common sire Knoweth ! A sordid solitary thing, Mid countless brethren, with a lonely heart Through courts and cities the smooth savage roams Feeling himself, his own low self, the whole; When by sacred sympathy might make The whole one Self! Self, that no alien knows! Self, far-diffused as fancy’s wing can travel ! Self, spreading still ! Oblivious of its own, Yet all of all possessing! That is Faith! ’Tis the Messiah’s destined victory. From RELIGIO LAICI John Dryden Thus man by his own strength to Heaven would soar And would not be obliged to God for more. Vain, wretched creature, how thou art misled, To think thy wit these God-like notions bred! These truths are not the product of thy mind, But dropp’d from heaven, and of a nobler kind. Revealed religion first informed thy sight, And reason saw not till faith sprung the light. Hence all thy natural worship takes the source : ’Tis Revelation what thou think’t Discourse. Else how com’st thou to see these truths so clear, Which so, obscure to heathens did appear? Not Plato these, nor Aristotle found: Not he whose wisdom oracles renowned. Hast thou a wit so deep, or so sublime, Or canst thou lower dive, or higher climb? Canst thou by reason more of Godhead know Than Plutarch, Seneca, or Cicero? 102 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Those giant wits in happier ages born, When arms and arts did Greece and Rome adorn, Knew no such system; no such piles could raise Of natural worship, built on prayer and praise. To one sole GOD : Nor did remorse to expiate sin prescribe, But slew their fellow-creatures for a bribe : The guiltless victim groaned for their offence, And cruelty and blood was penitence. If sheep and oxen could atone for men, Ah ! at how cheap a rate the rich might sin ! And great oppressors might heaven’s wrath beguile By offering his own creatures for a spoil ! Darest thou, poor worm, offend Infinity ? And must the terms of peace be given by Thee ? Then thou art Justice in the last appeal; Thy easy God instructs thee to rebel : And, like a king remote, and weak, must take What satisfaction thou art pleased to make. But if there be a Power too just and strong To wink at crimes and hear unpunished wrong, Look humbly upward, see his will disclose The forfeit first and then the fine impose : A mulct thy poverty could never pay, Had not Eternal Wisdom found the way: And with celestial wealth supplied thy store : His justice makes the fine, His mercy quits the score* See God descending in thy human frame; The Offended suffering in the offender’s name : All thy deeds to Him imputed see, And all His righteousness devolved on Thee. Proof needs not here; for whether we compare The impious, idle, superstitious ware Of rites, lustrations, offerings, which before, In various ages, various countries bore, With Christian Faith and Virtues, we shall find None answering the great needs of human kind, But his one rule of life; that shows us best Plow God may be appeased and mortals blest. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 103 Whether from length of time its worth we draw, The world is scarce more ancient than the law : Heaven’s early care prescribed for every age; First, in the soul, and after, in the page, Or, whether more abstractedly we look, Or in the writers, or in the written book, Whence, but from heaven could men, unskilled in arts, In several ages born, in several parts, Weave such agreeing truths? or how, or why Should all conspire to cheat us with a lie? Unasked their pains, ungrateful their advice, Starving their gain, and martyrdom their price. If on the Book itself we cast our view, Concurrent, heathens prove the story true : The doctrine, miracles; which must convince, For Heaven in them appeals to human sense; And though they prove not, they confirm the cause, When what is taught agrees with Nature’s laws. Then for the style, majestic and divine, It speaks no less than God in every line : Commanding words; whose force is still the same As the first fiat that produced our frame. All faiths aside or did by arms ascend, Or, sense indulged, has made mankind their friend: This only doctrine does our lusts oppose — Unfed by nature’s soil, in which it grows; Cross to our interests, curbing sense and sin; Oppressed without, and undermined within, It thrives through pain; its own tormentors tires; And with a stubborn patience still aspires, To what can Reason such affects assign, Transcending Nature, but to laws divine? Which in that sacred volume are contained; Sufficient, clear, and for that use ordained. 104 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE MAJESTY AND MERCY OF GOD Sir Robert Grant Oh, worship the King all glorious above ; Oh, gratefully sing his power and his love ; Our shield and defender, the Ancient of Days Pavilioned in splendor and girded with praise. Oh, tell of his might, Oh, sing of his grace, Whose robe is the light, whose canopy space ; His chariots of wrath the deep thunder clouds form, And dark is his path on the wings of the storm. The earth, with its store of wonders untold, Almighty, thy power hath founded of old, Hath stablished it fast by a changeless decree, And round it hath cast, like a mantle, the sea. Thy bountiful care what tongue can recite? It breathes in the air, it shines in the light, It streams from the hills, it descends to the plain, And sweetly distills in the dew and the rain. Frail children of dust and feeble as frail In thee do we trust, nor find thee to fail. Thy mercies how tender, how firm to the end, Our Maker, Defender, Redeemer and Friend. Oh, measureless Might, ineffable Love, While angels delight to hymn thee above, The humbler creation, though feeble their lays, With true adoration shall lisp to thy praise. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 105 From THE ESSAY ON MAN Alexander Pope All are but parts of one stupendous whole, Whose body Nature is, and God the soul; That, changed through all, and yet in all the same, Great in the earth, as in th’ethereal frame, Warms in the sun, refreshes in the breeze, Glows in the stars and blossoms in the trees, Lives through life, extends through all extent, Spreads undivided, operates unspent : Breathes in our soul, informs our mortal part; As full, as perfect, in a hair as heart; As full, as perfect, in vile man that mourns As the rapt Seraphim, that adores and burns : To him, no high, no low, no great, no small — He fills, he bounds, connects and equals all . . . All nature is but art, unknown to thee : All chance, direction, which thou canst not see : All discord, harmony not understood ; All partial evil, universal good. €. NINETEENTH CENTURY From AURORA LEIGH Elizabeth Barrett Browning Truth, so far, in my book; — the truth which draws Through all things upwards, — that a twofold world Must go to a perfect cosmos. Natural things And spiritual, — who separates those two In art, in morals, or the social drift, Tears up the bond of nature and brings death, Paints futile pictures, writes unreal verse, io6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Leads vulgar days, deals ignorantly with men, Is wrong, in short, at all points. We divide This apple of life, and cut it through the pips: — The perfect round which fitted Venus’ hand Has perished as utterly as if we ate Both halves. Without the spiritual, observe, The natural's impossible, — no form, No motion: without sensuous, spiritual Is inappreciable, — no beauty or power : And in this twofold sphere the twofold man (For still the artist is intensely a man) Holds firmly by the natural, to reach The spiritual beyond it, — fixes still The type with mortal vision, to pierce through, With eyes immortal, to the antetype Some call the ideal, — better called the real. And certain to be called so presently, When things shall have their names. Look long enough On any peasant’s face here, coarse and lined, You’ll catch Antinous somewhere in that clay, As perfect-featured as he yearns at Rome From marble pale with beauty; then persist, And, if your apprehension’s competent, You’ll find some fairer angel at his back, As much exceeding him as he the boor, And pushing him with empyreal disdain For ever out of sight. Aye, Carrington Is glad of such a creed: an artist must, Who paints a tree, a leaf, a common stone With just his hand, and finds it suddenly A-piece with and conterminous to his soul. Why else do these things move him, — leaf or stone? The bird’s not moved, that pecks at a spring shoot: Nor yet the horse, before a quarry a-graze : But man, the twofold creature, apprehends The twofold manner, in and outwardly, And nothing in the world comes single to him, A mere itself, — cup, column or candlestick, All patterns of what shall be in the Mount; The whole temporal show related royally, THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 107 And built up to eterne significance Through the open arms of God. “There’s nothing great Nor small/’ has said a poet of our day, Whose voice will ring beyond the curfew of eve And not be thrown out by the matin’s bell ; And truly, I reiterate, nothing’s small ! No lily-muffled hum of a summer bee, But finds some coupling with the spinning stars; No pebble at your foot, but proves a sphere; No chaffinch, but implies the cherubim; And ( glancing on my own thin, veined wrist) In such a little tremor of the blood The whole strong clamor of a vehement soul Doth utter itself distinct. Earth’s crammed with heaven And every common bush afire with God; But only he who sees takes off his shoes, The rest sit round it and pluck blackberries, And daub their natural faces unaware More and more from the first similitude. ABT VOGLER Robert Browning Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build, Bidding my organ obey, calling its keys to their work, Claiming each slave of the sound, at a touch, as when Solomon willed Armies of angels that soar, legions of demons that lurk, Man, brute, reptile, fly, — alien of end and of aim, Adverse, each from the other heaven-high, heel-deep removed — Should rush into sight at once as he named the ineffable Name, And pile him a palace straight, to pleasure the princess he loved. Would it might tarry like his, the beautiful building of mine, This which my keys in a crowd pressed and importuned to raise ! Ah, one and all, how they helped, would dispart now and now combine, io8 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Zealous to hasten the work, heighten their master his praise ! And one would bury his brow with a blind plunge down to hell, Burrow awhile and build, broad on the roots of things, Then up again swim into sight, having based me my palace well. Founded it, fearless of flame, flat on the nether springs. And another would mount and march, like the excellent minion he was, Ay, another and yet another, one crowd but with many a crest, Raising my rampired walls of gold as transparent as glass, Eager to do and die, yield each his place to the rest : For higher still and higher (as a runner tips with fire, When a great illumination surprises a festal night — Outlined round and round Rome’s dome from space to spire) Up, the pinnacled glory reached, and the pride of my soul was in sight. In sight? Not half! for it seemed, it was certain, to match man’s birth, Nature in turn conceived, obeying an impulse as I; And the emulous heaven yearned down, made effort to reach the earth, As the earth had done her best, in my passion, to scale the sky : Novel splendors burst forth, grew familiar and dwelt with mine, Not a point nor peak but found and fixed its wandering star; Meteor-moons, balls of blaze : and they did not pale nor pine, For earth had attained to heaven, there was no more near nor far. Nay more; for there wanted not who walked in the glare and glow, Presences plain in the place ; or, fresh from the Protoplast, Furnished for ages to come, when a kindlier wind should blow, Lured now, to begin and live, in a house to their liking at last ; Or else the wonderful Dead who have passed through the body and gone, But were back once more to breathe in an old world worth their new; THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 109 What never had been, was now ; what was, as it shall be anon ; And what is, — shall I say, matched both? for I was made perfect too. All thro’ my keys that gave their sounds to a wish of my soul, All thro’ my soul that praised as its wish flowed visibly forth, All thro’ music and me ! For think, had I painted the whole, Why, there it had stood, to see, nor the process so wonder- worth : Had I written the same, made verse — still, effect proceeds from cause, Ye know why the forms are fair, ye hear how the tale is told : It is all triumphant art, but art in obedience to laws, Painter and poet are proud, in the artist-list enrolled: — But here is the finger of God, a flash of the will that can, Existent behind all laws, that made them, and lo, they are ! And I know not if, save in this, such gift be allowed to man. That out of three sounds he frame, not a fourth sound, but a star. Consider it well: each tone of our scale in itself is naught: It is everywhere in the world — loud, soft, and all is said: Give it to me to use ! I mix it with two in my thought : And, there! Ye have heard and seen: consider and bow the head ! Well, it is gone at last, the palace of music I reared; Gone ! and the good tears start, the praises that come too slow ; For one is assured at first, one scarce can say that he feared, That he even gave it a thought, the gone thing was to go. Never to be again! But many more of the kind As good, nay, better perchance : is this your comfort to me ? To me, who must be saved because I cling with my mind To the same, same self, same love, same God: ay, what was, shall be. Therefore to whom turn I but to thee, the ineffable Name? Builder and maker, Thou, of houses not made with hands' no THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY What, have fear of change from Thee who art ever the same? Doubt that Thy power can fill the heart that Thy power expands ? There shall never be one lost good ! What was, shall live as before ; The evil is null, is naught, is silence implying sound; What was good shall be good, with, for evil, so much good more ; On the earth the broken arcs; in the heaven a perfect round. All we have willed or hoped or dreamed of good shall exist; Not its semblance but itself; no beauty, nor good nor power Whose voice has gone forth, but each survives for the melodist When eternity affirms the conception of an hour. The high that proved too high, the heroic for earth too hard, The passion that left the ground to lose itself in the sky, Are music sent up to God by the lover and the bard; Enough that he heard it once ; we shall hear it by and by. And what is our failure here but a triumph’s evidence For the fulness of the days? Have we withered or agonized? Why else was the pause prolonged but that singing might issue thence ? Why rushed the discords in but that harmony should be prized ? Sorrow is hard to bear, and doubt is slow to clear, Each sufferer says his say, his scheme of the weal and woe : But God has a few of us whom he whispers in the ear; The rest may reason and welcome ; ’tis we musicians know. Well, it is earth with me; silence resumes her reign: I will be patient and proud, and soberly acquiesce. Give me the keys. I feel for the common chord again, Sliding by semi-tones till I sink to a minor, — yes, And I blunt it into a ninth, and I stand on alien ground, Surveying a while the heights I rolled from into the deep; Which, hark, I have dared and done, for my resting-place is found, The C Major of this life: so, now I will try to sleep. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD hi CALIBAN UPON SETEBOS or NATURAL THEOLOGY IN THE ISLAND Robert Browning “Thou thoughtest that I was altogether such an one as thyself.” [’Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best, Flat on his belly in the pit’s much mire, With elbows wide, fists clenched to prop his chin. And, while he kicks both feet in the cool slush, And feels about his spine small eft-things course, Run in and out each arm, and make him laugh : And while above his head a pompion-plant, Coating the cave-top as a brow its eye, Creeps down to touch and tickle hair and beard, And now a flower drops with a bee inside. And now a fruit to snap at, catch and crunch, — He looks out o’er yon sea which sunbeams cross And recross till they weave a spider web, (Meshes of fire, some great fish breaks at times) And talks to his own self, howe’er he please, Touching that other, whom his dam called God. Because to talk about Him, vexes — ha, Could He but know ! and time to vex is now, When talk is safer than in winter-time. Moreover Prosper and Miranda sleep In confidence he drudges at their task, And it is good to cheat the pair, and gibe, Letting the rank tongue blossom into speech.] Setebos, Setebos, and Setebos ! ’Thinketh, Pie dwelleth i’ the cold o’ the moon. ’Thinketh He made it, with the sun to match, But not the stars ; the stars came otherwise ; Only made clouds, winds, meteors, such as that : 1 12 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Also this isle, what lives and grows thereon, And snaky sea which rounds and ends the same. ’Thinketh, it came of being ill at ease : He hated that He cannot change His cold, Nor cure its ache. 'Hath spied an icy fish That longed to ’scape the rock-stream where she lived. And thaw herself within the lukewarm brine O’ the lazy sea her stream thrusts far amid, A crystal spike ’twixt two warm walls of wave ; Only, she ever sickened, found repulse At the other kind of water, not her life, (Green-dense and dim-delicious, bred o’ the sun) Flounced back from bliss she was not born to breathe, And in her old bounds buried her despair, Hating and loving warmth alike : so He. ’Thinketh, He made thereat the sun, this isle, Trees and the fowls here, beast and creeping thing. Yon otter, sleek-wet, black, lithe as a leech; Yon auk, one fire-eye in a ball of foam, That floats and feeds; a certain badger brown, He hath watched hunt with that slant white-wedge eye By moonlight; and the pie with the long tongue That pricks deep into oakwarts for a worm, And says a plain word when she finds her prize, But will not eat the ants ; the ants themselves That build a wall of seeds and settled stalks About their hole — He made all these and more, Made all we see, and us, in spite: how else? He could not, Himself, make a second self To be His mate: as well have made Himself: He would not make what He mislikes or slights, An eyesore to Him, or not worth His pains; But did, in envy, listlessness, or sport, Make what Himself would fain, in a manner, be — Weaker in most points, stronger in a few, Worthy, and yet mere playthings all the while, Things He admires and mocks too, — that is it ! Because, so brave, so better tho’ they be, It nothing skills if He begin to plague. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 113 Look now, I melt a gourd-fruit into mash, Add honeycomb and pods, I have perceived, Which bite like finches when they bill and kiss, — Then, when froth rises bladdery, drink up all, Quick, quick, till maggots scamper thro’ my brain; Last, throw me on my back i’ the seeded thyme, And wanton, wishing I were born a bird. Put case, unable to be what I wish, I yet could make a live bird out of clay : Would not I take clay, pinch my Caliban Able to fly ? — for there, see, he hath wings, And great comb like the hoopoe’s to admire, And there, a sting to do his foes offence, There, and I will that he begin to live, Fly to yon rock -top, nip me off the horns Of grigs high up that make the merry din, Saucy thro’ their veined wings, and mind me not In which feat, if his leg snapped, brittle clay. And he lay stupid-like, — why, I should laugh; And if he, spying me, should fall to weep, Beseech me to be good, repair his wrong. Bid his poor leg smart less or grow again, — Well, as the chance were, this might take or else Not take my fancy: I might hear his cry. And give the mankin three sound legs for one. Or pluck the other off, leave him like an egg, And lessoned he was mine and merely clay. Were this no pleasure, lying in the thyme, Drinking the mash, with brain become alive, Making and marring clay at will? So He. ’Thinketh such shows nor right nor wrong in Him; Nor kind, nor cruel: He is strong and Lord. ’Am strong myself compared to yonder crabs That march now from the mountain to the sea ; ’Let twenty pass, and stone the twenty-first, Loving not, hating not, just choosing so. ’Say, the first straggler that boasts purple spots Shall join the file, one pincer twisted off; ’Say, this bruised fellow shall receive a worm. 1 14 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And two worms he whose nippers end in red: As it likes me each time, I do : so He. Well then, ’supposeth He is good i’ the main, Placable if His mind and ways were guessed, But rougher than Plis handiwork, be sure ! Oh, He hath made things worthier than Himself, And envieth that, so helped, such things do more Than He who made them! What consoles but this? That they, unless thro’ Him, do naught at all, And must submit : what other use in things ? ’Hath cut a pipe of pithless elder-joint That, blown through, gives exact the scream o’ the jay When from her wing you twitch the feathers blue : Sound this, and little birds that hate the jay Flock within stone’s throw, glad their foe is hurt : Put case such pipe could prattle and boast forsooth “I catch the birds, I am the crafty thing, I make the cry my maker cannot make With his great round mouth ; he must blow thro’ mine V' Would not I smash it with my foot? So He. But wherefore rough, why cold and ill at ease ? Aha, that is a question ! Ask, for that, What knows, — the something over Setebos That made Plim, or He, may be, found and fought, Worsted, drove off and did to nothing, perchance. There may be something quiet o’er His head, Out of His reach, that feels nor joy nor grief, Since both derive from weakness in some way. 1 joy because the quails come; would not joy Could I bring quails here when I have a mind : This Quiet, all it hath a mind to, doth. ’Esteemeth stars the outposts of its couch, But never spends much thought nor care that way. It may look up, work up, — the worse for those It works on ! ’Careth but for Setebos The many-handed as a cuttle-fish, Who, making Himself feared thro’ what He does, Looks up, first, and perceives he cannot soar THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD H5 To what is quiet and hath happy life; Next looks clown here, and out of very spite Makes this a bauble-world to ape yon real, These good things to match those as hips do grapes. ’Tis solace making baubles, ay, and sport. Himself peeped late, eyed Prosper at his books Careless and lofty, lord now of the isle : Cexed, ’stitched a book of broad leaves, arrow-shaped Wrote thereon, he knows what, prodigious words; Has peeled a wand and called it by a name; Weareth at whiles for an enchanter’s robe • The eyed skin of a supple oncelot; And hath an ounce sleeker than youngling mole, A four-legged serpent he makes cower and couch, Now snarl, now hold its breath and mind his eye, And saith she is Miranda and my wife: ’Keeps for his Ariel a tall pouch-bill crane He bids go wade for fish and straight disgorge; Also a sea-beast, lumpish, which he snared, Blinded the eyes of, and brought somewhat tame, And split its toe-webs, and now pens the drudge In a hole o’ the rock, and calls him Caliban; A bitter heart that bides its time and bites. ’Plays thus at being Prosper in a way, Taketh his mirth with make-believes : so He. His dam held that the Quiet made all things Which Setebos vexed only : ’holds not so. Who made them weak, meant weakness Pie might vex. Had He meant other, while His hand was in. Why not make horny eyes no thorn could prick, Or plate my scalp with bone against the snow, Or overscale my flesh ’neath joint and joint, Like an ore’s armour? Ay, — so spoil His sport! He is the One now: only He doth all. ’Saith, He may like, perchance, what profits Him. Ay, himself loves what does him good; but why? ’Gets good no otherwise. This blinded beast Loves whoso places flesh-meat on his nose, n6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But, had he eyes, would want no help, but hate Or love, just as it liked him: He hath eyes. Also it pleaseth Setebos to work, Use all His hands, and exercise much craft, By no means for the love of what is worked. ’Tasteth, himself, no finer good i’ the world When all goes right, in this safe summer-time, And he wants little, hungers, aches not much, Than trying what to do with wit and strength. ’Falls to make something; ’piled yon pile of turfs, And squared and stuck there squares of soft white chalk. And, with a fish-tooth, scratched a moon on each, And set up endwise certain spikes of tree, And crowned the whole with a sloth’s skull a-top, Found dead i’ the woods, too hard for one to kill. No use at all i’ the work, for work’s sole sake; ’Shall some day knock it down again: so He. ’Saith He is terrible : watch His feats in proof ! One hurricane will spoil six good months’ hope. He hath a spite against me, that I know. Just as He favours Prosper, who knows why? So it is, all the same, as well I find. ’Wove wattles half the winter, fenced them firm With stone and stake to stop she-tortoises Crawling to lay their eggs here : well, one wave, Feeling the foot of Him upon its neck, Gaped as a snake does, lolled out its large tongue, And licked the whole labour flat ; so much for spite ! ’Saw a ball flame down late (yonder it lies) Where, half an hour before, I slept i’ the shade : Often they scatter sparkles : there is force ! ’Dug up a newt He may have envied once And turned to stone, shut up inside a stone. Please Him and hinder this? — What Prosper does? Aha, if he would tell me how. Not he ! There is the sport : discover how or die ! All need not die, for of the things o’ the isle Some flee afar, some dive, some run up trees; Those at His mercy, — why, they please Him most THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD When . . . when . . . well, never try the same way Repeat what act has pleased, He may grow wroth. You must not know His ways, and play Him off, Sure of the issue. ’Doth the like himself : ’Spareth a squirrel that it nothing fears But steals the nut from underneath my thumb, And when I threat, bites stoutly in defence : ’Spareth an urchin that contrariwise. Curls up into a ball, pretending death For fright at my approach: the two ways please. But what would move my choler more than this, That either creature counted on its life Tomorrow, next day and all days to come, Saying forsooth in the inmost of its heart, “Because he did so yesterday with me, And otherwise with such another brute, So must he do henceforth and always.” Ay? ’Would teach the reasoning couple what “must” means ’Doth as he likes, or wherefore Lord? So He. ’Conceiveth all things will continue thus, And we shall have to live in fear of Him So long as He lives, keeps His strength : no change, If He have done His best, make no new world To please Him more, so leave off watching this, — If He surprise not even the Quiet’s self Some strange day, — or, suppose, grow into it As grubs grow butterflies : else, here are we, And there is He, and nowhere help at all. ’Believeth with the life the pain shall stop. His dam held different, that after death He both plagued enemies and feasted friends : Idly ! He doth His worst in this our life, Giving just respite lest we die thro’ pain, Saving last pain for worst, — with which, an end. Meanwhile, the best way to escape His ire Is, not to seem too happy. ’Sees, himself. Yonder two flies, with purple films and pink, Bask on the pompion-bell above : kills both. ii 7 twice i n8 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ’Sees two black painful beetles roll their ball On head and tail as if to save their lives : ’Moves them the stick away they strive to clear. Even so, ’would have him misconceive, suppose This Caliban strives hard and ails no less, And always, above all else, envies Him; Wherefore he mainly dances on dark nights, Moans in the sun, gets under holes to laugh, And never speaks his mind save housed as now : Outside, ’groans, curses. If He caught me here, O’erheard this speech, and asked “What chucklest at?” ’Would to appease Him, cut a finger off, Or of my three kid yearlings burn the best, Or let the toothsome apples rot on tree, Or push my tame beast for the ore to taste : While myself lit a fire, and made a song And sung it, “What I hate , be consecrate To celebrate Thee and Thy state , no mate For Thee; what see for envy in poor me?” Hoping the while, since evils sometimes mend, Warts rub away and sores are cured with slime, That some strange day, will either the Quiet catch And conquer Setebos, or likelier He Decrepit may doze, doze, as good as die. [What, what? A curtain o’er the world at once! Crickets stop hissing; not a bird — or, yes, There scuds His raven, that hath told Him all ! It was fool’s play, this prattling ! Ha ! The wind Shoulders the pillared dust, death’s house o’ the move, And fast invading fires begin ! White blaze — A tree’s head snaps — and there, there, there, there, there, His thunder follows! Fool to gibe at Him! So ! ’Lieth flat and loveth Setebos ! ’Maketh his teeth meet thro’ his upper lip, Will let those quails fly, will not eat this month One little mess of whelks, so he may ’scape !] THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 1 19 SAUL Robert Browning xiii “Yea, my King,” I began — “thou dost well in rejecting mere comforts that spring From the mere mortal life held in common by man and by brute : In our flesh grows the branch of this life, in our soul it bears fruit. Thou hast marked the slow rise of the tree, — how its stem trembled first Till it passed the kid's lip, the stag's antler; then safely out¬ burst The fan-branches all round; and thou mindest when these too, in turn Broke a-bloom and the palm tree seemed perfect : yet more was to learn, E’en the good that comes in with the palm-fruit. Our dates shall we slight, When their juice brings a cure for all sorrow? or care for the plight Of the palm’s self whose slow growth produced them? Not so ! stem and branch # Shall decay, nor be known in their place, while the palm-wine shall staunch Every wound of man’s spirit in winter. I pour thee such wine. Leave the flesh to the fate it was fit for ! the spirit be thine ! By the spirit, when age shall o’ercome thee, thou still shalt enjoy More indeed, than at first when, inconscious, the life of a boy. Crush that life, and behold its wine running! Each deed thou hast done Dies, revives, goes to work in the world; until e’en as the sun 120 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Looking down on the earth, tho’ clouds spoil him, tho’ tempests efface, Can find nothing his own deed produced not, must everywhere trace The results of his past summer-prime, — so, each ray of thy will. Every flash of thy passion and prowess, long over, shall thrill Thy whole people, the countless, with ardour, till they too give forth A like cheer to their sons : who in turn, fill the South and the North With the radiance thy deed was the germ of. Carouse in the past ! But the license of age has its limit; thou diest at last. As the lion when age dims his eyeball, the rose at her height, So with man — so his power and his beauty forever take flight. No ! Again a long draught of my soul-wine ! Look forth o’er the years ! Thou hast done now with eyes for the actual ; begin with the seer’s ! Is Saul dead? In the depth of the vale make his tomb — bid arise A gray mountain of marble heaped four-square, till, built to the skies, Let it mark where the great First King slumbers : whose fame would ye know ? Up above see the rock’s naked face, where the record shall go In great characters cut by the scribe, — Such was Saul, so he did ; With the sages directing the work, by the populace chid, — For not half, they’ll affirm, is comprised there ! Which fault to amend, In the grove with his kind grows the cedar, whereon they shall spend (See, in tablets ’tis level before them) their praise, and record With the gold of the graver, Saul’s story, — the statesman’s great word Side by side with the poet’s sweet comment. The river’s a-wave With smooth paper-reeds grazing each other when prophet- winds rave : THE -EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 121 So the pen gives unborn generations their due and their part In thy being ! Then, first of the mighty, thank God that thou art !” XIV And behold while I sang . . . but O Thou who didst grant me that day, And before it not seldom hast granted Thy help to essay, Carry on and complete an adventure, — my shield and my sword In that act where my soul was Thy servant, Thy word was my word, — Still be with me, who then at the summit of human endeavour And scaling the highest, man’s thought could, gazed hopeless as ever On the new stretch of heaven above me — till, mighty to save, Just one lift of Thy hand cleared that distance — God’s throne from man’s grave ! Let me tell out my tale to its ending — my voice to my heart Which can scarce dare believe in what marvels last night I took part, As this morning I gather the fragments, alone with my sheep, And still fear lest the terrible glory evanish like sleep ! For I wake in the gray dewy covert, while Hebron upheaves The dawn struggling with night on his shoulder, and Kidron retrieves Slow the damage of yesterday’s sunshine. « xv I say then, — my song While I sang thus, assuring the monarch, and, ever more strong, Made a proffer of good to console him — he slowly resumed His old motions and habitudes kingly. The right hand replumed His black locks to their wonted composure, adjusted the swathes Of his turban, and see — the huge sweat that his countenance bathes, He wipes off with the robe ; and he girds now his loins as of yore, And feels slow for the armlets of price, with the clasp set before. He is Saul, ye remember in glory, — ere error had bent 122 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS -POETRY The broad brow from the daily communion; and still, tho’ much spent Be the life and bearing that front you, the same, God did choose, To receive what a man may waste, desecrate, never quite lose. So sank he along by the tent-prop, till, stayed by the pile Of his armour and war-cloak and garments, he leaned there awhile, And sat out my singing, — one arm round the tent-prop, to raise His bent head, and the other hung slack — till I touched on the praise I foresaw from all men in all time, to the man patient there ; And thus ended, the harp falling forward. Then first I was ’ware That he sat, as I say, with my head just above his vast knees Which were thrust out each side around me, like oak roots which please To encircle a lamb when it slumbers. I looked up to know If the best I could do had brought solace : he spoke not, but slow Lifted up the hand slack at his side, till he laid it with care Soft and grave, but in mild settled will, on my brow : thro’ my hair The large fingers were pushed, and he bent back my head, with kind power — All my face back, intent to peruse it, as men do a flower. Thus held he me there with his great eyes that scrutinized mine — And oh, all my heart how it loved him ! but where was the sign ? I yearned — “Could I help thee, my father, inventing a bliss, I would add, to that life of the past, both the future and this ; I would give thee new life altogether, as good, ages hence, As this moment, — had love but the warrant, love’s heart to dispense !” xvi Then the truth came upon me. No harp more — no song more] outbroke — THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 123 XVII “I have gone the whole round of creation : I saw and I spoke ; I, a work of God’s hand for that purpose, received in my brain And pronounced on the rest of his handwork — returned him again His creation’s approval or censure : I spoke as I saw, Reported, as man may of God’s work — all’s love, yet all’s law. Now I lay down the judgeship he lent me. Each faculty tasked To perceive him has gained an abyss, where a dewdrop was asked. Have I knowledge ? confounded it shrivels at Wisdom laid bare. Have I forethought? how purblind, how blank, to the Infinite Care ! Do I task any faculty highest, to image success? I but open my eyes, — and perfection, no more and no less, In the kind I imagined, full-fronts me, and God is seen God In the star, in the stone, in the flesh, in the soul and the clod. And thus looking within and around me, I ever renew (With that stoop of the soul which in bending upraises it too) The submission of man’s nothing-perfect to God’s all complete, As by each new obeisance in spirit, I climb to His feet. Yet with all this abounding experience, this deity known, I shall dare to discover some province, some gift of my own. There’s a faculty pleasant to exercise, hard to hoodwink, I am fain to keep still in abeyance (I laugh as I think), Lest, insisting to claim and parade in it, wot ye, I worst E’en the Giver in one gift. — Behold, I could love if I durst ! But I sink the pretension as fearing a man may o’ertake God’s own speed in the one way of love ; I abstain for love’s sake. — What, my soul ? see thus far and no farther ? when doors great and small, Nine-and-ninety flew ope at our touch, should the hundredth appal ? In the least things have faith, yet distrust in the greatest of all ? Do I find love so full in my nature, God’s ultimate gift, That I doubt His own love can compete with it? Here, the parts shift? 124 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Here, the creature surpass the creator, — the end, what began? Would I fain in my impotent yearning do all for this man, And dare doubt He alone shall not help him, who yet alone can ? Would it ever have entered my mind, the bare will, much less power, To bestow on this Saul what I sang of, the marvellous dower Of the life he was gifted and filled with? to make such a soul, Such a body, and then such an earth for insphering the whole? And doth it not enter my mind (as my warm tears attest), These good things being given, to go on, and give one more, the best? Ay, to save and redeem and restore him, maintain at the height This perfection, — succeed with life’s dayspring, death’s minute of night? Interpose at the difficult minute, snatch Saul the mistake, Saul the failure, the ruin he seems now, — and bid him awake From the dream, the probation, the prelude, to find himself set Clear and safe in new light and new life, — a new harmony yet To be run and continued, and ended— who knows? — or endure! The man taught enough by life's dream, of the rest to make sure ; By the pain-throb, triumphantly winning intensified bliss, And the next world’s reward and repose, by the struggles in this. XVIII “I believe it ! ’Tis Thou, God, that givest, ’tis I who receive : In the first is the last, in Thy will is my power to believe. All’s one gift: Thou canst grant it, moreover, as prompt to my prayer, As I breathe out this breath, as I open these arms to the air. From Thy will stream the worlds, life and nature, Thy dread Sabaoth : I will ? — the mere atoms despise me ! Why am I not loath To look that, even that in the face too? Why is it I dare Think but lightly of such impuissance ? What stops my despair ? This; — ’tis not what man Does which exalts him, but what man Would do! See the King — I would help him, but cannot, the wishes fall through. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 125 Could I wrestle to raise him from sorrow, grow poor to enrich, To fill up his life, starve my own out, I would — knowing which, I know that my service is perfect. Oh, speak thro’ me now ! Would I suffer for him that I love? So wouldst Thou — so wilt Thou ! So shall crown Thee the topmost, ineffablest. uttermost crown — And Thy love fill infinitude wholly, nor leave up nor down One spot for the creature to stand in ! It is by no breath, Turn of eye, wave of hand, that salvation joins issue with death ! As thy love is discovered almighty, almighty be proved Thy power, that exists with and for it, of being Beloved ! He who did most, shall bear most; the strongest shall stand the most weak. ’Tis the weakness in strength, that I cry for! my flesh, that 1 seek In the Godhead ! I seek and I find it. O Saul, it shall be A Face like my face that receives thee; a Man like to me, Thou shalt love and be loved by, forever : a Hand like this hand Shall throw open the gates of new life to thee ! See the Christ stand !” XIX I know not too well how I found my way home in the night. There were witnesses, cohorts about me, to left and to right, Angels, powers, the unuttered, unseen, the alive, the aware : I repressed, I got thro’ them as hardly, as strugglingly there, As a runner beset by the populace famished for news — Life or death. The whole earth was awakened, hell loosed with her crews; And the stars of night beat with emotion, and tingled and shot Out in fire the strong pain of pent knowledge : but I fainted not, For the Hand still impelled me at once and supported, suppressed All the tumult, and quenched it with quiet, and holy behest, Till the rapture was shut in itself, and the earth sank to rest 126 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY REALITY I Sir Aubrey de Vere Love thy God and love Him only : And thy breast will ne’er be lonely. In that one great Spirit meet All things mighty, grave and sweet. Vainly strives the soul to mingle With a being of our kind: Vainly heart with our hearts are twined: For the deepest still is single. An impalpable resistance Holds like nature’s still at distance. Mortal ! Love that Holy One ! Or dwell for aye alone. From WOODNOTES Ralph Waldo Emerson ‘All the forms are fugitive, But the substances survive. Ever fresh the broad creation, A divine improvisation, From the heart of God proceeds, A single will, a million deeds. Once slept the world an egg of stone, And pulse, and sound, and light was none ; And God said, “Throb !” and there was motion And the vast mass became vast ocean. Onward and on, the eternal Pan, Who layeth the world’s incessant plan, Halteth never in one shape, But forever doth escape, Like wave or flame, into new forms Of gem, and air, of plants, and worms. I, that today am a pine, THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 12/ Yesterday was a bundle of grass. He is free and libertine, Pouring of his power the wine To every age, to every race; Unto every race and age He emptieth the beverage; Unto each and unto all, Maker and original. The world is the ring of his spells, And the plan of his miracles. As he giveth to all to drink, Thus or thus they are and think. With one drop sheds form and feature; With the next a special nature; The third adds heat’s indulgent spark; The fourth gives light which eats the dark; Into the fifth himself he flings, And conscious Law is King of kings. As the bee through the garden ranges, From world to world the godhead changes; As the sheep go feeding in the waste, From form to form He maketh haste; This vault which glows immense with light Is the inn where he lodges for a night. What recks such Traveller if the bowers Which bloom and fade like meadow flowers A bunch of fragrant lilies be, Or the stars of eternity? Alike to him the better, the worse, — The glowing angel, the outcast corse. Thou metest him by centuries, And lo ! he passes like the breeze ; Thou seek’st in glade and galaxy, He hides in pure transparency; Thou askest in fountains and in fires, He is the essence that inquires. He is the axis of the star ; He is the sparkle of the spar ; He is the heart of every creature; He is the meaning of each feature ; 128 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And his mind is the sky, Than all it holds more deep, more high/ THE BOHEMIAN HYMN Ralph Waldo Emerson In many forms we try To utter God’s infinity, But the boundless hath no form, And the Universal Friend Doth as far transcend An angel as a worm. The great Idea baffles wit, Language falters under it, It leaves the learned in the lurch ; No art, nor power, nor toil can find The measure of the eternal Mind, Nor hymn, nor prayer, nor church. THE LIVING GOD Charlotte Perkins Gilman The Living God. The God that made the world Made it and stood aside to watch and wait. Arranging a predestined plan To save the erring soul of man — Undying destiny — unswerving fate. I see His hand in the path of life, His law to doom and save, His love divine in the hopes that shine Beyond the sinner’s grave, His care that sendeth sun and rain, His wisdom giving rest, His price of sin that we may not win The heaven of the blest. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 129 Not near enough ! Not clear enough ! O God, come nearer still ! I long for thee ! Be strong for me ! Teach me to know Thy will ! The Living God. The God that makes the world, Makes it — -is making it in all its worth; His spirit speaking sure and slow In the real universe we know, — * God living in the earth. I feel His breath in the blowing wind. His pulse in the swinging sea, And the sunlit sod is the breast of God Whose strength we feel and see. His tenderness in the springing grass, His beauty in the flowers, His living love in the sun above, — All here, and near, and ours ! Not near enough ! NQt clear enough ! O God, come nearer still ! I long for Thee ! Be strong for me ! Teach me to know thy will ! The Living God. The God that is the world. The world? The world is man — the work of man. Then — dare I follow what I see ? — ■. Then — By Thy Glory — it must be That we are in thy plan ! That strength divine in the work we do ? That love in our mothers’ eyes ? That wisdom clear in our thinking here? That power to help us rise? God in the daily work we’ve done, In the daily path we’ve trod? Stand still, my heart, for I am a part — I too — of the Living God ! Ah, clear as light ! As near ! As bright ! O God ! My God ! My own ! Command thou me ! I stand for thee ! And I do not stand alone ! 130 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY BRAND SPEAKS Hendrik Ibsen Translated by C. H. Herford As Catholics make of the Redeemer A baby at the breast, so ye Make God a dotard and a dreamer, Verging- on second infancy. And as the Pope on Peter’s throne Calls little but his keys his own, So to the Church ye would confine The world-wide realm of the Divine ; Twixt Life and Doctrine set a sea, Nowise concern yourselves to BE. Bliss for your souls ye would receive Not utterly and wholly LIVE. Ye need such feebleness to brook, A God who’ll through his fingers look, Who like yourselves, is hoary grown, And keeps a cap for his bald crown. Mine is another kind of God ! Mine is a storm, where thine’s a lull ; Implacable where thine’s a clod, All-loving there, where thine is dull ; And He is young like Hercules, No hoary sipper of life’s lees ! His voice rang through the dazzled night When He, within the burning wood By Moses upon Horeb’s height As by a pygmy’s pygmy stood. In Gibeon’s vale He stay’d the sun, And wonders without end would do, Were not the age grown sick — like you. Nothing that’s new do I demand; For Everlasting Right I stand. It is not for a church I cry, ft is not dogmas I defend; THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 131 Day dawn’d on both, and possibly. Day may on both of them descend. What’s made has “finis” for its brand; Of moth and worm it feels the flaw. And then, by nature and by law, Is for an embyro thrust aside. But there is One that shall abide; — The Spirit, that was never born, That in the world’s fresh gladsome Morn Was rescued when it seemed forlorn, That built with valiant faith a road Whereby from Flesh it climbed to God. Now but in shreds and scraps is dealt The Spirit we have faintly felt; But from these scraps and from these shreds, These headless hands and handless heads, These torso-stumps of soul and thought, A Man complete and whole shall grow, And God, His glorious child shall know. His heir, the Adam that he wrought ! From THE TEST OF MANHOOD George Meredith In fellowship Religion has its founts; The solitary his own God reveres: Ascend no sacred Mounts Our hungers or our fears. As only for the numbers Nature’s care Is shown, and she the personal nothing heeds, So to Divinity the spring of prayer From brotherhood the one way upward leads. Like the sustaining air Are both for flowers and weeds : But he who claims in spirit to be flower Will find them both an air that doth devour. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE INNER LIGHT Frederick William Henry Myers Lo, if some pen should write upon your rafter MENE and MENE in the folds of flame, Think you could any memories thereafter Wholly retrace the couplet as it came? i Lo, if some strange, intelligible thunder Sang to the earth the secret of a star Scarce could ye catch, for terror and for wonder, Shreds of the slory that was pealed so far. Scarcely I catch the words of his revealing, Hardly I hear Llim, dimly understand, Only the Power that is within me pealing Lives on my lips and beckons to my hand. Whoso has felt the Spirit of the Highest Cannot confound nor doubt Him nor deny : Tea, with one voice, O, world, though thou deniest, Stand thou on that side, for on this am I. Rather the earth shall doubt when her retrieving Pours in the rain and rushes from the sod. Rather than he for whom the great conceiving Stirs in his soul to quicken into God. Ay, though thou then shouldst strike from him his glory, Blind and tormented, maddened and alone, Even on the cross would he maintain his story, Yes, and in hell would whisper, I have known. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 133 THE REDEEMER William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod) I know that my Redeemer liveth — but out of the depths of time He hath not called to me yet. But from th’ immeasurable tracts That widen unending to where beginneth eternity Falleth at times a voice, heart-thrilling, soul-piercing, life-giving, High sometimes and clear, as a lark singing in a holy dawn, Hushed and far off again as a dreaming wave upon seas Lit by a low vast moon, and windlessly sleeping, but ever Sweet with a human love, and full of ineffable yearning, And crying of soul unto soul from infinite deep unto deep. And sometimes I look and gaze out upon uttermost darkness And hear the wail of desolate winds moaning around the world — Till darkness shivers to light, and clashing through earth and heaven I hear great wings make music, and marvellous thunderous songs Shout ‘'Thy Redeemer liveth, and calleth for thee !” AN INVOCATION John Addington Symonds To God, the everlasting, who abides, One Life within things infinite that die : To Him whose purity no thought divides: Whose breath is breathed through immensity. Him neither eye hath seen, nor ear hath heard; Yet reason, seated in the souls of men, Though, pondering oft on the mysterious word, Hath e’er revealed His Being to mortal ken. Earth changes, and the starry wheels roll round; The seasons come and go, moons wax and wane; The nations rise and fall, and fill the ground, Storing the sure results of joy and pain: 134 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Slow knowledge widens toward a perfect whole, From that first man who named the heaven, To him who weighs the planets as they roll, And knows what laws to every life are given. Yet He appears not. Round the extreme sphere Of science still thin ether floats unseen: Darkness still wraps Him round; and ignorant fear Remains of what we are, and what have been. Only we feel Him; in aching dreams, Swift intuitions, pangs of keen delight, The sudden vision of His glory seems To sear our souls, dividing the dull night : And we yearn toward Llim. Beauty, Goodness, Truth ; These three are one; one life, one thought, one being;, One source of still rejuvenescent youth; One light for endless and unclouded seeing. Mere symbols we perceive — the dying beauty. The partial truth that few can comprehend, The vacillating faith, the painful duty, The virtue laboring to a dubious end. O God, unknown, invisible, secure, Whose being by dim resemblances we guess, Who in man’s fear and love abidest sure, Whose power we feel in darkness and confess 1 Without Thee nothing is, and Thou art nought When on Thy substance we gaze curiously : By Thee impalpable, named Force and Thought, The solid world ceases not to be. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 135 Lead Thou me, God, Law, Reason, Duty, Life ! All names for Thee alike are vain and hollow — Lead me, for I will follow without strife; Or, if I strive, still must I blindly follow. COMMUNION John B. Tabb Once when my heart was passion free To learn of things divine, The soul of nature suddenly Outpoured itself in mine. I held the secrets of the deep And of the heavens above ; I knew the harmonies of sleep, The mysteries of love. And for a moment’s interval The earth, the sky, the sea — My soul encompassed each and all, As now they encompass me. To one in all, to all in one — Since love the work began Life’s everwidening circles run Revealing God to man. GOD James Cowden Wallace There is an Eye that never sleeps Beneath the wing of night; There is an ear that never shuts When sink the beams of light. 136 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY There is an arm that never tires When human strength gives way; There is a love that never fails When earthly loves decay. That Eye unseen o’erwatcheth all ; That Arm upholds the sky ; That Ear doth hear the sparrows call; That Love is ever nigh. From THE PASSAGE TO INDIA Walt Whitman Ah, more than any priest, O soul, we too believe in God, But with the mystery of God we dare not dally. O soul thou pleasest me, I thee Sailing these seas or on the hills, or waking in the night, Thoughts, silent thoughts, of Time and Space and Death, like waters flowing, Bear me indeed as through the regions infinite, Whose air I breathe, whose ripples hear, lave me all over, Bathe me, O God, in thee, mounting to thee, I and my soul to range in range of thee. O Thou transcendent, Nameless, the fibre and the breath, Light of the light, shedding forth universes, thou center of them, Thou mightier center of the true, the good, the loving, Thou moral spiritual fountain — affection’s source — thou reservoir (O pensive soul of me — O thirst unsatisfied — waitest not there? Waitest not haply for us, somewhere there, the Comrade per¬ fect?) Thou pulse, thou motive of the stars, suns, systems, That circling, move in order, safe, harmonious, Athwart the shapeless vastnesses of Space ! How should I think, how breathe a single breath, how speak, If, out of myself I could not launch, to those superior universes? THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 137 Swiftly I shrivel at the thought of God, At Nature and its wonders, Time and Space and Death, But that I, turning, call to thee, O soul, thou actual Me, And lo, thou gently masterest the orbs, Thou matest Time, smilest content at Death, And fillest, swellest full, the vastnesses of Space. Greater than stars or suns, Bounding, O soul, thou journeyest forth; What love than thine and ours could wider amplify? What aspirations, wishes, outvie thine and ours, O soul? What dreams of the ideal ? What plan of purity, perfection, strength ? What cheerful willingness for'others’ sake to give up all? For others’ sake to suffer all? Reckoning ahead, O soul, when thou, the time achieved. The seas all crossed, weather’d the capes, the voyage done, Surrounded, copest, frontest God, yieldest, the aim attained, As, filled with friendship, love complete, the Elder Brother found, The Younger melts in fondness in his arms. Passage to more than India ! Are thy wings plumed indeed for such far flights? O soul, voyagest thou indeed on voyages like these? Disportest thou on waters such as these? Soundest below the Sanscrit and the Vedas? Then have thy bent unleashed. Passage to you, your shores, ye aged fierce enigmas ! Passage to you, to mastership of you, ye strangling problems ! You, strewed with the wrecks of skeletons that, living, never reached you. Passage to more than India ! O secret of the earth and sky ! Of you, O waters of the sea! O winding creeks and rivers! Of you, O woods and fields ! Of you, strong mountains of my land ! Of you, O prairies! Of you, grey rocks! O morning red ! O clouds ! O rain and snows ! O H.av and night, passage to you ! 138 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O sun and moon and all you stars! Sirius and Jupiter! Passage to you 1 Passage, immediate Passage ! the blood burns in my veins ! Away, O soul, hoist instantly the anchor ! Cut the hawsers — haul out — shake out every sail ! Have we not stood here like trees in the ground long enough? Have we not grovel’d here long enough, eating and drinking like mere brutes? Have we not darken’d and dazed ourselves with books long enough ? Sail forth — steer for the deep waters only, Reckless, O soul, exploring, I with thee and thou with me, For we are bound where mariner has not yet dared to go. And we will risk the ship, ourselves and all. O my brave soul ! O farther, farther sail ! O daring joy, but safe! Are they not all the seas of God? O farther, farther, farther sail ! THE OVER-HEART John Greenleaf Whittier Above, below, in sky and sod In leaf and spar, in star and man, Well might the wise Athenian scan The geometric signs of God, The measured order of his plan. And India’s mystics sang aright Of the One Life pervading all, — One Being’s tidal rise and fall In soul and form, in sound and sight, — Eternal outflow and recall. God is : and man in guilt and fear This central fact of Nature owns; — THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD J39 Kneels, trembling, by his altar-stones, And darkly dreams the ghastly smear Of blood appeases and atones. Guilt shapes by Terror: deep within The human heart the secret lies Of all the hideous deities; And, painted on a ground of sin, The fabled gods of torment rise ! And what is He ? — The ripe grain nods, The sweet dews fall, the flowers blow; But darker signs his presence show : The earthquake and the storm are God’s And good and evil interflow. O hearts of love ! O souls that turn Like sunflowers to the pure and best! To you the truth is manifest: For they the mind of Christ discern Who lean like John upon his breast! In him of whom the Sybil told For whom the prophet’s heart was toned, Whose need the sage and magian owned, The loving heart of God behold, The hope for which the ages groaned ! Fade, pomp of dreadful imagery Wherewith mankind have deified Their hate, and selfishness, and pride ! Let the scared dreamer wake to see The Christ of Nazareth at his side ! What doth that holy Guide require? — No rite of pain, nor gift of blood, But man a kindly brotherhood, Looking, where duty is desire, ' To him, the beautiful and good. 140 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Gone be the faithlessness of fear, And let the pitying heaven’s sweet rain Wash out the altar’s bloody stain; The law of Hatred disappear, The law of Love alone remain. How fall the idols false and grim ! — And, Lo ! the hideous wreck above The emblems of the Lamb and Dove ! Man turns from God, not God from him; And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love ! The world sits at the feet of Christ, Unknowing, blind and unconsoled; It yet shall touch his garment’s fold, And feel the heavenly Alchemist Transform its very dust to gold. The theme befitting angel tongues Beyond a mortal’s scope has grown. O heart of mine, with reverence own The fulness which to it belongs, And trust the unknown for the known. ILLUSION Ella Wheeler Wilcox I God and I in space alone And nobody else in view. “And where are the people, O Lord!” I said. “The earth below and the sky o’erhead And the dead whom once I knew?” “That was a dream,” God smiled and said, “A dream that seemed to be true, There were no people, living or dead, There was no earth and no sky o’erhead There was only myself — and you.” THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD “Why do I feel no fear,” I asked, “Meeting you here in this way, For I have sinned I know full well, And there is heaven and there is hell, And is this the judgment day?” “Nay, those were dreams,” the great God said, “Dreams that have ceased to be. There are no such things as fear or sin, There is no you — you have never been — There is nothing at all but Me.” From THE EXCURSION William Wordsworth A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract Of inland ground, applying to his ear The convolutions of a smooth-lipped shell ; To which, in silence hushed, his very soul Listened intensely; and his countenance soon Brightened with joy; for murmurings from within Were heard, sonorous cadences! whereby To his belief, the monitor expressed Mysterious union with his native sea. Even in such a shell the Universe itself Is to the ear of Faith : and there are times, I doubt not, when to you it doth impart Authentic tidings of invisible things; Of ebb and flow and ever-during power; And central peace, subsisting at the heart Of endless agitation. 142 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY f. TWENTIETH CENTURY THE SEEKER From The Fools’ Adventure Lascelles Abercrombie I have achieved. That which the lonely man Spoke of, core of the world, that Self, I know. Like one small pool to the reach of Heaven, I Am open to a vastness. Hearken, thou, Do I not know thee right ? Thou art the deep Whereunto all things yearn unwearyingly. Some unaware, some hating that they yearn, But all into a stillness, into Thee, Falling at length, and their unrest is done, Until again thou blurt them out of thee, Out of the middle to the rind. And yet Not them, but piecemeal what they were. New-fangled into other companies. It is as if, not only once, far off, Aloof from place and being I had watched The spell betwixt two happenings end again; — The dark’s distress, slow qualms mastering it, Blind thrills, and last, the sudden pang of light. Methinks, plainly as I’ve felt earth’s swoon Wince at the touch of spring, awakening her, The peace, thy region, shudder I have felt When with it meddles thy new imagining; And in the smooth element, ruffling, grows a throb, Marring with its strong rhythm the prone calm, Beat of the fresh beginning of an order ; One settled eddy at last, whose scouring kirtles Gather to substance and perplexed shape To thickening spots of coarse, and curds of fire. Again within the unform’d principle THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD M3 Stress, that it have a grain; and yet more stress, Till the unbounded shiver of light shatter Innumerously, and into the clear inane Come like a ghost another swarm of motes Shepherded by thy thought into new flocks, Away from thee, outward, circling, numberless kinds; Yet the same partner, the old lust, is with them, Unrest, severance from thy quietude. Nor first, nor last of them, this swirl of stars Unlike the others, but in this thing alike. I from the place in Being called Mankind Am come, seeking thee, and look, I know thee. Not with my sense and reason only; these Man fashioned for near needs of common life: Good tools, but to find thee of no more use Than ladders to thatch houses reach the sun. Not Reason finds thee, though he walk with gait Taking gulfs in his stride as far across As in his yearly bout the throw of Saturn. My wisdom was to practice with the power Emotion, since I knew it was, though stall’d In Somewhere, yet a piece of the Everywhere. ECCE HOMO Witter Bynner % Behold the man alive in me, Behold the man in you ! If there is a God — am I not he? Shall I myself undo? I have been waiting long enough. . . Impossible gods, goodby ! I wait no more : the way is rough — But the god who climbs, is I. 144 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE NEW GOD Witter Bynner From The New World In temporary pain The age is bearing a new breed Of men and women, patriots of the world And one another. Boundaries in vain. Birthrights and countries, would constrain The old diversity of seed To be diversity of soul. O mighty patriots maintain Your loyalty! — till flags unfurled For battle shall arraign The traitors who unfurled them, shall remain And shine over an army with no slain, And men from every nation shall enroll, And women — in the hardihood of peace ! What can my anger do but cease ? Whom shall I fight and who shall be my enemy When he is I and I am he ? Let me have done with that old God outside Who watched with preference and answered prayer, The Godhead that replied Now here, now there, Where heavy cannon were Or coins of gold ! Let me receive communion with all men Acknowledging our one and only soul ! For not till then Can God be God till we ourselves are whole ! THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 145 RENUNCIATION Mark Wilks Call Wakeful all night I lay and thought of God, Of heaven, and of crowns pale martyrs gain, Of souls in high and purgatorial pain, And the red path which murdered seers have trod : I heard the trumpets which the angels blow I saw the cleaving sword, the measuring rod, I watched the stream of sound continuous flow Past the gold towers where seraphs make abode. But now I let that aching splendor go, I dare not call the crowned angels peers Henceforth. I am content to dwell below Mid common joys, with humble smiles and tears Delighted in the sun and breeze to grow, A child of human hopes and human fears. EACH IN HIS OWN TONGUE William Herbert Carruth A fire-mist and a planet, — A crystal and a cell, — A jellyfish and a saurian, And caves where the cavemen dwell ; Then a sense of law and beauty, And a face turned from the clod, — Some call it Evolution, And others call it God. A haze on the far horizon, The infinite tender sky, The rich ripe tint of the corn-fields, And the wild geese sailing high, — * 146 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And all over the upland and lowland The charm of the golden rod, — Some of us call it autumn, And others call it God. Like tides on the crescent seabeach, When the moon is new and thin, Into our hearts high yearnings, Come welling and surging in, — Come from the mystic ocean Whose rim no foot has trod, — Some of us call it Longing, And others call it God. A picket frozen on duty, — A mother starved for her brood, — Socrates drinking the hemlock, And Jesus on the rood; And millions who humble and nameless,. The straight hard pathway plod, — Some call it Consecration, And others call it God. PYGMALION In part Hilda Doolittle (Mrs. Richard Aldington) I made god upon god Step from the cold rock, I made the gods less than men, For I was a man and they my work. And now what is it that has come to pass? Each of the gods, perfect Cries out from a perfect throat: THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 147 You are useless, No marble can bind me No stone suggest. They have melted into the light And I am desolate. They have melted Each from his plinth, Each one departs. They have gone : What agony can express my grief? Each from his marble base Has stepped into the light And my work is for naught ? A COMMON INFERENCE Charlotte Perkins Gilman A night: mysterious, tender, quiet, deep, Heavy with flowers; full of life asleep; Thrilling with insect voices ; thick with stars ; No cloud between the dew drops and red Mars; The small earth whirling softly on her way, The moonbeams and the waterfalls at play; A million worlds that move in peace, A million mighty laws that never cease ; And one small ant-heap, hidden by small weeds, Rich with eggs, slaves, and store of millet seeds. They sleep beneath the sod And trust in God. A day : all glorious, royal, blazing bright ; Heavy with flowers, full of life and light; Great fields of corn and sunshine ; courteous trees ; Snow-sainted mountains; earth-embracing seas; Wide golden deserts; slender silver streams; Clear rainbows where the tossing fountain gleams; And everywhere, in happiness and peace, 148 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A million forms of life that never cease ; And one small ant-heap, crushed by passing tread, Hath scarce enough alive to mourn the dead ! They shriek beneath the sod, “There is no God !” GIVE WAY ! Charlotte Perkins Gilman Shall we not open the human heart Swing the doors till the hinges start; Stop our worrying, doubt, and din, Hunting heaven and dodging sin? There is no need to search so wide, Open the door and stand aside — Let God in ! Shall we not open the human heart To loving labor in field and mart; Working together for all about The good, large labor that knows not doubt? Can He be held in our narrow rim? Do the work that is work for Him — Let God out ! ; Shall we not open the human heart, Never to close and stand apart? God is a force to give way to ! God is a thing you have to do ! God can never be caught’ by prayer, Hid in your heart and fastened there — Let God through ! THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 149 AGNOSTO THEO Thomas Hardy Long have I framed weak phantasies of Thee, O Wilier masked and dumb ! Who makest Life become, — As though by laboring all-unknowingly, Like one whom reveries numb. How much of consciousness informs Thy will, Thy biddings, as if blind, Of death-inducing kind, Nought shows to us ephemeral ones who fill But moments in Thy mind. Perhaps Thy ancient rote-restricted ways Thy ripening rule transcends; That listless effort tends To grow percipient with advance of days, And with percipience mends. For, in unwonted purlieus, far and nigh, At whiles or short or long, May be discerned a wrong Dying as of self-slaughter; whereat I Would raise my voice in song. GOD’S FUNERAL Thomas Hardy 1 I saw a slowly stepping train — Lined on the brows, scoop-eyed, and bent and hoar — Following in files across a twilit plain A strange and mystic form the foremost bore. 150 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ii And by contagious throbs of thought Or latent knowledge that within me lay And had already stirred me, I was wrought To consciousness of sorrow even as they. hi The forborne shape, to my blurred eyes, At first seemed man-like, and anon to change To an amorphous cloud of marvellous size, At times endowed with wings of glorious range. IV And this phantasmal variousness Ever possessed it as they drew along: Yet throughout all it symboled none the less Potency vast and loving-kindness strong. v Almost before I knew I bent Towards the moving columns without a word; They growing in bulk and numbers as they went, Struck out sick thoughts that could be overheard: — VI “O man-projected Figure, of late Imaged as we, thy knell who shall survive? Whence came it we were tempted to create One whom we can no longer keep alive? VII “Framing him jealous, fierce at first, We gave him justice as the ages rolled, Will to bless those by circumstance accursed, And long-suffering, and mercies manifold. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 151 VIII “And, tricked by our own early dream And need of solace we grew self-deceived, Our making soon our maker we did deem, And what we had imagined we believed. IX ‘‘Till, in Time's stayless stealthy swing, Uncompromising rude reality Mangled the monarch of our fashioning, Who quavered, sank; and now has ceased to be. x “So, toward our myth's oblivion, Darkling and languid-lipped, we creep and grope Sadlier than those who wept in Babylon, Whose Zion was a still abiding hope. XI “How sweet it was in years far hied To start the wheels of day with trustful prayer To lie down liegely at the eventide And feel a blessed assurance He was there ! XII “And who or what shall fill his place ? Whither will wanderers turn distracted eyes For some fixed star to stimulate their pace Towards the goal of their enterprise?" XIII Some in the background then I saw, Sweet women, youths, men, all incredulous Who chimed: “This is a counterfeit of straw, This requiem mockery ! Still he lives to us !" 152 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY XIV I could not buoy their faith : and yet Many I had known ; with all I sympathized, And though struck speechless, I did not forget That what was mourned for, I, too, long had prized. xv Still, how to bear such loss I deemed The insistent question for each animate mind, And gazing, to my growing sight there seemed A pale yet positive gleam low down behind, xvi Whereof, to lift the general night, A certain few who stood aloof had said “See you upon the horizon that small light — Swelling somewhat?” Each mourner shook his head. XVII And they composed a crowd of whom Some were right good, and many nigh the best . . . Thus dazed and puzzled ’twixt the gleam and gloom Mechanically, I followed with the rest. DREAMS OLD AND NASCENT D. H. Lawrence My world is a painted fresco, where coloured shapes Of old, ineffectual lives linger blurred and warm; An endless tapestry the past has woven drapes The halls of my life, compelling my soul to conform. The surface of dreams is broken, The picture of the past is shaken and scattered. Fluent, active figures of men pass along the railway, and I am woken From the dreams that the distance flattered. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 153 Along the railway, active figures of men. They have a secret that stirs in their limbs as they move Out of the distance, nearer, commanding my dreamy world. Here in the subtle, rounded flesh Beats the active ecstasy. In the sudden lifting my eyes, it is clearer, The fascination of the quick, restless Creator moving through the mesh Of men, vibrating in ecstasy through the rounded flesh. Oh my boys, bending over your books, In you is trembling and fusing The creation of a new-patterned dream, dream of a generation : And I watch to see the Creator, the power that patterns the dream. The old dreams are beautiful, beloved, soft-toned, and sure, But the dream-stuff is molten and moving mysteriously, Alluring my eyes; for I, am I not also dream-stuff, Am I not quickening, diffusing myself in the pattern, shaping and shapen? Here in my class is the answer for the great yearning : Eyes where I can watch the swim of old dreams reflected on the molten metal of dreams, Watch the stir which is rhythmic and moves them all as a heart-beat moves the blood, Here in the swelling flesh the great activity working, Visible there in the change of eyes and the mobile features. Oh the great mystery and fascination of the unseen Shaper, The power of the melting, fusing Force — heat, light, all in one, Everything great and mysterious in one, swelling and shaping the dream in the flesh, As it swells and shapes a bud into blossom. Oh the terrible ecstasy of the consciousness that I am life ! Oh the miracle of the whole, the widespread, labouring con¬ centration 154 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Swelling mankind like one bud to bring forth the fruit of a dream, Oh the terror of lifting the innermost I out of the sweep of the impulse of life, And watching the Great Thing labouring through the whole round flesh of the world; And striving to catch a glimpse of the shape of the coming dream, As it quickens within the labouring, white-hot metal, Catch the scent and the colour of the coming dream, Then to fall back exhausted into the unconscious, molten life ! THE GOD-MAKER, MAN Don Marquis Nevermore Shall the shepherds of Arcady follow Pan’s moods as he lolls by the shore Of the mere, or lies hid in the hollow; Nevermore Shall they start at the sound of his reed-fashioned flute ; Fallen mute Are the strings of Apollo His lyre and his lute ; And the lips of the Memnons are mute Evermore ; And the Gods of the North, — are they dead or forgetful Our Odin and Baldur and Thor? Are they drunk or grown weary of worship and fretful. Our Odin and Baldur and Thor? And into what night have the Orient deities strayed? Swart gods of the Nile, in dark splendors arrayed, Brooding Isis and somber Osiris, You were gone ere the fragile papyrus That bragged you eternal decayed. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 155 The avatars But illumine their limited evens And vanish like plunging stars; They are fixed in the whirling heavens No firmer than falling stars; Brief lords of the changing soul, they pass Like a breath from the face of a glass, Or a blossom of summer blown, shallop-like, over the clover And tossed tides of grass. Sink to silence the psalms and the paeans The Shibboleths shift, and the faiths, And the temples that challenged the aeons Are tenanted only by wraiths; Swoon to silence the cymbals and psalters, The worship grows senseless and strange And the mockers ask, " Where be thy altars?” Crying “Nothing is changeless , but Change!” Yes, nothing seems changeless, but Change. And yet, through the creed-wrecking years One story forever appears; The tale of a City Supernal The whisper of Something eternal — A passion, a hope and a vision That peoples the silence with Powers; A fable of meadows Elysian Where Time enters not, with his Hours; — * Manifold are the tale’s variations, Race and clime ever tinting the dreams. Yet its essence through endless mutations, Immutable gleams. Deathless, though godheads be dying, Surviving the creeds that expire; Illogical, reason-defying, Lives that passionate, primal desire; Insistent, persistent, forever, Man cries to the silences, “Never Shall death reign the lord of my sold, Shall dust be the ultima, te goal — 156 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I will storm the black bastions of Night! I will tread where my vision has trod , I will set in the darkness, a light, In the vastness, a god!” As the forehead of Man grows broader, So do his creeds; And his gods they are shaped in his image, And mirror his needs ; And he clothes them with thunders and beauty, He clothes them with music and fire, Seeing not, as he bows by their altars, That he worships his own desire ; And, mixed with his trust there is terror, And, mixed with his madness is ruth, And every man grovels in error, Yet every man glimpses a truth. For all of the creeds are false, and all of the creeds are true; And low at the shrines where my brothers bow, there will I bow too; For no form of a god, and no fashion Man has made in his desperate passion But is worthy some worship of mine ; — Not too hot with a gross belief, Nor yet too cold with pride, I will bow down where my brothers bow, Humble, but open-eyed ! GOD Harold Monro From Dawn (The Speech of Geoffrey, the poet) To church ! I heard a sermon once in spring, When last I went to church five years ago — - Such a dry, withered, cracked and crabbed thing As might have made the flowers forget to grow. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 157 To church! God is a spirit, not a creed; He is an inner outward-moving- power : Go to the heart of all, and watch the seed Strive godward and at last become the flower. Once, long before the birth of time, a storm Of white Desire, took form, Strove, won, survived; and God became the world. Next, some internal force began to move Within the bosom of that latest earth : The spirit of an elemental love Stirred outward from itself, and God was birth. Then outward, upward, with heroic thew, Savage from young and bursting blood of life. Desire took form, and conquered, and anew Strove, conquered and took form; and God was strife. Thus, like a comet, fiery flight on flight; Flash upon flash, and purple dawn on dawn: But always out of agony — delight; And out of death — God evermore reborn. Till, waxing fast and subtle and supreme, Desiring his own spirit to possess, Man of the bright eyes and the ardent dream Saw paradise, and God was consciousness. He is that one Desire, that life, that breath, That Soul which, with infinity of pain, Passes through revelation and through death Onward and upward to itself again. Out of the lives of heroes and their deeds, Out of the miracle of human thought, Out of the songs of singers, God proceeds; And of the souls of them his soul is wrought. 158 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Nothing is lost: all that is dreamed or done Passes unaltered the eternal way, Immerging in the everlasting One, Who was the dayspring and who is the day. I sing forever though I sing in vain. REALITY Angela Morgan I dreamed a dream last night, when all was still, When earth in sleep forgot her murmurings; I saw the soul, the spirit, — what you will — Of this vast world; I saw the heart of things. We call it real, this world of shapes and sounds. These objects we can see and touch and hear, Nor know we of the wonder-world that bounds And thrills beneath, behind, the human ear. I looked beneath, nor was I aught afraid, And saw the living centre, fine as flame, I sensed the substance whereof man is made — That which defies analysis or name. I saw that back of everything there lies This wondrous, shining essence, finer far Than all the gathered gold of western skies, More lasting still than suns or planets are. This, this is real, for this it is that gives Life, color, motion, form, to what we see. This hidden something that forever lives, Sustaining all with subtle certainty. And have you not, at some portentous time — Some crisis in your life, some pregnant hour — THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 159 Felt a swift breath from out this realm sublime, Thrilled to the core of being by its power? That night of fierce soul struggle, when you knelt And cried aloud that Death unlock the bars; Then looked above in sudden awe and felt The mute compassion of a million stars? That time you listened to some magic strain Of master music, shaken by its might, And, all a-quiver with its joy and pain Your soul swept on into some sphere of light? In vain do men of science seek to prove The hidden world that throbs behind the seen; The ever-present cause of things that move Eludes their searching sight, however keen. As well might sunbeams seek to prove the sun And rivulets the ocean, as that man — A living flame from out the Central One — Should seek to prove the Source where life began. Within that unseen realm, all thought is born; Each inspiration and each lofty theme Is mothered there, and like a ray of morn Comes shining down into the poet’s dream. We have an outlook on this world of forms, While deeply rooted in the hidden sphere; Impregnable to terrors and to storms, The self-invisible knows naught of fear. Would man but grasp, with focused powers of mind The subtle laws that rule the finer realm, Abandoning the lesser aims that blind, The grosser joys that dull and overwhelm, This dawning century would bring to light The deepest truths for which we vainly grope; . i6o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Would open up new worlds to human sight, In large fulfillment of our biggest hope ! THE NEW GOD James Oppenheim Ye morning glories, ring in the gale your bells, And with dew water the walk’s dust for the burden-bearing ants ; Ye swinging spears of the larkspur, open your wells of gold And pay your honey-tax to the humming-bird. . . . O now I see by the opening of blossoms, And of bills of hungry fledglings, And the bright travel of the sun-drunk insects, Morning’s business is afoot : Earth is busied with a million mouths. Where goes eaten grass and thrush-snapped dragon-fly? Creation eats itself, to spawn in swarming sun rays. . . . Bull and cricket go to it: life lives on life . . . But, O, ye flame-daubed irises, and ye hosts of gnats, Like a well of light moving in the morning’s light, What is this garmented animal that comes eating and drinking among you ? What is this upright one, with spade and shears? He is the visible and the invisible. Behind his mouth and eyes are other mouth and eyes. . . . Thirster after visions Pie sees the flowers to their roots and the Earth back through its silent ages : Pie parts the sky with his gaze : He flings a magic on the hills, clothing them with Upanishad music, Peopling the valley with dreamed images that vanished in Greece millenniums back ; And in the actual morning, out of longing, shapes on the hills Tomorrow’s golden grandeur. . . . THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 161 O ye million hungerers and ye sun rays Ye are the many mothers of this invisible god, This Earth’s star and the sun that rise singing and toiling among you, This that is I, in joy, in the garden, Singing to you, ye morning glories. Calling to you, ye swinging spears of the larkspur. MANUFACTURED GODS Carl Sandburg They put up big wooden gods. Then they burned the big wooden gods And put up brass gods and Changing their minds suddenly Knocked down the brass gods and put up A dough-face god with gold ear-rings. The poor mutts, the pathetic slant heads, They didn’t know a little tin god Is as good as anything in the line of gods, Nor how a little tin god answers prayer And makes rain and brings luck The same as a big wooden god or a brass Or dough-face god with golden ear-rings, A MYSTIC AS SOLDIER Siegfried Sassoon I lived my days apart, Dreaming fair songs for God, By the glory of my heart Covered and crowned and shod. Now God is in the strife, And I must seek Him there, Where death outnumbers life, And furv smites the air. 1 62 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I walk the secret way With anger in my brain. O music through my clay, When will you sound again? THE HIDDEN WEAVER Odell Shepard There where he sits, in the cold, in the gloom, Of his far-away place by his thundering loom, He weaves on the shuttles of day and of night The shades of our sorrow and shapes of delight. He has wrought him a glimmering garment to fling Over the sweet swift limbs of the Spring, He has woven a fabric of wonder to be For a blue and a billowy robe to the sea. He has fashioned in somber, funereal dyes A tissue of gold for the midnight skies. But sudden the woof all turns to red. Has he lost his craft? Has he snapped his thread? Sudden the web all sanguine runs. Does he hear the yell of the thirsting guns? While the scarlet crimes and the crimson sins Grow from the dizzying outs and ins Of the shuttle that spins, does he see it and feel? Or is he the slave of a tyrannous wheel ? Inscrutable faces, mysterious eyes, Are watching him out of the drifting skies; Exiles of chaos crowd through the gloom Of the uttermost cold to that thundering room And whisper and peer through the dusk to the mark What thing he is weaving there in the dark. Will he leave the loom that he won from them And rend his fabric from hem to hem? Is he weaving with daring and skill sublime A wonderful winding-sheet for time ? THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD Ah, but he sits in a darkling place, Hiding his hands, hiding his face, Hiding his art behind the shine Of the web that he weaves so long and fine. Loudly the great wheel hums and rings And we hear not even the song that he sings. Over the whirr of the shuttles and all The roar and the rush, does he hear when we call? Only the colors that grow and glow Swift as the hurrying shuttles go. Only the figures vivid or dim That flow from the hastening hands of him, Only the fugitive shapes are we, Wrought in the web of eternity. HOW SHALL WE RISE TO GREET THE DAWN Osbert Sitwell How shall we rise to greet the dawn? Not timidly With a hand above our eyes, But greet the strong light Joyfully : Now will we mistake the dawn For the mid-day. We must create and fashion a new God — A God of power, of beauty and of strength — Created painfully, cruelly, Labouring from the revulsion of men’s minds. It is not that the money changers Ply their trade Within the sacred places; But that the old God Has made the Stock Exchange his Temple. We must drive him from it. 1 64 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Why should we tinker with clay feet? We will fashion A perfect unity Of precious metals. Let us dig up the dragon’s teeth From this fertile soil; Swiftly, Before they fructify; Let us give them as medicine To the writhing monster itself. We must create and fashion a new God — A God of power, of beauty and of strength; Created painfully, cruelly, Labouring from the revulsion of men’s minds. Cast down the idols of a thousand years, Crush them to the dust Beneath the dancing rhythm of our feet. Oh ! Let us dance upon the weak and cruel : We must create and fashion a new God. WHAT TOMAS AN BUILE SAID IN A PUB James Stephens I saw God. Do you doubt it? Do you dare to doubt it? I saw the Almighty Man. His hand Was resting on a mountain, and He looked upon the World and all about it: I saw Him plainer than you see me now, You mustn’t doubt it. He was not satisfied; His look was all dissatisfied. His beard swung on a wind far out of sight Behind the world’s curve, and there was hVht THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 165 Most fearful from His forehead, and He sighed, “That star went always wrong, and from the start I was dissatisfied.” He lifted up His hand — I say He heaved a dreadful hand Over the spinning Earth, then I said : “Stay — You must not strike it, God; I’m in the way; And I will never move from where I stand.” He said, “Dear child, I feared that you were dead,” And stayed His hand. From GITANJALI Rabindranath Tagore 45 Have you not heard his silent steps? He comes, comes, ever comes. Every moment and every age, every day and every night he comes, comes, ever comes. Many a song have I sung in many a mood of mind, but their notes have always proclaimed, “He comes, comes, ever comes.” In the fragrant days of sunny April through the forest path he comes, comes, ever comes. In the rainy gloom of July nights, on the thundering chariot of clouds he comes, comes, ever comes. In sorrow after sorrow it is his steps that press upon my heart, and it is the golden touch of his feet that makes my joy to shine. 46 I know not from what distant time thou art ever coming nearer to meet me. Thy sun and thy stars can never keep thee hidden from me for aye. Ip many a morning and eve thy footsteps have been heard and thy messenger has come within my heart and called me in secret. 1 66 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I know not why today my life is all astir, and a feeling of tremulous joy is passing through my heart. It is as if my time were come to wind up my work, and I feel in the air a faint sweet smell of thy presence. 72 He it is, the innermost one, who awakens my being with his deep hidden touches. He it is who 'puts his enchantment upon these eyes and joy¬ fully plays on the chords of my heart in varied cadence of pleasure and pain. He it is who weaves the web of this may a, in evanescent hues of gold and silver, blue and green, and lets peep out from the folds his feet, at whose touch I forget myself. Days come and ages pass, and it is ever he who moves my heart in many a name, in many a guise, in many a rapture of joy and sorrow. 73 Deliverance is not for me in renunciation. I feel the embrace of freedom in a thousand bonds of delight. Thou ever pourest for me the fresh draught of thy wine of various colors and fragrance, filling this earthen vessel to the brim. My world will light its hundred different lamps with thy flame and place them before the altar of thy temple. No, I will never shut the doors of my senses. The delights of touch and hearing will bear thy delight. Yes, all my illusions will burn into illumination of joy, and all my desires ripen into fruits of love. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD i THE HOPE OF THE WORLD William Watson i Higher than heaven they sit, Life and her consort Law; And One whose countenance lit In mine more perfect awe, Fain had I deemed their peer, Beside them throned above : Ev’n him who casts out fear, Unconquerable Love. Ah, ’twas on earth alone that I his beauty saw. ii On earth, in homes of men, In hearts that crave and die. Dwells he not also, then, With Godhead, throned on high? This and but this I know : His face I see not there : Here find I him below, Nor find him otherwhere; Born of an aching world, Pain’s bridegroom, Death’s ally. hi Did Heaven vouchsafe some sign That through all Nature’s frame Boundless ascent benign Is everywhere her aim, Such as man hopes it here, Where he from beasts hath risen, — Then might I read full clear, Ev’n in my sensual prison, That Life and Law and Love are one symphonious name. 1 68 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY IV Such sign hath Heaven yet lent? Nay, on this earth, are we So sure ’tis real ascent And very gain we see ? ’Gainst Evil striving still, Some spoils of war we wrest : Not to discover Ill Were haply state as blest. We vaunt, o’er doubtful foes, a dubious victory. v In cave and bosky dene Of old there crept and ran The gibbering form obscene That was and was not man. The desert beasts went by In fairer covering clad; More speculative eye The couchant lion had, The goodlier speech the birds, than we when we began. VI Was it some random throw Of heedless Nature’s die, That from estate so low Uplifted man so high? Through untold icons vast She let him lurk and cower : ’Twould seem he climbed at last In mere fortuitous hour, Child of a thousand chances ’neath the indifferent sky. VII A soul so long deferred In his blind brain he bore, It might have slept unstirred Ten million noontides more. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 169 Yea, round him Darkness might Till now her folds have drawn, O'er that enormous night So casual came the dawn, Such hues of hap and hazard Man’s Emergence wore ! VIII If, then, our rise from gloom Hath this capricious air, What ground is mine to assume An upward process there, In yonder worlds that shine From alien tracts of sky? Nor ground to assume is mine Nor warrant to deny. Equal, my source of hope, my reason for despair. IX And though within me here Hope lingers unsubdued, ’Tis because airiest cheer Suffices for her food ! As some adventurous flower, On savage crag-side grown, Seems nourished hour by hour From its wild self alone, So lives inveterate Hope, on her own hardihood. x She tells me, whispering low : ‘Wherefore and whence thou wast, Thou shalt behold and know When the great bridge is crossed. For not in mockery He Thy gift of wondering gave, Nor bade thine answer be The blank stare of the grave. Thou shalt behold and know; and find again thy lost.’ 170 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY XI With rapt eyes fixed afar, She tells me : ‘Throughout Space, Godward each peopled star Runs with thy Earth a race. Wouldst have the goal so nigh, The course so smooth a field, That Triumph should thereby One half its glory yield? And can Life’s pyramid soar all apex and no base?’ XII She saith: ‘Old dragons lie In bowers of pleasance curled; And dost thou ask me why? It is a Wizard’s world ! Enchanted princes these, Who yet their scales shall cast. And through his sorceries Die into kings at last. Ambushed in Winter’s heart the rose of June is furled.’ XIII Such are the tales she tells : Who trusts, the happier he: But nought of virtue dwells In that felicity ! I think the harder feat Were his who should withstand A voice so passing sweet, And so profuse a hand, — Hope, I forego the wealth thou fling’st abroad so free ! XIV Carry thy largess hence, Light Giver ! Let me learn To abjure the opulence I have done nought to earn; t THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD And on this world no more To cast ignoble slight, Counting it but the door Of other worlds more bright. Here, where I fail or conquer, here is my concern: Here, where perhaps alone I conquer or I fail. Here, o’er the dark Deep blown, I ask no perfumed gale ; I ask the unpampering breath That fits me to endure Chance, and victorious Death, Life, and my doom obscure, Who know not whence I am sped, nor to what port I sail. THE UNKNOWN GOD William Watson When, over-arched by gorgeous night, I wave my trivial self away; When all I was to all men’s sight Shares the erasure of the day; Then do I cast my cumbering load, Then do I gain a sense of God. Not him that with fantastic boasts A sombre people dreamed they knew; The mere barbaric God of Hosts That edged their sword and braced their thew: A God they pitted ’gainst a swarm Of neighbor Gods less vast of arm; A God like some imperious king, Wroth were his realm not duly awed; A God forever hearkening Unto his self-commanded laud; 172 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A God forever jealous grown Of carven wood and graven stone ; A God whose ghost, in arch and aisle, Yet haunts his temple and his tomb; But follows in a little while Odin and Zeus to equal doom; A God of kindred seed and line; Man’s giant shadow, hailed divine. O streaming worlds, O crowded sky, O Life, and mine own soul’s abyss, Myself am scarce so small that I Should bow to Deity like this ! This my Begetter? This was what Man in his violent youth begot. The God I know of, I shall ne’er Know, though he dwells exceeding high. Raise thou the stone and find me there, Cleave thou the wood and there am /. Yea, in my flesh his spirit doth flow, Too near, too far, for me to know. Whate’er my deeds, I am not sure That I can pleasure him or vex: I that must use a speech so poor It narrows the supreme with sex. Notes he the good or ill in man? To hope he cares is all I can. I hope, with fear. For did I trust The vision granted me at birth, The sire of heaven would seem less just Than many a faulty son of earth. And so he seems indeed! But then! I trust it not, this bounded ken. And dreaming much, I never dare To dream that in my prisoned soul THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 173 The flutter of a trembling prayer Can move the Mind that is the Whole. Though kneeling nations watch and yearn, Does the primordial purpose turn? Best by remembering God, say some, We keep our high imperial lot. Fortune, I fear, hath oftenest come When we forgot — when we forgot ! A lovelier faith their happier crown, But history laughs and weeps it down ! Know they not well, how seven times seven, Wronging our mighty arms with rust, We dared not do the work of heaven! Lest heaven should hurl us in the dust? The work of heaven ! ’Tis waiting still The sanction of the heavenly will. Unmeet to be profaned by praise Is he whose coils the world unfold; The God on whom I never gaze, The God I never once behold : Above the cloud, beneath the clod : The Unknown God, The Unknown God. THE AWAKENED WAR GOD Margaret Widdemer The War God wakened drowsily ; There were gold chains about his hands. He said : “And who shall reap my lands And bear the tithes to Death for me? “The nations stilled my thunderings : They wearied of my steel despair The flames from out my burning hair: Is there an ending of such things ?” 174 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Low laughed the Earth, and answered: “When Was any changeless law I gave Changed by my sons intent to save, By puny pitying hands of men? “I feel no ruth for some I bear. . . . The swarming, hungering overflow Of crowded millions, doomed to go, They must destroy who chained you there. “For some bright stone or shining praise They stint a million bodies’ breath, And sell the women, shamed, to death, And send the men brief length of days. “They kill the bodies swift for me, And kill the souls you gave to peace. . . * You were more merciful than these, Old master of my cruelty. “Lo, souls are scarred and virtues dim: Take back thy scourge of ministry, Rise from thy silence suddenly, Lest these still take Death’s toll to him!” The War God snapped his golden chain: His mercies thundered down the world, And lashing battle lines uncurled And scourged the crouching lands again. AN INDIAN UPON GOD William B. Yeats I passed along the water’s edge, below the humid trees My spirit rocked in evening light, the rushes round my knees, My spirit rocked in sleep and sighs; and saw the moor-fowl pace THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 175 All dripping on a glassy slope, and saw them cease to chase Each other round in circles, and heard the eldest speak : 6‘Who holds the world between His bill and made us strong or weak Is an undying moor-fowl, and He lives beyond the sky. The rains are from His dripping wing, the moonbeams from His eye/’ I passed a little further on and heard a lotus talk : “Who made the world and ruleth it, He hangeth on a stalk, For I am in his image made, and all this tinkling tide Is but a sliding drop of rain between his petals wide.” A little way within the gloom a roe-buck raised his eyes Brimful of starlight, and he said : “The Stamper of the skies, He is a gentle roe-buck; for how else, I pray, could He Conceive a thing so sad and soft, a gentle thing like me?” I passed a little further on and heard a peacock say : “Who made the grass and made the worms and made my feathers gay He is a monstrous peacock, and he waveth all the night His languid tail above us, lit with myriad spots of light.” JEHOVAH Israel Zangwill “Destroying and making alive, and causing salvation to spring forth.” — Jewish Prayer Book. I sing the uplift and the up-welling, I sing the yearning toward the sun, And the blind sea that lifts white hands of prayer. I sing the wild battle cry of warriors And the sweet whispers of lovers, And the dear word of the hearth and the altar, Aspiration, Inspiration, Compensation, God ! 176 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The hint of beauty behind the turbid cities, The eternal laws that cleanse and cancel. The pity through the savagery of nature, The love atoning for the brothels, The Master-Artist behind His tragedies Creator, Destroyer, Purifier, Avenger, God! Come into the circle of Love and Justice, Come into the brotherhood of Pity, Of Holiness and Health ! Strike out glad limbs upon the sunny water, Or be dragged down amid the rotting weeds The festering bodies. Save thy soul from sandy barrenness, Let it blossom with roses and gleam with living waters. Blame not, nor reason of your Past, Nor explain to Him your congenital weakness, But come, for He is remorseless, Call Him unjust, but come. Do not mock or defy Him, for He will prevail; He regardeth not you : He hath swallowed the worlds and the nations ; He hath humor, too : disease and death for the snugly pros¬ perous. For such is the Law, stern, unchangeable, shining, Making dung from souls and souls from dung. Thrilling the dust to holy beautiful spirit, And returning the spirit to dust, Come and ye shall know Peace and Joy. Let what ye desire of the universe penetrate you, Let Loving-kindness and Mercy pass through you, And Truth be the Law of your mouth. For so ye are channels of the divine sea, Which may not flood the earth but only steal in Through rifts in your souls. THE EXISTENCE AND IDEA OF GOD 1 77 AT THE WORST Israel Zangwill ‘‘And Man is left alone with Man.” ’Tis well ! The shapes that in the dusky background fell From Man’s bright soul are laid by morning’s spell. Why stay the Present ’gainst the Past to poise? Man grown to Manhood spurns his childish toys And wakes to grander fears and hopes and joys. If aught is lost that we should long to keep, ’Tis Manhood’s part to work and not to weep. Old age comes on, and everlasting sleep. We are — whatever we have been before ; We have whatever gold was in the ore; God lives as much as in the days of yore. In fires of human work and love and song, In wells of human tears that pitying throng, In thunder-clouds of human wrath at wrong. The burning bush doth not the more consume. New branches shoot where old no more illume, Eternal splendor flames upon the gloom. Though Hell and Heaven were a dream forgot, And unregarded sacrifice our lot, We serve God better, deeming He is not. Perchance, O ye that toil on, though forlorn By your souls’ travail, your own noble scorn, The very God you crave is being born. Nor yet hath Man of faith and courage failed, Albeit dazzled for a space and paled By glimpse of Truth — God’s awful face unveiled. 178 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY No change need be in all that we hold dear ; Love, Virtue, Knowledge, Beauty — all are here, One Hope is gone — but in its train one Fear. The sea wind blows as fresh ; the ocean heaves As blue and buoyant: Nature nowhere grieves; As bright a green is on the forest leaves. Larks sing and roses still are odorous, Art, Poetry and Music are still for us, And Woman just as fair and marvellous. And if the earth with endless fray is rife. Acknowledge in the universal strife, The zest of this, the seed of higher, life. Evil is here ? That’s work for us to do. The Old is dying? Let’s beget the New. And Death awaits us? Rest is but our due. IV. Faith a. THE OLD FAITH b. MODERN FAITH C. NEW VOICES IV. Faith a. THE OLD FAITH PROVIDENCE Light Shining Out of Darkness William Cowper God moves in a mysterious way His wonders to perform; He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm. Deep in unfathomable mines Of never-failing skill He treasures up his bright designs, And works his sovereign will. Ye fearful saints, fresh courage take, The clouds ye so much dread Are big with mercy, and shall break In blessings on your head. Judge not the Lord by feeble sense, But trust him for his grace : Behind a frowning providence He hides a smiling face. His purposes will ripen fast, Unfolding every hour; The bud may have a bitter taste But sweet will be the flower. 181 1 82 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Blind unbelief is sure to err, And scan his work in vain; God is his own interpreter And he will make it plain. A LITTLE BIRD I AM Madame Guyon (Written in the BastiHe) Translated by Prof. T. C. Upham A little bird I am, Shut in from fields of air, And in my cage I sit and sing, To him who placed me there; Well pleased a prisoner to be, Because, my God, it pleases thee ! Naught have I else to do, I sing the whole day long; And he whom I most love to please Doth listen to my song; He caught and bound my wandering wing, And still he bends to hear me sing. Thou hast an ear to hear, A heart to love and bless; And though my notes were e’er so rude, Thou wouldst not hear the less ; Because thou knowest as they fall, That love, sweet love, inspires them all. My cage confines me round, Abroad I cannot fly; But though my wing is closely bound, My heart’s at liberty; My prison walls cannot control The flight, the freedom of the soul. FAITH Oh, it is good to soar, These bolts and bars above, To him whose purpose I adore, Whose providence I love ; And in thy mighty will to find The joy, the freedom of the mind. TO GOD Robert Herrick Lord, I am like to mistletoe, Which has no root and cannot grow Or prosper, but by that same tree It clings about : so I by thee. What need I then to fear at all So long as I about thee crawl? But if that tree should fall and die, Tumble shall heaven, and so down will L THE FLYING WHEEL Katharine Tynan Hinkson When I was young the days were long, O, long the days when I was young : So long from morn to evenfall As they would never end at all. Now I grow old Time flies, alas! I watch the years and seasons pass. Time turns him with his fingers thin A wheel that whirls while it doth spin. There is no time to take one’s ease, For to sit still and be at peace : Oh, whirling wheel of Time, be still, Let me be quiet if you will ! 84 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Yet still it turns so giddily, So fast the years and seasons fly, Dazed with the noise and speed I run And stay me on the Changeless One. I stay myself on Him who stays Ever the same through nights and days: The One Unchangeable for aye, That was and will be : the one Stay, O’er whom Eternity will pass But as an image in a glass; To whom a million years are nought, — I stay myself on a great Thought. 1 stay myself on the great Quiet After the noises and the riot; As in a garnished chamber sit Far from the tumult of the street. Oh, wheel of Time, turn round apace ! But I have found a resting place. You will not trouble me again In the great peace where I attain THE INCOMPREHENSIBLE Isaac Watts Far in the Heavens my God retires: My God, the mark of my desires. And hides His lovely face ; When Pie descends within my view, He charms my reason to pursue, But leaves it tired and fainting in th’ unequal chase. Or if I reach unusual height Till near His presence brought, There floods of glory check my flight FAITH 18 Cramp the bold pinions of my wit, And all untune my thought; Plunged in a sea of light I roll, Where wisdom, justice, mercy, shines; Infinite rays in crossing lines Beat thick confusion on my sight, and overwhelm my soul. Great God ! behold my reason lies Adoring: yet my love would rise On pinions not her own : Faith shall direct her humble flight, Through all the trackless seas of light, To Thee, th’ Eternal Fair, the Infinite Unknown. GOD MAKES A PATH Roger W illiams God makes a path, provides a guide, And feeds a wilderness ; His glorious name, while breath remains, O that I may confess. Lost many a time, I have had no guide, No house but a hollow tree ! In stormy winter night no fire, No food, no company; In Him I found a house, a bed, A table, company; No cup so bitter hut’s made sweet, Where God shall sweetening be. 1 86 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY b. MODERN FAITH THE DOUBTER’S PRAYER Anne Bronte Eternal Power, of earth and air ! Unseen, yet seen in all around; Remote, but dwelling everywhere ; Though silent heard in every sound; If e’er thine ear in Mercy lent, When wretched mortals cried to Thee, And if indeed, Thy Son was sent, To save lost sinners such as me: Then hear me now, while kneeling here, I lift to thee my heart and eye, And all my soul ascends in prayer, Oh, give me — Give me Faith ! I cry. While Faith is with me, I am blest; It turns my darkest night to day; But while I clasp it to my breast, I often feel it slide away. Then, cold and dark, my spirit sinks, To see my light of life depart; And every friend of Hell, methinks, Enjoys the anguish of my heart. What shall I do if all my love, My hopes, my toil, are cast away, And if there be no God above, To hear and bless me while I pray? If this be vain delusion all, If death be an eternal sleep And none can hear my secret call, Or see the silent tears I weep ! FAITH 187 O help me God ! for Thou alone Canst my distracted soul relieve ; Forsake it not, it is Thine own, Though weak, yet longing to believe. WAITING John Burroughs Serene, I fold my hands and wait, Nor care for wind, nor tide, nor sea; I rave no more ’gainst time or fate, For, lo! mine own shall come to me. I stay my haste, I make delays, For what avails this eager pace? I stand amid the eternal ways, And what is mine shall know my face. Asleep, awake, by night or day, The friends I seek are seeking me ; No wind can drive my bark astray, Nor change the tide of destiny. What matter if I stand alone? I wait with joy the coming years; My heart shall reap where it has sown, And garner up its fruit of tears. The waters know their own, and draw The brook that springs in yonder heights; So flows the good with equal law Unto the soul of pure delights. The stars come nightly to the sky ; The tidal wave comes to the sea; Nor time, nor space, nor deep, nor high, Can keep my own away from me. 1 88 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THERE IS NO UNBELIEF Elizabeth York Case There is no unbelief ; Whoever plants a seed beneath the sod And waits to see it push away the clod — He trusts in God. There is no unbelief ; Whoever says when clouds are in the sky, “Be patient, heart; light breaketh by and by,” Trusts the Most High. There is no unbelief ; Whoever sees hieath winter’s field of snow, The silent harvest of the future grow — God’s power must know. There is no unbelief ; Whoever lies down on his couch to sleep, Content to lock each sense in slumber deep, Knows God will keep. There is no unbelief ; Whoever says “tomorrow,” “the unknown,” “The future,” trusts the power alone He dares disown. There is no unbelief ; The heart that looks on when the eye-lids close, And dares to live when life has only woes, God’s comfort knows. There is no unbelief ; For thus by day and night unconsciously The heart lives by that faith the lips deny. God knoweth why ! FAITH 189 HOPE EVERMORE AND BELIEVE Arthur Hugh Clough Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e’en as thy thought So are the things that thou seest; e’en as thy hope and belief. Cowardly thou art, and timid? They rise to provoke thee against them. Hast thou courage? Enough, see them exulting to yield. Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea’s furying waters (Violent, sayst thou, and hard, mighty, thinkst thou, to destroy). All with ineffable longing, are waiting their Invader, All, with one varying voice, call to him, Come and subdue;; Still for their conqueror call, and but for the joy of being conquered (Rapture they will not forego) dare to resist and rebel; Still, when resisting and raging, in soft undervoice say to him, Fear not, retire not, O Man; hope evermore and believe. Go from the east and the west, as the sun and stars direct thee, Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth. Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having, But for the joy of the deed; but for the duty to do. Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action, With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth. Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished, Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good? Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accom¬ plished, What thou hast done, and shalt do, shall be declared to thee, then. Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spirit Say to thyself: It is good: yet there is oetter than it. This that I see is not all, and this that 1 do is but little; Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it. ipo THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY WITH WHOM IS NO VARIABLENESS, NEITHER SHADOW OF TURNING Arthur Hugh Clough It fortifies my soul to know That though I perish, truth is so ; That, howsoe’er I stray and range, Whate’er I do, Thou dost not change. I steadier step when I recall That, if I slip, Thou dost not fall. ADRIFT Mrs. Edward Dowden Unto my faith as to a spar, I bind My love — and Faith and Love adrift I cast On a dim sea. I know not if at last They the eternal shore of God shall find. I know that neither waves nor wind Can sunder them ; the cords are tied so fast That faith shall never — doubts and dangers past — Come safe to land and Love be left behind. THE TIDE OF FAITH George Eliot So faith is strong Only when we are strong, shrinks when we shrink. It comes when music stirs us, and the chords, Moving on some grand climax, shake our souls With influx new that makes new energies. It comes in swellings of the heart and tears That rise at noble and at gentle deeds. FAITH 191 It comes in moments of heroic love, Unjealous joy in joy not made for us; In conscious triumph of the . good within, Making us worship goodness that rebukes. Even our failures are a prophecy, Even our yearnings and our bitter tears After that fair and true we cannot grasp. Presentiment of better things on earth Sweeps in with every force that stirs our souls To admiration, self-renouncing love. BRAHMA ' Rat ph Waldo Emerson If the red slayer think he slays, Or if the slain think he is slain, They know not well the subtle ways I keep, and pass, and turn again. Far or forgot to me is near; Shadow and sunlight are the same ; The vanished gods to me appear; And one to me are shame and fame. They reckon ill who leave me out ; When me they fly, I am the wings; I am the doubter and the doubt, And I the hymn the Brahmin sings. The strong gods pine for my abode, And pine in vain the sacred Seven ; But thou, meek lover of the good ! Find me, and turn thy back on heaven. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY EACH AND ALL Ralph Waldo Emerson Little thinks, in the field, yon red-cloaked clown Of thee from the hill-top looking down; The heifer that lows in the upland farm, Far-heard, lows not thine ear to charm; The sexton, tolling his bell at noon, Deems not that great Napoleon Stops his horse and lists with delight, Whilst his files sweep round yon Alpine height ; Nor knowest thou what argument Thy life to thy neighbor’s creed has lent. All are needed by each one; Nothing is good or fair alone. I thought the sparrow’s note from heaven, Singing at dawn on the alder bough ; I brought him home in his nest at even ; He sings the song but it cheers not now, For I did not bring home the river and sky; — He sang to my ear, — they sang to my eye. The delicate shells lay on the shore; The bubbles of the latest wave Fresh pearls to their enamel gave, And the bellowing of the savage sea Greeted their safe escape to me. I wiped away the weeds and foam, I fetched my sea-born treasures home ; But the poor, unsightly, noisome things Had left their beauty on the shore. With the sun and the sand and the wild uproar. The lover watched his graceful maid, As ’mid the virgin train she strayed; Nor knew her beauty’s best attire Was woven still by the snow-white choir. FAITH 193 At last she came to his hermitage, Like the bird from the woodlands to the cage; — The gay enchantment was undone, A gentle wife, but fairy none. Then I said, “I covet truth ; Beauty is unripe childhood’s cheat; I leave it behind with the games of youth.” — As I spoke, beneath my feet The ground-pine curled its pretty wreath, Running over the club-moss burrs; I inhaled the violet’s breath; Around me stood the oaks and firs; Pine-cones and acorns lay on the ground; Over me soared the eternal sky, Full of light and of deity; Again I saw, again I heard, The rolling river, the morning bird; — Beauty through my senses stole ; I yielded myself to the perfect whole. THE STREAM OF FAITH William Channing Gannett From heart to heart, from creed to creed, The hidden river runs; It quickens all the ages down, It binds the sires to sons, — The stream of Faith, whose source is God Whose sound, the sound of prayer, Whose meadows are the holy lives Upspringing everywhere. And still it moves, a broadening flood; And fresher, fuller grows. A sense as if the sea were near Towards which the river flows. i94 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O thou who art the secret Source That rises in each soul, Thou art the Ocean, too, — thy charm, That ever-deepening roll ! DOUBT Fernand Gregh From Poets of Modern France By Ludwig Lewisohn Upon the topmost branches dies A last ray of the setting sun; A glimmer of strange gilding lies Upon the leaves’ vermilion. From the pale sky the colors fade ’Tis grey even as grey waters are. There glide like sudden shafts of shade The living wings of birds afar. From all things comes a charm so deep. So sweet and glad, so void of strife, Calm as the peacefulness of sleep, Spreads the divinely cosmic life. The sounds of the far city roll On fitful winds to my retreat — Why falls there sudden on my soul A feeling beyond speaking sweet? Dear God, how all the sense of doom Vanishes in the face of things! How one is like poor men to whom Some chance a day of feasting brings ! How one adores in childlike mood And finds thee where the shadows fall, Here is life’s holy amplitude Thee who, perhans art not ^t all ! FAITH 195 A SONG OF DOUBT Josiah Gilbert Holland The day is quenched, and the sun 19 fled; God has forgotten the world ! The moon has gone, and the stars are dead: God has forgotten the world ! Evil has won in the horrid feud . Of ages with the throne ; Evil stands on the neck of Good, And rules the world alone. There is no good : there is no God : And faith is a heartless cheat Who bares the back for the devil's rod And scatters thorns for the feet. What are prayers in the lips of death. Filling and chilling with hail? What are prayers but wasted breath, Beaten back by the gale? The day is quenched, and the sun has fled; God has forgotten the world ! The moon is gone and the stars are dead, God has forgotten the world ! A SONG OF FAITH % Josiah Gilbert Holland Day will return with a fresher boon; God will remember the world ! Night will come with a newer moon; God will remember the world ! t96 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Evil is only the slave of good; Sorrow the servant of joy; And the soul is mad that refuses food Of the meanest in God’s employ. The fountain of joy is fed by tears, And love is lit by the breath of sighs ; The deepest griefs and the wildest fears Have holiest ministries; Strong grows the oak in the sweeping storm; Safely the flower sleeps under the snow; And the farmer’s hearth is never warm Till the cold wind starts to blow. Day will return with a fresher boon; God will remember the world ! Night will come with a newer moon; God will remember the world ! FAITH William Dean Howells If I lay waste and wither up with doubt The blessed fields of heaven where once my Faith Possessed itself serenely safe from death; If I deny the things past finding out; Or if I orphan my own soul of One That seemed a Father, and make void the place Within me where He dwelt in Power and Grace, What do I gain by that I have undone? THE POET’S SIMPLE FAITH Victor Hugo You say, “Where goest Thou?” I cannot tell, And still go on. If but the way be straight I cannot go amiss : before me lies FAITH 197 Dawn and the day : the night behind me : that Suffices me : I break the bounds : I see, And nothing more ; believe and nothing less. My future is not one of my concerns. Translated by Prof. Edward Dowden. DOUBT Helen Hunt Jackson They bade me cast the thing away, They pointed to my hands all bleeding, They listened not to all my pleading; The thing I meant I could not say; I knew that I should rue the day If once I cast that thing away. I grasped it firm, and bore the pain; The thorny husks I stripped and scattered; If I could reach its heart, what mattered If other men saw not my gain, Or even if I should be slain? I knew the risks; I chose the pain. O, had I cast that thing away, I had not found what most I cherish, A faith without which I should perish, — - The faith which, like a kernel, lay Hid in the husks which on that day My instinct would not throw away ! THE BEGINNINGS OF FAITH Sir Lewis Morris All travail of high thought, All secrets vainly sought, All struggles for right, heroic, perpetually fought; 198 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY % Faint gleams of purer fire, Conquests of gross desire, Whereby the fettered soul ascends continually higher; Pure cares for love or friend Which ever upward tend, Too deep and heavenward and true to have on earth their end: Vile hearts malign and fell, Lives which no tongue may tell, So dark and dread and shameful that they breathe a present hell; What mountain, deep-set lake, Sea wastes which surge and break, Fierce storms which, roaring from the north, the midnight forests shake; Fair morns of summer days, Rich harvest eves that raise The soul and heart o’erburdened to an ecstasy of praise; Low whispers, vague and strange, Which through our being range, Breathing perpetual presage of some mighty coming change : These in the soul do breed Thoughts which, at last, shall lead To some clear, firm assurance of a satisfying creed. FAITH Alexander Pope For modes of faith let graceless Zealots fight; He can’t be wrong whose life is in the right; In faith and hope the world will disagree, But all mankind’s concern is charity: FAITH All must be false that thwart this one great end; And all of God that bless mankind, or mend. Man, like the generous vine, supported lives : The strength he gains is from the embrace he gives. IF THIS WERE FAITH Robert Louis Stevenson God, if this were enough, That I see things bare to the buff And up to the buttocks in mire; That I ask not hope nor hire, Not in the husk, Nor dawn beyond the dusk. Nor life beyond death : God, if this were faith? Having felt thy wind in my face Spit sorrow and disgrace, Having seen thine evil doom In Golgotha and Khartoum, And the brutes, the work of thine hands, Fill with injustice lands And stain with blood the sea: If still in my veins the glee Of the black night and the sun And the lost battle, run : If, an adept, The iniquitous lists I still accept With joy, and joy to endure and be withstood, And still to battle and perish for a dream of good: God, if that were enough? If to feel, in the ink of the slough, And the sink of the mire, Veins of glory and fire Run through and transpierce and transpire, 200 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRT And a secret purpose of glory in every part. And the answering glory of battle fill my heart; To thrill with the joy of girded men To go on forever and fail and go on again, And be mauled to the earth and arise, And contend for the shade of a word and a thing not seen with the eyes; With the half of a broken hope for a pillow at night That somehow the right is the right And the smooth shall bloom from the rough : Lord, if that were enough? FAITH John B. Tabs In every seed to breathe the flower, In every drop of dew To reverence a cloistered star Within the distant blue; To wait the promise of the bow Despite the cloud between, Is Faith — the fervid evidence Of loveliness unseen. From IN MEMORIAM Alfred Tennyson Proem Strong Son of God, immortal Love, Whom we, that have not seen thy face, By faith, and faith alone, embrace, Believing where we cannot prove; Thine are these orbs of light and shade; Thou madest Life in man and brute ; Thou madest Death ; and, lo, thy foot Is on the skull which thou hast made. FAITH 201 Thou wilt not leave us in the dust : Thou madest man, he knows not why, He thinks he was not made to die ; And thou hast made him: thou art just. 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, O Lord, art more than they. W e 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. Let knowledge grow from more to more, But more of reverence in us dwell : That mind and soul, according well, May make one music as before, But vaster. We are fools and slight; We mock thee when we do not fear: But help thy foolish ones to bear ; Flelp thy vain worlds to bear thy light. Forgive what seemed my sin in me, What seemed my worth since I began; For merit lives from man to man, And not from man, O Lord, to thee. Forgive my grief for one removed, Thy creature, whom I found so fair, I trust he lives in thee, and there I find him worthier to be loved. 202 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Forgive these wild and wandering cries, Confusions of a wasted youth; Forgive them where they fail in truth, And in thy wisdom make me wise. THE ANCIENT SAGE Alfred Tennyson Thou canst not prove that thou art body alone, Nor canst thou prove that thou art spirit alone, Nor canst thou prove that thou art both in one, Thou canst not prove thou art immortal, no. Nor yet that thou art mortal — nay, my son, Thou canst not prove that I, who speak with thee, Am not thyself in converse with thyself, For nothing worthy proving can be proven, Nor yet disproven. Wherefore thou be wise, Cleave ever to the sunnier side of doubt, And cling to Faith beyond the forms of Faith ! She reels not in the storm of warring words. She brightens at the clash of ‘Yes’ and ‘No,’ She sees the best that glimmers through the worst, She feels the sun is hid but for a night, She spies the summer through the winter bud, She tastes the fruit before the blossom falls, She hears the lark within the songless egg, She finds the fountain where they wailed ‘Mirage !’ THE HIGHER PANTHEISM Alfred Tennyson The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains, — Are not these, O Soul, the Vision of Him who reigns? Is not the Vision He? Tho’ He be not that which He seems? Dreams are true while they last, and do we not live in dreams? FAITH 203 Earth, these solid stars, this weight of body and limb, Are they not sign and symbol of thy division from Him? Dark is the world to thee: thyself art the reason why; For is He not all but thou, that hast power to feel “I am I?” Glory about thee, without thee; and thou f ulfillest thy doom, Making Him broken gleams and a stifled splendor and gloom. Speak to Him thou for He hears, and Spirit with Spirit can meet — Closer is He than breathing, and nearer than hands and feet. God is law, say the wise; O Soul, and let us rejoice, For if He thunder by law the thunder is yet His voice. ADJUSTMENT John Greenleaf Whittier The tree of Faith its bare dry boughs must shed That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; The false must fail, though from our shores of thne The old lament be heard, — “Great Pan is dead!” That wail is Error’s, from his high place hurled; This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod ; Our time’s unrest, an angel sent of God, Troubling with life the waters of the world, Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, And storm-clouds, rent by thunder-bolt and wind, Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind. Therefore I trust, although to outward sense Both true and false seem shaken ; I will hold With newer light my reverence for the old, And calmly wait the births of Providence. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds Counting in task-field and o’er peopled town; Truth has charmed life; the Imvard Word survives, And, day by day, its revelation brings. Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, And the new gospel verifies the old. THE WAITING John Greenleaf Whittier I wait and watch : before my eyes Methinks the night grows thin and gray; I wait and watch the eastern skies To see the golden spears uprise Beneath the oriflamme of day ! Like one whose limbs are bound in trance I hear the day sounds swell and grow, And see across the twilight glance, Troop after troop in swift advance, The shining ones with plumes of snow ! I know the errand of their feet, I know what mighty work is theirs ; I can but lift up hand unmeet, The threshing-floors of God to beat, And speed them with unworthy prayers. I will not dream in vain despair The steps of progress wait for me : The puny leverage of a hair The planet’s impulse well may spare, A drop of dew the tided sea. FAITH 205 The loss, if loss there be, is mine, And yet not mine, if understood; For one shall grasp and one resign, One drink life’s rue and one its wine, And God shall make the balance good. O power to do ! O baffled will ! O prayer and action ! ye are one ! Who may not strive may yet fulfil The harder task of standing still, And good but wished with God is done ! THE ETERNAL GOODNESS John Greenleaf Whittier O Friends ! with whom my feet have trod The quiet aisles of prayer, Glad witness to your zeal for God And love of man I bear. I trace your lines of argument; Your logic linked and strong I weigh as one who dreads dissent, And fears a doubt as wrong. But still my human hands are weak To hold your iron creeds: Against the words ye bid me speak My heart within me pleads. Who fathoms the Eternal Thought? Who talks of scheme and plan ? The Lord is God ! He needeth not The poor device of man. I walk with bare, hushed feet the ground Ye tread with boldness shod; I dare not fix with mete and bound The love and power of God. 206 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Ye praise His justice; even such His pitying love I deem : Ye seek a king; I fain would touch The robe that hath no seam. Ye see the curse which overbroods A world of pain and loss; I hear our Lord’s beatitudes And prayer upon the cross. More than your schoolmen teach, within Myself, alas! I know: Too dark ye cannot paint the sin, Too small the merit show. I bow my forehead to the dust, I veil mine eyes for shame, And urge, in trembling self-distrust, A prayer without a claim. 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 trust my spirit clings; I know that God is good ! Not mine to look where cherubim And seraphs may not see, But nothing can be good in Him Which evil is in me. The wrong that pains my soul below I dare not throne above; I know not of His hate, — I know His goodness and His love. FAITH 207 I dimly guess from blessings known Of greater out of sight, And, with the chastened Psalmist, own His judgments too are right. I long for household voices gone, For vanished smiles I long, But God hath led my dear ones on, And He can do no wrong. I know not what the future hath Of marvel or surprise, Assured alone that life and death His mercy underlies. And if my heart and flesh are weak To bear an untried pain, The bruised reed He will not break, But strengthen and sustain. No offering of my own I have, Nor works my faith to prove; I can but give the gifts He gave, And plead His love for love. And so beside the Silent 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. 208 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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 ! C. NEW VOICES MY FAITH Sri Ananda Acharya All this is one Though the earth is dark and the stars are bright, This -is my faith : there is a hidden light in man. Though disease we fear and old age we dread, this is my faith : the soul is brave. Though the sun of life has risen and will as surely set, this is my faith: the sun of life shines ever in its place, unmoving. Though the royal swans fly and the storms smite their head, this is my faith : they will reach their home in the Mansa lake. % Though the mountains stand mute and the birds sing merrily, this is my faith : the pole-star is firm. Though friends greet like strangers and strangers are unkind, this is my faith: love will wake in their souls. Though all men have different faces, different minds, this is my faith: one heart moves them all. Though atoms, forces, lives, fates, graces, times, each from the other differs, each fighting for supremacy — this is my faith : all are traveling, under the cloud of unknowing¬ ness, to the All-souks temple of rest. FAITH 209 VICTORY (Found on the body of an Australian soldier) Ye that have faith to look with fearless eyes Beyond the tragedy of a world at strife, And know that out of death and night shall rise The dawn of ampler life : Rejoice, whatever anguish rend the heart, That God has given you the priceless dower To live in these great times and have your part In Freedom’s crowning hour, That ye may tell your sons who see the light High in the heavens — their heritage to take — “I saw the powers of darkness take their flight; I saw the morning break.” HAVE FAITH Edward Carpenter Do not hurry; have faith. Remember that if you become famous you can never share the lot of those who pass by unnoticed from the cradle to the grave, nor take part in the last heroism of their daily life; If you seek and encompass wealth and ease the divine out¬ look of poverty cannot be yours — nor shall you feel all your days the loving and constraining touch of Nature and Necessity; If you are successful in all you do, you cannot also battle magnificently against odds; If you have fortune and good health and a loving wife and children, you cannot also be of those who are happy without these things. Covet not overmuch. Let the strong desires come and go; refuse them not, disown them not; but think not that in them lurks finally the thing you want. Presently they will fade away and into the intolerable light will dissolve like gossamers before the sun. 2io THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Do not hurry; have faith. (Whither indeed should we hurry? is it not well here? A little shelter from the storm, a stack of fuel for winter use, A few handfuls of grain and fruit — And, lo ! the glory of all the earth is ours.) The main thing is that the messenger is perhaps even now at your door — and to see that you are ready for his arrival. Likely whoever it is his coming will upset all your carefully laid plans; Your most benevolent designs will likely have to be laid aside, and he will set you to some quite common-place business, or perhaps of dubious character — Or send you on a long and solitary journey; perhaps he will bring you letters of trust to deliver — perhaps the prince himself will appear — Yet see that you are ready for his arrival. Is your present experience hard to bear? Yet remember that never again perhaps in all your days Will you have another chance at the same. Do not fly the lesson, but have a care that you maintain it while you have the opportunity. On all sides God surrounds you, staring out upon you from the mountains and from the face of the rocks, and of men, and of animals. Will you rush past forever insensate and blindfold — hurrying breathless from one unfinished task to another, and to catch your ever-departing trains — as if you were a very Cain flying from His face? IN THE HOSPITAL Arthur Guiterman Because on the branch that is tapping my pane A sun-wakened, leaf-bud uncurled, Is bursting its rusty brown sheathing in twain, I know there is spring in the world. FAITH 211 Because through the sky-patch whose azure and white My window frames all the day long, A yellow bird dips for an instant of flight, I know there is song. Because even here, in this Mansion of Woe, Where creep the dull hours, leaden-shod, Compassion and tenderness aid me, I know There is God. GOD THE ARCHITECT Harry Kemp Who Thou art I know not But this much I know; Thou hast set the Pleiades In a silver row ; Thou hast sent the trackless winds Loose upon their way; Thou hast reared a colored wall Twixt the night and day; Thou hast made the flowers to bloom And the stars to shine ; Hid rare gems of richest ore In the tunneled mine; But chief of all thy wondrous works Supreme of all thy plan, Thou hast put an upward reach Into the heart of man. 2i2 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE DEAD FAITH Fanny Heaslip Lea She made a little shadow-hidden grave The day Faith died; Therein she laid it, heard the clod’s sick fall. And smiled aside — “If less I ask,” tear-blind, she mocked, “I may Be less denied.” She set a rose to blossom in her hair, The day Faith died — “Now glad,” she said, “and free, at last, I go, And life is wide.” But through long nights she stared into the dark,, And knew she lied. From THE REBEL Irene Rutherford McLeod Beyond the murk that swallows me There is an Eye that follows me, There is an Ear that waits and strains To catch the echoes of my pains, There is a Hand outstretched to take Utmost toll for each mistake : These Three have stalked me down the years To mock the passion of my tears. I fling you scorn, unholy spy ! Though living give my faith the lie, Though loving clip the wings of Love, Though men humanity disprove, Though all my suns and moons go out, Though tongues of all the ages shout That only death may not deceive — I’ll not believe ! I’ll not believe ! FAITH With ardour passionate in my breath I'll sing my undefeated faith ! O take me, break me, peaceless life ! My soul was born to welcome strife ! O sap my heart of its deep blood, If blood be beauty’s precious food ! There is no thing I would not give, There is no hour I dare not live, There is no hell I’ll not explore To find a hidden heavenly door ! SONNETS John Masefield O little self, within whose smallness lies All that a man was, and is, and will become, Atom unseen that comprehends the skies And tells the tracks by which the planets roam. That, without moving, knows the joy of wings, The tiger’s strength, the eagle’s secrecy, And in the hovel can consort with kings, Or clothe a god with his own mystery. O, with what darkness do we cloak thy light, What dusty folly gather thee for food, Thou who alone art knowledge and delight, The heavenly bread, the beautiful, the good. O living self, O god, O morning star, Give us thy light, forgive us what we are. If I could get within this changing I, This ever altering thing which yet persists, Keeping the features it is reckoned by, . While each component atom breaks or twists, If, wandering past strange groups of shifting forms, Cells at their hidden marvels hard at work. Pale from much toil, or red from sudden storms, I might attain to where the Rulers lurk. 214 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY If, pressing past the guards in those grey gates, The brain’s most folded intertwisted shell, I might attain to that which alters fates, The King, the Supreme Self, the Master Cell, Then, on Man’s earthly peak, I might behold The unearthly self beyond, unguessed, untold. How many ways, how many times The tiger Mind has clutched at what it sought, Only to prove supposed virtues crimes, The imagined godhead but a form of thought. How many restless brains have wrought and schemed, Padding their cage, or built, or brought to law, Made in outlasting brass the something dreamed. Only to prove themselves the things of awe. Yet, in the happy moment’s lightning blink Comes scent, or track, or trace, the game goes by, Some leopard thought is pawing at the brink, Chaos below, and up above, the sky. Then the keen nostrils scent, about, about, To prove the Thing within a Thing Without. There is no God, as I was taught in youth, Though each, according to his stature, builds Some covered shrine for what he thinks the truth, Which, day by day, his reddest heart-blood gilds. There is no God; but death, the clasping sea, In which we move like fish, deep over deep, Made of men’s souls that bodies have set free, Floods to a justice, though it seems asleep. There is no God, but still, behind the veil, The hurt thing works, out of its agony. Still, like a touching of a brimming Grail, Return the pennies given to passers by. There is no God, but we, who breathe the air, Are God ourselves and touch God everywhere. FAITH 215 SENSE AND SPIRIT George Meredith The senses loving Earth or well or ill Ravel yet more the riddle of our lot. The mind is in their trammels, and lights not By trimming fear-bred tales; nor does the will To find in nature things which less may chill An ardour that desires, unknowing what. Till we conceive her living we go distraught, At best but circle-windsails of a mill. Seeing she lives, and of her joy of life Creatively has given us blood and breath For endless war and never wound unhealed, The gloomy Wherefore of our battlefield Solves in the Spirit, wrought of her through strife To read her own and trust her down to death. From A FAITH ON TRIAL George Meredith ‘The dream is the thought in the ghost; ‘The thought sent flying for food; ‘Eyeless, but sprung of an aim ‘Supernal of Reason, to find ‘The great Over-Reason we name ‘Beneficence : .mind seeking Mind. ‘Dream of the blossom of Good, ‘In its waver and current and curve, ‘With the hopes of my offspring enscrolled! ‘Soon to be seen of a host ‘The flag of the Master I serve ! ‘And life in them doubled on Life, ‘As flame upon flame, to behold, ‘High over Time-tumbled sea, ‘The bliss of his headship of strife, ‘Him through handmaiden me/ 216 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FAITH George Santayana O 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. V. God in Nature a. IMMANENCE IN NATURE IN GENERAL b. THE COUNTRY FAITH c. TREES d. GARDEN AND FLOWERS e. ANIMALS f. THE HEAVENS &• MOUNTAINS h. THE OCEAN V. God in Nature a. IMMANENCE IN NATURE IN GENERAL HORA CHRISTI Alice Brown Sweet is the time for joyous folk Of gifts and minstrelsy; Yet, I, O lowly-hearted One Crave but Thy company, O lonesome road, beset with dread, My questing lies afar, I have no light save in the east, The gleaming of Thy Star. In cloistered aisles they keep today Thy feast, O living Lord ! With pomp of banner, pride of song, And stately sounding word. Mute stand the kings of power and place, While priests of holy mind Dispense Thy blessed heritage Of peace to all mankind. I know a spot where budless twigs Are bare above the snow, And where sweet winter-loving birds Flit softly to and fro; There, with the sun for altar-fire, The earth for kneeling-place, The gentle air for chorister, Will I adore Thy face. 219 220 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Lord, underneath the great blue sky, My heart shall pean sing, The gold and myrrh of meekest love Mine only offering. Bliss of Thy birth shall quicken me, And for Thy pain and dole Tears are but vain, so I will keep The silence of the soul. REVELATION Alice Brown From The Road to Castaly Down in the meadow, sprent with dew I saw the Very God Look from a flower’s limpid blue, Child of a starveling sod. DISGUISES Thomas Edward Brown High stretched upon the swinging yard, I gather in the sheet; But it is hard And stiff, and one cries haste. Then He that is most dear in my regard Of all the crew gives aidance meet ; But from His hands, and from His feet, A glory spreads wherewith the night is starred: Moreover of a cup most bitter-sweet With fragrance as of nard, And myrrh, and cassia spiced, He proffers me to taste. Then I to Him: — ‘Art Thou the Christ?’ He saith — ‘Thou say’st.’ GOD IN NATURE 221 Like to an ox That staggers ’neath the mortal blow, She grinds upon the rocks : — Then straight and low Leaps forth the levelled line, and in our quarter locks. The cradle’s rigged; with swerving of the blast We go, Our Captain last — Demands ‘Who fired that shot?’ Each silent stands — Ah, sweet perplexity ! This too was He. I have an arbour wherein came a toad Most hideous to see — Immediate, seizing staff or goad, I smote it cruelly. Then all the place with subtle radiance glowed — I looked, and it was He ! Song from PIPPA PASSES Robert Browning The year’s at the spring The day’s at the morn; Morning’s at seven; The hillside’s dew-pearled; The lark’s on the wing; The snail’s on the thorn; God’s in his heaven — All’s right with the world. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE HERETIC Bliss Carman One day as I sa.t and suffered, A long discourse upon sin, At the door of my brain I listened And heard this speech within: One whisper of the Holy Ghost Outweighs for me a thousand tomes; And I must heed that private word, Not Plato’s, Swedenborg’s, nor Rome’s. The voice of beauty and of power Which came to the beloved John In age upon his lonely isle, That voice I will obey, or none. Let not tradition fill my ears With prate of evil and of good. Nor superstition cloak my sight Of beauty with a bigot’s hood. Give me the freedom of the earth, The leisure of the light and air, That this enduring soul some part Of their serenity may share ! The word that lifts the purple shaft Of crocus and of hyacinth Is more to me than platitudes Rethundering from groin and plinth. And at the first clear, careless strain Poured from the wood-bird’s silver throat I have forgotten all the lore The preacher bade me get by rote. GOD IN NATURE 223 Beyond the shadow of the porch, I hear the wind among the trees The river babbling in the clove. And the great sound that is the seas. Let me have brook and flower and bird For counselors, that I may learn The very accent of their tongue, And its least syllable discern. For I, my brother, so would live That I may keep the elder law Of beauty and of certitude, By daring love and blameless awe. SOME KEEP SUNDAY GOING TO CHURCH \ _ Emily Dickinson Some keep Sunday going to church I keep it staying at home, With a bobolink for a chorister, And an orchard for a throne. Some keep Sabbath in surplice, I just wear my wings And instead of tolling the bell for church. Our little sexton sings. God preaches, a noted clergyman, And the sermon is never long, So instead of going to heaven at last I'm going all along. 224 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FORBEARANCE Ralph Waldo Emerson Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? Loved the wood-rose, and left it on its stalk? At rich men’s tables eaten bread and pulse? Unarmed, faced danger with a heart of trust? And loved so well a high behavior, In man or maid, that thou from speech refrained. Nobility more nobly to repay? O, be my friend, and teach me to be thine ! GOOD-BYE, PROUD WORLD Ralph Waldo Emerson Good-bye, proud world ! I’m going home : Thou art not my friend, and I’m not thine. Long through thy weary crowds I roam; A river-ark on the ocean brine, Long I’ve been tossed like the driven foam; But now, proud world ! I’m going home. Good-bye to Flattery’s fawning face; To Grandeur with his wise grimace; To upstart Wealth’s averted eye; To supple Office, low and high; To crowded halls, to court and street; To frozen hearts and hasting feet; To those who go and those who come; Good-bye, proud world ! I’m going home. I am going to my own hearth-stone. Bosomed in yon green hills alone, — A secret nook in a pleasant land, Whose groves the frolic fairies planned; Where arches green, the livelong day, 9 GOD IN NATURE 225 Echo the blackbird’s roundelay, And vulgar feet have never trod A spot that is sacred to thought and God. O, when I am safe in my sylvan home, I tread on the pride of Greece and Rome; And when I am stretched beneath the pines, Where the evening star so holy shines, I laugh at the lore and the pride of man, At the sophist schools and the learned clan; For what are they all, in their high conceit, When man in the bush with God may meet? MUSIC Ralph Waldo Emerson Let me go where’er I will I hear a sky-born music still : It sounds from all things old, It sounds from all things young, From all that’s fair, from all that’s foul, Peals out a cheerful song. It is not only in the rose, It is not only in the bird, Not only where the rainbow glows, Nor in the song of woman heard, But in the darkest, meanest things There alway, alway something sings. ’Tis not in the high stars alone, Nor in the cup of budding flowers, Nor in the red-breast’s mellow tone, Nor in the bow that smiles in showers, But in the mud and scum of things There alway, alway something sings. 226 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY WALDEINSAMKEIT Ralph Waldo Emerson I do not count the hours I spend In wandering by the sea; The forest is my loyal friend, Like God it useth me. In plains that room for shadows make Of skirting hills to lie, Bound in by streams which give and take Their colors from the sky; Or on the mountain-crest sublime, Or down the oaken glade, O what have I to do with time? For this the day was made. Cities of mortals woe-begone Fantastic care derides, But in the serious landscape lone Stern benefit abides. Sheen will tarnish, honey cloy, And merry is only a mask for sad, But, sober on a fund of joy, The woods at heart are glad. There the great Planter plants Of fruitful worlds the grain, And with a million spells enchants The souls that walk in pain. Still on the seeds of all he made The rose of beauty burns; Through times that wear and forms that fade. Immortal youth returns. GOD IN NATURE 227 The black ducks mounting from the lake, The pigeon in the pines, The bittern’s boom, a desert make Which no false art refines. Down in yon watery nook, Where bearded mists divide, The gray old gods whom Chaos knew, The sires of Nature, hide. Aloft, in secret veins of air, Blows the sweet breath of song, O, few to scale those uplands dare, Though they to all belong ! See thou bring not to field or stone The fancies found in books; Leave authors’ eyes, and fetch your own, To brave the landscape’s looks. Oblivion here thy wisdom is, Thy thrift, the sleep of cares; For a proud idleness like this Crowns all thy mean affairs. HYMN OF THE WORLD WITHOUT Psalm CIV From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible Bless the Lord, O my soul. O Lord my God, thou art very great; Thou art clothed with honour and majesty: Who coverest thyself with light as with a garment; Who stretchest out the heavens like a curtain; Who layeth the beams of his chambers in the waters; Who maketh the clouds his chariot; Who walketh upon the wings of the wind; 228 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Who maketh winds his messengers; His ministers a flaming fire. Who laid the foundations of the earth, That it should not be moved forever. Thou coverest it with the deep as with a vesture; The waters stood above the mountains. At thy rebuke they fled; At the voice of thy thunder they hasted away; They went up by the mountains, they went down by the valleys, Unto the place which thou hadst founded for them. Thou hast set a bound that they may not pass over; That they turn not again to cover the earth. He sendeth forth springs into the valleys ; . They run among the mountains : They give drink to every beast of the field ; The wild asses quench their thirst. By them the fowl of heaven have their habitation, They sing among the branches. He watereth the mountains from His chambers : The earth is satisfied with the fruit of thy works. He causeth the grass to grow for the cattle, And herb for the service of man. That he may bring forth food out of the earth, And wine that maketh glad the heart of man, And oil to make his face to shine, And bread that strengtheneth man’s heart. The trees of the Lord are satisfied; The cedars of Lebanon, which he hath planted : Where the birds make their nests; As for the stork, the fir trees are her house; The high mountains are for the wild goats; The rocks are a refuge for the conies. He appointeth the moon for seasons : The sun knoweth his going down. Thou maketh darkness, and it is night; Wherein all the beasts of the forest do creep forth, GOD IN NATURE 229 The young lions roar after their prey, And seek their meat from God. The sun ariseth, they get them away. And lay them down in their dens. Man goeth forth unto his work And to his labor until the evening. O Lord, how manifold are thy works ! In wisdom hast thou made them all. OMNIPRESENCE Edward Everett Hale A thousand sounds, and each a joyful sound; The dragon flies are humming as they please, The humming birds are humming all around, The clithra all alive with buzzing bees, Each playful leaf its separate whisper found, As laughing winds went rustling through the grove; And I saw thousands of such sights as these, And heard a thousand sounds of joy and love. And yet so dull I was, I did not know That He was there who all this love displayed, I did not think how He who loved us so Shared all my joy, was glad that I was glad; And all because I did not hear the word In English accents say, “It is the Lord.” THE EPITAPH Katharine Tynan Hinkson Write on my grave when I am dead, Whatever road I trod That I admired and honoured The wondrous works of God. 230 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY That all the days and years I had, The greatest and the least, Each day with grateful heart and glad I sat me to a feast. That not alone for body’s meat Which takes the lowest place I gave Him grace when I did eat And with a shining face. But for the spirit filled and fed That else must waste and die, With sun and stars replenished And dew and evening sky. The beauty of the hills and seas Brimmed that immortal cup; And when I went by fields and trees My heart was lifted up. Lap me in the green grass and write Upon the daisied sod That still I praised with all my might The wondrous works of God. IMMANENCE Richard Hovey Enthroned above the world although he sit, Still is the world in him and he in it; The self-same power in yonder sunset glows That kindled in the words of Holy Writ. GOD IN NATURE 231 TRANSCENDENCE Richard Hovey Though one with all that sense or soul can see, Not imprisoned in his own creations, he, His life is more than stars or winds or angels— The sun doth not contain him nor the sea. SONGS OF KABIR Kabir Translated by Rabindranath Tagore Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale. From what land do you come, O Swan? to what shore will you fly? Where would you take your rest, O Swan, and what do you seek ? Even this morning, O Swan, awake, arise, follow me ! There is a land where no doubt nor sorrow have rule : where the terror of Death is no more. There the woods of spring are a-bloom, and the fragrant scent “He is I” is borne on the wind: There the bee of the heart is immersed, and desires no other joy. O Lord Increate, who will serve Thee? Every votary offers his worship to the God of his own creation : each day he receives service — None seek Him, the Perfect: Brahma, the Indivisible Lord. They believe in ten Avatars; but no Avatar can be the Infinite Spirit, for he suffers the results of his deeds: The Supreme One must be other than this. The Yogi, the Sanyasi, the Ascetics, are disputing with another: Kabir says, “O brother ! he who has seen that radiance of love, he is saved.” 232 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The river and its waves are one surf : where is the difference between the river and its waves? When the wave rises, it is the water; and when it falls, it is the same water again. Tell me, Sir, where is the dis¬ tinction ? Because it has been named as wave shall it no longer be con¬ sidered as water? Within the Supreme Brahma, the worlds are being told like beads : Look upon that rosary with the eyes of wisdom. Where Spring, the lord of the seasons, reigneth, there the Unstruck Music sounds of itself, There the streams of light flow in all directions; Few are the men who can cross to that shore ! There, where the millions of Krishnas stand with their hands folded, Where millions of Vishnus bow their heads, Where millions of Brahmas are reading the Vedas, Where millions of Shivas are lost in contemplation, Where millions of Indras dwell in the sky, Where the demi-gods and the munis are unnumbered, Where millions of Saraswatis, Goddess of Music, play on the vina — There is my Lord self-revealed : and the scent of sandal and flowers dwells in those deeps. THE ANCIENT THOUGHT Watson Kerr The round moon hangs like a yellow lantern in the trees That lie like lace against the sky, Oh, still the night ! Oh, hushed the breeze — Surely God is nigh. GOD IN NATURE 233 THE MARSHES OF GLYNN Sidney Lanier Glooms of the live-oaks, beautiful-braided and woven 1 With intricate shades of the vines that myriad-cloven Clamber the forks of the multiform boughs, — Emerald twilights, — Virginal shy lights, Wrought of the leaves to the whisper of vows, When lovers pace timidly down through the green colonnades Of the dim sweet woods, of the dear dark woods, Of the heavenly woods and glades, That run to the radiant marginal sand beach within The wide sea-marshes of Glynn; — Beautiful glooms, soft dusks in the noon-day fire, — Wildwood privacies, closets of lone desire, Chamber from chamber parted with wavering arras of leaves, — Cells for the passionate pleasure of prayer to the soul that grieves, Pure with a sense of the passing of saints through the wood, Cool for the dutiful weighing of ill with good; — O braided dusks of the oak and woven shades of the vine, While the riotous noon-day sun of the June-day long did shine Ye held me fast in your heart and I held you fast in mine: But now when the moon is no more, and riot is rest, And the sun is await at the ponderous gate of the West, And the slant yellow beam down the wood-aisle doth seem Like a lane into heaven that leads from a dream, — Ay, now, when my soul all day hath drunken the soul of the oak, And my heart is at ease from men, and the wearisome sound of the stroke Of the scythe of time and the trowel of trade is low, And belief overmasters doubt, and I know that I know, And my spirit is grown to a lordly great compass within, That the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn 234 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Will work me no fear like the fear they have wrought me of yore When length was fatigue, and when breadth was bitterness sore, And when terror and shrinking and dreary unnamable pain Drew over me out of the merciless miles of the plain, — Oh, now, unafraid, I am fain to face The vast sweet visage of space. To the edge of the wood I am drawn, I am drawn, Where the gray beach glimmering runs, as a belt of the dawn, For a mete and a mark To the forest-dark: — So : Affable live-oak, leaning low, — Thus — with your favor — soft, with a reverent hand, (Not lightly touching your person, Lord of the land!) Bending your beauty aside, with a step I stand On the firm-packed sand, Free By a world of marsh that borders a world of sea. Sinuous southward and sinuous northward the shimmering band Of the sand beach fastens the fringe of the marsh to the folds of the land. Inward and outward to northward and southward the beach¬ lines linger and curl As a silver-wrought garment that clings to and follows the firm sweet limbs of a girl. Vanishing, swerving, evermore curving again into sight, Softly the sand-beach wavers away to a dim gray looping of light. And what if behind me to westward the wall of the woods stands high The world lies east : how ample, the marsh and the sea and the sky ! A league and a league of marsh-grass, waist-high, broad in the blade, Green, and all of a height, and unflecked with a light or a shade, GOD IN NATURE 235 Stretch leisurely off, in a pleasant plain, To the terminal blue of the main. Oh, what is abroad in the marsh and the terminal sea? Somehow my soul seems suddenly free From the weighing of fate and the sad discussion of sin, By the length and the breadth and the sweep of the marshes of Glynn. Ye marshes, how candid and simple and nothing-withholding and free Ye publish yourselves to the sky and offer yourselves to the sea ! Tolerant plains, that suffer the sea and the rains and the sun. Ye spread and span like the catholic man who hath mightily won God out of knowledge and good out of infinite pain And sight out of blindness and purity out of a stain. As the marsh-hen secretly builds on the watery sod, Behold I will build me a nest on the greatness of God : I will fly in the greatness of God as the marsh-hen flies In the freedom that fills all the space ’twixt the marsh and the skies : By so many roots as the marsh-grass sends in the sod I will heartily lay me a-hold on the greatness of God : Oh, like to the greatness of God is the greatness within The range of the marshes, the liberal marshes of Glynn. And the sea lends large, as the marsh : lo, out of his plenty the sea Pours fast : full soon the time of the flood-tide must be : Look how the grace of the sea doth go About and about through the intricate channels that flow Here and there, Everywhere, Till his waters have flooded the uttermost creeks and the low- lying lanes, And the marsh is meshed with a million veins, That like as with rosy and silvery essences flow In the rose-and-silver. evening glow. Farewell, my lord Sun ! 236 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The creeks overflow : a thousand rivulets run ’Twixt the roots of the sod; the blades of the marsh-grass stir; Passeth a hurrying sound of wings that westward whirr; Passeth and all is still; and the currents cease to run; And the sea and the marsh are one. How still the plains of the waters be ! The tide is in his ecstasy. The tide is at his highest height: And it is night. And now from the Vast of the Lord will the waters of sleep Roll in on the souls of men, But who will reveal to our waking ken The forms that swim and the shapes that creep Under the waters of sleep? And I would I could know what swimmeth below when the tide comes in On the length and the breadth of the marvellous marshes of Glynn. A STRIP OF BLUE Lucy Larcom I do not own an inch of land, But all I see is mine, — The orchards and the mowing-fields, The lawns and gardens fine. The winds my tax collectors are, They bring me tithes divine, — Wild scents and subtle essences, A tribute rare and free; And, more magnificent than all, My window keeps for me A glimpse of blue immensity, — A little strip of sea. GOD IN NATURE 237 Richer am I than he who owns Great fleets and argosies; I have a share in every ship Won by the inland breeze, To loiter on yon airy road Above the apple trees. I freight them with my untold dreams; Each bears my own picked crew ; And nobler cargoes wait for them Than ever India knew, — My ships that sail into the East Across that outlet blue. Sometimes they seem like living shapes, — The people of the sky, — Guests in white raiment coming down From heaven, which is close by; I call them by familiar names. As one by one draws nigh, So white, so light, so spirit-like From violet mists they bloom! The aching wastes of the unknown Are half reclaimed from gloom, Since on life’s hospitable sea All souls find sailing room. The ocean grows a weariness With nothing else in sight; Its east and west, its north and south, Spread out from morn to night; We miss the warm, caressing shore, Its brooding shade and light. A part is greater than the whole ; By hints are mysteries told. The fringes of eternity, — God’s sweeping garment-fold, In that bright shred of glittering sea, I reach out for, and hold. 238 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The sails, like flakes of roseate pearl, Float in upon the mist; The waves are broken precious stones, — Sapphire and amethyst, Washed from celestial basement walls, By suns unsetting kissed. Out through the utmost gates of space. Past where the grey stars drift, To the widening Infinite, my soul Glides on, a vessel swift, Yet loses not her anchorage In yonder azure rift. Here I sit as a little child The threshold of God’s door Is that clear band of chrysoprase ; Now the vast temple floor, The blinding glory of the dome I bow my head before. Thy universe, O God, is home, In height or depth, to me; Yet here upon thy footstool green Content I am to be. Glad, when is opened unto my need Some sea-like glimpse of thee. From THE FIRE BRINGER William Vaughn Moody Pandora Speaks I stood within the heart of God; It seemed a place that I had known: . (I was blood-sister to the clod, Blood-brother to the stone.) I found my love and labor there, My house, my raiment, meat and wine, GOD IN NATURE 239 My ancient rage, my old despair, — Yea, all things that were mine. I saw the spring and summer pass, The trees grow bare, and winter come; All was the same as once it was Upon my hills at home. Then suddenly in my own heart I felt God walk and gaze about; He spoke ; His words seemed held apart With gladness and with doubt. ‘'Here is my meat and wine/’ He said, “My love, my toil, my ancient care; Here is my cloak, my book, my bed, And here my old despair ; “Here are my seasons ; winter, and spring, Summer the same, and autumn spills The fruits I look for; everything As on my heavenly hills. ” THE WORD Richard Realf O Earth ! Thou hast not any wind that blows Which is not music; every weed of thine Pressed rightly flows in aromatic wine; And humble hedge-row flower that grows, And every little brown bird that doth sing, Hath something greater than itself, and bears A living word to every living thing, Albeit holds the message unawares. All shapes and sounds have something which is not Of them: a spirit broods amid the grass; Vague outlines of the Everlasting Thought Lie in the melting shadows as they pass ; The touch of an eternal presence thrills The fringes of the sunsets and the hills. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY DUST George William Russell (A. E.) I heard them in their sadness say ‘‘The earth rebukes the thought of God; We are but embers wrapped in clay, A little nobler than the sod.” But I have touched the lips of clay, Mother, thy rudest sod to me Is thrilled with fire of hidden day, And haunted by all mystery. THE GREAT BREATH George William Russell (A. E.) Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose Withers once more the old blue flower of day: There where the ether like a diamond glows Its petals fall away. A shadowy tumult stirs the dusky air; Sparkle the delicate dews, the distant snows; The great deep thrills, for through it everywhere The breath of Beauty blows. I sawr how all the trembling ages past, Molded to her by deep and deeper breath, Neared to the hour when Beauty breathes her last And knows herself in death. GOD IN NATURE 241 GOD IS AT THE ANVIL Lew Sarett God is at the anvil, beating out the sun; Where the molten metal spills, At His forge among the hills He has hammered out the glory of a day that’s done. God is at the anvil, welding golden bars; In the scarlet-streaming flame He is fashioning a frame For the shimmering silver beauty of the evening stars. MADONNA NATURA William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) I love and worship thee in that thy ways Are fair, and that the glory of past days Haloes thy brightness with a sacred hue. Within thine eyes are dreams of mystic things, Within thy voice a subtler music rings Than ever mortal from the keen reeds drew; Thou weav’st a web which men have called Death But Life is in the magic of thy breath. The secret things of Earth thou knowest well ; Thou seest the wild bee build his narrow cell, The lonely eagle wing through lonely skies, The lion on the desert roam afar, The glow-worm glitter like a fallen star, The hour-lived insect as it hums and flies; Thou seest men like shadows come and go, And all their endless dreams drift to and fro. In thee is strength, endurance, wisdom, truth; Thou art above all mortal joy and ruth, 242 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thou hast the calm and silence of the night ; Mayhap thou seest what we cannot see, Surely far off thou hear’st harmoniously Echoes of flawless music infinite, Mayhap thou feel’st thrilling through each sod Beneath thy feet the very breath of God. Monna Natura, fair and grand and great, I worship thee, who art inviolate : Through thee I reach to things beyond this span Of mine own puny life, through thee I learn Courage and hope, and dimly can discern The ever noble grades awaiting man: Madonna, unto thee I bend and pray — Saviour, Redeemer thou, whom none can slay ! No human fanes are dedicate to thee, But thine the temples of each tameless sea, Each mountain height and forest glade and plain: No priests with daily hymns thy praises sing, But far and wide the wild winds chanting swing, And dirge the sea waves on the changeless main, While songs of birds fill all the fields and woods, And cries of beasts the savage solitudes. Hearken, Madonna, hearken to my cry; Teach me through metaphors of liberty, Till strong and fearing nought in life or death I feel thy sacred freedom through me thrill, Wise, and defiant, with unquenched will Unyielding, though succumb the mortal breath — Then if I conquer, take me by the hand And guide me onward to thy Promised Land! GOD IN NATURE 243 THE VOICE OF GOD James Stephens I bent unto the ground And I heard the quiet sound Which the grasses make when they Come up laughing from the clay. “We are the voice of God,” they said: Thereupon I bent my head Down again that I might see If they truly spoke to me. But around me everywhere Grass and tree and mountain were Thundering in a mighty glee, “We are the voice of deity.” And I leapt from where I lay, I danced upon the laughing clay, And to the rock that sang beside, “We are the voice of God,” I cried. THE WHISPERER James Stephens The moon was round, And as I walked along There was no sound, Save where the wind with long Low hushes whispered to the ground A snatch of song. No thought had I Save that the moon was fair, And fair the sky, And God was everywhere. 244 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I chanted as the wind went by A poet’s prayer. Then came a voice — ‘Why is it that you praise And thus rejoice, O stranger to the ways Of providence? God has no choice In this sad maze. ‘His law he laid Down at the dread beginning, When He made The world and set it spinning, And his casual hand betrayed Us into sinning. ‘I fashion you, And then for weal or woe, My business through, I care not how you go, Or struggle, win or lose, nor do I want to know. ‘Is no appeal, For I am far from sight, And cannot feel The rigour of your plight; And if ye faint just when ye kneel, That, too, is right. ‘Then do not sing, O poet in the night, That everything Is beautiful and right. What if some wind come now and fling At thee in spite?’ All in amaze I listened to the tone Mocking my praise : And then I heard the groan GOD IN NATURE 245 That old tormented nature did upraise From tree and stone. And as I went I heard it once again, That harsh lament : And fire came into my brain; Deep anger unto me was lent To write this strain. AUTUMN Rabindranath Tagore Today the peace of autumn pervades the world. In the radiant noon, silent and motionless, the wide stillness rests like a tired bird spreading over the deserted fields to all horizons its wings of golden green. Today the thin thread of the river flows without song, leaving no mark on its sandy banks. The many distant villages bask in the sun with eyes closed in idle and languid slumber. In the stillness I hear in every blade of grass, in every speck of dust, in every part of my own body, in the visible and invisible worlds, in the planets, the sun, and the stars, the joyous dance of the atoms through endless time — the myriad murmuring waves of Rhythm surrounding Thy throne. FRAGMENT Henry Vaughan Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush And whispers among them. There is 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. 246 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ODE IN MAY William Watson Let me go forth, and share The overflowing Sun With one wise friend, or one Better than wise, being fair, Where the pewit wheels and dips On heights of bracken and ling, And Earth, unto her leaflet tips, Tingles with the Spring. What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, The confident prime of the day, And the dauntless youth of the year, When nothing that asks for bliss, Asking aright, is denied, And half of the world a bridegroom is, And half of the world a bride ? The Song of Mingling flows, Grave, ceremonial, pure, As once, from lips that endure, The cosmic descant rose, When the temporal lord of life, Going his golden way, Had taken a wondrous maid to wife That long had said him nay. For of old the Sun, our sire, Came wooing the mother of men, Earth, that was virginal then, Vestal fire to his fire. Silent her bosom and coy, But the strong god sued and pressed; And born of their starry nuptial joy Are all that drink of her breast. GOD IN NATURE 247 And the triumph of him that begot, And the travail of her that bore, Behold they are evermore As warp and weft in our lot. We are children of splendour and flame, Of shuddering, also, and tears. Magnificent out of the dust we came, And abject from the Spheres. O bright irresistible lord ! We are fruit of Earth’s womb, each one, And fruit of thy loins, O Sun, Whence first was the seed outpoured. To thee as our Father we bow, Forbidden thy Father to see, Who is older and greater than thou, as thou Art greater and older than we. Thou art but as a word of his speech, Thou art but as a wave of his hand; Thou art brief as a glitter of sand ’Twixt tide and tide on his beach; Thou art less than a spark of his fire, Or a moment’s mood of his soul : Thou art lost in the notes on the* lips of his choir That chant the chant of the Whole. LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY William Wordsworth The sounding cataract Haunted me like a passion; the tall rock, The mountain, and the deep and gloomy wood, Their colors and their forms, were then to me An appetite; a feeling and a love, That had no need of a remoter charm, By thought supplied, nor any interest 248 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Unborrowed from the eye. — That time is past, And all its aching joys are now no more, And all its dizzy raptures. Not for this Faint I, nor mourn, nor murmur; other gifts Have followed; for such loss, I would believe, Abundant recompense. For I have learned To look on Nature, not as in the hour Of thoughtless youth; but hearing oftentimes The still, sad music of humanity, Nor harsh nor grating, though of ample power To chasten and subdue. And I have felt A presence that disturbs me with the joy Of elevated thoughts; a sense sublime, Of something far more deeply interfused, Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns, And the round ocean and the living air, And the blue sky, and in the mind of man; A motion and a spirit, that impels All thinking things, all objects of all thought, And rolls through all things. Therefore am I still A lover of the meadows and the woods, And mountains ; and of all that we behold From this green earth; of all the mighty world Of eye and ear, — both what they half create, And what perceive; well pleased to recognize In nature and the language of the sense, The anchor of my purest thoughts, the nurse, The guide, the guardian of my heart, and soul Of all my moral being. THE WORLD IS TOO MUCH WITH US William Wordsworth The world is too much with us : late and soon, Getting and spending, we lay waste our powers : Little we see in Nature that is ours; We have given our hearts away, a sordid boon! This sea that bares her bosom to the moon ; GOD IN NATURE 249 The winds that will be howling at all hours, And are up-gathered now like sleeping flowers; For this, for everything we are out of tune; It moves us not/ — Great God ! I’d rather be A Pagan suckled in a creed outworn; So might I, standing on this pleasant lea, Have glimpses that would make me less forlorn; Have sight of Proteus rising from the sea, Or hear old Triton blow his wreathed horn. b. THE COUNTRY OUT IN THE FIELDS WITH GOD Louise Imogen Guiney The little cares that fretted me I lost them yesterday, Among the fields above the sea, Among the winds at play, Among the lowing of the herds, The rustling of the trees, Among the singing of the birds, The humming of the bees. The foolish fears of what might happen, I cast them all away Among the clover-scented grass, Among the new-mown hay, Among the husking of the corn, Where drowsy poppies nod Where ill thoughts die and good are born— % Out in the fields with God. 250 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE COUNTRY FAITH Norman Gale Here in the country’s heart Where the grass is green, Life is the same sweet life As it e’er hath been. Trust in a God still lives, And the bell at morn Floats with a thought of God O’er the rising corn. God comes down in the rain, And the crop grows tall — This is the country faith, And best of all ! FARMERS William Alexander Percy I watch the farmers in their fields And marvel secretly. They are so very calm and sure, They have such dignity. They know such simple things so well, Although their learning’s small, They find a steady, brown content Where some find none at all. And all their quarrelings with God Are soon made up again ; They grant forgiveness when He sends His silver, tardy rain. GOD IN NATURE 251 Their pleasure is so grave and full When gathered crops are trim, You know they think their work was done In partnership with Him. c. TREES GOOD COMPANY Karle Wilson Baker Today I have grown taller from walking with the trees, The seven sister-poplars who go softly in a line ; And I think my heart is whiter for its parley with a star That trembled out at nightfall and hung above the pine. The call-note of a red bird from the cedars in the dusk Woke his happy mate within me to an answer free and fine; And a sudden angel beckoned from a column of blue smoke — Lord, who am I that they should stoop — these holy folk of thine f THE HAPPY TREE Gerald Gould There was a bright and happy tree ; The wind with music laced its boughs, Thither across the houseless sea Came singing birds to house. Men grudged the tree its happy eves, Its happy dawns of eager sound; So all that crown and tower of leaves They levelled with the ground. 25 2 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They made an upright of the stem, A crosspiece of a bough they made: No shadow of their deed on them The fallen branches laid. But blithely, since the year was young When they a fitting hill did find, There on the happy tree they hung The Savior of mankind. OF AN ORCHARD Katharine Tynan Hinkson Good is an orchard, the saint saith, To meditate on life and death, With a cool well, a hive of bees, A hermit’s grot below the trees. Good is an orchard : very good, Though one should wear no monkish hood; Right good when spring awakes her flute, And good in yellowing time of fruit : Very good in the grass to lie And see the net-work ’gainst the sky, A living lace of blue and green And boughs that let the gold between. The bees are types of souls that dwell With honey in a quiet cell; The ripe fruit figures goldenly The soul’s perfection in God’s eye. Prayer and praise in a country home Honey and fruit : a man might come Fed on such meats to walk abroad And in his Orchard talk with God. GOD IN NATURE 253 TREES Joyce Kilmer I think that I shall never see A poem lovely as a tree. A tree whose hungry mouth is pressed Against the earth’s sweet flowing breast; A tree that looks at God all day, And lifts her leafy arms to pray; A tree that may in summer wear A nest of robins in her hair; Upon whose bosom snow has lain; Who intimately lives with rain.. Poems are made by fools like me, But only God can make a tree. A BALLAD OF THE TREES AND THE MASTER Sidney Lanier Into the woods my Master went, Clean forspent, forspent. Into the woods my Master came, Forspent with love and shame, But the olives they were not blind to Him; The little gray leaves were kind to Him; The thorn-tree had a mind to Him, When into the woods He came. » Out of the woods my Master went, And He was well content. Out of the woods my Master came, Content with death and shame. When Death and Shame would woo Him last, From under the trees they drew Him last: t •254 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ’Twas on a tree they slew Him — last When out of the woods He came. A PRAYER Edwin Markham Teach me, Father, how to go Softly as the grasses grow; Hush my soul to meet the shock Of the wild world as a rock; But my spirit, propped with power, Make as simple as a flower. Teach me, Father, how to be Kind and patient as a tree. Joyfully the crickets croon Under the shady oak at noon; Beetle, on his mission bent, Tarries on that cooling tent. Let me, also, cheer a spot, Hidden field or garden grot — Place where passing souls can rest On the way and be their best. d. GARDENS AND FLOWERS MY GARDEN Thomas Edward Brown A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot ! Rose plot, Fringed pool, Ferned grot — The veriest school Of peace : and yet the fool GOD IN NATURE 255 Contends that God is not — Not God! In gardens! When the eve is cool? Nay but I have a sign: ’Tis very sure God walks in mine. GOD’S GARDEN Richard Burton The years are flowers and bloom within Eternity’s wide garden; The rose for joy, the thorn for sin, The gardener, God, to pardon All wilding growths, to prune, reclaim, And make them rose-like in His name. AMONG THE FERNS Edward Carpenter I lay among the ferns, Where they lifted their fronds, innumerable, in the greenwood wilderness, like wings winnowing the air; And their voices went by me continually. And I listened, and Lo ! softly inaudibly raining I heard not the voices of the ferns only, but of all living creatures: Voices of mountain and star, Of cloud and forest and ocean, And of little rills tumbling among the rocks, And of the high tops where the moss-beds are and the springs arise. As the wind at midday rains whitening over the grass, As the night-bird glimmers a moment, fleeting between the lonely watcher and the moon, So softly inaudibly they rained. While I sat silent. 256 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY % And in the silence of the greenwood I knew the secret of the growth of the ferns ; I saw their delicate leaflets tremble breathing an undescribed and unuttered life; And, below, the ocean lay sleeping; And round them the mountains and the stars dawned in glad companionship forever. And a voice came to me, saying : In every creature, in forest and ocean, in leaf and tree and bird and beast and man, there moves spirit other than its mortal own, Pure, fluid, as air — intense as fire, Which looks abroad and passes along the spirits of all other creatures, drawing them close to itself, Nor dreams of other law than that of perfect equality; And this is the spirit of immortality and peace. And whatsoever creature hath this spirit, to it No harm can befall, for wherever it goes it has its nested home, and to it every loss comes charged with an equal gain; It gives — but to receive a thousand-fold; It yields its life — but at the hands of love; And death is the law of its eternal growth. And I saw that was the law, of every creature — that this spirit should enter in and take possession of it, That it might have no more fear nor doubt or be at war within itself any longer. And, lo ! in the greenwood all around me it moved, Where the sunlight floated fragrant under the boughs, And the fern-fronds winnowed the air; In the oak-leaves dead of last year, and the small shy things that rustled among them; In the songs of the birds, and the broad shadowing leaves overhead; In the fields sleeping below, and in the river and the high dreaming air; Gleaming ecstatic it moved — with joy incarnate. GOD IN NATURE 257 And it seemed to me, as I looked, that it penetrated these things, suffusing them; And wherever it penetrated, behold ! there was nothing left down to the smallest atom which was not winged spirit instinct with life. Who shall understand the words of the ferns lifting their fronds unnumerable? What man shall go forth into the world, holding his life in his open palm — With high adventurous joy from sunrise to sunset — Fearless, in his sleeve laughing, having outflanked his enemies? His heart like nature’s garden — -that all men abide in — Free, where the great winds blow, rains fall, and the sun shines, And manifold growths come forth and scatter their fragrance? Who shall be like a grave, where men may bury Sin and sorrow and shame, to rise in the new day Glorious out of their grave ? who, deeply listening, Shall hear through all his soul the voices of all creation, Voices of mountain and star, voices of old men Softly audibly raining? — shall seize and fix them, Rivet them fast with love, no more to lose them? Who shall be that spirit of deep fulfillment, Himself, self-centred? Yet evermore from that centre Over the world expanding, along all creatures Loyally passing — with love, with perfect equality? Him immortality crowns. In him all sorrow And mortal passion of death shall pass from creation. They who sit by the road and are weary shall rise up As he passes. Those who despair shall arise. Who shall understand the words of the ferns winnowing the air ? Death shall change as the light in the morning changes: Death shall change as the light ’twixt moonset and ’dawn. 258 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE HOLY OF HOLIES Gilbert K. Chesterton “Elder Father, though thine eyes Shine with hoary mysteries, Canst thou tell what in the heart Of a cowslip blossom lies?” “Smaller than all lives that be, Secret as the deepest sea, Stands a little house of seeds Like an elfin’s granary.” “Speller of the stones and weeds Skilled in Nature’s crafts and creeds, Tell me what is in the heart Of the smallest of the seeds.” “God Almighty, and with Him Cherubim and Seraphim, Filling all eternity, Adonai Elohim!” CONSIDER THE LILIES William Channing Gannett He hides within the lily A strong and tender care, That wins the earth-born atoms To glory of the air : He weaves the shining garments Unceasingly and still, Along the quiet waters, In niches of the hill. GOD IN NATURE 259 We linger at the vigil With him who bent the knee, To watch the old-time lilies In distant Galilee ; And still the worship deepens And quickens into new, As brightening down the ages God’s secret thrilleth through. O toiler of the lily, Thy touch is in the Man! No leaf that dawns to petal But hints the angel-plan. The flower horizon’s open ! The blossom vaster shows ! We hear thy wide world’s echo, — See how the lily grows ! THE LORD GOD PLANTED A GARDEN Dorothy Frances Gurney The Lord God planted a garden In the first white days of the world, And He set there an angel warden In a garment of light enfurled. So near to the peace of Heaven, That the hawk might nest with the wren, For there in the cool of the even God walked with the first of men. And I dream j that these garden closes With their shade and their sun-flecked sod And their lilies and bowers of roses, Were laid by the hand of God. The kiss of the sun for pardon, The song of the birds for mirth, — One is nearer God’s heart in a garden Than anywhere else on earth. 26 o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY TO A DAISY Alice Meynell Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide Like all created things, secrets from me, And stand a barrier to eternity, And I, how can I praise thee well and wide From where I dwell — upon the hither side? Thou little veil for so great mystery, When shall I penetrate all things and thee, And then look back? Fpr this I must abide, Till thou shalt grow and fold and be unfurled Literally between me and the world. Then shall I drink from in beneath a spring, And from a poet’s side shall read his book. O daisy mine, what will it be to look From God’s side even of such a simple thing? TFIE SECRET GARDEN Robert Nichols There is somewhere a Secret Garden, which none hath seen In a place apart But amid the bramble-bound world, the thicket, the screen To the ununderstanding of heart. There is somewhere a Secret Garden, where none hath been, Where Night and Day Commingle ; where the sun and the starlight’s sheen Shines ever; where ever the moony fountains play Lifting their lily-like throats, tossing their spray; Where over the rainbow meets red-hued serene ; Where the flame-dripping branches are brighter green; Where the Gardener walks# in His Garden unheard, unseen. GOD IN NATURE 261 There is somewhere a Secret Garden : a door in a wall, Opened: how shine within Flower and fruit and torrent of blossoms which cannot fall ! Whence a jubilant din Floats abroad of birds of scintillant feather Swelling ecstatic throats in chorus together; Or the cry of one, crying alone a sad and a silver call Rings from the Secret Garden where none hath been. There everlastingly the Gardener walks Unseen, unmarked, unheard Save as He goes Humbled and hushed and happy falls each bird, Each fountain throws Gentlier upward, changing from blue to rose, And there is seen Glimpse of a radiant robe, a darkling mien ’Twixt the sheeted light and the sparkling drift where it blows. There the flowers wait, Abasing each noble head, Till He draw nigh, Then exalt their lovely faces to Him, rose little, rose great, Flowers of pale and flowers of passionate dye, Under His eye Till softly He lift a hand and the hand is spread Blessing their beauty, their peace with a word like a sigh. There is somewhere a Secret Garden, where none hath been, Or, glimpsed, lost to his grief, There would I bide, though I ever abode unseen : A snail or a stone under the lowliest leaf. THE GARDEN Rose Parkwood Two of Thy children one summer day worked in their garden, Lord ; They chopped the weeds of yesterday and you sent- down a golden smile. 262 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Two of Thy children one sunny day worked in their garden. Lord ; They hoed the furrow straight for the earthy bed and you whispered a singing smile. Two of Thy children one windy day worked in their garden. Lord; They pressed out the lumps from the clayey soil and you closed your shining eyes; Two of Thy children one cloudy day worked in their garden. Lord ; They dropped in the seeds with a song in their hearts and you sent a soothing tear. Two of Thy children one rainy day turned from their garden, Lord — Your Smile and your Sigh and your Tear entered into their hearts. Two of Thy children all the days of their life will work in Thy Garden, Lord ! I SEE HIS BLOOD UPON THE ROSE Joseph Mary Plunkett I see His blood upon the rose And in the stars the glory of His eyes. His body gleams amid eternal snows His tears fall from the skies. I see His face in every flower; The thunder and the surging of the birds Are but His voice — and carven by His power Rocks are His written words. All pathways by His feet are worn, His strong heart stirs the ever-beating sea, His crown of thorns is twined with every thorn His cross is every tree. GOD IN NATURE 263 FLOWER IN THE CRANNIED WALL Alfred Tennyson Flower in the crannied wall, I pluck you out of the crannies; — Hold you here, root and all, in my hand, Little flower — but if I could understand What you are, root and all, and all in all, I should know what God and man is. e. ANIMALS From AUGURIES OF INNOCENCE William Blake To see the world in a grain of sand, And a Heaven in a wild flower, Hold Infinity in the palm of your hand, And Eternity in an hour. A robin redbreast in a cage Puts all Heaven in a rage. A dove-house fill’d with doves and pigeons Shudders Hell through all its regions. A dog starved at his master’s gate Predicts the ruin of the State. A horse misus’d upon the road Calls to Heaven for human blood. Each outcry of the hunted hare A fibre from the brain does tear. A skylark wounded on the wing, Doth make a cherub cease to sing. • • • • • • • • ■ • A riddle or the cricket’s cry, Is to doubt a fit reply. 264 THE WORLD’S ' GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The emmet’s inch and eagle’s mile Make lame Philosophy to smile. He who doubts from what he sees Will ne’er believe, do what you please. If the sun and moon should doubt, They’d immediately go out. • ••••••*# God appears and God is Light, To those poor souls who dwell in night; But does a human form display To those who dwell in realms of Day. THE LAMB William Blake Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Gave thee life and bade thee feed By the stream and o’er the mead; Gave thee clothing of delight, Softest clothing, woolly, bright; Gave thee such a tender voice, Making all the vales rejoice? Little lamb, who made thee? Dost thou know who made thee? Little lamb, I’ll tell thee ; Little lamb, I’ll tell thee; He is called by thy name, For he calls himself a lamb. He is meek and he is mild, He became a little child, — I a child and thou a lamb, We are called by his name. Little lamb, God bless thee ! Little lamb, God bless thee ! GOD IN NATURE 265 THE TIGER William Blake Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night, What immortal hand or eye Could frame thy fearful symmetry? In what distant deeps or skies Burnt the fire of thine eyes ? On what wings dare he aspire ? What the hand dare seize the fire? And what shoulder and what art Could twist the sinews of thy heart? And, when thy heart began to beat, What dread hand and what dread feet? What the hammer? What the chain? In what furnace was thy brain? What the anvil ? What dread grasp Dare its deadly terrors clasp? When the stars threw down their spears, And watered heaven with their tears, Did he smile his work to see? Did he who made the lamb make thee? Tiger, tiger, burning bright In the forests of the night. What immortal hand or eye Dare frame thy fearful symmetry? 266 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY TO A WATERFOWL William Cullen Bryant Whither, midst falling dew, While glow the heavens with the last steps of day, Far, through their rosy depths, dost thou pursue Thy solitary way? Vainly the fowler’s eye Might mark thy distant flight to do thee wrong, As, darkly painted on the crimson sky, Thy figure floats along. Seek’st thou the plashy brink Of weedy lake, or marge of river wide, Or where the rocking billows rise and sink On the chafed ocean-side ? There is a Power whose care Teaches thy way along that pathless coast — The desert and illimitable air — Lone wandering, but not lost. All day thy wings have fanned, At that far height, the cold, thin atmosphere, Yet stoop not, weary, to the welcome land, Though the dark night is near. And soon that toil shall end ; Soon shalt thou find a summer home, and rest, And scream among thy fellows; reeds shall bend, Soon o’er thy sheltered nest. Thou’rt gone, the abyss of heaven Hath swallowed up thy form; yet, on my heart Deeply has sunk the lesson thou hast given, And shall not soon depart. GOD IN NATURE 267 He who, from zone to zone, Guides through the boundless sky thy certain flight, In the long way that I must tread alone, Will lead my steps aright. THE SONGS OF THE BIRDS Edward Carpenter The rocks flow and the mountain shapes flow, And the forests swim over the lands like cloud-shadows. The lines of the seeming everlasting sea are changed, And its waves beat on unmapped phantom shores : 'Not here, not here !’ All creatures fade from the embraces of their names, (And you and I slow, slowly disentangling,) The delicate hairbells quivering in the light, The gorse, the heather and the fox-gloves tall, The meadows and the river, rolling, fade : Fade from their likenesses: fade crying, 'Follow! Follow, forever follow V Who hears? who sees? Who hears the word of Nature? The word of her eternal breathing, whispered wherever one shall listen, The word of the birds in the high trees calling, Of the wind running over the grass, The word of the glad prisoners, the tender footless creatures, the plants of the earth, Rushing, too, bright-eyed, out'of their momentary masks ! ‘Not here ! Not here !’ But over all the world, shadowing, shadowing: The dream ! the vast and ever-present miracle of all time ! The long forgotten, never forgotten goal ! Over your own heart, out of its secretest depths : In crystalline beauty ! Out of all creatures, cloud and mountain and river: Exhaling, ascending! 268 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY From plant and bird and man and planet up-pouring: Thousand-formed, One, The ever-present, only present reality, source of all illusion, The Self, the disclosure, the transfiguration of each creature, And goal of its age-long pilgrimage. TLIE DONKEY Gilbert K. Chesterton When fishes flew and forests walked And figs grew upon thorn, Some moment when the moon was blood Then surely I was born: With monstrous head and sickening cry And ears like errant wings, The devil’s walking parody On all four-footed things; The tattered outlaw of the earth Of ancient crooked will : Starve, scourge, deride me : I am dumb, I keep my secret still. Fools! For I also had my hour; One far fierce hour and sweet: There was a shout about my ears, And palms before my feet. TO A DOG Josephine Preston Peabody So, back again? — And is your errand done, Unfailing one ? How quick the gray world, at your morning look, Turns wonder-book! , GOD IN NATURE 269 Come in, — O guard and guest; Come O you breathless from a life-long quest ! Search here my heart; and if a comfort be, Ah, comfort me ! You eloquent one, you best Of all diviners, so to trace The weather-gleams upon a face; With wordless, querying paw, Adventuring the law ! You shaggy loveliness, What call was it? — What dream beyond a guess, Lured you, gray ages back, From that lone bivouac Of the wild pack ? — Was it your need, or ours? — The calling trail Of faith that should not fail ? — Of hope dim understood? — That should follow our poor humanhood, Only because you would ! To search and circle, follow and outstrip, Men and their fellowship; And keep your heart no less, Your to-and-fro of hope and wistfulness, Through all world-weathers and against all odds ! Can you forgive us now? — Your fallen Gods? SONG OF MYSELF Walt Whitman From Leaves of Grass I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained, I stand and look at them sometimes an hour at a stretch. 270 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They do not sweat and whine about their condition, They do not lie awake in the dark and weep for their sins, They do not make me sick discussing their duty to God, No one is dissatisfied — not one is demented with the mania of owning things, Not one kneels to another, nor to his kind that lived thousands of years ago, Not one is respectable or industrious over the whole earth. f. THE HEAVENS PSALM XIX Joseph Addison The spacious firmament on high, With all the blue ethereal sky, And spangled heavens, a shining frame, Their great Original proclaim. The unwearied sun, from day to day, Does his Creator’s power display, And publishes to every land The work of an Almighty hand. Soon as the evening shades prevail, The moon takes up the wondrous tale, And nightly to the listening earth Repeats the story of her birth; Whilst all the stars that round her burn, And all the planets in their turn, Confirm the tidings as they roll. And spread the truth from pole to pole. What though in solemn silence all Move round the dark terrestrial ball ; What though no real voice or sound Amidst their radiant orbs be found; GOD IN NATURE 271 In reason’s ear they all rejoice, And utter forth a glorious voice, Forever singing as they shine, “The hand that made us is divine.” THE HEAVENS ABOVE AND THE LAW WITHIN Psalm XIX From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible The heavens declare the glory of God; And the firmament showeth his handiwork. Day unto day uttereth speech, And night unto night sheweth knowledge. There is no speech nor language; Their voice cannot be heard. Their line is gone out through all the earth, And their words to the end of the world. In them hath he set a tabernacle for the sun, Which is as a bridegroom coming out of his chamber, And rejoiceth as a strong man to run his course. His going forth is from the end of the heaven, And his circuit unto the ends of it: And there is nothing hid from the heat thereof. The law of the Lord is perfect, restoring the soul : The testimony of the Lord is sure, making wise the simple. The precepts of the Lord are right, rejoicing the heart; The commandment of the Lord is pure, enlightening the eyes. The fear of the Lord is clean, enduring for ever : The judgments of the Lord are true, and righteous altogether. More to be desired are they than gold, yea, than much fine gold : Sweeter also than honey and the honeycomb. Moreover by them is thy servant warned : In keeping of them there is great reward. Who can discern his errors? Clear thou me from hidden faults. 272 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Keep back thy servant also from presumptuous sins; let them not have dominion over me : Then shall I be perfect, And I shall be clear from the great transgression. • •••«•••*• Let the words of my mouth and the meditations of my heart be acceptable in thy sight, O Lord, my rock and my redeemer. THE INVISIBLE Richard Watson Gilder Such pictures of the heavens were never seen. We stood at the steep edge of the abyss And looked out on the making of the suns. The skies were powdered with the white of stars And the pale ghosts of systems yet to be; While here and there a nebulous spiral told, Against the dark, the story of the orbs — From the impalpable condensing slow Through ages infinite. Each mighty shape Seemed as the shape of speed — a whirling wheel Stupendously revolving, And yet no eye of man may see it stir. (That moveless motion brings to the human brain A hint of the large measurements of time — Eternity made present.) f Such new sense Of magnitudes that make our world an atom Might crush the soul, did not this saving thought Leap to the mind and lift it to clear heights : — “ ’Tis but the unseen that grows not old nor dies, Suffers not change, nor waning, nor decay. This that we see — this casual glimpse within The seething pit of space; these million stars GOD IN NATURE 273 And worlds in making, these are naught but matter; These are all but the dust of our feet, And we who gaze forth fearless on the sight Find not one equal, facing from the vast Our sentient selves. Not one, sole, lonely star In all that infinite glitter and deep light Can make one conscious movement; all are slaves To law material, immutable — That Power immense, mysterious, intense, Unseen as our own souls, but which must be Like them, the home of thought, with will and might To stamp on endless matter the soul’s will. Yea, in these souls of ours triumphant dwells Some segment of the large creative Power — A thing beyond the things of sight and sense; A strength to think, a force to conquer force. One are we with the ever-living One.” THE PATH OF THE STARS Thomas S. Jones, Jr. Down through the spheres there came the Name of One Who is the Law of Beauty and Light He came, and as He came the waiting Night Shook with gladness of a Day begun; And as He came, He said: “Thy Will be Done On Earth” ; and all His vibrant words were white And glistening with silver, and their might Was of the glory of a rising sun. Unto the Stars sang out His Living Words White and with silver, and their rhythmic sound Was a mighty symphony unfurled; And back from out the Stars like homing birds They fell in love upon the sleeping ground And were forever in a wakened world. 274 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY g. MOUNTAINS HYMN BEFORE SUNRISE IN THE VALE OF CHAMOUNIX Samuel Taylor Coleridge Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star In his steep course ? So long he seems to pause On thy bald, awful head, O sovran Blanc ! The Arve and the Arveiron at thy base Rave ceaselessly; but thou, most awful Form! Risest from forth thy silent sea of pines, How silently ! Around thee and above, Deep is the air and dark, substantial, black, An ebon mass. Methinks thou piercest it, As with a wedge ! But when I look again, It is thine own calm home, thy crystal shrine, Thy habitation from eternity ! O dread and silent Mount ! I gazed upon thee, Till thou, still present to the bodily sense, Didst vanish from my thought. Entranced in prayer I worshipp’d the Invisible alone. Yet, like some sweet beguiling melody, So sweet, we know not we are listening to it, Thou, the meanwhile, wast blending with my thought, Yea, with my life and life’s own secret joy: Till the dilating Soul, enwrapt, transfused, Into the mighty vision passing — there, As in her natural form, swell’d vast to Heaven ! Awake, my soul ! not only passive praise Thou owest ! not alone these swelling tears, Mute thanks and secret ecstasy ! awake, Voice of sweet song! Awake, my heart, awake! Green vales and icy cliffs, all join my Hymn. GOD IN NATURE 275 Thou first and chief, sole sovran of the vale ! O, struggling with the darkness all the night. And visited all night by troops of stars, Or when they climb the sky or when they sink : Companion of the morning-star at dawn, Thyself earth’s rosy star, and of the dawn Co-herald ! O wake, and utter praise ! Who sank thy sunless pillars deep in the Earth? Who fill’d thy countenance with rosy light? Who made thee parent of perpetual streams? And you, ye five wild torrents, fiercely glad ! Who call’d you forth from night and utter death, From dark and icy caverns call’d you forth, Down those precipitous, black, jagged rocks, Forever shatter’d and the same forever? Who gave you your invulnerable life, Your strength, your speed, your fury, and your joy, Unceasing thunder and eternal foam? And who commanded (and the silence came), Here let the billows stiffen, and have rest? Ye ice-falls! ye that from the mountain’s brow Adown enormous ravines slope amain — Torrents, methinks, that heard a mighty voice, And stopp’d at once amid their maddest plunge ! Motionless torrents ! silent cataracts ! Who made you glorious as the gates of Heaven Beneath the keen full moon ? Who bade the sun Clothe you with rainbows? Who, with loving flowers Of loveliest blue, spread garlands at your feet?— God ! let the torrents, like a shout of nations, Answer ! and let the ice-plains echo, God ! God ! sing, ye meadow-streams, with gladsome voice ! Ye pine-groves, with soft and soul-like sounds! And they too have a voice, yon piles of snow, And in their perilous fall shall thunder, God! Ye living flowers that skirt the eternal frost! Ye wild goats sporting round the eagle’s nest! 76 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Ye eagles, playmates of the mountain storm! Ye lightnings, the dread arrows of the clouds! Ye signs and wonders of the elements ! Utter forth God, and fill the hills with praise! Thou too, hoar Mount ! with thy sky-pointing peaks, Oft from whose feet the avalanche, unheard, Shoots downward, glittering through the pure serene, Into the depths of clouds that veil thy breast — Thou, too, again, stupendous Mountain ! Thou That, as I raise my head, awhile bow’d low In adoration, upward from thy base Slow-travelling with dim eyes suffused with tears, Solemnly seemest, like a vapory cloud, To rise before me — Rise, O ever rise ! Rise, like a cloud of incense from the Earth ! Thou kingly spirit throned among the hills, Thou dread ambassador from earth to heaven, Great hierarch ! tell thou the silent sky, And tell the stars and tell yon rising sun, Earth, with her thousand voices, praises God. SILENCE Charles Hanson Towne I need not shout my faith. Thrice eloquent Are quiet trees and the green listening sod; Hushed are the stars, whose power is never spent; The hills are mute : yet how they speak of God ! GOD IN NATURE 277 0 h. THE OCEAN TO THE OCEAN Lord Byron From Childe Harold's Pilgrimage Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ! Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain; Man marks the earth with ruin, — his control Stops with the shore ; upon the watery plain The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain A shadow of man’s ravage, save his own, When for a moment, like a drop of rain, He sinks into thy depths with bubbling groan — Without a grave, unknelled, uncoffined and unknown. His steps are not upon thy paths, — thy fields Are not a spoil for him, — thou dost arise And shake him from thee; the vile strength he wields For earth’s destruction, thou dost all despise, Spurning him from thy bosom to the skies, And send’st him, shivering in thy playful spray, And howling to his gods, where haply lies His petty hope in some near port or bay, And dashest him again to earth; there let him lay. The armaments which thunderstrike the walls Of rock-built cities, bidding nations quake, And monarchs tremble in their capitals, The oak leviathans, whose huge ribs make Their clay creator the vain title take Of Lord of thee and Arbiter of War — These are thy toys, and, as the snowy flake, They melt into thy yeast of waves, which mar Alike the Armada’s pride, and spoils of Trafalgar. 278 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thy shores are empires, changed in all save thee — Assyria, Greece, Rome, Carthage, what are they? Thy waters washed them power while they were free, And many a tyrant since ; their shores obey The stranger, slave, or savage; their decay Lias dried up realms to deserts : not so thou ; Unchangeable, save to thy wild waves’ play, Time writes no wrinkle on thine azure brow: Such as creation’s dawn beheld, thou rollest now. Thou glorious mirror, where the Almighty’s form Glasses itself in tempests; in all time, — Calm or convulsed, in breeze or gale or storm, Icing the pole, or in the torrid clime Dark-heaving — boundless, endless and sublime, The image of eternity, the throne Of the Invisible ; even from out thy slime The monsters of the deep are made ; each zoae Obeys thee; thou goest forth, dread, fathomless, alone. And I have loved thee, Ocean! and my joy Of youthful sports was on thy breast to be Borne, like thy bubbles, onward : from a boy I wantoned with thy breakers; they to me Were a delight; and, if the freshening sea Made them a terror — ’twas a pleasing fear; For I was as it were a child of thee And trusted to thy billows far and near, And laid my hand upon thy mane — as I do here. THE OCEAN Psalm CVII, 23-33 From Moulton’s Modem Readers' Bible They that go down to the sea in ships, That do business in great waters; These see the works of the Lord, And his wonders in the deep. GOD IN NATURE 279 For he commandeth and raiseth the stormy wind, Which lifteth up the waves thereof. They mount up to heaven, They go down again to the depths : Their soul melteth because of trouble. They reel to and fro, And stagger like a drunken man. And are at their wit’s end. Then they cry unto the Lord in their trouble, And he bringeth them out of their distresses. He maketh the storm a calm, So that the waves thereof are still. Then they are glad because they be quiet; So he bringeth them unto the haven where they would be. Oh that men would praise the LORD for his goodness, And for his wonderful works to the children of men! Let them exalt him also in the assembly of the people, And praise him in the seat of the elders. ROCKED IN THE CRADLE OF THE DEEP Emma Willard Rocked 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. 28o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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 gem of immortality ! And calm and peaceful shall I sleep Rocked in the cradle of the deep. VI. God in the Life of Man a. IMMANENT IN THE SOUL b. REVEALED IN THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST 1. Mediceval and Modern 2. Recent C. REVEALED IN THE GUIDANCE OF INDIVIDUAL LIVES d. REVEALED IN HISTORICAL EVENTS e. REVEALED IN GROUPS OR ORGANIZATIONS OF INDIVIDUALS 1. In the Family 2. In the City 3. In the Church . ! ' '• • ; • . r . VI. God in the Life of Man a. IMMANENT IN THE SOUL REAL PRESENCE Ivan Adair Not on an Altar shall mine eyes behold Thee, Tho’ Thou art sacrifice, Thou too art Priest; Bend, that the feeble arms of Love enfold Thee, So Faith shall bloom, increased. Not on a Cross, with passion buds around Thee, Thorn-crowned and lonely, in Thy suffering; Nay, but as watching Mary met and found Thee, Dawn-robed, the Risen King. Not in the past, but in the present glorious, Not in the future, that I cannot span. Living and breathing, over death victorious, My God . . . my Brother-Man. IN HIM James Vila Blake Though the bee Miss the clover Fly it by and know it not: Though the sea Wash not oar 283 284 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY On the sands a wounded spot; Heart, O heart! Thou wilt part From the all-hold on thee, and lose thy way, Never, never; Nor wilt give The sweet life from the life of night and day. Thou in Him Liest as dim As yellow wings in golden atmosphere, Or in the sea each watery spiritual sphere. THE DIVINE IMAGE William Blake To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love All pray in their distress; And to these virtues of delight Return their thankfulness. For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is God, our Father dear, And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love Is Man, His child and care. For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, In heathen, Turk, or Jew; Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell, There God is dwelling too. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN HARVEST Eva Gore Booth Though the long seasons seem to separate Sower and reaper or deeds dreamed and done, Yet when a man reaches the Ivory Gates Labour and life and seed and corn are one. Because thou art the doer and the deed, Because thou art the thinker and the thought, Because thou art the helper and the need, And the cold doubt that brings all things to naught ; Therefore in every gracious form and shape The world’s dear open secret thou shalt find, From the one beauty there is no escape Nor from the sunshine of the eternal mind. The patient laborer, with guesses dim, Follows this wisdom to its secret goal. He knows all deeds and dreams exist in him, And all men’s God in every human soul. LIFE Margaret Deland By one great heart the universe is stirred; By Its strong pulse, stars climb the darkening blue It throbs in each fresh sunset’s changing hue, And thrills through the low sweet song of every bird. By It the plunging blood reds all men’s veins; Joy feels that heart against his rapturous own And on It, Sorrow breathes her deepest groan; It bounds through gladnesses and deepest pains. 286 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Passionless beating through all Time and Space, Relentless, calm, majestic in Its march, Alike, though Nature shake heaven’s endless arch, Or man’s heart break, because of some dead face ! ’Tis felt in sunshine greening the soft sod, In children’s smiling as in mothers’ tears, And, for strange comfort, through the aching years, Men’s hungry souls have called that great Heart, God ! THE INFORMING SPIRIT Ralph Waldo Emerson There is no great and no small To the Soul that maketh all: And where it cometh, all things are; And it cometh everywhere. I am owner of the sphere, Of the seven stars and the solar year, Of Caesar’s hand, and Plato’s brain, Of Lord Christ’s heart, and Shakespeare’s strain. From VOLUNTARIES Ralph Waldo Emerson Stainless soldier on the walls, Knowing this, — and knows no more,— Whoever fights, whoever falls, Justice conquers evermore, Justice after as before, — And he who battles on her side, God, though he were ten times slain, Crowns him victor glorified, Victor over death and pain. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN Blooms the laurel which belongs To the valiant chief who fights; I see the wreath, I hear the songs Lauding the Eternal Rights, Victors over daily wrongs: Awful victors, they misguide Whom they will destroy, And their coming triumph hide In our downfall, or our joy: They reach no term, they never sleep, In equal strength through space abide ; Though, feigning dwarfs, they crouch and creep, The strong they slay, the swift outstride : Fate’s grass grows rank in valley clods, And rankly on the castled steep, — Speak it firmly, these are gods, All are ghosts beside. THE HYMN OF THE WORLD WITHIN Psalm CIII From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible Bless the Lord, O my soul, And all that is within me, bless his holy name. Bless the Lord, O my soul, And forget not all his benefits: Who forgiveth all thine iniquities ; Who healeth all thy diseases; Who redeemeth thy life from destruction; Who crowneth thee with loving kindness and mercies : Who satisfieth thy mouth with good things; So that thy youth is renewed like the eagle. The Lord executeth righteous acts, And judgements for all that are oppressed. 287 tender 288 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY He made known his ways unto Moses, His doings unto the children of Israel. The Lord is full of compassion, and gracious, Slow to anger and plenteous in mercy. He will not always chide; Neither will he keep his anger forever. He hath not dealt with us after our sins, Nor rewarded us after our iniquities. For as the heaven is high above the earth, So great is his mercy toward them that fear him. As far as the east is from the west, So far hath he removed our transgressions from us. Like as a father pitieth his children. So the Lord pitieth them that fear him. For he knoweth our frame; He remembereth that we are dust. As for man, his days are as grass; As a flower of the field, so he flourisheth. For the wind passeth over it and it is gone : And the place thereof shall know it no more. But the mercy of the Lord is from everlasting to everlasting upon them that fear him. And his righteousness unto childrens’ children, To such as keep his covenant, And to those that remember his precepts to do them. The Lord hath established his throne in the heavens; And his kingdom ruleth over all. Bless the Lord, ye angels of his, Ye mighty in strength; That fulfill his word, Hearkening unto the voice of his word. Bless the Lord, all ye his hosts; Ye ministers of his, that do his pleasure. Bless the Lord, all ye his works, In all places of his dominion. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 289 THE SEARCHER OF HEARTS IS THY MAKER ♦ Psalm CXXXIX From Moulton’s Modern Readers' Bible O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me. Thou knowest my downsitting and mine uprising, Thou understandest my thought afar off. Thou searchest out my path and my lying down, And art acquainted with all my ways. For there is not a word in my tongue, But Lo, O Lord, thou knowest it altogether. Thou hast beset me behind and before, And laid thine hand upon me. Such knowledge is too wonderful for me; It is high, I cannot attain unto it. Whither shall I go from thy spirit? Or whither shall I flee from thy presence? If I ascend up into heaven, thou art there: If I make my bed in Sheol, behold thou art there. If I take the wings of the morning, And dwell in the uttermost parts of the sea; Even there shall thy hand lead me, And thy right hand shall hold me. If I say, Surely the darkness shall overwhelm me, And the light about me shall be night; Even the darkness hideth not from thee, But the night shineth as the day : The darkness and the light are both alike to thee. For thou hast possessed my reins : Thou hast covered me in my mother’s womb. I will give thanks unto thee ; for I am fearfully and wonderfully made : Wonderful are thy works; And that my soul knoweth right well. My frame was not hidden from thee, When I was made in secret, And curiously wrought in the lowest parts of the earth. 290 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thine eyes did see my unperfect substance, And in thy book were all my members written, Which day by day were fashioned, When as yet there was none of them. How precious also are thy thoughts unto me, O God ! How great is the sum of them ! If I should count them, they are more in number than the sand When I awake, I am still with thee. Surely thou wilt slay the wicked, O God : Depart from me, therefore, ye bloodthirsty men. For they speak against thee wickedly, And thine enemies take thy name in vain. Do I not hate them, O Lord, that hate thee ? And am I not grieved with those that rise up against thee I hate them with perfect hatred : I count them mine enemies, Search me, O God, and know my heart : Try me and know my thoughts; And see if there be any way of wickedness in me, And lead me in the way everlasting. NODES Alice Corbin Henderson The endless, foolish merriment of stars Beside the pale cold sorrow of the moon, Is like the wayward noises of the world Beside my heart’s uplifted silent tune. The little broken glitter of the waves Beside the golden sun’s intense white blaze, Is like the idle chatter of the crowd Beside my heart’s unwearied song of praise. The sun and all the planets in the sky Beside the sacred wonder of dim space, Are notes upon a broken tarnished lute That God will some day mend and put in place. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 291 And space, beside the little secret joy Of God that sings forever in the clay, Is smaller than the dust we cannot see, That yet dies not, till time and space decay. And as the foolish merriment of stars Beside the cold pale sorrow of the moon, My little song, my little joy, my praise, Beside God’s ancient everlasting rune. From TFIE CHERUBIM Thomas Heywood I have wandered like a sheep that’s lost, To find Thee out in every coast. Without I have long seeking been, Whilst Thou the while abidst within. Through every broad street and strait lane Of this world’s city, but in vain, I have inquired. The reason Why? I sought Thee ill; for how could I Find Thee abroad, when Thou, mean space, Hadst made within thy dwelling-place ? I sent my messengers about To try if they could find Thee out. But all was to no purpose still, Because, indeed, they sought Thee ill; For how could they discover Thee That saw not when thou enteredst me? Mine eyes could tell me ? If He were Not coloured, sure He came not there. If not by sound, my ears could say He doubtless did not pass my way. My nose could nothing of Him tell, Because my God He did not smell. None such I relished, said my taste, THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And therefore me He never passed. My feeling told me that none such There entered for He did none touch. Resolved by them how should I be, Since none of all these are in Thee? In Thee ! My God, Thou hast no hue That man’s frail optic sense can view; No sound the ear hears; odour none The smell attracts; all taste is gone At Thy appearance; where doth fail A body, how can touch prevail? Yet when I seek my God, I enquire For Light, the sun and moon much higher, More clear and splendrous, ’bove all light, Which eye receives not, ’Tis so bright. I seek a voice beyond degree Of all melodious harmony; So far this Light the rays extends As that no place it comprehends. This light, this sound, this savoring grace, This tasteful sweet, this strict embrace, No place contains, no eye can see, My God is, and there’s none but HE. THE LIVING TEMPLE Oliver Wendell Holmes Not in the world of light alone, Where God has built his blazing throne. Nor yet alone in earth below, With belted seas that come and go, And endless isles of sunlit green, Is all thy Maker’s glory seen : Look in upon thy wondrous frame, — Eternal wisdom still the same ! GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 293 The smooth, soft air with pulse-like waves Flows murmuring through its hidden caves, Whose streams of brightening purple rush, Fired with a new and livelier blush, While all their burden of decay The ebbing current steals away, And red with Nature’s flame they start From the warm fountains of the heart. No rest that throbbing slave may ask, Forever quivering o’er his task, While far and wide a crimson jet Leaps forth to fill the woven net Which in unnumbered crossing tides The flood of burning life divides, Then, kindling each decaying part, Creeps back to find the throbbing heart. But warmed with that unchanging flame Behold the outward moving frame, Its living marbles jointed strong With glistening band and silvery thong, And linked to reason’s guiding reins By myriad rings in trembling chains, Each graven with the threaded zone Which claims it as the master’s own. See how yon beam of seeming white Is braided out of seven-hued light, Yet in those lucid globes no ray By any chance shall break astray. Hark how the rolling surge of sound, Arches and spirals circling round, Wakes the hushed spirit through thine ear With music it is heaven to hear. Then mark the cloven sphere that holds All thought in its mysterious folds; That feels sensation’s faintest thrill, And flashes forth the sovereign will ; 294 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Think on the stormy world that dwells Locked in its dim and clustering cells ! The lightning gleams of power it sheds Along its hollow glassy threads ! O Father! grant thy love divine To make these mystic temples thine ! When wasting age and wearying strife Have sapped the leaning walls of life, When darkness gathers over all, And the last tottering pillars fall, Take the poor dust thy mercy warms, And mould it into heavenly forms ! THE INDWELLING GOD Frederick Lucian Hosmer Go not, my soul, in search of Him; Thou wilt not find Him there — Or in the depths of shadow dim. Or heights of upper air. For not in far-off realms of space The Spirit hath its throne ; In every heart it findeth place And waiteth to be known. Thought answereth alone to thought And Soul with soul hath kin; The outward God he findeth not, Who finds not God within. And if the vision come to thee Revealed by inward sign, Earth will be full of Deity And with his glory shine ! GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 295 Thou shalt not want for company, Nor pitch thy tent alone; The Indwelling God will go with thee, And show thee of his own. O gift of gifts, O grace of grace, That God should condescend To make thy heart His dwelling-place — And be thy daily Friend! Then go not thou in search of Him But to thyself repair; Wait thou within the silence dim And thou shalt find Him there. SONGS OF KABIR Kabir Translated by Rabindranath Tagore I. 83 The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it: The moon is within me, and so is the sun. The unstruck drum of Eternity is sounded within me; but my deaf ears cannot hear it. So long as man clamours for the I and the Mine , his works are as naught : When all love of the I and the Mine is dead, then the work of the Lord is done. For work has no other aim than the getting of knowledge: When that comes, then work is put away. The flower blooms for the fruit : when the fruit comes, the flower withers. The musk is in the deer, but it seeks it not within itself : it wanders in quest of grass. 296 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I. 85 When He Himself reveals Himself, Brahma brings into mani¬ festation That which can never be seen. As the seed is in the plant, as the shade is in the tree, as the void is in the sky, as infinite forms are in the void — So from beyond the Infinite, the Infinite comes; and from the Infinite the finite extends. The creature is in Brahma, and Brahma is in the creature : they are ever distinct, yet ever united. He Himself is the tree, the seed, and the germ. He Himself is the flower, the fruit, and the shade. He Himself is the sun, the light, and the lighted. He Himself is Brahma, creature, and Maya. He Himself is the manifold form, the infinite space ; He is the breath, the word, and the meaning. He Himself is the limit and the limitless : and beyond both the limited and the limitless is He, the Pure Being. He is the Immanent Mind in Brahma and in the creature. The Supreme Soul is seen within the soul, The Point is seen within the Supreme Soul, And within the Point, the reflection is seen again. Kabir is blest because he has this supreme vision ! I. 101 Within the earthen vessel are bowers and groves, and within it is the Creator : Within this vessel are the seven oceans and the unnumbered stars. The touchstone and the jewel-appraiser are within; And within this vessel the Eternal soundeth, and the spring wells up. Kabir says: “Listen to me, my Friend! My beloved Lord is within.” I. 104 O how may I ever express that secret word? O how can I say Lie is not like this, and He is like that? If I say that He is within me, the universe is ashamed: GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 297 If I say that He is without me, it is falsehood. He makes the inner and the outer worlds to be indivisibly one ; The conscious and the unconscious, both are His footstools. He is neither manifest nor hidden, He is neither revealed nor unrevealed : There are no words to tell that which He is. I. 121 To Thee Thou hast drawn my love, O Fakir! I was sleeping in my own chamber, and Thou didst awaken me; striking me with Thy voice, O Fakir! I was drowning in the deeps of the ocean of this world, and Thou didst save me : upholding me with Thine arm, O Fakir ! Only one word and no second — and Thou hast made me tear off all my bonds, O Fakir ! Kabir says, “Thou hast united Thy heart to my heart, O Fakir !” I. 131 I played day and night with my comrades, and now I am greatly afraid. So high is my Lord’s palace, my heart trembles to mount its stairs; yet I must not be shy, if I would enjoy. His love. My heart must cleave to my Lover; I must withdraw my veil, and meet Him with all my body : Mine eyes must perform the ceremony of the lamps of love. Kabir says: “Listen to me, friend: he understands who loves. If you feel not love’s longing for your Beloved One, it is vain to adorn your body, vain to put unguent on your eyelids.” From WITHIN AND WITHOUT George Macdonald My soul leans toward Him; stretches out its arms, And waits expectant. Speak to me, my God : 298 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And let me know the living Father cares For me, even me; for this one of His children. Hast Thou no word for me ? I am Thy thought. GOD, let Thy mighty heart beat into mine, And let mine answer as a pulse of Thine. • ••••♦•••ft I am an emptiness for Thee to fill; My soul a cavern for Thy sea. I lie Diffus’d, abandoning myself to Thee. . . . I will look up, if life should fail in looking! Ah, me! A stream cut from my parent spring! Ah, me! A life lost from its father life! Lord of Thyself and me, through the sore grief Which thou didst bear to bring us back to God, Or, rather, bear in being unto us Thy own pure shining self of love and truth ! When I have learnt to think Thy radiant thoughts, To live the truth beyond the power to know it, To bear my light as Thou Thy heavy cross, Nor ever feel a martyr for Thy sake, But an unprofitable servant still — My highest sacrifice my simplest duty Imperative and unavoidable, Less than which all were nothingness and waste; When I have lost myself in other men, And found myself in Thee — the Father then Will come with Thee, and will abide with me. HAIL MAN! Angela Morgan This flesh is but the symbol and the shrine Of an immense and unimagined beauty, Not mortal, but divine; Structure behind our structure, Lightning within the brain, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 299 Soul of singing nerve and throbbing vein, A giant blaze that scorches through our dust, Fanning our futile “might be” with its “must”; Bearing upon its breast our eager span — Beyond, above and yet the self of man ! Look how the glow-worm with its feeble might Signals the presence of celestial fire : How phosphorus upon the sea at night, And the swift message o’er the radiant wire, Proclaim the awesome thing existence covers; Eternity emerging through our husk, Sky through our vapor, Glory through our dusk. Behold the slender scarlet line that hovers Between close fingers held against the sun, Each life a swift and beaming taper Afire from one. And how each seems the token Of a great mystery no man has spoken, Wherein we walk and work and do our tasks, Nor dream within what light the spirit basks. This creaking tent we call the universe, One motion in a mighty caravan Whose million million orbits but rehearse The miracle that swings the heart of man Is but the outward breathing, of that Source — Call it by whatever sounding name — God or Jehovah, Life or Primal Force — While like a vast impalpable pure flame, Bears up the visible as ’twere, a toy; Props with its permanence our mortal screen; Hotter than hissing fire, than light more keen; Solid as stone, simple and clean as glass; Fluid as flashing waves that leap and pass . . . Yet doth obscuring flesh Infinity enmesh, 300 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY While soul within its prison speaks to soul, Hailing the habitation as the whole ! This flesh is but the visible out-pouring Of a portentous and mighty thing, Whereof each mortal knowing, Becomes a king. PROVIDENCE Cale Young Rice When I was far from the sea’s voice and vastness I looked for God in the days and hours and seasons. But now, by its large and eternal tides surrounded I know I shall only find Him in the greater swing of the years. For all the seas are His mysteries, not to be learned from a single surf-beat, No wave suffices Him for a revelation. How like the seas that dower all lands with green and the breath of blossoms, With dews that never have heard its deathless surges. Let me be patient, then, sure that stars are not jetsam tossing, Or meaningless waste waters of omnipotence. Let me be patient even when man is sunk in the storm of His purpose And swirled, a strangled corpse, under His Ages. From THE HYMN OF MAN Algernon Charles Swinburne Thou and I and he are not gods made men for a span, For God, if a God there be, is the substance of men which is man. Our lives are as pulses or pores of his manifold body and breath ; GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 301 As waves of his sea on the shores where birth is the beacon of death. We men, the multiform features of man, whatsoever we be, Recreate him of whom we are creatures, and all we only are he. Not each man of all men is God, but God is the fruit of the whole ; Indivisible spirit and blood, indiscernible body from soul. Not men’s but man’s is the glory of godhead, the kingdom of time, The mountainous ages made hoary with snows for the spirit to climb. A God with the world inwound whose clay to his foot sole clings ; A manifold God fast-bound as with the iron of adverse things. A soul that labors and lives, an emotion, a strenuous breath, From the flame that its own mouth gives reillumed, and refreshed with death. In the sea whereof centuries are waves the live God plunges and swims; His bed is in all men’s graves, but the worm hath not hold on his limbs. Night puts not out his eyes, nor time sheds change on his head; With such fire as the stars of the skies are the roots of his heart fed. Men are the thoughts passing through it, the veins that fulfil it with blood, With spirit of sense to renew it as springs fulfilling a flood. Men are the heartbeats of man, the plumes that feather his wings, Storm-worn, since being began, with the wind and thunder of things. Things are cruel and blind; their strength detains and deforms: And the wearying wings of the mind still beat up the stream of their storms. Still, as swimming up stream, they strike out blind in the blast, In thunders of vision and dream, and lightnings of future and past. We are baffled and caught in the current and bruised upon edges of shoals; 302 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY As weeds or as reeds in the torrent of things are the wind- shaken souls. Spirit by spirit goes under, a foam-bell’s bubble of breath, That blows and opens in sunder and blurs not the mirror of death. For a worm or a thorn in his path is a man’s soul quenched as a flame ; For his lust of an hour or his wrath shall the worm and the man be the same. • ••••••••••• By the spirit are things overcome ; they are stark, and the spirit hath breath : It hath speech, and their forces are dumb; it is living, and things are of death. • #••••••»••• Space is the soul’s to inherit; the night is hers as the day; Lo, saith man, this is my spirit; how shall not the worlds make way ? Space is thought, and the wonders thereof, and the spectre of space ; Is thought not more than the thunders and lightnings? Shall thought give place? Is the body not more than the vesture? The life not more than the meat? The will than the word or the gesture, the heart than the hands or the feet? Is the tongue not more than the speech is? the head not more than the crown? And if higher than is heaven be the reach of the soul, shall not heaven bow down? Time, father of life, and more great than the life it begat and began, Earth’s keeper and heaven’s and their fate, lives, thinks, and hath substance in man. a a • • • • • The seal of. his knowledge is sure, the truth and his spirit are wed ; Men perish, but man shall endure; lives die, but the life is not dead. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 303 Thou art smitten, thou God, thou art smitten; thy death is upon Thee, O Lord. And the love-song of earth as thou diest resounds through the wind of her wings — Glory to Man in the highest ! for Man is the master of things. From GITANJALI Rabindranath Tagore 10 Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet where live the poorest, and lowliest, and best. When I try to bow to thee, my obeisance cannot reach down to the depth where thy feet rest among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost. Pride can never approach to where thou walkest in the clothes of the humble among the poorest, and lowliest, and lost. My heart can never find its way to where thou keepest company with the companionless among the poorest, the lowliest, and the lost. 11 Leave this chanting and singing and telling of beads ! Whom dost thou worship in this dark corner of a temple with doors all shut? Open thine eyes and see thy God is not before thee ! He is there where the tiller is tilling the hard ground and where the path-maker is breaking stones. He is with them in sun and in shower, and his garment is covered with dust. Put off thy holy mantle even like him and come down on the dusty soil ! Deliverance? Where is this deliverance to be found? Our master himself has joyfully taken upon him the bonds of creation; he is bound with us all forever. 304 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Come out of thy meditations and leave aside thy flowers and incense; What harm is there if thy clothes become tattered and stained? Meet him and stand by him in toil and in the sweat of thy brow. From IN MEMORIAM Alfred Tennyson CXXIV That which we dare invoke to bless; Our dearest faith; our ghastliest doubt; He, They, One, All ; within, without ; The Power in darkness Whom we guess. I found Him not in world or sun, Or eagle’s wings, or insect’s eye ; Nor through the questions men may try, The petty cobwebs we have spun. If e’er when faith had fallen asleep, I heard a voice ‘Believe no more’ And heard an ever-breaking shore That tumbled in the godless deep ; A warmth within the breast would melt And freezing reason’s colder part, And like a man in wrath the heart Stood up and answered T have felt.’ I SEEK THEE IN THE HEART ALONE Herbert Trench Fountain of Fire whom all divide We haste asunder like the spray, But waneless doth thy flame abide Whom every torch can take away ! GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 305 I seek Thee in the heart alone, I shall not find in hill or plain; Our rushing star must keep its moan, Our nightly soul its homeward pain. Song beyond thought, Light beyond power, Even the consumings of this breast Advance the clearness of that hour When all shall poise, and be at rest. It cracks at last — the glowing sheath The illusion — Personality — Absorbed and interwoven with death The myriads are dissolved in Thee. INTROVERSION Evelyn Underhill (Mrs. Stuart Moore) What do you seek within, O soul, my brother? What do you seek within? I seek a life that shall never die, Some haven to win From mortality. What do you find within, O soul, my brother? What do you find within? I find great quiet where no noises come. Without, the world’s din; Silence in my home. Whom do you find within, O soul, my brother ? Whom do you find within? I find a friend that in secret came : His scarred hands within He shields a faint flame. What would you do within, O soul, my brother? What would you do within? 306 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Bar door and window that none may see: That alone we may be (Alone! face to face, In that flame-lit place!) When first we begin To speak one with another. SUPERSENSUAL 0 Evelyn Underhill When first the busy, clumsy tongue is stilled, Save that some childish, stammering words of love The coming birth of man’s true language prove : When, one and all, The wistful, seeking senses are fulfilled With strange, austere delight: When eye and ear Are inward turned to meet the flooding light, The cadence of thy coming quick to hear: When on thy mystic flight, Thou Swift yet Changeless, herald breezes bring To scent the heart’s swept cell With incense from the thurible of spring, The fragrance which the lily seeks in vain: When touch no more may tell The verities of contact unexpressed, And, deeply pressed, To that surrender which is holiest pain, We taste thy very rest — Ah, then we find Folded about by kindly-nurturing night, Instinct with silence sweetly musical, The rapt communion of the mind with Mind. Then may the senses fall Vanquished indeed, nor dread That this their dear defeat be counted sin : For every door of flesh shall lift its head, Because the King of Life is entered in. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 307 THEOPHANY Evelyn Underhill Deep cradled in the fringed mow to lie And feel the rhythmic flux of life sweep by, This is to know the easy heaven that waits Before our timidly-embattled gates: To show the exultant leap and thrust of things Outward toward perfection, in the heart Of every bud to see the folded wings, Discern the patient whole in every part. THE DWELLING PLACE Henry Vaughan What happy secret fountain. Fair shade or mountain, Whose undiscovered virgin glory Boasts it this day, though not in story, Was then thy dwelling? did some cloud Fix’d to a tent, descend and shroud My distrest Lord? or did a star, Beckoned by thee, though high and far, In sparkling smiles haste gladly down To lodge light and increase her own? My dear, dear God ! I do not know What lodged thee then, nor where, nor how; But I am sure thou now dost come Oft to a narrow, homely room, Where thou too hast but the least part, My God, I mean my sinful heart. 308 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY HEALTH OF BODY DEPENDENT ON SOUL Jones Very Not from the earth, or skies, Or seasons as they roll, Come health and vigor to the frame, But from the living soul. Is this alive to God, And not the slave to sin? Then will the body, too, receive Health from the soul within. But if disease has touched The spirit’s inmost part, In vain we seek from outward things To heal the deadly smart. The mind, the heart unchanged, Which clouded e’en our home, Will make the outward world the same. Where’er our feet may roam. The fairest scenes on earth, The mildest, purest sky, Will bring no vigor to the step. No lustre to the eye. For He who formed our frame Made man a perfect whole, And made the body’s health depend Upon the living soul. KS GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 309 THE LIGHT FROM WITHIN Jones Very I saw on earth another light Than that which lit my eye Come forth as from my soul within, And from a higher sky. Its beams shone still unclouded on, When in the farthest west The sun I once had known had sunk Forever to his rest. And on I walked, though dark the night, Nor rose his orb by dc,y; As one who by a surer guide Was pointed out the way. ’Twas brighter far than noonday’s beam; It shone from God within, And lit, as by a lamp from heaven, The world’s track of sin. SONG OF MYSELF Walt Whitman From Leaves of Grass I hear and behold God in every object, yet understand God not in the least, Nor do I understand who there can be more wonderful than myself. Why should I wish to see God better than this day? see something of God each hour of the twenty-four, and each moment then, 3io THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY In the faces of men and women I see God, and in my own face in the glass, I find letters from God dropped in the street — and every one is signed by God’s name, And I leave them where they are, for I know that others will punctually come forever and ever. b. REVEALED IN THE LIFE OF JESUS CHRIST I. Mediaeval and Modern KARSHISH, THE ARAB PHYSICIAN Being an Epistle Containing His Strange Medical Experience Robert Browning Karshish, the picker-up of learning’s crumbs, The not-incurious in God’s handiwork (This man’s-flesh He hath admirably made, Blown like a bubble, kneaded like a paste, To coop up and keep down on earth a space That puff of vapor from His mouth, man’s soul) — To Abib, all-sagacious in our art, Breeder in me of what poor skill I boast, Like me inquisitive how pricks and cracks Befall the flesh through too much stress and strain, Whereby the wily vapor fain would slip Back and rejoin its source before the term, — And aptest in contrivance, under God, To baffle it by deftly stopping such: — The vagrant Scholar to his Sage at home Sends greeting (health and knowledge, fame with peace) Three samples of true snake-stone — rarer still, One of the other sort, the melon-shaped. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 3ii (But fitter, pounded fine, for charms than drugs) And writeth now the twenty-second time. My journeyings were brought to Jericho: Thus I resume. Who studious in our art Shall count a little labor unrepaid? I have shed sweat enough, left flesh and bone On many a flinty furlong of this land. Also the country-side is all on fire With rumors of a marching hitherward — Some say Vespasian cometh, some his son. A black lynx snarled and pricked a tufted ear; Lust of my blood inflamed his yellow balls : I cried and threw my staff and he was gone. Twice have the robbers stripped and beaten me, And once a town declared me for a spy, But at the end I reach Jerusalem, Since this poor covert where I pass the night, This Bethany, lies scarce the distance thence A man with plague-sores at the third degree Runs till he drops down dead. Thou laughest here ! 'Sooth, it elates me, thus reposed and safe, To void the stuffing of my travel-scrip And share with thee whatever Jewry yields. A viscid choler is observable In tertians, I was nearly bold to say, And falling-sickness hath a happier cure Than our school wots of : there's a spider here Weaves no web, watches on* the ledge of tombs, Sprinkled with mottles on an ash-gray back; Take five and drop them . . . but who knows his mind, The Syrian runagate I trust this to? His service payeth me a sublimate Blown up his nose to help the ailing eye. Best wait: I reach Jerusalem at morn, There set in order my experiences, Gather what most deserves and give thee all — Or, I might add, Judea’s gum-tragacanth Scales off in purer flakes, shines clearer-grained, Cracks ’twixt the pestle and the porphyry, 12 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY In fine, exceeds our produce. Scalp-disease Confounds me, crossing so with leprosy — Thou hadst admired one sort I gained at Zoar — - But zeal outruns discretion. Here I end. Yet stay: my Syrian blinketh gratefully, Protesteth his devotion is my price — Suppose I write what harms not, though he steal? I half resolve to tell thee, yet I blush, What set me off a-writing first of all. An itch I had, a sting to write, a tang ! For, be it this town’s barrenness — or else The Man had something in the look of him — His case has struck me far more than ’tis worth. So, pardon if — (lest presently I lose In the great press of novelty at hand The care and pains this somehow stole from me) I bid thee take the thing while fresh in mind, Almost in sight — for, wilt thou have the truth? The very man is gone from me but now, Whose ailment is the subject of discourse. Thus, then, and let thy better wit help all. ’Tis but a case of mania — subinduced By epilepsy, at the turning-point Of trance prolonged unduly some three days, When by the exhibition of some drug Or spell, exorcisation, stroke of art Unknown to me and which ’twere well to know, The evil thing out-breaking all at once Left the man whole and sound of body indeed,— But, flinging, so to speak, life’s gates too wide, Making a clear house of it too suddenly, The first conceit that entered might inscribe Whatever it was minded on the wall So plainly at that vantage, as it were, (First come, first served) that nothing subsequent Attaineth to erase the fancy-scrawls Which the returned and new-established soul Hath gotten now so thoroughly by heart That henceforth she will read or these or none. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 3i3 And first — the man’s own firm conviction rests That he was dead (in fact they buried him) — That he was dead and then restored to life By a Nazarene physician of his tribe: — ’Sayeth, the same bade “Rise,” and he did rise. “Such cases are diurnal” thou wilt cry. Not so this figment: — not, that such a fume, Instead of giving way to time and health, Should eat itself into the life of life, As saffron tingeth flesh, blood, bones and all ! For see, how he takes up the after-life, The man — it is one Lazarus, a Jew, Sanguine, proportioned, fifty years of age, The body’s habit wholly laudable, As much, indeed, beyond the common health As he were made and put aside to show. Think, could we penetrate by any drug And bathe the wearied soul and worried flesh, And bring it clear and fair, by three days’ sleep ! Whence has the man the balm that brightens all ? This grown man eyes the world now like a child. Some elders of his tribe, I should premise, Led in their friend, obedient as a sheep, To bear my inquisition. While they spoke, Now sharply, now with sorrow, — told the case, — He listened not except I spoke to him, But folded his two hands and let them talk, Watching the flies that buzzed : and yet no fool. And that’s a sample how his years must go. Look, if a beggar, in fixed middle-life, Should find a treasure, can he use the same With straightened habits and with tastes starved small. And take at once to his impoverished brain The sudden element that changes things, That sets the undreamed-of rapture at his hand, And puts the old cheap joy in the scorned dust? Is he not such an one as moves to mirth — Warily parsimonious, when no need, Wasteful as drunkenness at undue times? All prudent counsel as to what befits 314 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The golden mean, is lost on such an one. The man’s fantastic will is the man’s law. And oft the man’s soul springs into his face As if he saw again and heard again His sage that bade him “Rise” and he did rise. Something — a word, a tick o’ the blood within Admonishes — then back he sinks at once To ashes, that was very fire before, In sedulous recurrence to his trade Whereby he earneth him the daily bread — And studiously the humbler for that pride, Professedly the faultier that he knows God’s secret while he holds the thread of life. Indeed the especial marking of the man Is prone submission to the heavenly will — Seeing it, what it is, and why it is. — ’Sayeth, he will wait patient to the last For that same death which must restore his being To equilibrium, body loosening soul Divorced even now by premature full growth : He will live, nay, it pleaseth him to live So long as God please, and just how God please. . . . Hence I perceive not he affects to preach The doctrine of his sect whate’er it be — Make proselytes as madmen thirst to do. How can he give his neighbor the real ground, His own conviction? ardent as he is — Call his great truth a lie, why still the old “Be it as God please” reassureth him. I probed the sore as thy disciple should — "How, beast,” said I, "this stolid carelessness Sufficeth thee, when Rome is on her march To stamp out like a little spark thy town, Thy tribe, thy crazy tale and thee at once ?” He merely looked with his large eyes on me. The man is apathetic, you deduce ? Contrariwise, he loves both old and young, Able and weak — affects the very brutes And birds, how say I? flowers of the field — GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 3i5 As a wise workman recognizes tools In a master’s workshop, loving what they make. Thus is the man as harmless as a lamb : Only impatient, let him do his best, At ignorance and carelessness and sin — An indignation which is promptly curbed : As when in certain travels I have feigned To be an ignoramus in our art According to some preconceived design, And happed to hear the land’s practitioners Steeped in conceit sublimed by ignorance, Prattle fantastically on disease, Its cause and cure — and I must hold my peace ! Thou wilt object — why have I not ere this Sought out the sage himself, the Nazarene Who wrought this cure, inquiring at the source, Conferring with the frankness that befits? Alas ! it grieveth me, the learned leech Perished in a tumult many years ago, Accused, — our learning’s fate, — of wizardry. Rebellion, to the setting up a rule And creed prodigious as described to me. His death which happened when the earthquake fell (Prefiguring, as soon appeared, the loss To occult learning in our lord the sage That lived there in the pyramid alone) Was wrought by the mad people, — that’s their wTont — On vain recourse, as I conjecture it, To his tried virtue, for miraculous help — How could he stop the earthquake ? That’s their way ! The other imputations must be lies : But take one — though I loathe to give it thee, In mere respect for any good man’s fame ! (And after all, our patient Lazarus Is stark mad — should we count on what he says? Perhaps not — though in writing to a leech ’Tis well to keep back nothing of a case.) This man so cured regards the curer then, As — God forgive me — who but God himself, 3i 6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Creator and Sustainer of the world, That came and dwelt in flesh on it awhile ! — ’Sayeth that such an One was born and lived, Taught, healed the sick, broke bread at his own house, Then died, with Lazarus by, for aught I know, And yet was . . . what I said nor choose repeat, And must have so avouched himself, in fact, In hearing of this very Lazarus Who saith — but why all this of what he saith ? Why write of trivial matters, things of price Calling at every moment for remark? I noticed on the margin of a pool Blue-flowering borage, the Aleppo sort, Aboundeth, very nitrous. It is strange ! Thy pardon for this long and tedious case, Which, now that I review it, needs must seem Unduly dwelt on, prolixly set forth. Nor I myself discern in what is writ Good cause for the peculiar interest And awe indeed this man has touched me with. Perhaps the journey’s end, the weariness Had wrought upon me first. I met him thus — I crossed a ridge of short sharp broken hills Like an old lion’s cheek-teeth. Out there came A moon made like a face with certain spots Multiform, manifold, and menacing: Then a wind rose behind me. So we met In this old sleepy town at unaware, The man and I. I send thee what is writ. Regard it as a chance, a matter risked To this ambiguous Syrian — he may lose, Or steal, or give it thee with equal good. Jerusalem’s repose shall make amends For time this letter wastes, thy time and mine, Till when, once more they pardon and farewell ! The very God ! think, Abib ; dost thou think ? So, the All-Great were the All-Loving, too — So, through the thunder comes a human voice GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 317 Saying, “O heart I made, a heart beats here ! Face, my hands fashioned, see it in myself. Thou hast no power nor mayst conceive of mine, But love I gave thee, with myself to love, And thou must love me who have died for thee !” The madman saith He said so : it is strange. THE HOLY NATIVITY OF OUR LORD GOD Richard Crashaw A Hymn as Sung by the Shepherds Chorus Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight Hath met Love’s noon in Nature’s night; Come, we lift up our loftier song And wake the sun that lies too long. To all our world of well-stol’n joy He slept, and dreamt of no such thing; While we found our Heaven’s fairer eye And kissed the cradle of our King. Tell him he rises now, too late To show us aught worth looking at. Tell him we now can show him more Than he e’er showed to mortal sight; Than he himself e’er saw before; Which to be seen needs not his light. Tell him, Tityrus, where th’ hast been Tell him, Thyrsis, what th’ hast seen. T ityrus Gloomy night embraced the place Where the noble Infant lay. The Babe looked up and showed His face"? In spite of darkness it was day. 3 18 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY It was Thy day, Sweet ! and did rise Not from the east, but from Thine eyes. Chorus It was Thy day, Sweet ... T hyrsis Winter chid aloud ; and sent The angry North to wage his wars. The North forgot his fierce intent; And left perfumes instead of scars. By those sweet eyes’ persuasive powers, Where he meant frost he scattered flowers. Chorus By those sweet eyes . . . Both We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, Young Dawn of our Eternal Day ! We saw Thine eyes break from the East And chase the trembling shades away. We saw Thee and we blest the sight. We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. 1 - « ' . ! r Tityrus Poor World, said I, what wilt thou do To entertain this starry Stranger? Is this the best thou canst bestow? A cold, and not too cleanly, manger? Contend, the powers of heaven and earth. To fit a bed for this huge birth ! ‘ Chorus Contend the powers . . . 3*9 GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN Thyrsis Proud World, said I; cease your contest And let the mighty Babe alone ; The phoenix builds the phoenix’ nest, Love’s architecture is his own ; The Babe whose birth embraves this morn, Made His own bed ere He was born. Chorus The Babe whose . . . T ityrus I saw the curl’d drops, soft and slow, Come hovering o’er the place’s head; Offering their whitest sheets of snow To furnish the fair Infant’s bed. Forbear, said I; be not too bold; Your fleece is white, but ’tis too cold. Chorus Forbear, said I . . . T hyrsis I saw the obsequious seraphim Their rosy fleece of fire bestow, For well they now can spare their wings Since Heaven itself lies here below. Well done, said I ; but are you sure Your down so warm, will pass for pure? Chorus Well done, said I . . . Tityrus No, no, your King’s not yet to seek Where to repose His royal head ; 320 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY See, see how soon His new-bloomed cheek ’Twixt mother’s breasts is gone to bed! Sweet choice, said we ! no way but so Not to lie cold, yet sleep in snow. Chorus Sweet choice, said we . . . Both We saw Thee in Thy balmy nest, Bright Dawn of our Eternal Day ! We saw Thine eyes break from their east And chase the trembling shades away. We saw Thee, and we blest the sight, We saw Thee by Thine own sweet light. Chorus We saw Thee . . . Full Chorus Welcome, all wonders in one night! Eternity shut in a span, Summer in winter, day in night, Heaven in earth, and God in man. Great Little One ! Whose all-embracing birth Lifts earth to heaven, stoops heaven to earth. Welcome — though nor to gold nor silk, To more than Caesar’s birthright is; Two sister-seas of virgin-milk With many a rarely-tempered kiss That breathes at once both maid and mother, Warms in the one, cools on the other. Welcome — though not to those gay flies Gilded i’ th’ beams of earthly kings, Slippery souls in smiling eyes — But to poor shepherds, homespun things, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 321 Whose wealth’s their flock, whose wit’s to be Well read in this simplicity. Yet, when young April’s husband show’rs Shall bless the fruitful Maia’s bed, We’ll bring the first-born of her flow’rs To kiss Thy feet and crown Thy head. To Thee, dread Lamb ! Whose love must keep The shepherds, more than they the sheep. To Thee, meek Majesty! soft King Of simple graces and sweet loves ! Each of us his lamb will bring, Each his pair of silver doves ! Till burnt at last in the fire of Thy fair eyes, Ourselves become our own best sacrifice ! A CHRISTMAS HYMN Alfred Domett It was the calm and silent night ! Seven hundred years and fifty-three Had Rome been growing up to might, And now was Queen of land and sea. No sound was heard of clashing wars; Peace brooded o’er the hushed domain; Apollo, Pallas, Jove and Mars Held undisturbed their ancient reign, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. ’Twas in the calm and silent night ! The Senator of haughty Rome, Impatient urged his chariot’s flight, In lordly revel, rolling home : Triumphal arches gleaming swell His breast with thoughts of boundless sway; What recked the Roman what befell 322 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A paltry province far away, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! Within that province far away Went plodding home a weary boor: A streak of light before him lay, Fall’n through a half-shut stable door Across his path. He passed — for naught Told what was going on within; How keen the stars ! his only thought ; The air how calm and cold and thin, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago ! O strange indifference ! — low and high Drowsed over common joys and cares: The earth was still — but knew not why; The world was listening — unawares. How calm a moment may precede One that shall thrill the world forever ! To that still moment none would heed, Man's doom was linked, no more to sever, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. id It is the calm and solemn night ! A thousand bells ring out and throw Their joyous peal abroad, and smite The darkness, charmed and holy now. The night, that erst no name had worn, To it a happy name is given: Eor in that stable lay new-born, The peaceful Prince of Earth and Heaven, In the solemn midnight Centuries ago. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 323 EXCELLENCY OF CHRIST Giles Fletcher He is a path, if any be misled; He is a robe, if any naked be; If any chance to hunger, he is bread; If any be a bondman he is free; If any be but weak, how strong is he ! To dead men life he is, to sick men health; To blind men sight, and to the needy wealth; A pleasure without loss, a treasure without stealth. THE SONG OF A HEATHEN Richard Watson Gilder (Sojourning in Galilee, A.D. 32) If Jesus Christ is a man, — And only a man, — I say That of all mankind I cleave to him, And to him will I cleave alway. If Jesus Christ is a god, — And the only God, — I swear I will follow Him through heaven and hell, The earth, the sea, and the air ! EASTER CHORUS FROM FAUST Goethe Translated by Bayard Taylor Christ is arisen ! Joy to the Mortal One, Whom the unmerited 324 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Clinging, inherited Needs did imprison. Christ is ascended ! Bliss hath invested him, — Woes that molested him, Trials that tested him, Gloriously ended ! • • • • • Christ is arisen v . Out of Corruption’s womb Burst ye the prison, Break from your gloom! Praising and pleading him, Lovingly needing him, Brotherly feeding him, Preaching and speeding him, Blessing, succeeding Him, Thus is the Master near, — Thus is He here ! SECOND SEEING Louis Golding If He be truly Christ The Sacrificed, When I am deaf and blind as they Who hung Him up between The two thieves mean, In Calvary upon a moaning day. If I not recognize Within His eyes The slow blood fall down pools of pain, Nor on contracted brows The thorns that house Their swords about the anguish of His brain. / GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 325 If I do not perceive His mother grieve Below the rood where He hangs crossed, Nor hear the sea and wind Cry, “Thou hast sinned!” Then woe is me that I am doubly lost. This is not He alone Whom I have known, This is all Christs since time began. The blood of all the dead His veins have shed, For He is God and Ghost and Everyman. REALITY Frances Ridley Havergal Reality, reality. Lord Jesus Christ Thou art to me ! From the spectral mist and the driving clouds, From the shifting shadows and phantom crowds From unreal words and unreal lives, Where truth with falsehood feebly strives ; From the passings away, the chance and change, Flickerings, vanishings, swift and strange, I turn to my glorious rest in Thee, Who art the grand Reality ! Reality in greatest need, Lord Jesus Christ Thou art indeed! Is the pilot real who alone can guide The drifting ship e’er the midnight tide? Is the life-boat real, as it nears the wreck, And the saved ones leap from the parting deck? Is the haven real, where the barque may flee From the autumn gales of the wild north sea? Reality indeed art Thou, My pilot, life-boat, haven now. 326 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Reality, reality, In the brightest days art Thou to me ! Thou art the sunshine of my mirth, Thou art the heaven above my earth, The spring of love of all my heart, And the fountain of my song Thou art ; For dearer than the dearest now, And better than the best art Thou, Beloved Lord, in whom I see Joy-giving, glad Reality. Reality, reality, Lord Jesus Thou hast been to me, When I thought the dream of life was past And “the Master’s home-call” come at last; When I thought I had only to wait A little while at the Golden Gate, — Only another day or two, Till Thou Thyself shouldst bear me through; How real Thy presence was to me ! How precious Thy Reality ! Reality, reality, Lord Jesus Christ Thou art to me; Thy name is sweeter than songs of old, Thy words are better than “most fine gold,” Thy deeds are greater than hero-glory, Thy life is grander than poet story; But Thou, Thyself for aye the same Art more than words and life and name ! Thyself Thou hast revealed to me, In glorious reality. Reality, reality, Lord Jesus Christ is crowned in Thee, In Thee is every type fulfilled, In Thee is every yearning stilled For perfect beauty, truth and love: For Thou art always far above The grandest glimpse of our Ideal, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 327 Yet more and more we know Thee real, And marvel more and more to see Thine infinite Reality. Reality, reality, Lord Jesus Christ Thou art to me ! My glorious king, my Lord, my God, Life is too short for half the laud, For half the debt of praise I owe, For this blest knowledge that “I know The reality of Jesus Christ,” — Unmeasured blessing, gift unpriced ! Will I not praise Thee when I see In the long noon of Eternity Unveiled, Thy “bright reality”? THAT HOLY THING George MacDonald They all were looking for a king To slay their foes and lift them high : Thou cam’st, a little baby thing That made a woman cry. O son of Man, to right my lot Naught but thy presence can avail ; Yet on the road thy wheels are not, Nor on the seas thy sail. ON THE MORNING OF CHRISTS NATIVITY John Milton This is the month, and this the happy morn, Wherein the Son of Heaven’s eternal King, Of wedded maid and virgin mother born, Our great redemption from above did bring; 328 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY For so the holy sages once did sing, That he our deadly forfeit should release, And with his Father work us a perpetual peace. That glorious form, that light unsufferable, And that far-beaming blaze of majesty, Wherewith he wont at Heaven’s high council-table To sit the midst of Trinal Unity, He laid aside; and here with us to be, Forsook the courts of everlasting day, And chose with us a darksome house of mortal clay. Say, Heavenly Muse, shall not thy sacred vein Afford a present to the Infant God? Hast thou no verse, no hymn, or solemn strain, To welcome him to this his new abode, Now while the heaven, by the sun’s team untrod, Hath took no print of the approaching light, And all the spangled host keep watch in squadrons bright See how from far upon the eastern road The star-led wisards haste with odours sweet ! Oh ! run, prevent them with thy humble ode, And lay it lowly at his blessed feet; Have thou the honour first my Lord to greet, And join thy voice unto the angel quire, From out his secret altar touched with hallowed fire. The Hymn It was the winter wild, While the heaven-born child All meanly wrapt in the rude mangel lies; Nature, in awe to him, Had doffed her gaudy trim, With her great Master so to sympathize: It was no season then for her To wanton with the sun, her lusty paramour. Only with speeches fair She woos the gentle air To hide her guilty front with innocent snow. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 329 And on her naked shame, Pollute with sinful blame, The saintly veil of maiden white to throw; Confounded, that her Maker’s eyes Should look so near upon her foul deformities. But he, her fears to cease, Sent down the meek-eyed Peace : She, crowned with olive green, came softly sliding Down through the turning sphere, His ready harbinger, With turtle wing the amorous clouds dividing; And waving wide her myrtle wand, She strikes a universal peace through sea and land. No war, or battle’s sound, Was heard the world around; The idle spear and shield were high uphung; The hooked chariot stood Unstained with hostile blood; The trumpet spake not to the armed throng ; And kings sat still with awful eye, As if they surely knew their sovran lord was by. But peaceful was the night Wherein the Prince of Light His reign of peace upon the earth began: The winds, with wonder whist, Smoothly the waters kissed, Whispering new joys to the mild ocean, Who now hath quite forgot to rave, While birds of calm sit brooding on the charmed wave. The stars, with deep amaze, Stand fixed in steadfast gaze, Bending one way their precious influence, And will not take their flight, For all the morning light, Or Lucifer that often warned them thence; But in their glimmering orbs did glow, Until their Lord himself bespake and bid them go. 330 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And though the shady gloom Had given day her room, The sun himself withheld his wonted speed, And hid his head for shame, As his inferior flame The new-enlightened world no more should need: Pie saw a greater Sun appear Than his bright throne or burning axletree could bear. The shepherds on the lawn, Or ere the point of dawn, Sat simply chatting in a rustic row; Full little thought they than, That the mighty Pan Was kindly come to live with them below: Perhaps their loves, or else their sheep. Was all that did their silly thoughts so busy keep. When such music sweet Their hearts and ears did greet As never was by mortal finger strook, Divinely-warbled voice Answering the stringed noise. As all their souls in blissful rapture took : The air, such pleasure loath to lose, With thousand echoes still prolongs each heavenly close. Nature, that heard such sound Beneath the hollow round Of Cynthia’s seat the airy region thrilling, Now was almost won To think her part was done, And that her reign had here its last fulfilling: She knew such harmony alone Could hold all heaven and earth in happier union. At last surrounds their sight A globe of circular light, That with long beams the shame-faced night arrayed GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN The helmed cherubim And sworded seraphim Are seen in glittering ranks with wings displayed, Harping in loud and solemn quire, With unexpressive notes, to Heaven’s new-born heir. Such music (as ’tis said) Before was never made, But when of old the sons of morning sung, ■ While the Creator great His constellations set, And the well-balanced world on hinges hung, And cast the dark foundations deep, And bid the weltering waves their oozy channel keep. Ring out, ye crystal spheres ! Once bless our human ears (If ye have power to touch our senses so), And let your silver chime Move in melodious time ; And let the bass of heaven’s deep organ blow; And with your ninefold harmony Make up full consort to the angelic symphony. For if such holy song Enwrap our fancy long, Time will run back and fetch the age of gold; And speckled Vanity Will sicken soon and die, And leprous Sin will melt from earthly mould; And Hell itself will, pass away, And leave her dolorous mansions to the peering day. Yea, Truth and Justice then Will down return to men, Orbed in a rainbow; and, like glories wearing. Mercy will sit between, Throned in celestial sheen, With radiant feet the tissued clouds down steering; And Heaven, as at some festival, Will open wide the gates of her high Palace Hall. 332 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But wisest Fate says no, This must not yet be so ; The Babe lies yet in smiling infancy That on the bitter cross Must redeem our loss, So both himself and us to glorify: Yet first, to those ychained in sleep, The wakeful trump of doom must thunder through the deep. With such a horrid clang As on Mount Sinai rang, While the red fire and smouldering clouds outbrake; The aged earth, aghast With terror of that blast, Shall from the surface to the center shake, When at the world’s last session, The dreadful Judge in middle air shall spread his throne. And then at last our bliss Full and perfect is, But now begins; for from this happy day The old Dragon underground, In straiter limits bound, Not half so far casts his usurped sway; And wroth to see his kingdom fail, Swinges the scaly horror of his folded tail. The oracles are dumb; No voice or hideous hum Runs through the arched roof in words deceiving. Apollo from his shrine Can no more divine, With hollow shriek the steep of Delphos leaving. No nightly trance, or breathed spell, Inspires the pale-eyed priest from the prophetic cell. The lonely mountains o’er, And the resounding shore, A voice of weeping heard and loud lament; GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 333 From haunted spring, and dale Edged with poplar pale, The parting Genius is with sighing sent; With flower-inwoven tresses torn The Nymphs in twilight shade of tangled thickets mourn. In consecrated earth, And on the holy hearth, The Lars and Lemures moan with midnight plaint; In urns and altars round, A drear and dying sound Affrights the flamens at their service quaint; And the chill marble seems to sweat, While each peculiar power forgoes his wonted seat. Peor and Baalim Forsake their temples dim, With that twice-battered god of Palestine; And mooned Ashtaroth, Heaven’s queen and mother both, Now sits not girt with tapers’ holy shine; The Libyc Hammon shrinks his horn; In vain the Tyrian maids their wounded Thammuz mourn. And sullen Moloch, fled, Hath left in shadows dread His burning idol all of blackest hue; In vain with cymbals’ ring They call the grisly king, In dismal dance about the furnace blue; The brutish gods of Nile as fast, Isis and Orus and the dog Anubis, haste. Nor is Osiris seen In Memphian grove or green, Trampling the unshowered grass with lowings loud; Nor can he be at rest Within his sacred chest; Naught but profoundest Hell can be his shroud; In vain, with timbrelled anthems dark, The sable-stoled sorcerers bear his worshipped ark. 334 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY He feels from Juda’s land The dreaded Infant’s hand; The rays of Bethlehem blind his dusky eyn; Nor all the gods beside Longer dare abide, Not Typhon huge ending in snaky twine : Our Babe, to show his Godhead true, Can in his swaddling bands control the damned crew. So when the sun in bed, Curtained with cloudy red, Pillows his chin upon an orient wave, The flocking shadows pale Troop to the infernal jail, Each fettered ghost slips to his several grave, And the yellow-skirted fays Fly after the night-steeds, leaving their moon-loved maze. But see ! The Virgin blest Hath laid her Babe to rest. Time is our tedious song should here have ending : Heaven’s youngest-teemed star Hath fixed her polished car Her sleeping Lord with handmaid lamp attending; And all about the courtly stable Bright-harnessed angels sit in order serviceable. THE WAY, THE TRUTH, AND THE LIFE Theodore Parker O thou great Friend to all the sons of men, Who once appear’dst in humblest guise below, Sin to rebuke, to break the captive’s chain, To call thy brethren forth from want and woe ! — Thee would I sing. 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. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 335 Yes, thou art still the life; thou art the way The holiest know, — light, life, and way of heaven; And they who dearest hope and deepest pray Toil by the truth, life, way that thou hast given; And in thy name aspiring mortals trust To uplift their bleeding brothers rescued from the dust. MARY’S GIRLHOOD Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect God’s virgin. Gone is a great while, and she Dwelt young in Nazareth of Galilee. Unto God’s will she brought devout respect, Profound simplicity of intellect And supreme patience. From her mother’s knee Faithful and hopeful; wise in charity; Strong in grave peace; in pity circumspect. So held she through her girlhood; as it were An angel-watered lily, that near God Grows and is quiet. Till, one dawn at home She woke in her white bed, and had no fear At all, — yet wept till sunshine, and felt awed : Because the fullness of the time was come. DOMINE QUO VADIS ? William Watson Darkening the azure roof of Nero’s world, From smouldering Rome the smoke of ruin curled; And the fierce populace went clamoring — “These Christian dogs, ’tis they have done this thing!” So to the wild wolf Hate were sacrificed The panting, huddled flock whose crime was Christ. 336 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Now Peter lodged in Rome, and rose each morn Looking to be ere night in sunder torn By those blind hands that with inebriate zeal Burned the strong saints, or broke them on the wheel, Or flung them to the lions to make mirth For dames that ruled the lords that ruled the earth. And unto him their towering rocky hold, Repaired those sheep of the Good Shepherd’s fold In whose white fleece as yet no blood or foam Bear witness to the ravening fangs of Rome. “More light, more cheap,” they cried, “we hold our lives Than chaff the flail or dust the whirlwind drives: As chaff they are winnowed and as dust are blown; Nay, they are nought; but priceless is thine own. Not in yon streaming shambles must thou die; We counsel, we entreat, we charge thee, fly!” And Peter answered: “Nay, my place is here; Through the dread storm, this ship of Christ I steer. Blind is the tempest, deaf the roaring tide, And I, His pilot, at the helm abide.” Then One stood forth, the flashing of whose soul Enrayed his presence like an aureole. Eager he spake ; his fellows, ere they heard, Caught from his eyes the swift and leaping word: “Let us His vines, be in the wine-press trod, And poured a beverage for the lips of God; “Or, ground as wheat of His eternal field, Bread for His table let our bodies yield. Behold, the church hath other use for thee ; Thy safety is her own, and thou must flee. Ours be the glory at her call to die, But quick and whole God needs His great ally.” And Peter said : “Do lords of spear and shield Thus leave their hosts uncaptained on the field, And from some mount of prospect watch afar The havoc of the hurricane of war ? GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 337 Yet, if He wills it . . . Nay, my task is plain, — To serve, and to endure, and to remain. But weak I stand, and I beseech you all Urge me no more, lest at a touch I fall.” There knelt a noble youth at Peter’s feet, And like a viol’s strings his voice was sweet. A suppliant angel might have pleaded so, Crowned with the splendor of some suppliant woe. He said : “My sire and brethren yesterday The heathen did with ghastly torments slay. Pain, like a worm, beneath their feet they trod. Their souls went up like incense unto God. An offering richer yet, can Heaven require? O live, and be my brethren and my sire.” And Peter answered: “Son, there is no small need That thou exhort me to the easier deed. Rather I would that thou and these had lent Strength to uphold, not shatter, my intent. Already my resolve is shaken sore. I pray thee, if thou love me, say no more.” And even as he spake, he went apart, Somewhat to hide the brimming of his heart, Wherein a voice came flitting to and fro, That now said “Tarry!” and anon said “Go!” And louder every moment, “Go !” it cried, And “Tarry!” to a whisper sank and died. And as a leaf when summer is o’erpast Hangs trembling ere it fall in some chance blast. So hung his trembling purpose and fell dead ; And he arose and hurried forth and fled, Darkness conniving, through the Capuan gate, From all that heaven of love, that hell of hate, To the Campania glimmering wide and still, And strove to think he did his Master’s will. But spectral eyes and mocking tongues pursued, And with vague hands he fought a phantom brood. Doubts, like a swarm of gnats, o’erhung his flight, And, “Lord,” he prayed, “Have I not done aright?” 338 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Can I not, living, more avail for Thee Than whelmed in yon red storm of agony? The tempest, it shall pass and I remain, Not from its fiery sickle saved in vain. Are there no seeds to sow, no desert lands Waiting the tillage of these eager hands, That I should beastlike ’neath the butcher fall, More fruitlessly than oxen from the stall ? Is earth so easeful, is men’s hate so sweet, Are thorns so welcome unto sleepless feet, Have death and heaven so feeble lures, that I, Choosing to live, should win rebuke thereby? Not mine the dread of pain, the lust of bliss! Master, who judgest, have I done amiss?” Lo, on the darkness brake a wandering ray : A vision flashed along the Appian Way, Divinely in the pagan night it shone — A mournful Face — a Figure hurrying on — Though haggard and dishevelled, frail and worn, A King, of David’s lineage, crowned with thorn. “Lord, whither farest ?” Peter, wondering, cried. “To Rome,” said Christ, “to be re-crucified.” Into the night the vision ebbed like breath; And Peter turned, and rushed on Rome and death THE LEPER Nathaniel P. Willis “Room for the leper! Room!” and as he came The cry passed on. “Room for the leper! Roomt*’ And aside they stood — Matron, and child, and pitiless manhood — all Who met him on his way — and let him pass. And onward through the open gate he came, A leper, with ashes on his brow, Sackcloth about his loins, and on his lip GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 339 A covering — stepping painfully and slow, And with difficult utterance, like one Whose heart is with an iron nerve put down, Crying, “Unclean ! unclean !” For Helon was a leper! Day was breaking, When at the altar of the temple stood The holy priest of God. The incense lamp Burned with a struggling light, and a low chant Swelled through the hollow arches of the roof, Like an articulate wail ; and there, alone, Wasted to ghastly thinness, Helon knelt. The echoes of the melancholy strain Died in the distant aisles, and he rose up, Struggling with weakness; and bowed his head Unto the sprinkled ashes, and put off His costly raiment for the leper’s garb, And with the sackcloth round him, and his lip Hid in the loathsome covering, stood still, Waiting to hear his doom: — “Depart! depart, O child Of Israel from the temple of thy God ! For he has smote thee with his chastening rod, And to the desert wild, From all thou lovest, away thy feet must flee, That from thy plague his people may be free. “Depart ! and come not near The busy mart, the crowded city more; Nor set thy foot a human threshold o’er; And stay thou not to hear Voices that call thee in the way, and fly From all who in the wilderness pass by. “Wet not thy burning lip In streams that to a human dwelling glide; Nor rest thee where the covert fountains hide; Nor kneel thee down to dip I 340 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The water where the pilgrim bends to drink, By desert well, or river’s grassy brink. “And pass thou not between The weary traveller and the cooling breeze; And lie not down to sleep beneath the trees Where human tracks are seen. Nor milk the goat that browseth on the plain, Nor pluck the standing corn, or yellow grain. “And now, depart ! and when Thy heart is heavy, and thine eyes are dim. Lift up thy prayer beseechingly to Llim Who, from the tribes of men, Selected thee to feel His chastening rod: — Depart, O leper, and forget not God !’’ And he went forth, — alone ! Not one, of all The many whom he loved, nor she whose name Was woven in the fibres of his heart, Breaking within him now, to come and speak Comfort unto him. Yea, he went his way, Sick and heart-broken and alone, — to die ! For God had cursed the leper! It was noon, And Helon knelt beside a stagnant pool In the lone wilderness, and bathed his brow. Hot with the burning leprosy, and touched The loathsome water to his fevered lips, Praying he might be so blessed, — to die ! Footsteps approached, and, with no strength to flee He drew the covering closer on his lip, Crying, “Unclean, unclean!” and, in the folds Of the coarse sackcloth, shrouding up his face, He fell upon the earth till they should pass. Nearer the stranger came, and bending o’er The leper’s prostrate form, pronounced his name, “Helon! Arise!” The voice was like the master-tone Of a rich instrument, — most strangely sweet; And the dull pulses of disease awoke, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 34i And for a moment beat beneath the hot And leprous scales with a restoring thrill. “Helon, Arise !” And he forgot his curse, And rose, and stood before him. Love and awe Mingled in the regard of Helon’s eye As he beheld the stranger. He was not In costly raiment clad, nor on his brow The symbol of a princely lineage wore ; No followers at his back, nor in his hand Buckler, sword, or spear; yet in his mien Command sat throned serene, and, if he smiled, A kingly condescension graced his lips, The lion would have crouched to in his lair. His garb was simple, and his sandals worn; His statue modelled with a perfect grace; His countenance the impress of a God, Touched with the open innocence of a child; Llis eye was blue and calm, as is the sky In the serenest noon; his hair unshorn Fell to his shoulders; and his curling beard The fullness of perfected manhood bore. He looked on Helon earnestly awhile, As if his heart was moved, and, stooping down, He took a little water in his hand And laid it on his brow and said, “Be clean !” And lo ! the scales fell from him, and his blood Coursed with delicious coolness through his veins, And his dry palms grew moist, and on his brow The dewy softness of an infant stole. His leprosy was cleansed, and he fell down Prostrate at Jesus’ feet and worshipped hira. 342 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 2. Recent TO THE CHRISTIANS Francis Adams (English Poet and Rebel) Take, then, your paltry Christ, Your gentleman God. We want the carpenter’s son, With his saw and hod. We want the man who loved The poor and the oppressed, Who hated the Rich man and the King And the Scribe and the Priest. V We want the Galilean Who knew the cross and rod. It’s your “good taste” that prefers A bastard “God.” THE KINGS OF THE EAST Katharine Lee Bates I The Kings of the East are riding To-night to Bethlehem. The sunset glows dividing, The Kings of the East are riding; A star their journey guiding, Gleaming with gold and gem The Kings of the East are riding To-night to Bethlehem. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN II 343 To a strange sweet harp of Zion The starry host troops forth; The golden glaived Orion To a strange sweet harp of Zion; The Archer and the Lion, The watcher of the North; To a strange sweet harp of Zion The starry host troops forth. Ill There beams above a manger The child-face of a star; Amid the stars a stranger, It beams above a manger; What means this ether-ranger To pause where poor folk are? There beams above a manger The child-face of a star. CRUCIFIXION Eva Gore Booth In the crowd’s multitudinous mind Terror and passion embrace, Whilst the darkness heavily blind Hides face from horror-struck face; And all men, huddled and dumb, Shrink from the death-strangled cry, And the hidden terror to come, And the dead men hurrying by. White gleams from the limbs of the dead Raised high o’er the blood-stained sod, And the soldier shuddered and said, ‘Lo, this was the Son of God.’ Nay, but all Life is one, A wind that wails through the vast, 344 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And this deed is never done, This passion is never past. When any son of man by man’s blind doom On any justest scaffold strangled dies, Once more across the shadow-stricken gloom Against the sun the dark-winged Horror flies, A lost voice cries from the far olive trees Weary and harsh with pain, a desolate cry, What ye have done unto the least of these Is done to God in Heaven, for earth and sky, And bird and beast, green leaves and golden sun, Men’s dreams, the starry dust, the bread, the wine, Rivers and seas, my soul and his, are one Through all things flows one life austere, divine, Strangling the murderer you are slaying me, Scattering the stars and leaves like broken bread, Casting dark shadows on the sun-lit sea, Striking the swallows and the sea-gulls dead, Making the red rose wither to its fall, Darkening the sunshine, blasting the green sod, — Wounding one soul, you wound the soul of all, The unity of Life, the soul of God. A VIRILE CHRIST Rex Boundy Give us a virile Christ for these rough days ! You painters, sculptors, show the warrior bold And you who turn mere words to gleaming gold, Too long your lips have sounded in the praise Of patience and humility. Our ways Have parted from the quietude of old; We need a man of strength with us to hold The very breach of Death without amaze. Did He not scourge from temple courts the thieves? And make the arch-fiend’s self again to fall? And blast the fig-tree that was only leaves? And still the raging tumult of the sea? GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 345 Did He not bear the greatest pain of all. Silent, upon the cross on Calvary? THE POET Witter Bynner A poet lived in Galilee Whose mother dearly knew him — - And his beauty like a cooling tree Drew many people to him. He loved the speech of simple men And little children’s laughter; He came, they always came again, He went — they followed after. He had sweet-hearted things to say, And he was solemn only When people were unkind . . . that day; He’d stand there straight and lonely And tell them what they ought to do; “Love other folk,” he pleaded, “As you love me and I love you !” But almost no one heeded. A poet died in Galilee They stared at him and slew him . . . What would they do to you and me If we should say we knew him? COMRADE JESUS Sarah N. Cleghorn Thanks to St. Matthew, who had been At mass-meetings in Palestine, We knew whose side was spoken for When Comrade Jesus took the floor. 346 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY “Where sore they toil and hard they lie, Among the great unwashed, dwell I : — The tramp, the convict, I am he; Cold-shoulder him, cold-shoulder me.” By Dives’ door, with thoughtful eye, He did tomorrow prophesy : — “The kingdom’s gate is low and small ; The rich can scarce wedge through at all.” “A dangerous man,” said Caiaphas, “An ignorant demagogue, alas ! Friend of low women, it is he Slanders the upright Pharisee.” For law and order, it was plain, For Holy Church, he must be slain. The troops are there to awe the crowd: And violence was not allowed. \ Their clumsy force with force to foil His strong, clean hands he would not soil. He saw their childishness quite plain Between the lightnings of his pain. Between the twilights of his end, He made his fellow-felon friend: With swollen tongue and blinded eyes, Invited him to paradise. Ah, let no Local him refuse ! Comrade Jesus hath paid his dues. Whatever other be debarred, Comrade Jesus hath his red card. CHRIST, THE MAN William Henry Davies Lord, I say nothing : I profess No faith in Thee nor Christ Thy Son: Yet no man ever heard me mock A true believing one. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 347 If knowledge is not great enough To give a man believing power, Lord he must wait in Thy great hand Till revelation’s hour. Meanwhile he’ll follow Christ the man In that humanity He taught # Which to the poor and the oppressed, Gives its best time and thought. THE JEW TO JESUS Florence Kiper Frank O Man of mine own people, I alone Among these alien ones can know thy face, I who have felt the kinship of thy race Burn in me, as I sit where they intone Thy praises, — those who, striving to make known A God for sacrifice, have missed the grace Of thy sweet human meaning in its place, Thou who art of our blood-bond and our own. Are we not sharers of thy passion? Yea, In spirit-anguish closely by thy side We have drained the bitter cup, and, tortured, felt With thee the bruising of each heavy welt. Every land is our Gethsemane. A thousand times have we been crucified. THE SECOND CRUCIFIXION Richard le Gallienne Loud mockers in the roaring street Say Christ is crucified again: Twice pierced his gospel-bearing feet, Twice broken his great heart in vain. 348 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I hear and to myself I smile, For Christ talks with me all the while. No angel now to roll the stone From off his unawaking sleep, In vain shall Mary watch alone, In vain the soldiers vigil keep. Yet while they deem my Lord is dead My eyes are on his shining head. Ah ! nevermore shall Mary hear That voice exceeding sweet and low Within the garden calling clear: Her Lord is gone, and she must go. Yet all the while my Lord I meet In every London lane and street. Poor Lazarus shall wait in vain, And Bartimeus still go blind; The healing hem shall ne’er again Be touched by suffering humankind. Yet all the while I see them rest, The poor and outcast, on His breast. No more unto the stubborn heart With gentle knocking shall he plead, No more the mystic pity start, For Christ twice dead is dead indeed. So in the street I hear men say, Yet Christ is with me all the day. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 349 A GUARD OF THE SEPULCHER Edwin Markham I was a Roman soldier in my prime; Now age is on me and the yoke of time. I saw your Risen Christ, for I am he Who reached the hyssop to Him on the tree; And I am one of two who watched beside The Sepulcher of Him we crucified. All that last night I watched with sleepless eyes; Great stars arose and crept across the skies. The world was all too still for mortal rest. For pitiless thoughts were busy in my breast. The night was long, so long, it seemed at last I had grown old and a long life had passed. Far off the hills of Moab, touched with light, Were swimming in the hollow of the night. I saw Jerusalem all wrapped in cloud, Stretched like a dead thing folded in a shroud. Once in the pauses of our whispered talk I heard a something on the garden walk. Perhaps it was a crisp leaf lightly stirred — Perhaps the dream-note of a waking bird. Then suddenly an angel burning white Came down with earthquake in the breaking light, And rolled the great stone from the Sepulcher, Mixing the morning with a scent of myrrh. And lo, the Dead had risen with the day : The Man of Mystery had gone His way ! Years have I wandered, carrying my shame; Now let the Tooth of Time eat out my name. For we, who all the Wonder might have told, Kept silence, for our mouths were stopped with gold. 350 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY CALVARY Edwin Arlington Robinson Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow, Faint for the flesh, but for the spirit free Stung by the mob that came to see the show, The Master toiled along to Calvary; We jibed him, as he went, with houndish glee, Till his dimmed eyes for us did overflow; We cursed his vengeless hands thrice wretchedly, — And this was nineteen hundred years ago. But after nineteen hundred years the shame Still clings, and we have not made good the loss That outraged faith has entered in his name. Ah, when shall come love’s courage to be strong ! Tell me, O Lord — tell me, O Lord, how long Are we to keep Christ writhing on the cross ! TO A CONTEMPORARY BUNKSHOOTER Carl Sandburg You come along . . . tearing your shirt . . . yelling about Jesus. Where do you get that stuff? What do you know about Jesus? Jesus had a way of talking soft and outside of a few bankers and higher-ups among the con men of Jerusalem every¬ body liked to have this Jesus around because he never made any fake passes and everything he said went and he helped the sick and gave the people hope. You come along squirting words at us, shaking your fist and calling us all damn fools so fierce the froth slobbers over your lips . . . always blabbing we’re all going to hell straight off and you know all about it. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 35i I’ve read Jesus’ words. I know what he said. You don’t throw any scare into me. I’ve got your number. I know how much you know about Jesus. He never came near clean people or dirty people but they felt cleaner because he came along. It was you crowd of bankers and business men and lawyers who hired the sluggers and murderers who put Jesus out of the running. I say the same bunch backing you nailed the nails into the hands of this Jesus of Nazareth. He had lined up against him the same crooks and strong-arm men now lined up with you paying your way. This Jesus was good to look at, smelled good, listened good. He threw out something fresh and beautiful from the skin of his body and the touch of his hands wherever he passed along. Tou slimy bunkshooter, you put a smut on every human blossom in reach of your rotten breath belching about hell-fire and hiccupping about this Man who lived a clean life in Galilee. When are you going to quit making the carpenters build emer¬ gency hospitals for women and girls driven crazy with wrecked nerves from your gibberish about Jesus — I put it to you again : where do you get that stufif ; what do you know about Jesus? Go ahead and bust all the chairs you want 'to. Smash a whole wagon load of furniture at every performance. Turn sixty somersaults and stand on your nutty head. If it wasn’t for the way you scare the women and kids I’d feel sorry for you and pass the hat. I like to watch a good four-flusher work, but not when he starts people puking and calling for the doctors. I like a man that’s got nerve and can pull off a great original performance, but you — you’re only a bug-house peddler of second-hand gospel — you’re only shoving out a phoney imitation of the goods this Jesus wanted free as air and sunlight. 352 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY You tell people living in shanties Jesus is going to fix it up all right with them by giving them mansions in the skies after they’re dead and the worms have eaten ’em. You tell $6 a week department store girls all they need is Jesus; you take a steel trust wop, dead without having lived, gray and shrunken at forty years of age, and you tell him to look at Jesus on the cross and he’ll be all right. You tell poor people they don’t need any more money on pay day and even if it’s fierce to be out of a job, Jesus’ll fix that up all right, all right — all they gotta do is take Jesus the way you say. I’m telling you Jesus wouldn’t stand for the stuff you’re handing out. Jesus played it different. The bankers and lawyers of Jerusalem got their sluggers and murderers to go after Jesus just because Jesus wouldn’t play their game. He didn’t sit in with the big thieves. I don’t want a lot of gab from a bunkshooter in my religion. I won’t take my religion from any man who never works except with his mouth and never cherishes any memory except the face of the woman on the American silver dollar. I ask you to come through and show me where you’re pouring out the blood of your life. I’ve been to this suburb of Jerusalem they call Golgotha, where they nailed Him, and I know if the story is straight it was real blood ran from His Hands and the nail-holes, and it was real blood spurted in red drops where the spear of the Roman soldier rammed in between the ribs of this Jesus of Nazareth. THE REDEEMER Siegfried Sassoon DARKNESS: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep; It was past twelve on a mid-winter night, When peaceful folk in beds lay snug asleep ; There, with much work to do before the light, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 353 We lugged our clay-sucked boots as best we might Along the trench ; sometimes a bullet sang, And droning shells burst with a hollow bang; We were soaked, chilled and wretched, every one. Darkness : the distant wink of a huge gun. I turned in the black ditch, loathing the storm; A rocket fizzed, and burned with blanching flare, And lit the face of what had been a form Foundering in the mirk. Fie stood before me there: I say that he was Christ; stiff in the glare, And leaning forward from his burdening task, Both arms supporting it; his eyes on mine Stared from the woful head that seemed a mask Of mortal pain in Hell’s unholy shrine. No thorny crown, only a woolen cap He wore — an English soldier, white and strong, Who loved his time like any simple chap, Good days of work and sport and homely song; Now he has learned that nights are very long, And dawn a watching of the windowed sky. But to the end, unjudging, he’ll endure Horror and pain, not uncontent to die That Lancaster on Lune may stand secure. He faced me, reeling in his weariness, Shouldering his load of planks, so hard to bear. I say that he was Christ, who wrought to bless All groping things with freedom bright as air, And with His mercy washed and made them fair. Then the flame sank, and all grew black as pitch, While we began to struggle along in the ditch ; And someone flung his burden in the muck, Mumbling: “O Christ Almighty, now I’m stuck.” 354 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE GREAT MAN Eunice Tietjens I cannot always feel His greatness, Sometimes He walks beside me, step by step. And paces slowly in the ways — The simple, wingless ways That my thoughts tread. He gossips with me then, And finds it good; Not as an eagle might, Llis great wings folded, be content, To walk a little, knowing is His choice. But as a simple man, And I forget. Then suddenly a call floats down From the clear airy spaces, The great keen, lonely heights of being. And He who was my comrade hears the call And rises from my side, and soars, Deep-chanting, to the heights. Then I remember. And my upward gaze goes with him, and I see Far off against the sky The glint of golden sunlight on His wings. A LOST WORD OF JESUS Henry van Dyke Hear the word that Jesus spake Eighteen centuries ago, Where the crimson lilies blow Round the blue Tiberian lake: There the bread of Life he brake, Through the fields of harvest walking With his lowly comrades, talking Of the secret thoughts that feed GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 355 Weary hearts in time of need. Art thou hungry? Come and take; Hear the word that Jesus spake. ’Tis tne sacrament of labor; meat and drink divinely blest, Friendship’s food, and sweet refreshment; strength and courage, joy and rest. Yet this word the Master said, Long ago and far away, Silent and forgotten lay Buried with the silent dead, — - Where the sands of Egypt spread, Sea-like, tawny billows heaping Over ancient cities sleeping; While the river Nile between Rolls its summer flood of green, Rolls its autumn flood of red, — There the word the Master said Written on a frail papyrus, scorched by fire, wrinkled, torn, Hidden in God’s hand, was waiting for its resurrection morn. Hear the Master’s risen word ! Delving spades have set it free, — Wake ! the world has need of thee, — Rise, and let thy voice be heard, Like a fountain disinterred. Upward-springing, singing, sparkling; Through the doubtful shadows darkling; Till the clouds of pain and rage Brooding, o’er the toiling age, As with rifts of light are stirred By the music of the word ; Gospel for the heavy-laden, answer to the labourer’s cry ; “Raise the stone and thou shalt find me; cleave the wood, and there am I.” 356 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY C. REVEALED IN THE GUIDANCE OF INDIVIDUAL LIVES A GOOD BISHOP Anonymous, ioth Century A.D. (Old High German) Translated by Wm. Taylor Before St. Anno Six were sainted Of our holy bishops. Like the seven stars They shall shine from heaven. Purer and brighter Is the light of Anno Than a hyacinth set in a gold ring ! This darling man We will have for a pattern; And those that would grow In virtue and trustiness Shall dress by him as at a mirror. As the sun in the air Between earth and heaven Glitters to both — So went Bishop Anno Between God and man. Such was his virtue in the palace That the emperor obeyed him; He behaved with honour to both sides And was counted among the first barons. In his gestures at worship He was awful as an angel Many a man knew his goodness. Hear what were his manners — GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 357 His words were frank and open; He spoke truth fearing no man; Like a lamb he sat among princes, Like a lamb he walked among the people: To the unruly he was sharp; To the gentle he was mild: Widows and orphans praised him always. Preaching and praying No one could do better. Happy was Cologne To be worthy of such a bishop ! RABBI BEN EZRA Robert Browning Grow old along with me ! The best is yet to be, The last of life, for which the first was made : Our times are in His hand Who saith “A whole I planned, Youth shows but half; trust God: see all, nor be afraid!” Not that, amassing flowers, Youth sighed, “Which rose make ours, Which lily leave and then as best recall !” Not that, admiring stars, It yearned “Nor Jove, nor Mars; Mine be some figured flame which blends, transcends them all !” Not for such hopes and fears Annulling youth’s brief years, Do I remonstrate : folly wide the mark ! Rather I prize the doubt Low kinds exist without, Finished and finite clods, untroubled by a spark. 358 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Poor vaunt of life indeed, Were man but formed to feed On joy, to solely seek and find and feast: Such feasting ended, then As sure an end to men; Irks care the crop-full bird? Frets doubt the maw-crammed beast ? Rejoice we are allied To That which doth provide And not partake, effect and not receive ! A spark disturbs our clod; Nearer we hold of God Who gives, than of Plis tribes that take, I must believe. Then, welcome each rebuff That turns earth’s smoothness rough, Each sting that bids nor sit nor stand but go ! Be our joys three-parts pain! Strive, and hold cheap the strain; Learn, nor account the pang ; dare, never grudge the throe ! For thence, — a paradox Which comforts while it mocks, — Shall life succeed in that it seems to fail: What I aspired to be, And was not, comforts me : A brute I might have been, but would not sink i’ the scale. What is he but a brute Whose flesh has soul to suit, Whose spirit works lest arms and legs want play? To man, propose this test — Thy body at its best, How far can that project thy soul on its lone way? Yet gifts should prove their use: I own the Past profuse Of power each side, perfection every turn: Eyes, ears took in their dole, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 359 Brain treasured up the whole; Should not the heart beat once “How good to live and learn?” Not once beat “Praise be Thine! I see the whole design, I, who saw power, see now love perfect too : Perfect I call Thy plan : Thanks that I was a man ! Maker, remake, complete, — I trust what Thou shalt do !” For pleasant is this flesh; Our soul, in its rose-mesh Pulled ever to the earth, still yearns for rest : Would we some prize might hold To match those manifold Possessions of the brute, — gain most, as we did best ! Let us not always say, “Spite of this flesh to-day I strove, made head, gained ground upon the whole !” As the bird wings and sings, Let us cry, “All good things Are ours, nor soul helps flesh more, now, than flesh helps soul !” Therefore I summon age To grant youth’s heritage, Life’s struggle having so far reached its term: Thence shall I pass, approved A man, for aye removed From the developed brute; a God tho’ in the germ. And I shall thereupon Take rest, ere I be gone Once more on my adventure brave and new: Fearless and unperplexed, When I wage battle next, What weapons to select, what armour to indue. Youth ended, I shall try My gain or loss thereby; 36o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Leave the fire ashes, what survives is gold: And I shall weigh the same, Give life its praise or blame : Young, all lay in dispute; I shall know, being old. For note, when evening shuts, A certain moment cuts The deed off, calls the glory from the gray: A whisper from the west Shoots — “Add this to the rest, Take it and try its worth: here dies another day.” So, still within this life, Tho’ lifted o’er its strife, Let me discern, compare, pronounce at last, “This rage was right i’ the main, That acquiescence vain: The Future I may face now I have proved the Past.” For more is not reserved To man, with soul just nerved To act to-morrow what he learns to-day : Here, work enough to watch The Master work, and catch Hints of the proper craft, tricks of the tool’s true play. As it was better, youth Should strive, thro’ acts uncouth, Toward making, than repose on aught found made: So, better, age, exempt From strife, should know, than tempt Further. Thou waitedst age : wait death, nor be afraid ! Enough now, if the Right And Good and Infinite Be named here, as thou callest thy hand thine own, With knowledge absolute, Subject to no dispute From fools that crowded youth, nor let thee feel alone. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 361 Be there, for once and all, Severed great minds from small, Announced to each his station in the Past ! Was I, the world arraigned, Were they, my soul disdained, Right? Let age speak the truth and give us peace at last! Now, who shall arbitrate? Ten men love what I hate, Shun what I follow, slight what I receive; Ten, who in ears and eyes Match me : we all surmise, They this thing, and I that : whom shall my soul believe ? Not on the vulgar mass Called “work,” must sentence pass, Things done, that took the eye and had the price; O’er which, from level stand, The low world laid its hand, Found straightway to its mind, could value in a trice: But all, the world’s coarse thumb And finger failed to plumb, So passed in making up the main account: All instincts immature, All purposes unsure, That weighed not as his work, yet swelled the man’s amount: Thoughts hardly tb be packed Into a narrow act, Fancies that broke thro’ 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!” 362 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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. He fixed thee mid this dance Of plastic circumstance, This Present, thou forsooth, wouldst fain arrest: Machinery just meant To give thy soul its bent, Try thee and turn thee forth, sufficiently impressed. What tho’ the earlier grooves Which ran the laughing loves Around thy base, no longer pause and press? What tho’ about thy rim, Skull-things in order grim Grow out, in graver mood, obey the sterner stress? Look not thou down but up ! To uses of a cup The festal board, lamp’s flash and trumpet’s peal, The new wine’s foaming flow, The Master’s lips a-glow ! Thou, heaven’s consummate cup, what needst thou with earth’ wheel ? But I need, now as then, Thee, God, who mouldest men ! And since, not even while the whirl was worst, Did I, — to the wheel of life With shapes and colours rife, Bound dizzily, — mistake my end, to slake Thy thirst: So take and use thy work. Amend what flaws may lurk What strain o’ the stuff, what workings hast the aim! My times be in Thy hand ! Perfect the cup as planned ! Let age approve of youth and death complete the same! GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 363 THE GOOD PARSON Chaucer Translated by H. C. Leonard The parson of a country town was he Who knew the straits of humble poverty; But rich he was in holy thought and work, Nor less in learning as became a clerk. The word of Christ most truly did he preach, And his parishioners devoutly teach. Benign was he, in labors diligent, And in adversity was still content — As proved full oft. To all his flock a friend, Averse was he to ban or to contend When tithes were due. Much rather was he fond, Unto his poor parishioners around, Of his own substance and his dues to give, Content on little, for himself to live. Wide was his parish, scattered far asunder, Yet none did he neglect, in rain, or thunder. Sorrow and sickness won his kindly care ; With staff in hand he travelled everywhere. This good example to his sheep he brought That first he wrought, and afterwards he taught. This parable he joined the Word unto — That, “If gold rust, what shall iron do?” For if a priest be foul in whom we trust, No wonder if a common man should rust ! And shame it were, in those the flock who keep For shepherds to be foul yet clean the sheep. Well ought a priest example fair to give, By his own cleanness, how his sheep should live. He did not put his benefice to hire, And leave his sheep encumbered in the mire, Then haste to St. Pauls in London Town, To seek a chantry where to settle down, And there at least to sing the daily mass, 364 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Or with a brotherhood his time to pass. He dwelt at home, with watchful care to keep From prowling wolves his well-protected sheep Though holy in himself and virtuous He still to sinful men was piteous, Not sparing of his speech, in vain conceit, But in his teaching kindly and discreet. To draw his flock to heaven with noble art, By good example, was his holy art. Nor less did he rebuke the obstinate, Whether they were of high or low estate. For pomp and worldly show he did not care, No morbid conscience made his rule severe. The lore of Christ and his apostles twelve He taught, but first he followed it himself. HYMN TO ST. TERESA Richard Crashaw Love, thou art Absolute sole lord Of Life and Death. To prove the word, We’ll now appeal to none of all Those thy old Soldiers, great and tall Ripe Men of Martyrdom, that could reach down With strong arms, their triumphant crown; Such as could with lusty breath Speak loud into the face of death Their great Lord’s glorious name, to none Of those whose spatious Bosomes spread a throne For Love at large to fill, spare blood and sweat; And take him to a private seat, Making his mansion in the mild And milky soul of a soft child. Scarse had she learn’d to lisp the name Of Martyr; yet she thinks it shame Life should so long play with that breath Which spent can buy so brave a death. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 365 She never undertook to know What death with love should have to doe; Nor has she e’er yet understood Why to show love, she should shed blood Yet though she cannot tell you why, She can Love, and she can DY. Scarse has she Blood enough to make A guilty sword blush for her sake; Yet has she a Heart dares hope to prove How much less strong is Death than Love. Be love but there; let six poor yeares Be posed with the maturest Feares Man trembles at, you straight shall find Love knows no nonage, nor the Mind. ’Tis Love, not yeares or Limbs that can Make the Martyr, or the man. Love touch’t her Heart, and lo it beates High, and burnes with such brave heates; Such thirstes to dy, as dares drink up, A thousand cold deaths in one cup. Good reason. For she breathes all fire. Her (weake) brest heaves with strong desire Of what she may with fruitless wishes Seek for amongst her Mother’s kisses, Since ’tis not to be had at home She’ll travail to a Martyrdom. No home for hers confesses she But where she may a Martyr be. She’ll to the Moores ; and trade with them, For this unvalued Diadem. She’ll offer them here dearest Breath, With Christ’s Name in’t, in change for death. She’ll bargain with them; and will give Them God; teach them how to live In him: or, if this they deny, For him she’ll teach them how to DY. So shall she leave amongst them sown Her Lord’s Blood; or at least her own. Farewell then, all the world! Adieu. Teresa is no more for you. 366 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Farewell, all pleasures, sports and joyes, (Never till now esteemed toyes,) (Farewell what ever deare may be,) Mother’s armes or Father’s knee. Farewell house, and farewell home! She’s for the Moores and Martyrdom. Sweet, not so fast ! lo thy fair Spouse Whom thou seekst with so swift vowes. Calls thee back, and bids thee come T’embrace a milder Martyrdom. Blest powres forbid, Thy tender life; Should bleed upon a barbarous knife; Or some base hand have power to race Thy Brest’s chaste cabinet, and uncase A soul kept there so sweet, O no; Wise heaven will never have it so. Thou art love’s victime ; and must dy A death more mystical and high. Into love’s armes thou shalt let fall A still — surviving funerall. His is the Dart must make the Death Whose stroke shall taste thy hallow’d breath; A Dart thrice dipt in that rich flame Which writes thy spouse’s radiant Name Upon the roof of Heav’n; where ay It shines, and with a sovereign ray Beates bright upon the burning faces Of soules which in that names sweet graces Find everlasting smiles. So rare, So spirituall, pure, and fair Must be th’ immortall instrument Upon whose choice point shall be sent A life so lov’d; and that there be Fit executioners for Thee, The fairest and first-born sons of fire, Blest Seraphim, shall leave their quire And turn love’s souldiers, upon Thee To exercise their archerie. O how oft shalt thou complain Of a sweet and subtle Pain. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN Of intolerable Joyes; Of a Death, in which who dyes Loves his death and dyes again. And would forever be so slain. And lives, and dyes; and knowes not why To live, But that he thus may never leave to DY. How kindly will thy gentle Heart Kisse the sweetly-killing dart ! And close in his embraces keep Those delicious Wounds, that weep Balsom to heal themselves with. Thus When These thy Deaths, so numerous, Shall all at last dy into one, And melt thy soul’s sweet mansion; Like a soft lump of incense, hasted By too hot a fire, and wasted Into perfuming clouds, so fast Shalt thou exhale to Heav’n at last In a resolving Sigh, and then O what? Ask not the Tongues of men. Angells cannot tell, suffice, Thyselfe shall feel thine own full joyes And hold them fast forever there So soon as you first appear, The Moon of maiden stars, thy white Mistresse, attended by such bright Soules as thy shining self, shall come And in her first rankes make thee room; Where mongst her snowy family Immortal well-comes wait for thee. O what delight, when revealed Life shall stand And teach thy lipps heav’n with his hand; On which thou now maist to thy wishes Heap up thy consecrated kisses. What joyes shall seize thy soul, when she Bending her blessed eyes on thee (Those second smiles of Heav’n) shall dart Her mild rayes through thy melting heart ! Angels, thy old friends, there shall greet thee Glad at their own home now to meet thee. 368 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY All thy good Workes which went before And waited for thee at the door, Shall own thee there ; and all in one Weave a constellation Of Crowns, with which the King thy spouse Shall bind up thy triumphant browes. All thy old woes shall now smile on thee And thy paines sitt bright upon thee All thy Sufferings be divine. Teares shall take comfort, and turn gemms And wrongs repent to Diadems. Ev’n thy Death shall live ; and new Dresse the soul that erst they slew. Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scarres As keep account of the Lamb’s warres. Those rare Workes where thou shalt leave writt, Love’s noble history, with witt Taught thee by none but him, while here They feed our soules, shall cloth Thine there. Each heav’nly word by whose hid flame Our hard Hearts shall strike fire, the same Shall flourish on thy browes, and be Both fire to us and flame to thee; Whose light shall live bright in thy Face By glory, in our hearts by grace. Thou shalt look round about, and see Thousands of crowned Soules throng to be Themselves thy crown. Sons of thy vowes The virgin-births with which thy sovereign spouse Made fruitful thy fair soul, goe now And with them all about thee bow To Him, put on (He’ll say) put on (My rosy love) That thy rich zone Sparkling with the sacred flames Of thousand soules, whose happy names Heaven keep upon thy score. (Thy bright Life brought them first to kisse the light That kindled them to starrs.) And so Thou with the Lamb, thy lord, shalt goe; And whereso’er he setts his white GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 369 Stepps, walk with Him those wayes of light Which who in death would live to see, Must learn in life to dy like thee. THE SMOOTH DIVINE Timothy Dwight There smiled the Smooth Divine, unused to wound The sinner’s heart with hell’s alarming sound. No terrors on his gentle tongue attend; No grating truths the nicest ear offend. That strange new birth, that methodistic grace, Nor in his heart nor sermons found a place. Plato’s fine tales he clumsily retold, Trite, fireside, moral see-saws, dull as old, — His Christ and Bible placed at good remove, Guilt hell-deserving, and forgiving love. ’Twas best, he said, mankind should cease to sin: Good fame required it ; so did peace within. Their honors, well he knew, would ne’er be driven; But hoped they still would please to go to heaven. Each week he paid his visitation dues; Coaxed, jested, laughed; rehearsed the private news; Smoked with each goody, thought her cheese excelled; Her pipe he lighted and her baby held. Or, placed in some great town, with lacquered shoes, Trim wig, and trimmer gown, and glistening hose, He bowed, talked politics, learned manners mild, Most meekly questioned, and most smoothly smiled; At rich men’s jests laughed loud, their stories praised, Their wives’ new patterns gazed, and gazed, and gazed; Most daintily on pampered turkeys dined, Nor shrunk with fasting, nor with study pined; Yet from their churches saw his brethren driven, Who thundered truth and spoke the voice of heaven. Chilled trembling guilt in Satan’s headlong path, Charmed the feet back, and roused the ear of death. ‘'Let fools,” he cried, “slave on, while prudent I Snug in my nest shall live and snug shall die.” THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE HIGHWAY William Channing Gannett When the night is still and far, Watcher from the shadowed deeps! When the morning breaks its bar, Life that shines and wakes and leaps! When old Bible verses glow, Starring all the deep of thought, Till it fills with quiet dawn From the peace our years have brought,— Sun within both skies, we see How all lights lead back to thee ! ’Cross the field of daily work Run the footpaths, leading — where? Run they east or run they west, One way all the workers fare. Every awful thing of earth, — Sin and pain and battle-noise ; Every dear thing, — baby’s birth, Faces, flowers, or lovers’ joys, — Is a wicket-gate, where we Join the great highway to thee! Restless, restless, speed we on, — Whither in the vast unknown? Not to you and not to me Are the sealed orders shown : But the Hand that built the road, And the Light that leads the feet. And this inward restlessness, Are such invitation sweet, That where I no longer see, Highway still must lead to thee ! GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 371 THE VILLAGE PARSON Oliver Goldsmith From The Deserted Village Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled, And still where many a garden-flower grows wild; There, where a few torn shrubs the place disclose, The village preacher’s modest mansion rose. A man he was to all the country dear, And passing rich with forty pounds a year ; Remote from towns he ran his godly race, Nor e’er had changed, nor wished to change, his place; Unskillful he to fawn, or seek for power, By doctrines fashioned to the varying hour; Far other aims his heart had learned to prize, More skilled to raise the wretched than to rise. His house was known to all the vagrant train, He chid their wanderings but relieved their pain; The long-remembered beggar was his guest, Whose beard descending swept his aged breast ; The ruined spendthrift, now no longer proud, Claimed kindred there, and had his claims allowed; The broken soldier, kindly bade to stay, Sat by the fire and talked the night away; Wept o’er his wounds, or, tales of sorrow done, Shouldered his crutch and showed how fields were won. Pleased with his guests, the good man learned to glow, And quite forgot their vices in their woe ; Careless their merits or their faults to scan, His pity gave ere charity began. Thus to relieve the wretched was his pride, And e’en his failings leaned to Virtue’s side; But in his duty prompt at every call, He watched and wept, he prayed and felt for all. And, as a bird each fond endearment tries To tempt its new-fledged offspring to the skies, He tried each art, reproved each dull delay, 372 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Allured to brighter worlds, and led the way. Beside the bed where parting life was laid, And sorrow, guilt and pain by turns dismayed, The reverend champion stood. At his control Despair and anguish fled the struggling soul ; Comfort came down the trembling wretch to raise, And his last faltering accents whispered praise. At church with meek and unaffected grace, His looks adorned the venerable place; Truth from his lips prevailed with double sway, And fools who came to scoff, remained to pray. The service past, around the pious man, With steady zeal, each honest rustic ran ; Even children followed with endearing wile, And plucked his gown to share the good man’s smile. His ready smile a parent’s warmth expressed; Their welfare pleased him and their cares distrest; To them his heart, his love, his griefs were given, But all his serious thoughts had rest in heaven. As some tall cliff that lifts its awful form Swells from the vale and midway leaves the storm, Tho’ round its breast the rolling clouds are spread. Eternal sunshine settles on its head. From ALL FELLOWS Laurence Housman Dear love, when with a two-fold mind I pray for better grace ; And from my pit of torment find Your breath upon my face, And hear you without thought of fear Bid me to guard you well, And guide your footsteps to win clear — • When my feet walk in hell ; I wonder, how can God be glad To hear men praise Him so GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 373 Who makes His piteous earth so sad A lot to undergo? Or does He too dip Feet in fire And share the thirster’s thirst; And listen to man’s great desire Holding a Heart to burst? IN THE GARDEN OF THE LORD Helen Keller The word of God came unto me, Sitting alone among the multitudes ; And my blind eyes were touched with light. And there was laid upon my lips a flame of fire. I laugh and shout for life is good, Though my feet are set in silent ways. In merry mood I leave the crowd To walk in my garden. Ever as I walk I gather fruits and flowers in my hands. And with joyful heart I bless the sun That kindles all the place with radiant life. I run with playful winds that blow the scent Of rose and jessamine in eddying whirls. At last I come where tall lilies grow, Lifting their faces like white saints to God. While the lilies pray, I kneel upon the ground; I have strayed into the holy temple of the Lord. From THE VISION OF SIR LAUNFAL James Russell Lowell “For Christ’s sweet sake, I beg an alms”; Sir Launfal sees only the grewsome thing, The leper, lank as the rain-blanched bone, That cowers beside him, a thing as lone 374 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And white as the ice-isles of the Northern seas In the desolate horror of his disease. And Sir Launfal said. “I behold in thee The image of Him who died on the tree ; Thou also hast had thy crown of thorns, Thou also hast had the world’s buffets and scorns, And to thy life were not denied The wounds in the hands and feet and side : Mild Mary’s Son, acknowledge me; Behold, through him, I give to thee !” Then the soul of the leper stood up in his eyes And looked at Sir Launfal, and straightway he Remembered in what a haughtier guise He had flung an alms to leprosie, When he girt his young life up in gilded mail And set forth in search of the Holy Grail. The heart within him was ashes and dust; He parted in twain his single crust, He broke the ice on the streamlet’s brink, And gave the leper to eat and drink, "Twas a mouldy crust of coarse brown bread, ’Twas water out of a wooden bowl, — Yet with fine wheaten bread was the leper fed, And ’twas red wine he drank with his thirsty soul. As Sir Launfal mused with a downcast face, A light shone round about the place; The leper no longer crouched at his side But stood before him glorified, Shining and tall and fair and straight, As the pillar that stood by the Beautiful Gate, — Himself the Gate whereby men can Enter the temple of God in Man. His words were shed softer than leaves from the pine, And they fell on Sir Launfal as snows on the brine, Which mingle their softness and quiet in one With the shaggy unrest they float down upon: GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 375 And the voice that was calmer than silence said, “Lo, it is I, be not afraid! In many climes, without avail, Thou has spent thy life for the Holy Grail; Behold, it is here, — this cup which thou Didst fill at the streamlet for me but now; This crust is my body broken for thee, This water His blood that died on the tree; The Holy Supper is kept, indeed, In whatso we share with another’s need; Not what we give, but what we share, For the gift without the giver is bare; Who gives himself with his alms feeds three, — Himself, his hungering neighbor, and Me.” THE MAN WITH THE HOE Written After Seeing Millet’s World-Famous Painting Edwin Markham Bowed by the weight of centuries, he leans Upon his hoe and gazes on the ground, The emptiness of ages in his face, And on his back the burden of the world. Who made him dead to rapture and despair, A thing that grieves not and that never hopes. Stolid and stunned, a brother to the ox? Who loosened and let down this brutal jaw? Whose was the hand that slanted back this brow? Whose breath blew out the light within this brain ? Is this the Thing the Lord God made and gave To have dominion over sea and land; To trace the stars and search the heavens for power; To feel the passion of Eternity? Is this the Dream He dreamed who shaped the suns And pillared the blue firmament with light? Down all the stretch of Hell to its last gulf, There is no shape more terrible than this — More tongued with censure of the world’s blind greed — 376 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY More filled with signs and portents for the soul — More fraught with menace to the universe. What gulfs between him and the seraphim ! Slave of the wheel of labour, what to him Are Plato and the swing of Pleiades? What the long reaches of the peaks of song, The rift of dawn, the reddening of the rose? Through this dread shape the suffering ages look ; Time’s tragedy is in that aching stoop; Through this dread shape humanity betrayed, Plundered, profaned, and disinherited, Cries protest to the Judges of the World, A protest that is also prophesy. O masters, lords and rulers in all lands, Is this the handiwork you give to God, This monstrous thing distorted and soul-quenched? How will you ever straighten up this shape ; Touch it again with immortality; Give back the upward looking and the light ; Rebuild in it the music and the dream; Make right the immemorial infamies, Perfidious wrongs, immedicable woes? O masters, lords, and rulers in all lands, How will the Future reckon with this Man? How answer his brute questions in that hour When whirlwinds of rebellion shake the world ? How will it be with kingdoms and with kings — With those who shaped him to the thing he is — When this dumb Terror shall reply to God After the silence of the centuries? GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 377 d. REVEALED IN HISTORICAL EVENTS THE DESTRUCTION OF SENNACHERIB Lord Byron The Assyrian came down like the wolf on the fold, And his cohorts were gleaming in purple and gold ; And the sheen of their spears was like stars on the sea, When the blue wave rolls nightly on deep Galilee. Like the leaves of the forest when summer is green, That host with their banners at sunset were seen; Like the leaves of the forest when autumn hath blown, That host on the morrow lay withered and strown. For the Angel of Death spread his wings on the blast, And breathed in the face of the foe as he passed; And the eyes of the sleepers waxed deadly and chill, And their hearts but once heaved, and forever grew still ! And there lay the steed with his nostril all wide, But through it there rolled not the breath of his pride : And the foam of his gasping lay white on the turf, And cold as the spray of the rock-beating surf. And there lay the rider distorted and pale, With the dew on his brow and the rust on his mail; And the tents were all silent, the banners alone, The lances unlifted, the trumpet unblown. And the widows of Ashur are loud in their wail, And the idols are broke in the temple of Baal ; And the might of the Gentile, unsmote by the sword, Hath melted like snow in the glance of the Lord ! 378 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY BOSTON HYMN Ralph Waldo Emerson The word of the Lord by night To the watching Pilgrims came, As they sat by the seaside, And filled their hearts with flame. God said, I am tired of kings, I suffer them no more ; Up to my ear the morning brings The outrage of the poor. Think ye I made this ball A field of havoc and war, Where tyrants great and tyrants small May harry the weak and poor? My angel, — his name is Freedom, — Choose him to be your king; He shall cut pathways east and west, And fend you with his wing. Lo ! I uncover the land Which I hid of old time in the West, As the sculptor uncovers the statue When he has wrought his best; I show Columbia, of the rocks Which dip their foot in the seas And soar to the air-borne flocks Of clouds and the boreal fleece. I will divide my goods; Call in the wretch and slave : None shall rule but the humble, And none but Toil shall have. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 379 I will have never a noble, No lineage counted great; Fishers and choppers and plowmen Shall constitute a state. Go, cut down trees in the forest And trim the straightest boughs ; Cut down trees in the forest And build me a wooden house. Call the people together The young men and the sires, The digger in the harvest field, Hireling and him that hires. And here in a pine state-house They shall choose men to rule In every needful faculty, In church and state and school. Lo, now ! if these poor men Can govern the land and sea And make just laws below the sun, As planets faithful be. And ye shall succor men; 'Tis nobleness to serve; Help them who cannot help again: Beware from right to swerve. I break your bonds and masterships, And I unchain the slave : Free be his heart and hand henceforth As wind and wandering wave. I cause from every creature His proper good to flow ; As much as he is and doeth So much he shall bestow. 380 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But, lay hands on another To coin his labor and sweat, He goes in pawn for his victim For eternal years in debt. Today unbind the captive, So only are ye unbound; Lift up a people from the dust, Trump of their rescue, sound! Pay ransom to the owner And fill the bag to the brim. Who is the owner? The slave is owner, And ever was. Pay him. O North ! Give him beauty for rags And honor, O South ! for his shame ; Nevada ! Coin thy golden crags With Freedom’s image and name. Up ! and the dusky race That sat in darkness long, — Be swift their feet as antelopes, And as Behemoth strong. Come, East and West and North, By races, as snow flakes, And carry my purpose forth, Which neither halts nor shakes. My will fulfilled shall be, For, in daylight or in dark, My thunderbolt has eyes to see His way home to the mark. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN WHO FOLLOWS IN HIS TRAIN? Reginald Heber The Son of God goes forth to war, A kingly crown to gain ; His blood-red banner streams afar; Who follows in his train ? Who best can drink his cup of woe, Triumphant over pain, Who patient bears his cross below : He follows in his train ! That martyr first, whose eagle eye Could pierce beyond the grave; Who saw his master in the sky, And called on him to save ; Like him with pardon on his tongue, In midst of mortal pain, He prayed for those that did the wrong; Who follows in his train? A glorious band, the chosen few, On whom the Spirit came ; Twelve valiant saints their hope they knew, And mocked the cross and flame ; They met the tyrant’s brandished steel, The lion’s gory mane, They bowed their necks the death to feel ! Who follows in their train? A noble army, men and boys, The matron and the maid, Around the Saviour’s throne rejoice, In robes of light arrayed. 382 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They climbed the steep ascent of heaven, Through peril, toil, and pain; Oh God, to us may grace be given To follow in their train! THE AGE IS GREAT AND STRONG Victor Hugo Translated by W. J. Robertson The age is great and strong. Her chains are riven. Thoughts on the march of man her mission sends; Toil’s clamor mounts on human speech to heaven And with the sound divine of nature blends. In cities and in solitary stations Man loves the milk wherewith we nourish him; And in the shapeless block of somber nations Thought molds in dreams new peoples grand and dim. New days draw nigh. Hushed is the riot’s clangor. The Greve is cleansed, the old scaffold crumbling lies. Volcano torrents, like the peoples’ anger, First devastate and after fertilize. New mighty poets, touched by God’s own finger, Shed from inspired brows their radiant beams. Art has fresh valleys where our souls may linger, And drink deep draughts of song from sacred streams. Stone upon stone, remembering antique manners, In times that shake with every storm-tossed wild, The thinker rears these columns crowned with banners Respect for gray old age, love for child. Beneath our roof-tree Duty and Right his father Dwell once again august and honored guests. The outcasts that around our threshold gather Come with less flaming eyes, less hateful breasts. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 383 No longer truth closes her austere portals, Deciphered is each word, each scroll unfurled, Learning the book of Life enfranchised mortals Find a new sense’s secret in the world. O poets ! Iron and steam with fiery forces Lift from the earth, while yet your dreams float round, Time’s ancient load, that clogged the chariot’s courses Crushing with heavy wheels the hard rough ground. Man by his puissant will subdues blind matter; Thinks, seeks, creates; with living breath fulfilled The seeds that nature’s hand store up and scatter Thrill as the forest leaves by winds are thrilled. Yea, all things move and grow. The fleet hours flying Leave each their track. The age has risen up great And now between its luminous banks, far-lying, Man like a broadened river sees his fate. But in this boasted march of wrong and error, ’Mid the vast splendor of an age that glows, One thing, O Jesus, fills my heart with terror; The echo of Thy voice still feebler grows ! CRANMER’S PROPHECY OF QUEEN ELIZABETH William Shakespeare From Henry VIII Let me speak, sir, For Heaven now bids me; and the words I utter Let none think flattery, for they’ll find them truth. This royal infant, (Heaven still move about her!) Though in her cradle, yet now promises Upon this land a thousand thousand blessings, Which time shall bring to ripeness : She shall be (But few now living, can behold that goodness) 384 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A pattern to all princes, living with her, And all, that shall succeed: Sheba was never More covetous of wisdom and fair virtue Than this pure soul shall be : all princely graces, That mould up such a mighty piece as this is, With all the virtues that attend the good, Shall still be doubled on her: Truth shall nurse her, Holy and heavenly thoughts still counsel her : She shall be loved and fear’d : Her own shall bless her : Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow : Good grows with her : In her days, every man shall eat in safety Under his own vine, what he plants ; and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours : God shall be truly known; and those about her From her shall read the perfect ways of honour, And by those claim their greatness, not by blood. Nor shall this peace sleep with her: But as when The bird of wonder dies, the maiden phoenix, Her ashes new create another heir, As great in admiration as herself ; So shall she leave her blessedness to one, (When heaven shall call her from this cloud of darkness,) Who, from the sacred ashes of her honour, Shall star-like rise, as great in fame as she was, And so stand fix’d: Peace, plenty, love, truth, terror, That were the servants to this chosen infant, Shall then be his, and like a vine grow to him; Wherever the bright sun of heaven shall shine. His honour and the greatness of his name Shall be, and make new nations : Lie shall flourish, And, like a mountain cedar, reach his branches To all the plains about him:—-Our children’s children Shall see this, and bless Heaven. 25 — v. 4. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 385 REVEALED IN GROUPS OR ORGANIZATIONS OF INDIVIDUALS i. In the Family THE COTTER’S SATURDAY NIGHT Robert Burns The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face, They, round the ingle, form a circle wide ; The sire turns o’er wi’ patriarchal grace, The big ha’ Bible, ance his father’s pride. His bonnet reverently is laid aside, His lyart haffets wearing thin and bare ; Those strains that once did sweet in Zion glide, He wales a portion with judicious care; And, “Let us worship God !” he says, with solemn air. They chant their artless notes in simple guise, They tune their hearts, by far the noblest aim ; Perhaps Dundee’s wild-warbling measures rise, Or plaintive Martyrs , worthy of the name ; Or noble Elgin beats the heaven-ward flame, The sweetest far of Scotia’s holy lays : Compar’d with these, Italian trills are tame; The tickl’d ear no heart-felt raptures raise ; Nae unison hae they with our Creator’s praise. The priest-like father reads the sacred page, — How Abram was the friend of God on high; Or, Moses bade eternal warfare wage With Amalek’s ungracious progeny; Or, how the royal Bard did groaning lie Beneath the stroke of heaven’s avenging ire; Or Job’s pathetic plaint and wailing cry; Or rapt Isaiah’s wild, seraphic fire ; Or other holy Seers that tune the sacred lyre. 386 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Perhaps the Christian volume is the theme : How guiltless blood for guilty man was shed; How He, who bore in heaven the second name Had not on earth whereon to lay His head; How His first followers and servants sped ; . How precepts sage they wrote to many a land; How He, who lone in Patmos banished, Saw in the sun a mighty angel stand, And heard great Bab’lon’s doom pronounc’d by Heaven’ Command. Then kneeling down to Heaven’s Eternal King, The saint, the father, and the husband prays; Hope ‘springs exulting on triumphant wing,’ That thus they all shall meet in future days, There, ever bask in uncreated rays, No more to sigh or shed the bitter tear, Together hymning their Creator’s praise, In such society, yet still more dear; While circling time moves round in an eternal sphere. Compar’d to this, how poor Religion’s pride, In all the pomp of method and of art; When men display to congregations wide Devotion’s ev’ry grace except the heart ! The Power, incens’d, the pageant will desert, The pompous strain, the sacerdotal stole; But haply, in some cottage far apart, May hear, well-pleas’d, the language of the soul, And in His Book of Life the inmates poor enroll. Then homeward all take off their sev’ral way ; The youngling cottagers retire to rest : The parent pair their secret homage pay, And proffer up to Heaven the warm request, That He who stills the raven’s clam’rous nest, And decks the lily fair in flow’ry pride, Would, in the way His wisdom sees the best, For them and for their little ones provide; But, chiefly, in their hearts with grace divine preside. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 387 From scenes like these, old Scotia’s grandeur springs, That makes her lov’d at home, rever’d abroad : Princes and lords are but the breath of kings, ‘An honest man’s the noblest work of God.’ And certes, in fair Virtue’s heavenly road, The cottage leaves the palace far behind: What is a lordling’s pomp ? A cumbrous load, Disguising oft the wretch of human kind, Studied in arts of Hell, in wickedness refin’d ! O Scotia ! my dear, my native soil ! For whom my warmest wish to heaven is sent! Long may thy hardy sons of rustic toil Be blest with health, and peace, and sweet content ! And oh ! may Heaven their simple lives prevent From Luxury’s contagion, weak and vile! Then, howe’er crowns and coronets be rent, A virtuous populace may rise the while, And stand a wall of fire around their much-lov’d isle. O THOU ! who pour’d the patriotic tide, That stream’d through Wallace’s undaunted heart, Who dar’d to nobly stem tyrannic pride, Or nobly die, the second glorious part; (The patriot’s God, peculiarly thou art, His friend, inspirer, guardian, and reward!) O never, never Scotia’s realm desert; But still the patriot, and the patriot-bard In bright succession raise, her ornament and guard ! LOVE’S VISION Edward Carpenter At night in each other’s arms, Content, overjoyed, resting, deep, deep, down in the darkness, Lo, the heavens opened and He appeared — Whom no mortal eye may see, Whom no eye clouded with Care, 388 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Whom none who seeks after this or that, whom none who has not escaped from self. There — in the region of Equality, in the world of Freedom no longer limited, Standing as a lofty peak in heaven above the clouds, From below hidden, yet to all who pass into that region most clearly visible — He the Eternal appeared. 2. In the City CALM SOUL OF ALL THINGS Matthew Arnold Calm soul of all things ! be it mine To feel amid the city’s jar, That there abides a peace of thine Man did not make and cannot mar ! The will to neither strive nor cry The power to feel with others give ! Calm, calm me more ! nor let me die Before I have begun to live ! EAST LONDON Matthew Arnold ’Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead Smote on the squalid streets of Bethnal Green, And the pale weaver, through his windows seen In Spitalfields, look’d thrice dispirited. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 389 I met a preacher there I knew, and said : “Ill and o’er-worked, how fare you in this scene ?” — “Bravely!” said he; “for I of late have been Much cheered with thoughts of Christ, the living bread.” O human soul ! as long as thou canst so Set up a mark of everlasting light, Above the howling senses’ ebb and flow, To cheer thee, and to right thee if thou roam — Not with lost toil thou laborest through the night ! Thou mak’st the heaven thou hop’st indeed thy home. OVER THE GREAT CITY Edward Carpenter Over the great city Where the wind rushes through the parks and gardens, In the air, the high clouds brooding, In the lines of street perspective, the lamps, the traffic, The pavements and the innumerable feet upon them, I am : make no mistake — do not be deluded. Think not because I do not appear at first glance — because the centuries have gone by and there is no assured tidings of me that therefore I am not there. Think not because all goes its own way that therefore I do not go my own way through all. The fixed bent of hurrying faces in the street — each turned toward its own light, seeing no other — yet I am the Light towards which they all look. The toil of so many hands towards so many multifarious ends, yet my hands know the touch and twining of them all. All come to me at last. There is no love like mine ; For all other love takes one and not another; And other love is pain, but this is joy eternal. 390 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CITY’S CROWN Dudley Foulke What makes a city great? Huge piles of stone Heaped heavenward? Vast multitudes who dwell Within wide circling walls? Palace and throne And riches past the count of man to tell, And wide domain? Nay, these the empty husk! True glory dwells where great deeds are done, , Where glorious men rise whose names a’thwart the dusk Of misty centuries gleam like the sun ! In Athens, Sparta, Florence, ’twas the soul That was the city’s bright immortal part, The splendor of the spirit was their goal, Their jewel the unconquerable heart! So may the city that I love be great ’Till every stone shall be articulate. THE CITY George William Russell (A. E.) Full of Zeus the cities : full of Zeus the harbors : full of Zeus are all the ways of men. What domination of what darkness dies this hour, And through what new, rejoicing, winged, ethereal power O’erthrown, the cells opened, the heart released from fear? Gay twilight and grave twilight pass. The stars appear O’er the prodigious, smouldering, dusky, city flare. The hanging gardens of Babylon were not more fair Then these blue-flickering glades, where childhood in its glee Re-echoes with fresh voice the heaven-lit ecstasy. Yon girl whirls like an eastern dervish. Her dance is No less a god-intoxicated dance than his, Though all-unknowing the arcane fire that lights her feet. What motions of what starry tribes her limbs repeat. I too, fire-smitten, cannot linger : I know there lies GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 39i Open somewhere this hour a gate to Paradise, Its blazing battlements with watchers thronged, O where ? I know not, but my flame-winged feet shall lead me there. O, hurry, hurry, unknown shepherd of desires, And with thy flock of bright imperishable fires Pen me within the starry fold, ere night falls And I am left alone below immutable walls. Or am I there already, and is it Paradise To look on mortal things with an immortal’s eyes? Above the misty brilliance, the streets assume A night-dilated blue magnificence of gloom Like many-templed Nineveh tower beyond tower; And I am hurried on in this immortal hour. Mine eyes beget new majesties: my spirit greets The trams, the high-built glittering galleons of the streets The flow through twilight rivers from galaxies of light. Nay, in the Fount of Days they rise, they take their flight, And wend to the great deep, the Holy Sepulcher. Those dark misshapen folk to be made lovely there Hurry with me, not all ignoble as we seem, Lured by some inexpressible and gorgeous dream. The earth melts in my blood. The air that I inhale Is like enchanted wine poured from the Holy Grail. What was that glimmer then? Was it the flash of wings As through the blinded mart rode on the King of Kings? O stay, departing glory, stay with us but a day, And burning Seraphim shall leap from out our clay, And plumed and crested hosts shall shine where men have been, Heaven hold no lordlier court than earth at College Green. Ah, no, the wizardry is over ; the magic flame That might have melted, all in beauty fades as it came. The stars are far and faint and strange. The night draws down. Exiled from light, forlorn, I walk in Dublin town. Yet had I might to lift the veil, the will to dare, The fiery rushing chariots of the Lord are there, The whirlwind path, the blazing gates, the trumpets blown, The halls of heaven, the majesty of throne by throne, Enraptured faces, hands uplifted, welcome sung By the throned gods, tall, golden-coloured, joyful, young. 392 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE GARDEN OF GOD George William Russell (A. E.) Within the iron cities One walked unknown for years, In his heart the pity of pities That grew for human tears. When love and grief were ended The flower of pity grew : By unseen hands hwas tended And fed with holy dew. Though in his heart were barred in The blooms of beauty blown, Yet he who grew the garden Could call no flower his own. For by the hands that watered, The blooms that opened fair Through frost and pain were scattered To sweeten the dead air. THE GOSPEL OF LABOR Henry van Dyke But I think the king of that country comes out from his tireless host And walks in this world of the weary, as if he loved it the most : For here in the dusty confusion, with eyes that are heavy and dim He meets again the laboring men who are looking and longing for Him. He cancels the curse of Eden, and brings them a blessing instead, GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 393 Blessed are they that labor for Jesus partakes of their bread. He puts His hand to their burdens, He enters their homes at night : Who does his best shall have as his guest the Master of life and light. And courage will come with His presence, and patience return at His touch, And manifold sins be forgiven to those who love Him much : And the cries of envy and anger will change to the songs of cheer, For the toiling age will forget its rage when the Prince of Peace draws near. This is the gospel of labor, ring it, ye bells of the kirk, — The Lord of Love comes down from above to live with the men who work, This is the rose that he planted, here in the thorn-cursed soil — Heaven is blessed with perfect rest, but the blessing of earth is toil. IN THE CITY Israel Zangwill Sudden amid the slush and rain, I know not how, I know not why, A rose unfolds within my brain, And all the world is at July. A trumpet sounds, green surges splash And daffodillies dance i’ the sun ; Through tears fair pictures flit and splash Upon the city’s background dun. Women are true and men are good, Concord sleeps at the heart of strife, How sweet is human brotherhood, And all the common daily life ! 394 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 3. In the Church A NEW ENGLAND CHURCH Wilson Agnew Barrett The white church on the hill Looks over the little bay — A beautiful thing on the hill When the mist is gray; When the hill looks old, and the air turns cold With the dying day ! The white church on the hill — The Greek in a Puritan town — Was built on the brow of the hill For John Wesley’s God’s renown, And a conscience old set a steeple cold On its Grecian crown. In a storm of faith on the hill Hands raised it over the bay. When the night is clear on the hill, It stands up strong and gray; But its door is old, and its tower points cold To the Milky Way. The white church on the hill Looks lonely over the town. Dim to them under the hill Is its God’s renown, And its Bible old, and its creed grown cold, And the letters brown. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 395 THE LATEST DECALOGUE Arthur Hugh Clough Thou shalt have one God only; who Would he at the expense of two? No graven images may be Worship’d, except the currency: Swear not at all ; for, for thy curse Thine enemy is none the worse : At church on Sunday to attend Will serve to keep the world thy friend: Honour thy parents ; that is, all From whom advancement may befall; Thou shalt not kill ; but needst not strive Officiously to keep alive : Do not adultery commit; Advantage rarely comes of it: Thou shalt not steal ; an empty feat, Where ’tis so lucrative to cheat: Bear not false witness; let the lie Have time on its own wings to fly: Thou shalt not covet, but tradition Approves all forms of competition. 396 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE IMPERCIPIENT (At a Cathedral Service) Thomas Hardy That with this bright believing band I have no claim to be, That faiths by which my comrades stand, Seem fantasies to me, And mirage-mists their Shining Land, Is a strange destiny. Why thus my soul should be consigned To Infelicity, Why always I must feel as blind To sights my brethren see, Why joys they’ve found I cannot find, Abides a mystery. Since heart of mine knows not that ease Which they know; since it be That He who breathes All’s-Well to these Breathes no Albs-Well to me, My lack might move their sympathies And Christian charity ! I am like a gazer who should mark An inland company Standing upfingered with, ‘'Hark ! hark ! The glorious distant sea !” And feel, “Alas, ’tis but yon dark And wind-swept pine to me !” Yet I would bear my shortcomings With meet tranquillity, But for the charge that blessed things, Pd liefer not have be. O, doth a bird deprived of wings GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 397 Go earth-bound wilfully ! Enough ! As yet disquiet clings About us. Rest shall we. THE CITY CHURCH E. H. K. There is a sentinel before the gate Who guards it night and day. And on his face There ever lurks a scornful, sceptic smile, Which mocks the hallowed precincts, and invites The teeming millions of humanity To jeer in unison with him, and press Their busy footsteps quicker. And without, The flags are worn and hollowed by the tread Of men and women, but within they lie Untrodden, smooth and true, as on the day When God first found His temple made with hands, And came and dwelt there. Yet men dare not pass The guardian at the gateway, for they dread The jesting of their/ fellows, and they steel Their hearts against the summons of their souls, And hasten past the portal — for they know The sentinel is Satan. But within The throbbing of the pulses of the world Is silenced, and the soul is free to roam At random through the mansions of the mind. For in the quiet of the shadowed aisle, The tired eyes are lifted to behold The blessed Cross, illumined by the gleam Of crimson from the sanctuary lamp, Hung in the chancel by a silver chain, Burning for ever. And amid the gloom The soul can leave the body and ascend The stair that leads from earth through flame and cloud Up to God’s heaven, and forget man’s hell — - For still the grinning guardian keeps the gate, And still men fear the sneer that curls his lip, And still they stab their souls and slink away. 398 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY PRIEST OR POET Shane Leslie O Lord, why must thy poets peak and pine Why fall thy singers into fate? When all thy priests do sup on amber wine And walk in purples delicate? Thy Prophets of the desert honey sip, And sate their souls with loneliness, Yet breakest Thou Thy flame upon their lip And givest camel’s hair for dress. To Poets, Lord, Thou givest neither drink Nor raiment, fire nor peace nor food; Enhungered, thirsting as they daily sink Beneath the trampling multitude. THE CHURCH Edwin Ford Piper The blinding sun at ten o’clock Glares on the white walls of the little church, — The shingles silver-gray, the shutters green, Sunflowers man-high in bloom against the wall, — And glares on dingy wagons trailed by dust, Slow-jolting to the platform at the door. Women alight and enter, while the men Tie sweating teams to the much-gnawed hitching posts. How drowsily the horses stamp at flies ! The landscape wavers in the shimmering heat. Come in from the strong sunlight. The pine pews Are filled with settlers. Men with grizzled beards, And faces weathered rough by sun and wind — Wind that would wear down granite — listless stand GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 399 Awkwardly easing muscles now relaxed Longer than is their use. The women move Graceful and gracious, whether pale or tanned, Thin, nervous, or in rosy health. Their eyes Are bright, and bearing cheerful. Least at ease Are growing girls and boys. Welcomes go round, And gossips buzz until the organ wails The slow, sad measures of the opening hymn. Beside the window, dreamily, A sunflower pokes its stiff and oily head Droned over by a hairy bumble-bee. An awkward boy sits gazing; does not hear The text or sermon; only sees the flower Nod in the breeze, and finds the pew grow hard, While muscles twitch and ache for liberty. A little church; the settlers come for miles. Some few, unhearing, sit in selfish dreams; For life is vilely mingled, sweetly mixed, Scanty or bounteous in vital force; But here the most are really worshippers Seeking in fellowship a sympathy With God. Their simple faces plainly show What feelings stir the heart, for hard looks melt, And thin, worn wretchedness in garb grotesque Is eased of ugliness while it feeds On love and hope. This meager hour may lift Some grovelling face to see the blessed sky; Master a soul, and yield it back to life Tempered against the evil days to be. A little thing, this church? Remove its roots Ossa upon Pelion would not fill the pit. 4oo THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CHURCH Jules Romain Translated by Jethro Bithell The self-deceit of having wrought the light People arrive to worship in their church. Though it is getting tired and insecure, The monument can make a gathering yet With people poured into it by the roads. It sifts them as they enter through its porch, And gently it removes from each the thoughts Which might not melt so well as all the rest, Replacing them by others left behind By those who came to Mass in days of old. The crowd which tramples on the flags outside Bears nosegays of ideas new and bright; The fresh dreams of to-day spread over them, Rosy and blue as sunshades which in their Own manner dye the radiance of the sky. Inside there are no nosegays and no sunshades. The naves and aisles are overflowing with A crowd the pillars intimately know, Their contact is as ancient as the church, And every summer Sunday when the sun Begins to lick the windows by one edge, And in the winter of discoloured lamps, For centuries this crowd has been reborn On every following Sunday still the same. Women and men are entering in file. The crowd is borne in haste by all the doors, Rumbling an instant, ordered, then appeased; GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 401 It has not changed its shape ; it is already Moulded unto the contours of the walls; Faithfully bodies lean on the same chairs. Now it is born again while ring the bells. But the dark power That gives it life On the seventh day Of every week, Softens at last Like an old spring, Little by little Born less far From death. It is a group Worn out with use Whose flesh grows flabby. And in the winter It is cold Under the roof. In olden days, In the city It was the greatest of unanimous beings, And all the city was transfused in it. But now the workshops have arisen, The workshops full of youth ! They live in ardour0 Their smoke soars higher than the sound of bells. They do not fear to hide the sun, For their machines make sunshine. Like a dog that comes out of a pool and sneezes, The workshop shivering scatters round it drops Of energy that wake the town to life. But the senile group Sprouts not with bristling Wires and cables. 402 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY No electricity Rustles from it To countless houses. It is feeble, Its chinks are stopped, It is gathered in. But it preserves with pride its fixed idea: Others may swell with sap and ramify; And shadow with a foliage of green forces All the massed houses; The humble group would tenderly, heart to heart, Speak to the infinite group benevolent words. For it is sure a soul stands o’er the world. It knows God’s finger painlessly from Heaven Leads the leash of natural forces; That God sees all, and that His tender eyes Wrap up the form and penetrate the essence of things. The group is sure of it. But fears Lest having to keep watch o’er all these minds And bodies, all these angels, beasts, and deaths, Ant-hills, cities, forests, Planets and planetary systems, God see no more the little auditory Which listens to the Mass in pillared shade. It calls Him; makes to Him the holy signs. In olden days God taught His creatures words Which force Him to give heed and to vouchsafe. The group that mumbles them knows not their meaning, But knows the priest before the altar knows : The illuminated summit of the group. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 403 Upon the murmurs serving it as rollers Slowly the common thought advances, like A boat that fishers launch into the sea; And onward floats the thought to God. From hearts the fervour passes to the walls, The rising fluid magnetizes The steeple, and the steeple brings down God. God approaches, God descends; He is quite near; the air Weighs heavier. Something compresses, heats it; The choir is filled with incense So that, arriving, God Shall find here clouds Like those He dwells in, And feels less strange. He is quite near, quite near. You can whisper to Him, Tell Him what you would dare tell no man, ask Him For anything you like. And even if God Refuse, He is so good you cannot vex Him. “O God in Heaven, vouchsafe to cure my leg ! Matter burst from it yesterday. My God, Vouchsafe to fill my shop with customers! — Help me find out if my servant John Is robbing me ! — O, God, cure my sore eyes ! — Save me, my God, from being drunk so often! — Lord, let my son pass his examination ! He is so shy. Thou shalt have a great big candle. — Help me to make her fall in love with me, I will put ninepence in St. Anthony’s box. — My God, if only I could get some work ! — He makes a martyr of me. Let him die ! - — My God, my God, I am certain I am pregnant; O let the child go rotten in my belly.” 404 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY It is like a hamlet at the hour of noon. On every soul’s hearth they have kindled fire, Which casts its smoke and yields it to the wind. God sees the bluish prayers climb up to Him. They are a perfume which delight Him. He Comes nearer. The crowd rises, touches Him. Their longing to caress serves them for arm. They seize on God to press Him close to them; To be alone and to possess Him all. This morning, God, the conscience of the universe, Has from the universe withdrawn, like blood Out of a bull’s limbs bleeding at the head. All the world’s soul, the whole of God is here; The church is the glad vase that gathers Him. God now can think but of the little crowd; The things they wish He too must wish, since He In them is incarnated and their breath. Then in mystical servitude; Drunk with alcohol Hid in the organ notes, The light of the rose-window, And the stained glass ; Clad with incense like A scented sleep that bends and swoons; By old, magnetic rites Plunged in hypnotic sleep Whence mount, like bubbles Crossing stagnant waters, Memories and mouldiness And age-old madness; Forgetting that beyond these walls There is the town, and earth, And then infinity; The group so old, so little, Which withers, which is scarce alive, Dreams aloud that it is God. GOD IN THE LIFE OF MAN 405 LILLIUM REGIS Francis Thompson O Lily of the King ! low lies thy silver wing, And long has been the hour of thine unqueening; And thy scent of Paradise on the night wind spills its sighs, Nor any take the secrets of its meaning. O Lily of the King ! I speak a heavy thing, O Patience, most sorrowful of daughters ! Lo, the hour is at hand for the troubling of the land, And red shall be the breaking of the waters. Sit fast upon thy stalk, when the blast shall with thee talk, With the mercies of the king for thine awning; And the just understand that thine hour is at hand, Thine hour at hand with power in the dawning. When the nations lie in blood, and their kings a broken brood, Look up, O most sorrowful of daughters ! Lift up thine head and hark what sounds are in the dark, For his feet are coming to thee on the waters. O Lily of the King ! I shall not see, that sing, I shall not see the hour of thy queening ! But my Song shall see, and wake like a flower that dawn-winds shake, And sigh with joy the odors of its meaning. O Lily of the King, remember then the thing That this dead mouth sang; and thy daughters, As they dance before His way, sing there on the Day What I sang when the Night was on the waters! THE CHURCH TODAY William Watson Outwardly splendid as of old — Inwardly sparkless, void and cold — Her force and fire all spent and gone — Like the dead moon she still shines on. VII. Prayers a. DESCRIPTIONS OF PRAYER b. GENERAL PRAYERS C. PRAYERS OF INVOCATION d. PRAYERS FOR COMFORT IN PROSPECT OF DEATH ' e. PRAYERS FOR GUIDANCE f. PRAYERS OF GRATITUDE g. WAR PRAYERS ll. PRAYERS FOR SPECIAL THINGS VII. Prayers a. DESCRIPTIONS OF PRAYER THE PEAKS Stephen Crane In the night Gray heavy clouds muffled the valleys And the peaks looked toward God alone : “O Master, that movest the wind with a finger, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we, Grant that we may run swiftly across the world To huddle in worship at Thy feet.” In the morning A noise of men at work came through the clear blue miles, And the little black cities were apparent. “O Master, that knowest the meaning of raindrops, Humble, idle, futile peaks are we, Give voice to us, we pray, O Lord, That we may sing thy goodness to the sun.” In the evening, The far valleys were sprinkled with tiny lights, O Master Thou that knowest the value of kings and birds, Thou hast made us humble, idle, futile peaks. Thou only needest eternal patience ; We bow to Thy wisdom, O Lord — Humble, idle, futile peaks.” In the night Gray, heavy clouds muffled the valleys And the peaks looked toward God alone. 409 4io THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE RIGHT USE OF PRAYER Sir Aubrey de Vere Therefore, when thou wouldst pray, or dost thine alms, Blow not a trump before thee : Hypocrites Do thus, vaingloriously ; the common streets Boast of their largess, echoing their psalms. On such the laud of men, like unctuous balms, Falls with sweet savor. Impious Counterfeits ! Prating of heaven, for earth their bosom beats ! Grasping at weeds, they lose immortal palms ! God needs not iteration nor vain cries : That man communion with his God might share Below, Christ gave the ordinance of prayer : Vague ambages, and witless ecstasies, Avail not : ere a voice to prayer be given The heart should rise on wings of love to heaven. WHAT IS PRAYER? James Montgomery Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire, Uttered or unexpressed — The motion of a hidden fire, That kindles in the breast. Prayer is the burthen 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. PRAYERS 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 watchword at the gates of death — He enters heaven with prayer. The saints in prayer appear as one In words and deed and mind, Where with the Father and the Son Sweet fellowship they find. Nor prayer is made by man alone — The holy spirit pleads — And Jesus, on the eternal throne, For sinners intercedes. O Thou by whom we come to God— The Life, the Truth, the Way! The path of prayer Thyself hast trod; Lord, teach us how to pray ! GOD PRAYS Angela Morgan Last night I tossed and could not sleep When sodden heavens weep and weep, As they have wept for many a day, One lies awake to fear and pray, One thinks of bodies blown like hail Across the sky where angels quail; One’s sickened pulses leap and hark To hear the horror in the dark. What is thy will for the people, God? Thy will for the people, tell it me ! THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY For war is swallowing up the sod And still no help from Thee, Thou, who art mighty, hast forgot; And art Thou God, or art Thou not? When wilt Thou come to save the earth Where death has conquered birth? And the Lord God whispered and said to me, “These things shall be, these things shall be, Nor help shall come from the scarlet skies, Till the people rise! Till the people rise, my arm is weak; I cannot speak till the people speak; When men are dumb, my voice is dumb — I cannot come till my people come.” And the Lord God’s presence was white, so white, Like a pillar of stars against the night, “Millions on millions pray to me Yet hearken not to hear me pray; Nor comes there any to set me free Of all who plead from night to day. So God is mute and Heaven is still While the nations kill.” “Thy people have travailed much,” I cried, “I travail even as they,” God sighed. “I have cradled their woe since the stars were young- My infant planets were scarcely hung When I dreamed the dream of my liberty And planned a people to utter me. I am the pang of their discontent, The passion of their long lament; I am the purpose of their pain, I writhe beneath their chain.” “But Thou art mighty, and needst no aid. Can God, the Infinite, be afraid?” “They, too, are God, yet know it not. 'Tis they, not I, who have forgot. And war is drinking the living sod,” Said God. PRAYERS 413 “Thy people are fettered by iron laws And each must follow a country’s cause And all are sworn to avenge their dead How may the people rise ?” I said. And then God’s face ! It was white, so white, With the grief that sorroweth day and night. “Think you I planted my image there That men should trample it to despair? Who fears the throe that rebellion brings?’* “Help them stand, O Christ !” I prayed. Thy people are feeble and sore afraid.” “My people are strong,” God whispered me, “Broad as the land, great as the sea; They will tower as tall as the tallest skies Up to the level of my eyes, When they dare to rise. Yea, all my people every where ! Not in one land of black despair But over the flaming earth and sea Wherever wrong and oppression be The shout of my people must come to me. Not till their spirit break the curse May I claim my own in the universe ; And this the reason of war and blood That men may come to their angelhood. If the people rise, if the people rise, I will answer them from the swarming skies. Where Herculean hosts of night Shall spring to splendor over night, Blazing systems of sun and star Are not so great as my people are, Nor chanting angels so sweet to hear As the voice of nations, freed from fear. They are my mouth, my breath, my soul ! I wait their summons to make me whole.’* All night long I toss and cannot sleep; When shattered heavens weep and weep,, As they have wept for many days. I know at last ’tis God who prays. 414 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ENVOI John G. Neihardt Oh, seek me not within a tomb — Thou shalt not find me in the clay ! I pierce a little wall of gloom To mingle with the day ! I brothered with the things that pass, Poor giddy joy and puckered grief; I go to brother with the grass And with the sunning leaf. Not death can sheathe me in a shroud; A joy-sword whetted keen with pain, I join the armies of the cloud, The lightning and the rain. Oh, subtle in the sap a-thrill, Athletic in the glad uplift, A portion of the cosmic will, I pierced the planet-drift. My God and I shall interknit As rain and ocean, breath and air; And, oh, the luring thought of it Is prayer ! PRAYER Alfred Tennyson From Idylls of the King 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 PRAYERS 415 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 friends? For so the whole round earth is every way Bound by gold chains about the feet of God. A FAR CRY TO HEAVEN Edith M. Thomas What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand, The flame be rekindled that mounted away from the smoul¬ dering brand, The past-summer harvest flow golden through stubble-lands naked and sere, The winter-gray woods upgather and quicken the leaves of last year ? — Thy prayers are as clouds in a drouth; regardless, unfruitful, they roll ; For this, that thou prayest vain things, ’tis a far cry to Heaven, nry soul, — Oh, a far cry to Heaven ! Thou dreamest the word shall return, shot arrow-like into the air, The wound in the breast where it lodged be balmed and closed for thy prayer, The ear of the dead be unsealed, till thou whisper a boon once denied, The white hour of life be restored, that passed thee unprized, undescribed ! — Thy prayers are as runners that faint, that fail, within sight of the goal, For this, that thou cravest fond things, ’tis a far cry to Heaven, my soul, Oh, a far cry to Heaven ! And cravest thou fondly the quivering sands shall be firm to thy feet, 4i6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The brackish pool of the waste to thy lips be made wholesome and sweet? And cravest thou subtly the bane thou desirest be wrought to thy good, As forth from a poisonous flower a bee convoyeth safe food? For this, that thou prayest ill things, thy prayers are an anger- rent scroll, The chamber of audit is closed, — ’tis a far cry to Heaven, my soul, — Oh, a far cry to Heaven ! PRAYER Richard C. Trench Lord, what a change within us one short hour Spent in Thy presence will avail 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 sometimes 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? PRAYER Thomas Washbourne What a commanding power There is in prayer ! which can tower As high as heaven, and tie the hands Of God Himself in bands, PRAYERS 4i7 That He unable is to loose the reins To Justice, till released from these chains ! Samson could break his cords As tow, and yet the Lord of Lords Who gave that strength to Samson, can not Break the cords of Man. BARTER Margaret Widdemer If in that secret place Where thou has cherished it, there yet is lying Thy dearest bitterness, thy fondest sin, Though thou hast guarded it with hurt and crying Lift now thy face Unlock the bolted door and let God in And lay it in his holy hands to take : How such an evil gift can please Him so I do not know, But, keeping it for wages, he shall make Thy foul room sweet for thee with blowing wind (He is so serviceable and so kind) And set sweet water for thy thirst’s distress Instead of what thou hadst of bitterness; And he shall bend and spread Green balsam boughs to make a springing bed Where thine own thorns pricked in ; Who would not pay away his dearest sin To let such service in? 418 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY UNANSWERED PRAYERS Ella Wheeler Wilcox Like some school master, kind in being stern, Who hears the children crying o’er their slates And calling, “Help me, master!” yet helps not, Since in his silence and refusal lies Their self-development, so God abides Unheeding many prayers. He is not deaf To any cry sent up from earnest hearts; He hears and strengthens when he must deny. He sees us weeping o’er life’s hard sums, But should he give the key and dry our tears, What would it profit us when school were done And not one lesson mastered? What a world Were this if all our prayers were answered. Not In famed Pandora’s box were such vast ills As lie in human hearts. Should our desires, Voiced one by one in prayer, ascend to God And come back as events shaped to our wish, What Chaos would result ! In my fierce youth I sighed out breath enough to move a fleet, Voicing wild prayers to heaven for fancied boons Which were denied ; and that denial bends My knee to prayers of gratitude each day Of my maturer years. Yet from those prayers I rose always regirded for the strife And conscious of new strength. Pray on, sad heart, That which thou pleadest for may not be given, But in the lofty attitude where souls Who supplicate God’s grace are lifted, there Thou shalt find help to bear thy daily lot Which is not elsewhere found. PRAYERS GENERAL PRAYERS DESIRE Matthew Arnold Thou, who dost dwell alone; Thou, who dost know thine own. Thou, to whom all are known, From the cradle to the grave, — Save, O Save ! From the world’s temptations, From tribulations, From that fierce anguish Wherein we languish, From that torpor deep Wherein we lie asleep, Heavy as death, cold as the grave,—; Save, O Save ! When the soul, growing clearer, Sees God no nearer; When the soul, mounting higher. To God comes no nigher; But the arch-fiend Pride Mounts at her side, Foiling her high emprise, Sealing her eagle eyes, And when she fain would soar, Makes idols to adore, Changing the pure emotion Of her high devotion To a skin-deep sense Of her own eloquence; Strong to deceive, strong to enslave, — Save, O Save ! 420 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY From the ingrained fashion Of this earthly nature That mars thy creature ; From grief that is but passion, From mirth that is but feigning, From tears that bring no healing, From wild and weak complaining, — Thine old strength revealing, Save, O Save ! From doubt, where all is double, Where wise men are not strong, Where comfort turns to trouble, Where just men suffer wrong; Where sorrow treads on joy, Where sweet things soonest cloy, Where faiths are built on dust, Where love is half mistrust, Hungry and barren, and sharp as the sea — O set us free ! O let the false dream fly Where our sick souls do lie Tossing continually ! O where thy voice doth come Let all doubts be dumb, Let all words be mild, All strifes be reconciled, All pains beguiled ! Light bring no blindness, Love no unkindness, Knowledge no ruin, F ear no undoing ! From the cradle to the grave, — ■ Save, O Save ! PRAYERS 421 PAGAN PRAYER Alice Brown You that uphold the world Uphold me. You that light the sun, Make me see, Bear with me my sorrow : Help me meet the morrow, Patiently. O’er the road we may know not To end we must fear not, Guide us, O mighty One ! March with us, heroes ! THE LARGER PRAYER Ednah D. Cheney At first I prayed for Sight : Could I but see the way, How gladly, swiftly would I walk To everlasting day ! And next I prayed for Strength : That I might tread the road With firm, unfaltering feet, and win The heaven’s serene abode. And then I asked for Faith: Could I but trust my God, I’d live enfolded in His peace, Though foes were all abroad. But now I pray for Love : Deep love to God and man A living love that will not fail, However dark his plan. 422 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And Light and Strength and Faith Are opening everywhere, God waited for me till I prayed the larger prayer. PRAYER Thomas Ell wood Oh ! that mine eye might closed be To what concerns not me to see ; That deafness might possess my ear To what concerns not me to hear: That truth my tongue might ever tie From speaking words of vanity: That no vain thought might ever rest Or be conceived within my breast ; So that in deed and word and thought, Glory may unto God be wrought. But what are wishes? Lord, mine eye Is fixed on Thee, to Thee I cry ! Cleanse, Lord, and purify my heart And make it clean in every part; And when *tis pure, Lord keep it so, For that is more than I can do. GIFTS f Emma Lazarus “O World-God, give me Wealth!” the Egyptian cried. His prayer was granted. High as heaven, behold Palace and pyramid; the brimming tide Of lavish Nile washed all his land with gold. Armies of slaves toiled ant-wise at his feet, World-circling traffic roared through mart and street, His priests were gods, his spice-balmed kings enshrined, Set death at nought in rock-ribbed charnels deep. PRAYERS 423 Seek Pharaoh’s race today and ye shall find Rust and the moth, 1 silence and dusty sleep. “O World-God, give me beauty !” cried the Greek. His prayer was granted. All the earth became Plastic and vocal to his sense; each peak, Each grove, each stream, quick with Promethean flame, Peopled the world with imaged grace and light. The lyre was his, and his the breathing might Of the immortal marble, his the play Of diamond-pointed thought and golden tongue. Go seek the sunshine race. Ye find today A broken column and a lute unstrung. uO World-God, give me Power !” the Roman cried. His prayer was granted. The vast world was chained A captive to the chariot of his pride. The blood of myriad provinces was drained To feed that fierce, insatiable red heart. Invulnerably bulwarked every part With serried legions and with close-meshed Code. Within, the burrowing worm had gnawed its home, A roofless ruin stands where once abode The imperial race of everlasting Rome. “O Godhead, give me Truth!” the Hebrew cried. His prayer was granted; he became the slave Of the Idea, a pilgrim far and wide, Cursed, hated, spurned, and scourged with none to save. The Pharaohs knew him, and when Greece beheld, His wisdom wore the hoary crown of Eld. Beauty he hath forsworn, and wealth and power. Seek him today, and find in every land. No fire consumes him, neither floods devour; Immortal through the lamp within his hand. 424 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE POET’S PRAYER Stephen Philipps That I have felt the rushing wind of Thee : That I have run before thy blast to sea; That my one moment of transcendent strife Is more than many years of listless life; Beautiful Power, I praise Thee : yet I send A prayer that sudden strength be not the end. Desert me not when from my flagging sails Thy breathing dies away, and virtue fails : When Thou hast spent the glory of that gust, Remember still the body of this dust. Not then when I am boundless, without bars, When I am rapt in hurry to the stars; When I anticipate an endless bliss, And feel before my time the final kiss, Not then I need Thee : for delight is wise, I err not in the freedom of the skies ; I fear not joy, so joy might ever be, And rapture finish in felicity. But when Thy joy is past, comes in the test, To front the life that lingers after zest: To live in mere negation of Thy light, A more than blindness after more than sight. ’Tis not in flesh so swiftly to descend, * And sudden from the spheres with earth to blend; And I, from splendour thrown, and dashed from dream, Into the flare pursue the former gleam. Sustain me in that hour with Thy left hand, And aid me, when I cease to soar, to stand; Make me Thy athlete even in my bed, Thy girded runner though the course be sped; Still to refrain that I may more bestow, From sternness to a larger sweetness grow. I ask not that false calm which many feign, And call that peace which is a dearth of pain. True calm doth quiver like the calmest star; PRAYERS 425 It is that white where all the colours are*, And for its very vestibule doth own The tree of Jesus and the pyre of Joan. Thither I press : but O do Thou meanwhile Support me in privations of Thy smile. Spaces Thou hast ordained the stars between, And silences where melody hath been : Teach me those absences of lire to face, And Thee no less in silence to embrace. Else shall Thy dreadful gift still people Hell, And men not measure from what height I fell. THE UNIVERSAL PRAYER Alexander Pope Father of all ! In every age, In every clime adored, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord! Thou Great First Cause, least understood, Who all my sense confined To know but this, that thou art good, And that myself am blind ! Yet gave me, in this dark estate, To see the good from ill; And, binding nature fast in fate, Left free the human will. What conscience dictates to be done, Or warns me not to do, This teach me more than hell to shun, That more than heaven pursue. What blessings thy free bounty gives, Let me not cast away ; For God is paid when man receives; To enjoy is to obey. 426 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Yet not to earth’s contracted span Thy goodness let me bound, Or think thee Lord alone of man, When thousand worlds are round. Let not this weak, unknowing hand Presume thy bolts to throw, And deal damnation round the land On each I judge thy foe. If I am right, thy grace impart Still in the right to stay; If I am wrong, Oh, teach my heart To find the better way! Save me alike from foolish pride, And impious discontent, At aught thy wisdom has denied, Or aught thy goodness lent. Teach me to feel another’s woe, To hide the fault I see ; That mercy I to others show, That mercy show to me. Mean though I am, not wholly so, Since quickened by thy breath; Oh, lead me wheresoe’er I go, Through this day’s life or death. This day be bread and peace my lot; All else beneath the sun Thou knowest if best bestowed or not, And let thy will be done. To thee, whose temple is all space, — Whose altar, earth, sea, skies, — One chorus let all beings raise ! All Nature’s incense rise ! PRAYERS 427 A LITANY FOR LATTER-DAY MYSTICS Cale Young Rice Out of the Vastness that is God I summon the power to heal me. It comes with peace ineffable And patience, to anneal me. Ajar I set my soul-doors Toward unbounded Life And let the infinitudes of it Flow through me, vigour-rife. Out of the Vastness that is God I summon the power to still me. It comes from inner deeps divine With destinies that thrill me; It follows the hush of every wrong; And every vain unrest It banishes; and leaves a bliss Before all unpossessed. Out of the Vastness that is God I summon the strength to keep me, And from all fleshly fears that fret With spirit-winds to sweep me. I summon the faith that puts to flight All impotence and ills, And that, thro’ the wide universe, Well-being’s breath distills. THE FOOL’S PRAYER Edward Rowland Sill The royal feast was done ; the king Sought some new sport to banish care, And to his jester cried: “Sir Fool, Kneel now, and make for us a prayer !” 428 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The jester doffed his cap and bells, And stood the mocking court before; They could not see the bitter smile Behind the painted grin he wore. He bowed his head, and bent his knee Upon the monarch’s silken stool ; His pleading voice arose: “O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! “No pity, Lord, could change the heart From red with wrong, to white as wool; The rod must heal the sin; but, Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool ! “ ’Tis not by guilt the onward sweep Of truth and right, O Lord, we stay; ’Tis by our follies that so long We hold the earth from heaven away. “These clumsy feet, still in the mire, Go crushing blossoms without end; These hard, well-meaning hands we thrust Among the heart-strings of a friend. “The ill-timed truth we might have kept — Who knows how sharp it pierced and stung t The word we had not sense to say — Who knows how grandly it had rung? “Our faults no tenderness should ask, The chastening stripes must cleanse them all But for our blunders — oh, in shame Before the eyes of heaven we fall. “Earth bears no balsam for mistakes; Men crown the knave, and scourge the tool That did his will ; but Thou, O Lord, Be merciful to me, a fool !” PRAYERS 429 The room was hushed; in silence rose The King, and sought his gardens cool, And walked apart, and murmured low, “Be merciful to me, a fool !” PRAYER Henry van Dyke These are the gifts I ask of thee, Spirit serene — Strength for the daily task; Courage to face the road; Good cheer to help me bear the traveller’s load; And for the hours of rest that come between, An inward joy in all things heard and seen. These are the sins I fain would have thee take away — Malice and cold disdain; Hot anger, sullen hate; Scorn of the lowly, envy of the great; And discontent that casts a shadow gray On all the brightness of a common day. A CONFESSION Paul Verlaine Translated by Arthur Symons O my God, thou hast wounded me with love, Behold the wound that is still vibrating, O my God, thou hast wounded me with love. O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me, Behold the burn is there, and it throbs aloud. O my God, thy fear hath fallen upon me, 430 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O my God, I have known all that is vile, And thy glory hath stationed itself in me, O my God, I have known all that is vile. Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine, Mingle my life with the body of thy bread. Drown my soul in floods, floods of thy wine. Take my blood that I have not poured out, Take my flesh unworthy of thy suffering, Take my blood that I have not poured out. Take my brow that has only learned to blush, To be the footstool of thine adorable feet, Take my brow that has only learned to blush. Take my hands because they have labored not. For coals of fire and for rare frankincense, Take my hands because they have labored not. Take my heart that has beaten for vain things, To throb under the thorns of Calvary, Take my heart that has beaten for vain things. Take my feet, frivolous travellers, That they may run to the crying of thy grace, Take my feet, foolish travellers. Take my voice, a harsh and lying noise, For the reproaches of thy penitence, Take my voice, a harsh and lying noise. Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit, That they may be extinguished in the tears of prayer, Take mine eyes, luminaries of deceit. Ah, thou God of pardon and promises, What is the pit of mine ingratitude ! Ah, thou God of pardon and promises. PRAYERS 43i God of terror and God of holiness, Alas, my sinfulness is a black abyss, God of terror and holiness. Thou God of peace, of joy and delight, All my tears, all my ignorances, Thou God of peace, of joy and delight. Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this, How poor I am, poorer than any man, Thou, O God, knowest all this, all this. And what I have, my God, I give to thee. C. PRAYERS OF INVOCATION VENI CREATOR Bliss Carman I Lord of the grass and hill, Lord of the rain, White Overlord of will, Master of pain, I who am dust and air Blown through the halls of deaths Like a pale ghost of prayer, — I am thy breath. Lord of the blade and leaf, Lord of the bloom, Sheer Overlord of grief, Master of doom, THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Lonely as wind or snow, Through the vague world and dim, Vagrant and glad I go; I am thy whim. Lord of the storm and lull, Lord of the sea, I am thy broken gull, Blown far alee. Lord of the harvest dew, Lord of the dawn, Star of the paling blue Darkling and gone, Lost on the mountain height Where the first winds are stirred, Out of the wells of night I am thy word. Lord of the haunted hush, Where raptures throng, I am thy hermit thrush, Ending no song. Lord of the frost and cold, Lord of the North, When the red sun grows old And day goes forth, I shall put off this girth, — Go glad and free, Earth to my mother earth, Spirit to thee. II Lord of my heart’s elation, Spirit of things unseen, Be thou my aspiration Consuming and serene ! PRAYERS 433 Bear up, bear out, bear onward This mortal soul alone, To selfhood or oblivion, Incredibly thine own, — As the foamheads are loosened And blown along the sea, Or sink and merge forever In that which bids them be. HYMN TO ZEUS Cleanthes (From the Greek) Translated by Plumptre Most glorious of all the Undying, many-named, girt round with awe ! Jove, author of Nature, applying to all things the rudder of law, — Hail! Hail! For it justly rejoices the races whose life is a span To lift unto thee their voices — the Author and Framer of man. For we are thy sons; thou didst give us the symbols of speech at our birth, Alone of all the things that live and mortal move upon earth. Wherefore thou shalt find me extolling and ever singing thy praise ; Since thee the great Universe, rolling on its path round the world, obeys — Obeys thee, wherever thou guidest, and gladly is bound in thy hands, So great is the power thou confidest, with strong, invincible hands, To thy mighty ministering servant, the bolt of the thunder, that flies Two-edged, like a sword, and fervent, that is living and never dies. All nature, in fear and dismay, doth quake in the path of its stroke, 434 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY What time thou preparest the way for the one Word thy lips have spoke, Which blends with lights smaller and greater, which pervadeth and thrilleth all things. So great is thy power and thy nature — in the Universe Highest of Kings ! On earth, of all deeds that are done, O God ! there is none without thee ; In the holy ether not one, nor one on the face of the sea ; Save the deeds that evil men, driven by their own blind folly have planned; But things that have grown uneven are made even again by thy hand ; And things unseemly grow seemly, the unfriendly are friendly to thee; For no good and evil supremely thou hast blended in one by decree. For all thy decree is one, ever, — a word that endureth for aye, Which mortals, rebellious, endeavor to flee from and shun to obey — Ill-fated, that, worn with proneness for the lordship of all goodly things, Neither hear nor behold, in its oneness, the law that divinity brings ; Which men with reason obeying, might attain unto glorious life, No longer aimlessly straying in the paths of ignoble strife. There are men with a zeal, unblest, that are wearied with following fame, And men with a baser quest, that are turned to lucre and shame, There are men, too, that pamper and pleasure the flesh with delicate stings; All these desire beyond measure to be other than all these things. Great Jove, all-giver, dark-clouded, great Lord of the thunder¬ bolt’s breath ! Deliver the men that are shrouded in ignorance dismal as death. O father, dispel from their souls the darkness, and grant them the light PRAYERS Of reason, thy stay, when the whole wide world thou rulest with might, That we, being honored, may honor thy name with the music of hymns, Exalting the deeds of the Donor, unceasing, as rightly beseems Mankind; for no worthier trust is awarded to God or to Man Than forever to glory with justice in the law that endures and is One. O, THOU ETERNAL ONE! Derzhavin Translated by Sir John Bowring (Secretary of State under Catherine II) O Thou Eternal One ! whose presence bright All space doth occupy, all motions guide ; Unchanged through time’s all-devastating flight: Thou only. God! There is no God beside! Being of all beings ! Mighty One ! Whom none could comprehend and none explore; Who fillst existence with Thyself alone : Embracing all, supporting, ruling o’er, — Being whom we call God, and know no more ! In its sublime research philosophy May measure out the ocean deeps, may count The sands or the sun’s rays ; but God ! for thee There is no weight nor measure : none can mount Up to thy mysteries. Reason’s brightest spark, Though kindled by thy light, in vain would try To trace thy counsels, infinite and dark; And thought is lost ere thought can soar so high, Even like past moments in eternity. Thou from primeval nothingness didst call First chaos, then existence: Lord, on thee 436 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Eternity had its foundation; all Sprung from thee, — of light, joy, harmony, Sole origin : all life, all beauty thine. Thy word created all and doth create; Thy splendor fills all space with rays divine. Thou wert and art and shalt be ! Glorious ! Great ! Light-giving, life-sustaining Potentate ! Thy chains the unmeasured universe surround, Upheld by thee, by thee inspired with breath! Thou the beginning with the end hast bound, And beautifully mingled life and death! As sparks mount upward from the fiery blaze, So suns are born, so worlds spring forth from thee, And as the spangles in the sunny rays Shine round the silver snow, the pageantry Of heaven’s bright army glitters in thy praise. A million torches lighted by thy hand Wander unwearied through the blue abyss: They own thy power, accomplish thy command, All gay with life, all eloquent with bliss. What shall we call them? Piles of crystal light, A glorious company of golden streams, Lamps of celestial ether burning bright, Suns lighting systems with their joyous beams? But thou to these art as the noon to night. Yes l As a drop of water in the sea, All this magnificence in thee is lost : What are ten thousand worlds compared to thee? What am I, then? Heaven’s unnumbered host, Though multiplied by myriads, and arrayed In all the glory of sublimest thought, Is but an atom in the balance, weighed Against thy greatness, is a cipher brought Against infinity! Oh, what am I, then? Nought! Nought, yet the effulgence of thy light divine, Pervading worlds, hath reached my bosom, too; PRAYERS 437 Yes ! In my spirit doth thy spirit shine, As shines the sunbeam in a drop of dew. Nought! Yet I live, and on hope’s pinions fly Eager toward thy presence; for in thee I live and breathe and dwell ; aspiring high, Even to the throne of thy divinity. I am, O God ! and surely Thou must be ! Thou art ! directing, guiding all, thou art ! Direct my understanding, then, to thee; Control my spirit, guide my wandering heart : Though but an atom midst immensity, Still I am something, fashioned by thy hand ! I hold a middle rank twixt heaven and earth, On the last verge of mortal being stand, Close to the realm where angels have their birth, Just on the boundaries of the spirit land ! The chain of being is complete in me ; In me is matter’s last gradation lost, And the next step is spirit — Deity ! I can command the lightning and am dust ! A monarch and a slave ; a worm, a god ! Whence came I here ? and how so marvellously Constructed and conceived ? Unknown ! This clod Lives surely through some higher energy; For from itself alone it could not be ! Creator ! yes, thy wisdom and thy word Created me! Thou Source of life and good! Thou Spirit of my Spirit, and my Lord ! Thy light, thy love, in their bright plenitude Filled me with an immortal soul, to spring Over the abyss of death, and bade it wear The garments of eternal day, and wing Its heavenly flight beyond this little sphere, Even to its source — to thee — its Author there. O thoughts ineffable ! O visions blest ! Though worthless our conceptions all of thee, 8 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Yet shall thy shadowed image fill our breast, And waft its homage to thy Deity. God! thus alone my lonely thoughts can soar; Thus seek thy presence, Being wise and good ! Midst thy vast works admire, obey, adore ; And when the tongue is eloquent no more, The soul shall speak in tears of gratitude ! INVOCATION Max Eastman Truth, be more precious to me than the eyes Of happy love; burn hotter in my throat That passion, and possess me like my pride; More sweet than freedom, more desired than joy. More sacred than the pleasing of a friend. THE PRAYER Alfred Tennyson From In Memoriam CXXXI O living will that shall endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock, Flow through our deeds and make them pure, That we may lift from out the dust A voice as unto him that hears, A cry above the conquered years To one that with us works, and trust With faith that comes from self-control, The truths that never can be proved Until we cfose with all we loved, And all we flow from, soul in soul. PRAYERS 439 d. PRAYERS FOR COMFORT IN PROSPECT OF DEATH A PRAYER IN THE PROSPECT OF DEATH Robert Burns O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause Of all my hope and fear ! In whose dread presence, ere an hour, Perhaps I must appear ! If I have wander’d in those paths Of life I ought to shun — As something loudly in my breast. Remonstrates I have done — Thou know’st that Thou hast formed me With passions wild and strong; And list’ning to their witching voice Has often led me wrong. Where human weakness has come short, Or frailty stept aside, Do thou, All-Good — for such Thou art — In shades of darkness hide. Where with intention I have err’d, No other plea I have, But, Thou art good; and Goodness still Delighteth to forgive. PRAYER BEFORE EXECUTION Mary Queen of Scots O Domine Deus ! Speravi in te, O care mi Jesu, nunc libera me ! In dura catena, in misera poena, Desidero te ! Languendo, gemendo, et genuflectendo, Adoro, imploro, ut liberes me ! 440 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY (Translation by John Fawcett, 1782.) O merciful Father, my hope is in thee ! O gracious Redeemer, deliver thou me ! My bondage bemoaning, with sorrowful groaning, I long to be free; Lamenting, relenting, and humbly repenting, O Jesu, my Savior, I languish for thee! e . PRAYERS FOR GUIDANCE A PRAYER John Drinkwater Lord, not for light in darkness do we pray, Not that the veil be lifted from our eyes, Nor that the slow ascension of our day Be otherwise. Not for a clearer vision of the things Whereof the fashioning shall make us great, Not for remission of the peril and stings Of time and fate. Not for a fuller knowledge of the end Whereto we travel, bruised yet unafraid, Nor that the little healing that we lend Shall be repaid. Not these, O Lord. We would not break the bars Thy wisdom sets about us; we shall climb Unfetter’d to the secrets of the stars In Thy good time. We do not crave the high perception swift When to refrain were well, and when fulfill, Nor yet the understanding strong to sift The good from ill. PRAYERS 441 Not these, O Lord. For these Thou hast revealed, We know the golden season when to reap The heavy-fruited treasure of the field, The hour to sleep. Not these. We know the hemlock from the rose, The pure from stained, the noble from the base, The tranquil holy light of truth that glows On Pity’s face. We know the paths wherein our feet should press, Across our hearts are written Thy decrees : Yet now, O Lord, be merciful to bless With more than these. Grant us the will to fashion as we feel, Grant us the strength to labor as we know, Grant us the purpose, ribb’d and edg’d with steel. To strike the blow. Knowledge we ask not, — knowledge Thou hast lent, But, Lord, the will, — there lies our bitter need, Give us to build above the deep intent The deed, the deed. THE CRY OF THE AGE Hamlin Garland What shall I do to be just? What shall I do for the gain Of the world — for its sadness? Teach me, O Seers that I trust ! Chart me the difficult main Leading me out of my sorrow and madness; Preach me out of the purging of pain. Shall I wrench from my finger the ring To cast to the tramp at my door? Shall I tear off each luminous thing To drop in the palm of the poor? 442 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY What shall I do to be just? Teach me, O Ye in the light, Whom the poor and the rich alike trust : My heart is aflame to be right. TWO PRAYERS Charlotte Perkins Gilman Only for these I pray, Pray with assurance strong; Light to discover the way, Power to follow it long. \ Let me have light to see, Light to be sure and know, When the road is clear to me Willingly I go. Let me have power to do, Power of the brain and nerve, Though the task is heavy and new Willingly I will serve. My prayers are lesser than three, Nothing I pray but two; Let me have light to see, Let me have power to do. THE ELIXIR George Herbert Teach me, my God and King, In all things thee to see; And what I do in anything, To do it as for thee. PRAYERS 443 Not rudely, as a beast, To run into an action; But still to make thee prepossessed, And give it his perfection. A man that looks on glass On it may stay his eye; Or, if he pleaseth, through it pass, And then the heaven espy. All may of thee partake, Nothing can be so mean, Which, with this tincture, for thy sake Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause, Makes drudgery divine; Who sweeps a room as for thy laws, Makes that, and the action, fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold; For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for less be told. THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD John Henry Newman Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead thou me on ! The night is dark and I am far from home; Lead thou me on ! Keep thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me. I was not ever thus, nor prayed that thou Shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose and see my path ; but now Lead thou me on ! I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears Pride ruled my will : remember not past years ! THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY So long thy power has blest me, sure it still Will lead me on O’er moor and fen, o’er crag and torrent till The night is gone, And with the morn those angel faces smile Which I have loved long since and lost awhile ! THE MYSTIC’S PRAYER William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) Lay me to sleep in sheltering flame O Master of the Hidden Fire ! Wash pure my heart, and cleanse for me My soul’s desire. In flame of sunrise bathe my mind, O Master of the Hidden Fire, That, when I wake, clear-eyed may be My soul’s desire. THE INWARD LIGHT Henry Septimus Sutton I have a little inward light, which still All tenderly I keep, and ever will. I think it never wholly dies away; But oft it seems as if it could not stay, And I do strive to keep it if I may. Sometimes the wind gusts push it sore aside : Then closely to my breast my light I hide, And for it make a tent of my two hands, And though it scarce might on the lamp abide, It soon recovers and uprightly stands. Sometimes it seems there is no flame at all; I look quite close, because it is so small : Then all for sorrow do I weep and sigh; But Some One seems to listen when I cry, And the light burns up and I know not why. PRAYERS 445 O God ! O Father ! hear thy child who cries ! Who would not quench thy flame ; who would not dare To let it dwindle in a sinful air; Who does feel how all-precious such a prize, And yet, alas ! is feeble and not wise. Oh, hear, dear Father ! For thou knowst the need: Thou knowst what awful height there is in Thee,— How very low I am; oh, do Thou feed Thy light, that it burn ever, and succeed My life to deepest holiness to lead. f. PRAYERS OF GRATITUDE A THANKSGIVING TO GOD Robert Herrick Lord, thou hast given me a cell Wherein to dwell ; A little house, whose humble roof Is weather-proof ; Under the sparres of which I lie, Both soft and drie; Where thou, my chamber for to ward, Hast set a guard Of harmless thoughts, to watch and keep Me while I sleep. Low is my porch, as is my Fate, Both void of state ; And yet the threshold of my door, Is worn by the poore, Who hither come and freely get Good words, or meat : Like as my parlour, so my hall And kitchen’s small ; A little butterie, and therein A little bin, 446 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Which keeps my little loaf of bread Unchipt, unflead : Some brittle sticks of thorn and brier Make me a fire, Close by whose loving coals I sit, And glow like it. Lord I confess, too, when I dine The pulse is thine, And all those other bits that bee There placed by Thee ; The worts, the purslane and the messe Of watercresse, Which of thy kindness thou hast sent; And my content Makes those and my beloved beet To be more sweet. ’Tis Thou that crownst my glittering hearth With guiltless mirth; And giv’st me wassaile bowles to drink, Spiced to the brink. Lord ’tis Thy plenty-dropping hand That soiles my land, And giv’st me for my bushel sowne Twice ten for one : Thou mak’st my teeming hen to lay Her egg each day; Beside my healthful ewes to bear Me twins each yeare ; The while the conduits of my kine Run creame for wine. All these and better thou dost send Me to this end, — That I should render, for my part, A thankful heart ; Which, fired with incense, I resigne As wholly Thine; But the acceptance, that must be, My Christ, by thee. PRAYERS 447 A PRAYER William Dean Howells Lord, for the erring thought Not into evil wrought; Lord, for the wicked will, Betrayed and baffled still ; • For the heart from itself kept, Our thanksgiving accept ! For ignorant hopes that were Broken at our blind prayer; For pain, death, sorrow sent, Unto our chastisement ; For all loss of seeming good, Quicken our gratitude ! PRAYER Harry Kemp I kneel not now to pray that Thou Make white one single sin, — I only kneel to thank the Lord For what I have not been; For deeds which sprouted in my heart But ne’er to bloom were brought, For monstrous vices which I slew In the shambles of my thought — Dark deeds the world has never guessed By hell and passion bred, Which never grew beyond the bud That cankered in my head. Some said I was a righteous man — Poor fools ! the gallows tree (If Thou hadst let one foot to slip) Had held a limb for me. 448 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY So for the man I might have been My heart must cease to mourn, ’Twere best to praise the living God For monsters never born; To bend the spiritual knee (Knowing myself within) And thank the kind, benignant God For what I have not been! GOD, YOU HAVE BEEN TOO GOOD TO ME Charles W harton Stork God, you have been too good to me, You don’t know what you’ve done. A clod’s too small to drink in all The treasure of the sun. The pitcher fills the lifted cup And still the blessings pour They overbrim the shallow rim With cool refreshing store. You are too prodigal with joy, Too careless of its worth, To let the stream with crystal gleam Fall wasted on the earth. Yet many thirsty lips draw near And quaff the greater part ! There still will be too much for me To hold in one glad heart. g. WAR PRAYERS VICARIOUS ATONEMENT Richard Aldington There is an old and very cruel god • •••••• We will endure; We will try not to wince When he crushes and rends us. PRAYERS 449 If indeed it is for your sakes, If we perish or moan in torture, Or stagger under sordid burdens That you may live — Then we can endure. If our wasted blood Makes bright the page Of poets yet to be ; If this our tortured life Saved from destruction’s nails Gold words of a Greek long dead; Then we can endure. Then hope, Then watch the sun rise Without utter bitterness. But, O thou old and very cruel god, Take if thou canst, This bitter cup from us. PRAYER Gilbert Keith Chesterton O God of earth and altar, Bow down and hear our cry, Our earthly rulers falter, Our people drift and die; The walls of gold entomb us, The swords of scorn divide, Take not Thy thunder from us But take away our pride ! From all that terror teaches, From lies of tongue and pen. From all the easy speeches That comfort cruel men, From sale and profanation Of honor and the sword, From sleep and from damnation Deliver us, Good Lord ! THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Tie in a living tether The priest and prince and thrall, Bind all our lives together, Smite us and save us all; From ire and exultation A-flame with faith and free Lift up a living nation A single sword to thee ! BEFORE ACTION William Noel Hodgson By all the glories of the day, And the cool evening’s benison ; By the last sunset touch that lay Upon the hills when the day was done : By beauty lavishly outpoured, And blessing carelessly received, By all the days that I have lived. Make a soldier, Lord. By all of all men’s hopes and fears, And all the wonders poets sing, The laughter of unclouded years, And every sad and lovely thing : By the romantic ages stored With high endeavor that was his, By all his mad catastrophes, Make me a man, O Lord. I, that on my familiar hill, Saw with uncomprehending eyes A hundred of thy sunsets spill Their fresh and sanguine sacrifice, Ere the sun swings his noon-day sword Must say goodbye to all of this : — By all delights that I shall miss, Help me to die, O Lord ! PRAYERS A PRAYER OF THE PEOPLES Percy Mackaye God of us who kill our kind ! Master of this blood-tracked Mind Which from wolf and Caliban Staggers toward the star of man — Now, on Thy cathedral stair, God, we cry to Thee in prayer ! Where our stifled anguish bleeds Strangling through Thine organ reeds, Where our voiceless songs suspire From the corpses in Thy choir — Through Thy charred and shattered nave, God, we cry on Thee to save ! Save us from our tribal gods ! From the racial powers, whose rods — Wreathed with stinging serpents — stir Odin and old Jupiter From their ancient hells of hate To invade Thy dawning state. Save us from their curse of kings ! Free our souls’ imaginings From the feudal dreams of war; Yea, God, let us nevermore Make, with slaves idolatry Kaiser, King or Czar of Thee! We who, craven in our prayer, Would lay off on Thee our care — Lay instead on us Thy load; On our minds Thy spirit’s goad, On our laggard wills Thy whips And Thy passion on our lips ! Fill us with the reasoned faith That the prophet lies, who saith 45 1 452 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY All this web of destiny, Torn and tangled, cannot be Newly wove and redesigned By the Godward human mind. Teach us : so, no more to call Guidance supernatural To our help, but — heart and will — Know ourselves responsible For our world of wasted good And our blinded brotherhood. Lord, our God ! to whom from clay, Blood and mire, Thy peoples pray — Not from Thy cathedral’s stair Thou hearest : — Thou criest through our prayer For our prayer is but the gate : We, who pray, ourselves are fate. h. PRAYERS FOR SPECIAL THINGS FOR INSPIRATION Michelangelo Buonarotti Translated by William Wordsworth The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed, If thou the spirit give by which I pray; My unassisted heart is barren clay, Which of its native self can nothing feed; Of good and pious works thou art the seed Which quickens where thou say’st it may; Unless thou show us then thine own true way, No man can find it! Father, Thou must lead! Do thou, then, breathe those thoughts into my mind By which such virtue may in me be bred That in thy holy footsteps I may tread: The fetters of my tongue do thou unbind, That I may have the power to sing of thee And sound thy praises everlastingly. PRAYERS 453 A VOYAGER’S PRAYER Chippewa Indians Translated by Tanner O Great Spirit ! Thou hast made this lake ; Thou hast also created us as Thy children; Thou art able to make this water calm Until we have safely passed over. FOR FORGIVENESS John Donne Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun, Which was my sin, though it were done before? Wilt thou forgive that sin, through which I run And do run still, though still I do deplore? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; For I have more. Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I have won Others to sin, and made my sins their door? Wilt Thou forgive that sin which I did shun A year or two, but wallowed in a score? When Thou hast done, Thou hast not done ; For I have more. I have a sin of fear, that when I have spun My last thread, I shall perish on the shore ; But swear by thyself, that at my death Thy Son Shall shine as He shines now and heretofore ; And, having done that, Thou hast done; I fear no more. 454 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY TO A SACRED COW East Indian Toda Translated by W. E. Mashiel What a fine cow your predecessor was ! How well she supported us with her milk ! Will you not supply us in like manner? You are a God amongst us — Do not let the sacred place go to ruin; Let one become a thousand : Let all be well : Let us have plenty of milk ! PRAYER FOR RAIN Kalevala (From the Finnish) Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber, Field of the Creator, rouse thee, Make the blade arise and flourish, Let the stalks grow up and lengthen. That the ears may grow by thousands, Yet a hundredfold increasing, By my ploughing and my sowing, In return for all my labour. Ukko, then, of Gods the highest, Father, thou in heaven abiding, Thou to whom the clouds are subject, Of the scattered clouds the ruler, All thy clouds do thou assemble, In the light make clear thy counsel, Send thou forth a cloud from eastward, In the north-west let one gather, PRAYERS 455 Send thou others from the westward, Let them drive along from southward, Send the light rain forth from heaven, Let the clouds distil with honey, That the corn may sprout up strongly, And the stalks may wave and rustle. Ukko, then, of Gods the highest, Father of the highest heaven, Heard, and all the clouds assembled, In the light made clear his counsel, And he sent a cloud from eastward, In the north-west let one gather, Others, too, he sent from westward, Let them drive along from southward, Linked them edge to edge together, And he closed the rifts between them, Then he sent the rain from heaven, And the clouds distilled sweet honey, That the corn might sprout up stronger, And the stalks might wave and rustle, Thus the sprouting germ was nourished, And the rustling stalks grew upward, From the soft earth of the cornfield, Though the toil of Vainamoinen. EPITAPH George MacDonald Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde ; Hae mercy o’ my soul, Lord God, As I wad do, were I Lord God, An’ ye were Martin Elginbrodde. 456 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY PRAYER TO THE MOUNTAIN SPIRIT Navajo Indians Translated by Cronyn Lord of the Mountain, Reared with the mountain, Young man, Chieftain, Llear a young man’s prayer ! Hear a prayer for cleanness. Keeper of the strong rain, Drumming on the mountain; Lord of the small rain That restores the earth in newness; Keeper of the clean rain, Hear a prayer for wholeness. Young man, Chieftain, Hear a prayer for fleetness. Keeper of the deer’s way, Reared among the eagles, Clear my feet of slothness. Keeper of the paths of men, Hear a prayer for straightness. Hear a prayer for courage. Lord of the peaks, Reared amid the thunders; Keeper of the headlands Holding up the harvest, Keeper of the strong rocks Hear a prayer for staunchness Young man, Chieftain, Spirit of the Mountain ! PRAYER FOR PAIN John G. Neihardt I do not pray for peace nor ease, Nor truce from sorrow: PRAYERS 457 No suppliant on servile knees Begs here against tomorrow ! Lean flame against lean flame we flash, O Fates that meet me fair; Blue steel against blue steel we clash — Lay on, and I shall dare ! But Thou of deeps the awful Deep, Thou Breather in the clay, Grant this my only prayer — Oh, keep My soul from turning gray ! For until now, whatever wrought Against my sweet desires, My days were smitten harps strung taut, My nights were slumberous lyres. And howsoe’er the hard blow rang Upon my battered shield, Some lark-like, soaring spirit sang Above my battlefield. And through my soul of stormy night The zigzag blue flame ran. I asked no odds — I fought my fight — Events against a man. But nov/ — at last — the gray mist chokes And numbs me. Leave me pain! Oh , let me feel the biting strokes , That I may fight again! A DANCE CHANT Osage Indians Translated by D. G. Brinton O Wahkonda (Master of Life) pity me! I am very poor : Give me what I need : 458 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Give me success against my enemies : May I be able to take scalps ! May I be able to take horses ! PRAYER Louis Untermeyer God, although this life is but a wraith, Although we know not what we use ; Although we grope with little faith, God, give me the heart to fight — and lose. Ever insurgent let me be, Make me more daring than devout; From sleek contentment keep me free And fill me with a buoyant doubt. Open my eyes to visions girt With beauty, and with wonder lit, — But let me always see the dirt, And all that spawn and die in it. Open my ears to music, let Me thrill with Spring’s first flutes and drums But never let me dare forget The bitter ballads of the slums. From compromise and things half-done, Keep me, with stern and stubborn pride ; But when at last the fight is won, God, keep me still unsatisfied. PRAYER OF COLUMBUS Walt Whitman A batter’d, wreck’d old man, Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home, Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months, Sore, stiff with many toils, sickened, and nigh tp death. PRAYERS 459 I take my way along the island’s edge, Venting a heavy heart. I am too full of woe ! Elaply I may not live another day; I cannot rest, O God, I cannot eat or drink or sleep, Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee, Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee, commune with Thee, Report myself once more to Thee. Thou knowest my years entire, my life, (My long and crowded life of active work, not adoration merely) ; Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth, Thou knowest my manhood’s solemn and visionary meditations, Thou knowest how, before I commenced, I devoted all to come to Thee, Thou knowest I have in age ratified all those vows, and strictly kept them, Thou knowest I have not once lost nor faith nor ecstasy in Thee, In shackles, prison’d, in disgrace, repining not, Accepting all from Thee, as duly come from Thee. All my emprises have been filled with Thee, My speculations, plans, begun and carried on in thoughts of Thee, Sailing the deep or journeying the land for Thee; Intentions, purports, aspirations mine — leaving results to Thee. O I am sure they really come from Thee ! The urge, the ardor, the unconquerable will, The potent, felt, interior command, stronger than words, A message from the Heavens whispering to me even in sleep, These sped me on. By me and these the work so far accomplished (for what has been, has been), By me earth’s elder cloyed and stifled lands, uncloyed, unloosed, By me the hemispheres rounded and tied, the unknown to the known. The end I know not, it is all in Thee; Or small or great I know, not — haply what broad fields, what lands, 460 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Haply the brutish measureless human undergrowth I know, Transplanted there may rise to stature, knowledge worthy Thee. Haply the swords I know may there indeed be turned to reaping- tools ; Plaply the lifeless cross I know, Europe’s dead cross, may bud and blossom there. One effort more, my altar this bleak sand; That Thou, O God, my life hast lighted, With ray of light, steady, ineffable, vouchsafed of Thee, (Light rare, untellable, lighting the very light! Beyond all signs, descriptions, languages!) For that, O God — be it my latest word, here on my knees. Old, poor, and paralyzed — I thank Thee. My terminus near, The clouds already closing in upon me, The voyage balked, the course disputed, lost, I yield my ships to Thee. Steersman unseen! henceforth the helms are Thine; Take Thou command — (what to my petty skill Thy naviga¬ tion ?) My hands, my limbs grow nerveless;. My brain feels racked, bewildered; Let the old timbers part — I will not part, I will cling fast to Thee, O God, though the waves buffet me; Thee, Thee, at least I know. Is it the prophet’s thought I speak, or am I raving? What do I know of life? What of myself? I know not even my own work past or present ; Dim, ever-shifting guesses of it spread before me, Of newer, better worlds, their mighty parturition Mocking, perplexing me. And these things I see suddenly — what mean they? As if some miracle, some hand divine unsealed mine eyes, Shadowy vast shapes smile through the air and sky, And on the distant waves sail countless ships, And anthems in new tongues I hear saluting me. VIII. Worship a. PRE-CHRISTIAN PERIOD b. EARLY CHRISTIAN AND MEDIAEVAL PERIODS C. REFORMATION PERIOD d. EVANGELICAL PERIOD e. NINETEENTH CENTURY f. TWENTIETH CENTURY VIII. Worship a. PRE-CHRISTIAN PERIOD From HYMN TO MARDUK Assyrian, c. 2000 B.C. O MIGHTY, powerful, strong one of Ashur, O exalted prince, first-born of Nu-Dim-Nud, O Marduk, terrible one, who maketh Eturra to rejoice, Lord of Esagila, support of Babylon, lover of Ezida, Protector of all living, patron of E-mahtila, renewer of life, Protection of the land, benefactor of peoples, far and wide. Forever the ruler of the shrines, Forever is thy name acceptable in the mouth of the people, O Marduk, great lord * * * By thy illustrious command, Let me live, let me prosper and Let me honour thy divinity ! When I plan, let me attain (my plan), Establish truth in my mouth, Put (?) kindness in my heart, Return and be established. May they proclaim favours to me May my god stand at my right hand ! May my goddess stand at my left hand ! May my god, my benefactor, establish himself at my side, To give and to command, to hearken and to show favour ! Let the word I speak, when I speak, be propitious. O Marduk, great lord, command life, The life of my life do thou command! When I bow myself before thee joyfully, may I be satisfied! May Bel be thy light, may Ae make thee to rejoice! 463 464 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY May the gods of the world be tributary to thee ! May the great gods please thy heart! Another HYMN TO MARDUK O Marduk, lord of countries, terrible one * * * Powerful, independent, perfect * * * Exalted, lofty, whose * * * cannot be changed (The next eight lines are too badly broken to translate.) Lord of the fountains, mountains, and seas, overseer of the mountains, * Lord of * * * and fortresses, who directeth the course of the rivers, Bestower of corn and grain (?), grower of wheat and barley (?), who maketh the green herb to spring forth. Thou createst what god and goddess create, in the midst of their * * * art thou. Ruler of Anunnaki, leader of the Igigi, Wise one, first-born of Ea, creator of all mankind, Lord art thou, and like a father and a mother in * * * art thou, And thou, like the Sun-god, makest light their darkness. (Twenty-four lines omitted.) O my lord, stand by me at this time, and hear my cry, pronounce judgment and determine fate. The sickness of * * * do thou destroy and the disease of my body do thou take away. O my god and goddess, judge mankind and * * * By command of thy mouth, may no evil approach me, the magic of the sorcerer and sorceress ! WORSHIP 465 PENITENTIAL PSALM TO THE GODDESS ANUNIT Babylonian, c. 2000 B.C. IV May the wrath of the heart of my god be pacified ! May the god who is unknown to me be pacified; May the goddess who is unknown to me be pacified; May the known and unknown god be pacified ! ! May the known and unknown goddess be pacified ! May the heart of my god be pacified ! May the heart of my goddess be pacified ! May the god or goddess known or unknown be pacified ! May the god who is angry with me be pacified ! May the goddess who is angry with me be pacified The sin which I have committed I know not. The misdeed which I have committed I know not. A gracious name may my god announce ! A gracious name may my goddess announce ! A gracious name may my known and unknown god announce ! A gracious name may my known and unknown goddess an¬ nounce ! Pure food have I not eaten, Clear water have I not drunk. An offence against my god have I unwittingly committed. A transgression against my goddess have I unwittingly done. O lord, my sins are many, great are my iniquities ! My god, my sins are many, great are my iniquities! My goddess, my sins are many, great are my iniquities ! Known or unknown god, my sins are many, great are my iniquities ! Known or unknown goddess, my sins are many, great are my iniquities ! The sin, which I have committed I know not. The iniquity, which I have done, I know not. The offence, which I have committed, I know not. The transgression I have done, I know not. The lord, in the anger of his heart, hath looked upon me. 466 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The god, in the wrath of his heart, hath visited me. The goddess hath become angry with me, and hath grievously stricken me. The known or unknown god hath straitened me. The known or unknown goddess hath brought affliction upon me. I sought for help, but no one taketh my hand. . I wept, but no one came to my side. I utter cries, but no one hearkens to me. I am afflicted, I am overcome, I do not look up. Unto my merciful god I turn, I make supplication. I kiss the feet of my goddess and * * * To known and unknown god, I make supplication. To known and unknown goddess, I make supplication. O lord, look with favour upon me, receive my supplication ! O goddess, look with favour upon me, receive my supplication! Known and unknown god * * * Known and unknown goddess * * * How long, my god * * * How long, my goddess, until thy face be burned toward me? How long, known or unknown god, until the anger of thy heart be pacified? How long, known or unknown goddess, until thy unfriendly heart be pacified? Mankind is perverted and has no judgment. Of all men who are alive, who knows anything? They do not know whether they do good or evil. O lord, do not cast aside thy servant ! He is cast into the mire ; take his hand. The sin which I have sinned, turn to mercy! The iniquity which I have committed, let the wind carry away ! My many transgressions tear off like a garment ! My god, my sins are seven times seven; forgive my sins! My goddess, my sins are seven times seven; forgive my sins! Known and unknown god, my sins are seven times seven; for¬ give my sins; Known and unknown goddess, my sins are seven times seven; forgive my sins ! Forgive my sins and I will humble myself before thee. WORSHIP 467 May thy heart, as the heart of a mother who hath borne children, be glad ! As a mother who hath borne children, as a father who hath begotten (them), may it be glad! PENITENTIAL PSALM Babylonian, c. 2000 B.C. Suppliant : I, thy servant, full of sighs, cry unto thee. Thou acceptest the fervent prayer of him who is burdened with sin. Thou lookest upon a man and that man lives. O potentate of the world, mistress of mankind ! Merciful one, to whom it is good to turn, who accepteth supplication ! Priest : His god and his goddess being angry with him he crieth unto thee. Turn thy face toward him and take his hand. Suppliant : Besides thee there is no god who guideth aright. Look with true favour upon me and accept my supplication. Declare, “how long” (I am to wait), and let thy liver be pacified. When, O my mistress, will thy face be turned? Like the doves do I moan, in sighs do I abound. V • Priest: With woe and grief, full of sighs, is his soul; Tears doth he weep, laments doth he pour forth. * * * See Buddhist Sisters , Section II. a . 468 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY HYMN TO AMEN RA, THE SUN GOD Egyptian, c. 1700 B.C. Translated by Frank Lloyd Griffith Praise of Amen Ra ! The bull in Heliopolis, the chief of all the gods, The beautiful and beloved god Who giveth life to all warm-blooded things, To all manner of goodly cattle! I Hail to thee, Amen Ra ! lord of the thrones of the two lands. Thou who dwellest in the sanctuary of Karnak. Bull of his mother, he who dwelleth in his fields, Wide-ranging in the Land of the South. Lord of the Mezau, ruler of Pent, Prince of heaven, heir of earth, Lord of all things that exist ! Alone in his exploits even amongst the gods, The goodly bull of the Ennead of the gods, Chiefest of all the gods, Lord of truth, father of the gods, Maker of men, creator of animals, Lord of the things which are, maker of fruit trees, Maker of pasture, who causeth the cattle to live ! Image made by Ptah, youth fair of love ! The gods give praise unto him; Maker of things below and of things above, he illuminateth the two lands; He traverseth the sky in peace. King of Upper and Lower Egypt, Ra the Justified, chief of the two lands. Great one of valor, lord of awe ; Chief, making the earth in its entirety ! Nobler in thy ways than any god, The gods rejoice in his beauties! WORSHIP 469 To him are given acclamations in the Great House, Glorious celebrations in the House of Flame; The gods love his odor when he cometh from Punt. Prince of the dew, he entereth the land of the Mezau ! Fair of face, coming to the Divine Land! The gods gather as dogs at his feet, Even as they recognize his majesty as their lord. Lord of fear, great one of terror, Great of soul, lordly in manifestations, Flourishing of offerings, maker of plenty, Acclamations to thee, maker of the gods, Thou who dost upraise the sky, and press down the ground ! Ill Ra, exalted in Karnak ! Great of splendor in the House of the Obelisk Ani, lord of the New Moon festival, To whom are celebrated the festival of the sixth day and of the quarter month. Liege lord, to whom Life, Prosperity, Health ! lord of all the gods, Who see him (?) in the midst of the horizon, Chief over the Pat and Hades, His name is more hidden than his birth, In his name of Amen, the hidden One. Hail to thee who art in peace ! Lord of enlargement of heart, lordly in manifestations, Lord of the uraeus crown, with lofty double plume; Fair of diadem, with lofty white crown ! The gods love the sight of thee, The Sekhemt crown is established upon thy forehead. Thy loveliness is shed abroad over the two lands; Thy rays shine forth in the eyes of men; fair for the Pat and the Rekhyt is thy rising, Weary are the flocks when thou art radiant. Thy loveliness is in the southern sky, thy sweetness in the northern sky, Thy beauties conquer hearts, 470 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thy loveliness maketh arms to droop, Thy beautiful form maketh hands to fail; Hearts faint at the sight of thee. Sole figure, who didst make all that is ! One and only one, maker of all that are, From whose eyes mankind issued, By whose mouth the gods were created, Who makest the herbage, and rnakest to live the cattle, goats, swine, and sheep, The fruit trees for the Henememt. He maketh the life of fishes in the river, The fowl of the air, Giving breath to that which is in the egg; Making the offspring of the serpent to live ; Making to live therewith the flies, The creeping things, and the leaping things, and the like. Making provision for the mice in their holes; Making to live the birds in every tree, Flail to thee, maker of all these ! One and only one, with many arms ! At night wakeful while all sleep, Seeking good for his flock. Amen-ra establisheth all things ! Turn Horus of the horizon! Praises be to thee in that all say, “Acclamations to thee, for that thou outweariest thyself with us ! Obeisance to thee for that thou didst make us !” Flail to thee, from all animals ! Acclamations to thee from every land, To the height of heaven, to the breadth of earth, To the depth of the great waters ! The gods bow before thy majesty, Exalting the mighty spirit that formed them ! They rejoice at the coming of him who begat them! They say unto thee : — “Come, come in peace ! Fathers of the fathers of all the gods, Thou who dost upraise the sky and press down the ground.” Maker of that which is, former of those which have being, Liege lord — to whom Life, Prosperity, Health ! — chief of the ex>ds. WORSHIP 47i We adore thy mighty spirit even as thou madest us; Who were made for thee when thou fashionest us. We give praises unto thee for that thou outweariest thyself with us. Hail to thee who didst make all that is ! Lord of truth, father of the gods, Maker of men, fashioner of animals, Lord of corn, Making to live the animals of the desert. Amen, bull fair of face, Beloved in Thebes, Great one of splendors in the House of the Obelisk, Twice crowned in Heliopolis, Thou who judgest between the twain in the Great Hall ! Chief of the great Ennead of the gods, One and only one, without his peer, Dwelling in Thebes, Ani in his divine Ennead, He liveth on truth every day. God of the horizon, Horus of the East, Who hath made the hills that have silver, gold, Real lapis lazuli, at his pleasure : Gums and incense are mingled for the Mezau, Fresh incense for thy nostrils. Fair of face he cometh to Mezau, Amen Ra, lord of the throne of the two lands. He who dwelleth in Thebes, Ani in his sanctuary. IV Sole King is he, even in the midst of the gods; Many are his names, none knoweth their number. He riseth on the horizon of the east, he is laid to rest on the horizon of the west. He overthroweth his enemies In the daily task of every day; In the morning he is born each day ; Thoth raiseth his eyes, And propitiateth him with his benefits ; 472 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The gods rejoice in his beauties, Exalting him who is in the midst of adorers ! Lord of the Sekti and of the Madet bark, Which traverse for thee Nu in peace ! Thy crew rejoice When they see the overthrow of the wicked one, Whose members taste the knife; The flame devoureth him; His soul is more punished than his body ; That Nak serpent, he is deprived of movement. The gods are in exultation, The crew of Ra are in peace, Heliopolis is in exultation, The enemies of Turn are overthrown. Karnak is in peace, Heliopolis is in exultation. The heart of the uraeus goddess is glad, The enemies of her lord are overthrown; The gods of Kheraha are in acclamation, The dwellers in the sanctuaries are in obeisance; They behold him mighty in his power. Mighty prince of the gods ! Great one of Justice, lord of Karnak, In this thy name, ‘‘Doer of Justice,” Lord of Plenty, Peaceful Bull; In this thy name, “Amen, Bull of his Mother,” Making mankind,* creating all that is, In this thy name of “Turn Khepera,” Great hawk, adorning the breast ! Fair of face adorning the bosom. Figure lofty of diadem. The two uraei fly on wings before him, The hearts of men run up to him (like dogs), The illuminated ones turn toward him. Adorning the two lands by his coming forth, Hail to thee, Amen Ra, lord of the throne of the two lands! His city loveth his rising. This is the end, in peace, as it was found. WORSHIP 473 HYMN TO ZEUS TEschylus (From the Greek) First Chorus from Agamemnon Zeus, — by what name soe’er He glories being addressed, Even by that holiest name I name the highest and the Best. On him I cast my troublous care, My only refuge from despair : Weighing all else, in Him alone I find Relief from this vain burden of the mind. One erst appeared supreme, Bold with abounding might, But like a darkling dream Vanished in long past night Powerless to save ; and he is gone Who flourished since, in turn to own His conqueror, to whom with soul on fire Man crying aloud shall gain his souks desire — , Zeus who prepared for men The path of wisdom, binding fast Learning to suffering. In their sleep The mind is visited again With memory of affliction past. Without the will, reflection deep Reads lesson that perforce shall last, Thanks to the power that plies the sovran oar, Resistless, toward the eternal shore. 474 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY CHORUS FROM (EDIPUS REX Sophocles, 490-405 B.C. Strophe I Oh, may my constant feet not fail, Walking in paths of righteousness, Sinless in word and deed, — True to those eternal laws That scale forever the high steep Of heaven’s pure ether, whence they sprang; — For only in Olympus is their home, Nor mortal wisdom gave them birth: And howsoe’er men may forget, They will not sleep ; For the might of the god within them grows not old. Antistrophe I Rooted in pride, the tyrant grows; But pride that with its own too-much Is rashly surfeited, Heeding not the prudent mean, Down the inevitable gulf From its high pinnacle is hurled, Where use of feet or foothold there is none. But, O kind gods, the noble strength That struggles for the State’s behoof Unbend not yet : In the gods have I put my trust; I will not fear. Strophe II But whoso walks disdainfully In act or word, And fears not Justice, nor reveres The throned gods, — Him let misfortune slay WORSHIP 475 For his ill-starred wantoning, Should he heap unrighteous gains, Nor from unhallowed paths withhold his feet, Or reach rash hands to pluck forbidden fruit. Who shall do this, and boast That yet his soul is proof Against the arrows of offended Heaven? If honor crowns such deeds as these, Not song but silence, then, for me ! Antistrophe II To earth’s dread centre, unprofaned By mortal touch, No more with awe will I repair, Nor Abae’s shrine, Nor the Olympian plain, If the truth stands not confessed, Pointed at by all the world. O Zeus supreme, if rightly thou art called Lord over all, let not these things escape Thee and thy timeless sway ! For now men set at naught Apollo’s word, and cry, “Behold, it fails!” His praise is darkened with a doubt; And faith is sapped, and Heaven defied. b. EARLY CHRISTIAN AND MEDIEVAL PERIODS INSPIRATION Ode VI of Solomon Translated by J. Rendel Harris As the hand moves over the harp, and the strings speak, So speaks in my members the Spirit of the Lord, And I speak by His love. 476 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY For He destroys what is foreign, and everything that is bitter: For thus it was from the beginning and will be to the end, That nothing should be His adversary, And nothing should stand up against Him. The Lord hath multiplied the knowledge of Himself, And is zealous that these things should be known, Which by His grace have been given unto us. And the praise of His name He gave us : Our spirits praise Flis holy Spirit. For there went forth a stream and became a river great and broad ; For it flooded and broke up everything and it brought (water) to the Temple : And the restrainers of the children of men were not able to restrain it, Nor the arts of those whose business it is to restrain waters; For it spread over the face of the whole earth, and filled everything : And all the thirsty upon earth were given to drink of it; And thirst was relieved and quenched : for from the Most High the draft was given. Blessed then are the ministers of that draft who are en¬ trusted with that water of His : They have assuaged the dry lips, and the will that had fainted they have raised up; And souls that were near departing they have brought back from death : And limbs that had fallen they straightened and set up : They gave strength for their feebleness and light to their eyes : For everyone knew them in the Lord, and they lived by the water of life forever. Hallelujah. WORSHIP 477 TO TRUTH Translated by J. Rendel Harris Ode XXXVIII of Solomon I went up to the light of truth as if into a chariot: And the Truth took me and led me: And carried me across pits and gullies ; And from the rocks and waves it preserved me : And it became to me an instrument of salvation : And set me on the arms of immortal life : And it went with me and made me rest, and suffered me not to wander, because it was the Truth; And I ran no risk, because I walked with Him; And I did not make an error in anything because I obeyed the Truth. For Error flees away from it, and meets it not: But the Truth proceeds in the right path, And whatever I did not know, it made clear to me, All the poisons of error, and the plagues which announce the fear of death And I saw the destroyer of destruction, when the bride who is corrupted is adorned; And the bridegroom who corrupts and is corrupted ; And I asked the Truth, “Who are these?” And He said to me, This is the deceiver and the error : And they are alike in the beloved and in His bride : And they lead astray and corrupt the (whole) world: And they invite many to the banquet, And give them to drink the wine of their intoxication, And remove their wisdom and knowledge, And (so they) make them without intelligence; And then they leave them; And then these go about like madmen corrupting : Seeing that they are without heart, nor do they seek it. » And I was made wise so as not to fall into the hands of the Deceiver ; And I rejoiced in myself because the Truth went with me. 478 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And I was established and lived and was redeemed, And my foundations were laid on the hand of the Lord : Because He established me. For Pie set the root and watered it and fixed it and blessed it; And its fruits are forever, It struck deep and sprung up and spread out, and was full and enlarged ; And the Lord alone was glorified in His planting and in His husbandry : By His care and the blessing of His lips, by the beautiful planting Of His right-hand : And by the discovery of His planting and by the thought of His mind. Hallelujah. EARLIEST CHRISTIAN HYMN OF Clement of Alexandria, ist Cent. A.D. Translated by E. H. Plumptre Curb for stubborn steed, Making its will give heed; Wing that directest right, The wild bird’s wandering flight; Helm for the ships that keep Their pathway o’er the deep; Shepherd of sheep that own Their Master on the throne, Stir up thy children meek With guileless lips to speak, In hymn and song, thy praise, Guide of their infant ways. O King of saints, O Lord, Mighty, all-conquering Word; Son of the highest God Wielding his wisdom’s rod; Our stay when cares annoy, WORSHIP 479 Giver of endless joy; Of all our mortal race Savior, of boundless grace, O Jesus, hear ! Shepherd and Sower, thou, Now helm, and bridle now, Wing for the heavenward flight Of flocks all pure and bright, Fisher of men, the blest, Out of the world’s unrest, Out of Sin’s troubled sea Taking us, Lord, to thee; Out of the waves of strife With bait of blissful life, With choicest fish, good store, Drawing thy nets to shore. Lead us, O shepherd true, Thy mystic sheep, we sue, Lead us, O holy Lord, Who from thy sons dost ward With all-prevailing charm, Peril, curse and harm; O path where Christ has trod, O way that leads to God, O Word abiding aye, O endless Light on high, Mercy’s fresh-springing flood. Worker of all things good, O glorious Life of all, That on their Maker call. Christ Jesus, hear ! O Milk of Heaven, that prest From full, overflowing breast Of her, the mystic bride, Thy wisdom hath supplied; Thine infant children seek With baby lips all weak, Filled with the Spirit’s dew From that dear bosom true, 480 THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thy praises pure to sing, Hymns meet for thee, our King, For Thee, the Christ; Our holy tribute, this, For wisdom, life and bliss, Singing in chorus meet, Singing in concert sweet The Almighty Son. We, heirs of peace unpriced, We, who are born in Christ, A people pure from stain, Praise we our God again, Lord of our Peace ! DE PROFUNDIS Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee, O Lord. Lord, hear my voice ; let Thine ears be attentive to the voice of my supplications. If Thou, Lord, shouldst mark iniquities, O Lord, who shall stand ? But there is forgiveness with Thee, that Thou mayest be feared. I wait for the Lord, my soul doth wait, and in His wrord do I hope. My soul waiteth for the Lord more than they that watch for the morning ; I say more than they that watch for the morning. Let Israel hope in the Lord for with the Lord there is mercy, and with Him is plenteous redemption. And He shall redeem Israel from all his iniquities. GLORIA IN EXCELSIS Glory be to God on high, and on earth peace, good-will towards men. We praise Thee, we bless Thee, we worship Thee, we glorify Thee. We give thanks to Thee, for Thy great glory. WORSHIP 481 O Lord God, heavenly King, God the Father Almighty. O Lord, the only begotten Son, Jesus Christ. O Lord God, Lamb of God, Son of the Father, That takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, have mercy upon us. Thou that takest away the sins of the world, receive our prayer. Thou that sittest at the right hand of God the Father, have mercy upon us. For Thou only art holy, Thou only art the Lord. Thou only, O Christ, with the Holy Ghost, art most high in the glory of God the Father. MAGNIFICAT My soul doth magnify the Lord, And my spirit hath rejoiced in God my Saviour. For he hath regarded the low estate of his handmaiden: fo behold, from henceforth all generations shall call me blessed For he that is mighty hath done to me great things; and holy is his name. And his mercy is on them that fear him from generation to generation. He hath showed strength with his arm ; he hath scattered the proud in the imagination of their hearts. He hath put down the mighty from their seats, and exalted them of low degree. He hath filled the hungry with good things and the rich he hath sent empty away. He hath holpen his servant Israel, in remembrance of his mercy. As he spake to our fathers, to Abraham, and to his seed forever. NUNC DIMITTIS Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace : according to Thy word. For mine eyes have seen Thy salvation. 482 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Which Thou hast prepared before the face of all people. A light to lighten the Gentiles; and the glory of Thy people Israel. TE DEUM LAUDAMUS Anonymous We praise thee, O God; we acknowledge thee to be the Lord. All the earth doth worship thee, the Father everlasting. To thee all Angels cry aloud; the Heavens, and all the powers therein. To thee Cherubim and Seraphim continually do cry, Lloly, Holy, Holy, Lord God of Sabaoth ; Heaven and earth are full of the Majesty of thy Glory. The glorious company of the Apostles praise thee. The goodly fellowship of the prophets praise thee. The noble army of martyrs praise thee. The holy Church throughout all the world doth acknowledge thee ; The Father of an infinite Majesty; Thine honorable, true, and only Son; Also the Holy Ghost, the comforter. Thou art the King of Glory, O Christ. Thou art the everlasting Son of the Father. When thou tookest upon thee to deliver man, thou didst not abhor the Virgin’s womb. When thou hadst overcome the sharpness of death, thou didst open the kingdom of Heaven to all believers. Thou sittest at the right hand of God, in the Glory of the Father. We believe that thou shalt come to be our Judge. We therefore pray thee, help thy servants, whom thou hast redeemed with the precious blood. Make them to be numbered with thy Saints in glory everlasting. O Lord, save thy people, and bless thine heritage. Govern them, and lift them up forever. Day by day we magnify thee ; And we worship thy Name ever, world without end. Vouchsafe, O Lord, to keep us this day without sin. O Lord, have mercy upon us, have mercy upon us. O Lord, let thy mercy lighten upon us, as our trust is in thee. O Lord, in thee have I trusted; let me never be confounded. WORSHIP 483 STABAT MATER Jacobus de Benedictis At the cross her station keeping, Stood the mournful mother weeping Close to Jesus to the last; Through her heart His sorrow sharing, All His bitter anguish bearing, Now at length the sword had passed. Oh, how sad and sore distressed Was that Mother highly blessed Of the sole-begotten One ! Christ above in torment hangs, She beneath beholds the pangs Of her dying glorious Son. Is there one who would not weep, Whelmed in miseries so deep, Christ’s dear Mother to behold? Can the human heart refrain From partaking in her pain, In that Mother’s pain untold? Bruised, derided, cursed, defiled, She beheld her tender child All with bloody scourges rent, For the sins of His own nation, Saw Him hang in desolation, Till His spirit forth He sent. O thou Mother, fount of love ! Touch my spirit from above, Make my heart with thine accord; Make me feel as thou hast felt; Make my soul to glow and melt With the love of Christ my Lord. 484 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Holy Mother ! pierce me through ; In my heart each wound renew Of my Saviour crucified: Let me share with thee His pain, Who for all my sins was slain, Who for me in torments died. Let me mingle tears with thee, Mourning Him who mourned for me. All the days that I may live : By the cross with thee to stay, There with thee to weep and pray, Is all I ask of thee to give. Virgin of all virgins best, Listen to my fond request: Let me share thy grief divine ; Let me, to my latest breath, In my body bear the death Of that dying Son of thine. Wounded with His every wound, Steep my soul till it hath swooned I11 His very blood away : Be to me, O Virgin, nigh, Lest in flames I burn and die In His awful judgment day. Christ, when thou shalt call me hence, Be Thy Mother my defence, Be Thy cross my victory; While my body here decays, May my soul Thy goodness praise, Safe in Paradise with Thee. WORSHIP 485 THE DEER’S CRY St. Patrick, c. 400 A.D. I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, Through a belief in the threeness, Through confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation. I arise today Through the strength of Christ’s birth with His Baptism, Through the strength of His crucifixion with His burial, Through the strength of His resurrection with His ascension, Through the strength of His descent for the judgment of Doom. I arise today Through the strength of the love of Cherubim, In obedience of angels, In the service of archangels, In hope of resurrection to meet with reward, In prayers of patriarchs In predictions of prophets, In preachings of apostles, In faiths of confessors, In innocence of holy virgins, In deeds of righteous men. I arise today Through the strength of heaven: Light of sun Radiance of moon, Splendour of fire, Speed of lightning, Swiftness of wind, Depth of sea, Stability of earth, Firmness of rock. A arise today Through God’s strength to pilot me: 486 THE WORLD’S "GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY God’s might to uphold me, God’s wisdom to guide me, God’s eye to look before me, God’s ear to hear me, God’s word to speak for me, God’s hand to guard me, God’s way to lie before me, God’s shield to protect me, God’s host to save me From snares of devils, From temptations of vices, From every one who shall wish me ill, Afar and anear, Alone and in a multitude. I summon today all these powers between me and those evils, Against every cruel merciless power that may oppose my body and soul, Against incantations of false prophets, Against black laws of pagandom, Against false laws of heretics, Against craft of idolatry, Against spells of women and smiths and wizards, Against every knowledge that corrupts man’s body and soul. Christ shield me today Against poison, against burning, Against drowning, against wounding, So that there may come to me abundance of reward. Christ with me, Christ before me, Christ behind me, Christ in me, Christ beneath me, Christ above me, Christ on my right, Christ on my left, Christ when I lie down, Christ when I sit down, Christ when I arise, Christ in the heart of every man who thinks of me, Christ in the mouth of every one who speaks of me, Christ in every eye that sees me, Christ in every ear that hears me. I arise today Through a mighty strength, the invocation of the Trinity, WORSHIP 487 Through a belief in the threeness, Through a confession of the oneness Of the Creator of Creation. MORNING HYMN Gregory the Great, c. 600 A.D. Translated by Edward Caswall Lo, fainter now lie spread the shades of night, And upward spread the trembling gleams of morn; Suppliant we bend before the Lord of Light, And pray at early dawn, That his sweet charity may all our sin Forgive, and make our miseries to cease; May grant us health, grant us the gift divine Of everlasting peace. Father Supreme, this grace on us confer; And Thou, O son, by an eternal birth ! With Thee, coequal spirit comforter ! Whose glory fills the earth. A HYMN The Venerable Bede, 735 A.D. Translated by Elizabeth Charles A hymn of glory let us sing; New songs throughout the world shall ring; By a new way none ever trod Christ mounteth to the throne of God. The apostles on the mountain stand, — The mystic mount, in Holy Land; 488 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They with the virgin mother, see Jesus ascend in majesty. The angels say to the eleven: “Why stand ye gazing into heaven? This is the Savior, this is He ! Jesus hath triumphed gloriously !” They said the Lord should come again, As these beheld him rising then, Calm soaring through the radiant sky, Mounting its dazzling summits high. May our affections thither tend, And thither constantly ascend, Where, seated on the Father’s throne, Thee reigning in the heavens we own! Be thou our present joy, Oh Lord! Who wilt be ever our reward; And, as the countless ages flee, May all our glory be in Thee! THE SOUL’S BITTER CRY Tamil Saivite Saints, Between 6bo and 800 A.D. In right I have no power to live, Day after day I’m stained with sin; I read, but do not understand; I hold Thee not my heart within. O light, O flame, O first of all, I wandered far that I might see, Athihai Virattanam’s Lord, Thy flower — like feet of purity. Daily I’m sunk in worldly sin ; Naught know I as I ought to know; Absorbed in vice as ’twere my kin, I see no path in which to go. WORSHIP 489 O Thou with throat one darkling gem, Gracious, such grace to me accord, That I may see Thy beauteous feet, Athihai Virattanam’s Lord. My fickle heart one love forsakes, And forthwith to some other clings; Swiftly to some one thing it sways, And e’en as swiftly backward swings. O Thou with crescent in Thy hair, Athihai Virattanam’s Lord, Fixed at Thy feet henceforth I lie, For Thou hast broken my soul’s cord. The bond of lust I cannot break; Desire’s fierce torture will not die; My Soul I cannot stab awake To scan my flesh with seeing eye. I bear upon me load of deeds, Load such as I can ne’er lay down. Athihai Virattanam’s Lord, Weary of joyless life I’ve grown. VENI CREATOR SPIRITUS Attributed to Charlemagne, 800 A.D. Translated by Dryden Creator Spirit, by whose aid The world’s foundations first were laid. Come, visit every pious mind, Come, pour thy joys on humankind; From sin and sorrow set us free, And make us temples worthy thee. O source of uncreated light, The Father’s promised Paraclete; Thrice holy fount, thrice holy fire, 490 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Our hearts with heavenly love inspire; Come, and thy sacred unction bring, To sanctify us while we sing. Plenteous of grace, descend from high, Rich in thy seven-fold energy ! Thou strength of his Almighty hand, Whose power does heaven and earth command; Proceeding Spirit, our defence, Who dost the gift of tongues dispense, And crownedst thy gift with eloquence ! Refine and purge our earthly parts : But, oh, inflame and fire our hearts : Our frailties help, our vice control; Submit the senses to the soul ; And when rebellious they are grown, Then lay thy hand and hold them down. Chase from our minds the infernal foe, And peace, the fruit of love, bestow; And, lest our feet should step astray, Protect and guide us on the way. Make us eternal truths receive, And practice all that we believe : Give us thyself that we may see Thy Father and the Son by thee. Immortal honor, endless fame, Attend the Almighty Father’s name: The Savior Son be glorified, Who for lost man’s redemption died: And equal adoration be, Eternal Paraclete, to thee ! WORSHIP 49 1 THE FINISHED COURSE St. Joseph of the Studium, 850 A.D. Translated by J. M. Neale Safe home, safe home in port; Strained cordage, shattered deck, Torn sails, provisions short, And only not a wreck ; But oh, the joy, upon the shore To tell our voyage perils o’er ! The prize, the prize secure ! The wrestler nearly fell; Bore all he could endure And bore not always well; But he may smile at troubles gone Who sets the victor’s garland on. No more the foe can harm; No more, of leaguered camp, And cry of night alarm, And need of ready lamp ; And yet how nearly he had failed ! How nearly had the foe prevailed ! The lamb is in the fold, In perfect safety penned; The lion once had hold, And thought to make an end, But One came by with wounded side, And for the sheep the shepherd died. The exile is at home; O nights and days of tears ! O longings not to roam ! O sins and doubts and fears ! What matters now? O joyful day! The King hath wiped all tears away ! THE WORLD'S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O happy, happy bride, The widowed hours are past ! The bridegroom at thy side Thou all his own at last; The sorrows of thy former cup In full fruition swallowed up. HYMN OF SIVAITE PURITANS ioth Century A.D. When once I knew the Lord, What to me were the host Of pagan deities, Some fixed in temple shrine Or carried in the crowd; Some made of unbaked clay, And some burnt hard with fire? With all the lying tales That fill the sacred books, They’ve vanished from my mind. How many flowers I gave At famous temple-shrines ! How often told my Cede And washed the idol’s head ! And still with weary feet Encircled Siva’s shrines ! But now at last I know Where dwells the King of Gods, And never will adore A temple made by hands. But yet I have a shrine — The mind within my breast. An image too is there — The soul that came from God. I offer ash and flowers — The praises of my heart; WORSHIP 493 And all the God-made world Is frankincense and myrrh. And thus where’er I go I ever worship God. STRENGTH, LOVE, LIGHT King Robert of France, c. iooo A.D. O Thou almighty Will Faint are thy children, till Thou come with power : Strength of our good intents, In our frail hour, Defence, Calm of Faith’s confidence, Come, in this hour ! O Thou most tender Love ! Deep in our spirits move : Tarry, dear Guest! Quench thou our passion’s fire, Raise thou each low desire, Deeds of brave love inspire, Ouickener and Rest ! O Light serene and still ! Come and our spirits fill, Bring in the day: Guide of our feeble sight, Star of our darkest night, Shine on the path of right, Show us the way ! Jerusalem, the Golden, Bernard of Cluny, 1145 A.D. (see Section XII). 494 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY JESUS, THOU JOY OF LOVING HEARTS St. Bernard of Clairvaux (From the Latin) 1150 A.D. Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts, Thou Fount of life, thou Light of men, From the best bliss that earth imparts, We turn unfilled to thee again. Thy truth unchanged hath ever stood; Thou savest those who on thee call ; To them that seek thee, thou art good, To them that find thee, all in all. We taste thee, O thou living Bread, And long to feast upon thee still ; We drink of thee the Fountain-head, And thirst, our souls from thee to fill. Our restless spirits yearn for thee, Where’er our changeful lot is cast; Glad, when thy gracious smile we see, Blest, when our faith can hold thee fast O Jesus, ever with us stay; Make all our moments calm and bright; Chase the dark night of sin away ; Shed o’er the world thy holy light. CANTICLE OF THE SUN Saint Francis of Assisi, 1225 A.D. Translated by Maurice Francis Egan Oh, Most High, Almighty, Good Lord God, to Thee belong praise, glory, honor and all blessing. Praised be my Lord God, with all His creatures, and especially our brother the Sun, who brings us the day and who brings us the light : fair is he, and he shines with a very great splendor. WORSHIP 495 O Lord, he signifies us to thee ! Praised be my Lord for our sister the Moon, and for the stars, the which He has set clear and lovely in the heaven. Praised be my Lord for our brother the wind, and for air and clouds, calms and all weather, by which Thou upholdest life and all creatures. Praised be my Lord for our sister water, who is very service¬ able to us, and humble and precious and clean. Praised be my Lord for our brother fire, through whom thou givest us light in the darkness ; and he is bright and pleasant and very mighty and strong. Praised be my Lord for our mother the earth, the which doth sustain us and keep us, and bringeth forth divers fruits and flowers of many colors, and grass. Praised be my Lord for all those who pardon one another for love’s sake, and who endure weakness and tribulation : blessed are they who peacefully shall endure, for thou, O Most High, wilt give them a crown. Praised be my Lord for our sister, the death of the body, from which no man escapeth. Woe to him who dieth in mortal sin. Blessed are those who die in thy most holy will, for the second death shall have no power to do them harm. Praise ye and bless the Lord, and give thanks to Him and serve Him with great humility. HYMN St. Thomas Aquinas, c. 1250 A.D. Sing, my tongue, the Saviour’s glory, Of His flesh the mystery sing; Of the blood, all price exceeding, Shed by our Immortal King. Destined for the world’s redemption, From a noble womb to spring. Of a pure and spotless Virgin Born for us on earth below, He, as Man with man conversing, 496 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Stayed the seeds of truth to sow; Then He closed in solemn order Wondrously His life of woe. On the night of that Last Supper, Seated with His chosen band, He the paschal victim eating, First fulfils the Law’s command; Then, as food to all His brethren, Gives Himself with His own Hand. Word made flesh, the bread of nature By His Word to Flesh He turns; Wine into His Blood He changes : — What though sense no change discerns, Only be the heart in earnest, Faith her lesson quickly learns. Down in adoration falling, Lo ! the Sacred Host we hail : Lo ! o’er ancient forms departing, Newer rites of grace prevail: Faith for all defects supplying, Where the feeble senses fail. To the Everlasting Father, And the Son who reigns on high, With the Holy Ghost proceeding Forth from each eternally, Be salvation, honour, blessing, Might and endless majesty. Amen. Songs of Kabir, 1440 A.D., Translated by Rabindranath Tagore (See Sections V and VI). WORSHIP 497 From NANAK AND THE SIKHS E. Indian, c. 1469 A.D. How shall I address Thee, O God? how shall I praise Thee? how shall I describe Thee? and how shall I know Thee? Saith Nanak, everybody speaketh of Thee, one wiser than the other. Great is the Lord, great is His name; (it is only) what He doeth that cometh to pass. Nanak, he who is spiritually proud shall not be honoured on his arrival in the next world. Praisers praise God, but have not acquired a knowledge of Him, As rivers and streams fall into the sea, but know not (its extent). Kings and emperors who possess oceans and mountains of property and wealth Are not equal to the worm which forgetteth not God in its heart. Make contentment thine earrings, modesty and self-respect thy wallet, meditation the ashes (to smear on thy body). Make thy body, which is only a morsel for death, thy beggar’s coat, and faith thy rule of life and thy staff. Make association with all thine Ai Panth, and the conquest of thy heart the conquest of the world. Hail ! Hail to Him, The primal, the pure, without beginning, the indestructible, the same in every age ! One Maya in union (with) God gave birth to three acceptable children. One of them is the creator, the second the provider, the third performeth the function of destroyer. As it pleaseth God, He directeth them by His orders. He beholdeth them, but is not seen by them. This is very marvellous. 498 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Hail ! Hail to Him, The primal, the pure, without beginning, the indestructible, the same in every age ! Make continence thy furnace, forbearance thy goldsmith, Understanding thy anvil, divine knowledge thy tools, The fear (of God) thy bellows, austerities thy fire, Divine love thy crucible, and melt God’s name therein. In such a true mint the Word shall be coined. This is the practice of those on whom God looketh with an eye of favor. Nanak, the Kind One, by a glance maketh them happy. The air is the Guru, water our father, and the great earth our mother ; Day and night are our two nurses, male and female, who set the whole world a-playing. Merits and demerits shall be read out in the presence of the judge. According to men’s acts, some shall be near and others distant (from God). Those who have pondered on the Name and departed after the completion of their toil. Shall have their countenances made bright, O Nanak; how many shall be emancipated in company with them ! C. REFORMATION PERIOD HYMN Martin Luther, 1521 Translated by Frederick Hedge A mighty fortress is our God A bulwark never failing; Our helper he amid the flood Of mortal ills prevailing. WORSHIP 499 For still our ancient foe, Doth seek to work us woe ; His craft and power are great, And, armed with cruel hate On earth has not his equal. Did we in our own strength confide, Our striving would be losing, — Were not the right man on our side. The man of God's own choosing. Dost ask who that may be ? Christ Jesus, it is he, Lord Sabaoth is his name, From age to age the same, And he must win the battle. And though this world, with devils filled, Should threaten to undo us, We will not fear for God hath willed His truth to triumph through us. The Prince of darkness grim, We tremble not for him, His rage we can endure, For lo ! his doom is sure, One little word shall fell him. That word above all earthly powers, No thanks to them, abideth; The spirit and the gifts are ours Through Him who with us sideth. Let goods and kindred go, This mortal life also; The body they may kill, God’s truth abideth still. His kingdom is forever. 5oo THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY HYMN St. Francis Xavier, 1550 My God, I love thee, not because I hope for heaven thereby ; Nor because they 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; E’en death itself, — and all for one Who was thine enemy. Then why, O blessed Jesu Christ! Should I not love thee well ; Not for the sake of winning heaven, Or of escaping hell : Not with the hope of gaining aught; Not seeking a reward; But as thyself hast loved me, Oh, ever-loving 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. WORSHIP 50i SALUTATION TO JESUS CHRIST John Calvin, 1560 I greet thee, my Redeemer sure, I trust in none but thee, Thou who hast borne such toil and shame And suffering for me : Our hearts from cares and cravings vain And foolish fears set free. Thou art the King compassionate, Thou reignest everywhere, Almighty Lord, reign thou in us, Rule all we have and are : Enlighten us and raise to heaven, Amid thy glories there. Thou art the life by which we live; Our stay and strength’s in thee; Uphold us so in face of death, What time soe’er it be', That we may meet it with strong heart, And may die peacefully. The true and perfect gentleness We find in thee alone; Make us to know thy loveliness, Teach us to love thee known; Grant us sweet fellowship with thee, And all who are thine own. Our hope is in none else but thee; Faith holds thy promise fast; Be pleased, Lord, to strengthen us, Whom Thou redeemed hast, To bear all troubles patiently, And overcome at last. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Chvldren of Eve and heirs of ill, To thee thy banished cry; To thee in sorrow’s vale we bring Our sighs and misery; We take the sinners’ place and plead: Lord, save us, or we die. Look Thou, our Daysman and High Priest Upon our low estate ; Make us to see God’s face in peace Through thee, our Advocate; With thee, our Savior may our feet Enter at heaven’s gate. Lord Jesus Christ of holy souls, The Bridegroom sweet and true, Meet thou the rage of Anti-Christ, Break thou his nets in two; Grant us thy Spirit’s help, thy will In every deed to do. SCOTCH TE DEUM William Kethe, 1560 All people that on earth do dwell, Sing to the Lord with cheerful voice; Him serve with mirth, His praise forth tell, Come Ye before Him and rejoice. The Lord ye know is God indeed, Without our aid He did us make; We are His folk, He doth us feed, And for His sheep he doth us take. O enter then His gates with praise, Approach with joy His courts unto; Praise, laud, and bless His name always, For it is seemly so to do. WORSHIP 503 For why? the Lord our God is good, His mercy is forever sure; His truth at all times firmly stood And shall from age to age endure. O MOTHER DEAR, JERUSALEM “F. B. P.” 1583 O mother dear, Jerusalem! When shall I come to thee ? When shall my sorrows have an end? Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbour of God’s saints ! O sweet and pleasant soil ! In thee no sorrow can be found, Nor grief, nor care, nor toil. No murky cloud o’ershadows thee, Nor gloom, nor darksome night; But every soul shines as the sun; For God himself gives light. O my sweet home, Jerusalem, Thy joys when shall I see? The King that sitteth on thy throne In His felicity? Thy gardens and thy godly walks Continually are green, Where grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen. Right through thy streets, with silver sound, The living waters flow, And on the banks, on either side, The trees of life do grow. 504 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Those trees for evermore bear fruit, And evermore do spring : There evermore the angels are, And evermore do sing. Jerusalem, my happy home, Would God I were in thee ! Would God my woes were at an end, Thy joys that I might see! BATTLE HYMN Gustavus Adolphus, 1630 Translated by Catherine Winkworth Fear not, O little flock ! the foe Who madly seeks your overthrow; Dread not his rage and power : What though your courage sometimes faints? His seeming triumph o’er God’s saints Lasts but an hour. Be of good cheer; your cause belongs To him who can avenge your wrongs; Leave it to him, our Lord. Though hidden now from all our eyes, He sees the Gideon who shall rise To save us, and his word. As true as God’s own word is true, Not earth or hell with all their crew Against us shall prevail. A jest and byword are they grown; God is with us, we are his own, Our victory' cannot fail. Amen, Lord Jesus; grant our prayer! Great captain, now thine arm make bare ; WORSHIP 505 Fight for us once again ! So shall the saints and martyrs raise A mighty chorus to thy praise World without end ! Amen. d. SEVENTEENTH CENTURY FAIREST LORD JESUS Anonymous (From the German) Fairest Lord Jesus Ruler of all nature O thou of God and man the Son ! Thee will I cherish, Thee will I honor, Thou my soul’s glory, joy and crown. Fair are the meadows, Fairer still the woodlands, Robed in the blooming garb of spring; Jesus is fairer, Jesus is purer, Who makes the woful heart to sing. Fair is the sunshine, Fairer still the moonlight, And all the twinkling, starry host ; Jesus shines fairer, Jesus shines purer, Than all the angels heaven can boast. 506 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A MYSTIC SONG Anonymous (From the French) Translated by Percy Allen Out for a walk the other day, I met sweet Jesus by the way. My heart flies, flies, flies; My heart toward heaven flies, He said to me : “Daughter, what seekest Thou ?” “I was seeking thee, Jesus sweet, and now My heart toward heaven flies; Humility and Charity, And also holy Chastity, My heart flies, flies, flies, My heart toward heaven flies. “The gifts of perfect love are they, Daughter thine shall they be one day.” My heart flies, flies, flies, My heart toward heaven flies. THOU ART OF ALL CREATED THINGS Pedro Calderon de la Barca Thou art the essence of all created things, O Lord, the essence and the cause, The source and center of all bliss; What are those veils of woven light Where sun and moon and stars unite, The purple morn, the spangled night, But curtains which thy mercy draws Between the heavenly world and this? The terrors of the sea and land — WORSHIP 507 When all the elements conspire, The earth and water, storm and fire — Are but the sketches of thy hand ; Do they not all in countless ways — The lightning’s flash, the howling storm, The dread volcano’s awful blaze — Proclaim thy glory and thy praise ? Beneath the sunny summer showers Thy love assumes a milder form, And writes its angel name in flowers; The wind that flies with winged feet Around the grassy gladdened earth, Seems but commissioned to repeat In echo’s accents — silvery sweet — That Thou, O Lord, didst give it birth. There is a tongue in every flame, There is a tongue in every wave; To these the bounteous Godhead gave These organs but to praise his name ! LET US WITH A GLADSOME MIND John Milton, 1623 Let us with a gladsome mind Praise the Lord for He is kind; For His mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure. Let us blaze His name abroad, For of gods He is the God; Who by all-commanding might, Filled the new-made world with light,. He the golden tressed sun Caused all day his course to run; Th’ horned moon to shine by night, ’Mid her spangled sisters bright. 508 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY He His chosen race did bless, In the wasteful wilderness; He hath, with a piteous eye, Looked upon our misery. All things living He doth feed. His full hand supplies their need; For His mercies aye endure, Ever faithful, ever sure. ADAM’S HYMN IN PARADISE van Vondel (From the Dutch), c. 1640 Translated by Sir John Bowring O Father, we approach Thy throne, Who bidst the Glorious sun arise All-Good, almighty and all-wise, Great source of all things, God alone ! We see Thee! Brighter than the rays Of the bright sun, we see thee shine ! As in a fountain divine, We see thee, endless fount of days! We see thee who our frame hast wrought With one swift word, from senseless clay; Waked with one glance of heavenly ray, Our never dying souls from naught. Those souls Thou lightedst with the spark At Thy pure fire; and gracious still, Gavst immortality, free will, And language not involved in dark ! WORSHIP 509 THE RESTLESS HEART Psalm of the Maratha Saints p • E. Indian, 1608-1649 As on the bank the poor fish lies And gasps and writhes in pain, Or as a man with anxious eyes Seeks hidden gold in vain, — So is my heart distressed and cries To come to thee again. Thou knowest, Lord, the agony Of the lost infant’s wail, Yearning his mother’s face to see. (How oft I tell this tale !) O at thy feet the mystery Of the dark world unveil ! The fire of this harassing thought Upon my bosom preys. Why is it I am thus forgot ? (O, who can know thy ways?) Nay, Lord, thou seest my hapless lot; Have mercy, Tuka says. ADAM’S MORNING HYMN John Milton, 1667 From Paradise Lost ‘These are thy glorious works, Parent of good, Almighty, thine this universal frame, Thus wondrous fair; thyself how wondrous then! Unspeakable, who sitt’st above these heavens, To us invisible, or dimly seen THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY In these thy lowest works ; yet these declare Thy goodness beyond thought, and power divine. Speak, ye who best can tell, ye sons of light, Angels, for ye behold him, and with songs And choral symphonies, day without night, Circle his throne rejoicing, ye in heaven, On earth join all ye creatures to extol Him first, him last, him midst, and without end. Fairest of stars, last in the train of night, If better thou belong not to the dawn, Sure pledge of day, that crown’st the smiling morn With thy bright 'circlet, praise him in thy sphere While day arises, that sweet hour of prime. Thou Sun, of this great World both eye and soul, Acknowledge him thy Greater, sound his praise In thy eternal course, both when thou climb’st, And when high noon hast gained, and when thou fall’st. Moon that now meet’st the orient sun, now fliest, With the fixed stars, fixed in their orb that flies, And ye five other wandering fires that move In mystic dance not without song, resound His praise, who out of darkness called up light. Air, and ye elements, the eldest birth Of Nature’s womb, that in quaternion run Perpetual circle, multiform, and mix And nourish all things, let your ceaseless change Vary to our great Maker still new praise. Ye mists and exhalations that now rise From hill or steaming lake, dusky or gray, Till the sun paint your fleecy skirts with gold, In honor to the world’s great Author rise, Whether to deck with clouds the uncoloured sky, Or wet the thirsty earth with falling showers, Rising or falling, still advance his praise. His praise, ye winds, that from four quarters blow, Breathe soft or loud; and wave your tops, ye pines, With every plant in every sign of worship wave. Fountains, and ye that warble as ye flow, Melodious murmurs, warbling tune his praise. Join voices, all ye living souls ; ye birds WORSHIP 5 That singing- up to heaven-gate ascend, Bear on your wings and in your notes his praise; Ye that in waters glide, and ye that walk The earth, and stately tread, or lowly creep, Witness if I be silent, morn or even, To hill or valley, fountain or fresh shade, Made vocal by my song, and taught his praise. Hail, universal Lord, be bounteous still To give us only good; and if the night ITave gathered aught of evil, or concealed, Disperse it, as now light dispels the dark.” So prayed they innocent, and to their thoughts Firm peace recovered soon and wonted calm. Book V. Lines 153 to 210. From the Chorus of ATHALIE Jean Baptiste Racine, c. 1690 Translated by Charles Randolph Cho. The God whose goodness filleth every clime Let all his creatures worship and adore ; Whose throne was reared before the birth of Time. To him be glory now and evermore. * One Voice : The sons of violence in vain Would check his people’s grateful strain, And blot his sacred name. Yet day to day his power declares, His bounty every creature shares His greatness all proclaim. Another voice: Dispensing Light and Life at his behest, Bursts forth the sun by him in splendor drest ; But of almighty love a brighter sign, Shines forth thy law, pure, perfect and divine. 512 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ADORATION Madame Guyon, c. 1700 I love my God, but with no love of mine, For I have none to give; I love thee, Lord, but all that love is thine For by thy life I live. I am as nothing, and rejoice to be Emptied and lost and swallowed up in thee. Thou, Lord, alone, art all thy children need And there is none beside ; From thee the streams of blessedness proceed; In thee the blest abide, Fountain of life and all-abounding grace, Our source, our center and our dwelling-place ! e. evangelical period (Eighteenth Century) WHEN I SURVEY THE WONDROUS CROSS Isaac Watts, 1707 When I survey the wondrous Cross, On which the Prince of Glory died, My richest gain I count but loss, And pour contempt on all my pride. Forbid it, Lord, that I should boast, Save in the death of Christ, my God ; All the vain things that charm me most, I sacrifice them to His Blood. See, from His head, His hands, His feet, Sorrow and love flow mingled down; / WORSHIP 5i3 Did e’er such love and sorrow meet? Or thorns compose so rich a crown? Were the whole realm of nature mine, That were a tribute far too small ; Love so amazing, so divine, Demands my soul, my life, my all. RISE, CROWNED WITH LIGHT, IMPERIAL SALEM RISE! Alexander Pope, 1712 Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem rise ! Exalt thy towering head and lift thine eyes! See heaven its sparkling portals wide display, And break upon thee in a flood of day. * See a long race thy spacious courts adorn: See future sons, and daughters yet unborn, In crowding ranks on every side arise, Demanding life, impatient for the skies. See barbarous nations at thy gates attend, Walk in thy light, and in thy temple bend: See thy bright altars thronged with prostrate kings, While every land its joyous tribute brings. The seas shall waste, the skies to smoke decay, Rocks fall to dust, and mountains melt away ; But fixed His word, His saving power remains ; Thy realms shall last, thy own Messiah reigns. JESUS SHALL REIGN WHERE’ER THE SUN Isaac Watts, 1719 Jesus shall reign where’er the sun Does His successive journeys run; His kingdom spread from shore to shore, Till moons shall wax and wane no more. \ 514 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY From north to south the princes meet To pay their homage at His feet; While western empires own their Lord, And savage tribes attend his word. To Him shall endless prayers be made, And endless praises crown His head ; Llis name like sweet perfume shall rise With every morning sacrifice. People and realms of every tongue Dwell on His love with sweetest song; And infant voices shall proclaim Their early blessings on his name. Let every creature rise and bring Peculiar honors to our King; Angels descend with songs again, And earth repeat the loud Amen. O GOD, OUR HELP IN AGES PAST Isaac Watts, 1719 O God, our help in ages past, Our hope in 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 defense is sure. Before the hills in order stood, Or earth received her frame, From everlasting thou art God, To endless years the same. WORSHIP 5i5 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 in years to come, Be thou our guard while troubles last, And our eternal home. DIVINE LOVE Charles Wesley, 1746 Love divine, all love excelling, Joy of heaven, to earth come down; Fix in us thy humble dwelling; All thy faithful mercies crown. Jesus, thou art all compassion, Pure, unbounded love thou art ; Visit us with thy salvation, Enter every trembling heart. Breathe, O breathe thy loving spirit Into every troubled breast ; Let us all in thee inherit, Let us find the promised rest; Take away the love of sinning, Alpha and Omega be, End of faith, as its beginning, Set our hearts at liberty. Come, Almighty to deliver, Let us all thy life receive; Suddenly return, and never, Nevermore thy temples leave. 516 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thee we would be always blessing; Serve thee as thy hosts above ; Pray, and praise thee without ceasing; Glory in thy perfect love. Finish, then, thy new creation, Pure and spotless may we be; Let us see thy great salvation Perfectly restored in thee; Changed from glory into glory, Till in heaven we take our place : Till we cast our crowns before thee, Lost in wonder, love, and praise ! JESUS, LOVER OF MY SOUL Charles Wesley, 1740 Jesus, Lover of my soul, Let me to Thy bosom fly, While the nearer waters roll, While the tempest still is high: Hide me, O my Saviour, hide, Till the storm of life is past; Safe into the haven guide, O, receive my soul at last ! Other refuge have I none ; Hangs my helpless soul on Thee; Leave, ah, leave me not alone, Still support and comfort me ! All my trust on Thee is stayed, All my help from Thee I bring; Cover my defenseless head With the shadow of Thy wing. Thou, O Christ, art all I want; More than all in Thee I find : Raise the fallen, cheer the faint, Heal the sick, and lead the blind. WORSHIP 5i7 Just and holy is Thy name; I am all unrighteousness ; False and full of sin I am, Thou art full of truth and grace. Plenteous grace with Thee is found, Grace to cover all my sin; Let the healing streams abound; Make and keep me pure within Thou of life the fountain art, Freely let me take of Thee; Spring thou up within my heart, Rise to all eternity. CHILDREN OF THE HEAVENLY KING John Cennick, 1743 Children of the heavenly King, As ye journey, sweetly sing! Sing your Saviour’s worthy praise, Glorious in His works and ways ! We are traveling home to God, In the way the fathers trod : They are happy now, and we Soon their happiness shall see. Lift your eyes, ye sons of light! Zion’s city is in sight : There our endless home shall be, There our Lord we soon shall see0 Fear not, brethren; joyful stand On the borders of your land ; Jesus Christ, your Father’s Son, Bids you undismayed go on. Lord, obediently we go, Gladly leaving all below; 5 18 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Only Thou our leader be, And we still will follow Thee. THE CHRISTIAN PILGRIM’S HYMN William Williams, 1745 Guide me, O thou great Jehovah, Pilgrim through this barren land : I am weak but thou art mighty; Hold me with thy powerful hand: Bread of heaven! Bread of heaven! Feed me now and evermore ! Open now the crystal fountain Whence the healing streams do flow; Let the fiery cloudy pillar Lead me all my journey through: Strong Deliverer ! Strong Deliverer ! Be thou still my strength and shield. When I tread the verge of Jordan, Bid my anxious fears subside; Death of deaths, and hell’s destruction, Land me safe on Canaan’s side : Songs of praises, songs of praises, I will ever give to thee. Musing on my habitation, Musing on my heavenly home, Fills my soul with holy longing; Come, my Jesus, quickly come! Vanity is all I see; Lord, I long to be with thee ! WORSHIP 5i9 ADESTE FIDELES Anonymous, 1751 Translated by Frederick Oakeley O come, all ye faithful, Joyful and triumphant; O come ye, O come ye to Bethlehem; Come and behold Him Born, the King of Angels ; O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. God of God, Light of Light, Lo ! He abhors not the Virgin’s womb; Very God, Begotten, not created; O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. Sing, choirs of angels; Sing in exultation, Sing, all ye citizens of Heav’n above : “Glory to God All glory in the highest” ; O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. Yea, Lord, we greet Thee, Born this happy morning; Jesu, to Thee be glory given; Word of the Father, Now in flesh appearing; O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, O come, let us adore Him, Christ the Lord. 520 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY AWAKE, MY SOUL! Philip Doddridge Awake, my soul ; stretch every nerve, And press with vigor on : A heavenly race demands thy zeal, And an immortal crown. A cloud of witnesses around Hold thee in full survey; Forget the steps already trod, And onward urge thy way. ’Tis God’s all-animating voice That calls thee from on high ; ’Tis his own hand presents the prize To thine aspiring eye, — That prize, with peerless glories bright, Which shall new lustre boast When victors’ wreaths and monarchs’ gems Shall blend in common dust. COME, THOU ALMIGHTY KING Charles Wesley, c. 1757 Come, Thou almighty King, Help us Thy name to sing, Help us to praise : Father All-glorious, O’er all victorious, Come, and reign over us, Ancient of Days. Come, Thou incarnate Word, Gird on Thy mighty sword, Our prayer attend : WORSHIP 52i Come, and Thy people bless, And give Thy word success : Spirit of holiness, On us descend. Come, holy Comforter Thy sacred witness bear In this glad hour : Thou who almighty art, Now rule in every heart, And ne’er from us depart, Spirit of power. ROCK OF AGES Augustus M. Toplady, 1776 Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee; Let the water and the blood, From thy wounded side which flowed, Be of sin the double cure, Save from wrath and make me pure. Could my tears forever flow, Could my zeal no languor know, These for sin could not atone; Thou must save and thou alone : In my hand no price I bring; Simply to thy cross I cling. While I draw this fleeting breath, When my eyes shall close in death, When I rise to worlds unknown, And behold thee on thy throne, Rock of Ages, cleft for me, Let me hide myself in thee. 522 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY CORONATION (The English Te Deum) Edward Perronet, 1779 All hail the Power of Jesus’ name ! Let angels prostrate fall ; Bring forth the royal diadem, And crown Him Lord of all ! Crown Him, ye martyrs of your God, Who from His altar call; Extol the stem of Jesse’s rod, And crown Him Lord of all. Ye seed of Israel’s chosen race, Ye ransomed from the Fall, Hail Him who saves you by His grace. And crown Him Lord of all. Sinners, whose love can ne’er forget The wormwood and the gall, Go, spread your trophies at His feet, And crown Him Lord of all. Let every kindred, every tribe, On this terrestrial ball, To Him all majesty ascribe, And crown Him Lord of all. Oh that with yonder sacred throng We at His feet may fall, Join in the everlasting song, And crown Him Lord of all ! WORSHIP 523 GLORIOUS THINGS OF THEE ARE SPOKEN John Newton, 1779 Glorious things of thee are spoken, Zion, city of our God; He, whose word cannot be broken, Form’d thee for His own abode ; On the Rock of Ages founded, What can shake thy sure repose? With Salvation’s walls surrounded, Thou may’st smile at all thy foes. See, the streams of living waters Springing from eternal love, Well supply thy sons and daughters, And all fear of want remove. Who can faint while such a river Ever flows their thirst t’assuage. Grace, which, like the Lord, the Giver, Never fails from age to age? Round each habitation hovering, See the cloud and fire appear For a glory and a covering, Showing that the Lord is near; Thus deriving from their banner, Light by night and shade by day, Safe they feed upon the manna Which he gives them when they pray. Blest inhabitants of Zion, Washed in their Redeemer’s blood! Jesus whom their souls rely on, Makes them kings and priests to God. Tis his love His people raises Over self to reign as kings: And as priests, His solemn praises Each for a thank-offering brings. 524 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY HOW FIRM A FOUNDATION “K.” in Rippon’s Selections, 1787 How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord, Is laid for your faith in His excellent word ! What more can He say than to you He hath said, You who unto Jesus for refuge have fled? “Fear not, I am with thee, O be not dismayed; I, I am thy God, and will still give thee aid ; I’ll strengthen thee, help thee, and cause thee to stand, Upheld by My righteous, omnipotent hand. “When through the deep waters I call thee to go. The rivers of sorrow shall not overflow; For I will be with thee thy troubles to bless, And sanctify to thee thy deepest distress. “When through fiery trials thy pathway shall lie, My grace, all-sufficient, shall be thy supply, The flame shall not hurt thee ; I only design Thy dross to consume, and thy gold to refine. “E’en down to old age all My people shall prove My sovereign, eternal, unchangeable love; And when hoary hairs shall their temples adorn, Like lambs they shall still in My bosom be borne. “The soul that on Jesus hath leaned for repose, I will not, I will not desert to his foes; That soul, though all hell should endeavor to shake, I’ll never, no, never, no, never forsake.” WORSHIP 525 /. NINETEENTH CENTURY BRIGHTEST AND BEST OF THE SONS OF THE MORNING Reginald Heber, 1811 Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, - Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ! Star of the east, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid ! Cold on His cradle the dewdrops are shining; Low lies His head with the beasts of the stall; Angels adore Him in slumber reclining, Maker and Monarch and Saviour of all. Say, shall we yield Him, in costly devotion, Odors of Edom and offerings divine, Gems of the mountain and pearls of the ocean, Myrrh from the forest, or gold from the mine? Vainly we offer each ample oblation, Vainly with gifts would His favor secure; Richer by far is the heart’s adoration, Dearer to God are the prayers of the poor. Brightest and best of the sons of the morning, Dawn on our darkness, and lend us thine aid ! Star of the east, the horizon adorning, Guide where our infant Redeemer is laid ! For the Majesty and Mercy of God, by Sir Robert Grant , 181^ (See Section III d). 526 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FROM GREENLAND’S ICY MOUNTAINS Reginald Heber, 1819 From Greenland’s icy mountains, From India’s coral strand, Where Afric’s sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand, From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error’s chain. What though the spicy breezes Blow soft o’er Ceylon’s isle; Though every prospect pleases, And only man is vile ; In vain, with lavish kindness. The gifts of God are strown; The heathen in his blindness, Bows down to wood and stone. Can we, whose souls are lighted With wisdom from on high, — Can we to men benighted The lamp of life deny? Salvation ! O salvation ! The joyful sound proclaim, Till each remotest nation Lias learned Messiah’s name. Waft, waft, ye winds, His story; And you, ye waters, roll, Till like a sea of glory, It spreads from pole to pole; Till, o’er our ransomed nature, The Lamb for sinners slain Redeemer, King, Creator, In bliss return to reign. WORSHIP 527 IN THE CROSS OF CHRIST I GLORY John Bowring, 1825 In the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o’er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round its head sublime. When the woes of life o’ertake me, Hopes deceive and fears annoy, Never shall the cross forsake me: Lo, it glows with peace and joy. When the sun of bliss is beaming Light and love upon my way, From the cross the radiance streaming Adds more luster to the day. Bane and blessing, pain and pleasure, By thy cross are sanctified; Peace there is that knows no measure, Joys that through all time abide. In the cross of Christ I glory, Towering o’er the wrecks of time; All the light of sacred story Gathers round its head sublime. ETERNAL LIGHT ! Thomas Binney, 1826 Eternal Light ! Eternal Light ! How pure the soul must be, When, placed within Thy searching sight It shrinks not, but, with calm delight Can live, and look on thee ! 528 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The spirits that surround Thy throne, May bear the burning bliss; But that is surely theirs alone, Since they have never, never known A fallen world like this. O ! how shall I, whose native sphere Is dark, whose mind is dim, Before the Ineffable appear, And on my naked spirit bear That uncreated beam? There is a way for man to rise To that sublime abode: — An offering and a sacrifice, A Holy Spirit’s energies, An Advocate with God : — These, these prepare us for the sight Of Holiness above : The sons of ignorance and night May dwell in the Eternal Light, Through the Eternal Love ! Amen0 FULFILLMENT William A. Muhlenberg, 1826 Oh, cease, my wandering soul, On restless wing to roam : All this wide world, to either pole, Hath not for thee a home. Behold the ark of God ! Behold the open door ! Oh, haste to gain that dear abode, And rove, my soul, no more. WORSHIP 529 There safe shalt thou abide There sweet shall be thy rest; And every longing satisfied With full salvation blest. For Who Follows in His Train ? by Reginald Heber, 1827 ( See Section VI d). THRICE HOLY Reginald Heber, 1827 Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty ! Early in the morning our song shall rise to thee : Holy, Holy, Holy ! Merciful and mighty ! God in three persons, blessed Trinity! Holy, Holy, Holy ! all the saints adore thee, Casting down their golden crowns around the glassy sea; Cherubim and seraphim falling down before thee, Which wert and art and evermore shall be ! Holy, Holy, Holy ! though the darkness hide thee, Though the eye of sinful man thy glory may not see, Only thou art Lloly, there is none beside thee, Perfect in power, in love and purity ! Holy, Holy, Holy ! Lord God Almighty ! All thy works shall praise thy name, in earth and sky and sea : Holy, Holy, Holy ! Merciful and Mighty ! God in three persons, blessed Trinity! MY FAITH LOOKS UP TO THEE Ray Palmer, 1830 My faith looks up to Thee, Thou Lamb of Calvary, Savior Divine; THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Now hear me while I pray; Take all my guilt away ; O, let me from this day Be wholly Thine ! May Thy rich grace impart Strength to my fainting heart, My zeal inspire; As thou hast died for me, O, may my love to Thee Pure, warm and changeless be, A living fire ! While life’s dark maze I tread, And griefs around me spread, Be thou my guide; Bid darkness turn to day, Wipe sorrow’s tears away, Nor let me ever stray From Thee aside. When ends life’s transient dream, When death’s cold sullen stream Shall o’er me roll; Blest Savior then, in love, Fear and distrust remove; O, bear me safe above, A ransomed soul ! THE MORNING LIGHT IS BREAKING Samuel F. Smith, 1832 The morning light is breaking; The darkness disappears; The sons of earth are waking, To penitential tears; Each breeze that sweeps the ocean Brings tidings from afar. WORSHIP 53i Of nations in commotion, Prepared for Zion’s war. See heathen nations bending Before the God we love, And thousand hearts ascending In gratitude above ; While sinners now confessing, The Gospel call obey, And seek the Saviour’s blessing, A nation in a day. Blest river of salvation ! Pursue thy onward way; Flow thou to every nation, Nor in thy richness stay; Stay not till all the lowly Triumphant reach their home; Stay not till all the holy Proclaim, “The Lord is come !” TPIE PILGRIM FATHERS Leonard Bacon, 1833 Oh, God, beneath thy guiding hand Our exiled fathers crossed the sea; And when they trod the wintry strand, With prayer and psalm they worshipped Thee. Thou heard’st, well pleased, the song, the prayer; Thy blessing came and still its power Shall onward through all ages bear The memory of that holy hour. Laws, freedom, truth, and faith in God Came with those exiles o’er the waves, And where their pilgrim feet have trod, The God they trusted guards their graves. 532 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And here thy name, Oh, God of love, Their children’s children shall adore, Till these eternal hills remove, And spring adorns the earth no more. THE CHURCH’S ONE FOUNDATION Samuel J. Stone, 1866 The Church’s one foundation Is Jesus Christ her Lord; She is His new creation By water and the word ; From heaven He came and sought her To be His holy bride; With His own blood He bought her., And for her life He died. Elect from every nation, Yet one o’er all the earth, Her charter of salvation One Lord, one faith, one birth; One holy name she blesses, Partakes one holy food, And to one hope she presses, With every grace endued. ’Mid toil and tribulation, And tumult of her war, She waits the consummation Of peace for evermore; Till with the vision glorious Pier longing eyes are blest, And the great church victorious Shall be the church at rest. Yet she on earth hath union With Father, Spirit, Son, And mystic sweet communion With those whose rest is won; WORSHIP 533 O happy ones and holy ! Lord, give us grace that we, Like them the meek and lowly, On high may dwell with Thee. NEARER, MY GOD, TO THEE Sarah Flower Adams, 1841 Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! E’en though it be a cross That raiseth me; Still all my song shall be, Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Though like the wanderer, The sun gone down, Darkness be over me. My rest a stone; Yet in my dreams I’d be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! There let my way appear Steps unto heaven; All that Thou sendest me In mercy given; Angels to beckon me Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! Then, with my waking thoughts Bright with Thy praise, Out of my stony griefs, Altars I’ll raise; So by my woes to be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! 534 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Or, if on joyful wing, Cleaving the sky, Sun, moon, and stars forgot. Upward I fly. Still all my song shall be Nearer, my God, to Thee, Nearer to Thee ! / HARVEST HOME Henry Alford, 1844 Come, ye thankful people, come Raise the song of Harvest Home ! All is safely gathered in, Ere the winter storms begin; God, the maker, doth provide, For our wants to be supplied; Come to God’s own temple, come; Raise the song of Harvest Home ! What is earth but God’s own field, Fruit unto His praise to yield? Wheat and tares therein are sown, Unto joy or sorrow grown; Ripening with a wondrous power, Till the final Harvest hour: Grant, Oh, Lord of life, that we Holy grain and pure may be. For we know that thou wilt come, And wilt take thy people home; From thy field wilt purge away All that doth offend, that day; And thine angels charge at last In the fires the tares to cast, But the fruitful ears to store In thy garner evermore. WORSHIP 535 Come, then, Lord of mercy, come, Bid us sing thy Harvest Home ! Let thy saints be gathered in, Free from sorrow, free from sin; All upon the golden floor Praising thee forevermore ; Come, with thousand angels, come; Bid us sing thy Harvest Home ! ABIDE WITH ME Henry F. Lyte, 1847 Abide with me ! Fast falls the eventide, The darkness deepens : Lord, with me abide ! When other helpers fail, and comforts flee, Help of the helpless, O, abide with me ! Swift to its close ebbs out life’s little day; Earth’s joys grow dim, its glories pass away; Change and decay in all around I see ; O thou, who changest not, abide with me ! I need thy presence every passing hour; What but thy grace can foil the tempter’s power? Who, like thyself, my guide and stay can be? Through cloud and sunshine, Lord, abide with me ! I fear no foe, with thee at hand to bless; Ills have no weight, and tears no bitterness; Where is death’s sting? where, grave, thy victory? I triumph still, if thou abide with me. Hold thou thy cross before my closing eyes; Shine through the gloom and point me to the skies; Heaven’s morning breaks, and earth’s vain shadows flee In life, in death- O Lord, abide with me ! 536 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THERE IS A GREEN HILL FAR AWAY Cecil F. Alexander, 1848 There is a green hill far away, Without a city wall, Where the dear Lord was crucified, Who died to save us all. We may not know, we cannot tell, What pains he had to bear; But we believe it was for us He hung and suffered there. He died that we might be forgiven, He died to make us good, That we might go at last to heaven, Saved by His precious blood. There was,„no other good enough To pay the price of sin; He only could unlock the gate Of heaven and let us in. Oh dearly, dearly has He loved, And we must love Him, too, And trust in His redeeming blood, And try His works to do. GOD OUR FATHER Frederick W. Faber, 1854 Souls of men! why will ye scatter Like a crowd of frightened sheep? Foolish hearts ! why will ye wander From a love so true and deep? It is God : His love looks mighty WORSHIP 537 But is mightier than it seems; ’Tis our father; and His fondness Goes far out beyond our dreams. There’s a wideness in God’s mercy Like the wideness of the sea; There’s a kindness in his justice, Which is more than liberty. There is no place where earth’s sorrows Are more felt than up in heaven : There is no place where earth’s failings Have such kindly judgment given. There is grace enough for thousands Of new worlds as great as this; There is room for fresh creations In that upper home of bliss : For the love of God is broader Than the measure of man’s mind, And the heart of the Eternal Is most wonderfully kind. But we make His love too narrow By false limits of our own; And we magnify His strictness With a zeal He will not own. If our love were but more simple, We should take Him at his word; And our lives would be all sunshine In the sweetness of our Lord. LIFT UP YOUR HEADS, REJOICE! Thomas T. Lynch, 1856 Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh ! Now breathes a softer air, Now shines a milder sky; 538 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The early trees put forth Their new and tender leaf; Hushed is the moaning wind That told of winter’s grief. Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh ! Now mount the leaden clouds, Now flames the darkening sky; The early scattered drops Descend with heavy fall, And to the waiting earth The hidden thunders call. Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh ! O note the varying signs Of earth, and air, and sky; The God of glory comes In gentleness and might, To comfort and alarm, To succor and to smite. 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 eye : Lift up your heads, rejoice, Redemption draweth nigh. HE LEADETH ME Joseph H. Gilmore, 1859 He leadeth me ! Oh, blessed thought ! Oh words with heavenly comfort fraught! Whate’er I do, where’er I be, Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me. WORSHIP 539 He leadeth me ! He leadeth me ! By His own hand He leadeth me; His faithful follower I would be, For by His hand He leadeth me. Sometimes ’mid scenes of deepest gloom, Sometimes where Eden’s bowers bloom, By waters calm, o’er troubled sea, Still ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me. Lord, I would clasp Thy hand in mine; Nor ever murmur nor repine ; Content, whatever lot I see, Since ’tis God’s hand that leadeth me. And when my task on earth is done, When, by Thy grace, the victory’s won, E’en death’s cold wave I will not flee, Since Thou through Jordan leadest me. A SUN-DAY HYMN Oliver Wendell Holmes, i860 Lord of all being, throned afar, Thy glory flames from sun and star: Center and soul of every sphere, Yet to each loving heart how near! Sun of our life, thy quickening ray Sheds on our path the glow of day; Star of our hope, thy softened light Cheers the long watches of the night. Our midnight is thy smile withdrawn ; Our noontide is thy gracious dawn; Our rainbow arch thy mercy’s sign; All, save the clouds of sin, are thine. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Lord of all life, below, above Whose light is truth, whose warmth is love, Before thy ever-blazing throne We ask no luster of our own. Grant us thy truth to make us free, And kindling hearts that burn for thee, Till all thy living altars claim One holy light, one heavenly flame. CITY OF GOD Samuel Johnson, i860 City of God, how broad and far Out-spread thy walls sublime ! The true thy chartered free men are Of every age and clime. One holy Church, one army strong, One steadfast high intent, One working band, one harvest song, One King omnipotent ! How purely hath thy speech come down From man’s primeval youth; How grandly hath thine empire grown Of freedom, love, and truth ! How gleam thy watchfires through the night With never-fainting ray! How rise thy towers, serene and bright, To meet the dawning day ! In vain the surge’s angry shock, In vain the drifting sands: Unharmed upon the eternal Rock The eternal City stands. WORSHIP 54i O DAY OF REST AND GLADNESS Christopher Wordsworth, 1862 O day of rest and gladness, O day of joy and light, O balm of care and sadness, Most beautiful, most bright ! On Thee the high and lowly, Through ages joined in tune, Sing, “Holy, holy, holy!" To the great God triune. Thou art a port protected From storms that round us rise; A garden intersected With streams of paradise; Thou art a cooling fountain In life’s dry dreary sand; From thee, like Pisgah’s mountain, We view our promised land. Today on weary nations The heavenly manna falls; To holy convocations The silver trumpet calls; Where gospel light is glowing With pure and radiant beams, And living water flowing With soul-refreshing streams. A day of sweet reflection Thou art, — a day of love, A day of resurrection From earth to things above. New graces ever gaining From this our day of rest, We reach the rest remaining To spirits of the blest. 542 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FUNERAL HYMN William Walsham Howe, 1864 For all the saints who from their labors rest, Who thee by faith before the world confessed, Thy Name, O Jesus, be forever blessed. Alleluia. Thou wast their rock, their fortress and their might: Thou, Lord, their Captain in the well-fought fight; Thou in the darkness drear, the one true Light. Alleluia. O may thy soldiers, faithful, true and bold, Fight as the saints who nobly fought of old, And win, with them, the victor’s crown of gold. Alleluia. O blest communion, fellowship divine ! We feebly struggle ; they in glory shine; Yet all are one in Thee, for all are thine. Alleluia. And when the strife is fierce, the warfare long, Steals on the ear the distant triumph song, And hearts are brave again, and arms are strong. Alleluia. The golden evening brightens in the west; Soon, to faithful warriors cometh rest; Sweet is the calm of paradise the blest. Alleluia. But lo ! there breaks a yet more glorious day; The saints triumphant rise in bright array; The King of glory passes on His way. Alleluia. WORSHIP 543 From earth’s wide bounds, from ocean’s farthest coast, Through gates of pearl streams in the countless host, Singing to the Father, Son and Holy Ghost, Alleluia, Amen. FROM OUR MASTER John Greenleaf Whittier, 1866 Immortal Love, forever full, Forever flowing free, Forever shared, forever whole, A never-ebbing sea ! We may not climb the heavenly steeps To bring the Lord Christ down; In vain we search the lowest deeps, For Him no depths can drown. But warm, sweet, tender, even yet A present help is He; And faith has still its Olivet And love its Galilee. The healing of His seamless dress Is by our beds of pain; We touch Him in life’s throng and press, And we are whole again. Through Him the first fond prayers are said Our lips of childhood frame ; The last low whispers of our dead Are burdened with His name. O Lord and Master of us all ! Whate’er our name or sign, We own Thy sway, we hear Thy call, We test our lives by thine. 544 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ONWARD, CHRISTIAN SOLDIERS Sabine Baring-Gould, 1867 Onward, Christian soldiers, Marching as to war, With the cross of Jesus Going on before. Christ the royal master, Leads against the foe; Forward into battle, See his banners go. At the sound of triumph Satan’s host doth flee; On, then, Christian soldiers, On to victory ! Hell’s foundations quiver At the shout of praise ; Brothers lift your voices, Loud your anthems raise. Like a mighty army Moves the church of God; Brethren, we are treading Where the saints have trod; We are not divided, All one body, we, One in hope and doctrine, One in charity. Crowns and thrones may perish, Kingdoms rise and wane, But the church of Jesus Constant will remain; Gates of hell can never ’Gainst that church prevail ; We have Christ’s own promise, And that cannot fail. i WORSHIP Onward, then, ye people ! Join our happy throng, Blend with ours your voices, In the triumph song; Glory laud and honor Unto Christ the king; This through countless ages Men and angels sing. PILGRIM’S SONG Bernard S. Ingemann, 1825 Translated by Sabine Baring-Gould, 1867 Thro’ the night of doubt and sorrow Onward goes the pilgrim band, Singing songs of expectation, Marching to the promised land. Clear before us through the darkness Gleams and burns the guiding light ; Brother clasps the hand of brother, Stepping fearless through the night. One the light of God’s own presence O’er His ransomed people shed, Chasing far the gloom and terror, Brightening all the path we tread; One the object of our journey, One the faith which never tires, One the earnest looking forward, One the hope our God inspires; One the strain that lips of thousands Lift as from the heart of one; One the conflict, one the peril, One the march in God begun; One the gladness of rejoicing On the far eternal shore, Where the one almighty Father Reigns in love for evermore. 545 S46 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Onward, therefore, pilgrim brothers, Onward with the cross our aid ! Bear its shame and fight its battle, Till we rest beneath its shade ! Soon shall come the great awaking, Soon the rending of the tomb ; Then the scattering of the shadows, And the end of toil and gloom. CHILD’S EVENING HYMN Sabine Baring-Gould, 1868 Now the day is over, Night is drawing nigh, Shadows of the evening Steal across the sky. Now the darkness gathers, Stars begin to peep, Birds and beasts and flowers Soon will be asleep. Jesus give the weary Calm and sweet repose, With thy tenderest blessing May our eyelids close. Grant to little children Visions bright of thee, Guard the sailors tossing On the deep blue sea. Comfort every sufferer Watching late in pain; Those who plan some evil From their sin restrain. WORSHIP 547 Through the long night-watches May thy angels spread Their white wings above me. Watching round my bed. When the morning wakens, Then may I arise Pure and fresh and sinless In thy holy eyes. O LITTLE TOWN OF BETHLEHEM Phillips Brooks, 1868 O little town of Bethlehem, How still we see thee lie ! Above thy deep and dreamless sleep The silent stars go by ; Yet in thy dark streets shineth The Everlasting Light; The hopes and fears of all the years Are met in thee tonight. For Christ is born of Mary; And, gathered all above, While mortals sleep, the angels keep Their watch of wondering love. O morning stars, together Proclaim the holy birth : And praises sing to God the King, And peace to men on earth. How silently, how silently, The wondrous gift is given ! So God imparts to human hearts The blessings of His heaven. No ear may hear His coming, But in this world of sin, Where meek souls will receive him still, The dear Christ enters in. 548 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O holy Child of Bethlehem! Descend to us, we pray; Cast out our sin, and enter in, Be born in us today. We hear the Christmas angels The great glad tidings tell; O come to us, abide with us, Our Lord, Immanuel. THERE WERE NINETY AND NINE Elizabeth C. Clephane, 1868 There were ninety and nine that safely lay, In the shelter of the fold; But one was out on the hills away, Far off from the gates of gold. Away on the mountains wild and bare, Away from the tender shepherd’s care. “Lord, Thou hast here Thy ninety and nine, Are they not enough for Thee ?” But the shepherd made answer, “This of Mine Has wandered away from Me; And although the road be rough and steep, I go to the desert to find my sheep.” But none of the ransomed ever knew How deep were the waters crossed; Nor how dark was the night that the Lord passed through, Ere he found His sheep that was lost. Out in the desert He heard its cry, Sick and helpless, and ready to die. “Lord, whence are those blood-drops all the way, That mark out the mountains’ track?” “They were shed for the one who has gone astray Ere the shepherd could bring him back.” WORSHIP 549 “Lord, whence are Thy hands so rent and torn?” “They are pierced tonight by many a thorn.” And all through the mountains, thunder-riven, And up from the rocky steep, There arose a cry to the gate of heaven, “Rejoice! I have found my sheep.” And the angels echoed around the Throne Rejoice! for the Lord brings back His own.” NOW THE LABOURER’S TASK IS O’ER John Ellerton, 1871 « Now the labourer’s task is o’er, Now the battle day is past; Now upon the farther shore Lands the voyager at last. Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping. There the tears of earth are dried; There its hidden things are clear ; There the work of life is tried By a juster Judge than here. Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping. There the penitents, that turn To the Cross their dying eyes, All the love of Christ shall learn At His Feet in Paradise. Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping. There no more the powers of hell Can prevail to mar their peace ; Christ the Lord shall guard them well, He who died for their release. 550 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping. “Earth to earth, and dust to dust,” Calmly now the words we say, Left behind we wait in trust For the Resurrection Day Father, in Thy gracious keeping Leave we now Thy servant sleeping. THOU ART COMING! Frances Ridley Havergal, 1873 Thou art coming, O my Savior; Thou art coming, O my King ! In Thy beauty all-resplendent, In Thy glory all-transcendent; Well may we rejoice and sing; Coming : in the opening east Herald brightness slowly swells; Coming : O Thou glorious priest ! Hear we not thy golden bells ? Thou art coming, Thou art coming; We shall meet Thee on Thy way; We shall bless Thee, we shall know Thee, We shall bless Thee, we shall show Thee All our hearts could never say; What an anthem that will be, Music rapturously sweet Pouring out our love to Thee At Thine own all-glorious feet. Thou art coming; we are waiting With a hope that cannot fail; Asking not the day nor hour, Resting on Thy word of power, Anchored safe within the veil. WORSHIP 55i Time appointed may be long, But the vision must be sure; Certainty shall make us strong Joyful patience can endure. Oh, the joy to see Thee reigning, Thee, our own beloved Lord ! Every tongue Thy name confessing, Worship, honor, glory, blessing Brought to Thee with one accord; Thee, our Master, and our Friend, Vindicated and enthroned; Unto earth’s remotest end Glorified, adored and owned! PEACE, PERFECT PEACE Edward Henry Bickersteth, 1875 Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin? The blood of Jesus whispers peace within. Peace, perfect peace, by thronging duties pressed? To do the will of Jesus, this is rest. Peace, perfect peace, with sorrows surging round? On Jesus’ bosom naught but calm is found. Peace, perfect peace, with loved ones far away? In Jesus’ keeping we are safe, and they. Peace, perfect peace, the future all unknown? Jesus we know, and He is on the throne. Peace, perfect peace, death shadowing us and ours? Jesus has vanquished death and all its powers. It is enough ; earth’s struggles soon shall cease, And Jesus call us to Heaven’s perfect peace. 552 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE DAY IS DYING IN THE WEST Mary A. Lathbury, 1877 Day is dying in the west; Heaven is touching earth with rest; Wait and worship while the night Sets the evening lamps alight, Through all the sky. Refrain Holy, holy, holy, Lord God of hosts ! Heaven and earth are full of Thee; Heaven and earth are praising Thee, O Lord most high ! Lord of life, beneath the dome Of the universe, Thy home, Gather us, who seek Thy face To the fold of Thy embrace, For Thou art nigh. While the deepening shadows fall, Heart of love, enfolding all, Through the glory and the grace Of the stars that veil Thy face, Our hearts ascend. When forever from our sight Pass the stars, the day, the night, Lord of Angels, on our eyes, Let eternal morning rise, And shadows end. WORSHIP 553 O MASTER, LET ME WALK WITH THEE Washington Gladden, 1879 O Master, let me walk with Thee In lowly paths of service free; Tell me Thy secret; help me bear The strain of toil, the fret of care. Help me the slow of heart to move By some clear winning- word of love, Teach me the wayward feet to stay, And guide them in the homeward way. Teach me Thy patience; still with Thee In closer, dearer company, In work that keeps faith sweet and strong, In trust that triumphs over wrong. In hope that sends a shining ray Far down the future’s broadening way; In peace that only Thou canst give, With Thee, O Master, let me live. O LOVE, THAT WILT NOT LET ME GO George Matheson, 1882 O Love, that wilt not let me go, I rest my weary soul on Thee; I give Thee back the life I owe, That in Thine ocean depth its flow May richer, fuller be. O Light, that followest all my way, I yield my flickering torch to Thee; My heart restores its borrowed ray, That in Thy sunshine’s blaze its day May brighter, fairer be. 554 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O Joy, that seekest me through pain, I cannot close my heart to Thee ; I trace the rainbow through the rain, And feel the promise is not vain, That morn shall tearless be. O Cross, that liftest up my head, I dare not ask to fly from Thee; I lay in dust life’s glory dead, And from the ground there blossoms red Life that shall endless be. THE NEW HEART Modern Chinese, 1890 Alas, my heart is black, By Satan sore deceived, Far from the upward track God’s judgment disbelieved, From Heaven, O Holy Spirit, come ! With Christ’s Gospel my heart illume ! Alas, my heart of woe With sorrow sick to death ! Fearing Sin’s doom to know I sigh with wounded breath, From heaven, O spirit blest, descend! With Jesus’ peace my grief to end. Alas, my strengthless heart Is slow to love God’s way, To hate the wrong, love right, While worldly thought bears sway ! From heaven, O spirit, come! complete My heart, with Christ’s perfection sweet ! WORSHIP 555 A DANCE CHANT Iroquois Indians Translated by E. S. Parker Hail ! Hail ! Hail ! Listen, O Creator, with an open ear to the words of thy people as they ascend to thy dwelling ! Give to the keepers of Thy faith wisdom rightly to do thy com¬ mands. Give to our warriors and to our mothers strength to perform the sacred ceremonies appointed. We thank Thee that thou hast kept them pure unto this day. Listen to us still ! We thank Thee that Thou hast spared the lives of so many of Thy children to take part in these exercises. We thank Thee for the increase of the earth For the rivers and streams, For the sun and moon, For the winds that banish disease, For the herbs and plants that cure the sick, For all things that minister to good and happiness. We. pray for a prosperous year to come. Lastly, we give thee thanks, our Creator and Ruler ! In Thee are embodied all things ! We believe that Thou canst do no evil; We believe that Thou dost all things for our good and for our happiness. Should Thy people disobey Thy commands, deal not harshly with them ! Be kind to us, as Thou hast been to our fathers in times long gone by, Hearken to our words as they ascend — May they be pleasing to Thee, our Creator ! Preserver of all things visible and invisible ! 556 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY NOT IN DUMB RESIGNATION John Hay, 1891 Not in dumb resignation, We lift our hands on high; Not like the nerveless fatalist, Content to trust and die. Our faith springs like the eagle, Who soars to meet the sun, And cries exulting unto Thee, “O Lord, thy will be done !” When tyrant f^et are trampling Upon the common weal, Thou dost not bid us bend and writhe Beneath the iron heel; In Thy name we assert our right By sword or tongue or pen, And even the headsman’s axe may flash Thy message unto men. Thy will, — it strengthens weakness; It bids the strong be just: No lip to fawn, no hand to beg, No brow to seek the dust. Wherever man oppresses man Beneath the liberal sun, O Lord, be there, Thine arm made bare, Thy righteous will be done. THE CHURCH UNIVERSAL Samuel Longfellow, 1891 One holy church of God appears Through every age and race, Unwasted by the lapse of years, Unchanged by changing place. WORSHIP 557 From oldest time, on farthest shores, Beneath the pine or palm, One unseen presence she adores, With silence or with Psalm. Her priests are all God's faithful sons, To serve the world raised up; The pure in heart her baptized ones, Love her communion cup. The truth is her prophetic gift, The soul her sacred page; And feet on mercy's errands swift Do make her pilgrimage. O living church ! Thine errand speed, Fulfil Thy task sublime; With bread of life earth’s hunger feed, Redeem the evil time ! THY KINGDOM COME Frederick L. Hosmer, 1891 Thy kingdom come — on bended knee The passing ages pray; And faithful souls have yearned to see On earth that kingdom’s day. But the slow watches of the night Not less to God belong, And for the everlasting right The silent stars are strong. And lo ! already on the hills The flags of dawn appear ; Gird up your loins, ye prophet souls, Proclaim the day is near : 558 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The day in whose clear shining light All wrong shall stand revealed, When justice shall be clothed with might. And every hurt be healed : When knowledge, hand in hand with peace, Shall walk the earth abroad, — The day of perfect righteousness, The promised day of God. RECESSIONAL Rudyard Kipling, 1897 God of our fathers, known of old, Lord of our far-flung battle line, Beneath whose awful hand we hold Dominion over palm and pine : Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget. The tumult and the shouting dies, The captains and the kings depart; Still stands thine ancient sacrifice, An humble and a contrite heart : Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget. Far-called our navies melt away, On dune and headland sinks the fire ; Lo, all our pomp of yesterday Is one with Nineveh and Tyre! Judge of the Nations, spare us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget ! If, drunk with sight of power, we loose Wild tongues that have not Thee in awe, Such boastings as the Gentiles use, Or lesser breeds without the law : WORSHIP 559 Lord God of hosts, be with us yet, Lest we forget, lest we forget. For heathen heart that puts her trust In reeking tube and iron shard; All valiant dust that builds on dust, And guarding, calls not Thee to guard. For frantic boast and foolish word, Thy mercy on thy people, Lord! g. TWENTIETH CENTURY AMERICA THE BEAUTIFUL Katharine Lee Bates, 1905 O beautiful for spacious skies, For amber waves of grain, For purple mountain majesties Above the fruited plain ! America ! America ! God shed his grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea ! O beautiful for pilgrim feet, Whose stern, impassioned stress A thoroughfare for freedom beat Across the wilderness ! America ! America ! God mend thine every flaw, Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law ! O beautiful for heroes proved In liberating strife, Who more than self their country loved, And mercy more than life ! 560 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY America ! America ! May God thy gold refine, Till all success be nobleness, And every gain divine ! O beautiful for patriot dream That sees beyond the years Thine alabaster cities gleam Undimmed by human tears ! America ! America ! God shed his grace on thee, And crown thy good with brotherhood From sea to shining sea! THY KINGDOM COME, O LORD Frederick L. Hosmer, 1905 Thy kingdom come, O Lord, Wide-circling as the sun; Fulfil of old thy word And make the nations one ; — One in the bond of peace, The service glad and free Of truth and righteousness Of love and equity. Speed, speed the longed-for time Foretold by raptured seers — The prophecy sublime, The hope of all the years; — Till rise at last, to span Its firm foundations broad, The commonwealth of man, The city of our God. WORSHIP THE CITY 561 Frank Mason North, 1903 Where cross the crowded ways of life, Where sound the cries of race and clan Above the noise of selfish strife, We hear Thy voice, O Son of Man. In haunts of wretchedness and need, On shadowed thresholds dark with fears, From paths where hide the lures of greed, We catch the vision of Thy tears. From tender childhood’s helplessness, From woman’s grief, man’s burdened toil, From famished souls, from sorrow’s stress, Thy heart has never known recoil. The cup of water given for Thee Still holds the freshness of Thy grace; Yet long the multitudes to see The sweet compassion of Thy face. O Master, from the mountain side, Make haste to heal these hearts of pain; Among these restless throngs abide, O tread the city’s streets again; Till sons of men shall learn Thy love, And follow where Thy feet have trod; Till glorious from Thy heaven above, Shall come the City of our God. THY KINGDOM, LORD, WE LONG FOR Vida Scudder, 1905 Thy Kingdom, Lord, we long for, Where love shall find its own; And brotherhood triumphant Our years of pride disown. 562 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thy captive people languish In mill and mart and mine ; We lift to Thee their anguish We wait thy promised sign. Thy kingdom, Lord, Thy Kingdom ! All secretly it grows; In faithful hearts forever His seed the Sower sows. Yet ere its consummation Must dawn a mighty doom; For judgment and salvation The Son of Man shall come. If now perchance in tumult His destined sign appear, — The rising of the people, — Dispel our coward fear ! Let comforts that we cherish, Let old tradition die ! Our wealth, our wisdom perish, So that He draw but nigh. In wrath and revolution The Sign may be displayed But by thy grace we’ll greet it With spirits unafraid. The awe-struck heart presages An advent dread and sure ; Its Master in the poor. Beyond our fierce confusion, Our strife of speech and sword, Our wars of class and nation, We wait Thy certain Word. The meek and poor of spirit Who in Thy promise trust, Thy Kingdom shall inherit, The blessing of the just. WORSHIP 563 THE TROUBADOUR OF GOD Charles Wharton Stork I walk the dusty ways of life But ever my heart beats high, And my song ascends to the crystal tower That pierces up through the sky. For there is my love who holds my heart Like a bird on silken chain, Who smote my side with a gladsome wound And slays me with sweetest pain, Till the love of the fairest woman on earth Is a paltry thing and vain. I trudge at morn right merrily For oh ! my heart is young, I give good words and a hand at need To those I walk among, But I long for the bliss of the bridal hour When the vesper bell is rung. Till then I sing as best I may My love, so kind, so rare, I mumble not in a monk’s dark cell; Nay, song is braver than prayer. I go where my brothers may hear my voice In the glow of the warm bright air. And though I have never seen my Love Yet the pulse of my faith is strong, It fills all the world with loveliness And it fills my heart with song. 564 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY FESTAL SONG William Pierson Merrill. 1911 Rise up, O men of God ! Have done with lesser things, Give heart, and soul, and mind, and strength To serve the King of Kings. Rise up, O men of God ! His kingdom tarries long, Bring in the day of brotherhood And end the night of wrong. Lift high the cross of Christ ! Tread where His feet have trod: As brothers of the Son of Man, Rise up, O men of God ! IX. Comfort in Sorrow a. SUBMISSION TO THE WILL OF GOD b. THE MINISTRY OF PAIN C. BRAVERY IS ITS OWN CONSOLATION d. VICTORY ON THE SPIRITUAL PLANE e. IS THERE NO IMMEDIATE RELIEF? 1. Heaven Only Can Heal 2. Love Only Can Heal 3. Service Only Can Heal 4. Time Only Can Heal ■ IX. Comfort in Sorrow a. SUBMISSION TO THE WILL OF GOD THE SUPREME SACRIFICE John S. Arkwright O valiant Hearts, who to your glory came Through dust of conflict and through battle-flame; Tranquil you lie, your knightly virtue proved, Your memory hallowed in the Land you loved. Proudly you gathered, rank on rank to war, As who had heard God’s message from afar ; All you had hoped for, all you had you gave To save Mankind — yourselves you scorned to save. Splendid you passed, the great surrender made, Into the light that nevermore shall fade ; Deep your contentment in that blessed abode, Who wait the last clear trumpet-call of God. Long years ago, as earth lay dark and still, Rose a loud cry upon a lonely hill, While in the frailty of our human clay Christ, our redeemer, passed the self-same way. Still stands his cross from that dread hour to this, Like some bright star above the dark abyss; Still, through the veil the Victor’s pitying eyes Look down to bless our lesser calvaries. 567 568 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY These were His servants, in His steps they trod Following through death the martyr’d Son of God: Victor He rose; victorious too shall rise Those who have drunk His Cup of Sacrifice. O risen Lord, O Shepherd of our Dead, Whose cross has bought them and whose staff has led — In glorious hope their proud sorrowing Land Commits her children to Thy gracious hand. THE PLOUGHMAN Karle Wilson Baker God will not let my field lie fallow. The ploughshare is sharp, the feet of his oxen are heavy. They hurt. But I cannot stay God from his ploughing, I, the lord of the field While I stand waiting His shoulders loom upon me from the mist. He has gone past me, down the furrow, shouting and singing, (I had said, it shall rest for a season. The larks had built in the grass. . . .) He will not let my field lie fallow. SUBSTITUTION Elizabeth Barrett Browning When some beloved voice that was to you Both sound and sweetness, faileth suddenly, And silence against which you dare not cry, Aches round you like a strong disease and new — What hope ? What help ? What music will undo COMFORT IN SORROW 569 That silence to your sense? Not friendship’s sigh, Not reason’s subtle count; not melody Of viols, nor of pipes that Faunus blew; Not songs of poets, nor of nightingales, Whose hearts leap upward through the cypress trees To the clear moon; nor yet the spheric laws Self-chanted, nor the angels’ sweet ‘All-hails,’ Met in the smile of God: Nay, none of these, Speak Thou , availing Christ! — and fill this pause. THE WAIL OF PROMETHEUS BOUND yEsCHYLUS Translated by Elizabeth Barrett Browning O Holy iEther, and swift-winged Winds, And River-wells, and laughter innumerous Of yon sea-waves ! Earth, mother of us all, And all-viewing cyclic Sun, I cry on you, — Behold me a god, What I endure from gods ! Behold, with throe on throe, How, wasted by this woe, I wrestle down the myriad years of time ! Behold how fast around me The new King of the happy ones sublime Has flung the chain he forged, has shamed and bound me ! Woe, woe ! today’s woe and the coming morrow’s I cover with one groan, and where is found me A limit to these sorrows ? And yet what word do I say? I have foreknown Clearly all things that should be ; nothing done Comes sudden to my soul ; and I must bear What is ordained with patience, being aware Necessity doth front the universe With an invincible gesture. Yet this curse Which strikes me now, I find it hard to brave In silence or in speech. Because I gave Honor to mortals. I have yoked my soul THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY To this compelling fate. Because I stole The secret fount of fire, whose bubbles went Over the ferule’s brim, and manward sent Art’s mighty means and perfect rudiment, That sin I expiate in this agony, LIung here in fetters, ’neath the blanching sky. Ah, ah me ! what a sound, What a fragrance sweeps up, from a pinion unseen Of a god or a mortal, or nature between, Sweeping up to this rock where the earth has her bound. To have sight of my pangs or some guerdon obtain. Lo, a god in the anguish, a god in the chain ! The god Zeus hateth sore, And his gods hate again, As many as tread on his glorified floor, Because I loved mortals too much evermore. Alas, me ! what a murmur and motion I hear, As of birds flying near ! And the air undersings The light stroke of their wings — And all life that approaches I wait for in fear. NEARER HOME Phoebe Cary One sweetly solemn thought Comes to me o’er and o’er: I am nearer home today Than I ever have been before; Nearer my Father’s house Where many mansions be ; Nearer the great white throne. Nearer the crystal sea; Nearer the bound of life, Where we lay our burdens down; Nearer leaving the cross, Nearer gaining the crown! COMFORT IN SORROW 57i But lying darkly between, Winding down through the night, Is the silent unknown stream, That leads at last to the light. Closer and closer my steps Come to the dread abysm ; Closer Death to my lips Presses the awful chrism. Oh, if my mortal feet Have almost gained the brink; If it be I am nearer home Even today than I think ; Father, perfect my trust; Let my spirit feel in death. That her feet are firmly set On the rock of a living Faith. HIS BANNER OVER ME Gerald Massey Surrounded by unnumbered Foes, Against my soul the battle goes ! Yet though I weary, sore distressed, I know that I shall reach my Rest : I lift my tearful eyes above, — His Banner over me is love. Its Sword my spirit will not yield, Though flesh may faint upon the field; He waves before my fading sight The branch of palm — the crown of light; I lift my brightening eyes above, — His Banner over me is Love. 572 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY My cloud of battle-dust may dim; His veil of splendor curtain Him! And in the midnight of my fear I may not feel Him standing near; But as I lift my eyes above, — His Banner over me is Love. GRIEF AND GOD Stephen Phillips Unshunnable is grief ; we should not fear The dreadful bath whose cleansing is so clear; For He who to the Spring such poison gave, Who rears his roses from the hopeless grave ; Who caused the babe to wail at the first breath, But with a rapture seals the face of death; Who circled us with pale aspiring foam, With exiled Music yearning for her home, With knockings early and with cryings late, The moving of deep waters against Fate; Who starred the skies with yearning with those fires, That dart through dew their infinite desires; Or largely silent and so wistful bright Direct a single look of love all night; Who gave unto the Moon that hopeless quest, Condemned the wind to wander without rest; He, as I think, intends that we shall rise Only through pain into His Paradise. Woe! Woe! to those who placidly suspire, Drowned in security, remote from fire ; Who under the dim sky and whispering trees By peaceful slopes and passing streams have ease; Whose merit is their uncommitted sins, Whose thought is heinous, but they shun the gins And those o’erflowering pits that take the strong, The baited sweetness and the honeyed wrong; Who watched the falling yet who never fell, Shadows not yet ascended into Hell. COMFORT IN SORROW 573 No sacred pang disturbs their secular life, Eluding splendor and escaping strife; They die not, for they lived not; under earth Their bodies urge the meaner flowers to birth: Unstrung, unfired, untempted was their soul; Easy extinction is their utmost goal. To those whom He doth love God hath not sent Such dread security, such sad content ; Young are they carried to the front of pain, In coldest anguish dipped again, again; Or else into His burning are they led, Desirous of His glory to be dead; When He descends, like Semele they die, Proud to be shrivelled in His ecstasy; Or through the night of life they ebb and flow Under the cold imperial Moon of woe. Some of His favourites are too fiercely wrought To spend upon the sunny earth a thought, But ever by an inward peril driven, Neglect the gleaming grass and glimmering heaven. And some by thorny sweetness are betrayed, By beauty of those bodies He hath made ; And some o’er wearied, have so tired a head, They ask like children to be laid in bed. But He hath branded on such souls His name, And He will know them by the scars of flame. As Christ in the dark garden had to drink The brimming cup from which His soul did shrink; As Dante had to thread the world of fire, Ere he approached the Rose of his desire ; So fear not grief, fear not the anguish, thou, The paining heart, the clasped and prostrate brow; This is the emblem, and this is the sign By which God singles thee for fields divine; From such a height He stoops, from such a bliss. Small wonder thou dost shudder at His kiss. 574 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE REFUGE Psalm XLVI From Moulton’s Modern Reader’s Bible God is our refuge and strength, A very present help in trouble. Therefore will we not fear, though the earth do change, And though the mountains be moved in the heart of the seas ; Though the waters thereof roar and be troubled, Though the mountains shake with the swelling thereof. The Lord of Hosts is with us, The God of Jacob is our refuge. There is a river, the streams whereof make glad the city of God, The holy place of the tabernacles of the Most High. God is in the midst of her ; she shall not be moved : God shall help her at the dawn of morning. The nations raged, the kingdoms were moved; He uttered His voice, the earth melted. The Lord of Hosts is with us; The God of Ja,cob is our refuge. Come, behold the works of the Lord, What desolations he hath made in the earth ; He maketh wars to cease unto the end of the earth; He breaketh the bow and cutteth the spear in sunder ; He burneth the chariots in the fire. Be still and know that I am God: I will be exalted among the nations, I will be exalted in the earth. The Lord of Hosts is with us; The God of Jacob is our refuge . COMFORT IN SORROW 575 THE EVERLASTING ARMS Psalm XCI From Moulton’s Modern Reader’s Bible He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High Shall abide under the shadow of the Almighty. I will say of the Lord, ‘He is my refuge and my fortress; My God, in whom I trust.’ For he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, And from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his pinions, And under his wings shalt thou take refuge : His truth is a shield and a buckler. Thou shall not be afraid for the terror by night, Nor for the arrow that flieth by day; Nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, Nor for the destruction that wasteth at noonday. A thousand shall fall at thy side, And ten thousand at thy right hand ; But it shall not come nigh thee. Only with thy eyes shalt thou behold, And see the reward of the wicked. For thou, O Lord, art my refuge ! Thou hast made the Most High thy habitation: There shall no evil befall thee, Neither shall any plague come nigh thy tent. For he shall give his angels charge over thee, To keep thee in all thy ways. They shall bear thee up in their hands, Lest thou dash thy foot against a stone. Thou shalt tread upon the lion and adder : The young lion and the serpent shalt thou trample under feet. Because he hath set his love upon me, therefore will I deliver him. I will set him on high because he hath known my name, He shall call upon me and I will answer him; 576 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I will be with him in trouble : I will deliver him and honour him. With long life will I satisfy him, And show him my salvation. THE PILGRIM’S SONG Psalm CXXI From Moulton’s Modern Reader's Bible I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains: From whence shall my help come? My help cometh from the Lord, Which made heaven and earth. He will not suffer thy foot to be moved, He that keepeth thee will not slumber. Behold he that keepeth Israel Shall neither slumber nor sleep. The Lord is thy keeper: The Lord is thy shade upon thy right hand. The sun shall not smite thee by day, Nor the moon by night. The Lord shall keep thee from all evil; Lie shall keep thy soul. The Lord shall keep thy going out and thy coming in, From this time forth and forever more. THE LOST CHORD Adelaide Anne Proctor Seated one day at the Organ, I was weary and ill at ease, And my fingers wandered idly Over the noisy keys. COMFORT IN SORROW 577 I know not what I was playing, Or what I was dreaming then ; But I struck one chord of music, Like the sound of a great Amen. It flooded the crimson twilight, Like the close of an angel’s Psalm, And it lay on my fevered spirit With a touch of infinite calm. It quieted pain and sorrow, Like love overcoming strife; It seemed the harmonious echo From our discordant life. It linked all perplexed meanings Into one perfect peace, And trembled away into silence As if it were loth to cease. I have sought but I seek it vainly, That one lost chord divine, Which came from the soul of the Organ And entered into mine. It may be that Death’s bright angel Will speak in that chord again — It may be that only in Heaven I shall hear that great Amen. b. THE MINISTRY OF PAIN SORROW Sir Aubrey de Vere Count 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 578 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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 Thy 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. WHO NEVER ATE WITH TEARS HIS BREAD GOETHE Translated by Farnsworth Wright Who never ate with tears his bread, Who never through the troubled hours Weeping sat upon his bed, He knows ye not, ye heavenly powers. Ye lead us into life amain, Ye let the poor with guilt be weighted, And then ye give him o’er to pain, For guilt must all be compensated. SORROWS HUMANIZE OUR RACE Jean Ingelow Sorrows humanize our race; Tears are the showers that fertilize this world: And memory of things precious keepeth warm The heart that once did hold them. They are poor That have lost nothing: they are poorer far Who. losing, have forgotten : they most poor COMFORT IN SORROW 579 Of all, who lose and wish they might forget. For life is one, and in its warp and woof There runs a thread of gold that glitters fair, And sometimes in the pattern shows more sweet Where there are sombre colors. It is true That we have wept. But O, this thread of gold, We would not have it tarnish: let us turn Oft and look back upon the wondrous web, And when it shineth sometimes we shall know That memory is possession. TIS SORROW BUILDS THE SHINING LADDER UP James Russell Lowell ’Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up, Whose golden rounds are our calamities, Whereon our feet planting, nearer God The spirit climbs and hath its eyes unsealed. True it is 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 path 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. 580 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY CLEANSING FIRES Adelaide Anne Proctor Let thy gold be cast in the furnace, Thy red gold, precious and bright; Do not fear the hungry fire, With its caverns of burning light; And thy gold shall return more precious, Free from every spot and stain; For gold must be tried by fire, As a heart must be tried by pain ! In the cruel fire of Sorrow Cast thy heart, do not faint or wail ; Let thy hand be firm and steady Do not let thy spirit quail : But wait till the trial is over And take thy heart again ; For as gold is tried by fire, So a heart must be tried by pain ! I shall know by the gleam and the glitter Of the golden chain you wear, By your heart’s calm strength in loving, Of the fire they have had to bear. Beat on, true heart, forever ! Shine bright, strong golden chain! And bless the cleansing fire, And the furnace of living pain ! MY UNINVITED GUEST May Riley Smith One day there entered at my chamber door A presence whose light footfall on the floor No token gave; and, ere I could withstand, Within her clasp she drew my trembling hand. COMFORT IN SORROW 58i “Intrusive guest,” I cried, “my palm I lend But to the gracious pressure of a friend ! Why comest thou, unbidden and in gloom, Trailing thy cold gray garments in my room? “I know thee, Pain ! Thou art the sullen foe Of every sweet enjoyment here below; Thou art the comrade and ally of Death, And timid mortals shrink from thy cold breath. “No fragrant balms grow in thy garden beds, Nor slumbrous poppies droop their crimson heads; And well I know thou comest to me now To bind thy burning chains upon my brow !” And though my puny will stood straightly up, From that day forth I drank her pungent cup, And ate her bitter bread, — with leaves of rue, Which in her sunless gardens rankly grew. And now, so long it is, I scarce can tell When Pain within my chamber came to dwell; And though she is not fair of mien or face, She hath attracted to my humble place A company most gracious and refined, Whose touches are like balm, whose voices kind: Sweet Sympathy, with box of ointment rare ; Courage, who sings while she sits weaving there ; Brave Patience, whom my heart esteemeth much, And who hath wondrous virtue in her touch. Such is the chaste and sweet society Which Pain, my faithful foe, hath brought to me. And now, upon my threshold there she stands, Reaching to me her rough yet kindly hands In silent truce. Thus for a time we part, And a great gladness overflows my heart; 582 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY For she is so ungentle in her way That no host welcomes her or bids her stay; Yet, though men bolt and bar their house from thee, To every door, O Pain, thou hast a key ! From THE ORDEAL BY FIRE Edmund Clarence Stedman Thou, who dost feel Life’s vessel strand Full length upon the shining sand, And hearest breakers close at hand, Be strong and wait ! nor let the strife, With which the winds and waves are rife, Disturb that sacred inner life : Anon thou shalt regain the shore. And walk — though naked, maimed, and sore — A nobler being than before ! No lesser griefs shall work thee ill; No malice shall have power to kill: Of woes thy soul hath drunk its fill. Tempests that beat us to the clay, Drive many a lowering cloud away, And bring a clearer, holier day. The fire, that every hope consumes, Either the inmost soul entombs, Or evermore the face illumes ! Roses of asbestos do we wear; Before the memories we bear, The flames leap backward everywhere. COMFORT IN SORROW 583 THE CELESTIAL SURGEON Robert Louis Stevenson If I have faltered more or less In my great task of happiness; If I have moved among my race And shown no glorious morning face; If beams from happy human eyes Have moved me not ; if morning skies, Books and my food, and summer rain Knocked on mv sullen heart in vain: — * Lord, Thy most pointed pleasure take And stab my spirit broad awake ! Or, Lord, if too obdurate I, Choose Thou, before that spirit die, A piercing pain, a killing sin And to my dead heart run them in ! A WANDERER’S LITANY Arthur Stringer When my life has enough of love, and my spirit enough of mirth, When the ocean no longer beckons me, when the roadway calls no more, Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day ! When the lash of the wave bewilders, and I shrink from the sting of the rain, When I hate the gloom of Thy steel-gray wastes, and slink to the lamp-lit shore. Oh, purge me in Thy primal fires, and fling me on my way ! When I house me close in a twilit inn, when I brood by a dying fire, When I kennel and cringe with fat content, where a pillow and loaf are sure, Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day ! 584 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY When I quail at the snow on the uplands, when I crawl from the glare of the sun, When the trails that are lone invite me not, and the half-way- lamps allure, Oh', purge me in Thy primal fires, and fling me on my way ! When the wine has all ebbed from an April, when the Autumn of life forgets, The call and the lure of the widening West, the wind in the straining rope, Oh, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day ! When I awaken to hear adventures strange throng valiantly forth by night, To the sting of the salt-spume dust of the plain, and width of the western slope, Oh, purge me in Thy primal fires and fling me on my way ! When swarthy and careless and grim they throng out under my rose-grown sash, And I — I bide me there by the coals, and I know not heat nor hope, Then, on the anvil of Thy wrath, remake me, God, that day ! IF ALL THE SKIES Henry van Dyke If all the skies were sunshine, Our faces would be fain To feel once more upon them The cooling plash of rain. If all the world were music. Our hearts would often long For one sweet strain of silence, To break the endless song. COMFORT IN SORROW 585 If life were always merry, Our souls would seek relief, And rest from weary laughter In the quiet arms of grief. PISGAH Willard Wattles By every ebb of the river-side My heart to God hath daily cried; By every shining shingle-bar I found the pathway of a star ; By every dizzy mountain height He touches me for cleaner sight. As Moses’ face hath shined to see His intimate divinity; Through desert sand I stumbling pass To death’s cool plot of friendly grass, Knowing each painful step I trod Hath brought me daily home to God. THE ANGEL OF PATIENCE John Greenleaf Whittier To weary hearts, to mourning homes God’s meekest angel gently comes: No power has he to banish pain, Or give us back our lost again; And yet in tenderest love, our dear And Heavenly Father sends him here. There’s quiet in the angel’s glance, There’s rest in his still countenance ! He mocks no grief with idle cheer, Nor wounds with words the mourner’s ear; But ills and woes he may not cure He kindly trains us to endure. 586 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY C, BRAVERY IS ITS OWN CONSOLATION THE INEVITABLE Sarah K. Bolton I like the man who faces what he must With step triumphant and a heart of cheer; Who fights the daily battle without fear; Sees his hopes fail, yet keeps unfaltering trust That God is God, — that somehow, true and just His plans work out for mortals; not a tear Is shed when fortune, which the world holds dear, Falls from his grasp — better, with love, a crust Than loving in dishonor; envies not, Nor loses faith in man; but does his best, Nor ever murmurs at his humbler lot; But, with a smile and words of hope, gives zest To every toiler. He alone is great Who by a life heroic conquers fate. COURAGE Stopford Brooke Oft, as we run the weary way That leads thro’ shadows unto day, With trial sore amazed, We deem our sorrows are unknown, Our battle joined and fought alone, Our victory unpraised. Faithless and blind! We cannot trace The witnesses above our race, Beyond our senses’ ken; The mighty cloud of all who died With faithful rapture, humble pride, For love of God and man. COMFORT IN SORROW 587 And One, the Conqueror of death, Beginner, finisher of faith. Who, for the joy of love, Endured the cross, despised the shame, Awakes in us the battle flame, And waits for us above. With patience then we run the race, With joy and confidence and grace, With quiet hope and power; Cast off the sins that check our speed, The weights that faith and love impede ; Withstand the evil hour. For heaven is round us as we move, Our days are compassed with its ‘love, Its light is on our road : And when the knell of death is rung, Sweet hallelujahs shall be sung To welcome us to God. CUI BONO? Thomas Carlyle What is hope ? A smiling rainbow Children follow through the wet; ’Tis not here, still yonder, yonder, Never urchin found it yet. What is life? A thawing iceboard On a sea with sunny shore ; Gay we sail ; it melts beneath us ; We are sunk and seen no more. What is man? A foolish baby, Vainly strives and fights and frets; Demanding all, deserving nothing; One small grave is all he gets. 588 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY GOD’S PITY Louise Driscoll God pity all the brave who go The common way, and wear No ribboned medals on their breasts. No laurels in their hair. God pity all the lonely Folk With Griefs they do not tell Women waking in the night And men dissembling well. In common courage of the street The crushed grape is the wine, Wheat in the mill is daily bread And given for a sign. And who but God shall pity those Who go so quietly And smile upon us when we meet And greet so pleasantly. INVICTUS William Ernest Henley Out of the night that covers me, Black as the pit from pole to pole, I thank whatever gods may be, For my unconquerable soul. In the fell clutch of circumstance I have not winced nor cried aloud. Under the bludgeonings of chance My head is bloody but unbowed. COMFORT IN SORROW 589 Beyond this place of wrath and tears Looms but the horror of the shade, And yet the menace of the years Finds and shall find me unafraid. It matters not how straight the gate How charged with punishments the scroll, I am the master of my fate, I am the captain of my soul. TO THE BRAVE SOUL Wilbur Underwood Strong in a dream of perfect bloom The flower strikes its roots in mould, Not else would pure narcissus cups The April days behold. And all the scented white of May And bird delight that soars and sings, Transmuted is of strange decay Dead leaves and moulderings O soul elect, lips keen with song, O eager heart the gods love well, Plunge, vision in thine eyes, and let Thy feet take hold on hell. d. VICTORY ON THE SPIRITUAL PLANE “THEY WENT FORTH TO BATTLE BUT THEY ALWAYS FELL” Shaemas O Sheel They went forth to battle but they always fell; Their eyes were fixed above the sullen shields; Nobly they fought and bravely but not well. 590 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And sank, heart-wounded by a subtle spell. They knew not fear that to the foeman yields, They were not weak, as one who vainly wields A futile weapon ; yet the sad scrolls tell How on the hard-fought field they always fell. It was a secret music that they heard, A sad sweet plea for pity and for peace; And that which pierced the heart was but a word, Though the white breast was red-lipped where the sword Pierced a fierce cruel kiss, to put surcease On its hot thirst, but drank a hot increase. Ah, they by some strange troubling doubt were stirred, And died for hearing what no foeman heard. They went forth to battle but they always fell : Their might was not the might of lifted spears; Over the battle clamor came a spell Of troubling music, and they fought not well. Their wreaths are willows and their tribute, tears; Their names are old sad stories in men’s ears; Yet they will scatter the red hordes of Hell, Who went forth to battle and always fell. TEARS Lizette Woodworth Reese When 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 ; A 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, COMFORT IN SORROW 59i 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 ! IO VICTIS William Wetmore Story I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fall in the Battle of Life — The hymn of the wounded, the beaten, who died overwhelmed in the strife; Not the jubilant song of the victors, for whom the resounding acclaim Of nations was lifted in chorus, whose brows wear the chaplet of fame, But the hymn of the low and the humble, the weary, the broken in heart, Who strove and who failed, acting bravely a silent and desper¬ ate part; Whose youth bore no flower in its branches, whose hopes burned in ashes away, From whose hands slipped the prize they had grasped at, who stood at the dying of day With the wreck of their life all around them, unpitied, unheeded, alone, With Death swooping down o’er their failure, and all but their faith overthrown, While the voice of the world shouts its chorus, — its paean for those who have won; While the trumpet is sounding triumphant, and high to the breeze and the sun Glad banners are waving, hands clapping, and hurrying feet Thronging after the laurel crowned victors, I stand on the field of defeat, In the shadow, with those who are fallen, and wounded, and dying, and there Chant a requiem low, place my hand on their pain-knotted brows, breathe a prayer, 592 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Hold the hand that is helpless, and whisper, “They only the victory win, Who have fought the good fight, and have vanquished the demon that tempts us within; Who have held to their faith unseduced by the prize that the world holds on high; Who have dared for a high cause to suffer, resist, fight, — if need be, to die.” Speak, History! Who are Life’s victors? Unroll thy long annals and say, Are they those whom the world called the victors, who won the success of a day? The martyrs, or Nero? The Spartans, who fell at Thermopy¬ lae’s tryst, Or the Persians and Xerxes? His judges or Socrates? Pilate or Christ? FAILURES Arthur W. Upson They bear no laurels on their sunless brows, Nor aught within their pale hands as they go; They look as men accustomed to the slow And level onward course ’neath drooping boughs. Who may these be no trumpet doth arouse, These of the dark processionals of woe, Unpraised, unblamed, but whom sad Acheron’s flow Monotonously lulls to leaden drowse? These are the Failures. Clutched by Circumstance, They were — say not, too weak ! — too ready prey To their own fear whose fixed Gorgon glance Made them as stone for aught of great essay ; — Or else they nodded when their Master-Chance Wound his one signal, and went on his way. COMFORT IN SORROW 593 e, IS THERE NO IMMEDIATE RELIEF? I. Heaven Only Can Heal COURAGE Paul Gerhardt Translated by John Wesley Give to the winds thy fears; Hope and be undismayed; God hears thy sighs and counts thy tears, God shall lift up thy head. Through waves and clouds and storms He gently clears thy way; Wait thou His time; so shall this night Soon end in joyous day. Leave to His sovereign sway To choose and to command; So shalt thou wondering own, His way How wise, how strong His hand! Far, far above thy thought His counsel shall appear, When fully He the work hath wrought That caused thy needless fear. Let us in life, in death, Thy steadfast truth declare, And publish with our latest breath, The love and guardian care. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CHRISTIAN LIFE Samuel Longfellow I look to Thee in ev’ry need, And never look in vain; I feel Thy strong and tender love, And all is well again; The thought of Thee is mightier far Than sin and pain and sorrow are. Discouraged in the work of life, Disheartened by its load, Shamed by its failures or its fears, I sink beside the road; But let me only think of Thee, And then new heart springs up in me. Thy calmness bends serene above, My restlessness to still, Around me flows Thy quickening life To nerve my faltering will ; Thy presence fills my solitude, Thy providence turns all to good. Embosomed deep in Thy great love, Held in Thy law, I stand; Thy hand in all things I behold, And all things in Thy hand; Thou leadest me by unsought ways. And turn’st my mourning into praise. COMFORT IN SORROW 595 IN DARK HOUR Seumas MacManus I turn my steps where the Lonely Road Winds as far as the eye can see, And I bend my back for the burden sore That God has reached down to me. I have said farewell to the sun-kissed plains. To joy I gave good-bye; Now the bleak wide wastes of the world are mine, And the winds that wail in the sky. No bright flower blooms, no sweet bird calls, Nor hermit ever abode, Not a green thing lifts one lonely leaf, O God, on the Lonely Road ! The thick dank mists come stealing down, And press me on every side, With never a voice to cheer me on And never a hand to guide. I shall cry in my need for a Voice and a Hand, And the solace of love-wet eyes — And an icy clutch will close on my heart, When Echo, the mocker, replies. I know my good soul will fail me not, When forms from the dark round me creep, And whisper ’twere sweet to journey no more, But lay down the burden and sleep. (Look onward and up, O Heart of my Heart, Where the road strikes the skies afar ! To cheer you and guide, thro’ your darkest hour, Behold yon beckoning star!) 596 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I set my face to the gray wild wastes, I bend my back to the load — Dear God, be kind with the heart-sick child Who steps on the Lonely Road. COME, YE DISCONSOLATE Thomas Moore Come, ye disconsolate, where’er you languish, Come, at God’s altar fervently kneel; Here bring your wounded hearts, here tell your anguish,— Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot heal. Joy of the desolate, light of the straying, Hope when all others die, fadeless and pure, Here speaks the comforter, in God’s name saying, “Earth has no sorrow that heaven cannot cure.” Go, ask the infidel what boon he brings us, What charm for aching hearts he can reveal, Sweet as that heavenly promise hope sings us, — “Earth has no sorrow that God cannot heal.” SORROW George Santayana Have patience ; it is fit that in this wise The spirit purge away its proper dross. No endless fever doth thy watches toss, For by excess of evil, evil dies. Soon shall the faint world melt before thine eyes, And, all life’s losses cancelled by life’s loss, Thou shalt lay down all burdens on thy cross, And be that day with God in Paradise. Have patience ; for a long eternity No summons woke thee from thy happy sleep; COMFORT IN SORROW 597 For love of God one vigil thou canst keep And add thy drop of sorrow to the sea. Having known grief, all will be well with thee, Ay, and thy second slumber will be deep. 2. Love Only Can Heal THE HARP OF SORROW Ethel Clifford Sorrow has a harp of seven strings And plays on it unceasing all the day; The first string sings of love that is long dead, The second sings of lost hopes buried; The third of happiness forgot and fled. Of vigil kept in vain the fourth cord sings, And the fifth string of roses dropt away. The sixth string calls and is unanswered, The seventh with your name forever rings — I listen for its singing all the day ! 3. Service Only Can Heal SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS John Milton When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent To serve therewith my Maker, and present My true account, lest he returning chide ; “Doth God exact day-labor, light denied?’' 598 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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.” 4. Time Only Can Heal SORROW Emily Dickinson They say that “Time assuages,” — Time never did assuage; An actual suffering strengthens, As sinews do, with age. Time is test of trouble But not a remedy. If such it prove, it proves, too, There was no malady. EVEN THIS SHALL PASS AWAY Theodore Tilton Once in Persia reigned a King Who upon his signet ring Graved a maxim true and wise, Which, if held before the eyes, Gave him counsel at a glance, Fit for every change and chance. Solemn words, and these are they: “Even this shall pass away.” COMFORT IN SORROW 599 Trains of camels through the sand Brought him gems from Samarcand; Fleets of galleys through the seas Brought him pearls to match with these. But he counted not his gain Treasures of the mine or main; “What is wealth ?” the king would say; “Even this shall pass away/’ In the revels of his court At the zenith of the sport, When the palms of all his guests Burned with clapping at his jests; He amid his figs and wine, Cried: “Oh loving friends of mine! Pleasure comes but not to stay ; Even this shall pass away/’ Fighting on a furious field, Once a javelin pierced his shield; Soldiers with a loud lament Bore him bleeding to his tent; Groaning from his tortured side, “Pain is hard to bear,” he cried, “But with patience, day by day, — * Even this shall pass away.” Towering in the public square, Twenty cubits in the air, Rose his statue, carved in stone, Then the king, disguised, unknown. Stood before his sculptured name Musing meekly, “What is fame? Fame is but a slow decay — Even this shall pass away.” Struck with palsy, sere and old, Waiting at the gates of gold, Said he with his dying breath: “Life is done, but what is death?'* 6oo THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Then, in answer to the King, Fell a sunbeam on his ring, Showing by a heavenly ray, “Even this shall pass away.” X. Conduct of Life a. PERSONAL 1. High Aims 2. Self-control 3. Work 4. Humility 5. Opportunity 6. Loyalty to Your Best Self 7. Loyalty to Duty 8. Creeds b. social (god in all great movements 1. Social Struggle 2. National Affairs 3. International Affairs ' 1 X. Conduct of Life a. PERSONAL i. High Aims ATTAINMENT Madison Cawein On the heights of Great Endeavor,— Where Attainment looms forever, — Toiling upward, ceasing never, Climb the fateful Centuries: Up the difficult dark places, Joy and anguish in their faces, On they strive, the living races, And the dead that no one sees. Shape by shape with brow uplifted, One by one where night is rifted, Pass the victors, many gifted, Where the heaven opens wide; While below them, fallen or seated, Mummy-like, or shadow-sheeted, Stretch the lines of the defeated, — Scattered on the mountain side. And each victor, passing wanly, Gazes on that Presence lonely, With moving eyes where only Grow the dreams for which men die: Grow the dreams, the far, ethereal, That on earth assume material Attributes, and, vast, imperial, Rear their battlements on high. 603 604 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Kingdoms, marble-templed, towered, Where the arts, the many-dowered, — That for centuries have flowered, Trampled under War’s wild heel, — Lift immortal heads and golden, Blossoms of the times called olden, Soul-alluring, earth-withholden, Universal in appeal. As they enter — high and lowly, — On the hush these words fall slowly Ye who kept your purpose holy, Never dreamed your cause was vain, Look ! — Behold, through time abating, How the long, sad days of waiting, Striving, starving, hoping, hating, Helped your spirit to attain. “For to all who dream, aspire, Marry effort to desire, On the cosmic heights, in fire Beaconing, my form appears : — I am marvel, I am morning ! Beauty in man’s heart and warning ! — On my face none looks with scorning, And no soul attains who fears.” THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS Oliver Wendell Holmes This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, Sails the unshadowed main, — The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings In gulfs enchanted, where the Siren sings, And coral reefs lie bare, Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. CONDUCT OF LIFE 605 Its webs of living gauze no more unfurl ; Wrecked is the ship of pearl! And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, As the frail tenant shaped his growing shell, Before thee lies revealed, — Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed ! Year after year beheld the silent toil That spread his lustrous coil; Still, as the spiral grew, He left the past year’s dwelling for the new, Stole with soft step its shining archway through, Built up its idle door, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn ! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born Than ever Triton blew’ from wreathed horn! While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep caves of thought I hear a voice that sings, — Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll ! Leave thy low-vaulted past ! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Shut thee from heaven with a dome more vast, Till thou at length art free, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life’s unresting sea! EXPECTANS EXPECTAVI Charles Hamilton Sorley From morn till midnight, all day through, I laugh and play as the others do, I sing and chatter, just the same As others with a different name. 6o6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And all year long upon the stage, I dance and tumble and do rage So vehemently, I scarcely see The inner and eternal me. I have a temple I do not Visit, a heart I have forgot, A self I have never met, A secret shrine, and yet, and yet This sanctuary of my soul Unwitting I keep white and whole, Unlatched and lit, if Thou shouldst care To enter or to tarry there. With parted lips and outstretched hands And listening ears Thy servant stands, Call Thou early, call Thou late, To Thy great service dedicate. ATTAINMENT Ella Wheeler Wilcox Use all your hidden forces. Do not miss The purpose of this life, and do not wait For circumstance to mold or change your fate. In your own self lies destiny. Let this Vast truth cast out all fear, all prejudice, All hesitation. Know that you are great, Great with divinity. So dominate Environment, and enter into bliss. — Love largely and hate nothing. Hold no aim That does not chord with universal good. Hear what the voices of the silence say, All joys are yours if you put forth your claim, Once let the spiritual laws be understood, Material things must answer and obey. CONDUCT OF LIFE 607 2. Self-Control SELF-DEPENDENCE Matthew Arnold Weary of myself and sick of asking What I am and what I ought to be, At this vessel’s prow I stand, which bears me Forwards, forwards, o’er the starlit sea. And a look of passionate desire O’er the sea and to the stars I send : “Ye who from my childhood up have calmed me, Calm me, Ah, compose me to the end ! “Ah, once more,” I cried, “ye stars, ye waters, On my heart your mighty charm renew ; Still, still let me, as I gaze upon you, Feel my soul becoming vast, like you!” From the intense, clear, star-sown vault of heaven, Over the lit sea’s unquiet way, In the rustling night air came the answer : “Wouldst thou be as these are: LIVE as they. “Unaffrighted by the silence round them, Undistracted by the sights they see, These demand not that the things without them Yield them love, amusement, sympathy. “And with joy the stars perform their shining, And the sea its long moon-silvered roll ; For self-poised they live, nor pine with noting All the fever of some differing soul. “Bounded by themselves, and unregardful In what state God’s other works may be, In their own tasks all their powers pouring, These attain the mighty life you see.” 608 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Oh, air-born voice ! long since, severely clear, A cry like thine in my own heart I hear : “Resolve to be thyself ; and know that lie. Who finds himself, loses his misery!” THE STUPID OLD BODY Edward Carpenter Do not pay too much attention to the stupid old Body. When you have trained it, made it healthy, beautiful, and your willing servant, Why, then do not reverse the order and become its slave and attendant. (The dog must follow the master, not the master the dog.) Remember that if you walk away from it and leave it behind, it will have to follow you — it will grow by following, by continually reaching up to you. Incredibly beautiful it will become, and suffused by a kind of intelligence. But if you turn and wait upon it — and its mouth and its belly and its sex-wants and all its little ape-tricks — preparing and dishing up pleasures and satisfactions for these, Why, then, instead of the body becoming like you, you will become like the body, Incredibly stupid and unformed — going back in the path of evolution — you too with fish-mouth and toad-belly, and im¬ prisoned in your own members, as it were an Ariel in a blundering Caliban. Therefore quite lightly and decisively at each turning-point in the path leave your body a little behind — With its hungers and sleeps, and funny ’little needs and vanities — Pay no attention to them; Slipping out at least a few steps in advance, till it catch you up again, Absolutely determined not to be finally bound and weighted down by it, CONDUCT OF LIFE 609 Or fossilized into one set form — Which alone after all is death. THE WANDERING LUNATIC MIND Edward Carpenter Do not pay too much attention to the wandering lunatic Mind. When you have trained it, informed it, made it clear, decisive, and your flexible instrument and tool, Why, then, do not reverse the order and become the mere fatu¬ ous attendant and exhibitor of its acrobatic feats (like a keeper who shows off a monkey). Remember that if you walk away from it, leaving it as dead, paying it no attention whatever — it will have to follow you — it will grow by following, by reaching up to you, from the known to the unknown, continually ; It will become at last the rainbow-tinted garment and shining interpreter of Yourself, and incredibly beautiful. But if you turn and wait always upon it, and its idiotic cares and anxieties, and endless dream-chains of argument and imagination — Feeding them and the microbe-swarms of thoughts continually, wasting upon them your life-force ; Why, then, instead of your Mind becoming your true companion and interpreter, it will develop antics and a St. Vitus’s dance of its own, and the form of a wandering lunatic, Incredibly tangle-haired and diseased and unclean, In -whose features you, in sadness and in vain, will search for your own image — terrified lest you find it not, and terrified too lest you find it. Therefore quite decisively, day by day and at every juncture, leave your Mind for a time in silence and abeyance ; With its tyrannous thoughts and demands, and funny little fears and fancies — the long legacy of ages of animal evolution ; Slipping out and going your own way into the Unseen — feeling with your feet if necessary through the darkness — till some dav it may follow you ; 6io THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Absolutely determined not to be bound by any of its conclusions ; or fossilized in any pattern it may invent; For this were to give up your kingdom, and bow down your neck to death. MY MINDE TO ME A KINGDOM IS Sir Edward Dyer Altered by William Byrd, 1588 My minde to me a kingdom is, Such perfect joy therein I finde 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 minde supplies. Loe, thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my minde doth bring. I see how plentie surfeits oft, And hastie clymbers soonest fall ; I see that such as sit aloft Mishap doth threaten most of all. These get with toile, and keepe with feare; Such cares my minde could never beare. No princely pompe nor welthie store, No force to win the victorie, No wylie wit to salve a sore, No shape to winne a lover’s eye, — To none of these I yield as thrall; For why, my minde despiseth all. CONDUCT OF LIFE 6n 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 lacke, I leave; they pine, I live. I laugh not at another’s losse, I grudge not at another’s gaine ; No worldly wave my minde can tosse; I brooke that is another’s bane. I feare no foe, nor fawne on friend; I lothe not life, nor dread mine end. I joy not in no earthly blisse; I weigh not Cresus’ wealth a straw; For care, 1 care not what it is; I feare not fortune’s fatal law ; My minde is such as may not move For beautie bright, or force of love. I wish but what I have at will ; I wander not to seeke for more ; I like the plaine, I clime no hill ; In greatest stormes I sitte on shore, And laugh at them that toile in vaine To get what must be lost againe. I kisse not where I wish to kill ; I feigne not love where most I* hate; I breake no sleepe to winne my will ; I wayte not at the mightie’s gate. I scorne no poore, I feare no rich; I feele no want, nor have too much. 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 finde No wealth is like a quiet minde. 612 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY My wealth is health and perfect ease ; My conscience clere my chiefe defence; I never seeke by bribes to please, Nor by desert to give offence. Thus do I live, thus will I die; Would all did so as well as I ! THE HAPPY LIFE Sir Henry Wotton How happy is he born and taught That serveth not another’s will ; Whose armor is his honest thought, And simple truth his utmost skill ! Whose passions not his masters are. Whose soul is still prepared for death, Untied unto the world by care Of public fame, or private breath; Who envies none that chance doth raise, Nor vice, who never understood How deepest wounds are given by praise ; Nor rules of State, but rules of good; Who hath his life from rumors freed; Whose conscience is his strong retreat; Whose state* can neither flatterers feed, Nor ruin make oppressors great; Who God doth late and early pray, More of his grace than gifts to lend; And entertains the harmless day With a well-chosen book or friend ! — This man is freed from servile bands Of hope to rise or fear to fall ! Lord of himself, though not of lands; And having nothing, yet hath all ! CONDUCT OF LIFE 613 3. Work REALIZATION Sri Ananda Acharya I will keep the fire of hope ever burning on the altar of my soul, I will feed it by day and by night with the fuel of industry and the oblation of thought, Like a spring plant the great purpose is growing in the garden of my heart; I will moisten its roots each morn with the water of new re¬ solve, and with vows of renunciation will I hedge it round; I will forego all comforts, all pastures, till this plant of my purpose bear fruit, And I will not lose patience if the fruit come not in season, The Future enters into the Present to weave life’s texture after the heaven-willed pattern And the Past is overshadowed and the face of the Present made pale. The map of life is many-coloured, showing many kings’ do¬ minions, whose boundaries are the theatres of unremitting wars ; I will make this map of one sole colour and Truth shall reign the one sole King for all eternity. All will I sacrifice — Life, Time, — Happiness, nay, the whole universe of the gods — To realize the purpose which Truth proclaims to be the all- supreme. TO THE CHRISTIANS William Blake I give you the end of a golden string; Only wind it into a ball, — It will lead you in at Heaven’s gate Built in Jerusalem’s wall. 614 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY England ! Awake ! Awake ! Awake ! Jerusalem thy sister calls ! Why wilt thou sleep the sleep of death, And close her from thy ancient walls? Thy hills and valleys felt her feet Gently upon their bosoms move : Thy gates beheld sweet Zion’s ways ; Then was a time of joy and love. And now the time returns again : Our souls exult, and London’s towers Receive the Lamb of God to dwell In England’s green and pleasant bowers. From MILTON William Blake And did those feet in ancient time Walk upon England’s mountains green? And was the holy Lamb of God On England’s pleasant pastures seen? And did the Countenance Divine Shine forth upon our clouded hills? And was Jerusalem budded here Among these dark Satanic mills? Bring me my bow of burning gold! Bring me my arrows of desire ! Bring me my spear ! O clouds unfold ! Bring me my chariot of fire ! I will not cease from Mental fight, Nor shall my sword sleep in my hand. Till we have built Jerusalem In England’s green and pleasant land. CONDUCT OF LIFE 615 THE SONG OF THE UNSUCCESSFUL Richard Burton We are the toilers whom God hath barred The gifts that are good to hold, We meant full well and we tried full hard, And our failures were manifold. And we are the clan of those whose kin Were a millstone dragging them down, Yea, we had to sweat for our brother’s sin, And lose the victor’s crown. The seeming-able, who all but scored, From their teeming tribe we come: What was there wrong with us, O, Lord, That our lives were dark and dumb? The men, ten-talented, who still Strangely, missed the goal, Of them we are : it seems Thy will To harrow some in soul. We are the sinners, too, whose lust Conquered the higher claims, We sat us prone in the common dust, And played at the devil’s games. We are the hard-luck folk, who strove Zealously, but in vain; We lost and lost, while our comrades throve, And still we are lost again. We are the doubles of those whose way Was festal with fruits and flowers, Body and brain we were sound as they, But the prizes were not ours. 616 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A mighty army our full ranks make, We shake the graves as we go; The sudden stroke and the slow heart-break, They both have brought us low. And while we are laying life’s sword aside, Spent and dishonored and sad, Our Epitaph this, when once we have died : “The weak lie here, and the bad.” We wonder if this can be really the close, Life’s fever cooled by death’s trance; And we cry, though it seem to our dearest of foes, “God, give us another chance !” ABOU BEN ADHEM Leigh Hunt Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase!) Awoke one night from a deep dream of peace, And saw within the moonlight in his room, Making it rich and like a lily in bloom, An angel writing in a book of gold; Exceeding peace had made Ben Adhem bold, And to the Presence in the room he said, “What writest thou?” The vision raised its head, And with a look made of all sweet accord, Answered, “The names of those who love the Lord.” “And is mine one?” said Abou. “Nay, not so,” Replied the angel. Abou spoke more low, But cheerly still, and said, “I pray thee, then, Write me as one who loves his fellow-men.” The angel wrote and vanished; the next night It came again with a great wakening light, And showed their names whom love of God hath blest, And lo ! Ben Adhem’s name led all the rest. CONDUCT OF LIFE 617 THE SONS OF MARTHA Rudyard Kipling The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part, But the Sons of Martha favor their mother of the careful soul and the troubled heart ; And because she lost her temper once, and because she was rude to the Lord, her guest, Her Sons must wait upon Mary’s Sons — world without end, reprieve or rest. It is their care in all the ages to take the buffet and cushion the shock, It is their care that the gear engages; it is their care that the switches lock : It is their care that the wheels run truly; it is their care to embark and entrain, Tally, transport and deliver duly the Sons of Mary by land and main. They say to the mountains, “Be ye removed!” They say to the lesser floods, “Run dry!” Under their rods are the rocks reproved — they are not afraid of that which is high; Then do the hilltops shake to the summit, then is the bed of the deep laid bare, That the Sons of Mary may overcome it, pleasantly sleeping and unaware. They finger Death at their glove’s end when they piece and re-piece the living wires. He rears against the gates they tend; they feed him hungry behind their fires. Early at dawn ere men see clear they stumble into his terrible stall, And hale him forth like haltered steer and goad and turn him till evenfalb 618 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY To these from birth is belief forbidden: from these till death is relief afar — They are concerned with matters hidden — under the earth-line their altars are. The secret fountains to follow up, waters withdrawn to restore to the mouth, Yea, and gather the floods as in a cup, and pour them again at a city’s drouth. They do not preach that their God will rouse them a little before the nuts work loose; They do not teach that his pity allows them to leave their work whenever they choose. As in the thronged and the lightened ways, so in the dark and the desert they stand, Wary and watchful all their days, that their brethren’s days may be long in the land. Lift ye the stone and cleave the wood, to make a path more fair or flat. Lo ! it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that. Not as a ladder from earth to heaven, not as an altar to an> creed, But simple service, simply given to his own kind in their com moil need. And the Sons of Mary smile and are blessed — they know the angels are on their side, They know in them is the grace confessed, and for them are the mercies multiplied. They sit at the Feet — they hear the Word — they know how truly the Promise runs. They have cast their burden upon the Lord, and — the Lord he lays it on Martha’s Sons. CONDUCT OF LIFE 4. Humility THE SHEPHERD BOY SINGS John Bunyan He 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. Fullness to such a burden is That go on pilgrimage : Here little, and hereafter bliss Is best from age to age. THE HAPPIEST HEART John Vance Cheney Who 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. 62 o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE HOUSE BY THE SIDE OF THE ROAD Sam Walter Foss There are hermit souls that live withdrawn In the place of their self-content; There are souls like stars, that dwell apart In a fellowless firmament. There are pioneer souls that blaze their paths Where the highways never ran — But let me live by the side of the road And be a friend to man. Let me live in a house by the side of the road, Where the race of men go by — The men who are good and the men who are bad. As good and as bad as I. I would not sit in the scorner’s seat, Or hurl the cynic’s ban — Let me live in the house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I see from my house by the side of the road, By the side of the highway of life, The men who press with the ardor of hope, The men who faint with strife; But I turn not away from their smiles nor their tears— Both parts of an infinite plan — Let me live in a house by the side of the road And be a friend to man. I know there are brook-gladdened meadows ahead, And mountains of wearisome height ; And the road passes on through the long afternoon And stretches away to the night. But still I rejoice when the travelers rejoice, And weep with the strangers that moan. Nor live in my house by the side of the road, Like a man who dwells alone. CONDUCT OF LIFE 621 Let me live in my house by the side of the road. Where the race of men go by — They are good, they are bad, they are weak, they are strong, Wise, foolish — so am I. Then why should I sit in the scorner’s seat Or hurl the cynic’s ban? Let me live in my house by the side of the road, And be a friend to man. O WHY SHOULD THE SPIRIT OF MORTAL BE PROUD? William Knox O why should the spirit of mortal be proud? Like swift-flitting meteor, a fast-flying cloud, A flash of the lightning, a break of the wave, He passeth from life to his rest in the grave. The leaves of the oak and the willow shall fade, Be scattered around and together be laid; And the young and the old, and the low and the high, Shall moulder to dust and together shall lie. The child that a mother attended and loved, The mother that infant’s affection who proved, The husband that mother and infant who blessed, Each, all, are away to their dwellings of rest. The maid on who§e brow, on whose cheek, in whose eye, Shone beauty and pleasure, — her triumphs are by; And the memory of those who have loved her and praised, Are alike from the minds of the living erased. The hand of the king that the sceptre hath borne, The brow of the priest that the mitre hath worn, The eyes of the sage, and the heart of the brave, — - Are hidden and lost in the depths of the grave. 622 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The peasant whose lot was to sow and to reap, The herdsman who climbed with his goats to the steep, The beggar who wandered in search of his bread, — Have faded away like the grass that we tread. The saint who enjoyed the communion of heaven, The sinner who dared to remain unforgiven, The wise and the foolish, the guilty and just, Have quietly mingled their bones in the dust. So the multitude goes, like the flower and the weed, That wither away to let others succeed ; So the multitude comes, like those we behold, To repeat every tale that hath often been told. For we are the things our fathers have been; We see the same sights that our fathers have seen, — We drink the same stream, we feel the same sun, And run the same course that our fathers have run. The thoughts we are thinking our fathers would think ; From the death we are shrinking, they, too, would shrink; To the life we are clinging, they too would cling; But it speeds from us all like the bird on the wing. They loved, but their story we cannot unfold ; They scorned, but the heart of the haughty is cold; They grieved, but no wail from their slumbers will come; They joyed, but the voice of their gladness is dumb. They died, — ay, they died; and we things that are now, Who walk on the turf that lies over their brow, Who make in their dwellings a transient abode, Meet the changes they met on their pilgrimage road. Yea, hope and despondency, pleasure and pain, Are mingled together in sunshine and rain ; And the smile and the tear, and the song and the dirge, Still follow each other like surge upon surge. CONDUCT OF LIFE 623 ’Tis the wink of an eye, ’tis the draught of a breath, From the blossom of health to the paleness of death, From the gilded saloon to the bier and the shroud, — Oh, why should the spirit of mortal be proud? 5. Opportunity TODAY Thomas Carlyle So here hath been dawning Another blue day : Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? Out of Eternity This new day is born; Into Eternity At night will return. Behold it afore time, No eye ever did : So soon it forever From all eyes is hid. Here hath been dawning Another blue day : Think, wilt thou let it Slip useless away? THE WATER MILL Sara Doudney Listen to the water mill, Through the live-long day, How the clanking of its wheels Wears the hours away ! 624 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Languidly the autumn wind Stirs the greenwood leaves; From the field the reapers sing, Binding up the sheaves; And a proverb haunts my mind, As a spell is cast : “The mill will never grind With the water that has passed.,, Take the lesson to thyself, Loving heart and true; Golden years are fleeting by, Youth is passing, too; Learn to make the most of life, Lose no happy day; Time will never bring thee back Chances swept away. Leave no tender word unsaid, Love while life shall last — “The mill will never grind With the water that has passed.” Work while the daylight shines, Man of strength and will, Never does the streamlet glide Useless by the mill. Wait not till tomorrow’s sun Beams upon the way ; All thou canst call thine own Lies in thy today. Power, intellect and health May not, cannot last; “The mill ‘will never grind With the water that has passed.” Oh, the wasted hours of life That have drifted by, Oh, the good we might have done, Lost without a sigh ; Love that we might once have saved CONDUCT OF LIFE 625 By a single word, Thoughts conceived but never penned, Perishing unheard. Take the proverb to, thine heaft, Take ! oh, hold it fast ! — “The mill will never grind With the water that has passed.” IRREVOCABLE . Mary Wright Plummer What thou hast done thou hast done ; for the heavenly horses are swift. Think not their flight to o’ertake, — they stand at the throne even now. Ere thou canst compass the thought, the immortals in just hands shall lift, Poise, and weigh surely thy deed, and its weight shall be laid on thy brow; For what thou hast done thou hast done. What thou hast not done remains; and the heavenly horses are kind. Till thou hast pondered thy choice, they will patiently wait at thy door. Do a brave deed, and behold ! they are farther away than the wind. Returning, they bring thee a crown, to shine on thy brow ever¬ more ; For what thou hast done thou hast done. OPPORTUNITY Edward Rowland Sill This I beheld, or dreamed it in a dream: — There spread a cloud of dust along a plain; And underneath the cloud, or in it, raged 626 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A furious battle, and men yelled, and swords Shocked upon swords and shields. A prince’s banner Wavered, then staggered backward, hemmed by foes. A craven hung along the battle’s edge, And thought, ‘‘Had I a sword of keener steel — That blue blade which the king’s son bears, — but this Blunt thing — !” he snapped and flung it from his hand, And lowering crept away and left the field. Then came the king’s son, wounded, sore bestead, And weaponless, and saw the broken sword, Hilt-buried in the dry and trodden sand, And ran and snatched it, and with battle, shout Lifted afresh he hewed his enemy down, And saved a great cause that heroic day. 6. Loyalty to Your Best Self HARPS HUNG UP IN BABYLON Arthur Colton The harps hung up in Babylon, Their loosened strings rang on, sang on, And cast their murmurs forth upon The roll and the roar of Babylon: Forget me, Lord, if I forget Jerusalem for Babylon: If I forget the vision set High as the head of Lebanon Is lifted over Syria yet, If I forget and bow me down To brutish Gods of Babylon Two rivers to each other run In the very midst of Babylon, And swifter than their current fleets The restless river of the streets CONDUCT OF LIFE 627 Of Babylon, of Babylon. And Babylon’s towers smite the sky, But higher reeks to God most high The smoke of her iniquity : “But oh, betwixt the green and blue To walk the hills that once we knew When you were pure and I was true — So rang the harps of Babylon — “Or ere along the roads of stone Had led us captive one by one The subtle gods of Babylon.” The harps hung up in Babylon Hung silent till the prophet dawn, When Judah’s feet the highway burned Back to the holy hills returned, And shook their dust on Babylon. In Zion’s halls the wild harps rang, To Zion’s walls their smitten clang, And lo ! of Babylon they sang, They only sang of Babylon: “Jehovah, round whose throne of awe The vassal stars their orbits draw Within the circle of Thy law, Const thou make nothing what is done , Or cause thy servant to be one That has not been in Babylon, That has not known the power and pain Of life poured out like driven rain ? I will go down and find again My soul that’s lost in Bobylon.” VIRTUE George Herbert Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! The bridal of the earth and sky: The dew shall weep thy fall tonight; For thou must die. 628 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Sweet rose, whose hue, angry and brave Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye : Thy root is ever in the 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. THE TREE AND THE CHAFF Psalm I From Moulton’s Modern Reader’s Bible Blessed is the man that walketh not in the counsels of the wicked Nor standeth in the way of sinners, Nor sitteth in the seat of the scornful. But his delight is in the law of the Lord , And in his law doth he meditate day and night. And he shall be like a tree planted by the streams of water, That bringeth its fruit in its season, Whose leaf also doth not wither; And whatsoever he doeth shall prosper. The wicked are not so ; But are like the chaff which the wind driveth away. Therefore the wicked shall not stand in the judgment, Nor sinners in the congregation of the righteous. For the Lord knoweth the way of the righteous; But the way of the wicked shall perish. CONDUCT OF LIFE 629 THE PILGRIM Richard Wightman I am my ancient self, Long paths Eve trod, The living light before, Behind, the rod: And in the beam and blow The misty God. I am my ancient self. My flesh is young, But old, mysterious words Engage my tongue, And weird, lost songs Old bards have sung. I have not fared alone. In mount and dell The one I fain would be Stands by me well, And bids my man’s heart list To the far bell. Give me nor ease nor goal — Only the Way, A bit of bread and sleep Where the white waters play, The pines, the patient stars, And the new day. THE SERVANTS Richard Wightman Singers, sing ! The hoary world Needs reminder of its youth: Prophet, tell ! The darkness lies On the labyrinths of truth : 630 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Builder, build ! Let rocks uprise Into cities ’neath thy hand : Farmer, till ! The sun and rain Hearken for the seed’s demand : Artist, paint ! Thy canvases Patiently convey thy soul : Writer, write! With pen blood-dipped Trace no segment, but the whole: Teacher, teach! Thyself the creed — Only that a child may know : Dreamer, dream! Nor hide thy face Though thy castles crumble low. Where the toiler turns the sod Man beholds the living God. 7. Loyalty to Duty RESOLVE Charlotte Perkins Gilman To keep my health ! To do my work ! To live ! To see to it I grow and gain and give! Never to look behind me for an hour ! To wait in weakness and to walk in power. But always fronting onward toward the light Always and always facing toward the right, Robbed, starved, defeated, fallen, wide astray— On with what strength I have Back to the way ! CONDUCT OF LIFE 631 THE NAMELESS SAINTS Edward Everett Hale I What was his name? I do not know his name. I only know he heard God’s voice and came, Brought all he had across the sea To live and work for God and me; Felled the ungracious oak; Dragged from the soil With horrid toil The thrice-gnarled roots and stubborn rock; With plenty piled the haggard mountain-side; And at the end, without memorial, died. No blaring trumpets sounded out his fame, He lived, — he died, — I do not know his name. II No form of bronze and no memorial stones Show me the place where lie his mouldering bones. Only a cheerful city stands Builded by his hardened hands. Only ten thousand homes Where every day The cheerful play Of love and hope and courage comes. These are his monument, and these alone. There is no form of bronze and no memorial stone. III And I? Is there some desert or some pathless sea Where Thou, Good God of angels, wilt send me? Some oak for me to rend; some sod, Some rock for me to break; Some handful of His corn to take 632 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And scatter far afield, Till it, in turn, shall yield Its hundredfold Of grains of gold To feed the waiting children of my God? Show me the desert, Father, or the sea. Is it Thine enterprise? Great God, send me. And though this body lie where ocean rolls. Count me among all Faithful Souls. OBEDIENCE George MacDonald I said : “Let me walk in the fields.” He said: “No, walk in the town.” I said: “There are no flowers there.” He said: “No flowers, but a crown.” I said : “But the skies are black ; There is nothing but noise and din.” And He wept as He sent me back — “There is more,” He said; “there is sin.” I said : “But the air is thick, And fogs are veiling the sun.” He answered: “Yet souls are sick, And souls in the dark undone !” I said: “I shall miss the light, And friends will miss me, they say.” He answered : “Choose tonight If I am to miss you or they.” I pleaded for time to be given. He said: “Is it hard to decide? It will not seem so hard in heaven To have followed the steps of your Guide.” CONDUCT OF LIFE 633 I cast one look at the fields, Then set my face to the town; He said, “My child, do you yield? Will you leave the flowers for the crown?” Then into His hand went mine ; And into my heart came He ; And I walk in a light divine, The path I had feared to see. THE REPLY OF SOCRATES Edith M. Thomas This from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death, When Crito brought promise of freedom: “Vainly thou spendest thy breath ! Dost remember the wild Corybantes? feel they the knife or the rod ? Heed they the fierce summer sun, the frost, or winterly flaws ? — If any entreat them they answer, ‘We hear but the flutes of the God !’ “So even am I, O my Crito ! Thou pleadest a losing cause ! Thy words are but sound without import — I hear but the voice of the Laws; And, know thou, the voice of the Laws is to me as the flutes of the God.” Thus spake that soul incorrupt, and wherever, since hemlock was quaffed, A man has stood forth without fear — has chosen the dark, deep draught ! — Has taken the lone one way, nor the path of dishonour has trod — Behold ! He, too, hears but the voice of the Laws, the flutes of the God ! 634 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ODE TO DUTY William Wordsworth Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! O Duty ! if that name thou love, Who art a light to guide, a rod To check the erring, and reprove; Thou, who art victory and law When empty terrors overawe, From vain temptations dost set free, And calm’st the weary strife of frail humanity! There are who ask not if thine eye Be on them; who, in love and truth, Where no misgiving is, rely Upon the genial sense of youth : Glad Hearts ! without reproach or blot, Who do Thy work and know it not : Oh ! if through confidence misplaced They fail, thy saving arms, dread Power ! around them cast. Serene will be our days and bright, And happy will our nature be, When love is an unerring light, And joy its own security. And they a blissful course may hold Even now, who, not unwisely bold, Live in the spirit of this creed; Yet seek thy firm support according to their need. I, loving freedom, and untried; No sport of every random gust, Yet being to myself a guide, Too blindly have reposed my trust: And oft, when in my heart was heard Thy timely mandate, I deferred The task, in smoother walks to stray; But thee I now would serve more strictly, if I may. CONDUCT OF LIFE 635 Through no disturbance of my soul, Or strong compunction in me wrought, I supplicate for thy control; But in the quietness of thought : Me this unchartered freedom tires; I feel the weight of chance desires : My hopes no more must change their name, I long for a repose that ever is the same. Stern Lawgiver ! yet thou dost wear The Godhead’s most benignant grace ; Nor know we anything so fair As is the smile upon thy face : Flowers laugh before thee upon their beds And fragrance in thy footing treads; Thou dost preserve the stars from wrong; And the most ancient heavens, through thee, are fresh and strong. To humbler functions, awful Power! I call thee : I myself commend Unto thy guidance from this hour; Oh, let my weakness have an end ! Give unto me, made lowly wise, The spirit of self-sacrifice; The confidence of reason give; And in the light of truth thy Bondman let me live ! * 8. Creeds CREEDS Karle Wilson Baker Friend, you are grieved that I should go Unhoused, unsheltered, gaunt and free, My cloak for armor — for my tent The roadside tree ; 636 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And I — I know not how you bear A roof betwixt you and the blue, Brother, the creed would stifle me That shelters you. Yet, that same light that floods at dawn Your cloistered room, your cryptic stair, Wakes me too — sleeping by the hedge — To morning prayer ! MY CREED Alice Cary I hold that Christian grace abounds Where charity is seen; that when We climb to heaven, ’tis on the rounds Of love to men. I hold all else named piety A selfish scheme, a vain pretense; Where center is not — can there be Circumference ? This I moreover hold, and dare Affirm where’er my rhyme may go, — Whatever things be sweet and fair, Love makes them so. Whether it be the lullabies That charm to rest the nursling bird, Or the sweet confidence of sighs And blushes, made without a word. Whether the dazzling and the flush Of softly sumptuous garden bowers, Or by some cabin door, a bush Of ragged flowers. ’Tis not the wide phylactery, Nor stubborn fast, nor stated prayers, That make us saints: we judge the tree By what it bears. CONDUCT OF LIFE 637 And when a man can live apart From works, on theologic trust, I know the blood about his heart Is dry as dust. MY CREED Jeanette Gilder I do not fear to tread the path that those I love long since have trod; I do not fear to pass the gates and stand before the living God. In this world’s fight I’ve done my part; if God be God He knows it well; He will not turn His back on me and send me down to blackest hell Because I have not prayed aloud and shouted in the market place. Tis what we do, not what we say, that makes us worthy of His grace. RELIGION AND DOCTRINE John Hay He stood before the Sanhedrim; The scowling rabbis gazed at him. He recked not of their praise or blame; There was no fear, there was no shame, For one upon whose dazzled eyes The whole world poured its vast surprise. The open heaven was far too near, His first day’s light too sweet and clear, To let him waste his new-gained ken On the hate-clouded face of men. But still they questioned, Who art thou? What hast thou been? What art thou now? 638 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Thou art not he who yesterday Sat here and begged beside the way; For he was blind. And I am he; For I was blind , but now I see. He told the story o’er and o’er; It was his full heart’s only lore ; A prophet on the Sabbath-day Had touched his sightless eyes with clay, And made him see who had been blind. Their words passed by him like the wind, Which raves and howls, but cannot shock The hundred-fathom-rooted rock. Their threats and fury all went wide; They could not touch his Hebrew pride. Their sneers at Jesus and His band, Nameless and homeless in the land, Their boasts of Moses and his Lord, All could not change him by one word. “I know not what this man may be, Sinner or saint; but as for me, One thing I know, — that I am he Who once was blind, and now I see A They were all doctors of renown, The great men of a famous town, With deep brows, wrinkled, broad, and wise, Beneath their wide phylacteries; The wisdom of the east was theirs, And honor crowned their silver hairs. The man they jeered and laughed to scorn Was unlearned, poor, and humbly born; But he knew better far than they What came to him that Sabbath-day; And what the Christ had done to him, He knew, and not the Sanhedrim. CONDUCT OF LIFE 639 A CREED Norman McLeod I believe in Human Kindness Large amid the sons of men, Nobler far in willing blindness Than in censure’s keenest ken. I believe in Self-Denial, And its secret throb of joy; In the love that lives through trial, Dying not, though death destroy. I believe in dreams of Duty, Warning us to self-control — Foregleams of the glorious beauty That shall yet transform the soul. In the godlike wreck of nature Sin doth in the sinner leave, That he may regain the stature He hath lost, — I do believe. I believe in Love renewing All that sin hath swept away, Leaven-like its work pursuing Night by night and day by day: In the power of its remoulding, In the grace of its reprieve, In the glory of beholding Its perfection, — I believe. I believe in Love Eternal, Fixed in God’s unchanging will, That beneath the deep infernal Hath a depth that’s deeper still ! In its patience — its endurance To forbear and to retrieve, In the large and full assurance Of its triumph, — I believe. 640 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY SOME BLESSEDS John Oxenham Blessed are they that have eyes to see. They shall find God everywhere. They shall see Him where others see stones. Blessed are they that have understanding hearts. To them shall be multiplied kingdoms of delight. Blessed are they that see visions. They shall rejoice in the hidden ways of God. Blessed are the song-fid of soul , They carry light and joy to shadowed lives. Blessed are they who know the power of Love. They dwell in God for God is Love. Blessed are the dead, For they are with God. Blessed are the living, For they can still serve God. Blessed are they who rejoice in their children, To them is revealed the Father-Motherhood of God. Blessed are the childless, loving children still. Theirs shall be mightier family, Even as the stars of heaven. Blessed are the souls kept virgin for mankind, Unto them shall be given unbounded kingdom of great joy. •» Blessed are the faithful strong, They are the right hands of God. CONDUCT OF LIFE 641 Blessed are they that dwell in peace, — If they forget not God. Blessed are they that fight for the Right , They shall save their souls, For God is with them. Blessed are they whose memories we cherish. Our thoughts add jewels to their crowns. Blessed are they who, through tribulation , have come to perfect trust, Theirs is the peace which passeth understanding. Blessed are the burdened of heart to whom the comforter has come. They foretaste the joy of heaven. Blessed are the souls all bare before God, He shall clothe them with His Peace and Love. Blessed is the people whose heart is set on God, It shall STAND. A GENEROUS CREED Elizabeth Stuart Phelps Saying “There is no hope/’ he stepped A little from our side and passed To hope eternal. At the last Crying “There is no rest,” he slept. A sweeter spirit ne’er drew breath; Strange grew the chill upon the air, But as he murmured “This is death,” Lo ! life itself did meet him there. He loved the will; he did the deed; Such love shall live ; such doubt is dust ; He served the truth ; he missed the creed. Trust him to God. Dear is the trust. 642 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY RITUAL NOT RELIGION Telugu E. Indian, 16th Century A.D. Will seeing Concan make a dog a lion? Or Kasi make a pig as great As any elephant? How then Can they a saintly man create ? Though he should daily read or hear The Veds, the sinner still is vile. Will not its blackness still appear Though coal be washed in milk a while. Thy creed and prayers may both be right, But see that truth makes every plan; Else thou shalt never see the light. The truthful is the twice-born man. The fount of happiness is in The heart. The foolish man confides In man ! He’s like the stupid swain Who seeks the lamb his bosom hides. b . social (god in all great movements) i. Social Struggle From THE PRESENT CRISIS James Russell Lowell Count me o’er earth’s chosen heroes, — they were souls that stood alone, While the men they agonized for hurled the contumelious stone, Stood serene, and down the future saw the golden beam incline CONDUCT OF LIFE 643 To the side of perfect justice, mastered by their faith divine, By one man’s plain truth to manhood and to God’s supreme design. By the light of burning heretics Christ’s bleeding feet I track, Toiling up new Calvaries ever with the cross that turns not back, And these mounts of anguish number how each generation learned One new word of that grand Credo which in prophet-hearts hath burned Since the first man stood God-conquered with his face to Heaven upturned. For Humanity sweeps onward : where to-day the martyr stands, On the morrow crouches Judas with the silver in his hands; Far in front the cross stands ready and the crackling fagots burn, While the hooting mob of yesterday in the silent awe return To glean up the scattered ashes into history’s golden urn. THE PRESENT Adelaide Anne Proctor Do not crouch to-day and worship The old Past whose life is fled, Hush your voice with tender reverence, Crowned he lies, but cold and dead; For the Present reigns our monarch, With an added weight of hours; Honour her for she is mighty ! Honour her, for she is ours ! See the shadows of his heroes, Girt around her cloudy throne ; Every day the ranks are strengthened By great hearts to him unknown; Noble things the great Past promised, Holy dreams both strange and new, 644 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But the Present shall fulfil them, What he promised, she shall do. She inherits all his treasures, She is heir to all his fame; And the light that lightens round her Is the lustre of his name. She is wise with all his wisdom, Living on his grave she stands ; On her brow she bears his laurels, And his harvest in her hands. Coward, can she reign and conquer If we thus her glory dim? Let us fight for her as nobly As our fathers fought for him. God, who crowns the dying ages, Bids her rule and us obey; Bids us cast our lives before her, Bids us save the great To-day. 2. National Affairs BATTLE HYMN OF THE REPUBLIC Julia Ward Howe Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord: He is trampling out the vintage where the grapes of wrath are stored ; He hath loosed the fateful lightning of His terrible swift sword: His truth is marching on. I have seen Him in the watch-fires of a hundred circling camps, They have builded Him an altar in the evening dews and damps; I can read His righteous sentence by the dim and flaring lamps : His day is marching on. CONDUCT OF LIFE 645 I have read a fiery gospel writ in burnished rows of steel : “As ye deal with my contemners so with you my grace shall deal ; Let the Hero, born of woman, crush the serpent with his heel, Since God is marching on !” He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat; He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat. Oh, be swift, my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet! Our God is marching on. In the beauty of the lilies Christ was born across the sea, With a glory in His bosom that transfigures you and me; As He died to make men holy, let us die to make men free, While God is marching on. UNMANIFEST DESTINY Richard Hovey To what new fates, my country, far And unforeseen of foe or friend. Beneath what unexpected star, Compelled to what unchosen end, Across the sea that knows no beach The Admiral c £ nations guides Thy blind obedient keels to reach The harbor where thy future rides ! The guns that spoke at Lexington Knew not that God was planning then The trumpet words of Jefferson To bugle forth the rights of men. To them that wept and cursed Bull Run, What was it but despair and shame ? Who saw behind the cloud the sun? Who knew that God was in the flame ? 646 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Had not defeat upon defeat, Disaster on disaster come, The slave’s emancipated feet Had never marched behind the drum. There is a Hand that bends our deeds To mightier issues than we planned; Each son that triumphs, each that bleeds. My country, serves Its dark command. I do not know beneath what sky Nor on what seas shall be thy fate; I only know it shall be high, 1 only know it shall be great. THE REPUBLIC Henry Wadsworth Longfellow Thou, too, sail on, O Ship of State ! Sail on, O Union ! strong and great ! Humanity with all its fears, With all its hopes of future years, Is hanging breathless on thy fate ! We know what Master laid thy keel, What Workmen wrought thy ribs of steel. Who made each mast and sail and rope, What anvils rang, what hammers beat, In what a forge, at what a heat Were shaped the anchors of thy hope! Fear not each sudden sound and shock, ’Tis of the wave, and not the rock: ’Tis but the flapping of a sail And not a rent made by the gale ! In spite of rock and tempests’ roar, In spite of false lights on the shore, Sail on, nor fear to breast the sea ! Our hearts, our hopes, are all with thee, Our hearts, our hopes, our prayers, our tears.* Our faith, triumphant o’er our fears, Are all with thee — are all with thee ! CONDUCT OF LIFE 647 From GLOUCESTER MOORS William Vaughn Moody This earth is not the steadfast place We landsmen build upon; From deep to deep she varies pace, And while she comes is gone. Beneath my feet I feel Her smooth bulk heave and dip ; With velvet plunge and soft upreel She swings and steadies to her keel Like a gallant, gallant ship God, dear God ! Does she know her port, Though she goes so far about? Or blind astray, does she make her sport To brazen and chance it out? I watched when her captains passed : She were better captainless. Men in the cabin, before the mast But some were reckless and some aghast, And some sat gorged at mess. But thou, vast outbound ship of souls, What harbor town for thee? What shapes, when thy arriving tolls, Shall crowd the banks to see? Shall all the happy shipmates then Stand singing brotherly? Or shall a haggard ruthless few Warp her over and bring her to, While the many broken souls of men Fester down in the slaver’s pen And nothing to say or do? s 648 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 3. International Affairs THE SOUL’S ERRAND Sir Walter Raleigh Go, soul, the body’s guest, Upon a thankless errand ! Fear not to touch the best, The truth shall be thy warrant: Go, since I needs must die, And give the world the lie. Go, tell the court it glows, And shines like rotten wood ; Go, tell the church it shows What’s good and doth no good : If church and court reply, Then give them both the lie. Tell potentates they live Acting by others’ actions ; Not loved unless they give, Not strong but by their factions : If potentates reply, Give potentates the lie. Tell men of high condition That rule affairs of state, Their purpose is ambition, Their practice only hate : And if they once reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell those that brave it most, They beg for more by spending, Who in their greatest cost, CONDUCT OF LIFE 649 Seek nothing but commending: And if they make reply, Then give them all the lie. Tell zeal it lacks devotion; Tell love it is but lust; Tell time it is but motion; Tell flesh it is but dust: And wish them not reply, For thou must give the lie. Tell age it daily wasteth; Tell honor how it alters; Tell beauty how she blasteth; Tell favor how she falters: And as they shall reply, Give every one the lie. Tell wit how much it wrangles In tickle points of niceness; Tell wisdom she entangles Herself in overwiseness : And when they do reply, Straight give them both the lie. Tell physic of her boldness; Tell skill it is pretension; Tell charity of coldness; Tell law it is contention: And as they do reply, So give them still the lie. Tell arts they have no soundness, But vary by esteeming; Tell schools they want profoundness, And stand too much on seeming: If arts and schools reply,' Give arts and schools the lie. Tell faith it’s fled the city; Tell how the country erreth; 650 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Tell manhood shakes off pity; Tell virtue least preferreth: And if they do reply, Spare not to give the lie. So when thou hast, as I Commanded thee, done blabbing; Although to give the lie Deserves no less than stabbing : Yet stab at thee who will, No stab the Soul can kill ! IN THE DAWN Odell Shepard Peace ! The perfect word is sounding, like a universal hymn. Under oceans, over mountains, to the world’s remotest rim. Light ! At last the deadly arrows of the Archer find their mark. Loathsome forms are shuddering backward to the shelter of the dark. Hope ! The nations stand together on the borders of a dawn That shall dim the noonday splendor of the ages that are gone. Peace, and light, and hope of morning ! Let the belfries reel and sway While the world is swinging swiftly out of darkness into day. Let the forests of the steeples, blown by one compelling wind, Swing and sway and clash together one vast peal for all man¬ kind, While we roll up out of darkness, out of death, out of the gloom Of a blighted planet plunging blindly downward to its doom. Into light beyond our dreaming, into peace, goodwill toward men, Hope beyond the poet’s vision, joy beyond the prophet’s ken. CONDUCT OF LIFE 651 While we stand here in the gray dawn, in these early dews of time, On this height the toil of ages has but just availed to climb, Brothers, let us pause a moment. . . . Many a darkling moun¬ tain towers Tall against the stars behind us, only less sublime than ours. Many a peak of ancient quiet glimmers lonely in the snow Whence a shout of joy went skyward silent centuries ago. France, with Europe singing round her in her false dawn fair and brief ; England, with the vast Armada rocking helpless on the reef ; Rome, when through the Temple of Janus clanged and clashed each rusty gate; Athens, hurling Persia homeward headlong like a river in spate. . . . All of these have climbed before us to a distant Pisgah-sight Of a land they never entered. Shall we also lose our light? Other earlier dawns before this bloomed, and withered. Men have scaled Many a peak of dream — and died there. Shall we falter where they failed ? Shall the nations still, forever, struggle forward one by one? Or shall we go up together, brother-like, to greet the sun? We shall falter, strength will fail us, dreams will perish utterly, Our high hope will be a byword and a scornful memory If we stand not strong together in this hour, if heart and hand Be not plighted firm and steadfast, linking alien land to land . . . Ah, but see, we stand together, hand in hand and eye to eye ! This, in all the backward ages, has not been beneath the sky. 652 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Other days have had their glory, but these days of triumph are Kingliest of all that ever dawned upon this ancient star. And behold ! At last our country takes her rightful place with men. Never shall the seas divide her from the world’s great need again. That old dream has fled forever, that we dwell, serene and far, With God’s special smile to light us, on some steady separate star. All we are the Old World made us. Where it lost we learned to gain. We have triumphed through its failures, built our joy upon its pain. Greece foretold us, Rome foresaw us, gave us beauty, wisdom, law ; France gave vision; England made us strong to win the good we saw. Toiling centuries have struggled upward on a stony way Just to set the torch of freedom where it flames aloft to-day. Shall the children of the ages fail them in this mighty trust, Let their beacon pale and dwindle, quench its beauty in the dust? Rather, we shall hold it higher, shake its splendor through the sky, Searching out each nook of shadow till the things of darkness die. Where a woman still is vassal, where a child is still a slave, There shall rise our instant bivouac, there be digged a tyrant’s grave. All the old forlorn lost causes, every fair forbidden dream, And the prophet’s hopeless vision and the poet’s flitting gleam, CONDUCT OF LIFE 653 All the hopes of subject peoples, all the dreams of the op¬ pressed, Must be ours, our hopes, our visions. We can never stay or rest Till our beacon pales above us, dies into the level ray Painting every peak and valley with the light of golden day, Till the rounded earth together, to the last isle of the sea, All our many-languaged kindred shall be free as we are free. Praise to all the past that made us in the heat of its desire ; Glory to our elder brothers, those swift runners with the fire From the dimmest edge of distance, who have perished far away, Far beneath the light we stand in, many years before our day. With the wind their breath is woven, and their holy dust is whirled Dizzily along the highways of the swift-forgetting world. . . . Hearts that dared and brains that labored, hands that toiled to build our day, Drifting, drifting through the chambers of dead years, and blown away ! How their brows were bright with wonder ! How their feet were shod with flame ! Beautiful upon the mountains was the shining way they came. Freedom wears their names about her as a starry diadem. In this hour of exultation shall we not remember them? Buried deep beneath the ages in the dust of old decay. They have heard our sweet stern bugles blow reveille to the day, To the golden day they died for, paid for with immortal pains, And they rise and live within us like great wine along our veins. 654 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They are fragrance in the dawn wind. They are beauty in th; flower. . . . Let us bow our heads before them humbly now. This is their hour. We are standing in the gray dawn of a day they did not know, On a height they only dreamed of, toiling darkly far below ; But our gaze is toward a summit loftier, fairer, mist-encurled, Soaring skyward through the twilight from the bases of the world. Other feet than ours may stand there on the mountain’s lonely crown ; We may faint upon the high trails, fall and lay our burden down ; Yet, enough to fill one lifetime is this joy Death cannot touch . . . Peace, and light, and hope of morning ! These are ours, and these are much. Wondrous day to be alive in when, with furious might and main, God is fashioning the future on the anvil-horns of pain ! Every life, however humble, takes a touch of the sublime From the light that bathes our sun-washed pinnacle of dawning time. Forward, then! And onward, upward/ toward the greater days to be, All the nations singing with us one great song, fraternally. Up and up, achieving, failing, weak in flesh but strong of soul. . . . We may never live to reach it. Ah, but we have seen the goal! CONDUCT OF LIFE 655 THE NEW VICTORY Margaret Widdemer Victory comes : Not hard and laughing as she came of yore, Her scarlet arms heaped high with spoils of war; Her slaves, to beating drums, Low bent and bearing gifts . . . The black cloud lifts; And, lifting our long-weary eyes to see, There dawns upon our sight, Majestic, crowned with light, Stern and so quiet — she must keep her strength To build at weary length Over again, a scarred and shattered world — This, then, this is she, Our grave Victory ! She follows down the furrows War-turned across the world, Where still the spent shell burrows, Where the black shot was hurled, And sows the wheat and corn. The world from anguish born Again from its old grief, Looks up athirst, And hungering, Daring to dream again Of flowers unhurt and unstained rain And Love and Spring: Knowing that she shall build each place accursed Into a thing that may some day again Be our once land of comfort and delight, Of ease and mockery, Even forgetfulness : Even the gift to bless. Victory paces slowly through the lands: No lash is in her hands, 656 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY She builds herself no triumph arch for cover, No common marble toy— She is too great for joy. She who upbuilds Each little shattered home And brings men back to it; and lover gives to lover, And to the shattered souls its faith again, And to the world continuance of God — How should our praise for her In high crowned buildings stand — oh? how be pent In built or written thing? The stable world itself is her great monument. AN INSPIRATION Ella Wheeler Wilcox However the battle is ended, Though proudly the victor comes With fluttering flags and prancing nags And echoing roll of drums, Still truth proclaims this motto, In letters of living light, — No question is ever settled, Until it is settled right. Though the heel of the strong oppressor May grind the weak to dust, And the voices of fame with one acclaim May call him great and just, Let those who applaud take warning, And keep this motto in sight, — No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. Let those who have failed take courage; Tho’ the enemy seems to have won, Tho’ his ranks are strong, if he be in the wrong The battle is not yet done; CONDUCT OF LIFE 657 For, as sure as the morning follows The darkest hour of the night, No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. O man bowed down with labor ! A woman, young, yet old ! O heart oppressed in the toiler’s breast And crushed by the power of gold ! Keep on with your weary battle Against triumphant might; No question is ever settled Until it is settled right. \ ' • ■ - XI. Death and Immortality a. PERSONAL IMMORTALITY b. IMPERSONAL IMMORTALITY C. ETERNAL SLEEP - '• ■ ; . ■ ' XI. Death and Immortality a. PERSONAL IMMORTALITY A TRAVELLER Anonymous Into the dusk and snow One fared yesterday : No man of us may know By what mysterious way. He had been a comrade long; We fain would hold him still; But, though our will be strong, There is a stronger Will. Beyond the solemn night He will find the morning dream, The summer’s kindling light Beyond the chill snow’s gleam. The clear unfaltering eye, The inalienable soul, The calm, high energy, — They will not fail the goal ! Large will be our content If it be ours to go One day the path he went, Into the dusk and snow ! 66 1 662 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY RESURGAM Anonymous “I shall arise.” For centuries Upon the grey old churchyard stone These words have stood; no more is said, The glorious promise stands alone, Untouched, while years and seasons roll Around it ; March winds come and go, The summer twilights fall and fade, And autumn sunsets burn and glow. “I shall arise” ! O wavering heart, From this take comfort and be strong! “I shall arise”; nor always grope In darkness, mingling right with wrong ; From tears and pain, from shades of doubt, And wants within, that blindly call, “I shall arise,” in God’s own light Shall see the sum and truth of all. Like children here we lisp and grope, And, till the perfect manhood, wait At home our time, and only dream Of that which lies beyond the gate: God’s full free universe of life, No shadowy paradise of bliss, No realm of unsubstantial souls, But life, more real life than this. O soul ! where’er your ward is kept, In some still region calmly blest, By quiet watch-fires till the dawn And God’s reveille break your rest, O soul ! that left this record here, I read, but scarce can read for tears, I bless you, reach and clasp your hand, For all these long two hundred years. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 663 “I shall arise” — O clarion call ! Time rolling onward to the end Brings us to life that cannot die, The life where faith and knowledge blend. Each after each, the cycles roll In silence, and about us here The shadow of the great White Throne Falls broader, deeper, year by year. AFTER DEATH IN ARABIA Edwin Arnold He who died at Azan sends This to comfort all his friends : Faithful friends! It lies, I know Pale and white and cold as snow; And ye say, “Abdallah's dead” ! Weeping at the feet and head. I can see your falling tears, I can hear your sighs and prayers; Yet I smile and whisper this: “I am not the thing you kiss ; Cease your tears and let it lie ; It was mine — it is not I.” Sweet Friends! What the women lave For its last bed in the grave, Is a tent which I am quitting, Is a garment no more fitting, Is a cage, from which at last, Like a hawk, my soul hath passed. Love the inmate, not the room — The wearer, not the garb; — the plume Of the falcon, not the bars That kept him from these splendid stars ! 664 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Loving friends ! be wise, and dry Straightway every weeping eye. What ye lift upon the bier Is not worth a wistful tear. ’Tis an empty sea shell, — one Out of which the pearl is gone; The shell is broken, it lies there; The pearl, the all, the soul, is here. ’Tis an earthen jar, whose lid Allah sealed, the while it hid That treasure of his treasury, A mind that loved him ; let it lie ! Let the shard be the earth’s once more, Since the gold shines in his store ! Allah glorious ! Allah good ! Now thy world is understood; Now the long, long wonder ends! Yet ye weep, my erring friends, While the man whom ye call dead. In unspoken bliss, instead, Lives and loves you ; lost, ’tis true, By such light as shines for you ; But in light you cannot see Of unfulfilled felicity, — In enlarging paradise, Lives a life that never dies. Farewell, 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 stepped, Ye will wonder why ye wept; Ye will know by wise love taught, That here is all and there is naught. Weep a while, if ye are fain, — Sunshine still must follow rain ; Only not at death, — for death, Now I know, is that first breath DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 665 Which our souls draw when we enter Life, which is of all life center. Be ye certain all seems love, Viewed 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 who died at Azan gave This to those who made his grave. RUGBY CHAPEL Matthew Arnold Coldly, sadly descends The autumn evening. The field Strewn with its dank yellow drifts Of withered leaves, and the elms, Fade into dimness apace, Silent; — hardly a shout From a few boys late at their play! The lights come out in the street, In the school-room windows ; — but cold, Solemn, unlighted, austere, Through the gathering darkness, arise The chapel walls, in whose bound Thou, my father ! art laid. • • !••••# O strong soul, by what shore Tarriest thou now? For that force, Surely, has not been left vain ! Somewhere, surely, afar, I11 the sounding labor-house vast Of being, is practised that strength, Zealous, beneficent, firm ! 666 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Yes, in some far-shining sphere, Conscious or not of the past, Still thou performest the word Of the Spirit in whom thou dost live — Prompt, unwearied, as here ! Still thou upraisest with zeal The humble good from the ground, Sternly repressest the bad ! Still, like a trumpet, dost rouse Those who, with half-open eyes Tread the border-land dim ’Twixt vice and virtue; revivest, Succorest ! — this was thy work, This was thy life upon earth. What is the course of the life Of mortal men on the earth? — Most men eddy about Here and there — eat and drink, Chatter and love and hate, Gather and squander, are raised Aloft, are hurled in the dust, Striving blindly, achieving Nothing; and then they die— Perish; — and no one asks Who or what they have been, More than he asks what waves, In the moonlit solitudes mild Of the midmost ocean, have swelled, Foam’d for a moment, and gone. And there are some, whom a thirst Ardent, unquenchable, fires, Not with the crowd to be spent, Not without aim to go round In an eddy of purposeless dust, Effort unmeaning and vain. Ah, yes ! some of us strive Not without action to die Fruitless, but something to snatch DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 667 From dull oblivion, nor all Glut the devouring grave ! We, we have chosen our path — Path to a clear-purposed goal, Path of advance ! — but it leads A long steep journey, through sunk Gorges, o’er mountains of snow, Cheerful, with friends, we set forth — Then, on the height, comes the storm. Thunder crashes from rock To rock, the cataracts reply, Lightnings dazzle our eyes. Roaring torrents have breached The track, the stream-bed descends In the place where the wayfarer once Planted his footstep — the spray Boils o’er its borders ! aloft The unseen snow-beds dislodge Their hanging ruin; alas. Havoc is made in our train ! Friends who set forth at our side, Falter, are lost in the storm. We, we only are left! With frowning foreheads, with lips Sternly compressed, we strain on, On — and at nightfall at last Come to the end of our way, To the lonely inn ’mid the rocks; Where the gaunt and taciturn host Stands on the threshold, the wind Shaking his thin white hairs — - Holds his lantern to scan Our storm-beat figures, and asks; Whom in our party we bring? Whom have we left in the snow? Sadly we answer : we bring Only ourselves ! we lost Sight of the rest in the storm. 668 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Hardly ourselves we fought through, Stripped, without friends, as we are. Friends, companions, and train, The avalanche swept from our side. But thou wouldst not alone Be saved, my father ! alone Conquer and come to thy goal. Leaving the rest in the wild. We were weary, and we Fearful, and we in our march Fain to drop down and to die. Still thou turnedst, and still Beckonedst the trembler, and still Gavest the weary thy hand. «••••••• And through thee I believe In the noble and great who are gone; Pure souls honored and blest By former ages, who else — Such, so soulless, so poor, Is the race of men whom I see — Seem’d but a dream of the heart, Seem’d but a cry of desire. Yes! I believe that there lived Others like thee in the past, Not like the men of the crowd Who all round me today Bluster or cringe, and make life Hideous, and arid, and vile; But souls tempered with fire. Fervent, heroic, and good, Helpers and friends of mankind. Servants of God ! — or sons Shall I not call you ? because Not as servants ye knew Your Father’s innermost mind, His, who unwillingly sees One of his little ones lost — DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 669 Yours is the praise, if mankind Hath not as yet in its march Fainted, and fallen and died! See ! in the rocks of the world Marches the host of mankind, A feeble, wavering line. Where are they tending? — A God Marshalled them, gave them their goal. Ah, but the way is so long ! Years they have been in the wild! Sore thirst plagues them, the rocks. Rising ail round, overawe ; Factions divide them, their host Threatens to break, to dissolve. — Ah, keep, keep them combined ! Else of the myriads who fill That army, not one shall arrive ; Sole they shall stray ; in the rocks Stagger forever in vain, Die one by one in the waste. Then, in such hour of need Of your fainting, dispirited race. Ye, like angels, appear, Radiant with ardor divine ! Beacons of hope, ye appear ! Languor is not in your heart, Weakness is not in your word, Weariness not on your brow. Ye alight in our van! at your voice. Panic, despair, flee away. Ye move through the ranks, recall The stragglers, refresh the outworn. Praise, re-inspire the brave ! Order, courage, return. Eyes rekindling, and prayers, Follow your steps as ye go. Ye fill up the gaps in our files. 670 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Strengthen the wavering lines, ’Stablish, continue our march, On, to the bound of the waste, On, to the city of God. DEATH Maltbie Babcock Why be afraid of death, as though your life were breath? Death but anoints your eyes with clay. O glad surprise ! Why should you be forlorn? Death only husks the corn. Why should you fear to meet the thresher of the wheat? Is sleep a thing to dread? Yet sleeping you are dead Till you awake and rise, here, or beyond the skies. Why should it be a wrench to leave your wooden bench? Why not, with happy shout, run home when school is out The dear ones left behind? Oh, foolish one and blind l A day and you will meet — a night and you will greet. This is the death of death, to breathe away a breath And know the end of strife, and taste the deathless life, And joy without a fear, and smile without a tear; And work, nor care to rest, and find the last the best. PROSPICE Robert Browning Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat, The mist in my face, When the snows begin, and the blasts denote I am nearing the place, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 671 The power of the night, the press of the storm, The post of the foe ; Where he stands, the Arch Fear in a visible form, Yet the strong man must go; For the journey is done and the summit attained, And the barriers fall, Though a battle’s to fight ere the guerdon be gained, The reward of it all. I was ever a fighter, so — one fight more, The best and the last ! I would hate that death bandaged my eyes, and forebore, And bade me creep past. No ! let me taste the whole of it, fare like my peers The heroes of old, Bear the brunt, in a minute pay glad life’s arrears Of pain, darkness and cold. For sudden the worst turns the best to the brave, The black minute’s at end, And the elements’ rage, the fiend-voices that rave, Shall dwindle, shall blend, Shall change, shall become first a peace out of pain. Then a light, then thy breast, O thou soul of my soul ! I shall clasp thee again, And with God be the rest ! AULD LANG SYNE John White Chadwick It singeth low in every heart, We hear it each and all, — A song of those who answer not, However we may call ; They throng the silence of the breast, We see them as of yore, — The kind, the brave, the true, the sweet, Who walk with us no more. 672 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ’Tis hard to take the burden up, When these have laid it down; . They brightened all the joy of life, They softened every frown; But oh, ’tis good to think of them, When we are troubled sore ! Thanks be to God that such have been. Although they are no more ! More home-like seems the vast unknown, Since they have entered there ; To follow them were not so hard. Wherever they may fare ; They cannot be where God is not, On any sea or shore ; Whate’er betides, Thy love abides, Our God, for evermore. THE CHARIOT Emily Dickinson Because I could not stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me; The carriage held but just ourselves, And Immortality. We slowly drove, he knew no haste, And I had put away My labor and my leisure, too, For his civility. We passed the school where children played, Their lessons scarcely done; We passed the fields of gazing grain, We passed the setting sun. We paused before a house that seemed A swelling of the ground: DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 673 The roof was scarcely visible, The cornice but a mound. Since then, ’tis centuries; but each Feels shorter than the day I first surmised the horses’ heads Were toward eternity. DEATH Emily Dickinson Death is a dialogue between The spirit and the dust. “Dissolve,” says Death; the spirit, “Sir? I have another trust.” Death doubts it, argues from the ground* The spirit turns away, Just laying off, for evidence, An overcoat of clay. DEATH Emily Dickinson The bustle in the house The morning after death Is solemnest of industries Enacted upon earth ; — The sweeping up the heart And putting love away We shall not want to use again Until eternity. 674 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY RESURGAM Emily Dickinson At last to be identified! At last, the lamps upon thy side The rest of life to see ! Past midnight, past the morning star ! Past sunrise ! Ah ! what leagues there are Between our feet and day ! THIRST Emily Dickinson We thirst at first, — ’tis nature’s act; And, later, when we die A little water supplicate Of fingers going by. It intimates the finer wants Whose adequate supply Is that great water in the West, Termed Immortality. TWO MYSTERIES Mary Mapes Dodge We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still; The folded hands, the awful calm, the cheek so pale and chill; The lids that will not lift again, though we may call and call; The strange white solitude of peace that settles over all. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 675 We know not what it means, dear, this desolate heart pain; This dread to take our daily way, and walk in it again ; We know not to what other sphere the loved who leave us go, Nor why we’re left to wonder still, nor why we do not know. But this we know : our loved and dead, if they should come this day,— Should come and ask us, “What is Life?” — not one of us could say. Life is a mystery, as deep as ever death can be; Yet, oh, how dear it is to us, this life we live and see ! Then might they say — these vanished ones — and blessed is the thought, “So death is sweet to us, beloved! though we may show you naught ; We may not to the quick reveal the mystery of death — Ye cannot tell us, if ye would, the mystery of breath!” The child who enters life comes not with knowledge or intent, So those who enter death must go as little children sent. Nothing is known. But I believe that God is overhead; And as life is to the living, so death is to the dead. THE GOD OF THE LIVING John Ellerton God of the living, in whose eyes Unveiled 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 words, their powers, All thine, and yet most truly ours: 6;6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY For well we know, where’er they be, Our dead are living unto thee. Not spilt like water on the ground, Not wrapt 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. O Breather into man of breath ! O Holder of the keys of death ! O Giver of the Life within ! Save us from death, the death of sin; That body, soul, and spirit be Forever living unto thee ! DRYAD SONG Margaret Fuller I am immortal ! I know it ! I feel it ! Hope floods my heart with delight? ! Running on air, mad with life, dizzy, reeling, Upward I mount, — faith is sight, life is feeling, Hope is the day-star of might ! It was thy kiss, Love, that made me immortal, — “‘Kiss,’ Love? Our lips have not met!” Ah, but I felt thy soul through night’s portal Swoon on my lips at night’s sweet, silent portal, Wild and sweet as regret. Come, let us mount on the wings of the morning, Flying for joy of the flight, Wild with all longing, now soaring, now staying, Mingling like day and dawn, swinging and swaying, Hung like a cloud in the light : I am immortal ! I feel it ! I feel it ! Love bears me up, love is might ! DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 677 Chance cannot touch me! Time cannot hush me! Fear, Hope, and Longing, at strife, Sink as I rise, on, on, upward forever, Gathering strength, gaining breath, — naught can sever Me from the Spirit of Life! CALL ME NOT DEAD Richard Watson Gilder Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone Into the company of the ever-living High and most glorious poets ! Let thanksgiving Rather be made. Say : ‘‘He at last hath won Rest and release, converse supreme and wise, Music and song and light of immortal faces; To-day, perhaps, wandering in starry places, He hath met Keats, and known him by his eyes. To-morrow (who can say!) Shakespeare may pass, And our lost friend just catch one syllable Of that three-centuried wit that kept so well ; Or Milton; or Dante, looking on the grass Thinking of Beatrice, and listening still To chanted hymns that sound from the heavenly hill.” LONGING FOR FIOME Jean Ingelow A Song of a Boat There was once a boat on a billow : Lightly she rocked to her port remote, And the foam was white in her wake like snow, And her frail mast bowed when the breeze would blow. And bent like a wand of willow. 678 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I shaded mine eyes one day when a boat Went curtseying over the billow, I marked her course till, a dancing mote, She faded out on the moonlit foam, And I stayed behind in the dear-loved home ; And my thoughts all day were about the boat, And my dreams upon the pillow. I pray you hear my song of a boat, For it is but short : — My boat, you shall find none fairer afloat, In river or port. Long I looked out for the lad she bore, On the open desolate sea ; And I think he sailed to the heavenly shore, For he came not back to me — Ah, me ! A Song of a Nest There was once a nest in a hollow ; Down in the mosses and knot-grass pressed, Soft and warm and full to the brim; Vetches leaned over it, purple and dim, With buttercup buds to follow. I pray you hear my song of a nest, For it is not long: — You shall never light, in a summer quest The bushes among — Shall never light on a prouder sitter, A fairer nestful, nor ever know A softer sound than their tender twitter, That, wind-like, did come and go. I had a nestful once of my own — Ah, happy, happy I ! Rightly dearly I loved them, but when they were grown They spread out their wings to fly. Oh. one after one they flew away, Far up to the heavenly blue. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 679 To the better country, the upper day; And — I wish I was going, too. I pray you what is the nest to me, My empty nest? And what is the shore where I used to see My boat' sail down to the west? Can I call that home where I anchor yet, Though my good man has sailed? Can I call that home where my nest was set, Now all its hope hath failed? Nay, but the port where my sailor went, And the land where my nestlings be : There is the home where my thoughts are sent, The only home for me — Ah, me ! HE DID NOT KNOW * Harry Kemp He did not know that he was dead; He walked along the crowded street, Smiled, tipped his hat, nodded his head To friends he chanced to meet. And yet they passed him quietly by With an unknowing, level stare; They met him with an abstract eye As if he were the air. “Some sorry thing has come to pass,” The dead man thought; he hurried home, And found his wife before a glass, Dallying with a comb. He found his wife all dressed in black; He kissed her mouth, he stroked her head. “Men act so strange since I've come back From over there,” he said. 68o THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY She spoke no word; she only smiled. But now he heard her say his name, And saw her study, grief-beguiled, His picture in a frame. Then he remembered that black night And the great shell-burst, wide and red, The sudden plunging into light; And knew that he was dead. LYCIDAS John Milton Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more, Ye myrtles brown, with ivy never sere, I come to pluck your berries harsh and crude, And with forced fingers rude Shatter your leaves before the mellowing year. Bitter constraint and sad occasion dear Compels me to disturb your season due; For Lycidas is dead, dead ere his prime, Young Lycidas, and hath not left his peer. Who would not sing for Lycidas? he knew Himself to sing and build the lofty rhyme. He must not float upon his watery bier Unwept, and welter to the parching wind, Without the meed of some melodious tear. Begin then, Sisters of the sacred well That from the seat of Jove doth spring; Begin, and somewhat loudly sweep the string. Hence with denial vain and coy excuse ; So may some gentle Muse With lucky words favor my destined urn, And as he passes turn, And bid fair peace be to my sable shroud. For we were nursed upon the self-same hill, Fed the same flock, by fountain, shade, and rill; Together both, ere the high lawns appeared DEATH AND IMMORTALITY Under the opening eyelids of the morn, We drove a-field and both together heard What time the gray-fly winds her sultry horn, Battening our flocks with the fresh dews of night, Oft till the star that rose at evening, bright Toward heaven’s descent had sloped his westering wheeL Meanwhile the rural ditties were not mute, Tempered to the oaten flute; Rough Satyrs danced, and Fauns with cloven heel From the glad sound would not be absent long; And old Damoetas loved to hear our song. But oh ! the heavy change, now thou art gone, Now thou art gone, and never must return! Thee, Shepherd, thee the woods and desert caves, With wild thyme and the gadding vine o’ergrown, And all their echoes mourn. The willows and the hazel copses green Shall now no more be seen, Fanning their joyous leaves to thy soft lays. As killing as the canker to the rose, Or taint-worm to the weanling herds that graze, Or frost to flowers, that their gay wardrobe wear, When first the white-thorn blows; Such, Lycidas, thy loss to shepherd’s ear. Where were ye, nymphs, when the remorseless deep Cdosed o’er the head of your loved Lycidas? For neither were ye playing on the steep Where your old bards, the famous Druids, lie, Nor on the shaggy top of Mona high, Nor yet where Deva spreads her wisard stream. Ay, me ! I fondly dream “Had ye been there,” . . . for what could that have done What could the Muse herself that Orpheus bore, The Muse herself, for her enchanting son, Whom universal nature did lament, When by the rout that made the hideous roar His gory visage down the stream was sent, Down the swift Hebrus to the Lesbian shore? Alas ! what boots it with incessant care To tend the homely, slighted, shepherd’s trade, 682 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And strictly meditate the thankless Muse? Were it not better done, as others use, To sport with Amaryllis in the shade, Or with the tangles of Nesera’s hair? Fame is the spur that the clear spirit doth raise (That last infirmity of noble mind) To scorn delights and live laborious days; But the fair guerdon when we hope to find, And think to burst out into sudden blaze, Comes the blind Fury with the abhorred shears, And slits the thin-spun life. “But not the praise,” Phoebus replied, and touched my trembling ears : “Fame is no plant that grows on mortal soil, Nor in the glistering foil Set off to the world, nor in broad rumor lies ; But lives and spreads aloft by those pure eyes And perfect witness of all-judging Jove; As he pronounces lastly on each deed, Of so much fame in heaven expect thy meed.” O fountain Arethuse, and thou honored flood, Smooth-sliding Mincius, crowned with vocal reeds, That strain I heard was of a higher mood : But now my oat proceeds, And listens to the herald of the sea, That came in Neptune’s plea. He asked the waves, and asked the felon winds, What hard mishap hath doomed this gentle swain? And questioned every gust of rugged wings That blows from off each beaked promontory. They knew not of his story; And sage Hippotades their answer brings, That not a blast was from his dungeon strayed; The air was calm, and on the level brine Sleek Panope with all her sisters played. It was that fatal and perfidious bark, Built in the eclipse, and rigged with curses dark, That sunk so low that sacred head of thine. Next Camus, reverend sire, went footing slow, His mantle hairy and his bonnet sedge, Inwrought with figureskdim, and on the edge DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 683 Like to that sanguine flower inscribed with woe. “Ah, who hath reft,” quoth he, “my dearest pledge ?” Last came, and last did go, The pilot of the Galilean lake ; Two massy keys he bore of metals twain (The golden opes, the iron shuts amain). He shook his mitred locks, and stern bespake : “How well could I have spared for thee, young swain, Anow of such as, for their bellies’ sake, Creep and intrude and climb into the fold ! Of other care they little reckoning make Than how to scramble at the shearers’ feast, And shove away the worthy bidden guest. Blind mouths ! that scarce themselves know how to hold A sheep-hook, or have learnt aught else the least That to the faithful herdsman’s art belongs ! What recks it them? What need they? They are sped; And when they list, their lean and flashy songs Grate on their scrannel pipes of wretched straw; The hungry sheep look up and are not fed, But swoln with wind and the rank mist they draw, Rot inwardly and foul contagion spread; Besides what the grim wolf with privy paw Daily devours apace, and nothing said. But that two-handed engine at the door Stands ready to smite once and smite no more.” Return, Alpheus; the dread voice is past That shrunk thy streams; return, Sicilian Muse, And call the vales, and bid them hither cast Their bells and flowerets of a thousand hues. Ye valleys low, where the mild whispers use Of shades and wanton winds and gushing brooks, On whose fresh lap the swart star sparely looks, Throw hither all your quaint enamelled eyes, That on the green turf suck the honeyed showers, And purple all the ground with vernal flowers. Bring the rathe primrose that forsaken dies, The tufted crow-toe, and pale jessamine, The white pink, and the pansy freaked with jet, The glowing violet, 684 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The musk-rose and the well-attired woodbine, With cowslips wan that hang the pensive head, And every flower that sad embroidery wears; Bid amaranthus all his beauty shed, And dafifadillies fill their cups with tears, To strew the laureate hearse where Lycid lies. For so to interpose a little ease, Let our frail thoughts dally with false surmise. Ay me ! whilst thee the shores and sounding seas Wash far away, where’er thy bones are hurled; Whether beyond the stormy Hebrides, Where thou perhaps under the whelming tide Visit’st the bottom of the monstrous world ; Or whether thou, to our moist vows denied, Sleep’st by the fable of Bellerus old, Where the great vision of the guarded mount Looks toward Namancos and Bayona’s hold. Look homeward, Angel, now and melt with ruth ; And, O ye dolphins, waft the hapless youth. Weep no more, woeful shepherds, weep no more, For Lycidas, your sorrow, is not dead, Sunk though he be beneath the watery floor ; So sinks the day-star in the ocean bed, And yet anon repairs his drooping head, And tricks his beams, and with new-spangled ore Flames in the forehead of the morning sky : So Lycidas sunk low, but mounted high, Through the dear might of Him that walked the waves, Where, other groves and other streams along, With nectar pure his oozy locks he laves, And hears the unexpressive nuptial song, In the blest kingdoms meek of joy and love. There entertain him all the saints above, In solemn troops and sweet societies, That sing, and singing in their glory move, And wipe the tears forever from his eyes. Now, Lycidas, the shepherds weep no more; Henceforth thou art the Genius of the shore. In thy large recompense, and shalt be good To all that wander in that perilous flood. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 685 Thus sang the uncouth swain to the oaks and rills, While the still morn went out with sandals gray; He touched the tender stops of various quills, With eager thought warbling his Doric lay: And now the sun had stretched out all the hills, And now was dropt into the western bay. At last he rose, and twitched his mantle blue : To-morrow to fresh woods and pastures new. VESPERS Silas Weir Mitchell I know the night is near at hand : The mists lie low on hill and bay, The Autumn sheaves are dewless, dry; But I have had the day. Yes, I have had, dear Lord, the day; When at thy call I have the night. Brief be the twilight as I pass From light to dark, from dark to light. DEATPI James Oppenheim This starry world, and I in it . . . How can I get out of it? I go to sleep but when I wake I am still here . . . All night the flame of life burned in my breast and brain as the stars burn in the breast and brain of the world . . . And what is Death? It is a swing-door. I push through, coming out on the other side. 686 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY But the other side is the world, just as this side is th<» world . . . There is no escape . . . So I had best do my work now, lest I shall have to do it later I had best be myself now, lest later I shall have to battle with the crusts upon myself, Lest later I shall have to begin again at the beginning, unlearn¬ ing all my faults. . . . This was as true a hundred million years ago, This wflll be as true a hundred million years from now, As it is now, at this moment. FOREVER John Boyle O’Reilly Those we love truly never die, Though year by year the sad memorial wreath, A ring and flowers, types of life and death, Are laid upon their graves. For death the pure life saves, And life all pure is love; and love can reach From heaven to earth, and nobler lessons teach Than those by mortals read. Well blest is he who has a dear one dead; A friend he has whose face will never change — A dear communion that will not grow strange; The anchor of a love is death. SEEDS John Oxenham What shall we be like when We cast this earthly body and attain To Immortality ? What shall we be like then? DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 687 Ah, who shall say What vast expansions shall be ours that day? What transformations of this house of clay, To fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day? Ah, who shall say? But this we know, — We drop a seed into the ground, A tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry, And, in the fulness of its time, is seen A form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned Beyond the pride of any earthly queen, Instinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare The perfect emblem of its Maker’s care. This from a shrivelled seed? — — Then may man hope indeed ! For man is but the seed of what he shall be, When, in the fulness of his perfecting, He drops the husk and cleaves his upward way, Through earth’s retardings and the clinging clay Into the sunshine of God’s perfect day. No fetters then ! No bonds of time or space ! But powers as ample as the boundless grace That suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness, Set wide the door and passed Himself before — As He had promised — to prepare a place. Yea, we may hope ! For we are seeds, Dropped into earth for heavenly blossoming. Perchance, when comes the time of harvesting, His loving care May find some use for even a humble tare. We know not what we shall be — only this — That we shall be made like Him — as He is. 688 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CONCLUSION Sir Walter Raleigh (Found in his Bible in the Gatehouse at Westminster) Even such is time, that takes in trust Our youth, our joys, are all we have, And pays us but with earth and dust; Who, in the dark and silent grave, When we have wandered 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. AWAY! James Whitcomb Riley I cannot say, and I will not say That he is dead ! He is just away ! With a cheery smile, and a wave of the hand, He has wandered into an unknown land. And left us dreaming how very fair It must be, since he lingers there. And you, — O you, who the wildest yearn For the old-time step and the glad return, — Think of him faring on, as dear In the love of There as the love of Here ; Mild and gentle as he was brave, — When the sweetest love of his life he gave To simple things: — where the violets grew Pure as the eyes they were likened to, DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 689 The touches of his hands have strayed As reverently as his lips have prayed. Think of him still as the same, I say; He is not dead — he is just away! IMMORTALITY George William Russell (A. E.) We must pass like smoke or live within the spirit’s fire; For we can do no more than smoke unto the flame return; If our thought has changed to dream, our will unto desire, As smoke we vanish though the fire may burn. Lights of infinite pity star the grey dusk of our days : Surely here is soul : with it we have eternal breath : In the fire of love we live, or pass by many ways, By unnumbered ways of dream, to death. MY BIRTH Minot J. Savage I had my birth when the stars were born, In the dim aeons of the past : My cradle cosmic forces rocked, And to my first was linked my last. Through boundless space the shuttle flew, To weave the warp and woof of fate: In my begetting were conjoined The infinitely small and great. The outmost star on being’s rim, The tiniest sand-grain of the earth, The farthest thrill and nearest stir Was not indifferent to my birth. 690 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And when at last the earth swung free, A little planet by the moon, For me the continent arose, For me the ocean roared its tune; For me the forests grew; for me The electric force ran to and fro; For me tribes wandered o’er the earth, Kingdoms rose, and cities grew. For me religions waxed and waned; For me the ages garnered store; For me ships traversed every sea; For me the wise ones learned their lore; For me, through fire and blood and tears, Man struggled onward up the height, On which, at last, from heaven falls An ever clearer, broader light. The child of all the ages, I, Nursed on the exhaustless breast of time; By heroes thrilled, by sages taught, Sung to by bards of every clime. Quintessence of the universe, Distilled at last from God’s own heart, In me concentered now abides Of all that is the subtlest part. The product of the ages past, Heir of the future, then, am I ; So much am I divine that God Cannot afford to let me die. If I should ever cease to be, The farthest star its mate would miss, And, looking after me, would fall Down headlong darkening to the abyss. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY For, if aught real that is should cease, If the All-Father ever nods, That day across the heavens would fall Ragnorok, twilight of the Gods. From ADONAIS Percy Bysshe Shelley He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night’s sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where’er that Power may move Which has withdrawn His being to its own; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above. He is a portion of the loveliness Which once he made more lovely : he doth bear His part, while the one Spirit’s plastic stress Sweeps through the dull dense world, compelling there All new successions to the forms they wear ; Torturing the unwilling dross that checks its flight To its own likeness, as each mass may bear; And bursting in its beauty and its might, From trees and beasts and men into the Heaven’s light. The splendors of the firmament of time May be eclipsed but are extinguished not ; Like stars to their appointed height they climb, And death is a low mist which cannot blot The brightness it may veil. When lofty thought Lifts a young heart above its mortal lair, And love and life contend for it, for what Shall be its earthly doom, the dead live there And move like winds of light on dark and stormy air. 692 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The One remains, the many change and pass ; Heaven's light forever shines, Earth’s shadows fly ; Life, like a dome of many-colored glass, Stains the white radiance of Eternity, Until Death tramples it to fragments. — Die, If thou wouldst be with that which thou dost seek 1 Follow where all is fled! — Rome’s azure sky, Flowers, ruins, statues, music, words, are weak The glory they transfuse with fitting truth to speak. That Light whose smile kindles the Universe, That Beauty in which all things work and move. That Benediction which the eclipsing Curse Of birth can quench not, that sustaining Love Which through the web of being blindly wove By man and beast and earth and air and sea, Burns bright or dim, as each are mirrors of The fire for which all thirst; now beams on me, Consuming the last clouds of cold mortality. The breath whose might I have invoked in song Descends on me; my spirit’s bark is driven, Far from the shore, far from the trembling throng Whose sails were never to the tempest given; The massy earth and sphered skies are riven ! I am borne darkly, fearfully, afar ; Whilst, burning through the inmost veil of Heaven, The soul of Adonais, like a star, Beacons from the abode where the Eternal are. IMMORTAL Sara Teasdale So soon my body will have gone Beyond the sight and sound of men. And tho’ it wakes and suffers now Its sleep will be unbroken then; DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 593 But, oh, my frail immortal soul That will not sleep forevermore, A leaf borne onward by the blast, A wave that never finds the shore ! CROSSING THE BAR Alfred Tennyson Sunset and evening star, And one clear call for me ! And may there be no moaning of the bar, When I put out to sea, But such a tide as moving seems asleep, Too full for sound and foam, When that which drew from out the boundless deep Turns again home. Twilight and evening bell, And after that, the dark ! And may there be no sadness of farewell, When I embark; For tho’ from out our bourne of Time and Place The flood may bear me far, I hope to see my Pilot face to face When I have crossed the bar. OF ONE SELF-SLAIN Charles Hanson Towne When he went blundering back to God, His songs half written, his work half done, Who knows what paths his bruised feet trod, What hills of peace or pain he won? 694 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I hope God smiled and took his hand, And said, “Poor truant, passionate fool ! Life’s book is hard to understand; Why could’st thou not remain at school ?” TO NIGHT Joseph Blanco White Mysterious 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 the curtain of translucent dew, Bathed in the rays of the great setting flame, Hesperus with the host of heaven came, And lo ! Creation widened on man’s view. Who could have thought such darkness lay concealed Within thy beams, O sun ! or who could find While fly, and leaf, and insect stood revealed, That to such countless orbs thou mad’st us blind. Why do we, then, shun Death with anxious strife? — If Light can thus deceive, wherefore not Life? AT LAST John Greenleaf Whittier When on my day of life the night is falling, And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown, Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay ; O Love Divine, O Helper ever-present, Be Thou my strength and stay ! DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 695 Be near me when all else is from me drifting; Earth, sky, home’s pictures, days of shade and shine, And kindly faces to my own uplifting The love which answers mine. I have but Thee, my Father ! let Thy spirit Be with me then to comfort and uphold; No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of shining gold. Suffice it if — my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace — I find myself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place. b. IMPERSONAL IMMORTALITY MISSING Anonymous When the anxious hearts say “Where?” He doth answer “In My care.” “Is it life or is it death?” “Wait,” He whispers. “Child, have faith!” “Did they need love’s tenderness?” “Is there love like Mine to bless?” “Were they frightened at the last?” “No, the sting of death is past.” “Did a thought of ‘Home-Love’ rise?” “I looked down thro’ Mother-eyes.” 696 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY “Saviour, tell us, where are they?” “In My keeping, night and day.” “Tell us, tell us, how it stands.” “None shall pluck them from My Hands.” THE DEAD Mathilde Blind The dead abide with us ! Though stark and cold Earth seems to grip them, they are with us still : They have forged our chains of being for good or And their invisible hands these hands yet hold. Our perishable bodies are the mould In which their strong imperishable will — Mortality’s deep yearning to fulfill — Hath grown incorporate through dim time untold. Vibrations infinite of life in death, As a star’s travelling light survives its star ! So may we hold our lives that, when we are The fate of those who then will draw this breath, They shall not drag us to their judgment bar, And curse the heritage that we bequeath. WHERE RUNS THE RIVER? Francis William Bourdillon Where runs the river? Who can say Who hath not followed all the way By alders green and sedges gray And ‘blossoms blue ? Where runs the river ? Hill and wood Curve round to hem the eager flood; It cannot straightly as it would Its path pursue. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 697 Yet this we know: O’er whatso plains Or rocks or waterfalls it strains, At last the vast the stream attains ; And I, and you. LAST LINES Emily Bronte No 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 withered weeds, Or idlest froth amid the boundless main. To waken doubt in one Holding so fast by thine infinity; So surely anchored 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 ceased to be, And Thou were left alone, Every existence would exist in Thee. 698 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY There is not room for Death Nor atom that his might could render void: Thou — Thou art Being and Breath, And what Thou art may never be destroyed. THE DEAD Rupert Brooke Blow out, you bugles, over the rich Dead ! There’s none of these so lonely and poor and old But, dying, has made us rarer gifts than gold. These laid the world away; poured out the red Sweet wine of youth ; gave up the years to be Of work and joy, and that unhoped serene That men call age; and those who would have been, Their sons, they gave, their immortality. Blow, bugles, blow ! They brought us for our dearth, Holiness lacked so long, and Love and Pain. Honor has come back, as a king, to earth, And paid his subjects with a royal wage; And Nobleness walks in our ways again; And we have come into our heritage. PEACE Rupert Brooke Now, God be thanked who has matched us with His hour, And caught our youth, and wakened us from sleeping, With hand made sure, clear eye and sharpened power, To turn, as swimmers into cleanness leaping, Glad from a world grown old and cold and weary, Leave the sick hearts that honor could not move, And half-men and their dirty songs and dreary. And all the little emptiness of love ! Oh ! We who have known shame, we have found release there DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 699 Where there’s no ill, no grief, but sleep has mending, Naught broken save this body, lost but breath; Nothing to shake the laughing heart’s long peace there But only agony, and that has ending; And the worst friend and enemy is but Death. THANATOPSIS William Cullen Bryant To him who in the love of Nature holds Communion with her visible forms, she speaks A various language ; for his gayer hours She has a voice of gladness, and a smile And eloquence of beauty, and she glides Into his darker musings, with a mild And healing sympathy, that steals away Their sharpness, ere he is aware. When thoughts Of the last bitter hour come like a blight Over thy spirit, and sad images Of the stern agony, and shroud, and pall, And breathless darkness, and the narrow house, Make thee to shudder and grow sick at heart; — Go forth, under the open sky, and list To Nature’s teachings, while from all around — • Earth and her waters, and the depths of air — Comes a still voice : — Yet a few days, and thee The all-beholding sun shall see no more In all his course ; nor yet in the cold ground, Where thy pale form was laid with many tears, Nor in the embrace of ocean, shall exist Thy image. Earth, that nourished thee, shall claim Thy growth, to be resolved to earth again, And, lost each human trace, surrendering up Thine individual being, shalt thou go To mix forever with the elements, To be a brother to the insensible rock 700 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And to the sluggish clod, which the rude swain Turns with his share, and treads upon. The oak Shall send his roots abroad, and pierce thy mould. Yet not to thine eternal resting-place Shalt thou retire alone, nor couldst thou wish Couch more magnificent. Thou shalt lie down With patriarchs of the infant world — with kings, The powerful of the earth — the wise, the good, Fair forms, and hoary seers of ages past, All in one mighty sepulchre. The hills Rock-ribbed and ancient as the sun, — the vales Stretching in pensive quietness between; The venerable woods — rivers that move In majesty, and the complaining brooks That make the meadows green; and, poured round all. Old Ocean’s gray and melancholy waste, — - Are but the solemn decorations all Of the great tomb of man. The golden sun, The planets, all the infinite host of heaven, Are shining on the sad abodes of death Through the still lapse of ages. All that tread The globe are but a handful to the tribes That slumber in its bosom. — Take the wings Of morning, pierce the Barcan wilderness, Or lose thyself in the continuous woods Where rolls the Oregon, and hears no sound, Save his own dashings — yet the dead are there ; And millions in those solitudes, since first The flight of years began, have laid them down In their last sleep — the dead reign there alone. So shalt thou rest, and what if thou withdraw In silence from the living, and no friend Take note of thy departure? All that breathe Will share thy destiny. The gay will laugh When thou art gone, the solemn brood of care Plod on, and each one as before will chase His favourite phantom; yet all these shall leave Their mirth and their employments, and shall come And make their bed with thee. As the long train DEATH ANT) IMMORTALITY 701 Of ages glides away, the sons of men — The youth in life’s fresh spring, and he who goes In the full strength of years, matron and maid, The speechless babe, and the gray-headed man — Shall one by one be gathered to thy side, By those, who in their turn shall follow them. So live, that when thy summons comes to join The innumerable caravan, which moves To that mysterious realm, where each shall take His chamber in the silent halls of death, Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. THE IMMORTAL MIND Lord Byron When coldness wraps*this suffering clay, Ah, whither strays the immortal mind? It cannot die, it cannot stay, But leaves its darkened dust behind. Then unembodied, doth it trace By steps each planet’s heavenly way ? Or fill at once the realms of space A thing of eyes, that all survey? Eternal, boundless, undecayed, A thought unseen, but seeing all, All, all, in earth or skies displayed, Shall it survey, shall it recall : Each fainter trace that memory holds So darkly of departed years, In one broad glance the soul beholds, And all that was, at once appears. 702 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Before creation peopled earth Its eyes shall roll through chaos back ; And where the furthest heaven had birth, The spirit trace its rising track. And where the future mars or makes, Its glance dilate o’er all to be, While sun is quenched or system breaks, Fixed in its own eternity. Above or love, hope, hate or fear, It lives all passionless and pure : An age shall fleet like earthly year; Its years as moments shall endure. Away, away, without a wing, O’er all, through all, its thought shall fly; A nameless and eternal thing Forgetting what it was to die. SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NAUGHT AVAILETH % Arthur Hugh Clough Say not the struggle naught availeth, The labor 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 concealed. 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; DEATH AND IMMORTALITY In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly. But westward, look, the land is bright ! NOW AND AFTERWARDS Dinah Muloch Craik Two hands upon the breast, And labor's done ; Two pale feet crossed in rest, — The race is won; Two eyes with coin-weights shut, And all tears cease; Two lips where grief is mute, Anger at peace” : So pray we oftentimes, mourning our lot; God in his kindness answereth not. Two hands to work addressed Aye for his praise ; Two feet that never rest, Walking his ways; Two eyes that look above Through all their tears; Two lips still breathing love, Not wrath, nor fears” : So pray we afterwards, low on our knees; Pardon those erring prayers ! Father, hear these ! IMMORTALITY Richard Henry Dana Oh ! Listen, man ! A voice within us speaks that word, startling; “Man, thou shalt never die !” Celestial voices Hymn it unto our souls ; according harps, By angel fingers touched, when the mild stars 704 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Of morning sang together, still sound forth The song of our great immortality. Thick clustering orbs, and this our fair domain, The tall, dark mountains, and the deep-toned seas Join in this solemn, universal song. Oh, listen, ye, our spirits ; drink it in From all the air. ’Tis in the gentle moonlight; ’Tis floating in day’s setting glories; night Wrapped in her sable robe, with silent step Comes to our bed and breathes it in our ears : Night, and the dawn, bright day, and thoughtful eve, All times, all bounds, the limitless expanse, As one vast mystic instrument, are touched By an unseen living Hand, and conscious chords Quiver with joy in this great jubilee. The dying hear it; and, as sounds of earth Grow dull and distant, wake their passing souls To mingle in this heavenly harmony. MY HEREAFTER Juanita de Long Do not come when I am dead To sit beside a low green mound, Or bring the first gay daffodils Because I love them so, For I shall not be there. You cannot find me there. I will look up at you from the eyes Of little children; I will bend to meet you in the swaying boughs Of bud-thrilled trees, And caress you with the passionate sweep Of storm-filled winds; I will give you strength in your upward tread Of everlasting hills; DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 70S I will cool your tired body in the flow Of the limpid river; I will warm your work-glorified hands through the glow Of the winter fire ; I will soothe you into forgetfulness to the drop, drop Of the rain on the roof ; I will speak to you out of the rhymes Of the Masters; I will dance with you in the lilt Of the violin, And make your heart leap with the bursting cadence Of the organ; I will flood your soul with the flaming radiance Of the sunrise, And bring you peace in the tender rose and gold Of the after-sunset. All these have made me happy: They are a part of me; I shall become a part of them. VIT7E SUMMA BREVIS SPEM NOS VETAT INCOHARE LONGAM Ernest Dowson They are not long, the weeping and the laughter, Love and desire and hate : I think they have no portion in us after We pass the gate. They are not long, the days of wine and roses : Out of a misty dream. Our path emerges for a while, then closes Within a dream. 706 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY EPITAPH Louise Driscoll Here lies the flesh that tried To follow the spirit’s leading: Fallen, at last, it died Broken, bruised, and bleeding. Burned by the high fires Of the spirit’s desires. It had no dream to sing Of ultimate Liberty Fashioned for suffering To endure transiently, And conscious that it must Return as dust to dust. It blossomed a weak hour, Was rosy, warm and strong; It went like a wilted flower, It ended like a song, Some one closed a door — And it was seen no more. The grass is very kind (It knows so many dead!) Those whom it covers find Their wild hearts comforted; Their pulses need not meet The spirit’s need and heat. Here lies the flesh that held The spirit prisoner — A caged thing that rebelled Forced to sub-minister; Broken it had to be; To set its captive free. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 707 It is very glad to rest, It calls to roots and rain Safe in its mother’s breast Ready to bloom again. After a day and hour ’Twill greet the sun — a flower. OH, MAY I JOIN THE CHOIR INVISIBLE George Eliot Oh, may I join the choir invisible Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence; live In pulses stirred to generosity, In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn Of miserable aims that end with self, In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars. And with their mild persistence urge men’s search To vaster issues. — So to live is heaven : To make undying music in the world, Breathing a beauteous order, that controls With growing sway the growing life of man. So we inherit that sweet purity For which we struggled, failed and agonized With widening retrospect that bred despair. Rebellious flesh that would not be subdued, A vicious parent shaming still its child, Poor anxious penitence, is quick dissolved; Its discords quenched by meeting harmonies, Die in the large and charitable air. And all our rarer, better, truer self, That sobbed religiously in yearning song, That watched to ease the burden of the world, Laboriously tracing what must be. And what may yet be better, — saw within A worthier image for the sanctuary, 708 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And shaped it forth before the multitude, Divinely human, raising worship so To higher reverence more mixed with love, — That better self shall live till human Time Shall fold its eyelids, and the human sky Be gathered like a scroll within the tomb, Unread forever. This is life to come, Which martyred men have made more glorious For us, who strive to follow. May I reach That purest heaven, — be to other souls The cup of strength in some great agony, Enkindle generous ardor, feed pure love, Beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused, And in diffusion ever more intense ! So shall I join the choir invisible, Whose music is the gladness of the world. LIFE’S EVENING Dudley Foulke Three score and ten ! The tumult of the world Grows dull upon my inattentive ear : The bugle calls are faint, the flags are furled, Gone is the rapture, vanished too the fear; The evening’s blessed stillness covers all, As o’er the fields she folds her cloak of grey; Hushed are the winds, the brown leaves slowly fall, The russet clouds hang on the fringe of day. What fairer hour than this? No stir of morn With cries of waking life, nor shafts of noon — Hot tresses from the flaming sun-god born — Nor midnight’s shivering stars and marble moon; But softly twilight falls and toil doth cease, While o’er my soul God spreads his mantle — peace. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY MY DEAD Frederick Lucian Hosmer I cannot think of them as dead Who walk with me no more; Along the path of life I tread They have but gone before. The Father’s house is mansioned fair Beyond my vision dim; All souls are His, and here or there Are living unto Him. And still their silent ministry Within my heart hath place, As when they on earth walked with me And met me face to face. Their lives are made forever mine; What they to me have been, Llath left henceforth its seal and sign Engraven deep within. Mine are they by an ownership Nor time nor death can free; For God hath given to Love to keep Its own eternally. HABEAS CORPUS Helen Hunt Jackson (Last Poem) My body, eh? Friend Death, how now? Why all this tedious pomp of writ? Thou hast reclaimed it sure and slow For half a century, bit by bit. 710 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY In faith thou knowest more to-day Than I do, where it can be found ! This shriveled lump of suffering clay To which I now am chained and bound, Has not of kith or kin a trace To the good body once I bore; Look at this shrunken, ghastly face : Didst ever see that face before? Ah, well, Friend Death, good friend thou art; Thy only fault thy lagging gait, Mistaken pity in thy heart For timorous ones that bid thee wait. Do quickly all thou hast to do, Nor I nor mine will hindrance make; I shall be free when thou art through; I grudge thee naught that thou must take ! Stay ! I have lied : I grudge thee one, Yes, two I grudge thee at this last, — Two members which have faithful done My will and bidding in the past. I grudge thee this right hand of mine; I grudge thee this quick-beating heart; They never gave me coward sign, Nor played me once a traitor’s part. I see now why in olden days Men in barbaric love or hate Nailed enemy’s hands at wild cross-ways, Shrined leaders’ hearts in costly state : The symbol, sign, and instrument Of each soul’s purpose, passion, strife, Of fires, in which are poured and spent Their all of love, their all of life. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY O feeble, mighty human hand ! O fragile, dauntless human heart ! The universe holds nothing planned With such sublime, transcendent art ! Yes, Death, I own I grudge thee mine Poor little hand, so feeble now; Its wrinkled palm, its altered line, Its veins so pallid and so slow . . . (Unfinished here) Ah, well, friend Death, good friend thou art: I shall be free when thou art through. Take all there is, — take hand and heart: There must be somewhere work to do. IMMORTALITY Job XIV, 1-12 From Moulton’s Modern Reader's Bible Man that is born of woman Is of few days, and full of trouble ; He cometh forth like a flower, and is cut down, He fleeth also as shadow and continueth not. For there is hope of a tree if it be cut down, That it will sprout again, And that the tender branch thereof will not cease ; Though the root thereof wax old in the earth, And the stock thereof die in the ground, Yet through the scent of water it will bud, And put forth boughs like a plant. But man dieth and wasteth away : Yea, man giveth up the ghost, and where is he As the waters fail from the sea, And the river decayeth and drieth up. 712 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY So man lieth down and riseth not; Till the heavens be no more they shall not awake, Nor be roused out of their sleep. Job XIX, 25-27 For I know that my vindicator liveth, And that He shall stand up at the last upon the earth , And after my skin hath been thus destroyed, Yet without my flesh shall I see God! Whom I shall see on my side, And mine eyes shall behold and not another. — My reins are consumed within me — (End of speech of Job. He is unable to go on.) MEN TOLD ME, LORD! David Starr Jordan Men told me, Lord, it was a vale of tears Where thou hadst placed me; wickedness and woe My twain companions whereso I might go ; That I through ten and three-score weary years Should stumble on, beset by pains and fears, Fierce conflict round me, passions hot within, Enjoyment brief and fatal, but in sin. When all was ended then I should demand Full compensation from thine austere hand: For ’tis thy pleasure, all temptation past. To be not just but generous at last. Lord, here am I, my three score years and ten Are counted to the full ; I’ve fought thy fight, Crossed thy dark valleys, scaled thy rocks’ harsh height. Borne all the burdens thou dost lay on men With hand unsparing, three score years and ten. Before thee now I make my claim, Oh, Lord ! What shall I pay thee as a meet reward? DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 7*3 I ask for nothing ! Let the balance fall ! All that I am or know, or may confess But swells the weight of my indebtedness ; Burdens and sorrows stand transfigured all; Thy hand’s rude buffet turns to a caress, For Love, with all the rest, thou gavest me here, And Love is heaven’s very atmosphere. Lo, I have dwelt with thee, Lord ! Let me die : I could no more through all eternity ! From THE RUBAIYAT Omar Khayyam Translated by Edward Fitzgerald Come, fill the Cup, and in the fire of Spring Your Winter-garment of Repentance fling: The Bird of Time has but a little way To flutter — and the Bird is on the Wing. Whether at Naishapur or Babylon, Whether the Cup with sweet or bitter run, The Wine of Life keeps oozing, drop by drop, The Leaves of Life keep falling, one by one. Each Morn a thousand Roses brings, you say; Yes, but where leaves the Rose of Yesterday? And this first Summer month that brings the Rose Shall take Jamshyd and Kaikobad away. Well, let it take them! What have we to do With Kaikobad the great, or Kaikhosru? Let Zal and Rustum bluster as they will, Or Hastim call to Supper — heed not you. With me along the strip of herbage strown That just divides the desert from the sown, Where name of Slave and Sultan is forgot — And peace to Mahmud on his golden throne. 714 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY A Book of Verses underneath the Bough, A jug of Wine, a Loaf of Bread — and Thou Beside me singing in the Wilderness — Oh, Wilderness were Paradise enow ! Some for the Glories of this World, and some Sigh for the Prophet’s Paradise to come; Ah, take the Cash and let the Credit go, Nor heed the rumble of a distant Drum! Look to the blowing Rose about us — “Lo, Laughing,” she says, “into the world I blow. At once the silken tassels of my Purse Tear, and its Treasure on the Garden throw.” And those who husbanded the Golden grain, And those who flung it to the winds Like rain, Alike to no such aureate Earth are turned As, buried once, Men want dug up again. The Worldly Hope men set their Hearts upon Turns Ashes — or it prospers; and anon, Like Snow upon the Desert’s dusty Face, Lighting a little hour or two — is gone. Think, in this battered Caravanserai Whose Portals are alternate Night and Day, How Sultan after Sultan in his Pomp Abode his destined Hour and went his way. They say the Lion and the Lizard keep The Courts where Jamshyd gloried and drank deep; And Bahrain, that great hunter, — the Wild Ass Stamps o’er his Head but cannot break his Sleep. I sometimes think that never blows so red The Rose as where some buried Caesar bled; That every Hyacinth the Garden wears Dropt in her Lap from some once lovely Head. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 715 And this reviving Herb whose tender Green Fledges the River-lip on which we lean — Ah, lean upon it lightly ! for who knows From what once lovely Lip it springs unseen! Ah, my Beloved, fill the Cup that clears Today of past Regret and future Fears : To-morrow ! — Why, To-morrow I may be Myself with Yesterday’s Seven thousand Years. For some we loved, the loveliest and the best That from his Vintage rolling Time hath pressed, Have drunk their Cup a Round or two before, And one by one crept silently to rest. And we, that now make merry in the Room They left, and Summer dresses in new bloom, Ourselves must we beneath the Couch of Earth Descend — ourselves to make a Couch — for whom? Ah, make the most of what we yet may spend, • Before we, too, into the Dust descend; Dust into Dust, and under Dust to lie, Sans Wine, sans Song, sans Singer, and — sans End ! L’ENVOI Rudyard Kipling When earth’s last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried, When the oldest colors have faded, and the youngest critic has died, We shall rest, and, — faith, we shall need it, — lie down for an aeon or two, Till the Master of all Good Workmen shall set us to work anew ! And those that were good shall be happy : they shall sit in a golden chair; They shall splash at a ten-league canvas with brushes of comets’ hair ; yi6 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY They shall find real saints to draw from — Magdalen, Peter, and Paul ; They shall work for an age at a sitting, and never be tired at all ! And only the Master shall praise us, and only the Master shall blame ; And no one shall work for money, and no one shall work for fame ; But each for the joy of the working, and each in his separate star Shall draw the Thing as he sees It for the God of the Things as They are ! MY OWN HEREAFTER Eugene Lee-Hamilton Where angel trumpets hail a brighter sun With their superb alarum, and the flash Of angel cymbals dazzles as they clash, Seek not to find me, when my sands are run ; Nor where, in mail of sapphire every one, God’s sentries man the walls, that light’s waves wash With an eternal angel — heard faint plash — But in some book of sonnets, when day’s done, There in the long June twilight, as you read, You will encounter my immortal parts, If any such I have, from earth’s clay freed; Divested of their sins, to be the seed Perhaps of some slight good in others’ hearts. That is the only after-life I need. A CREED John Masefield I hold that when a person dies His soul returns again to earth; Arrayed in some new flesh-disguise Another mother gives him birth. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 717 With sturdier limbs and mightier brain The old soul takes the roads again. Such is my own belief and trust; This hand, this hand that holds the pen, Has many hundred times been dust And turned, as dust, to dust again ; These eyes of mine have blinked and shone In Thebes, in Troy, in Babylon. All that I rightly think or do, Or make, or spoil, or bless, or blast, Is curse or blessing justly due For sloth or effort in the past. My life’s a statement of the sum Of vice indulged, or overcome. I know that in my lives to be My sorry heart will ache and burn, And worship unavailingly, The woman whom I used to spurn, And shake to see another have The love I spurned, the love she gave. And I shall know, in angry words, In gibes, and mocks, and many a tear, A carrion flock of homing-birds, The gibes and scorns I uttered here. The brave word that I failed to speak Will brand me dastard on the cheek. And as I wander on the roads I shall be helped and healed and blessed; Dear words shall cheer and be as goads To urge to heights before unguessed. My road shall be the road I made; All that I gave shall be repaid. So shall I fight, so shall I tread, In this long war beneath the stars; 718 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY So shall a glory wreathe my head, So shall I faint and show the scars, Until this case, this clogging mould, Be smithied all to kingly gold. From THE TRAGEDY OF POMPEY THE GREAT John Masefield Man is a sacred city built of marvelous earth. Life was lived nobly here to give such beauty birth. Beauty was in this brain and in this eager hand : Death is so blind and dumb, Death does not understand. Death drifts the brain with dust and soils the young limb’s glory. Death makes women a dream, and men a traveller’s story. Death drives the lovely soul to wander under the sky. Death opens unknown doors. It is most grand to die. From THE EVERLASTING MERCY John Masefield I opened the window wide and leaned Out of the pigstye of that fiend And felt a cool wind go like grace About the sleeping market-place. The clock struck three, and sweetly, slowly, The bells chimed Holy, Holy, Holy; • • • • • And summat made me think of things. How long those ticking clocks had gone From church and chapel, on and on, Ticking the time out, ticking slow To men and girls who’d come and go, • * • • • And how a change had come. And then I thought, “you tick the different men.” DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 7i 9 What with fight and what with drinking And being alone there thinking, My mind began to carp and tetter, “If this life’s all, the beasts are better.” O Christ who holds the open gate, O Christ who drives the furrow straight, O Christ, the plough, O Christ, the laughter, Of holy white birds flying after, Lo, all my heart’s field red and torn, And Thou wilt bring young green corn, The young green corn divinely springing. The young green corn forever singing; And when the field is fresh and fair Thy blessed feet shall glitter there. And we will walk the weeded field, And tell the golden harvest’s yield, The corn that makes the holy bread By which the soul of man is fed, The holy bread, the food unpriced, Thy everlasting mercy, Christ. TRUTH John Masefield Man with his burning soul Has but an hour of breath To build a ship of Truth In which his soul may sail, Sail on the sea of death. For death takes toll Of beauty, courage, youth, Of all but Truth. Life’s city ways are dark. Men mutter by ; the wells Of the great waters moan. O Death, O sea, O tide, 720 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The waters moan like bells. No light, no mark, The soul goes out alone On seas unknown. Stripped of all purple robes. Stripped of all golden lies, I will not be afraid. Truth will preserve through death; Perhaps the stars will rise, The stars like globes. The ship my striving made May see night fade. THE QUESTION WHITHER George Meredith When we have thrown off this old suit So much in need of mending, To sink among the naked mute, Is that, think you, our ending? We follow many, more we lead, And you who sadly turf us, Believe not that all living seed Must flower above the surface. Sensation is a gracious gift But were it cramped to station, The prayer to have it cast adrift Would spout from all sensation. Enough if we have winked to sun, Have sped the plough a season, There is a soul for labor done, Endureth fixed as reason. Then let our trust be firm in Good, Though we be of the fasting; Our questions are a mortal brood, Our work is everlasting. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 721 We Children of Beneficence Are in its being sharers; And Whither vainer sounds than Whence For word with such wayfarers. A SONG OF DERIVATIONS Alice Meynell I come from nothing, but from where Come the undying thoughts I bear ? Down, through long links of death and birth, From the past poets of earth, My immortality is there. I am like the blossom of an hour But long, long vanished sun and shower Awoke my breath i’ the young world’s air. I track the past back everywhere Through seed and flower and seed and flower. Or, I am like a stream that flows Full of the cold springs that arose In morning lands, in distant hills; And down the plain my channel fills With melting of forgotten snows. Voices I have not heard, possessed My own fresh songs ; my thoughts are blessed With relics of the far unknown. And mixed with memories not my own The sweet streams throng into my breast. Before this life began to be, The happy songs that wake in me Woke long ago and far apart. Heavily on this little heart Presses this immortality. 722 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE FINAL MYSTERY Sir Henry Newbolt (A myth of Egyptian origin, which formed part of the instruc tion given to those initiated in the Orphic mysteries. Written ver sions of it were buried with the dead.) Hear now, O Soul, the last command of all — When thou hast left thine every mortal mark, And by the road that lies beyond recall Won through the desert of the Burning Dark, Thou shalt behold, within a garden bright, A well, beside a cypress ivory-white. Still is that well, and in its waters cool White, white and windless, sleeps that cypress tree : Who drinks but once from out her shadowy pool Shall thirst no more to all eternity. Forgetting all, by all forgotten clean, His soul shall be with that which hath not been. But thou, though thou be trembling with thy dread, And parched with thy desire more fierce than flame, Think on that stream wherefrom thy life was fed, And that diviner fountain whence it came. Turn thee and cry — behold, it is not far — Unto the hills where living waters are : “Lord, though I lived on earth, the child of earth, Yet I was fathered by the starry sky; Thou knowest I came not of the shadows’ birth, Let me not die the death the shadows die. Give me to drink of the sweet stream that leaps From Memory’s fount, wherein no cypress sleeps.” Then shalt thou drink, O Soul, and therewith slake The immortal longing with thy mortal thirst ; So of thy father’s life shalt thou partake, And be forever that thou wert at Erst. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 723 Lost in remembered loves, yet thou more thou With them shalt reign in never-ending now. OUR DEAD Robert Nichols They have not gone from us. O no ! they are The inmost essence of each thing that is Perfect for us ; they flame in every star ; The trees are emerald with their presences. They are not gone from us ; they do not roam The flaw and turmoil of the lower deep, But have now made the whole wide world their home, And in its loveliness themselves they steep. They fail not ever; theirs is a 'diurn Splendor of sunny hill and forest grave; In every rainbow’s glittering drop they burn ; They dazzle in the massed clouds’ architrave, They chant on every wind, and they return In the long roll of any deep blue wave. C. ETERNAL REST THE SLEEP Elizabeth Barrett Browning Of all the thoughts of Godlthat are Borne inward unto souls afar, Along the Psalmist’s music deep, Now tell me if that any is, For gift or grace, surpassing this — 1 ‘‘He giveth His beloved, sleep”? THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 724 What would we give to our beloved? The hero’s heart, to be unmoved, The poet’s star-tuned harp, to sweep, The patriot’s voice, to teach and rouse, The monarch’s crown, to light the brows? He giveth His beloved, sleep. What do we give to our beloved? A little faith all undisproved, A little dust to overweep, And bitter memories to make The whole earth blasted for our sake : He giveth His beloved, sleep. “Sleep soft, beloved!” we sometimes say, But have no tune to charm away Sad dreams that through the eyelids creep. But never doleful dream again Shall break the happy slumber when He giveth His beloved, sleep. O earth, so full of dreary noises ! O men, with wailing in your voices ! O delved gold, the wailers heap ! O strife, O curse, that o’er it fall ! God strikes a silence through you all. And giveth His beloved, sleep. His dews drop mutely on the hill, His cloud above it saileth still, Though on its slope men sow and reap : More softly than the dew is shed, Or cloud is floated overhead, He giveth His beloved, sleep. Aye, men may wonder while they scan A living, thinking, feeling man Confirmed in such a rest to keep; But angels say, — and through the word I think their happy smile is heard — “He giveth His beloved, sleep.” DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 725 For me, my heart that erst did go Most like a tired child at a show, That sees through tears the mummers leap, Would now its wearied vision close, Would childlike on His love repose Who giveth His beloved, sleep ! And, friends, dear friends, — when it shall be That this low breath is gone from me, And round my bier ye come to weep, Let One, most loving of you all, Say, “Not a tear must o’er her fall ! He giveth His beloved, sleep.” MARGARITA SORORI William Ernest Henley A late lark twitters from the quiet skies; And from the west, Where the sun, his day’s work ended, Lingers as in content, There falls on the old, grey city An influence luminous and serene, A shining peace. The smoke ascends In a rosy-and-golden haze. The spires Shine, and are changed. In the valley Shadows rise. The lark sings on. The sun, Closing his benediction, Sinks, and the darkening air Thrills with a sense of the triumphing night — Night with her train of stars And her great gift of sleep. So be my passing ! My task accomplished and the long day done, My wages taken, and in my heart 726 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Some late lark singing, Let me be gathered to the quiet west, The sundown splendid and serene, Death. THE HILLS OF REST Albert Bigelow Paine Beyond the last horizon’s rim, Beyond adventure’s farthest quest, Somewhere they rise, serene and dim, The happy, happy, Hills of Rest. Upon their sunlit slopes uplift The castles we have built in Spain — While fair amid the summer drift Our faded gardens flower again. Sweet hours we did not live go by To soothing note, on scented wing; In golden-lettered volumes lie The songs we tried in vain to sing. They all are there; the days of dream That build the inner lives of men; The silent, sacred years we deem The might be and the might have been. Some evening when the sky is gold I’ll follow day into the west; Nor pause, nor heed, till I behold The happy, happy Hills of Rest. THE PLACE OF REST George William Russell (A. E.) Unto the deep the deep heart goes, It lays its sadness nigh the breast : Only the Mighty Mother knows The wounds that quiver unconfessed. DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 727 It seeks a deeper silence still; It folds itself around with peace, Where thoughts alike of good or ill In quietness unfostered cease. It feels in the unwounding vast For comfort of its hopes and fears: The Mighty Mother bows at last; She listens to her children’s tears. Where the last anguish deepens — there The fire of beauty smites through pain : A glory moves amid despair, The Mother takes her child again. THE RENDEZVOUS Alan Seeger I have a rendezvous with Death At some disputed barricade, When Spring comes back with rustling shade And apple-blossoms fill the air — I have a rendezvous with Death When Spring brings back blue days and fair. It may be he shall take my hand And lead me into his dark land And close my eyes and quench my breath — It may be I shall pass him still. I have a rendezvous with Death On some scarred slope of battered hill, When Spring comes round again this year And the first meadow-flowers appear. God knows ’twere better to be deep Pillowed in silk and scented down, Where Love throbs out in blissful sleep, Pulse nigh to pulse, and breath to breath, 728 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Where hushed awakenings are dear. . . . But I’ve a rendezvous with Death At midnight in some flaming town, When Spring trips north again this year. And I to my pledged word am true, I shall not fail that rendezvous. DREAM FANTASY William Sharp (Fiona Macleod) There is a land of Dream; I have trodden its golden ways : I have seen its amber light From the heart of its sun-swept days; I have seen its moonshine white On its silent waters gleam — Ah, the strange sweet lonely delight Of the Valleys of Dream. Ah, in that Land of Dream, The mystical moon-white land, Comes from what unknown sea — Adream on what unknown strand — A sound as of feet that flee, As of multitudes that stream From the shores of that shadowy sea Through the Valleys of Dream. It is dark in the Land of Dream. There is silence in all the Land. Are the dead all gathered there — In havens, by no breath fanned? This stir i’ the dawn, this chill wan air — This faint dim yellow of morning gleam— O, is this sleep, or waking where Lie hush’d the Valleys of Dream? DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 729 OMNIA EXEUNT IN MYSTERIUM George Sterling The stranger in my gates — lo ! that am I, And what my land of birth I do not know, Nor yet the hidden land to which I go. One may be lord of many ere he die, And tell of many sorrows in one sigh, But know himself he shall not, nor his woe, Nor to what sea the tears of wisdom flow; Nor why one star is taken from the sky. An urging is upon him evermore, And though he bide, his soul is wanderer, Scanning the shadows with a sense of haste — Where fade the tracks of all who went before : A dim and solitary traveller On ways that end in evening and the waste. REQUIEM Robert Louis Stevenson Under the wide and starry sky Dig the grave and let me lie, Glad did I live and gladly die, And I laid me down with a will. This be the verse you grave for me : Here he lies where he longed to he; Home is the sailor , home from the sea, And the hunter home from the hill. 730 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY EXILE FROM GOD John Hall Wheelock I do not fear to lay my body down In death, to share The life of the dark earth and lose my own. If God is there. I have so loved all sense of Him, sweet might Of color and of sound, — His tangible loveliness and living light That robes me ’round. If to His heart in the hushed grave and dim We sink more near, It shall be well — living we rest in Him. Only I fear Lest from my God in lonely death I lapse, And the dumb clod Lose Him; for God is life, and death perhaps Exile from God. DEEP SEA SOUNDINGS Sarah Williams Mariner, what of the deep? This of the deep : Twilight is there, and solemn changeless calm; Beauty is there, and tender, healing balm — Balm with no root in earth, or air, or sea, Poised by the finger of God, it floateth free, And, as it threads the waves, the sound doth rise,— Hither shall come no further sacrifice; Never again the anguished clutch at life, Never again great Love and Death in strife; DEATH AND IMMORTALITY 73i He who hath suffered all need fear no more; Quiet his portion now forevermore. Mariner, what of the deep ? This of the deep : Solitude dwells not there, though silence reign; Mighty is the brotherhood of loss and pain ; There is communion past the need of speech, There is love no words of love can reach; Heavy the waves that superincumbent press, But as we labor here with constant stress, Hand doth hold out to hand not help alone, But the deep bliss of being fully known. There are no kindred like the kin of sorrow, There is no hope like theirs who know no morrow. Mariner, what of the deep ? This of the deep : Though we have travelled past the line of day, Glory of night doth light us on our way, Radiance that comes not how nor whence, Rainbows without rain, past duller sense, Music of hidden reefs and waves long past, Thunderous organ tones from far-off blast, Harmony, victrix, throned in state sublime, Couched on the wrecks be-gemmed with pearls of time; Never a wreck but brings some beauty here; Down where the waves are stilled the sun shines clear; Deeper than life, the plan of life doth lie; He who knows all, fears not. Great Death shall die. From ODE, INTIMATIONS OF IMMORTALITY William Wordsworth Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting: The Soul that rises with us, our life’s Star. Hath had elsewhere its setting, And cometh from afar : 732 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Not in entire forgetfulness, And not in utter nakedness, But trailing clouds of glory do we come From God, who is our home: Heaven lies about us in our infancy ! Shades of the prison-house begin to close Upon the growing Boy; But He beholds the light, and whence it flows, He sees it in his joy; The Youth who daily farther from the east Must travel, still is Nature’s Priest, And by the vision splendid Is on his way attended; At length the Man perceives it die away, And fade into the light of common day. XII. The Nature of the Future Life a. THE MEDIAEVAL CONCEPTION - THE CITY SUPERNAL b. THE MODERN CONCEPTION 1. There Is Future Life, hut We Do Not Know What It Is 2. We Are Builders of the City now XII. The Nature of the Future Life a. THE MEDIAEVAL CONCEPTION — THE CITY SUPERNAL JERUSALEM, MY HAPPY HOME Anonymous (From the Latin.) Jerusalem, my happy home, When shall I come to thee? When shall my sorrows have an end? Thy joys when shall I see? O happy harbor of the saints ! O sweet and pleasant soil ! In thee no sorrow may be found, No grief, no care, no toil. Thy gardens and thy gallant walks Continually are green; There grow such sweet and pleasant flowers As nowhere else are seen; Quite through the streets with silver sound The flood of life doth flow, Upon whose banks on every side The wood of life doth grow. The saints are crowned wi$h glory great, They see God face to face; They triumph still, they still rejoice; Most happy is their case ; For there they live in such delight, Such pleasure and such play, As that to them a thousand years, Doth seem as yesterday. 735 736 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY There Magdalene hath left her moan. And cheerfully doth sing With blessed saints, whose harmony In every street doth ring. Ah, my sweet home Jerusalem, Would God I were in thee ! Would God my woes were at an end Thy joys that I might see! JERUSALEM, THE GOLDEN Bernard of Cluny Jerusalem the Golden, With milk and honey blest, Beneath thy contemplation, Sink heart and voice opprest; I know not, O I know not, What social joys are there, What radiancy of glory, What light beyond compare. They stand, those walls of Zion, All jubilant with song, And bright with many an angel, And all the martyr throng: The Prince is ever in them The daylight is serene ; The pastures of the blest Are decked in glorious sheen. There is the throne of David; And there from care released, The song of them that triumph, The shout of them that feast; And they, who with their Leader Have conquered in the fight, Forever and forever Are clad in robes of white. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 737 O sweet and blessed country, Shall I e’er see thy face? O sweet and blessed country, Shall I e’er win thy grace? Exult, O dust and ashes ! The Lord shall be thy part; His only, his forever, Thou shalt be and thou art. DEATH AND RESURRECTION George Croly Earth to earth, and dust to dust ! Here the evil and the just, Here the youthful and the old, Here the fearful and the bold, Here the matron and the maid, In one silent bed are laid; Here the vassal and the king Side by side lie withering; Here the sword and sceptre rust : “Earth to earth, and dust to dust!” Age on age shall roll along, O’er this pale and mighty throng; Those that wept them, those that weep. All shall with these sleepers sleep; Brothers, sisters of the worm, Summer’s sun, or winter’s storm, Song of peace, or battle’s roar, Ne’er shall break their slumbers more; Death shall keep his silent trust : “Earth to earth, and dust to dust !” But a day is coming fast, Earth, thy mightiest and thy last ; It shall come in fear and wonder, Heralded by trump and thunder; 738 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY It shall come in strife and spoil ; It shall come in blood and toil; It shall come in empire’s groans, Burning temples, trampled thrones; Then, ambition, rule thy lust: “Earth to earth, and dust to dust !” Then shall come the judgment sign; — In the east, the King shall shine, Flashing from heaven’s golden gate, Thousands, thousands round his state, Spirits with the crown and plume. Tremble, then, thou sullen tomb; Heaven shall open on our sight, Earth be turned to living light, Kingdoms of the ransomed just: “Earth to earth, and dust to dust !” Then thy Mount, Jerusalem, Shall be gorgeous as a gem; Then, shall in the desert rise Fruits of more than Paradise; Earth by angel feet be trod, One great garden of her God; — Till are dried the martyrs’ tears, Through a thousand glorious years. Now in hope of him we trust: “Earth to earth, and dust to dust !” THE SAINTS IN GLORY Dante From Paradiso Translated by Henry F. Cary In fashion as a snow-white rose, lay then Before my view the saintly multitude, Which in his own blood, Christ espoused. Meanwhile THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 739 That other host, that soar aloft to gaze And celebrate his glory, whom they love, Hovered around; and, like a troop of bees, Amid the vernal sweets alighting now, Now, clustering, where their fragrant labor glows, Flew downward to the mighty flower, or rose, From the redundant petals, streaming back Unto the steadfast dwelling of their joy. Faces they had of flame, and wings of gold: The rest was whiter than the driven snow ; And, as they flitted down into the flower, From range to range, fanning their plumy loins, Whispered the peace and ardor, which they won From that soft winnowing. Shadow none, the vast Interposition of such numerous flight Cast, from above, upon the flower, or view Obstructed aught. For, through the universe, Wherever merited, celestial light Glides freely and no obstacle prevents. All there, who reign in safety and in bliss, Ages long past or new, on one sole mark Their love and vision fixed. O trinal beam Of individual star, that charm’st them thus ! Vouchsafe one glance to gild our storm below. If the grim brood, from arctic shores that roamed (Where Helice forever, as she wheels, Sparkles a mother’s fondness on her son,) Stood in mute wonder mid the works of Rome, When to their view the Lateran arose In greatness more than earthly ; I, who then From human to divine had passed, from time Unto eternity, and out of Florence To justice and to truth, how might I choose But marvel too? ’Twixt gladness and amaze, I’ sooth, no will had I to utter aught, Or hear. And, as a pilgrim, when he rests Within the temple of his vow, looks round In breathless awe, and hopes sometime to tell Of all its goodly state; e’en so mine eyes Coursed up and down along the living light, 740 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Now low, and now aloft, and now around, Visiting every step. Looks I beheld, Where charity on soft persuasion sat; Smiles from within, and radiance from above; And, in each gesture, grace and honor high. So roved my ken, and in its general form All Paradise surveyed. THE CELESTIAL PILOT Dante Translated by Longfellow And now, behold ! as at the approach of the morning, Through the gross vapors, Mars grows fiery red Down in the west upon the ocean floor, Appeared to me, — may I again behold it ! — A light along the sea, so swiftly coming, Its motion by no flight of wing is equalled. And when therefrom I had withdrawn a little Mine eyes, that I might question my conductor. Again I saw it brighter grown and larger. Thereafter, on all sides of it, appeared I know not what of white, and underneath, Little by little there came forth another. My master yet had uttered not a word, While the first whiteness into wings unfolded; But when he clearly recognized the pilot, He cried aloud: “Quick, quick, and bow the knee! Behold the Angel of God ! fold up thy hands ! Henceforward shalt thou see such officers ! See, how he scorns all human arguments, So that no oar he wants, no other sail Than his own wings, between so distant shores ! See, how he holds them pointed straight to heaven, Fanning the air with th’ eternal pinions, That do not moult themselves like mortal hair !” THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 741 And then, as nearer and more near us came The Bird of Heaven, more glorious he appeared, So that the eye could not sustain his presence, But down I cast it; and he came to shore With a small vessel, gliding swift and light, So that the water swallowed naught thereof. Upon the stern stood the Celestial Pilot ! Beatitude seemed written in his face ! And more than a hundred spirits sat within. “In exitn Israel de Egypto” ! Thus they sang together in one voice With whatso in that Psalm is after written. Then made he sign of holy rood upon them, Whereat all cast themselves upon the shore, And he departed swiftly as he came. From VITA NUOVA Dante Translated by Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti The eyes that weep for pity of the heart Have wept so long that their grief languisheth And they have no more tears to weep withal : And now, if I could ease me of a part Of what, little by little, leads to death It must be done by speech, or not at all. And because often, thinking, I recall How it was pleasant, ere she went afar, To talk of her with you, kind damozels, I talk with no one else, But only with such hearts as women’s are And I will say, — still sobbing as speech fails, — • That she hath gone to Heaven suddenly, And hath left Love below to mourn with me. Beatrice is gone up into high Heaven, The kingdom where the angels are at peace ; And lives with them; and to her friends is dead 742 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Not by the frost of winter was she driven Away, like others; nor by summer-heats; But through a perfect gentleness, instead. Far from the lamp of her meek lowly head Such an exceeding glory wrent up hence That it woke wonder in the eternal sire, Until a sweet desire Entered Him for that lovely excellence, So that He bade her to Himself aspire; Counting this weary and most evil place Unworthy of a thing so full of grace. Wonderfully out of the beautiful form Soar’d her clear spirit, waxing glad the while; And is in its first home, there where it is Who speaks thereot and feels not the tears warm Upon his face, must have become so vile As to be dead to all sweet sympathies. Out upon him! an abject wretch like this May not imagine anything of her, — He needs no bitter tears for his relief. But sighing comes, and grief And the desire to find no comforter, (Save only Death, who makes all sorrow brief,) To him who for a while turns in his thought How she hath been among us, and is not. With sighs my bosom always laboureth In thinking, as I do continually, Of her for whom my heart now breaks apace ; And very often when I think of death, Such a great inward longing comes to me That it will change the colour of my face; And, if the idea settles in its place, All my limbs shake as with an ague-fit; (Till, starting up in wild bewilderment, I do become so spent That I go forth, lest folks misdoubt of it. (Afterwards, calling with a sore lament On Beatrice, I ask, “Canst thou be dead?” And calling on her, I am comforted.) THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 743 Grief with its tears, and anguish with its sighs, Come to me now whene’er I am alone; So that I think the sight of me gives pain. And what my life hath been, that living dies, Since for my lady the New Birth’s begun, I have not any language to explain. And so, dear ladies, though my heart were fain, I scarce could tell indeed how I am thus. All joy is with my bitter life at war; Yea, I am fallen so far That all men seem to say, “Go out from us,” Eyeing my cold white lips how dead they are But she, though I be bowed unto the dust, Watches me ; and will guerdon me, I trust. A gentle thought there is will often start, Within my secret self, to speech of thee; Also of love it speaks so tenderly That much in me consents and takes its part. “And what is this,” the soul saith to the heart, “That cometh thus to comfort thee and me, And thence where it would dwell, thus potently Can drive all other thoughts by its strange art?” And the heart answers : “Be no more at strife ’Twixt doubt and doubt: this is Love’s messenger, And speaketh but his words, from him received; And all the strength it owns and all the life It draweth from the gentle eyes of her Who, looking on our grief, hath often grieved.” MY AIN COUNTREE Mary Lee Demarest “But now they desire a better country, that is, an heavenly.” I’m far frae my hame, an’ I’m weary aftenwhiles, For the langed-for hame-bringing an’ my Father’s welcome smiles ; I’ll ne’er be fu’ content, until my een do see The shining gates o’ heaven an’ my ain countree. 744 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The earth is flecked wi’ flowers, mony-tinted, fresh an’ gay, The birdies warble blithely, for my Father made them sae ; But these sights an’ these soun’s will as naething be to me, When I hear the angels singing in my ain countree. I’ve his gude word of promise that some gladsome day the King To his ain royal palace his banished hame will bring: Wi’ een an’ wi’ hearts runnin’ owre we shall see The King in his beauty in our ain countree. My sins hae been mony, an’ my sorrows hae been sair, But there they’ll never vex me, nor be remembered mair; His bluid has made me white, his hand shall dry mine ee, When he brings me hame at last to my ain countree. Like a bairn to his mither, a wee birdie to its nest, I wad fain be ganging noo unto my Saviour’s breast; For he gathers in his bosom, witless, worthless lambs like me, An’ he carries them himsel’ to his ain countree. He’s faithfu’ that hath promised, he’ll surely come again ; He’ll keep his tryst wi’ me, at what hour I dinna ken : But he bids me still to wait, an’ ready aye to be, To gang at ony moment to my ain countree. So I’m watchin’ aye, an’ singin’ o’ my hame as I wait, For the soundin’ o’ his footfa’ this side the gowden gate, God gie his grace to ilka ane wha listens noo to me, That we may a’ gang in gladness to our ain countree. CHARTLESS Emily Dickinson I never saw a moor, I never saw the sea; Yet know I how the heather looks, And what a wave must be. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE FIFE 745 I never talked with God, Nor visited in heaven; Yet certain am I of the spot As if the chart were given. THE CHIUD’S QUESTION Emily Dickinson Will there really be a morning? Is there such a thing as day? Could I see it from the mountains If I were as tall as they? Has it feet like water-lilies? Has it feathers like a bird? Does it come from famous countries Of which I have never heard? Oh, some scholar, Oh, some sailor, Oh, some wise man from the skies, Please to tell a little pilgrim Where the place called morning lies? O PARADISE! O PARADISE! Frederick William Faber O Paradise ! O Paradise ! Who doth not crave for rest? Who would not seek the happy land, Where they that loved are blest; Where loyal hearts and true, Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God’s most holy sight? O Paradise ! O Paradise ! * The world is growing old; Who would not be at rest and free Where love is never cold; 746 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Where loyal hearts and true Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God’s most holy sight? O Paradise ! O Paradise ! I want to sin no more ; I want to be as pure on earth As on thy spotless shore ; Where loyal hearts and true, Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God’s most holy sight. Lord Jesus, Light of Paradise, Shine on my whole life long, In all earth’s din cause me to hear Faint fragments of that song, Where loyal hearts and true, Stand ever in the light, All rapture through and through, In God’s most holy sight. VISION OF THE DAY OF JUDGMENT Isaiah, Chap. LXIII From Moulton’s Modern Reader's Bible ( Chorus of Watchmen ) Who is this that cometh from Edom, With crimsoned garments from Bozrah? This that is glorious in his apparel, Marching in the greatness of his strength? ( He who cometh) I that speak in righteousness, Mighty to save. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 747 ( Chorus of Watchmen) Wherefore art thou red In thine apparel, And thy garments Like him that treadeth in the winefat ? (He who cometh ) I have trodden the winepress alone ; And of the peoples there was no man with me : Yea, I trod them in mine anger, And trampled them in my fury ; And their lifeblood is sprinkled upon my garments, And I have stained all my raiment. For the day of vengeance was in mine heart, And the year of my redeemed is come. And I looked and there was none to help ; And I wondered that there was none to uphold : Therefore mine own arm brought salvation unto me; And my fury, it upheld me. And I trod down the peoples in mine anger, And made them drunk in my fury, And I poured their lifeblood on the earth. GENERAL WILLIAM BOOTH ENTERS HEAVEN Vachel Lindsay (Drums) Booth led boldly with his big bass drum — ( Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) The saints smiled gravely, and they said, “He’s come.” (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) Walking lepers followed, rank on rank, Lurching bravoes from the ditches dank, Drabs from the alley-ways and drug-fiends pale — Minds still passion-ridden, soul-powers frail ! Vermin-eaten saints with mouldy breath 748 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Unwashed legions from the ways of death — ( Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) (Banjos) Every slum had sent its half-a-score The round world over — Booth had groaned for more. Every banner that the wide world flies Bloomed with glory and transcendent dyes. Big-voiced lassies made their banjos bang! Tranced, fanatical, they shrieked and sang, ( Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) Hallelujah ! It was queer to see Bull-necked convicts with that land make free 1 Loons with trumpets blowing blare, blare, blare — On, on, upward through the golden air ! ( Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) (Bass drums slower and softer) Booth died blind, and still by faith he trod, Eyes still dazzled by the ways of God. Booth led boldly and he looked the chief : Eagle countenance in sharp relief, Beard a-flying, air of high command Unabated in that Holy Land. Jesus came out from the Court-LIouse door, Stretched his hand above the passing poor. (Flutes) Booth saw not, but led his queer ones there Round and round the mighty Court-House square. Yet in an instant all that blear review Marched on spotless, clad in raiment new. The lame were straightened, withered limbs uncurled And blind, eyes opened on a new sweet world. (Bass drums louder and faster) Drabs and vixens in a flash made whole ! Gone was the weasel-head, the snout, the jowl; THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 749 Sages and sibyls now, and athletes clean, Rulers of empires, and of forests green ! (Grand chorus of ail instruments — Tambourines in the fore¬ ground) The hosts were sandalled and the wings were fire ! — (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) But their noise played havoc with the angel choir. (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) O, shout Salvation ! It was good to see Kings and princes by the Lamb set free. The banjos rattled and the tambourines Jing-j ing-jingled in the hands of queens! (Reverently sung: no instruments) And when Booth halted by the curb for prayer He saw his Master through the flag-filled air. Christ came gently with a robe and crown For Booth the soldier, while the throng knelt down. He saw King Jesus — they were face to face, And he knelt a-weeping in that holy place ! (Are you washed in the blood of the Lamb?) THE LAND O’ THE LEAL Lady Nairne I’m wearin’ awa’, John, Like snaw-wreaths in thaw, John, I’m wearin’ awa’ To the land o’ the leal. There’s nae sorrow there, John, There’s neither cauld nor care, John, The day is aye fair In the land o’ the leal. Our bonnie bairn’s there, John, She was baith glide and fair, John; 750 THE WORLD S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY And oh ! we grudged her sair To the land o’ the leal ! But sorrow’s sel’ wears past, John, And joy’s a-comin’ fast, John, The joy that’s aye to last In the land o’ the leal. Sae dear’s that joy was bought, John, Sae free the battle fought, John, That sinfu’ man e’er brought To the land o’ the leal. Oh ! dry your glistening ee, John, My saul langs to be free, John, And angels beckon me To the land o’ the leal. Oh! haud ye leal and true, John, Your day it’s wearin’ through, John, And I’ll welcome you To the land o’ the leal. Now fare-ye-weel, my ain John, The world’s cares are vain, John, We’ll meet and we’ll be fain In the land o’ the leal. MY PILGRIMAGE Sir Walter Raleigh Give 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, THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 75i fravelleth toward 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. Then by that happy, blissful day, More peaceful pilgrims I shall see, That have cast off their rags of clay, And walk apparelled fresh like me. I’ll take them first, To quench their thirst And taste of nectar’s suckets, At those clear wells Where sweetness dwells, Drawn up by saints in crystal buckets. And when our bottles and all we Are filled with immortality, Then the blessed paths we’ll travel, Strewed with rubies thick as gravel ; Ceilings of diamonds, sapphire floors, High walls of coral, and pearly bowers. From thence to heaven’s bribeless hall, Where no corrupted voices brawl; No conscience molten into gold ; No forged accuser bought or sold; No cause deferred, no vain-spent journey, For there Christ is the King’s Attorney, Who pleads for all, without degrees, And he hath angels but no fees. And when the grand twelve-million jury Of our sins, with direful fury, Against our souls black verdicts give, Christ pleads his death ; and then we live. 752 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader ! Unblotted Lawyer ! true Proceeder ! Thou giv’st salvation, even for alms, Not with a bribed lawyer’s palms. And this is mine eternal plea To Him that made heaven, earth and sea; That, since my flesh must die so soon, And want a head to dine next noon, — Just at the stroke, when my veins start and spread, Set on my soul an everlasting head ! Then I am ready, like a palmer fit, To tread those blest paths; which before I writ. O death and judgment, heaven and hell, Who oft doth think, must needs die well. MARVEL OF MARVELS Christina Rossetti Marvel of marvels, if I myself shall behold With mine own eyes my King in his city of gold; Where the least of lambs is spotless white in the fold, Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled, Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled. O saints, my beloved, now moldering to mould in the mould, Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unrolled, See with these very eyes ? who now in darkness and cold Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold, “The Bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold.” Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was tolled : Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 753 PARADISE Christina Rossetti Once in a dream I saw the flowers That bud and bloom in Paradise ; More fair are they than waking eyes Have seen in all this world of ours. And faint the perfume-bearing rose, And faint the lily on its stem, And faint the perfect violet, Compared with them. I heard the songs of paradise; Each bird sat singing in its place; A tender song so full of grace It soared like incense to the skies. Each bird sat singing to its mate Soft cooing notes among the trees : The nightingale herself were cold To such as these. I saw the fourfold River flow, And deep it was, with golden sand; It flowed between a mossy land With murmured music grave and low. It hath refreshment for all thirst, For fainting spirits strength and rest: Earth holds not such a draught as this From east to west. The Tree of Life stood budding there, Abundant with its twelvefold fruits; Eternal sap sustains its roots, Its shadowing branches fill the air. Its leaves are healing for the world, Its fruit the hungry world can feed Sweeter than honey to the taste And balm indeed. 754 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY I saw the Gate called Beautiful ; And looked, but scarce could look within; I saw the golden streets begin, And outskirts of the glassy pool. Oh harps, oh crowns of plenteous stars, Oh green palm-branches, many-leaved — Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard, Nor heart conceived. I hope to see these things again, But not as once in dreams by night ; To see them with my very sight, And touch and handle and attain : To have all heaven beneath my feet For narrow way that once they trod; To have my part with all the saints And with my God. UPHILL Christina Rossetti Does the road wind uphill all the way? Yes, to the very end. Will the day’s journey take the whole long day? From morn to night, my friend. But is there for the night a resting place? A roof for when the slow dark hours begin. May not the darkness hide it from my face ? You cannot miss that inn. Shall I meet other wayfarers at night? Those who have gone before. Then must I knock, or call when just in sight? They will not keep you waiting at that door Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak? Of labour you shall find the sum. Will there be beds for me and all who seek? Yea, beds for all who come. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 755 THE CHERUBIC PILGRIM Johannes Scheffler, “Silesian Poet” The soul wherein God dwells, — What church could holier be? — Becomes a walking tent Of heavenly majesty. How far from here to Heaven? Not very far, my friend, A single hearty step Will all thy journey end. Though Christ a thousand times In Bethlehem be born, If He’s not born in thee, Thy soul is still forlorn. The cross on Golgotha Will never save thy soul, The cross in thine own heart Alone can make thee whole. Hold there ! where runnest thou ? Know Heaven is in thee. Seek’st thou for God elsewhere, His face thou’lt never see. O, would thy heart but be A manger for His birth ; God would once more become A child upon the earth. Go out, God will go in, Die thou and let Him live. Be not — and He will be. Wait and He’ll all things give. 7 56 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY O shame, a silk worm works And spins till it can fly, And thou, my soul, wilt still On thine old earth-clod lie ! THE LIFE ABOVE, THE LIFE ON HIGH St. Teresa Translated by Edward Caswall The life above, the life on high, Alone is life in verity; Nor can we life at all enjoy, Till this poor life is o’er; Then, O sweet Death ! no longer fly From me, who e’er my time to die, Am dying evermore ; Forevermore I weep and sigh, Dying, because I do not die. To him, who deigns in me to live, What better gift have I to give, O my poor earthly life, than thee? Too glad of thy decay, So but I may the sooner see That face of sweetest majesty, For which I pine away; While evermore I weep and sigh, Dying, because I do not die. Absent from thee, my Saviour dear, I call not life this living here, But a long dying agony, The sharpest I have known; And I myself, myself to see In such a wrack of misery, For very pity moan; And ever, ever, weep and sigh, Dying because I do not die. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 757 Ah! Lord, my light* and living breath, Take me, Oh, take me from this death, And burst the bars that sever me From my true life above! Think how I die thy face to see, And cannot live away from thee, O my eternal Love. And ever, ever, weep and sigh, Dying, because I do not die. I weary of this endless strife; I weary of this dying life, This living death, this heavy chain, This torment of delay, In which her sins my soul detain. Ah ! when shall it be mine ? Ah ! when, With my last breath to say, — No more I weep, no more I sigh; I’m dying of desire to die. DIES IRAE Thomas of Celano Translated by Wentworth Dillon That day of wrath, that dreadful day, Shall the whole world in ashes lay, As David and the Sibyls say. What horror will invade the mind, When the strict Judge, who would be kind, Shall have few venial faults to find ! The last loud trumpet’s wondrous sound Shall through the rending tombs rebound, And wake the nations under ground. 758 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Nature and death shall, with surprise, Behold the pale offender rise, And view the Judge with conscious eyes. Then shall, with universal dread, The sacred mystic book be read, To try the living and the dead. The Judge ascends his awful throne; He makes each secret sin be known, And all with shame confess their own. Oh, then, what interest shall I make To save my last important stake, When the most just have cause to quake? Thou mighty, formidable King, Thou mercy’s unexhausted spring, Some comfortable pity bring ! Forget not what my ransom cost, Nor let my dear-bought soul be lost In storms of guilty terror tost. Thou who for me didst feel such pain, Whose precious blood the cross did stain, Let not these agonies be in vain ! Thou whom avenging powers obey, Cancel my debt, too great to pay, Before the sad accounting day! Surrounded with amazing fears, Whose load my soul with anguish bears, I sigh, I weep, accept my tears ! Thou who wert moved with Mary’s grief, And by absolving of the thief Hast given me hope, now give relief ! THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 759 Reject not my unworthy prayer; Preserve me from the dangerous snare Which death and gaping hell prepare. Give my exalted soul a place Among thy chosen right-hand race, The sons of God and heirs of grace. From that insatiable abyss, Where flames devour and serpents hiss, Promote me to thy seat of bliss. Prostrate my contrite heart I rend, My God, my Father, and my Friend, Do not forsake me in my end ! Well may they curse their second breath, Who rise to a reviving death : Thou great Creator of mankind, Let guilty man compassion find ! PEACE Henry Vaughan My Soul, there is a Countrie Afar beyond the stars, Where stands a winged centrie All skilful in the wars. There, above noise and danger, Sweet Peace sits crowned 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, 760 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY 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 ! THE WORLD Henry Vaughan I saw Eternity the other night, Like a great ring of pure and endless light, All calm as it was bright ; And round beneath it, Time, in hours, days, years, Driven by the spheres, Like a vast shadow moved, in which the world And all her train were hurled. The doting lover, in his quaintest strain, Did there complain; Near him his lute, his fancy, and his flights, Wit’s sour delights ; With gloves, and knots, the silly snares of pleasure, Yet his dear treasure, All scattered lay, while he his eyes did pour Upon a flower. The darksome statesman, hung with weights and woe, Like a thick midnight fog, moved there so slow, He did not stay nor go; Condemning thoughts (like sad eclipses) scowl Upon his soul, And clouds of crying witnesses without Pursued him with one shout. Yet digged the mole, and, lest his ways be found, Workt under ground, Where he did clutch his prey; but one did see That policy; Churches and altars fed him; perjuries THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE Were gnats and flies; It rained about him blood and tears ; but he Drank them as free. The fearful miser, on a heap of rust Sat pining all his life there, did scarce trust His own hands with the dust; Yet would not place one piece above, but lives In fear of thieves. Thousands there were, as frantic as himself, And hugged each one his pelf ; The downright epicure placed heaven in sense, And scorned pretense; While others, slipt into a wide excess, Said little less; The weaker sort, slight, trivial wares enslave, Who think them brave ; And poor despised Truth sat counting by Their victory. Yet some, who all this while did weep and sing, And sing and weep, soared up into the ring; But most would use no wing. “O fools,” said I, “thus to prefer dark night Before true light ! To live in grots and caves, and hate the day Because it shows the way, — The way which, from this dead and dark abode. Leads up to God; A way where you might tread the sun and be More bright than he !” But, as I did their madness so discuss, One whispered thus, “This ring the Bridegroom did for none provide. But for his Bride.” THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE WORLD OF LIGHT Henry Vaughan They are all gone into the world of light 1 And I alone sit lingering here; Their very memory is fair and bright, And my sad thoughts doth clear; It glows and glitters in my cloudy breast, Like stars upon some gloomy grove, Or those faint beams in which this hill is drest After the sun’s remove. I see them walking in an air of glory, Whose light doth trample on my days; My days which are at best but dull and hoary, Mere glimmering and decays. * O holy Hope ! And high Humility, High as the heavens above ! These are your walks, and you have showed them me, To kindle my cold love. Dear beauteous Death! the jewel of the just, Shining nowhere but in the dark ! What mysteries do lie beyond thy dust, Could man outlook that mark ! He that hath found some fledged bird’s nest may know At first sight if the bird be flown; But what fair grove or dell he sings in now, That is to him unknown. And yet, as angels in some brighter dreams Call to the soul, when man doth sleep, So some strange thoughts transcend our wonted themes, And into glory peep. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE If a star were confined into a tomb, The captive flames must needs burn there ; But when the hand that locked her up, gives room, She’ll shine through all the sphere. O Father of eternal life, and all Created glories under Thee ! Resume Thy spirit from this world of thrall Into true liberty. Either disperse these mists, which blot and fill My perspective still as they pass ; Or else remove me hence unto that hill, Where I shall need no glass. HEAVEN Isaac Watts There is a land of pure delight, Where saints immortal reign; Infinite day excludes the night, And pleasures banish pain. There everlasting spring abides, And never-withering flowers ; Death like a narrow sea divides This heavenly land from ours. Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood Stand dressed in living green; So to the Jews old Canaan stood, While Jordan rolled between. But timorous mortals start and shrink To cross this narrow sea, And linger shivering on the brink, And fear to launch away. 763 764 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Oh ! could we make our doubts remove, These gloomy thoughts that rise, And see that Canaan that we love With unbeclouded eyes — Could we but climb where Moses stood, And view the landscape o’er, Not Jordan’s stream, nor death’s cold flood, Could fright us from the shore. b. THE MODERN CONCEPTION I. There Is a Future Life , but We Do Not Know What It Is HEAVEN Rupert Brooke Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June, Dawdling away their wat’ry noon) Ponder deep wisdom, dark or clear, Each secret fishy hope or fear. Fish say, they have their Stream and Pond; But is there anything Beyond? This life cannot be All, they swear, For how unpleasant, if it were! One may not doubt that, somehow, Good Shall come of Water and of Mud; And, sure, the reverent eye must see A Purpose in Liquidity. We darkly know, by Faith we cry, The future is not Wholly Dry. Mud unto mud ! — Death eddies near — Not here the appointed End, not here ! But somewhere, beyond Space and Time, Is wetter water, slimier slime ! And there (they trust) there swimmeth One THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE Who swam ere rivers were begun, Immense, of fishy form and mind, Squamous, omnipotent, and kind; And under that Almighty Fin, The littlest fish may enter in. Oh ! never fly conceals a hook, Fish say, in the Eternal Brook, But more than mundane weeds are there. And mud, celestially fair; Fat caterpillars drift around, And Paradisal grubs are found; Unfading moths, immortal flies, And the worm that never dies. And in that Heaven of all their wish, There shall be no more land, say fish. WHERE LIES THE LAND? Arthur Hugh Clough Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. On sunny noons upon the deck’s smooth face, Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace ! Or, o’er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go. On stormy nights when wild northwesters rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave The dripping sailor on the reeling mast, Exults to bear and scorns to wish it past. Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from ? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. 766 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE FORTUNATE ISLES Joaquin Miller You sail and you seek for the Fortunate Isles, The old Greek Isles of the yellow-birds’ song? Then steer straight on through the watery miles, Straight on, straight on, and you can’t go wrong. Nay, not to the left, nay, not to the right, But on, straight on, and the Isles are in sight. The Fortunate Isles where the yellow-birds sing, And life lies girt with a golden ring. These Fortunate Isles they are not so far, They lie within reach of the lowliest door; You can see them gleam by the twilight star; You can hear them sing by the moon’s white shore. Nay, never look back ! Those levelled gravestones, They were landing steps; they were steps unto thrones Of glory for souls that have sailed before, And have set white feet on the fortunate shore. And what are the names of the Fortunate Isles? Why ! Duty and Love and a large Content. Lo ! these are the Isles of the watery miles, That God let down from the firmament. Lo, Duty and Love, and a true man’s Trust; Your forehead to God, though your feet in the dust; Lo, Duty and Love, and a sweet babe’s smiles, And these, O friend, are the Fortunate Isles. THE LAND OF THE EVENING MIRAGE Song of the Sioux Indians Translated by Dr. A. M. Beede There’s a beautiful island away in the West, It’s the land of evening mirage; And the stars and the spirits of dead men have rest In the land of the evening mirage. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE In the land of the evening mirage, In the land of the evening mirage, Where the stars and the spirits of dead men have rest In the land of the evening mirage. The big man in the moonlight is peeping for us, In the land of the evening mirage; And the grandmother spirits are weeping for us In the land of the evening mirage. In the land of the evening mirage, In the land of the evening mirage, Where the grandmother spirits are weeping for us In the land of the evening mirage. Speed away, speed away to the island so blest, To the land of the evening mirage, Where the spirits of dead men forever have rest, In the land of the evening mirage. In the land of the evening mirage, In the land of the evening mirage, Where the spirits of dead men forever have rest. In the land of the evening mirage. THE OTHER WORLD Harriet Beecher Stowe It 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. 767 768 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY The silence — awful, sweet, and calm, — They have no power to break; For mortal words are not for them To utter or partake. So thin, so soft, so sweet they glide, So near to press they seem, They lull us gently to our rest, And melt into our dream. And, in the hush of rest they bring, ’Tis easy now to see How lovely and how sweet a pass The hour of death may be ! To close the eye and close the ear, Wrapped in a trance of bliss, And, gently drawn in loving arms, To swoon to that — from this. Scarce knowing if we wake or sleep, Scarce asking where we are, To feel all evil sink away, All sorrow and all care. 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. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 769 DAREST THOU NOW, O SOUL? Walt Whitman Darest thou now, O Soul, Walk out with me toward the Unknown Region, Where neither ground is for the feet, nor any path to follow? No map, there, nor guide, Nor voice sounding, nor touch of human hand, Nor face with blooming flesh, nor lips, nor eyes, are in that land. I know it not, O Soul ; Nor dost thou, all is a blank before us, — All waits, undreamed of, in that region — that inaccessible land. Till, when the tie is loosened, All but the ties eternal, Time and Space, Nor darkness, gravitation, sense, nor any bounds bound us. Then we burst forth, we float, In Time and Space, O Soul! prepared for them; Equal, equipped at last (O joy ! O fruit of all!) them to fulfill, O Soul ! THE IMPRISONED SOUL Walt Whitman At the last, tenderly From the walls of the powerful fortressed house, From the clasp of the knitted locks — from the keep of the well- closed doors, Let me be wafted. Let me glide noiselessly forth ; With the key of softness unlock the locks — with a whisper Set ope the doors, O soul ! 770 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Tenderly! be not impatient! (Strong is your hold, O mortal flesh! Strong is your hold, O Love ! ) 2. We Are the Builders of the City HAIL! THE GLORIOUS GOLDEN CITY Felix Adler Hail the glorious Golden City, Pictured by the seers of old ! Everlasting light shines o’er it, Wondrous tales of it are told: Only righteous men and women Dwell within its gleaming wall ; Wrong is banished from its borders, Justice reigns supreme o’er all. We are builders of that city; All our joys and all our groans Help to rear its shining ramparts ; All our lives are building stones : Whether humble or exalted, All are called to task divine; All must aid alike to carry Forward one sublime design. And the work that we have budded, Oft with bleeding hands and tears, And in error and in anguish, Will not perish with our years: It will last and shine transfigured In the final reign of Right ; It will merge into the splendors Of the City of the Light. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 771 HOME AT LAST Gilbert K. Chesterton To an open house in the evening, Home shall men come, To an older place than Eden, And a taller town than Rome. To the end of the way of the wandering star, To the things that cannot be and that are, To the place where God was homeless, And all men are at home. BUGLE SONG OF PEACE Thomas Curtis Clarke Blow, bugle, blow ! The day has dawned at last, Blow, blow, blow ! The fearful night is past, The prophets realize their dreams, Lo ! in the east the glory gleams. Blow, bugle, blow ! The day has dawned at last. Blow, bugle, blow ! The soul of man is free. The rod and sword of king and lord Shall no more honored be ; For God alone shall govern men, And love shall come to earth again. Blow, bugle, blow ! The soul of man is free. Blow, bugle, blow ! Though rivers run with blood, All greed and strife, and lust for life, THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY Are passing with the flood. The gory beast of war is cowed; The world’s great heart with grief is bowed. Blow, bugle, blow ! The day has dawned at last. STAINS Theodosia Garrison The three ghosts on the lonesome road, Spake each to one another, “Whence came that stain about your mouth No lifted hand may cover?” “From eating of forbidden fruit, Brother, my brother.” The three ghosts on the sunless road Spake each to one another, “Whence came that red burn on your foot No dust or ash may cover?” “I stamped a neighbor’s hearth-flame out, Brother, my brother.” The three ghosts on the windless road Spake each to one another, “Whence came that blood upon your hand No other hand may cover?” “From breaking of a woman’s heart, Brother, my brother.” “Yet on the earth clean men we walked, Glutton and Thief and Lover; White flesh and fair it hid our stains That no man might discover.” “Naked the soul goes up to God, Brother, my brother.” THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 773 THE TRUE HEAVEN Paul Hamilton Hayne The bliss for which our spirits pine, That bliss we feel shall yet be given, Somehow in some far realm divine Some marvellous state we call a heaven, Is not the bliss of languorous hours A glory of calm measured range, But life which feeds our noblest powers On wonders of eternal change. A heaven of action, freed from strife, With ampler ether for the scope Of an unmeasurable life And an unbaffled boundless hope. A heaven wherein all discords cease Self-torment, doubt, distress, turmoil, The care of whose majestic peace Is god-like power of endless toil. Toil without tumult, strain or jar, With grandest reach of range indeed, Unchecked by even the farthest star That trembles through infinitude ; In which to soar to higher heights Through widening ethers stretched abroad, Till in our onward, upward flights We touch at last the feet of God. Time swallowed in eternity No future evermore : no past, But one unending NOW, to be A boundless circle around us cast ! 774 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CONTINUING CITY Laurence Housman God, who made man out of dust, Willed him to be Not to known ends, but to trust His decree. This is our city, a soul Walled within clay; Separate hearts of one whole, Bound we obey. All that He meant us to be, Could we discern, — Life had no meaning, — or we Had not to learn. Thou, beloved, doubt not the truth Eyesight makes dim ! All life, to age from youth, Brings us to Him: Him Whom thou hast not seen, Canst not yet know : Human hearts stand between, His to foreshow. Couldst thou possess thine own, That were the key ; He, to Whom hearts are known. Keeps it from thee. Thou alLthy days must live, Thyself the quest; Plucking the heart to give From thine own breast. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 775 Till thou, from other eyes, At kindred calls, Seest thine own towers arise, And thine own walls, — Where, conquering the wide air, Peopling its waste, Citadels everywhere Like stars stand based: Losing thy soul, thy soul Again to find; Rendering toward that goal Thy separate mind. THE SPIRES OF OXFORD Winifred M. Letts I saw the spires of Oxford As I was passing by, The grey spires of Oxford Against a pearl-grey sky; My heart was with the Oxford men Who went abroad to die. The years go fast in Oxford, The golden years and gay, The hoary colleges look down On careless boys at play. But when the bugles sounded war They put their games away. They left the peaceful river, The cricket-field, the Quad, The shaven lawns of Oxford To seek a bloody sod — They gave their merry youth away For country and for God. THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY ^ r 77 j God rest you, happy gentlemen, Who laid your good lives down, Who took the khaki and the gun, Instead of cap and gown. God bring you to a fairer place Than even Oxford town. THE DAY IS COMING William Morris Come hither lads and hearken, for a tale there is to tell, Of the wonderful days a’coming, when all shall be better than well. And the tale shall be told of a country, a land in the midst of the sea, And folk shall call it England in the days that are going to be. There more than one in a thousand in the days that are yet to come, Shall have some hope of the morrow, some joy of the ancient home. For then — laugh not, but listen, to this strange tale of mine, All folk that are in England shall be better lodged than swine. Then a man shall work and bethink him, and rejoice in the deeds of his hand, Nor yet come home in the even too faint and weary to stand. Men in that time a’coming shall work and have no fear For to-morrow’s lack of earning and the hunger-wolf anear. I tell you this for a wonder, that no man then shall be glad Of his fellow’s fall and mishap to snatch at the work he had. For that which the worker winneth shall then be his indeed, Nor shall half be reaped for nothing by him that sowed no seed. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 777 O strange new wonderful justice! But for whom shall we gather the gain? For ourselves and for each our fellows, and no hand shall labour in vain. Then all Mine and all Thine shall be Ours, and no more shall any man crave For riches that serve for nothing but to fetter a friend for a slave. And what wealth then shall be left us when none shall gather gold To buy his friend in the market, and pinch and pine the sold? Nay, what save the lovely city, and the little house on the hill, And the wastes and the woodland beauty, and the happy fields wc till ; And the homes of ancient stories, the tombs of the mighty dead ; And the wise men seeking out marvels, and the poet’s teeming head ; And the painter’s hand of wonder; and tin marvellous fiddle- bow, And the banded choirs of music: all those that do and know. For all these shall be ours and all men’s, nor shall any lack a share Of the toil and the gain of living in the days when the world grows fair. • •••••••• Come, then, let us cast off fooling, and put by ease and rest, For the cause alone is worthy till the good days bring the best. Come, join the only battle wherein no man can fail, Where whoso fadeth and dieth, yet his deed shall still prevail. Ah ! come, cast off all fooling, for this, at least, we know : That the Dawn and the Day is coming, and forth the Banners gc. 778 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY THE CITY OF GOD Francis Turner Palgrave O Thou not made with hands, Not throned above the skies, Nor wall’d with shining- walls, Nor framed with stones of price, More bright than gold or gem, God’s own Jerusalem! Where’er the gentle heart Finds courage from above; Where’er the heart forsook Warms with the breath of love; Where faith bids fear depart, City of God ! thou art. Thou art where’er the proud In humbleness melts down ; Where self itself yields up; Where martyrs win their crown; Where faithful souls possess Themselves in perfect peace. Where in life’s common ways With cheerful feet we go; When in His steps we tread Who trod the way of woe ; Where He is in the heart, City of God ! thou art. Not throned above the skies, Nor golden-wall’d afar, But where Christ’s two or three In His name gather’d are, Be in the midst of them, God’s own Jerusalem! THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE THE HUMAN OUTLOOK 779 John Addington Symonds These things shall be ! A loftier race Than e’er the world hath known shall rise With flame of freedom in their souls, And light of knowledge in their eyes. They shall be gentle, brave and strong, To spill no drop of blood, but dare All that may plant man’s lordship firm On earth and fire, and sea, and air. Nation with nation, land with land, Unarmed shall live as comrades free; In every heart and brain shall throb The pulse of one fraternity. New arts shall bloom of loftier mould And mightier music thrill the skies, And every life shall be a song When all the earth is paradise. These things — they are no dreams — shall be For happier men when we are gone; Those golden days for them shall dawn, Transcending aught we gaze upon. THE FAR LAND John Hall Wheelock We are sighing for you, far land — We are praying for you, far land, All our life long, working, waiting, night and day: But as the waves that die to reach the farther shore Break our hearts that die to reach you evermore — All our hearts are breaking, breaking toward that shore, O far land, so near and far away ! 780 THE WORLD’S GREAT RELIGIOUS POETRY At the lips of the beloved, At the breast of the beloved, Like waves that seek the land, and sink forlorn — O to reach it we have died, but to that beach Where the beloved is, love may not reach ! Our children’s children even shall not reach The far land where all of us were born. Through the terror of the ages We have sought it, till the ages Have stamped our lifted faces with our love : But long though we have wandered, where we are The far land is not. O that land is far ! Beyond the night, beyond the morning star The far land grows farther as we move. In music and in story, In song and sacred story We yearned to it, in color and in sound: But swifter than the soul the secret flies, The vision pales — beyond, beyond it lies, Beyond all songs, beyond all harmonies, The far land that we have never found. In the sweat of daily labor In the anguish of our labor We strove to bind it fast in steel and stone: But lo — the walls were dust, the work was naught, And O it was not what the heart had sought ! ’Twas something dearer than our blood had bought — The far land that we have never known. So we built ourselves a heaven, Our God we set in heaven, With prayer and praise we wrought them to our will: But they could not fill the measure of our love For the far land — O they were not great enough ! There is nothing, there is nothing great enough ! The far land is something greater still. THE NATURE OF THE FUTURE LIFE 781 We are sighing for you, far land— We are dying for you, far land, In the trenches, in the bloody ruck and blind, We are coming, we are coming, every breath Is a wave that bears us nearer to you, death Seals our cry — O might our children find ere death The far land that we have died to find ! THE END. INDEX OF TITLES A Abide with Me . Abou Ben Adhem . Abt Vogler . Adam’s Hymn in Paradise . . . Adam’s Morning Hymn . Adeste Fideles . Adjustment . Adonais, From . Adoration . Adrift . After Death in Arabia . Age is Great and Strong, The Agnosto Theo . All Fellows, From . A Lost God, From . A Lost Word of Jesus . America the Beautiful . Among the Ferns . Ancient Sage, The . Ancient Thought, The . Angel of Patience, The . Athalie, Chorus from . At Last . Attainment . Attainment . . At the Aquarium . At the End of Things . At the Worst . Auguries of Innocence . Auld Lang Syne . Aurora Leigh, From . Autumn . . Awake, My Soul! . Awakened War God, The .... Awakening of Man, The .... Away . . PAGE Henry Lyte . 535 Leigh Hunt . 616 Robert Browning . 107 Van Vondel . 508 John Milton . 509 Anonymous . 519 John G. Whittier . 203 Percy B. Shelley . 689 Madame Guy on . 512 Mrs. Edward Dowden . . 190 Edwin Arnold . 663 Victor Hugo ( Robertson ) 382 Thomas Hardy . 149 Laurence Housman .... 3 72 Francis W . Bourdillon. . 2 Henry van Dyke . 354 Katharine Lee Bates.... 559 Edward Carpenter . 255 Alfred Tennyson . 202 Watson Kerr . 232 John G. Whittier . 585 Jean B. Racine . 51 1 John Greenleaf Whittier. 694 Madison Cawein . 603 Ella Wheeler Wilcox . . 606 Max Eastman . 59 Arthur Edward Waite .. 51 Israel Zangwill . 177 William Blake . 263 John White Chadwick . . 671 Elis. Barrett Browning.. 105 Rabindranath Tagore .. 245 Philip Doddridge . 520 Margaret Widdcmer .... 173 Robert Browning . 30 James W. Riley . 688 783 784 INDEX OF TITLES B Ballad of Trees and the Master, A . Sidney Lanier .... Bard, The . William Blake . . . Barter . Margaret Widdemer Battle Hymn . Gnstavus Adolphus Battle Hymn of the Republic . Julia Ward Howe . Before Action . William Noel Hodgson Before Day . Siegfried Sassoon . Beginnings of Faith, The . Sir Lewis Morris . Bohemian Hymn, The . Ralph W. Emerson Boston Hymn . Ralph W. Emerson Brahma . Ralph W . Emerson Brahma, the World Idea . Rig-Veda, X, 129 (£. dian, 1500 B.C .) Brand Speaks . Hendrik Ibsen . . , Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning. . Reginald Heber ... Bugle Song of Peace . Thomas Curtis Clark In c Caliban upon Setebos . Call Me Not Dead . Calm Soul of All Things . Calvary . Canticle of the Sun . Cattle of His Hand, The . Celestial Pilot, The . Celestial Surgeon, The . Chariot, The . Chartless . Cherubic Pilgrim, The . Cherubim, From the . Child of Loneliness . Children of the Heavenly King . Child’s Evening Hymn . Child’s Question, The . Christian Life, The . Christian Pilgrim’s Hymn, The . Christmas Hymn, A . Christ, the Man . Church, The . Church, The . . . . . . . Church’s One Foundation, The . Church Today, The . Church Universal, The . City, The . City, The . City, The . Robert Browning . Richard W. Gilder . Matthew Arnold . Edwin A. Robinson . . . . St. Francis of Assisi . . . . Wilbur Underwood .... Dante ( Longfellow ) .... Robert Louis Stevenson. Emily Dickinson . Emily Dickinson . Johannes Schefder . Thomas Heywood . Norman Gale . John Cennick . Sabine Baring-Gould . . Emily Dickinson . Samuel Longfellow .... William Williams . Alfred Domett . William Henry Davies . . Edwin Ford Piper . Jules Romain ( Bithell ) . . Samuel J. Stone . William Watson . Samuel Longfellow . . . . Frank Mason North . . . George Wm. Russell ( A . E.) . Israel Zangwill . PAGB 2S3 2 417 504 644 450 78 197 128 378 191 83 130 525 771 III 677 388 350 494 69 740 583 672 744 755 291 34 517 546 745 594 518 321 346 398 400 532 405 556 56i 390 393 INDEX OF TITLES 785 City Church, The . City of God . City of God, The . City’s Crown, The . . . Cleansing Fires . Come, Thou Almighty King . Come, Ye Disconsolate . Common Inference, A . Communion . Comrade Jesus . Conclusion, The . Confession, A . Consider the Lilies . Continuing City, The . Coronation . Cotter’s Saturday Night, The . Country Faith, The . Courage . Courage . Cranmer’s Prophecy of Queen Elizabeth (From Henry VIII) . Credo . Creed, A . Creed, A . Creed, My . * . Creed, My « . Creeds . Crossing the Bar . . . . Crucifixion . Cry of the Age, The . Cui Bono? . . . PAGE E. H. K . 397 Samuel Johnson . 540 Francis T. Palgrave .... 778 Dudley Foulke . 390 Adelaide A. Proctor .... 580 Charles Wesley . 520 Thomas Moore . 596 Charlotte P. Gilman .... 147 John B. Tabb ... . 135 Sarah N. Cleghorn . 345 Sir Walter Raleigh .... 688 Paul Verlaine ( Symons ) 429 Wm. C. Gannett . 258 Laurence Housman .... 774 Edward Perronet . 522 Robert Burns . 385 Norman Gale . 250 Stopford Brooke . 586 Paul Gerhardt . 593 William Shakespeare ... 383 Edwin A. Robinson .... 40 Norman McLeod . 639 John Masefield . 716 Alice Cary . 636 Jeannette Gilder . 637 Karle Wilson Baker .... 635 Alfred Tennyson . 693 Eva Gore Booth . 343 Hamlin Garland . 441 Thomas Carlyle . 587 D Dance Chant, A (tr. by Parker) . Dance Chant, A (tr. by Brinton) . Darest Thou Now, O Soul . Day is Coming, The . Day is Dying in the West, The . Dead, The . Dead, The . . . Dead Faith, The . Death . Death . . Death . Death . Death and Resurrection . . Deep Sea Soundings . . Deer’s Cry, The . De Profundis . . . Desire . . Iroquois Indians . Osage Indians . . . Walt Whitman .., William Morris . Mary A. Lathbury Mathilde Blind . . . Robert Nichols . . . Fanny Heaslip Lea Maltbie Babcock . , Rupert Brooke . . Emily Dickinson . James Oppenheim , George Croly Sarah Williams . . , St. Patrick . . From the Bible . . Matthew Arnold . , 555 457 769 776 55-2 696 723 212 670 698 673 685 737 730 485 480 419 786 INDEX OF TITLES Dies Irae . Disguises . Divine Image, The . Divine Love . Domine Quo Vadis? . Donkey, The . Doubt . Doubt . Doubt (From In Memoriam, XCVI) .... Doubter’s Prayer, The . Dream, The . Dream Fantasy . Dreams Old and Nascent (From Amores) Dryad Song . Dust . Dwelling Place, The . E Each and All . . Each in His Own Tongue . Earliest Christian Hymn of . Easter Chorus from Faust . . East London . . Ecce Homo . . Elixir, The . End of Being, The . . Envoi . Epigram . Epitaph . Epitaph . Epitaph, The . Essay on Man, From the . Eternal Goodness . Eternal Light! . Even This Shall Pass Away . Everlasting Arms, The (Psalm XCI) . . Everlasting Mercy, From the . Excellency of Christ . Exile from God . . Excursion, From the . Expectans Epectavi . F PAGE . Thomas of Celano . 7 57 Thomas Edward Brown. 220 , William Blake . 284 Charles Wesley . 515 , William Watson . 335 Gilbert K. Chesterton . . . 268 Fernand Gregh . 194 . Helen Hunt Jackson .... 197 Alfred Tennyson . 42 Anne Bronte . 186 Firdausi . 6 William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) 728 D. H. Lawrence . 152 Margaret Fuller . 677 George Wm. Russell (A. E .) 240 Henry Vaughan . 307 Ralph W. Emerson . 102 , William Herbert Carruth 145 Clement of Alexandria . . 478 Goethe . 323 Matthew Arnold . 388 Witter Bynner . 143 George Herbert . 442 Seneca . 85 , John G. Neihardt . 414 , William Watson . 80 Louise Driscoll . 706 George MacDonald . 455 Katharine Tynan Hinkson 229 .Alexander Pope . 105 John- G. Whittier . 205 Thomas Binney . 527 . Theodore Tilton . 598 .Moulton’s Modern Read¬ ers’ Bible . 575 John Masefield . . 718 . Giles Fletcher . 323 .John Hall Wheelock .... 730 .William Wordsworth ... 141 , Charles Hamilton Sorley 605 Failures . Fairest Lord Jesus Faith . Arthur W. Upson Anonymous . Wm. D. Hoivells 59 2 505 19G INDEX OF TITLES Faith . Faith . . Faith . Faith . Faith on Trial, From A ........ Falconer of God, The . Far Cry to Heaven, A . . Far Land, The . . Farmers . . . Fate of the Prophets, The . Feet . . Festal Song . . Final Mystery, The . Finished Course, The . Fire Bringer, From the . Flower in the Crannied Wall . . Flying Wheel, The . . Fool’s Prayer, The . . Forbearance . . Forever . . For Forgiveness . . . For Inspiration . Fortunate Isles, The . Founts of Song, The . Fragment . Fragment . Fragment . From Greenland’s Icy Mountains Fulfillment . . Funeral Hymn . G Garden, The . . Garden of God . General William Booth Enters Heaven . . Generous Creed, A . Genius . Gifts . Gitanjali, From . Give Way! . Gloria in Excelsis . Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken . . . Gloucester Moors, From . God . God . God (from Dawn) . 787 PAGE Alexander Pope . 198 George Santayana . 216 John B. Tabb . 200 John G. Whittier . 204 ‘George Meredith . 215 William Rose Benet .... 55 Edith M. Thomas . 415 John Hall Wlieelock . 779 William A. Percy . 250 Henry W. Longfellow .. 11 Mary Carolyn Davies. . . 34 William Pierson Merrill. 564 Sir Henry Newbolt . 722 St. Joseph of the Studinm 491 William Vaughn Moody. 238 Alfred Tennyson . 263 Katharine Tynan Hinkson 183 Edward R. Sill . 427 Ralph W. Emerson . . . . 224 John Boyle O’Reilly . . . 686 John Donne . 453 Michelangelo Buonarotti ( Wordsworth ) 452 Joaquin Miller . 766 William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) . 24 William Cowper . 4 Amy Lowell . 22 Henry Vaughan . 245 Reginald Heber . 526 Wm. A. Muhlenberg .... 528 Wm. Walsham Howe . . . 542 Rose Parkwood . 261 George William Russell. . 392 Vachel Lindsay . 747 Eliz. Stuart Phelps .... 641 Edward Lucas White ... 26 Emma Lazarus . 422 Rabindranath Tagore , 165, 303 Charlotte P. Gilman . 148 Anonymous . 480 John Newton . 523 William Vaughn Moody. >647 Gamaliel Bradford . 57 James Cowden Wallace.. 135 Harold Monro . 156 788 INDEX OF TITLES God Is at the Anvil . God Is Not Dumb . God Makes a Path . God of the Living, The . God Our Father . God Prays . God-Maker, Man, The . God-Seeking . God’s Funeral . God’s Garden . God’s Pity . God the Architect . God, You Have Been Too Good to Me Good Bishop, A . Good-bye, Proud World . Good Company . Good Parson, The . Gospel of Labor, The . Gradatim . Grammarian’s Funeral, A . Great Breath, The . Great Man, The . Grief and God . Guard of the Sepulcher, A . Lew Sarett . James Russell Lowell . . Roger Williams . John Ellerton . Frederick W. Faber . . . . Angela Morgan . Don Marquis . William Watson . Thomas Hardy . Richard Burton . Louise Driscoll . Harry Kemp . Charles Wharton Stork.. Anonymous ( tr . Taylor ). Ralph W. Emerson . . . . Karle Wilson Baker . . . . Chaucer (tr. Leonard ) . . Henry van Dyke . Josiah G. Holland . Robert Browning . George Wm. Russell ( A.E .) Eunice Tietjens . Stephen Phillips . Edwin Markham . H Habeas Corpus . Hail Man ! . Hail, the Glorious Golden City . Happiest Heart, The . Happy Life, The . Happy Tree, The . Harp of Sorrow, The . Harps Hung Up in Babylon . Harvest . Harvest Home . Have Faith . Health of Body Dependent on Soul . Heaven . Heaven . Heavens Above and the Law Within, The (Psalm XIX) . He Did Not Know . He Leadeth Me . He Whom a Dream Hath Possessed . Heretic, The . Hidden Weaver, The . Hierarchie of the Blessed Angel . Helen Hunt Jackson . . . . Angela Morgan . Felix Adler . John Vance Cheney Sir Henry Wotton . Gerald Gould . Ethel Cliffords . Arthur Colton . Eva Gore Booth . Henry Alford . Edward Carpenter . Jones Very . Rupert Brooke . Isaac Watts . Moulton’s Modern Readers' Bible . Harry Kemp . Joseph H. Gilmore . Sheamas O Sheel . Bliss Carman . Odell Shepard . Thomas Heywood . PAGE 241 22 185 675 536 411 154 53 149 255 588 21 1 448 356 224 251 363 392 77 70 240 354 572 349 709 298 77 o 619 612 251 597 626 285 534 209 308 764 763 271 679 538 23 222 162 35 INDEX OF TITLES Higher Catechism, The . Sam Walter Foss. Higher Pantheism, The . Alfred Tennyson . Highway, The . Win. C. Gannett., Hill, The . Horace Holley ... 789 PAGE 73 ... 202 ... 370 ... 38 Hills of Rest, The . Albert Bigelow Paine... 726 His Banner over Me . Gerald B. Massey . 571 Holy Nativity of Our Lord God, The . Richard Crashaw . 317 Holy of Holies, The . Gilbert K. Chesterton... 258 Home at Last . Gilbert K. Chesterton... 771 Hope Evermore and Believe . Arthur Hugh Clough.... 189 Hope of the World, The . William Watson . 167 Hora Christi . Alice Brown . 219 Host of Sennacherib, The . Lord Byron . 377 Hound of Heaven, The . Francis Thompson . 45 House by the Side of the Road, The . Sam Walter Foss . 620 How Firm a Foundation . K., in Rippon’s Selec¬ tions . 524 How Shall We Rise to Greet the Dawn? . Osbert Sitwell . 163 How to the Singer Comes the Song? . Richard W. Gilder . 8 Human Outlook, The . John Addington Symonds 779 Hymn . . Martin Luther . 498 Hymn . St. Thomas Aquinas . 495 Hymn . St. Francis Xavier . 500 Hymn, A . The Venerable Bede.... 487 Hymn before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamounix.S'amMc/ Taylor Coleridge 274 Hymn of Man, From the . A. C. Swinburne . 300 Hymn of Sivaite Puritans . Anonymous . 492 Hymn of the World Within (Psalm CIII) .... Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . 287 Hymn of the World Without (Psalm CIV) ... .Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . 227 Hymn to Amen Ra, the Sun God . Anonymous (Egyptian).. 468 Hymn of Heavenly Beauty, From . Edmund Spenser . 98 Hymn to Marduk (Two Selections) . From Assyrian . 463, 464 Hymn to St. Teresa . . Richard Crashaw . 364 Hymn to Zeus . AEschylus . 473 Hymn to Zeus . Cleanthes (Plumptre) . . . 433 If All the Skies . If This Were Faith . Illusion . : . Image of God, The . Immanence . Immortal . Immortality, Job XIV, 1-12; XIX, 25-27 Immortalitv . Henry van Dyke . 584 Robert Louis Stevenson . 199 Ella Wheeler Wilcox.... 140 Francisco de Aldana.... 90 Richard Hovey . 230 Sara Teasdale . 692 ( From Moulton's Modern Readers’ Bible) . 71 1-7 12 Richard Henry Dana.... 703 INDEX OF TITLES 790 PAGE Immortality . . George Wm. Russell (A. E .) . . . 689 Immortal Mind, The . Lord Byron . 701 Impercipient, The . Thomas Hardy . 396 Imprisoned Soul, The . Walt Whitman . 769 Incomprehensible, The . Isaac Watts . 184 In Dark Hour . Seumas MacManus ..... 595 Indian upon God, An . William B. Yeats ...... 174 Indwelling God, The . . Frederick L. Hosmer . . . 294 Inevitable, The . Sarah K. Bolton . 586 Informing Spirit, The . Ralph W. Emerson . 286 In Him . James Vila Blake ...... 283 In Memoriam, From (Proem) . Alfred Tennyson . 200 In Memoriam, From (CXXIV) . Alfred Tennyson . 304 Inner Light, The . F. W. H. Myers . 132 In No Strange Land . Francis Thompson . 44 Inspiration . Wilfrid W. Gibson . 7 Inspiration . Samuel Johnson . 20 Inspiration . Solomon, Ode VI, of.. 475 Inspiration . John B. Tabb . 14 Inspiration . Henry D. Thoreau . 25 Inspiration, An . Ella Wheeler Wilcox .. 656 Inspirations . ....William James Dawson. 6 In the City . Israel Zangwill . 393 In the Cross of Christ I Glory . John Bowring . 527 In the Dawn . Odell Shepard . 650 In the Garden of the Lord . Helen Keller . 373 In the Hospital . Arthur Guiterman . 210 Introversion . Evelyn Underhill . 305 Invictus . William E. Henley . . . . 588 Invisible, The . Richard W . Gilder . 272 Invocation . Max Eastman . 438 Invocation, An . John Addington Symonds 133 Inward Light, The . Henry Septimus Sutton.. 444 Io Victis . William Wetmore Story. 590 Irrevocable . Mary W. Plummer .... 625 I See His Blood upon the Rose . Joseph Mary Plunkett . . 262 I Seek Thee in the Heart Alone . Sir Herbert Trench .... 304 I Went Down into the Desert to Meet Elijah ...Vachel Lindsay . . 62 J Jehovah . Jerusalem, My Happy Home . Jerusalem, the Golden . Jesus, Lover of My Soul . Jesus Shall Reign Where’er the Sun . . . Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts . Jew to Jesus, The . Job’s Comforters. Job XI, 7-8 . Israel Zangwill . Anonymous . . . Bernard of Cluny . Charles Wesley . Isaac Watts . Bernard of Clairvaux . . . Florence Kiper Frank . . From Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible) . 175 735 736 516 5i3 494 347 62 INDEX OF TITLES 791 PAGE Karshish, the Arab Physician . Robert Browning . . Kings of the East, The . Katherine Lee Bates 310 342 Lamb, The . William Blake . 264 Land of the Evening Mirage, The . Sioux Indians . 766 Land o’ the Leal, The . Lady Nairne . 749 Larger Hope, The (from In Memoriam, LVI ).. Alfred Tennyson . 43 Larger Prayer, The . Eanah D. Cheney . 421 Last Lines . Emily Bronte . 697 Latest Decalogue, The . Arthur Hugh Clough ... 395 L’Envoi . Rudyard Kipling . 715 Leper, The . Nathaniel P. Willis . 338 Let Us with a Gladsome Mind . John Milton . 507 Life . Margaret Deland . 285 Life Above, the Life on High, The . St. Teresa " . 756 Lift Up Your Heads, Rejoice! . Thomas D. Lynch . 537 Light from Within, 'The . Jones Very . 309 Lillium Regis . Francis Thompson ..... 405 Lines Composed a Few M-iles Above Tintern Abbey . William W ordswortli . . . 247 Litany for Latter Day Mystics . Cale Young Rice . 427 Little Bird I Am, A . Madame Guyon . 182 Little Song of Life, A . . Lisette W. Reese . 590 Living God, The . Charlotte P. Gilman ... 128 Living Temple, The . Oliver W. Holmes . 292 Longing for Home . Jean Ingelow . 677 Lost and Found . George MacDonald . 39 Lost Chord, The . Adelaide A. Proctor .... 576 Lost God, From a . Francis W. Bourdillon.. 2 Lost Word of Jesus, A . Henry van Dyke . 354 Love of God, The . Bernard Rascas . 86 Love’s Vision- . Edward Carpenter . 387 Lycidas . John Milton . 680 Madonna Natura . Magnificat . Majesty and Mercy of God, The Majesty of God, The . Manufactured Gods . Man with the Hoe, The . Margaritae Sorori . Marlborough, From . Marshes of Glynn, The . Marvel of Marvels . Mary’s Girlhood . M . . William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) . . Anonymous . . Sir Robert Grant . . Thomas Sternhold ...... . . Carl Sandburg . . Edwin Markham . . William E. Henley . . Charles Hamilton Sorley. . Sidney Lanier . . . Christina Rossetti . . Gabriel Charles Dante Rossetti . 241 481 104 99 161 375 72 5 80 233 752 335 792 INDEX OF TITLES Master Singers, The . Mastery . Meditations of a Hindu Prince . Men Told Me, Lord . Milton, From . Milton’s Prayer for Patience . Missing . Morning Hymn . Morning Light Is Breaking, The . Music . My Ain Countree., . My Birth . My Creed . My Creed . My Dead . My Faith . My Faith Looks Up to Thee . My Garden . My Hereafter . My Minde to Me a Kingdom Is........ My Own Hereafter . My Pilgrimage . Mystery, The . Mystic, The . Mystic as Soldier, A . Mystic Song, A . . Mystic’s Prayer, The . My Uninvited Guest . N Nameless Saints, The . Nanak and the Sikhs, From (E. Indian) Nautilus, The Chambered . Nearer Home . Nearer, My God, to Thee . New England Church, A . • • New God, The..... . . . New God, The . New Heart, The . New Victory, The . Nodes . Not in Dumb Resignation . Now and Afterwards . Now the Labourer’s Task Is O’er . Nunc Dimittis . O Obedience . Ocean, The (Psalm CVII) . Rhys Carpenter . Sara Teas dale . . Sir Alfred Lyall . David Starr Jordan . William Blake . Elizabeth L. Howell . Anonymous . Gregory the Great . Samuel F. Smith . Ralph Waldo Emerson... Mary Lee Demarest . Minot J. Savage . Alice Cary . Jeanette Gilder . Frederick L. Hosmer . . . . Sri Ananda Acharya.... Ray Palmer . Thomas Edward Brown. Juniata dc Long . Sir Edward Dyer . Eugene Lee-Hamilton . . Sir Walter Raleigh . Ralph Hodgson . Cale Young Rice . Siegfried Sassoon . Anonymous . William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) . May Riley Smith . Edward Everett Hale. . . Anonymous . Oliver Wendell Holmes.. Phoebe Cary . . .' . Sarah Flower Adams.... Wilson Agnew Barrett.. Witter Bynner . , James Oppenheim . , Modern Chinese . .Margaret Widdemer .... .Alice Corbin Henderson . .John Hay . .Dinah Mulock Craik.... . John Ellerton . . Anonymous . .George MacDonald . .Moulton’ s Modern Readers’ Bible . PAGH 1 6 42 63 712 614 19 695 487 530 225 743 689 636 637 709 208 529 254 704 610 716 750 77 66 161 506 444 580 631 497 604 570 533 394 144 160 554 655 290 556 703 549 481 632 278 INDEX OF TITLES 793 PAGE O Day of Rest and Gladness . Christopher Wordsworth . 541 Ode in May . William Watson . 246 Ode to Duty . William Wordsworth ... 634 Ode, Intimations of Immortality, From . William Wordsworth ... 731 CEdipus Rex, Chorus from . Sophocles . 474 Of an Old Song . Wm. E. H. Lecky . 10 Of an Orchard . Katharine Tynan Hinkson 252 Of One Self-Slain . Charles Hanson Towne.. 693 Oh God, Our Help in Ages Past . Isaac Watts . 514 Oh, May I Join the Choir Invisible . George Eliot . 707 O Little Town of Bethlehem . Phillips Brooks . 547 O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go . George Matheson . 553 O Master, Let Me Walk with Thee . Washington Gladden ... 553 O Mother Dear, Jerusalem . “F. B. P.” . 503 O Paradise! O Paradise! . F. W. Faber . 745 O Thou Eternal One! . Dersliavin ( Bowring ) ... 435 O Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud ?. William Knox . 621 Omnia Exeunt in Mysterium . George Sterling . 729 Omnipresence . Edward Everett Hale... 229 On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity . John Milton . 327 Onward, Christian Soldiers . Sabine Baring-Gould ... 544 Opportunity . Edward Rowland Sill... 625 Ordeal by Fire, From the . Clarence E. Stedman... 582 Other World, The . . . Harriet Beecher Stowe.. 767 Our Dead . . Robert Nichols . 723 Our Master . John G. Whittier . 543 Out in the Fields with God . E. B. Brozvning . 249 Over-Heart, The . John G. Whittier . 138 Over the Great City . Edward Carpenter . 389 P Pagan Prayer . Paradise . Passage to India, From . Path of the Stars, The . Pauline, From . Peace . . . Peace . Peace, Perfect Peace . . . Peaks, The . Peasant Poet, The . Penitential Psalm, From (two selections) Pilgrim, The . Pilgrim Fathers, The . Pilgrim’s Song . Pilgrim’s Song, The (Psalm CXXI) . Pillar of the Cloud, The . Pippa Passes, Song from . Alice Brown . 421 Christina Rossetti . 753 Walt Whitman . 136 Thomas S. Jones, Jr.... 273 Robert Browning . 29 Rupert Brooke . 698 Henry Vaughan . 759 Edward H. Bickersteth . . 551 Stephen Crane . 409 John Clare . 3 Babylonia (2000? B.C .) . 465, 467 Richard Wightman . 629 Leonard Bacon . 531 Bernard Ingemann . 545 Moulton’ s Modern Readers’ Bible . 576 John Henry Newman... 443 Robert Browninz . 221 794 INDEX OF TITLES Pisgah . Willard Wattles . Place of Rest, The . George Russell (A. E.) . . Plan of Salvation, The (From Paradise Lost) .. .John Milton . Ploughman, The . Karle Wilson Baker .... Poet, From The . Ralph W. Emerson . Poet, The . . Joel Benton . Poet, The . E. B. Browning . Poet, The . Witter Bynner . Poet, The . . Amy Lowell . Poet, The . Edward Markham . Poet, The . . . Angela Morgan . Poet, The . Yone Noguchi . Poetry . Ella Heath . Poets . Joyce Kilmer . Poet’s Call, The . Thomas Curtis Clark . . . Poet’s Prayer, The . Stephen Phillips . Poet’s Simple Faith, The . . . Victor Hugo . Prayer . Gilbert K. Chesterton . . . Prayer . Thomas Ellwood . Prayer . Harry Kemp . Prayer (From Idylls of the King) . Alfred Tennyson . Prayer . . . Richard C. Trench . Prayer . Louis Untermyer . Prayer . Henry van Dyke . Prayer . Thomas Washburne .... Prayer, A . John Drinkwater . Prayer, A . William Dean Howells... Prayer, A . . . Edwin Markham . Prayer, The (In Memoriam, CXXXI) . Alfred Tennyson . Prayer before Execution . Mary Queen of Scots ... Prayer for Pain . John G. Neihardt . Prayer for Rain . Kalevala ( From Finnish) Prayer in Prospect of Death, A . . . Robert Burns . Prayer of Columbus . Walt Whitman . Prayer of the Peoples, A . Percy Mackaye . Prayer to the Mountain Spirit . Navajo Indians ( Cronyn ) Present, The . Adelaide A. Proctor .... Present Crisis, The . James Russell Lowell . . Priest or Poet . *. . Shane Leslie . Problem, The . Ralph W. Emerson . Prometheus Bound, The Wail of . AEschylus (E. B. Brown¬ ing) . Proofs of Buddha’s Existence . Anonymous . Prophet, The . Alexander Pushkin . Prospice . Robert Brozvning . Providence . Cale Young Rice . Providence . iWilliam Cowper . Psalm of the Early Buddhist Sisters, A . Buddhist Sisters . Psalm XIX . Joseph Addison . PAGE 585 726 93 568 225 1 3 345 1 1 12 23 13 9 9 4 424 196 449 422 447 414 416 458 429 416 440 447 254 438 439 456 454 439 458 45i 456 643 642 398 1 7 569 84 13 670 300 181 3i 270 INDEX OF TITLES Psalms XXIII, XXVII, XCIII . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . Pygmalion . Hilda Doolittle . . 795 TAGB 91-93 146 Question Whither, The Q George Meredith 720 R Rabbi ben Ezra . Reality . Reality . Reality . Realization . Real Presence . Rebel, The (From) . Recessional . Redeemer, The . Redeemer, The . Refuge, The (Psalm XLVI) . Refracted Lights . Religio Laici (From) . . Religion and Doctrine . Religious Musings . Rendezvous, The . Renunciation . Reply of Socrates . Republic, The . Requiem . Resolve . . . Restless Heart, The . . Resurgam . Resurgam . Revelation . Revelation . Right Use of Prayer, The . Rise, Crowned with Light, Imperial Salem Rise ! . . . Ritual Not Religion . Rocked in the Cradle of the Deep . Rock of Ages . Rubaiyat, The (Two selections from) . Rugby Chapel . Robert Browning . Sir Aubrey de V ere .... Frances R. Havergal . . . Angela Ad organ . Sri Ananda Acharya ... Ivan Adair . Irene Rutherford McLeod Rudyard Kipling . Siegfried Sassoon . William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod ) . Moulton’ s Modern Readers’ Bible . Celia Parker Wooley .... John Dry den . John Hay . Samuel Taylor Coleridge Alan Seeger . Mark Wilks Call . Edith M. Thomas . Henry W. Longfellow . . Robert Louis Stevenson . . Charlotte P. Gilman .... Marat ha Saints . Anonymous . Emily Dickinson . Alice Brown . Edwin Markham . Sir Aubrey de V ere .... Alexander Pope . Telugu (E. Indian ) .... Emma Willard . ■ Augustus M. Toplady... ■ Omar Khayyam ( Fitz¬ gerald . 60, .Matthezv Arnold . 357 126 325 158 613 283 212 558 352 133 574 54 iox 637 100 727 i45 633 646 729 630 509 661 674 220 40 410 5i3 642 279 521 7i3 665 S Saints in Glory, The . Dante (Cary) . Salutation to Jesus Christ . John Calvin . Saul . Robert Browning . Say Not the Struggle Naught Availeth . Arthur Hugh Clough . . . 738 501 119 700 796 INDEX OF TITLES PAGE Scotch Te Deum . 502 Search, The . • • • 33 Search, The (Psalm XLII) , Readers’ Bible . . . . 50 Searcher of Hearts Is Thy Maker, The (Psalm CXXXIX) . Readers’ Bible . . . . 289 Second Crucifixion . • • • 347 Second Seeing . 324 Secret Garden, The . 260 Seeds . 686 Seeker, The . • . 142 Seekers, The . . 66 Seekers, The . 79 Seekers, The . . 68 Seeking God . , 34 Self-Dependence . 607 Sense and Spirit . 215 Servants, The . 629 Shepherd Boy Sings, The 619 Silence . • . • 276 Sleep, The . 723 Smooth Divine, The . 369 Some Blesseds . . . 640 Some Keep Sunday Going to Church... 223 Song Making . 15 Song of a Heathen, The. . , 323 Song of Derivations, A. . . . 721 Song of Doubt, A . 195 Song of Faith, A . 195 Song of Myself (Two selections) (From Leaves of Grass) . . .269, 309 Song of the Unsuccessful, The . 615 Songs of Kabir (E. Indian) (Two Selections) ... Kabir ( Tagore ) . 29s Songs of the Birds, The... • • • 267 Song to David . . 95 Sonnet on His Blindness . 597 Sonnets, From (Two Selections) . 213 Sons of Martha, The . 617 Sorrow . • • • 577 Sorrow . 598 Sorrow . 596 Sorrows Humanize Our Race.. . 578 Soul’s Bitter Cry, The. . . • • • 488 Soul’s Errand, The . 648 Sovereign Poet, The . 15 Sovereign Poets . 12 Spires of Oxford, The.... , , 775 INDEX OF TITLES 797 PAGE Stabat Mater . Jacobus de Benedictis . . . 483 Stains . 772 Stream of Faith, The... 193 Strength, Love, Light. . 493 Strip of Blue, A . 236 Stupid Old Body, The.. 608 Substitution . 568 Sun-Day Hymn, A . 539 Supersensual . .306 Supreme Sacrifice, The. 567 Te Deum Laudamus. . . 1 482 Tears . 590 Test of Manhood, From the. . . . 131 Thanatopsis . 696 Thanksgiving to God, A 445 That Holv Thing . 327 The Lord God Planted a Garden 259 Theophany . 307 The Poet . I There Is a Green Hill Far Away, 536 There Is No Unbelief... 188 They Went Forth to Battle but They Always Fell . 589 There Were Ninety and Nine . . . . 548 Thirst . . . . . , 674 Thou Art Coming . 550 Thou Art of All Created 1 Things, S06 Thought . 5 Thrice Holy . 529 Thy Kingdom Come . 557 Thy Kingdom Come, 0 Lord. . . , 560 Thy Kingdom, Lord, We : Long For .... 561 Tide of Faith, The . 190 Tiger, The . . 265 ’Tis Sorrow Builds the Shining Ladder Up. . .James Russell Lowell. . . . 579 To a Contemporary Bunkshooter. 350 To a Daisy . 260 To a Dog . 268 To a Sacred Cow . 454 To a Waterfowl . 266 Today . 623 To Finde God . 61 To God . 183 To Night . 694 To the Brave Soul . 589 To The Christians . 342 To The Christians . 614 To the Ocean (From Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage) Lord Byron . 277 798 INDEX OF TITLES To Truth . Tragedy of Pompey the Great, The Transcendence . . Traveller, A . Trees . Trees and the Chaff, The (Psalm I) Troubadour of God, The . True Heaven, The . True Knowledge . Truth . Two Mysteries . Two Prayers . . PAGE Solomon, Ode XXXVIII of 4 77 John Masefield . 718 Richard Hovey . 231 Anonymous . 661 Joyce Kilmer . 253 Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible . 628 Chas. Wharton Stork . . 563 Paul Hayne . 773 Panatattu ( East Indian ) 88 John Masefield . 719 Mary Mapes Dodge .... 674 Charlotte P. Gilman .... 442 U Unanswered Prayers Unbeliever, An . Unity of God, The . . Universal Prayer, The Unknown God, The . , Unknown God, The . , Uphill . Unmanifest Destiny . Ella Wheeler Wilcox ... 418 Anna Hempstead Branch. 57 Panatattu ( East Indian ) 87 Alexander Pope . 425 George Wm. Russell (A. E .) 41 William Watson . 171 .Christina Rossetti . 754 Richard Hovey . 645 V Veni Creator . Veni Creator Spiritus . Vespers . . . Vestigia . Via, Veritas, et Vita . Vicarious Atonement . Victory . Village Parson, The (From The Deserted Village) . Virile Christ, A . Virtue . Vision of Sir Launfal, From the . Vision of the Day of the Judgment . Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam . Vita Nuova, From . Voice of God, The . Voluntaries, From . Voyager's Prayer, A . Bliss Carman . Charlemagne . . S. Weir Mitchell . Bliss Carman . Alice Meynell . Richard Aldington . . . . Australian Soldier . Oliver Goldsmith . Rex Boundy . George Herbert . James Russell Lowell . . Isaiah LXIII ( Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible ) Ernest Dowson . Dante ( G . C. D. Ros¬ setti) . James Stephens . Ralph Waldo Emerson. . Chippewa Indians ( Tan¬ ner] ) . 43i 489 685 32 78 448 209 37i 344 627 373 746 705 74i 243 286 453 INDEX OF TITLES w 799 PAGE Wail of Prometheus Bound, The (tr. by Eliz. B. Browning) . JEscJiyhis . Waiting . John Burroughs . Waldeinsamkeit . Ralph Waldo Emerson. Wanderer’s Litany, A . Arthur Stringer . Wandering Lunatic Mind, The . Edward Carpenter . Water Mill, The . Sara Doudney . 569 187 226 583 609 ■ . 623 Way, the Truth, and the Life, The . Theodore Parker . 334 What is Prayer? . James Montgomery . 410 What Tomas an Buile Said in a Pub . James Stephens . 164 When I Survey the Wondrous Cross . Isaac Watts . 512 Where Lies the Land? . Arthur Hugh Clough... 765 Where Runs the River? . Francis Bourdillon .... 696 Whisperer, The . James Stephens . 243 Who Bids Us Sing? . Rhys Carpenter . 16 Who by Searching Can Find God? . Eliza Scudder . Who Follows in His Train? . Reginald Heber . Who Never Ate with Tears His Bread? . Goethe . Wild Knight, The . Gilbert K. Chesterton . Within and Without, From . George MacDonald ... With Whom Is No Variableness . Arthur Hugh Clough .. Woodnotes, From . Ralph Waldo Emerson. Word, The . Richard Realf . World, The . Henry Vaughan . World Is Too Much with Us, The . William Wordsworth .. World of Light, The . Henry Vaughan . 4i 381 578 58 297 190 126 239 760 248 762 Zoroaster Devoutly Questions Ormazd . Zoroaster 55 ' , , . . . . . * - . . • • • hi' ■■ X . INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Abercrombie, Lascelles . The Seeker . 142 A chary a Ananda, Sri . My Faith . . 208 Acharya Ananda, Sri . Realization . 613 Adair, Ivan . Real Presence . 283 Adams, Francis P . To the Christians . . 342 Adams, Sarah Flower . Nearer, My God, to Thee . 533 Addison, Joseph . Psalm XIX . 270 AJschylus (525-456 B.C .) . Hymn to Zeus (Chorus from Agamem¬ non) . 473 JEschylus ( tr . by E. B. Browning) .The Wail of Prometheus Bound . 569 Adler, Felix . Hail, the Glorious Golden City! . 770 Aldington, Richard . Vicarious Atonement . 448 Alexander, Cecil F . There Is a Green Hill Far Away.... 536 Alford, Henry . Harvest Home . . 534 Anonymous . Adeste Fidelis . 519 Anonymous . A Traveller . 66 1 Anonymous . Missing . 695 Anonymous ..( Bible ) . Te Deum Laudamus, 482; Magnificat, 481; Gloria in Excelsis, 480; Nunc Dimittis, 481; De Profundis . 480 Anonymous ( From German ) . Fairest Lord Jesus . 505 Anonymous . Jerusalem, My Happy Home . 735 Anonymous . Resurgam . 661 Anonymous . . Out in the Fields With God . 249 Anonymous ( Old High German, 10 th Century, A.D.) (tr. by IV. Taylor) . . . A Good Bishop . 356 Anonymous (From French) (tr. by Percy Allen) . A Mystic Song . Anonymous (Assyrian, 2000 B.C.) Hymn to Marduk . 463, Anonymous (Babylonian, 2000 B.C.) . Penitential Psalm (Two Selections) . 465, Anonymous (Egyptian, 1700? B.C.)Hymn to Amen Ra, the Sun God.... Anonymous . Proofs of Buddha’s Existence . Arkwright, John S . The Supreme Sacrifice . 567 Arnold, Edwin . After Death in Arabia . 663 Arnold, Matthew . Calm Soul of All Things . 388 Arnold, Matthew . Desire . 419 801 506 464 467 468 84 8o 2 INDEX OF AUTHORS Arnold, Matthew Arnold, Matthew Arnold, Matthew Australian Soldier PAGE Rugby Chapel . 665 East London . 388 Self-Dependence . 607 Victory . 209 B Babcock , Maltbie . Death . 670 Bacon, Leonard . The Pilgrim Fathers . 531 Baker, Karle Wilson . Creeds . 63^ Baker,, Karle Wilson . The Ploughman . 568 Baker, Karle Wilson . Good Company . 251 Baring-Gould, Sabine . Child’s Evening Hymn . 546 Baring-Gould, Sabine . Onward, Christian Soldiers . 544 Barrett, Wilson Agnew . A New England Church . 394 Bates, Katharine Lee . America the Beautiful . 559 Bates, Katharine Lee . The Kings of the East . 342 Bede, The Venerable (735 A.D.)...A Hymn . 487 Benet, William Rose . The Falconer of God . 55 Benton, Joel . The Poet . 1 Bernard of Clairvaux (1150 A.D .) Jesus, Thou Joy of Loving Hearts... 494 Bernard of Cluny (1145 A.D.) ....Jerusalem the Golden . 736 Bickersteth, E. H . Peace, Perfect Peace . 551 Binney, Thomas . Eternal Light! . 527 Blake, James Vila . In Him . 283 Blake, William . From Milton . . 614 Blake, William . Auguries of Innocence . 263 Blake, William . The Bard . 2 Blake, William . The Divine Image . 284 Blake, William . The Lamb . 264 Blake, William . To the Christians . 614 Blake, William . The Tiger . 265 Blind, Mathilde . The Dead . 696 Bolton, Sarah K . The Inevitable . 586 Booth, Eva Gore . Crucifixion . 343 Booth, Eva Gore . The Harvest . 285 Bourdillon, Francis W . From A Lost God . 2 Bourdillon, Francis W . Where Runs the River? . 696 Boundy, Rex . A Virile Christ . 344 Bowring, Sir John . In the Cross of Christ I Glory . 527 Bradford, Gamaliel . God . 57 Branch, Anna Hempstead . An Unbeliever . 57 Bronte, Anne . The Doubter’s Prayer . 186 Bronte, Emily . Last Lines . 697 Brooke, Rupert . Death . 698 Brooke, Rupert . Heaven . 764 Brooke, Rupert . Peace . 698 Brooke, Stopford . Courage . 586 Brooks, Phillips . O Little Town of Bethlehem . 547 Brown, Alice . Pagan Prayer . 421 Brown, Alice . Hora Christi . 219 INDEX OF MJTHORS 803 Brown, Alice . Brown, Thomas Edward . . Brown, Thomas Edward . Brozvning, E. B . Browning, E. B . . . Browning, E. B . Browning, E. B. . . Browning, Robert . . . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Browning, Robert . Bryant, William Cullen . Bryant , William Cullen . Buddhist Sisters . Bunyan, John . Buonarotti, Michelangelo ( tr . by Wm. Wordsworth ) . Burns, Robert . Burns, Robert . Burroughs, John . Burton, Richard . Burton, Richard . Bynner, Witter . Bynner, Witter . r. . Bynner, Witter . Byron, Lord . . . Byron, Lord . Byron, Lord . PAGE . Revelation . 220 Disguises • . 220 My Garden . 254 .From Aurora Leigh . 105 . Substitution . 568 . The Sleep . 723 . The Poet . . . 3 . Abt Vogler . 107 .Caliban Upon Setebos . m .A Grammarian’s Funeral . 70 . Karshish, the Arab Physician . 310 .The Awakening of Man (From Para¬ celsus, Pt. V) . 30 .From Pauline . 29 . Prospice . 670 . Rabbi ben Ezra . 357 .'Saul . 1 19 . Song from Pippa Passes . 221 . Thanatopsis . 699 .To a Waterfowl . 266 .A Psalm of the Early, . 31 .The Shepherd Boy Sings . 619 .For Inspiration . 452 .From The Cotter’s Saturday Night.. 385 .A Prayer in Prospect of Death . 439 .Waiting . 187' .God’s Garden . 255 • The Song of the Unsuccessful . 615 .The New God . 144 . Ecce Homo . 143 . The Poet . 345 . The Destruction of Sennacherib . 377 .To the Ocean (From Childe Harold’s Pilgrimage) . 277 .The Immortal Mind . 701 Call, Mark Wilks , Calvin, John . Carman, Bliss . . . Carman, Bliss . . . Carman, Bliss . . . Carlyle, Thomas . . Carlyle, Thomas . Carpenter, Edward Carpenter, Ediuard Carpenter, Edward C Renunciation . Salutation to Jesus Christ Veni Creator . The Heretic . Vestigia . Cui Bono? . Today . Among the Ferns . • Have Faith . Love’s Vision . 145 501 43i 222 32 587 623 •255 20Q 387 8o4 INDEX OF AUTHORS Carpenter, Edward . Over the Great City . . Carpenter, Edward . The Songs of the Birds . Carpenter, Edward . . The Stupid Old Body . Carpenter, Edward . The Wandering Lunatic Mind . Carpenter, Rhys . Who Bids Us Sing? . Carpenter, Rhys . The Master Singers . Carruth, William Herbert . Each in His Own Tongue . Cary, Alice . My Creed . Cary, Phoebe . Nearer Home . Case, Elizabeth York . There Is No Unbelief . Cawein, Madison . Attainment . Celano, Thomas of . Dies Irae . Cennick, John . . . Children of the Heavenly King ..... Chadwick, John White . Auld Lang Syne . Charlemagne (800 A.D.c .) . Veni Creator Spiritus . Chaucer (tr. by H. C. Leonard) ..The Good Parson . Cheney, Ednah D . The Larger Prayer . Cheney, John Vance . The Happiest Heart . Chesterton, G. K . Home at Last . . . Chesterton, G. K . Holy of Holies . Chesterton, G. K . The Wild Knight . Chesterton, G. K . The Donkey . Chesterton, G. K . Prayer . Chippewa Indians (tr. by Tanner).. A Voyager’s Prayer . Clare, John . The Peasant Poet . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . Bugle Song of Peace . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . The Search . Clarke, Thomas Curtis . The Poet’s Call . Cleanthes (tr. by Plumptre) . Hymn to Zeus . Cleghorn, Sarah N . Comrade Jesus . Clement of Alexandria (1st cen¬ tury) . Earliest Christian Hymn of, . Clephane, Elizabeth C . There Were Ninety and Nine . Clifford, Ethel . The Harp of Sorrow . Clough, Arthur Hugh . Hope Evermore and Believe . Clough, Arthur Hugh . Say Not the Struggle Naught Avail- eth . . . Clough, Arthur Hugh . The Latest Decalogue . Clough, Arthur Hugh . Where Lies the Land? . Clough, Arthur Hugh . With Whom Is No Variableness .... Coleridge, Samuel Taylor . Hymn Before Sunrise in the Vale of Chamounix . Coleridge, Samuel Taylor . Religious Musings . Colton, Arthur . Harps Hung Up in Babylon . Corbin, Alice (see Henderson) ....Nodes . Cowper, William . Providence . Cowper, William . Fragment . Craik, Dinah Mulock . Now and Afterwards . Cranch, Christopher Pearse . Thought . PAGE 389 267 608 609 16 16 145 636 570 188 603 73 5i7 671 489 363 421 619 771 258 58 268 449 453 3 771 33 4 433 345 478 548 597 189 700 395 765 190 274 100 626 290 181 4 703 5 INDEX OF AUTHORS 805 PAGE Crane, Stephen . „ . The Peaks . 409 Crashaw, Richard . The Holy Nativity of Our Lord God 317 Crashaw, Richard . Hymn to St. Teresa . 364 Croly, George . Death and Resurrection . 737 D Dana, Richard Henry . . Dante ( tr . by Cary ) . . Dante ( tr . by Longfellow) . Dante (tr. by Rossetti ) . Davies, Mary Carolyn . . Davies, William Hdnry . Dawson, William James . de Aldana, Francisco . de Benedictis, Jacobus . de la Barca, Pedro Calderon . . . . Deland, Margaret . de Long, Juanita . Demarest, Mary Lee . Derzhavin ( tr . by Sir John Bow¬ ring) . de Vere, Sir Aubrey . de Vere, Sir Aubrey . de Vere, Sir Aubrey . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . . . . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Dickinson, Emily . Doddridge, Philip . Dodge, Mary Mapes . Domett, Alfred . Donne, John . Doolittle, Hilda {Mrs. Richard Aldington) . Doudney, Sara . Dowden, Edward . Dowden, Mrs. Edward ( Elizabeth Dickinson West) . Doiuson, Ernest . Drinkwater , John . Driscoll, Louise . Driscoll, Louise . Dryden, John . Immortality . The Saints in Glory . The Celestial Pilot . From Vita Nuova . Feet . Christ the Man . Inspirations . The Image of God . Stabat Mater . Thou Art of All Created Things.... Life . My Hereafter . My Ain Countree . O Thou Eternal One! . Sorrow . The Right Use of Prayer . Reality . Death . . . Death . Chartless . Some Keep Sunday Going to Church The Chariot . The Child’s Question . Thirst . Resurgam . . . . . Sorrow . Awake, My Soul! . Two Mysteries . A Christmas Hymn . For Forgiveness . Pygmalion . The Water Mill . Seeking God . Adrift . . Vitae Summa Brevis Spem Nos Vetat Incohare Longam . A Prayer . Epitaph . God’s Pity . From Reli.^io Laici . 703 738 740 741 34 346 6 90 483 506 285 704 743 435 577 410 126 673 673 744 223 672 745 674 674 598 520 674 321 453 146 623 34 190 705 440 706 588 iox 8o6 INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Dwight, Timothy . The Smooth Divine . 369 Dyer, Sir Edward . My Minde to Me a Kingdom Is,... 610 E East Indian Toda . East Indian (1469 A.D .) East Indian . Eastman, Max . Eastman, Max . Eliot, George . Eliot, George . Eller ton, John . Ellerton, John . Ellwood, Thomas . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph IV. . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph W . . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . • Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph IV. . . . Emerson, Ralph W . . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . Emerson, Ralph W. . . . .To a Sacred Cow . . From Nanak ami the Sikhs . . See Buddhist Sisters, Section II, a. . At the Aquarium . • Invocation . . Oh, May I Join the Choir Invisible .The Tide of Faith . . The God of the Living . .Now the Labourer’s Task Is O’er.. . Prayer . . Boston Hymn . . Brahma . • Each and All . .Good-bye, Proud World . • Forbearance . . . . The Informing Spirit . . The Bohemian Hymn . .The Problem . .Music . . From Voluntaries . . Waldeinsamkeit . . From Woodnotes . 454 497 59 438 707 190 675 549 422 378 igr 192 224 224 286 128 17 225 286 226 126 F “E B P ” Faber, Frederick W. Faber, Frederick W. Firdausi ( Persian ) . . . Fletcher, Giles . Foss, Sam Walter Foss, Sam Walter Frank, Florence Kiper Foulke, Dudley . Foulke, Dudley . Fuller, Margaret . . O Mother Dear, Jerusalem . . God, Our Father . . O Paradise! O Paradise! . . The Dream . . Excellency of Christ . . The House by the Side of the Road.. . The Higher Catechism . . The Jew to Jesus . . . . The City’s Crown . . Life’s Evening . . Dryad Song . 503 536 745 6 323 620 73 347 390 708 6 77 G Gale, Norman . The Country Faith . 250 Gale, Norman . Child of Loneliness . 34 Gannett, Wm, Channing . Consider the Lilies . 258 Gannett, Wm. Channing . The Highway . 350 Gannett, Wm. Channing . The Stream of Faith . 193 Garland, Hamlin . The Cry of the Age . 441 Garrison, Theodosia . Stains . 772 INDEX OF AUTHORS Gerhardt, Paul . Courage . » . Gibson , Wilfrid W . Inspiration . Gilder, Richard W . How to the Singer Comes the Song? Gilder, Richard W . The Invisible . Gilder, Richard W . Call Me Not Dead . Gilder, Richard W . The Song of a Heathen . Gilder, Jeanette . My Creed . Gilman, Charlotte P . A Common Inference . Gilman, Charlotte P . Resolve . Gilman, Charlotte P . Give Way! . Gilman, Charlotte P . The Living God . Gilman, Charlotte P . Two Prayers . Gilmore, Joseph Henry . He Leadeth Me . Gladden, Washington . O Master Let Me Walk with Thee... Goethe . Easter Chorus from Faust . . Goethe . Who Never Ate^with Tears His Bread Golding, Louis . Second Seeing . Goldsmith, Oliver . The Village Parson (From The De¬ serted Village) . Gould, Gerald . The Happy Tree . Grant, Sir Robert . Majesty and Mercy of God . Gregh, Fernand . Doubt . Gregory, The Great (600 A.D.c.) .. Morning Hymn . Guiney, Louise Imogen . Out in the Fields with God . Guiterman, Arthur . In the Hospital . Gurney , Dorothy Frances . The Lord God Planted a Garden.... Gustavus Adolphus . Battle Hymn . Guyon, Madame . A Little Bird I Am . Guy on, Madame . . «... Adoration . . . 807 PAGE 593 7 8 272 677 323 637 *47 630 148 128 442 538 553 323 578 324 37i 251 104 194 487 249 2x0 259 504 182 5i2 H Hale, Edward Everett . . . Hale, Edward Everett . . . Hardy, Thomas . Hardy, Thomas . Hardy, Thomas . Haver gal, Frances Ridley Haver gal, Frances Ridley Hay, John . Hay, John . Hayne, Paul Hamilton . Heath, Ella . Heber, Reginald . Heber, Reginald . Heber, Reginald . Heber, Reginald . Henderson, Alice Corbin . Henley, William Ernest . Henley, William Ernest . Omnipresence . The Nameless Saints . Agnosto Theo . God’s Funeral . The Impercipient . Thou Art Coming! . Reality . Not in Dumb Resignation . Religion and Doctrine . The True Heaven . Poetry . Brightest and Best of the Sons of the Morning . Thrice Holy . Who Follows in His Train? . From Greenland’s Icy Mountains.... Nodes . Invictus . '. Margaritse Sorori . 229 631 149 149 396 550 325 556 637 773 9 525 529 381 526 290 588 725 8o8 INDEX OF AUTHORS Herbert, George . Herbert, George . Herrick, Robert . Herrick, Robert . Herrick, Robert . H eywood, Thomas . Hey wood, Thomas . Hinkson, Katharine T . Hinkson, Katharine T . Hinkson, Katharine T . Hodgson, Ralph . Hodgson, William Noel . Holland, Josiah G . Holland, Josiah G . Holland, Josiah G . Holley, Horace . . Holmes, O. W. . . Holmes, O. W . Holmes, O. W . Hosmer, F. L . Hosmer, F. L . Hosmer, F. L . Hosmer, F. L . Housman, Laurence . Housman, Laurence . Hovey, Richard . Hovey, Richard . Hovey, Richard . Howell, Elizabeth Lloyd . Howells, Win. D- . Howells, Wm. D . Howe, Wm. Walsham . Howe, Julia Ward . Hugo, Victor ( tr . by W. J. Robertson ) . Hugo, Victor . Hunt, Leigh . The Elixir . . . Virtue . A Thanksgiving to God . To Finde God . To God . . Hierarchie of the Blessed Angel, From From The Cherubim . Of an Orchard . The Epitaph . The Flying Wheel . The Mystery . Before Action . Gradatim . A Song of Doubt . A Song of Faith . . The Hill . The Chambered Nautilus . The Living Temple . A Sun-Day Hymn . My Dead . Thy Kingdom Come . Thy Kingdom Come, O Lord . The Indwelling God . The Continuing City . From All Fellows . Immanence . Transcendence . Unmanifest Destiny . Miltom’s Prayer for Patience . A Prayer . Faith . Funeral Hymn . Battle Hymn of the Republic . The Age Is Great and Strong . The Poet’s Simple Faith . Abou ben Adhem . Ibsen, Hendrik (tr. by Herford ) Ingelow, Jean . Ingelozv, Jean . Ingemann, Bernard (tr. by S. Baring-Gould ) . Iroquois Indians (tr. by E. S. Parker ) . Isaiah (Moulton’ s Modern Readers’ Bible, LXII1) . I Brand Speaks . Longing for Home . Sorrows Humanize Our Race . Pilgrim’s Song . A Dance Chant . Vision of the Day of Judgment PAGE 442 627 445 61 183 35 291 252 229 !'83 77 450 77 195 195 38 604 292 539 709 557 560 294 774 372 230 231 645 19 447 196 542 644 382 196 616 130 677 578 545 555 746 INDEX OF AUTHORS 809 T PAGE Jackson , Helen Hunt . Jackson, Helen Hunt . . Habeas Corpus . . Doubt . Job {Moulton’ s Modern Readers’ Bible, XI, 7-8) . Job {Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Bible, XIV , 1-1 2; XIX, 25-27). Johnson, Samuel . Johnson, Samuel . Jones, Thomas S., Jr . Jordan, David Starr . . Job’s Comforters . . Immortality . . City of God . . Inspiration . . The Path of the Stars . .Men Told Me, Lord . K K., in Rippon’s Selections . Kabir (1440 A.D.) { tr . by Rabin¬ dranath Tagore) . Kalevala { Finnish ) . Keller, Helen . Kemp, Harry . Kemp, Harry . Kemp, Harry . . . Kerr, Watson . Kethe, William . * . Khayyam, Omar {tr. by Fitz¬ gerald) . Kilmer, Joyce . . Kilmer, Joyce . Kipling, Rudyard . Kipling, Rudyard . . Kipling, Rudyard . Knox, William . K., E. H . How Firm a Foundation . 524 Two Songs . 231, 295 Prayer for Rain . 454 In the Garden of the Lord . 373 He Did Not Know . 679 God the Architect . 2 ir Prayer . 447 The Ancient Thought . 232 Scotch Te Deum . 502 From The Rubaiyat (selections) 60, 713 Trees . 253 Poets . 9 L’Envoi . 715 The Recessional . 558 The Sons of Martha . 617 O Why Should the Spirit of Mortal Be Proud? . 621 The City Church . 397 L Lanier, Sidney . Lanier, Sidney . Larcom, Lucy . Lathbury, Mary A. . . Lawrence, D. H. ... Lazarus , Emma . Lea, Fanny Heaslip . Lecky, Win. E. H. . Lee-Hamilton, Eugene le Gallienne , Richard Leslie, Shane . Letts, Winifred W. . A Ballad of Trees and the Master . . . The Marshes of Glynn . A Strip of Blue . The Day Is Dying in the West . Dreams Old and Nascent (From Amores) . Gifts . The Dead Faith . Of an Old Song . My Own Hereafter . The Second Crucifixion . Priest or Poet . . The Spires of Oxford . 253 233 236 552 152 422 212 10 716 347 398 775 8io INDEX OF AUTHORS Lindsay, Vachel . Lindsay, Vachel . Longfellow, Henry W. Longfellow, Henry W. Longfellow, Samuel . . . Longfellow, Samuel . . . Lowell, Amy . Lowell, Amy . Lowell, James R . Lowell, James R . Lowell, James R . Lowell, James R . Luther, Martin . Lyall, Sir Alfred C. . . . Lynch, Thomas T . Lyte, Henry F . PAGE General William Booth Enters Heaven . 747 I Went Down into the Desert to Meet Elijah . 6 2 The Fate of the Prophets (From The Divine Tragedy) . n The Republic . 646 The Church Universal . 556 The Christian Life . 594 Fragment . 22 The Poet . 1 1 The Present Crisis . 642 From The Vision of Sir Launfal .... 3 73 ’Tis Sorrow Builds the Shining Lad¬ der Up . 597 God Is Not Dumb (From Bibliolaters) 22 .Hymn . 498 Meditations of a Hindu Prince . 63 Lift Up Your Heads, Rejoice! . 537 Abide with Me . 535 M MacDonald, George . From Within and Without MacDonald, George . Obedience . . MacDonald, George . That Holy Thing . MacDonald, George . Epitaph . MacDonald, George . Lost and Found . Mackaye, Percy . A Prayer of the Peoples . . Macleod, Fiona (see Sharp, William) McLeod, Irene Rutherford . From The Rebel . McLeod, Norman . A Creed . MacManus, Seumas . In Dark Hour . Martha Saints (E. Indian 1608- 1649) . The Restless Heart . Markham, Markham, Markham, Markham, Markham, Edwin . A Guard of the Sepulcher . Edwin . A Prayer . Edwin . The Man with the Hoe . Edwin . The Poet . Edwin . Revelation . Marquis, Don . The God-Maker, Man . . . , ,, Massey, Gerald B . His Banner Over Me . Masefield , John . The Seekers . Masefield , John . From the Tragedy of Pompey the Great Masefield, John . A Creed . Masefield, John . From The Everlasting Mercy . Masefield, John . Sonnets . , . Masefield, John . Truth . Mary Queen of Scots . Prayer before Execution . Matheson, George . O Love That Wilt Not Let Me Go... 297 632 327 455 39 45i .212 639 595 509 349 • 254 375 12 40 154 57i 66 718 716 718 213 719 439 553 INDEX OF AUTHORS 8n Meredith, George . Meredith, George . Meredith, George . «... Meredith, George . Merrill, Win. Pierson . Meynell, Alice . Meynell, Alice . . Meynell, Alice . Mifflin, Lloyd . . . . . . Miller, Joaquin . Milton, John . Milton, John . Milton, John . . Milton, John . Milton, John ....... . Milton, John . Mitchell, S. Weir . Modern Chinese . Monro, Harold . Montgomery, James . Moody, William Vaughn. . Moody, William Vaughn. . Moore Thomas . Morgan, Angela . Morgan, Angela . Morgan, Angela . Morgan, Angela . Morris, Lewis . Morris, William . Moulton’s Modern Readers’ Isaiah . Job . Job . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . Psalm . . . The Question Whither . . The Test of Manhood . . Sense and Spirit . . From A Faith on Trial . . Festal Song . . To a Daisy . . A Song of Derivations . ...... Via, Veritas, et Vita . . . Sovereign Poets . . The Fortunate Isles . . Adam’s Morning Hymn . . Let Us with a Gladsome Mind . . On the Morning of Christ’s Nativity . Sonnet on His Blindness . . Lycidas . . The Plan of Salvation (From Para¬ dise Lost) . . Vespers . . The New Heart . . God (From Dawn) . . What is Prayer? . . . From The Fire Bringer . . From Gloucester Moors . . Come, Ye Disconsolate . . . . Reality . . God Prays ! . . . . The Poet . . Hail Man ! . . The Beginnings of Faith . . The Day is Coming . Bible : . LXIII (Vision of the Day of Judg¬ ment) . . XI, 7-8 (Job’s Comforters) . . XIV, 1-12; XIX, 25-27 (Immortality) . I (The Tree and the Chaff) . . XIX (The Heavens Above and the Law Within) . . XXIII (The Protection of Jehovah). . XXVII (The Deliverance of Jehovah) . XLII (The Search) . . XLVI (The Refuge) . . XCI (The Everlasting Arms) . . XCIII (Jehovah’s Immovable Throne) ...... CIII (Hymn of the World Within).. ...... CIV (Hymn of the World Without) . CVII (The Ocean) . . CXXI (The Pilgrim’s Song) . PAGE 720 131 215 215 564 260 721 78 12 766 509 507 327 597 680 93 685 554 156 4x0 238 647 596 158 411 23 298 197 776 746 62 711 628 271 9i 9i 50 574 575 93 287 227 278 576 812 INDEX OF AUTHORS PAGE Psalm . . CXXXIX (The Searcher of Hearts Is Thy Maker) . 289 Muhlenberg, Wm, A . Fulfillment . 528 Myers, F. W. H . . . The Inner Light . . 132 N Nairne, Lady Carolina . The Land o’ the Leal . Navajo Indian ( tr . by Cronyn ) ....Prayer to the Mountain Spirit . Neihardt, John G . Envoi . . Neihardt, John G . Prayer for Pain . . Nezvbolt, Sir Henry . The Final Mystery . Newman, John Henry . The Pillar of the Cloud . Newton, John . Glorious Things of Thee Are Spoken, Nichols, Robert . Our Dead . . Nichols, Robert . The Secret Garden , . . . . . Noguchi, Yone . The Poet . . North, Frank Mason . The City . 749 456 414 456 722 443 523 723 260 13 56i Oppenheim, James . Death . 685 Oppenheim, James . The New God . 160 O'Reilly, John Boyle . Forever . 686 0 Sheel, Shaemas . He Whom a Dream Hath Possessed.. 23 O Sheet, Shaemas . “They Went Forth to Battle but They Always Fell” . 589 Osage Indians . A Dance Chant . . 457 Oxenham, John . Some Blesseds . 640 Oxenham, John . Seeds . 686 P Paine, Albert Bigelow . . Palgrave, Francis T . Palmer, Ray . Parker, Theodore . Parkwood, Rose . Panatattu ( E . Indian, 10 th Cen¬ tury A.D.) . Panatattu ( E . Indian, 10 th Cen¬ tury A.D.) . Peabody, Josephine P . Percy, William A . Perronet, Edward . Phelps, E. Stuart . Phillips, Stephen . Phillips, Stephen . Piper, Edtvin Ford . Plummer, Mary Wright . Plunkett, Joseph Mary . Pope, Alexander . The Hills of Rest . City of God . My Faith Looks Up to Thee . The Way, the Truth, and the Life... The Garden . The Unity of God . True Knowledge . To a Dog . . . Farmers . Coronation (English Te Deum) . A Generous Creed . Grief and God . The Poet’s Prayer . The Church . Irrevocable . I See His Blood upon the Rose . From The Essay on Man . 726 778 529 334 261 87 88 268 250 522 641 572 424 398 625 262 105 INDEX OF AUTHORS Pope, Alexander ... Pope, Alexander ... Pope, Alexander . . . Proctor, Adelaide A. Proctor, Adelaide A. Proctor, Adelaide A. Pushkin, Alexander 813 PAGE Faith . 198 Rise, Crowned with Light, Imperial Salem Rise! . 153 The Universal Prayer . 425 The Lost Chord . 576 The Present . 643 Cleansing Fires . 580 The Prophet . 13 R Racine, Jean B . Chorus from Athalie . Raleigh, Sir Walter . My Pilgrimage . Raleigh, Sir Walter . The Soul’s Errand . Raleigh, Sir Walter . The Conclusion . . . Rascas, Bernard . The Love of God (From the Proven¬ cal) . Realf, Richard . The Word . Reese, Lisette Woodzvorth . Tears . Rice, Cale Young . The Mystic . Rice, Cale Young . A Litany for Latter-Day Mystics.... Rice, Cale Young . Providence . Rig-Veda, X, 129 ( East Indian).... Brahma, The World Idea . Riley, James W . Away! . Robinson, Edwin Arlington . Credo . Robinson, Edwin Arlington . Calvary . Robert of France (1000 A.D.) ....Strength, Love, Light . Romain, Jules ( tr . by Jethro Bithell) . The Church . Rossetti, Christina . Marvel of Marvels . Rossetti, Christina . Paradise . Rossetti, Christina . Uphill . Rossetti, Gabriel Charles Dante . . . Mary’s Girlhood . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . . The City . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . The Garden of God . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . The Great Breath . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . The Unknown God . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . Immortality . Russell, G. W. (A. E.) . The Place of Rest . 511 750 648 688 86 239 590 66 427 300 83 688 40 350 493 400 7 52 753 754 335 390 392 240 41 689 726 S St. Francis of Assisi (1225 A.D.) .. Canticle of the Sun . St. Francis Xavier . Hymn . St. Joseph of the Stadium (c.850 A.D) . The Finished Course . St. Teresa (1550c.) . The Life Above, the Life on High.. St. Patrick (400 A.D.c.) . The Deer’s Cry . St Thomas of Aquinas (1250 A.D.c) _ Sandburg, Carl 494 500 491 756 485 Hymn . Manufactured Gods 495 1 6 j 814 INDEX OF AUTHORS Sandburg, Carl . To a Contemporary ifunkshooter . . . . Santayana, George . Faith . . Santayana, George . Sorrow . Sarett, Lew . God Is at the Anvil . Sassoon, Siegfried . Before Day . Sassoon, Siegfried . A Mystic as Soldier . Sassoon, Siegfried . The Redeemer . Savage, Minot J . My Birth . Scheffler, Johannes . The Cherubic Pilgrim . Scudder, Elisa . Who by Searching Can Find God?.. Scudder, Vida . Thy Kingdom, Lord, We Long For. . Seeger, Alan . The Rendezvous . Seneca . The End of Being . Shakespeare, William . Cranner’s Prophecy of Queen Eliza¬ beth (From Henry VIII) . Sharp, William ( Fiona Macleod) .. .Dream Fantasy . Sharp, William ( Fiona Macleod) .. .Madonna Natura . Sharp, William ( Fiona Macleod) .. .The Mystic’s Prayer . Sharp, William ( Fiona Macleod)... The Founts of Song . Sharp, William ( Fiona Macleod)... The Redeemer . Shelley, Percy B . From Adonais . Shepard, Odell . In the Dawn . Shepard, Odell . The Hidden Weaver . Sioux Indians ( tr . by Beede) . The Land of the Evening Mirage.... Sill, Edward Rowland . The Fool’s Prayer . Sill, Edward Rowland . Opportunity . Sitwell, Oswald . How Shall We Rise to Greet the Dawn ? . . PAGE 350 216 596 241 78 161 352 689 755 4i 561 727 85 383 728 241 444 24 133 691 650 162 766 427 625 163 Sivaite Puritans fioth Century, A.D.) . Hymn of, . Smart, Christopher . Song to David . Smith, May Riley . My Uninvited Guest . Smith, Samuel F . The Morning Light Is Breaking .... Solomon, Ode VI of . Inspiration . Solomon, Ode XXXVIII . 1 . . , INDEX OF FIRST LINES A PAGB A battered, wrecked old man . Walt Whitman . 458 Abide with me. Fast falls the eventide . Henry F. Lyte . 525 Abou Ben Adhem (may his tribe increase) . Leigh Hunt . 616 Above, below, in sky and sod . John G. Whittier . 138 A curious child, who dwelt upon a tract . William Wordsworth ... 141 A fire-mist and a planet . . . . William H. Carruth .... 145 A garden is a lovesome thing, God wot! . Thomas E. Brown . 254 Ah, happy who have seen Him, whom the world. Francis W. Bourdillon .. 2 Ah, more than any priest, O soul, we too be¬ lieve in God . Walt Whitman . 136 A hymn of glory let us sing . The Venerable Bede .... 487 Alas! how full of fear . Henry W. Longfellow .. 11 Alas, my heart is black . Modern Chinese . 554 A late lark twitters from the quiet skies . William E. Henley . 725 A little bird I am . Madame Guyon . 182 All are but parts of one stupendous whole . Alexander Pope . 105 All hail the Power of Jesus’ name . Edward Perronet . 522 All night long through the starlit air and the stillness . Wilbur Underwood . 69 All over the world, I wonder, in lands that I never #have trod . Sir Alfred C. Lyall . 63 All people that on earth do dwell . William Kethe . 502 All the forms are fugitive . Ralph Waldo Emerson. . 126 All these on whom the sacred seal was set . Anna H. Branch . 57 All things that are on earth shall wholly pass away . . . Bernard Rascas . 86 All this is one . Sri Ananda Acharya .... 208 All travail of high thought . Sir Lewis Morris . 197 A mighty fortress is our God . Martin Luther . 498 And did those feet in ancient time . William Blake . 614 “And Man is left alone with Man.” ’Tis well !.. Israel Zangwill . 177 And now, behold! as at the approach of the morning . Dante . 740 A night: mysterious, tender, quiet, deep . Charlotte P. Gilman .... 147 A poet lived in Galilee . Witter Bynner . 345 As Catholics make of the Redeemer . Hendrik Ibsen . 130 As men who see a city fitly planned . Early Buddhist . 84 As on the bank the poor fish lies . Maratha Saints . 509 As the hand moves over the harp, and the strings speak . Ode VI of Solomon . 475 819 820 INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGE As the hart panteth after the water brooks . Psalm XLII . so At first I prayed for Light . Ednah D. Cheney . 421 A thousand sounds, and each a joyful sound .... Edward E. Hale . 229 At last to be identified! . Emily Dickinson . 674 At night in each others’ arms . Edward Carpenter . 387 At the cross her station keeping . Jacobus de Benedictis . . . 483 At the last, tenderly . Walt Whitman . 769 Awake my ;,oul; stretch every nerve . Philip Doddridge . 520 B Because I could not stop for Death . Emily Dickinson . 672 Because on the branch that is tapping my pane. .Arthur Guiterman . 210 Before St. Anno . Anon. ( from the German ) 356 Behold the man alive in me . .Witter Bynner . 143 Be not too certain, Life! . Horace Holley . 38 Beyond the last horizon’s rim . Albert B. Paine . 726 Beyond the murk that swallows me . Irene Rutherford McLeod 212 Blessed are they that have eyes to see . John Oxenham . 640 Blessed is the man that walketh not in the coun¬ sels of the wicked . Psalm I . 628 Bless the Lord, O my soul . Psalm CIV . 227 Bless the Lord, O my Soul . Psalm CHI . 287 Blow, bugle, blow . Thomas Curtis Clarke... 771 Blow out, you bugles, over the rich dead . Rupert Brooke . 698 Booth led boldly with his big bass drum . Vachel Lindsay . 747 Bowed by the weight of centuries, he leans . Edwin Markham . 375 Brightest and best of the sons of the morning. . Reginald Heber . 525 But I think the king of that country comes out from his tireless host . Henry van Dyke . 392 But whoso may, thrice happy man him hold . Edmund Spenser . *.. 98 By all the glories of the day . Wm. Noel Hodgson .... 450 By day the fields and meadows cry . Thomas Curtis Clarke... 4 By every ebb of the river-side . Willard Wattles . 585 By one great heart the universe is stirred . Margaret Deland . 285 By the light of burning heretics Christ’s bleed¬ ing feet I track . James Russell Loweii . . . . 642 Call me not dead when I, indeed, have gone. ... Richard Watson Gilder. Calm soul of all things! be it mine . Matthew Arnold . Canst thou by searching find out God? . Job XI . Children of the heavenly King . John Cennick . Christ is risen . Goethe . City of God, how broad and far . Samuel Johnson . Coldly descends . Matthew Arnold . Come, fill the cup, and in the fire of Spring. . . . Omar Khayyam . Come hither lads and hearken, for a tale there is to tell . . William Morris . Come in the hour to set my spirit free . Siegfried Sassoon . 677 388 62 S 1 7 323 540 665 7i3 776 28 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Come Thou almighty King . Charles Wesley . Come, we shepherds, whose blest sight . Richard Crashaw . Come, ye disconsolate, where’er you languish. ... Thomas Moore . Come, ye thankful people, come . Harry Alford . Creator Spirit, by whose aid . Charlemagne . Count each affliction, whether light or grave . Sir Aubrey de V ere . . . . Curb for the stubborn steed . Clement of Alexandria. D Darest thou now, O Soul . Walt Whitman . Darkening the azure roof of Nero’s world . William Watson .... Darkness: the rain sluiced down; the mire was deep . Siegfried Sassoon .. Day and night I wander wildly through the wil¬ derness of thought . Gamaliel Bradford . Day is dying in the west . Mary A. Lathbury . Day will return with a fresher boon . Josiah G. Holland . . Dear love, when with a two-fold mind . Laurence Housman Death is a dialogue between . Emily Dickinson ... Deep cradled in the fringed mow to lie . Evelyn Underhill .. Does the road wind uphill all the way?.... . Christina Rossetti .. Do not come when I am dead . Juanita de Long ... Do not crouch to-day and worship . .Adelaide A. Proctor Do not hurry; have faith . Edward Carpenter .. Do not pay too much attention to the stupid old Body . Edivard Carpenter .. Do not pay too much attention to the wandering lunatic Mind . Edward Carpenter .. Down in the meadow, spent with dew . Alice Brown . Down through the spheres there came the Name of One . Thomas S. Jones ... Earth to earth and dust to dust . George Croly . “Elder Father, though thine eyes . Gilbert K. Chesterton Enthroned above the world although he sit . Richard Hovey . Eternal Light! Eternal Light! . Thomas Binney . Eternal Power of earth and air! . Anne Bronte . Even such is time, that takes in trust . Sir Walter Raleigh .. Fairest Lord Jesus . .Anon. ( from the German) Far in the Heavens my God retires . Isaac Watts . Far up the dim twilight fluttered . George William Russell.. Father of all! In every age . Alexander Pope . Fear death? — to feel the fog in my throat . Robert Browning . Fear not, O little flock! the foe . Gustavus Adolphus . Fish (fly-replete, in depth of June) . Rupert Brooke . 821 PAGH 520 3i7 596 534 577 489 478 769 335 352 57 552 195 372 673 307 754 704 643 209 608 609 220 273 737 258 230 527 186 688 505 184 41 425 670 504 764 822 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Flower in the crannied wall . Alfred Tennyson . . For all the saints who from their labors rest. William W. Howe . . “For Christ’s sweet sake, I beg an alms” . James Russell Lowell . . For I know that my vindicator liveth . Job XIX . . For modes of faith let graceless Zealots fight. .. .Alexander Pope . . For those who love truly never die . John B. O’Reilly . . Fountain of Fire whom all divide . Herbert Trench . . Friendless and faint, with martyred steps and slow . Edwin A. Robinson .... Friends and loves we have none, nor wealth nor blest abode . John Masefield . . Friend, you are grieved that I should go . Karle W. Baker . From Greenland’s icy mountains . Reginald Heber . . From heart to heart, from creed to creed. ...... Wm. Channing Gannett, From morn tiH midnight all day through . Charles H. Sorley . . Full of Zeus the cities . George Wm. Russell .... PAGE 263 54^ 3 73 712 198 686 304 350 66 635 526 193 605 390 Give me my scallop-shell of quiet . Give to the winds thy fears . Give us a virile Christ for these rough days. . Glooms of the live oaks, beautiful-braided and woven . Glorious things of thee are spoken . Glory be to God on high . God, although this life is but a wraith . God and I in space alone . God, if this were enough . God is at the anvil, beating on the sun . God is not dumb, that He should speak no more. God is our refuge and strength . God makes a path, provides a guide . God moves in a mysterious way . God of our fathers, known of old . God of the living, in whose eyes . God of us who kill our kind . God pity all the brave who go . God-seeking thou hast journeyed far and nigh. . . God, who made man out of dust . God will not let my field lie fallow . God, you have been too good to me . Go not, my soul, in search of Him . Go, soul, the body’s guest . Good-bye, proud world! I’m going home . Good is an orchard, the saint saith . Grow old along with me! . . Guide me, O thou great Jehovah . Sir Walter Raleigh . 750 Paul Gerhardt . 593 Rex Boundy . 344 Sidney Lanier . 233 John Newton . . 523 English Prayer Book . . . 480 Louis Untermeyer . 458 Ella Wheeler Wilcox ... 140 Robt. Louis Stevenson. . 199 Lew Sarett . 241 James Russell Lowell ... 22 Psalm XL VI . 574 Roger Williams . 185 William Cowper . 18 1 Rudyard Kipling . 558 John Ellsrton . . 675 Percy Mackaye . 451 Louise Driscoll . 588 William Watson . 53 Laurence Housman . 774 Karle Wilson Baker .... 568 Chas. Wharton Stork . . . 448 Frederick Lucian Hosmer 294 Sir Walter Raleigh . 648 Ralph Waldo Emerson. . 224 Katharine Tynan Hinkson 252 Robert Browning . 357 William Williams . 518 INDEX OF FIRST LINES H Hail! Hail! Hail! . .Iroquois Indians . Hail the glorious Golden City . Felix Adler . Hast thou a charm to stay the morning star .... Samuel T. Coleridge.... Hast thou named all the birds without a gun? . .Ralph Waldo Emerson. . . Have patience; it is fit that in this wise . George Santayana . Have you not heard his silent steps? . Rabindranath Tagore ... Hear now, O Soul, the last command of all. . . . Sir Henry Newbolt . Hear the voice of the Bard . William Blake . Hear the word that Jesus spake . Henry van Dyke . Heaven is not reached by a single bound . Josiah G. Holland . He came and took me by the hand . Ralph Hodgson . He cried aloud to God: “The men below . Edward Lucas White ... . He did not know that he was dead . Harry Kemp . He hides within the lily . Wm. C banning Gannett. He is a path, if any be misled . Giles Fle*tcher . He is made one with Nature: there is heard. ... Percy B. Shelley . He leadeth me! Oh, blessed thought! . Joseph H. Gilmore . He loved the brook’s soft sound . John Clare . Here in the country’s heart . Norman Gale . Here is thy footstool and there rest thy feet .... Rabindranath T agore . . . Here lie I, Martin Elginbrodde . George MacDonald . Here lies the flesh that tried . Louise Driscoll . He sits above the clang and dust of Time . William Watson . He stood before the Sanhedrim . John Hay . He that dwelleth in the secret place of the Most High . Psalm XCI . He that is down need fear no fall . John Bunyan . He who died at Azan sends . Edwin Arnold . He whom a dream hath possessed knoweth no more of doubting . Shaemas O Sheel . Higher than heaven they sit . William Watson . High stretched upon the swinging yard . Thomas Edward Brown.. His home is on the heights; to him . Edwin Markham . Holy, Holy, Holy, Lord God Almighty! . Reginald Heber . Hope evermore and believe, O man, for e’en as thy thought . Arthur Hugh Clough. .. . However the battle is ended . Ella Wheeler Wilcox.... How firm a foundation, ye saints of the Lord...“K\” in Rippon’s Selec¬ tions . How happy is he bom and taught . Sir Henry Wotton . How shall I address Thee, O God? . Nanak and the Sikhs.... How shall we rise to greet the dawn? . Osbert Sitwell . How to the singer comes the song? . Richard Watson Gilder.. I I am immortal! I know it! I feel it! . Margaret Fuller .. I am my ancient self . Richard Wightman I am old and blind . Elis. Lloyd Howell 823 PAGE 555 77 0 274 224 596 165 722 2 354 77 27 26 679 258 323 691 538 3 250 303 455 706 15 637 575 619 663 23 167 220 12 529 189 656 524 612 497 163 8 676 629 19 824 INDEX OF FIRST LINES I am the reality of things that seem . Ella Heath . I arise today . St. Patrick . I believe in Human Kindness . Norman McLeod . I bent unto the ground . James Stephens . I bow my forehead to the dust . John G. Whittier . I cannot always feel His greatness . Eunice Tietjens . I cannot find my way: There is no star . Edwin A. Robinson .... I cannot find Thee! Still on restless pinion .... Elisa Scudder . I cannot say, and I will not say . James W. Riley . I cannot think of them as dead . Frederick Lucian Hosmer I come from nothing, but from where . Alice Meynell . I do not count the hours I spend . Ralph Waldo Emerson.. I do not fear to lay my body down . John Hall Wheelock .... I do not fear to tread the path that those I love long since have trod . Jeanette Gilder . I do not own an inch of land . Lucy Larcom . I do not pray for peace nor ease . John G. Neihardt . I dragged my feet through desert gloom . Alexander Pushkin .... I dreamed a dream last night, when all was still. Angela Morg’an . If all the skies were sunshine . Henry van Dyke . If He be truly Christ . Louis Golding . If I have faltered more or less . Robert Louis Stevenson. If I lay waste and wither up with doubt . Wm. Dean Howells .... If in that secret place . Margaret Widdemer .... If Jesus Christ is a man . Richard Watson Gilder.. I fled Him, down the nights and down the days. Francis Thompson . I flung my soul to the air, like a falcon flying... William R. Benet . If the red slayer thinks that he slays . Ralph Waldo Emerson .. If with head erect I sing . Henry D. Thoreau . I give you the end of a golden string . William Blake . I greet thee, my Redeemer sure . John Calvin . I had my birth when the stars were born . Minot J. Savage . I have achieved. That which the lonely man. . . . Lascelles .Abercrombie . . I have a little inward light, which still . Henry S. Sutton ....... I have a rendezvous with Death . Alan Sceger . I have wandered like a sheep that’s lost . Thomas Heywood . I hear and behold God in every object, yet un¬ derstand God not in the least . Walt Whitman . I heard them in their sadness say . .George Wm. Russell .... I hold that Christian grace abounds . Alice Cary . I hold that when a person dies . John Masefield . I kneel not now to pray that Thou . Harry Kemp . I know that my Redeemer liveth — but out of the depths of time . William Sharp . I know the night is near at hand . Silas Weir Mitchell .... I lay among the ferns . Edward Carpenter . I like a church; I like a cowl . Ralph Waldo Emerson .. I like the man who faces what he must . Sarah K. Bolton . I lived my days apart . Siegfried Sassoon . PAGE 9 485 639 243 204 354 40 41 688 709 721 226 730 637 236 456 13 158 584 324 583 196 417 323 45 55 191 25 613 501 689 142 444 727 291 309 240 636 716 447 133 685 255 17 586 161 INDEX OF FIRST LINES I look to Thee in every need . Samuel Longfellow .... I love and worship thee in that thy ways . William Sharp . I love my God, but with no love of mine . Madame Guy on . I made a pilgrimage to find the God . Edwin Markham . I made god upon god . Hilda Doolittle (Mrs. Richard Aldington ) . . I’m far frae my hame, and I’m weary often- whiles . Mary Lee Demarest . . . . I missed him when the sun began to bend . George MacDonald . Immortal Love, forever full . John G. Whittier . I’m wearin’ awa’, John . Lady Nairne . I need not shout my faith. Thrice eloquent . Charles H. Towne . I never saw a moor . Emily Dickinson . In every seed to breathe the flower . John B. Tabb . In fashion as a snow-white rose, lay then . Dante . In fellowship Religion has its founts . George Meredith . In many forms we try . Ralph Waldo Emerson .. In right I have no power to live . Tamil Saivite Saints . .. . In temporary pain . Witter Bynner . In the cross of Christ I glory . Sir John Bowring . In the crowd’s multitudinous mind . Eva Gore Booth . In the night . Stephen Crane . Into the bosom of the one great sea . Panatattu . Into the dusk and snow . Anon . Into the woods my Master went . Sidney Lanier . I opened the window wide and leaned . John Masefield . I passed along the waters, below the humid trees. William Butler Yeats . . . I said, “I will find God,” and forth I went . Edward Dowden . I said: “Let me walk in the fields” . George MacDonald . I saw a slowly stepping train . Thomas Hardy . I saw Eternity the other night . Henry Vaughan . I saw God. Do you doubt it? . James Stephens . I saw on earth another light . Jones Very . I saw the spires of Oxford . Winifred Letts . I see His blood upon the rose . Joseph Mary Plunkett .. “I shall arise.” For centuries . Anon . I sing the hymn of the conquered, who fall in the Battle of Life . Wm. Wetmore Story ... I sing the uplift and the up-welling . Israel Zangwill . I sought his love in sun and stars . Thomas Curtis Clarke... I sought thee round about, O thou my God!.... Thomas Heywood . I stood within the heart of God . Wm. Vaughn Moody ... It fortifies my soul to know . Arthur Hugh Clough ... I think I could turn and live with animals, they are so placid and self-contained . Walt Whitman . I think that I shall never see . Joyce Kilmer . I, thy servant, full of sighs, cry unto thee . Babylonian Hymn . It lies around us like a cloud . Harriet B. Stowe . I took a day to search for God . Bliss Carman . 825 PAGE! 594 241 512 40 146 743 39 543 749 276 744 200 738 131 128 488 144 527 343 409 87 661 253 718 174 34 632 149 760 164 309 775 262 662 59i 175 33 35 238 190 269 253 467 767 32 826 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Its edges foamed with amethyst and rose . George Wm. Russell .... It singeth low in every heart . John White Chadwick .. I turn my steps where the Lonely Road . Seumas MacManus .... It was the calm and silent night! . Alfred Domett . I walk the dusty ways of life . Charles Wharton Stork.. I was a Roman soldier in my prime . Edwin Markham . I watch the farmers in their fields . William A. Percy . I went down into the desert . Vachel Lindsay . I went up to the light of truth as if into a chariot . Ode XXXVIII of Solo¬ mon . I will keep the fire of hope ever burning on the altar of my soul . Sri Ananda Acharya ... I will lift up mine eyes unto the mountains . Psalm CXXI . I would not have a God come in . Sara Teas dale . J Jerusalem my happy home . Anon . Jerusalem the Golden . St. Bernard of Cluny . . . . Jesus, Lover of my soul . Charles Wesley . Jesus shall reign where’er the sun . Isaac Watts . Jesus, thou joy of loving hearts . St. Bernard of Clairvaux K Karshish, the picker-up of learning’s crumbs. .. .Robert Browning . Last night I tossed and could not sleep . Angela Morgan . Lay me to sleep in the sheltering flame . William Sharp . Lead, kindly light, amid the encircling gloom John Henry Newman . . Let me go forth, and share . William Watson . Let me go where’er I will . Ralph Waldo Emerson . Let me speak, sir . William Shakespeare .. Let thy gold be cast in the furnace . Adelaide Anne Proctor. Let us ask ourselves some questions; for that man is truly wise . Sam Walter Foss . Let us begin and carry up this corpse . Robert Browning . Let us with a gladsome mind . , . John Milton . . . . Life of Ages, richly poured . Samuel Johnson . Lift up your heads, rejoice . Thomas T. Lynch . Like some school master, kind in being stern .... Ella Wheeler Wilcox... Listen to the water mill . Sara Doudney . Little lamb, who made thee? . William Blake . Little snatch of an ancient song . Wm. E. H. Lecky . Little things in the field, yon red-cloaked clown Ralph Waldo Emerson . Lo, fainter now lie spread the shades of night. . . Gregory the Great . Lo, if some pen should write upon your rafter. . Frederic W. H. Myers. Long have I framed weak phantasies of Thee. . Thomas Hardy . Lord, for the erring thought . Wm. Dean Howells . . . Lord, I am like to mistletoe . Robert Herrick . PAGE 240 671 595 321 563 349 250 62 477 613 576 42 735 736 516 5i3 494 310 411 444 443 246 225 383 580 73 70 507 20 537 418 623 264 10 192 487 132 149 447 183 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Wm. Henry Davies John Drinkwater . . . English Prayer Book. . . . Oliver Wendell Holmes. . Bliss Carman . Navajo Indians . Richard Vrashazv . Robert Herrick . Richard C. Trench . Richard le Gallienne .... Charles Wesley . Sir Aubrey de V ere .... Lord, I say nothing: I profess . Lord, not for light in darkness do we pray.. Lord, now lettest Thou Thy servant depart in peace . Lord of all being, throned afar . Lord of the grass and hill . Lord of the Mountain . Love, thou art Absolute sole lord . Lord, thou hast given me a cell . Lord, what a change within us one short hour. . . Loud mockers in the roaring street . Love divine, all love excelling . Love thy God and love Him only . M Man is a sacred city built of marvelous earth ..John Masefield . Man that is born of woman . Job XIV . Man with his burning soul . John Masefield . Mariner, what of the deep? . Sarah Williams . Marvel of marvels if I myself shall behold . Christina Rossetti . May the wrath of the heart of my god be pacified. . Babylonian . Men told me, Lord, it was a vale of tears . David Starr Jordan . . . . Mine eyes have seen the glory of the coming of the Lord . Julia Ward Howe . Most glorious of all the Undying, many-named, girt round with awe . Cleanthes ( tr . by Plump- tre ) . My body, eh? Friend Death, how now? . Helen Hunt Jackson .... My faith looks up to Thee . Ray Palmer . My God, I love thee, not because . St. Francis Xavier . My God is not a chiselled stone . . . Panatattu . My heart cried like a beaten child . Sara Teasdale . My heart was fired as from his sight it turned. . Firdausi’s Dream . My minde to me a kingdom is . Sir Edward Dyer . Myself when young did eagerly frequent . Omar Khayyam . My soul doth magnify the Lord . English Prayer Book ... My soul leans toward Him; stretches out its arms . George MacDonald . My Soul, there is a Countrie . Henry Vaughan . Mysterious night! When our first parent knew . Joseph Blanco White.... My world is a painted fresco, where coloured shapes . D. H. Lawrence . N Nearer, my God, to Thee . Sarah F. Adams . Near yonder copse, where once the garden smiled . Oliver Goldsmith . Nevermore, Shall the shepherds of Arcady fol¬ low . Don Marquis . No coward soul is mine . Emily Bronte . . 827 PAGE 346 440 481 539 43i 456 364 445 416 347 5i5 126 718 711 719 730 752 465 712 644 433 709 S29 500 88 15 6 610 60 481 297 759 694 152 533 37i *54 6 97 828 INDEX OF FIRST FINES PAGE No hint upon the hilltop shows . John B. Tabb . . Not-Being was not, Being was not then . Rig-Veda . Not from the earth, or skies . Jones Very Not in dumb resignation . John Hay Not in the world of light alone . Oliver Wendell Holmes. Not on an Altar shall mine eyes behold Thee... Ivan Adair . Now, God be thanked who has matched us with His hour . Rupert Brooke . Now here, now there, lightheaded, crazed with . Early Buddhist Psalm .. Now the day is over . . Sabine Baring-Gould ... Now the labourer’s task is o’er . John Ellerton . O O beautiful for spacious skies . Katharine Lee Bates .... O come, all ye faithful . . .Anon . O day of rest and gladness . Christopher Wordsworth. O Domine Deus! Speravi in te . Mary Queen of Scots... O Earth! Thou hast not any wind that blows. . Richard Realf . Of all the thoughts of God that are . Elis. Barrett Browning.. O Father, we approach Thy throne . Van Vondel . O Friends! with whom my feet have trod . John G. Whittier . Oft, as we run the weary way . Stopford Brooke . O God of earth and altar . Gilbert K. Chesterton... O God, where does this tend — these struggling aims? . Robert Browning . O Great Spirit! . Chippewa Indians . Oh, cease, my wandering soul . William A. Muhlenberg . Oh, God, beneath thy guiding hand . Leonard Bacon . Oh God, our help in ages past . Isaac Watts . Oh! Listen, man! . Richard H. Dana . Oh, may I join the choir invisible . George Eliot . Oh, may my constant feet not fail . Sophocles . Oh, Most High, Almighty, Good Lord God . St. Francis of Assisi ... O Holy vEther and swift-winged Winds . Adscliylus (.tr. by Elis. Barrett Browning) .... Oh, seek me not within a tomb . John G. Neihardt . Oh! that mine eye might closed be . Thomas Ellwood . Oh, worship the King all glorious above . Sir Robert Grant . Oh, yet we trust that somehow good . Alfred Tennyson . O lily of the King! how lies thy silver wing. ... Francis Thompson . O little self, within whose smallness lies . John Masefield . O little town of Bethlehem . Phillips Brooks . O living will that shall endure . Alfred Tennyson . O Lord, thou hast searched me and known me.. Psalm CXXXIX . O Lord! who seest from yon starry height . Francesco de Aldana ... O Lord, why must thy poets peak and pine . Shane Leslie . O Love, that wilt not let me go . George Matheson . O man of mine own people, I alone . Florence Kiper Frank... U 83 308 556 292 283 698 31 546 549 559 5i9 54i 439 239 723 508 205 586 449 29 453 528 53i 5i4 703 707 474 494 569 414 422 104 43 405 213 547 438 289 9S> 398 553 347 INDEX OF FIRST FINES O, Marduk, lord of countries, terrible one . Assyrian Hymn . O Master, let me walk with Thee . Washington Gladden ... O mighty, powerful, strong one of Ashur . Assyrian Prayer . O mother dear, Jerusalem . F. B. P . O my God, thou hast wounded me with love. . . . Paul Verlaine . Once in a dream I saw the flowers . Christina Rossetti . Once in Persia reigned a King . Theodore Tilton . Once when my heart was passion free . John B. Tabb . One asked a sign from God; and day by day. . . . Victor Starbuck . One day as I sat and suffered . Bliss Carman . . One day there entered at my chamber door . May Riley Smith . One holy church of God appears . Samuel Longfellow . One sweetly solemn thought . Phoebe Cary . Only for these I pray . Charlotte P. Gilman .... On the heights of Great Endeavor . Madison Cawein . On the outermost far-flung ridge of ice and snow . Wilfrid W. Gibson. .... Onward, Christian soldiers . .....Sabine Baring-Gould ... O Paradise! O Paradise! . Frederick W. Faber .... O Thou almighty Will . Robert of France . O thou eternal one! whose presence bright . Derzhavin ( tr . by Sir John Bowring ) . O thou great Friend to all the sons of men. .. .Theodore Parker . O thou in heaven and earth the only peace . John Milton . O Thou not made with hands . Frances T. Palgrave ... O Thou unknown, Almighty Cause . Robert Burns . Our birth is but a sleep and a forgetting . William Wordsworth . .. Out for a walk the other day . Old French . Out of the deep and the dark . Y one Noguchi . Out of the depths have I cried unto Thee O Lord . English Prayer Book ... Out of the night that covers me . ..Win. Ernest Henley .... Out of the vastness that is God . Cale Young Rice . Outwardly splendid as of old . William Watson . O valiant Hearts, who to your glory came . John S. Arkwright .... Over the great city . Edzvard Carpenter . O Wahkonda (Master of Life), pity me . Osage Indians . O why should the spirit of mortal be proud?. ... William Knox . <‘0 World-God, give me Wealth!” the Egyptian cried . Emma Lazarus . O world invisible, we view thee . Francis Thompson . O world, thou choosest not the better part . George Santayana . P Peace, perfect peace, in this dark world of sin ..Edward H. Bickersteth. . Peace! The perfect word is sounding, like a universal hymn . Odell Shepard . People arrive to worship in their church . Jules Romain .. Pity, Religion has so seldom found . William Cowper 829 PAGE 464 553 463 503 429 753 598 J25 68 222 580 556 5/0 442 603 544 745 493 435 324 93 778 439 73 1 506 13 480 588 427 405 567 389 457 62 1 422 44 216 551 650 400 4 830 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Praise of Amen Ra . Egyptian . Prayer is the soul’s sincere desire . James Montgomery .... Pray for iw soul. More things are wrought by prayer . Alfred Tennyson . Progress is the law of life . Robert Browning . R Reality, reality . Frances R. Havergal Rise, crowned with light, imperial Salem rise ! . . Alexander Pope . Rise, O earth, from out thy slumber . Kalevala . Rise up, O men of God . IV m. Pierson Merrill. Rocked in. the cradle of the deep . . . Emma Willard . Rock of Ages, cleft for me . Augustus M. Toplady Roll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean — roll ...Lord Byron . “Room for the leper! Room!” and as he came. . Nathaniel P. Willis . S Safe home, safe home in port . St. Joseph of the Studium Saying “There is no hope,” he stepped . Elisabeth Stuart Phelps. Say not the struggle naught availeth . Arthur Hugh Clough . . . Seated one day at the organ . Adelaide Anne Proctor . Serene, I fold my hands and wait . John Burroughs . Serene the silver fishes glide . Max Eastman . Shall we not open the human heart . Charlotte P. Gilman .... She made a little shadow-hidden grave . Fanny Heaslip Lea . Singer, sing! The hoary world . Richard Wightman . Sing, my tongue, the Saviour’s glory . St. Thomas Aquinas .... Slight as thou art, thou art enough to hide . Alice Meynell . So, back again? — And is your errand done . Josephine P. Peabody... So faith is strong . George Eliot . So "here hath been dawning . Thomas Carlyle . Some keep. Sunday going to church . Emily Dickinson . Sometimes, I know not why, nor how, nor whence . William. James Dawson.. So soon my body will have gone . Sara T easdale . So, there, when sunset made the downs look new . Charles H. Sorley . . Sorrow has a harp of seven strings . Ethel Clifford . Sorrows humanize our race . Jean Ingelow . Souls of men! why will ye scatter . Frederick W. Faber .... Stainless soldier on the walls . Ralph Waldo Emerson . . Stern Daughter of the Voice of God! . William Wordsworth ... Strong in a dream of perfect bloom . Wilbur Underwood .... Strong Son of God, immortal Love . Alfred Tennyson . Such pictures of the heavens were never seen. .Richard Watson Gilder.. Sudden amid the slush and rain . Israel Zangwill . Sunset and evening star . Alfred Tennyson . Surrounded by unnumbered Foes . Gerald Massey . Sweet day, so cool, so calm, so bright! . George Herbert . Sweet is the time for joyous folk . Alice Brown . PAGE 468 410 414 30 325 5 13 454- 564 279 5-21 277 33& 491 641 70 2 576 187 59 148 212 629 495 260 268 190 623 223 6 692 8o* 597 578 536 286 634 589- 200 272 393 693 57i 627 219 INDEX OF FIRST LINES T Take, then, your paltry Christ . F~ancis Adams . Teach me, Father, how to go . Edwin Markham . Teach me, my God and King . George Herbert . Tell me, O Swan, your ancient tale . . Song of Kabir . Tell them, I am, Jehovah said . Christopher Smart . Thanks to St. Matthew, who had been . Sarah N. C leghorn . That day of wrath, that dreadful day . . . Thomas of Celano . That I have felt the rushing wind of Thee . Stephen Philipps . That which we dare invoke to ble^s . Alfred Tennyson . That with this bright believing band . Thomas Hardy . The age is great and strong. Her chains are riven . Victor Hugo . The Assyrian came down like a wolf on the fold. Lord Byron . The#blinding sun at ten o’clock . Edwin Ford Piper . The bliss for which our spirits pine . Paul H. Hayne . The bustle in the house . Emily Dickinson . The cheerfu’ supper done, wi’ serious face . Robert Burns . The Church’s one foundation . Samuel J. Stone . The day is quenched, the sun is fled . Josiah G. Holland . The dead abide with us! Though stark and cold. .Mathilde Blind . The dream is the thought in the ghost . George Meredith . The earth is not the steadfast place . IVm. Vaughn Moody ... The endless, foolish merriment of stars . ...Alice Corbin Henderson. The end of being is to find out God . Seneca . The evening star that softly sheds . Celia P. Wooley . The eyes that weep for pity of the heart . Dante . The gates are open on the road . Charles H. Sorley . The God whose goodness filleth every clime. - Jean B. Racine . The harps hung up in Babylon . Arthur Colton . The heavens declare the glory of God . Psalm XIX . The Kings of the East are riding . Katharine Lee Bates.... The life above, the life on high . St. Teresa . The little cares that fretted me . ...Anon . The Living. God. The God that made the world. Charlotte P. Gilman.... The Lord descended from above . Thomas Sternhold . The Lord God planted a garden . Dorothy Frances Gurney The Lord is my light and my salvation . Psalm XXVII . The Lord is my shepherd . Psalm XXIII . The Lord reigneth; he is apparelled with majesty .Psalm XCIII . The moon shines in my body, but my blind eyes cannot see it . Song of Kabir . The moon was round . James Stephens . The morning light is breaking . Samuel F. Smith . The parson of a country town was he . Chaucer . The pith of faith is gone. And as there lie . Norman Gale . The poet hath the child’s sight in his breast. ... Elis. Barrett Browning.. The poet’s words are winged with fire . Joel Benton . The prayers I make will then be sweet indeed. . .Michelangelo Buonarotti. 83 1 PAGE 342 254 44 2 23 1 95 345 75 7 424 304 396 382 377 398 773 673 385 532 I95 696 215 647 290 85 54 74i 79 5ii 626 271 342 756 249 128 99 259 9i 91 93 295 243 530 363 34 3 1 452 8 32 INDEX OF FIRST LINES PAGE There are hermit souls that live withdrawn . Sam Walter Foss . 620 Therefore, when thou wouldst pray, or dost thine alms . Sir Aubrey de V ere . . . . 410 There is a beautiful island away in the West. . . Sioux Indians . 766 There is a green hill far away . Cecil F. Alexander . 536 There is a land of Dream . William Sharp . 728 There is a land of pure delight . Isaac Watts . 763 There is an Eye that never sleeps . James Cowden Wallace . . 135 There is an old and very cruel god . Richard Aldington . 448 There is a quest that calls me . Cale Young Rice . 66 There is a sentinel before the gate . E. II . K . 397 There is no great nor small . Ralph Waldo Emerson.. 286 There is no unbelief . . . Elizabeth York Case .... 188 There is one Mind, one omnipresent Mind. ... Samuel T. Coleridge .... 100 There is somewhere a Secret Garden, which none • hath seen . Robert Nichols . 260 There smiled the Smooth Divine, unused to wound . Timothy Dwight . 369 There was a bright and happy tree . Gerald Gould . 251 There was once a boat on a billow . Jean Ingelow . 677 There were ninety and nine that safely lay . Elizabeth C. Clephane . . . 548 There where he sits, in the cold, in the gloom. .Odell Shepard . 162 The rocks flow and the mountain shapes flow. . . .Edward Carpenter . 267 The round moon hangs like a yellow lantern in the trees . Watson Kerr . 232 The royal feast was done; the king . Edward R. Sill . 427 These are the gifts I ask of thee . . .... Henry van Dyke . 429 These are thy glorious works, Parent of good. .John Milton . 509 The senses loving Earth or well or ill . George Meredith . 215 These things shall be! A loftier race . John Addington Symonds 779 The Son of God goes forth to war . Reginald Hcber . 381 The Sons of Mary seldom bother, for they have inherited that good part . Rudyard Kipling . 617 The soul wherein God dwells . Johannes SchefHer . 755 The sounding cataract . William Wordsworth . . . 247 The spacious firmament on high . Joseph Addison . 270 The stranger in my gates — lo! that am I . George Sterling . 729 The sun, the moon, the stars, the seas, the hills and the plains . Alfred Tennyson . 202 The three ghosts on the lonesome road . Theodosia Garrison .... 772 The tree of Faith its bare dry boughs must shed. John G. Whittier . 203 The War God wakened drowsily . Margaret Widdemer .... 173. The wasting thistle whitens in my crest . Gilbert K. Chesterton... 58. The white church on the hill . Wilson Agnew Barrett .. 394 The word of God came unto me . Helen Keller . 373 The word of the Lord by night . Ralph Waldo Emerson.. 378 The world is too much with us: late and soon. . .William Wordsworth ... 248 The world uprose as a man to find Him . Arthur Edward Waite .. 51 They all were looking for a king . George MacDonald . 327 INDEX OF FIRST LINES They are all gone into the world of light . Henry Vaughan . They are not long, the weeping and the laughter . Ernest Dowson . They bade me cast the thing away . Helen Hunt Jackson .... They bear no laurels on their sunless brows. .. .Arthur W. Upson . The years are flowers and bloom within . Richard Burton . The year’s at the spring . Robert Browning . They have not gone from us. Oh, no! they are . .Robert Nichols . They move on tracks of never-ending light . Rhys Carpenter . They put up big wooden gods . Carl Sandburg . They say that “Time assuages”.., . Emily Dickinson . They that go down to the sea in ships . Psalm CVII . They went forth to battle, but they always fell. ..S' hacmas O Sheel . They who create rob death of half its stings. .. .Lloyd Mifflin . This flesh is but the symbol and the shrine . Angela Morgan . This from that soul incorrupt whom Athens had doomed to the death . Edith M. Thomas . This I ask Thee — tell it to me truly, Lord! . Zoroaster . This I beheld, or dreamed it as a dream . Edward R. Sill . This is that blessed Mary, pre-elect . Gabriel Chas. Dante Ros¬ setti . This is the month, and this the happy morn . John Milton . This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign . Oliver Wendell Holmes. This starry world, and I in it . James Oppenheim . Thou and I and he art not gods made men for a span . Algernon C. Swinburne . Thou art coming, O my Savior . Frances Ridley Havergal Thou art the essence of all created things . Pedro Calderon de la Barca . Thou canst not prove that thou art body alone. .Alfred Tennyson ....... Though one with all that sense or soul can see. .Richard Hovey . Though the bee . James Vila Blake . Though the long seasons seem to separate . Eva Gore Booth . Thought is deeper than all speech . Christopher P. Cranch.. Thou shalt have but one pod only . Arthur Hugh Clough ... Thou, too, sail on, O ship of state! . Henry W. Longfellow... Thou, who dost dwell alone . Matthew Arnold . Thou, who dost feel Life’s vessel strand . Edmund C. Stedman ... Three score and ten! The tumult of the world. .Dudley Foulke . Thro’ the night of doubt and sorrow . Bernard S. Ingemann . .. Thus man by his own strength to Heaven would soar (from Religio Laici) . John Dryden . Thy kingdom come, O Lord . Frederick Lucian Hosmer Thy kingdom come — on bended knees . Frederick Lucian Hosmer Thy kingdom, Lord, we long for . Vida Scudder . Tiger, tiger, burning bright . William Blake . ’Tis sorrow builds the shining ladder up . James Russell Lowell .. To an open house in the evening . Gilbert K. Chesterton .. 833 PAGE 762 705 197 592 255 22 I 723 l6 l6l 598 278 589 12 298 633 • 55 625 335 327 604 685 300 550 506 202 231 2 83 285 5 395 646 419 582 708 545 101 560 557 56x 265 579 77 1 834 INDEX OF FIRST LINES To church! I heard a sermon once in spring. .. Harold Monro . Today I have grown taller from walking with the trees . Kdrle Wilson Baker. . . . Today the peace of autumn pervades the world. .Rabindranath Tagore ... To God, the everlasting, who abides . John Addington Symonds To him who in the love of Nature holds . Wm. Cullen Bryant .... To keep my health!... . Charlotte P. Gilman .... To .Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love . William Blake . To see the world in a grain of sand . William Blake . To weary hearts, to mourning homes . John G. Whittier . To what new fates, my country, far . Richard Hovey . . Truth, be more precious to me than the eyes. . . .Max Eastman . Truth, so far, in my book; — the truth which draws . Eliz. Barrett Browning . . ’Twas August, and the fierce sun overhead . Matthew Arnold . “Two hands upon the breast . Dinah M. Craik . Two of Thy children one summer day worked in their garden, Lord . Rose Parkwood . . U Under the wide and starry sky . Unshunnable is grief; we should not fear Unto my faith as to a spar, I bind . Unto the deep the deep heart goes . Upon the topmost branches dies . Use all your hidden forces. Do hot miss V Vain is the chiming of forgotten bells. . Victory comes . W Wakeful all night I lay and thought of God . Mark W. Call . Walk with thy fellow-creatures: note the hush.. Henry Vaughan . We are the toilers whom God hath barred . Richard Burton . We are sighing for you, far land . John Hall Wlieelock ... Weary of myself and sick of asking . Matthew Arnold . Weigh me the fire; or canst thou find . Robert Herrick . We know not what it is, dear, this sleep so deep and still . Mary M. Dodge . We must pass like smoke or live within the spirit’s fire . George Wm. Russell . . . We praise thee, O God; we acknowledge thee to be the Lord . English Prayer Book ... We thirst, at first, — ’tis nature’s act . Emily Dickinson . What a commanding power . Thomas Washbourne ... What a fine cow your predecessor was . East Indian Toda ( tr . by W. E. Mashiel ) . What! dost thou pray that the outgone tide be rolled back on the strand . Edith M. Thomas . What do you seek within, O soul, my brother ?. .Evelyn Underhill . Robt. Louis Stevenson.. Stephen Phillips ....... Airs. Edward Dow den . . George Wm. Russell. . . . Fernand Gregh . Ella Wheeler Wilcox.... Joyce Kilmer . Mangaret Widdemer . . . . PAG® 156 251 245 i33 699 630 284 263 585 645 438 105 388 703 261 729 572 190 726 194 606 9 655 145 245 6x5 779 607 61 674 689 482 6Z4 416 454 4i5 305 INDEX OF FIRST LINES What happy secret fountain . Henry Vaughan . What instinct forces man to journey on . Amy Lowell . What is hope? A smiling rainbow . Thgmas Carlyle . What is poetry? Is it a mosaic . Amy Lowell . “What is the song I am singing?” . William Sharp ( Fiona Macleod) . What makes a city great? Huge piles of stone. . Dudley Foulke . What shall I do to be just? . Hamlin Garland . What shall we be like when . John Oxenham . What thou hast done, thou hast done; for the heavenly horses are swift . Mary W. Plummer .... What was his name? I do not know his name. . Edward E. Hale . When coldness wraps this suffering clay . Lord Byron . When earth’s last picture is painted, and the tubes are twisted and dried . Rudyard Kipling . When first the busy, clumsy tongue is stilled. . .Evelyn Underhill . When fishes flew and forests walked . Gilbert K. Chesterton .. When he went blundering back to God . Chas. Hanson Towne .. When I consider how my light is spent . John Milton . When I consider life and its few years . Lisette W. Reese . When I survey the wondrous Cross . Isaac Watts . When I was far from the sea’s voice and vast¬ ness . . . Cale Young Rice . When I was young the days were long . Katharine Tynan Hinkson When my life has enough of love, and my spirit enough of mirth . Arthur Stringer . When once I knew the Lord . Sivaite Puritans . When on my day of life the night is falling. .. .John G. Whittier . When, over-arched by gorgeous night . William Watson . When some beloved voice that was to you . Elis. Barrett Browning . . When the anxious hearts say “Where?” . Anon . When the night is still and far . Wm. Channing Gannett. When we have thrown off this old suit . George Meredith . When whelmed are altar, priest and creed . William Watson . Where angel trumpets hail a brighter sun . Eugene Lee-Hamilton .. Where cross the crowded ways of life . Frank Mason North .... Where lies the land to which the ship would go? . Arthur Hugh Clough ... Where runs the river? Who can say . Francis Wm. Bourdillon Where the sun shines in the street . Mary Carolyn Davies .. Whither, midst falling dew . Wm. Cullen Bryant .... Who bids us sing? What need has the world for song . Rhys Carpenter . Who drives the horses of the sun . John Vance Cheney .... Who is this that cometh from Edom . Isaiah LXIII . Who never ate with tears his bread . Goethe . Who Thou art I know not . Harry Kemp . Why be afraid of death, as though your life were breath? . Maltbie Babcock . Why hast thou breathed, O God, upon my thoughts . „ . Angela Morgan . 835 PAGE 307 II 587 22 24. t 390 441 686 62s 631 701 715 306 268 693 597 590 512 300 183 583 492 694 171 568 695 370 720 80 716 561 765 696 34 266 16 619 746 578 21 I 670 23 836 INDEX OF FIRST LINES Will seeing Concan make a dog a lion . ( From the Telugu ) . Will sprawl, now that the heat of day is best. . .Robert Browning . Will there really be a morning? . Emily Dickinson . Wilt thou forgive that sin where I begun? . John Donne . Within the iron cities . George Wm. Russell ... Would that the structure brave, the manifold music I build . Robert Browning . Write on my grave when I am dead . Katharine Tynan Hinkson Y Ye morning glories, ring in the gale your bells. .James Oppenheim . “Yea, my King,” . Robert Broivning . Ye that have faith to look with fearless eyes. .. .Australian soldier . Yet once more, O ye laurels, and once more. .. .John Milton . You come along . . . tearing your shirt . Carl Sandburg . “You never attained to Him.” “If to attain. .. .Alice Meynell . You sail and you seek for the Fortunate Isles. . .Joaquin Miller . You say, “Where goest Thou?” I cannot tell ...Victor Hugo . You say, with no touch of scorn . Alfred Tennyson You that uphold the world . Alice Brown .... Zeus — by what name soe’er Z SEschuylus PAGE 642 III 745 453 392 107 229 160 119 209 680 350 78 766 196 42 421 473 • ? V -■ *■ y : , ■ ■{ ' .• • •" ■ • • -i- * Date Due W 28 ’4' f FACULTY FACULTY p ib ’5i n m- if " lniiii irtfflHHMHffi _ ► AS* ^i'0*»** v- g^yjyH |I9| iUisLUi ism.- [ f)