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 THE LIBRARY 
 
 OF 
 
 THE UNIVERSITY 
 
 OF CALIFORNIA 
 
 LOS ANGELES
 
 urirj tyhfH:</^,\jph/:,r 
 
 . 4i^-^ ylAx'ddoor.^.
 
 POEMS 
 
 By 
 
 RITA FRANCIS MOSSCOCKLE 
 
 Author of " Fantasias," " The Golden Quest," 
 and other poems. 
 
 'A*- -is 
 
 \. 
 
 tsr 
 
 ELKIN MATHEWS, 
 
 4 CORK STREET, LONDON, W. 
 
 1914
 
 PR ^ 
 
 50^7 
 
 M 247 A 17 
 
 10 1^' 
 
 R.I. p. 
 
 To the dear memory of my Mother, and 
 V Husband. 
 
 my Husband. 
 
 867058
 
 PREFACE 
 
 " The Golden Quest," " Follow Me," and some 
 other of these little poems were published some years 
 ago by Messrs. Kegan Paul, Trench and Co. They 
 are now included with others in this volume. 
 
 Vll
 
 CONTENTS 
 
 The Golden Quest i 
 
 A Ballad of Poets 33 
 
 The Holy Garden of Sleep 35 
 
 ViTi^ Brevis 37 
 
 Napoleon's Conviction 39 
 
 A Harvest Hymn 40 
 
 The Love that Never Dies 42 
 
 Hope On 44 
 
 The Bee and the Rose 45 
 
 Lyra Angelica 46 
 
 My Wife 48 
 
 A Star Reverie 51 
 
 The Children Slept 53 
 
 The Web of Life 56 
 
 A Coronation Ode, 1901 57 
 
 Follow Me 62 
 
 Love in the Glade 73 
 
 Poet and Philosopher 75 
 
 A Dream of Apollo 77 
 
 Trifles Make the Sum of Life 80 
 
 King Cyrus' Captives 83
 
 Mattie in the Cloisters 85 
 
 Christ or Diana 88 
 
 The Child's Letter 91 
 
 Lovely in Death 
 
 Gone Before 
 
 95 
 
 The Days of Long Ago 97 
 
 99 
 
 Changeless Still ioi 
 
 Art 103 
 
 Wordsworth's Grave 105 
 
 Till the Day Break ' 107 
 
 Requiem 109 
 
 A Christmas Greeting iio 
 
 The Blessed Damozel hi 
 
 A Summer Day 112 
 
 A Poet 114 
 
 In Memoriam 115 
 
 A Christmas Carol 116 
 
 The Service OF THE King 118 
 
 A Portrait 121 
 
 To Alfred, Lord Tennyson 122 
 
 Borderland 124 
 
 Christina Rosetti 128 
 
 The Voice of Spring 129 
 
 Beatitude 131
 
 And the angel that was sent unto me, whose name 
 was Uriel, gave me an answer and said, " Thy heart 
 hath gone too far in this world, and thinkest thou to 
 comprehend the way of the Most High ? " 
 
 Then said I, " Yea, my Lord," 
 
 Then said he unto me, " Go thy way, weigh me 
 the weight of the fire, or measure me the blast of 
 the wind, or call me again the day that is past." 
 
 2 EsdraSy iv. 
 
 XI
 
 POEMS
 
 L 
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 I 
 
 ET me stay awhile to wander through this tangled 
 
 maze of life, — 
 Here in peace, with God to guide me — far 
 
 from all the mundane strife. 
 
 11 
 
 Thus to taste those magic waters from the pure 
 
 Pierian spring ; 
 Till in quest of life's Elixir, Heav'n its golden fruit 
 
 shall fling. 
 
 Ill 
 
 Or on Mount Parnassus lying, listen to the bells 
 
 sublime, 
 Pealing down its lofty steeple, truths that echo through 
 
 all time. 
 
 I B
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 IV 
 
 With the wide world's wild pulsation throbbing 
 
 through these mortal years, 
 Light shall gild the far horizon radiating sorrow's 
 
 tears. 
 
 V 
 As the wind blows where it listeth, who can say, lo 
 
 here — or there ? 
 So the mighty spirit rushes, none can track him to his 
 
 lair. 
 
 VI 
 
 Life is short and time is speeding, lightly brushing 
 
 down the hours, — 
 Till the trees stand stark and leafless, crownless and 
 
 despoil'd the bow'rs. 
 
 VII 
 
 Memory stays but pleasures vanish, slowly, surely, 
 
 one by one ; 
 And the progress of the nations darts aloft from sun 
 
 to sun. 
 
 2
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 VIII 
 
 Eyes of Lynceus or Argus, give me that I penetrate 
 Through the wonderland of knowledge — thus my 
 soul to elevate. 
 
 IX 
 
 What is life, a dream ? A platform whereon each 
 
 must play a part ; 
 Holding self behind an segis, off to ward the foeman's 
 
 dart. 
 
 X 
 
 Shuffling vainly for the trump card in the fev'rish 
 
 game of gain ; 
 Losing all that is most worthy in the ignominious 
 
 strain. 
 
 XI 
 
 Daily nursing carking sorrow nestling in the buds of 
 
 joy; 
 
 Not a flower without a canker — nought of bliss 
 without alloy. 
 
 3
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XII 
 
 Breathless haste, the great crowd hustUng one another 
 
 down the tide ; 
 
 Till some oasis they pant for lying smiling at their 
 
 side. 
 
 XIII 
 
 Some soft pause for thinking — praying — some sweet 
 
 lull of laden life ; 
 In the longing and pursuing, in the struggling and 
 
 the strife. 
 
 XIV 
 A handshake here, a smile, a word ; there a frown, 
 
 a shrug, a sigh ; 
 Here the ring of a rippling laugh ; there a moan 
 
 and wailing cry. 
 
 XV 
 
 Life and light for a little while — vapour merely or a 
 
 breath ; 
 Pulsing veins in the morning prime — and, at night, 
 
 the hush of death. 
 
 4
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XVI 
 
 Hard frozen hearts beating around, tuned to an ice- 
 bound world ; 
 
 Would they care if you died of cold or in Lethe forth 
 were hurled ? 
 
 XVII 
 
 Stoop and aid you to rise would they, or e'en soil 
 
 their dainty hands ? 
 They would rather bind you the more, manacled with 
 
 iron bands. 
 
 XVIII 
 
 Abjectly ill full many lie on the wide highway of life ; 
 But Society turns her head — and the misery grows 
 more rife. 
 
 XIX 
 
 Ah, kind hearts, true hearts are few ; never till their 
 light is gone. 
 
 Do we perceive the aureole that around their fore- 
 heads shone.
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XX 
 
 As a flower 'tis true we come : we bud — we blossom — 
 
 and we die ; 
 But the falling seed will spring a plant immortal in 
 
 the sky. 
 
 XXI 
 
 That we shall return I hold it, bearing forth the 
 
 sheaves we've sown, — 
 Wheat and tares in that great Harvest when the Lord 
 
 makes up His own. 
 
 XXII 
 
 Of agnostics, what an army ! crawling on the beaten 
 
 sod ; 
 With their finite knowledge seeking for the hidden 
 
 truth of God. 
 
 XXIII 
 
 Do they deem that nothing liveth that their narrow 
 
 minds can't site ? 
 How can finite understanding think to grasp the 
 
 Infinite ? 
 
 6
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XXIV 
 Storming with their paltry pellets, truth that meets 
 
 them undismay'd ; 
 Futile fight against the Highest, better leave it un- 
 
 essay'd. 
 
 XXV 
 
 Truth is proven by a witness which hies not from east 
 
 or west ; 
 Not here — or there — but a spirit born of God within 
 
 the breast. 
 
 XXVI 
 
 What a swarm of flashing fireflies singe their wings 
 
 in rays that are, — 
 But the flicker of a rushlight which to them shines 
 
 forth a star. 
 
 XXVII 
 
 Shall we then dissect the lily, thinking limb from limb 
 
 to tear, — 
 That the plan of all creation may unveil its secret 
 
 there. 
 
 7
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XXVIII 
 
 On a system which our groping, grovelling minds 
 
 can never gauge ; 
 God unfolds from one the other — as He opens age 
 
 from age. 
 
 XXIX 
 
 On the summit of a mountain, lo I stand and view 
 
 below, — 
 All the people flit as insects, restless, ceaseless to and 
 
 fro. 
 
 XXX 
 
 Castles loom as puny ant-hills ; trains and carriages 
 
 as toys, — 
 In a state of constant motion as propell'd by little 
 
 boys. 
 
 XXXI 
 
 And one thought that presses on me seems to 
 
 conjure life to view 
 From a diff'rent standpoint, lending God's own mirror 
 
 clear and true. 
 
 8
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XXXII 
 
 How infinitesimal are we ! what minutiae in His 
 
 Hand 
 Who took from dust to form of dust, His own Image 
 
 on the land. 
 
 XXXIII 
 
 Out from protoplasm growing peers the blade and 
 
 then the ear ; 
 Slow unfolding — slow expanding — till develop'd 
 
 form appear. 
 
 XXXIV 
 
 From the lesser to the greater, evermore the ages 
 
 roll 
 In perpetual evolution, deep'ning, broad'ning out the 
 
 whole. 
 
 XXXV 
 
 All things perish in the using moulded as we are of 
 
 clay ; 
 Only spirit, actuating all our doings, lives alway. 
 
 9
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XXXVI 
 
 Mind doth never touch the body, toucheth not at 
 
 any point ; 
 Yet the motive power supplieth, fills with oil the 
 
 empty joint. 
 
 XXXVII 
 
 O ye searchers probing deeply with the cruel knife — 
 
 one word ; 
 " Destroy not in all my mountain, neither hurt ye," 
 
 saith the Lord. 
 
 XXXVIII 
 
 Say shall Darsvin over Paley triumph in his learned 
 code ? 
 
 Both may point to us diversely, up to God, the self- 
 same road. 
 
 XXX rx 
 Reason out a fourth dimension in the wilderness of 
 
 space ; 
 Argue from a syllogism all hypotheses of race. 
 
 lO
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XL 
 
 Is it worth a lifetime's study but to find when life 
 is o'er, — 
 
 We are little more than children digging on a bound- 
 less shore ? 
 
 XLI 
 
 What though sceptics rave with wisdom, better be a 
 
 child to glow 
 With the happiness of Heaven than their heresies 
 
 to know. 
 
 XLII 
 
 O faint and feeble little men 'neath those vivid 
 
 spheres on high, 
 'Twere well most humbly to confess, " Lord, how 
 
 poor a thing am L" 
 
 XLIII 
 
 What are we but infants crying on the mother lap of 
 
 earth ; 
 
 Infants in life, infants in death, Infants as we were 
 
 at birth ? 
 
 II
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XLIV 
 
 Mighty chain connecting all things — motive-power of 
 
 good and ill ; 
 Man is crown'd with God-like glory of the majesty 
 
 of Will. 
 
 XLV 
 
 Descartes maintain'd free-will to be th' image true of 
 Deity ; 
 
 Tree of life whose magic fruit is death and immor- 
 tality. 
 
 XLVI 
 
 On the pole the ego reareth doth our fate for ever 
 
 turn ; 
 We, the outcome of the ages, strike the sparks that 
 
 deathless burn. 
 
 XLVI I 
 
 If Will were not and we were but puppets dancing 
 
 on a board, — 
 Then no responsibility — punishment — noryet reward. 
 
 12
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XLVIII 
 
 Truly are our acts our judges ; and our Nemesis we 
 
 call— 
 From the deepest depths of darkness or from Heav'n 
 
 above us all. 
 
 XLK 
 
 Whence come cries and shrieks so piercing that the 
 
 air with wailing smokes ? — 
 Crawling — curling round and up — till the fume 
 
 sulphuric chokes. 
 
 L 
 
 With sin and death the city heaves ; paved with tear- 
 drops are its ways ; 
 
 And o'er the shining surface rolls a weary world its 
 weary days. 
 
 LI 
 
 The little children cry for food, stones you give them 
 
 — and not bread ; 
 Breaking are their tender hearts, but their misery's 
 
 on your head. 
 
 13
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LII 
 
 Give them air, the stifled children — for we often hear 
 
 them sigh ; 
 Give them space to play as blithely as the happy 
 
 birds on high. 
 
 LIII 
 
 Sad are tears on aged faces ; how far sadder on the 
 
 young,— 
 Little lives that find too cruel earth's rude mantle 
 
 round them flung. 
 
 LIV 
 
 *' Feed My lambs," the Saviour said ; but to drain 
 
 the glass of pleasure. 
 You disburse all coin you have — and thus perish in 
 
 the measure. 
 
 LV 
 
 In a whirlpool thousands languish, see the waters 
 
 suck them up ; 
 They are smiling as they drink it — the sweet poison 
 
 in the cup. 
 
 14
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LVI 
 
 They are dancing on the summit of the chasm as 
 
 they go ; 
 See, they near it— they turn reeling— and they 
 
 disappear below ! 
 
 LVII 
 
 How the sun shines on the surface that secretes the 
 
 victim's well ; 
 While a dirge-like singing mingles with the ocean*s 
 
 funeral knell. 
 
 LVI 1 1 
 
 And the air with sighs is laden as the dark waves 
 
 splash at night, — 
 Spirits passing and repassing leave their phantom 
 
 trail of light. 
 
 LDC 
 
 Hark, the sound of rebel voices clamouring for a 
 
 gilded goal ; 
 They a tinsel crown desiring thus would barter e'en 
 
 their soul. 
 
 15
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LX 
 
 Mammon is the god they worship, bowing to the calf 
 
 of gold, — 
 With the same profane obeisance as the Jews in days 
 
 of old. 
 
 LXI 
 
 Lucre wears the garb of friendship — poor ass in a 
 
 lion's skin ; 
 But the ears obtrude too rudely from the shoddy 
 
 mane within. 
 
 LXI I f 
 
 Clothe the naked, feed the hungry, shelter those who 
 
 are opprest ; 
 With your gold let best works flourish, and God's 
 
 love will add the rest. 
 
 LXIII 
 
 Seek not far for some to succour, they are crying at 
 
 our gate ; / 
 
 They are dying on our threshold — while we know 
 
 not half their state. 
 
 i6
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXIV 
 
 Sinking souls and starving bodies — reeking misery 
 
 and woe ; 
 God is asking through His children for the love 
 
 we all should show. 
 
 LXV 
 Coarsest raiment oft disguises those whom He has 
 
 pleased to dress 
 With the beauty-hue of Heaven — saintly robes of 
 
 righteousness. 
 
 LXVI 
 
 Fill'd with pain untold and rending is the pulsing 
 
 world around ; 
 All its want and anguish reading us a lesson most 
 
 profound. 
 
 LXVII 
 
 That we lose no chance of aiding, smoothing with 
 
 our little best, — 
 Any pillow hard and thorny, any couch of sad unrest. 
 
 17
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXVIII 
 
 Give us friendship — hearts as sterling, burning with 
 
 unflick'ring ray ; 
 Loyal in all thought and action, true to-morrow as 
 
 to-day. 
 
 LXL\ 
 
 With electric current rises kindred soul that answers 
 mine ; 
 
 Eye meets eye and searching deeply peerless treas- 
 ures I divine. 
 
 LXX 
 
 Converse sweet on subjects closely lying near the 
 
 hearts of each ; 
 Much to hear and learn and ponder ; much to tell 
 
 and much to teach. 
 
 LXXI 
 
 Love that holds us with its passion in the sunshine 
 
 of to-day, — 
 Will it flourish in the gloaming when life spends her 
 
 golden ray ? 
 
 i8
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXXII 
 
 Will it grasp the trembling fingers, smooth the silver- 
 banded brow ? 
 
 Flower of flowers that softly shaketh glitt'ring dews 
 of love-drops now. 
 
 LXXIII 
 
 Such a gift — the fairest rarest, Heav'n-born bloom 
 
 of love on earth ; 
 Making e'en the beggar maiden worthy of Cophetua's 
 
 birth. 
 
 LXXIV 
 
 Love, a lion in your strength, a lamb by silken ribbon 
 
 led; 
 An angel of the inner self has your finer senses wed. 
 
 LXXV 
 
 And the cold heart melting in me ran in rivers 
 
 through my life ; 
 Love-lit currents rippling fondly round my queen 
 
 — my own true wife. 
 
 19
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXXVI 
 
 Dante's Beatrice, Petrarch's Laura, worshipp'd as 
 
 they were — afar, 
 Were but poets' dream-creations — shadow-forms to 
 
 what you are. 
 
 LXXVI I 
 
 Something tangible I hold you — angel and companion 
 
 tried ; 
 Wisest counsellor and helpmeet — truest friend and 
 
 dearest guide. 
 
 LXXVIII 
 
 Man is what a woman makes him, motive power of 
 
 the machine 
 She who stands at helm directing with stout heart 
 
 and eye serene. 
 
 LXXK 
 
 ** Born to rule but not for battle," Ruskin deems of 
 
 woman's sphere ; 
 She should let this puissance crown her with a value 
 
 doubly dear. 
 
 20
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXXX 
 
 Are the rights of women truly thrusting home the 
 
 wrongs of men ? 
 Nay 'tis only jealous carping that would shut them 
 
 out again. 
 
 LXXXI 
 
 Shut them out from boundless treasures with which 
 
 wisdom's fields are white ; 
 Shut them in to serve as Phyllis, rock the children 
 
 day and night. 
 
 LXXXII 
 
 Once the slaves of household tyrants in their minis- 
 tries opprest ; 
 Deem'd incapable of rising to the level of his quest. 
 
 LXXXI 1 1 
 
 Now proved worthy of presiding at the councils of 
 
 the State ; 
 In the woman's crown of honour gleams the jewel 
 
 of the great. 
 
 21
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXXXIV 
 
 O my sisters with your dowry — pow'r to use for good 
 
 or ill ; 
 Wear the white rose which shall perfume every walk 
 
 of life you fill. 
 
 LXXXV 
 
 Better far than protestations, grander than fine 
 
 precepts giv'n, 
 Is the silent sweet example of a life that points to 
 
 Heav'n. 
 
 LXXXVI 
 
 In each soul there dwells the hidden, closely hugg'd 
 
 — far out of sight ; 
 None of us unveil that treasure to the cold hard stare 
 
 of light. 
 
 LXXXVII 
 
 Two selves pulsing in one body ; one the spirit of 
 
 the earth ; 
 And the other that pure essence — offshoot of immortal 
 
 birth. 
 
 22
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 LXXXVIII 
 Raging fiercely in their prison striving each one to 
 
 prevail ; 
 Sir Galahad no stronger strove to obtain the Holy 
 
 Grail. 
 
 LXXXIX 
 
 Stamp it down O gentle spirit, trample on the seed 
 
 of sin ; 
 Make the spark divine to triumph, may the angel in 
 
 us win. 
 
 xc 
 Ah there gnaws a growing craving buried deeply in 
 
 the breast ; 
 'Tis the burden of a burning to express the un- 
 
 express'd. 
 
 xci 
 Flash our words athwart the silence of the brooding 
 
 mighty world ; 
 Wing'd with flame their fier}' arrows and their purple 
 
 crest unfurl'd. 
 
 23
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XCII 
 
 Swiftly speeds their bubbling current coursing 
 
 through our throbbing veins ; 
 Shiv'ring many a hope to atoms with the clanking of 
 
 their chains. 
 
 XCIII 
 
 The seed they sow, the tares they sow whither fly 
 
 we cannot say ; 
 But the scatter'd grain we know will swell the harvest 
 
 store one day. 
 
 xciv 
 The busy mart of life is block'd with a seething, 
 
 surging sea ; 
 And the world's great burden is the suff'ring of 
 
 humanity. 
 
 xcv 
 One long cry that rises ever swelling volumes in its 
 
 tone, — 
 Pierces through the darkness, falling stunn'd with 
 light before the Throne. 
 
 24
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 XCVI 
 
 Ceaseless struggling, striving, stumbling in the race 
 
 before us here ; 
 Maddest stampede ! tramping over human lives in 
 
 our career. 
 
 XCVI I 
 
 Who can say in the millennium if Utopian codes will 
 reign ; 
 
 And if truth and right unshackled will shine out star- 
 lit again ! 
 
 XCVIII 
 
 A perfect hierarchy it seems far in my vision rises ; — 
 When no hydra-beasts will stalk raving fiends in 
 saints' disguises. 
 
 xcix 
 When the truth undimm'd unerring shall uphold 
 
 her glass to time ; 
 Lamb and Lion correlating — stretched before one 
 
 hearth sublime. 
 
 25
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 c 
 When happiness will be unmark'd by pale sorrow's 
 
 tearful stain ; 
 And love will drink nepenthe draughts with its own 
 
 true love again. 
 
 CI 
 
 What is happiness we ask — the siimmum honiim all 
 
 would seek ; 
 Dwells it in the stately castle or in cottage of the 
 
 meek ? 
 
 CII 
 
 Is it wrapt in rank or jewels downy couch or dainty 
 
 fare ? 
 You may seek in these to find it — but know well 
 
 it is not there. 
 
 cm 
 
 Aristotle deems it reigneth over all things, proudly 
 
 tow'rs 
 
 In exerting all the noblest, all the highest of our 
 
 pow'rs. 
 
 26
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 CIV 
 
 But relegate it how you will — its true essence is 
 
 defin'd, — 
 Laid in the heart that stay'd on God there holds 
 
 perfect peace enshrined. 
 
 cv 
 
 Ah vain hopes and aspirations ! what avails if faith 
 
 is fled ? 
 Crowns and kings and thrones must mingle with 
 
 the ashes of the dead. 
 
 CVI 
 
 All things flow in one strong current which no mortal 
 
 can arrest, 
 To the touchstone of all knowledge — to the sepulchre 
 
 of rest. 
 
 CVII 
 Shall we trample down with fury pearls more 
 
 precious far than life ; 
 Hurhng paltry preachments — pand'ring to the wild 
 desire for strife. 
 
 27
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 CVIII 
 
 Strife, I say ! what strive with angels ? PrincipaUties 
 
 and pow'rs 
 Are but hollow-sounding cymbals, blasted rocks and 
 
 tumbling tow'rs. 
 
 CK 
 
 Parley with the saints of Heaven — derogate the truths 
 
 they taught ; 
 Interlard transmute at pleasure till God's Word is 
 
 sin-inwrought ? 
 
 cx 
 
 Casting weaklings low in darkness ; laughing at 
 
 their blank despair ; 
 Seeds Saturnine sowing broadcast — till rank poison 
 
 fumes the air. 
 
 CXI 
 Darkness, doubt, phantasmal horrors crowd this little 
 
 night of time ; 
 But at morn the shadows fleeing shall break forth 
 
 the light sublime. 
 
 28
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 CXI I 
 
 Go not down in deepest dudgeon O most mighty 
 mother age ; 
 
 Weeping o'er the gruesome follies acted on a pinch- 
 beck stage. 
 
 CXIII 
 Life is fairer, stronger, truer, as the earth-veil slips 
 
 away ; 
 Opening up a golden vision — palaces of endless day : 
 
 cxiv 
 Deeper love and nobler longings all unfelt in sunny 
 
 spring 
 When the careless heart is leaping in a hall where 
 
 death-knells ring. 
 
 cxv 
 When the odour of the roses from the garden steep'd 
 
 in light, 
 Flames the thirsty thoughtless spirit with a false 
 but fond delight. 
 
 29
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 cxvi 
 Pluck the flowers O foolish children and their beauty 
 
 is laid low ; 
 
 Take the blossom in your fingers and behold the 
 
 bloom must go. 
 
 CXVI I 
 
 Kill by slow degrees the carnal — sink the grosser in 
 
 the great ; 
 Till the fleshly faints and falters in the soul's 
 
 refined state. 
 
 CXVIII 
 
 Bring me forth a wreath immortal from the golden 
 
 fields of light ; 
 Let me place it on her forehead as she sleeps there 
 
 wrapp'd in white.* 
 
 cxrx 
 
 She shall lie though stilly — queenly, in a pompous 
 
 solemn state ; 
 While for her the cannon booming shall roar out 
 all honour great. 
 
 * The Church the Bride of Christ. 
 30
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 cxx 
 
 Such a smile — a smile of angels I can see upon her 
 
 face ; 
 That no shade of care shall darken and no sorrow 
 
 shall efface. 
 
 cxxi 
 On her breast the cross is gleaming, emblem of her 
 
 living love ; 
 Of the battles and confusion — of the strife wherein 
 
 she strove. 
 
 CXXII 
 
 And the white rose softly nestling in the ringlet o'er 
 
 her brow, — 
 Is no purer than her spirit — infinitely perfect now. 
 
 CXXIII 
 
 Stay a moment — on the shimmer of her faultless 
 
 flowing dress, 
 Drops a stain of ruby colour — life-blood of her 
 
 Righteousness. 
 
 31
 
 THE GOLDEN QUEST 
 
 CXXIV 
 
 It has touch'd her — woke her — flamed her with 
 
 unutterable Hfe ! 
 See she rises — bathed in glory, snapping e'en death's 
 
 flashing knife. 
 
 cxxv 
 
 Hath she found it — life's Elixir — in that one oblation 
 
 laid— 
 On the white eff'ulgent Altar to which all poor souls 
 
 are bade ? 
 
 32
 
 G 
 
 A BALLAD OF POETS 
 
 REAT soul — great beacon light that flames 
 The arching firmament of power — 
 That pales with its superior glow, 
 The lesser luminaries quite ; 
 Immortal Shakespeare do I see 
 You pass in all your kingly state : 
 While treading closely on your heels, — 
 Comes Goethe with the princely mien, 
 The weird sparks playing on his brow ; 
 Bearing the scroll of his own " Faust." 
 And then — hand clasp 'd in hand there pass, — 
 Milton and Dante clothed with fire 
 That flashes light from Heaven's own shrine, — 
 Until it burns in livid tongues 
 Upon the hearth-stone of the world. 
 Then Shelley with his lyre that woke 
 The silence of the hills — and charm'd 
 
 ^33 D
 
 A BALLAD OF POETS 
 
 As Orpheus the very brutes, — 
 Passes in slow procession forth ; 
 With Tennyson, the laurel-crown'd ; 
 And Byron, bard of love, whose lays 
 Vibrate through all youth's golden days. 
 Heartbroken Keats and bland Tom Moore 
 Whose simple strains still draw a tear ; 
 With plowman Burns who fann'd the spark 
 Ethereal beneath his blouse. 
 W^ordsworth — Longfellow — Whittier ; 
 Together with a glorious throng 
 So dazzling — that my eyes I shade 
 Before th' effulgence of their rays. 
 Thus higher do they grandly rise 
 In one long shining company. 
 Above the grade of common things — 
 Above the earth — above the stars, 
 They bear in crucible divine, — 
 Their splendid incense straight to God. 
 
 34
 
 THE HOLY GARDEN OF SLEEP 
 
 #* ■ ^HERE'S rest in the tombs of the silent dead, 
 Where the willow waves her arms o'er their 
 
 1 
 
 head ; 
 
 And the fairest flowers are strewn to prove — 
 That death can never annihilate love. 
 
 A peace profound — yet so solemn and deep 
 Reigns over this holy garden of sleep ; 
 That the tears of the living may not mate 
 To the sorrows and cares of mortal state. 
 
 As the white flow'rs droop on the lowly graves, 
 And the fresh rain all the green grass blades laves,- 
 So lying there dust to dust they shall bring 
 From the buried seeds fair blooms in the spring : 
 
 The spring immortal — the spring that will shine 
 For ever and ever on hills divine ; 
 
 35
 
 THE HOLY GARDEN OF SLEEP 
 
 When the poor weak bodies now sleeping here, 
 Shall rise when the Trumpet of God is near. 
 
 Thus rest in the holy garden belov'd, — 
 Till the stigma of death be all remov'd ; 
 When the light that breaks on eternal day, 
 Shall chase the shadows of earth away. 
 
 36
 
 w 
 
 VIT^ BREVIS 
 
 E come, we play our part, we smile, we weep, 
 
 we die ; 
 Then 'neath the sod the mourners leave us 
 
 there to lie. 
 
 They heap the turf above around the weary head ; 
 While mournfully they say, " the soul to God is fled." 
 
 They wear a woe-worn face to match their sombre 
 
 dress ; 
 Till Time the vvorld's wound-healer makes the 
 
 sorrow less. 
 
 O such is life ! Like children building tow'rs of sand. 
 The first great death-wave swoops us down from out 
 the land. 
 
 37
 
 VlTiE BREVIS 
 
 Onward flows all life towards the one ideal, — 
 Which will substitute the seeming for the real. 
 
 The child before the man— the bud — and then the 
 
 flow'r ; 
 Mortal, then immortal — death ere life evermore. 
 
 38
 
 NAPOLEON'S CONVICTION * 
 
 H 
 
 E read it — the great world's hero ; 
 
 He read of the Perfect Man 
 Incarnate in the Son of God ; 
 And as his keen eye ran — 
 Through all those mystic pages touch'd 
 With fire from Heav'n's own shrine ; 
 He closed the book then gravely said, 
 
 " Look you, I, men divine ; 
 But this same Christ of Whom I read 
 He is no man — but God." 
 
 * Anecdote related of Xapo!eon 
 
 39
 
 A HARVEST HYMN 
 
 (This Hymn is set to music as a March and Trio 
 for organ and full chorus, by R. Graham Harvey. 
 Published by Hart and Co.) 
 
 L 
 
 (March) 
 ORD, with joy our thanks we offer 
 
 For the gifts that Thou dost strew ; 
 Fruits, the golden fields are yielding 
 Ever year by year anew. 
 
 Hear us in Thy love confiding 
 As we view our garners bless'd ; 
 
 Thou who sendest rain that bringest 
 Ears of corn in beauty dress'd. 
 
 (Trio) 
 Love, such rich wealth of fullest blessing falling 
 
 On earth's fair fields and on the harvest store, — 
 Rings out the praise o'er all the wide world calling 
 Of that dear Hand which feeds us evermore. 
 
 40
 
 A HARVEST HYMN 
 
 Lord, on that day when the bright sheaves dividing, 
 Rank tares from out the ripen 'd wheat are riv'n ; 
 
 O may we be for aye with Thee abiding, 
 
 The golden grain within the fields of Heav'n. 
 
 (March) 
 Praise the Saviour — praise His goodness. 
 
 Praise His name for evermore ; 
 For the seed-time and the harvest, 
 
 For the sunshine and the shower. 
 
 41
 
 THE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES 
 
 (These lines were written for an inter- 
 polated song in the Cantata "John Gilpin," 
 Music by R. Graham Harvey. Published by 
 Hart and Co.) 
 
 o 
 
 VERY dear in springtime 
 
 Is the laughing blue-eyed bride ; 
 But dearer is she after 
 As they walk life side by side. 
 They draw fresh draughts for loving 
 
 As they find heart-gems declare 
 The roses of such gladness, 
 Are a coronal for care. 
 It is not love 
 
 That with time flies ; 
 Love is the love 
 That never dies. 
 42
 
 THE LOVE THAT NEVER DIES 
 
 Love only grows the greater 
 
 In the rolling tide of years ; 
 Love only lives for ever 
 
 That hath fought time's many fears. 
 And like a rushing river 
 
 Flowing onward to the sea, — 
 Love, stronger, purer, truer, 
 Glides into eternity. 
 It is not love 
 
 That with time flies, 
 Love is the love 
 That never dies. 
 
 43
 
 HOPE ON 
 
 HOPE on, whatever be thy lot, 
 Do not despair. 
 Heav'n thy path below is lighting, 
 And God is there. 
 Sorrows cannot stay to chide us 
 
 Nor tears for long ; 
 Soon the sighs shall break in singing 
 One long sweet song. 
 Hope on, for far away on angel-wings 
 Hope brings glad tidings of immortal things. 
 
 Hope on, dear heart ; beyond there lies 
 
 All we desire ; 
 But we must to gain that glory. 
 
 Pass through the fire. 
 First the sowing then the reaping ; 
 
 Night ere morn's ray ; 
 Sorrow only crowns with gladness 
 
 The perfect day. 
 Hope on — for far away on angel-wings, 
 Hope brings glad tidings of immortal things. 
 
 44
 
 I 
 
 THE BEE AND THE ROSE 
 
 LOVE you much," said the bee to the rose ; 
 
 " I love you much, my dear ; 
 And I would kiss your downy cheek 
 If I might draw more near. 
 If I might come more near, my dear, 
 If I might come more near." 
 
 The rose look'd pleased for she open'd her leaves ; 
 
 The bee flew in with glee ; 
 He stole the sweets and stung her heart, 
 
 Then away off was he. 
 " I cannot linger here, my dear, 
 
 I cannot Hnger here." 
 
 "O such is Hfe," said the rose through her tears ; 
 
 " We give our sweets away 
 And barter all at pleasure's cost, 
 
 "Which never can repay. 
 But we cannot linger here, I fear, 
 
 We cannot linger here." 
 
 45
 
 T 
 
 LYRA ANGELICA 
 
 HERE is a clash of music on the hills 
 That vibrates softly, and the fresh air fills 
 With such a melody of many lyres, — 
 It thrills through all the soul's divine desires ; 
 Infusing such new life — such ecstasy, 
 I catch the tones of heaven's own minstrelsy. 
 
 The path below is sown with scarlet flow'rs 
 That twine their tendrils round the vernal bow'rs ; 
 Behind the blooms the serpent-eyes gleam bright, — 
 But from above streams down the golden light 
 That withers them within their sockets, — so, 
 The way winds upward, and that way I go. 
 
 Some tears must fall — some breath must bow the trees, 
 The sun disperses them ; then on the breeze 
 
 46
 
 LYRA ANGELICA 
 
 The night-wind sighs and bursting through the dawn, 
 Aurora bounds — and lo ! behold 'tis morn. 
 The gate is open of those mansions fair ; 
 Yet should I enter — dare I venture there, — 
 
 But for the King, my King who standing smiles 
 Without the portals, and my fear beguiles ? 
 'Tis He, 'tis He, the wind may come and go ; 
 *Tis He, come gladness or come woe ; 
 Be long or short the way — or hard the sod 
 What matter ? since He is my King — my God. 
 
 47
 
 o 
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 DEEP within those clear calm eyes 
 
 A bright flame burns ; 
 They flash the happy light around 
 Wher'er she turns : 
 They hold me in a magic weft, 
 
 Till I am drawn 
 Into the glory of her love, 
 
 As night clasps dawn ; 
 Sinking her darkness silently 
 
 To morn's fair face, 
 Till earth and sky are rosy-lit 
 
 With her embrace. 
 I contemplate her as she stands. 
 
 My perfect wife. 
 God said it was not good to live 
 Alone this hfe. 
 
 48
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 He gave a woman — man's best self 
 
 To fill that sphere, — 
 Which is the holiest and 
 
 Of all most dear. 
 The first the nearest place of love, 
 
 The honoured wife. 
 Ah ! that she still might hold that name 
 
 In that far life — 
 Where Christ hath said all angels are, 
 
 No marriage reigns ; 
 He knows it not who such pure joys 
 
 And bliss attains. 
 But it may be that she, my wife, 
 
 Will be more there 
 Than here to me. There may be e'en 
 
 A place more fair, 
 A name more dear, a higher state 
 
 Of union — more 
 Above and greater still than wife. 
 So true she is — so pure, so good, 
 
 49 E
 
 MY WIFE 
 
 In her combine 
 All those fair qualities which are 
 
 Well-nigh sublime. 
 A wife should ever be as she, — 
 
 Head, heart and mind 
 To him who holds the golden key 
 
 Her gems to find. 
 An angel-ministrant to point 
 
 The Heav'nward way 
 Through earth's night-time of tear-stain'd 
 hours, 
 
 To cloudless day. 
 
 50
 
 F 
 
 A STAR REVERIE 
 
 ROM my small window yesternight 
 
 I look'd out on the stars ; 
 The firmament shone clear and bright 
 Fleck'd by long golden bars. 
 The sombre shadows leapt 
 Where the pale Dr}'ads kept 
 A festival of fays within the ilex-wood, 
 Till all the leaves were rustling as their mood. 
 
 The long paulonia blossoms slept 
 
 Beneath the star-gemm'd sphere : 
 The od'rous breezes softly sang 
 To my tired spirit here. 
 
 " O light ! O star of life ! " 
 I cried — " and is there rife 
 A tangible, a tawny tangled web to twine 
 Around my sighing soul and make it all divine ? " 
 
 SI
 
 A STAR REVERIE 
 
 The moon went out in clouds and up 
 
 A dreary darkness rush'd — 
 Shrouding the world ; and all my heart 
 Cow'd down, crestfallen — crush'd. 
 Though dense and dull the night, 
 At morn it shall be light. 
 Sorrow must die as the dark must die, and ringing 
 With pealing preludes of praise earth's voice 
 was singing. 
 
 " Change " is the universal law. 
 No time or state stands still ; 
 The mystery of progression 
 Life's secret records fill. 
 We hold the treasures sent 
 As jewels only lent — 
 To stud life's pathway here ; and then enthroned 
 
 afar 
 There burns on everlasting hills our peerless 
 star. 
 
 52
 
 THE CHILDREN SLEPT 
 
 (These lines were written on the Forest Gate disaster ; 
 and the episode related of the little boy who went 
 back into the burning building to fetch his friend 
 is said to be true.) 
 
 c 
 
 ALMLY, sweetly the children slept ; 
 Swiftly, surely the red flames crept, — 
 Writhing, wriggling their demon heads 
 Closer around those little beds. 
 
 The smiling faces wore a light 
 
 Of pleasure born that fatal night ; 
 
 To some bright scene they then had been, 
 
 Perchance to change the dull routine 
 
 Of weary days and hours that past 
 Each one the same as was the last. 
 Thus hail'd with childhood's own delight 
 Was that gay fete on that sad night. 
 
 53
 
 THE CHILDREN SLEPT 
 
 To bed they went with hearts more gay 
 
 Than they had known for many a day ; 
 
 And rosy dreams of fairer hours, 
 
 Danced blithely 'mongst their new-found flowers. 
 
 A piercing shriek ; and then a choir 
 Of anguish 'd cries rose higher, higher — 
 Till smoke and voices fire and heat 
 Lash'd through the air in one wild beat I 
 
 The tongues of flame devoured their prey 
 With ghastly relish as they lay — 
 Unconscious of the danger round, 
 That made their gentle sleep profound. 
 
 Never to wake to see the day 
 Break through the rift of clouds away ; 
 Never to know either tears or pain, 
 Wearisome days or nights again. 
 
 Taken 'midst dreams of a sunny world 
 To the perfect glory above unfurl'd ; 
 
 54
 
 THE CHILDREN SLEPT 
 
 Where immortal flow'rs pervade the land 
 And star the hair of the happy band. 
 
 Sav'd from the flames a small boy stood — 
 But what now drove the mantling blood 
 Forth from his cheek ? " Ah ! where is Jack, 
 My chum, my friend ! I must go back 
 
 And fetch him out " — so swiftly tore 
 The noble boy through death's dark door ; 
 For both the children fell a prey 
 To that conflagration's sway. 
 
 Full many heroes lie unknown 
 Beneath life's coldly carven stone ; 
 And hearts beat high with nobler aim 
 Than earthly annals oft proclaim. 
 
 Fair sleeping children ! up in Ileav'n 
 The light of God to you is giv'n ; 
 Of such the kingdom is and blest 
 Are they who find such perfect rest. 
 
 55
 
 L 
 
 THE WEB OF LIFE 
 
 IFE is a web wherein we weave 
 
 The vital threads that stitch our fate ; 
 For good or ill we intertwine 
 The warp and woof of our estate. 
 Each fibre pulsing through the years 
 Evokes the smile or wrings the tears. 
 
 "e>^ 
 
 Ah ! could we weave our life of joys, 
 Of sweets and dainties delicate, 
 
 Such dear delights might cloy the tastes 
 For which the piquant feast was set ; 
 
 And we should die of our desires 
 
 Consumed in ten thousand fires. 
 
 Nay rather let us weave the good. 
 The common good of all mankind ; 
 
 The right intent the honest heart. 
 The deeds that only can be kind. 
 
 Thus by a magic weft to climb 
 
 To all most noble and sublime. 
 56
 
 F 
 
 A CORONATION ODE, 1901 
 
 ROM east to west — from north to south- 
 Resounds from shore to shore 
 The bugle note that doth proclaim 
 With world-re-echoing roar — 
 The Coronation of the King ! 
 The Coronation of the Queen ! 
 God save them both for evermore. 
 
 King-Emperor, Queen-Empress, hear 
 The shouts that hail your reign ; 
 
 So wide, so vast your Empire is, 
 The sun o'er your Domain 
 
 Sets not ; and to your sway is giv'n 
 
 The greatest Kingdom under Heaven. 
 
 God keep you both o'er us to reign. 
 
 The swelling music lauds the day 
 That shall from henceforth be 
 
 57
 
 A CORONATION ODE, 1901 
 
 A golden-outlined letter-day 
 
 In the world's history. 
 The jewels of the Royal crown, 
 Reflect the glory and renown 
 Of Britain's peerless Majesty. 
 
 England dear Mother-country bids 
 
 Her children to rejoice ; 
 Though scatter'd far in climes remote, 
 
 To acclaim with one voice — 
 The Coronation of the King ! 
 The Coronation of the Queen ! 
 And well she bids us to rejoice. 
 
 O ! Royal Son of her who reign'd 
 
 Longer than sovereign here ; 
 Whose goodness won her people's love, 
 
 Whose mem'ry all revere. 
 May you as she defend the right 
 Amidst the glare of that fierce light 
 That round the throne beats cold and clear. 
 
 58
 
 A CORONATION ODE, 1901 
 
 Blest by a Consort good as fair, 
 
 Belov'd on British shore ; 
 A Queen more lovely could not be, 
 
 No heart could dream of more. 
 God spare you, our sweet Queen, to shine 
 Radiant with woman's ray divine ; 
 God save you both for evermore. 
 
 Boom out ye guns ! ye cannons roar ! 
 
 The Nation's shout prolong : 
 Never a prouder fitter theme 
 
 For poem or for song ! 
 The Coronation of the King ! 
 The Coronation of the Queen ! 
 Their reign o'er us may it be long. 
 
 All of the Empire's noblest sons 
 
 Of oldest lineage — bow 
 Before the Crown Imperial, 
 
 Their deepest homage show. 
 God save the King ! God save the Queen ! 
 
 59
 
 A CORONATION ODE, 1901 
 
 Monarchs more lov'd there ne'er have been ; 
 On them and us all blessings flow. 
 
 Give to their peoples lasting good ; 
 
 And may they armed be 
 To wield a sword beneficent 
 
 O'er British territory. 
 The Union Jack flies free and fair, 
 Floating where stout hearts do and dare — 
 Brave in the mid-air dauntlessly ! 
 
 Hark ! to the thund'rous roll of drums ; 
 
 Opens the massive door ; 
 The organ shakes the Edifice — 
 
 Trembles the sacred floor : 
 The King and Queen with perfect grace, 
 In splendid pomp and stately pace, 
 Are crown 'd midst the deafening roar ! 
 
 Moments so thrilling are as years ; 
 Breathless we bend and pray 
 60
 
 A CORONATION ODE, 1901 
 
 That all around this earthly throne 
 
 May gather'd be one day ; 
 The King, the Queen, their subjects ail- 
 Before the King of Kings to fall — 
 On Heav'n's own Coronation Day ! 
 
 God save the King ! 
 
 His power defend ; 
 Blessings most rich 
 
 Unto him send. 
 God save the Queen, 
 
 And may they reign 
 Long happy years 
 
 O'er their Domain. 
 
 61
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 (" And He said to them all, If any man will come 
 after Me, let him deny himself, and take up his cross 
 daily, and follow Me." St. Luke ix, 23.) 
 
 (Christ) 
 *' Brother, arise and follow Me, 
 'Tis I the Lord who call to thee. 
 From wrath to come and danger flee, 
 
 Come now, come one and all. 
 Take up thy cross and by My might 
 Its burden shall be deemed but light ; 
 For thou must bear it in My sight 
 
 Till I shall bid it fall. 
 
 " Then when this weary journey o'er, 
 Thy feet shall press the golden floor 
 Beyond the Jordan's silent shore, 
 That cross will vanish quite. 
 62
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 And on thy brow a crown shall shine 
 Whose dazzling lustres will combine 
 To stamp thee altogether Mine, 
 Most precious in My sight." 
 
 (iST Voice in Response) 
 " Yea, Lord, I hear Thee calling me, 
 From wrath to come I trembling flee, 
 And Thine I would for ever be. 
 But " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 
 (Voice) 
 " The world it is so wond'rous kind, 
 My pleasures in it are enshrin'd ; 
 It loves me, and my roving mind 
 
 For God is not yet won. 
 I am too young to follow Thee 
 And give up all so dear to me, 
 
 63
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 A Christian now I cannot be, 
 I'll follow later on ! " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " O child so altogether blind, 
 The world to thee is only kind 
 
 Because thou'rt young and fair ! 
 Life's springtime soon will pass away 
 Swift fading into grim decay 
 
 And Time its joys impair. 
 Too old and worn to serve Me then, 
 I ask thy best days now e'en when 
 
 The flow'r is in its bloom." 
 
 (2ND Voice) 
 " O yes ! dear Lord, I'll follow Thee, 
 A Christian ever I would be. 
 And count all earth as dross to me, 
 But " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 64
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 (Voice) 
 " I am so rich in golden ore, 
 Houses and lands a goodly store, 
 Increasing it still more and more 
 
 Takes all my thoughts and time. 
 If I were poor without this bait 
 To chain me to my worldly state, 
 I'd come and e'er it be too late 
 Accept Thy gift divine." 
 
 (Christ) 
 " O brother, my heart bleeds to think 
 Such trifles stay thee on the brink 
 
 Of endless bliss or woe. 
 Thy soul I may require of thee 
 Before thy goods increas'd shall be ; 
 
 "With thee they cannot go. 
 Will they repay thee at that hour 
 When death shall hold thee in his pow'r, 
 
 For all thou wilt have lost ? " 
 65
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 (3RD Voice) 
 " Dear Lord I hear Thee calling me, 
 Thy servant should be strong and free, 
 And I would ever follow Thee, 
 
 But " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 
 (Voice) 
 " I am so full of household cares, 
 And daily toils come unawares ; 
 They seem so many traps and snares 
 
 To banish things divine. 
 Rarely at rest, I work away, 
 Fresh cares succeeding day by day ; 
 These are the hindrances that stay 
 My heart from being Thine." 
 
 (Christ) 
 " Oh know that in thy daily life 
 Whether as sister, daughter, wife, 
 Thou mayst do work for Me ; 
 66
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 Let all thine actions ever prove 
 The motive principle of love ; 
 
 No nobler aim could be. 
 A household cross to thee is giv'n 
 To bear upon thy path to Heav'n. 
 
 So humbly follow Me." 
 
 (4TH Voice) 
 " Yes, Lord, I hear Thee calling me, 
 A better life I long to see — 
 The world has nearly wearied me, 
 But " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 
 (Voice) 
 " Foremost in folly's band ahvay 
 I have been gayest of the gay ; 
 What would my friends in wonder say 
 Were I from them to flee ? 
 
 67
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 Alas my cheeks would burn with shame 
 To hear them scoffing o'er my name — 
 Deriding laugh and jeer and blame 
 My transfer'd love to Thee." 
 
 (Christ) 
 " Oh brother when thine end draws nigh 
 And God decrees that thou must die ; 
 
 Will friends avail thee, say ? 
 Can they avert the touch of death 
 Or stay the ebbing, flutt'ring breath 
 
 That soon must cease for aye ? 
 I truly then alone can be 
 A friend a comforter to thee, 
 
 When God calls thee away." 
 
 (5TH Voice.) 
 " Oh Lord, 'tis true that I would be 
 A faithful follower of Thee, 
 From wrath to come I wish to flee, 
 
 But " 
 
 68
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 
 (Voice) 
 " The dearest one on earth to me 
 Perchance may never follow Thee ; 
 Apart from him I could not be, * 
 
 His love is my true home. 
 Alas ! that he is wilful, blind ; 
 But should he ever change his mind,- 
 And in Thee resting pure joys find, 
 
 No longer I will roam." 
 
 (Christ) 
 " And canst thou desecrate that love 
 Which I have given thee to move 
 
 His dark relentless mind ? 
 A woman's influence used aright, 
 Is stronger than a sword of might 
 With sheath of flowers entwin'd ! 
 69
 
 FOLLOW -A IE 
 
 Come first and show him that your heart 
 Has chosen well that better part, 
 He then will follow too." 
 
 (6th Voice) 
 " With much delight I'd follow Thee, 
 A faithful servant I would be, 
 These fleeting joys are nought to me. 
 But " 
 
 (Christ) 
 " But what ? " 
 
 (Voice) 
 " Too old and weak and worn am I, 
 So soon 'twill be that I must die, 
 I could not follow Thee on high 
 
 If cross-borne it must be. 
 As years by decades add their tenth 
 They tell me I must sink at length, 
 Nay, Lord, I have not now the strength 
 
 To humbly follow Thee." 
 70
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 (Christ) 
 
 " Oh aged one in faith so weak, 
 Thou dost in Me no sweet balm seek 
 
 To gladden thy last day. 
 Thank God before death comes to thee 
 That I have call'd thee now to Me 
 
 Nor cast this chance away ; 
 Delays are dang'rous ; all is lost 
 When wav'ring minds by doubts are toss'd 
 
 And will not when they may ; 
 For others seize with eager eyes 
 The golden gem-besprinkled prize, 
 
 And then they learn too late 
 How much is lost in what has gone 
 Which but for doubts they might have won, 
 
 So sorrow is their fate ! 
 Both old and young both grave and gay, 
 I call to follow Me to-day — 
 
 None are denied My love. 
 All those who bear their cross for Me, 
 71
 
 FOLLOW ME 
 
 Shall one day radiant ever be 
 
 With perfect joys in store ; 
 And each one to My side they win, 
 Rare jewels for their crowns within 
 
 Shall gleam for evermore. 
 Bright as the glitt'ring stars above, 
 They'll shine 'mid heav'nly spheres of love 
 
 In bliss beyond explore. 
 Eye hath not seen nor ear hath heard 
 What God hath lovingly conferr'd 
 
 On all who follow Me." 
 
 72
 
 L 
 
 LOVE IN THE GLADE 
 
 OVE went stalking in the glade 
 
 With a lightsome bounding heart ; 
 Holding in his golden sheath 
 Many a bright bejewell'd dart. 
 Looking near and gazing far, 
 
 Pluming oft his wings of light, 
 Now he sees a maiden fair, 
 
 Rob'd in virgin garb of white ; 
 Sad she seems — she has no love 
 
 To give Ufe unto her life ; 
 So he pulls his silken string 
 
 And he asks her for his wife. 
 Love is sadness, love is gladness, 
 Love sometimes is only madness I 
 
 Love went sighing in the shade 
 In the waning of the day ; 
 
 73
 
 LOVE IN THE GLADE 
 
 But one arrow in his hand, — 
 
 All the rest were cast away ; 
 They had pierc'd so many hearts, 
 
 Wringing drops of ruddy gore, 
 That grown weary of his play, 
 
 He resolv'd to shoot no more. 
 Regretful of the plunder 
 
 That made havoc of his life, 
 He fell amongst the flowers 
 
 On his own red reeking knife. 
 Love is sadness, love is gladness, 
 Love sometimes is only madness 
 
 74
 
 POET AND PHILOSOPHER 
 
 (Philosopher) 
 
 I AM an orbit whose keen eye of light 
 Can pierce through the dawning and probe 
 the night. 
 
 Sheer shams and dumb shows I shiver and shake 
 To all the four winds the idols ye make. 
 
 The world is an open book in my hand, 
 In it I read mystic truths of the land. 
 
 (Poet) 
 I am the spirit that filleth all space, 
 For in earth and heav'n my light is God's face. 
 
 The spark I kindle from altars of fire, 
 Sets the world's soul all aflame with desire. 
 
 All men are my subjects for all hearts are mine ; 
 The sceptre I wield i' my hand is divine. 
 
 75
 
 POET AND PHILOSOPHER 
 
 (Epilogue) 
 Philosophers treat of the things that are ; 
 
 A noble mission as all may see ; 
 But the poets are God's ambassadors, 
 
 They show alone how those things should be. 
 
 76
 
 A DREAM OF APOLLO 
 
 I SIT beside the sedgy stream that runs 
 Rippling and rushing by my weary feet ; 
 Above, the birds are singing in the trees, 
 And in the distance sounds the young lamb's bleat. 
 So drowsy is the air. 
 The parting light paints fair 
 Many an Iris line of beauty in the sky, — 
 Till it and earth both kiss each other silently. 
 
 Athwart the grass the shadows come and go. 
 
 Playing a fairy gambol in the stream, 
 As o'er me while the rushes bend and bow. 
 It seems a veil enwraps me — and I dream ; 
 For through yon wicket gate 
 Where Nora used to wait, 
 (Ah me ! she's singing now beyond the stars of God) 
 There comes a gUding figure towards me o'er the sod. 
 
 77
 
 A DREAM OF APOLLO 
 
 His eyes are flaming stars, and round his brow 
 
 A wreath of twisted laurel is entwin'd ; 
 His face dead-pale reveals the inward fire 
 Where in his soul immortal thoughts are shrin'd. 
 A hero dear to fame, 
 Insooth I know his name, 
 Apollo come from Arcady ! and in his hand 
 A lyre — that lyre that chains and charms the list'ning 
 
 land. 
 He spoke not, though I long'd to hear him speak ; 
 
 But silently struck sundry chords that rang 
 Through all my veins and fibres, thrilling me ; 
 Then in full flute-like, tender tones, he sang : 
 
 " When hearts are weary and love is sad, 
 Fond hope from our soul seems flying ; 
 The flow'rs with a weight of tears are bent. 
 And Nature's sweet self seems dying. 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! and well-a-day ! 
 When hearts are weary and love is sad. 
 
 78
 
 A DREAM OF APOLLO 
 
 " When joy peeps out from a dove-grey cloud, 
 Like the sun which e'er is shining ; 
 Though dusky hued is the cloud awhile 
 It still has a silver lining. 
 Alas ! alas ! and well-a-day ! 
 When joy peeps out from a dove-grey cloud. 
 
 " Love is the essence and life of life 
 
 To the heart that's worn and weary ; 
 And sweet content is a lamp that turns 
 Into day the night so dreary. 
 Alas ! alas ! and well-a-day ! 
 Love is the essence and life of life." 
 
 The lyre is hush'd — through all the trees the wind 
 
 Is echoing the burden of the song ; 
 I gaze and gaze, but lo ! he is not there, 
 He stands not in the leafy shrubs among. 
 The night is drawing near, 
 The stars are shining clear. 
 And as the dew-kist eyelids of the twilight close, 
 A pent-up truant tear fell silently. I rose. 
 
 79
 
 o 
 
 TRIFLES MAKE THE SUM OF LIFE 
 (By permission of the Editor of The Girls' Own Paper,) 
 
 H is there not a sweetness in the smallest flow'r 
 
 that grows, 
 The dewdrop on the green leaf, the zephyr wind 
 that blows ; 
 The broad fields and the wild flow'rs that bestrew 
 
 the path we tread. 
 The odours of the roses and the songsters overhead ? 
 
 And our God has not forgotten the smallest things 
 
 that please, 
 The brooklet's faintest murmurs or the music on the 
 
 breeze ; 
 Though power and majesty are His beyond this 
 
 world's compare 
 The tiny flow'rs are sweetest and the children are 
 
 His care. 
 
 80
 
 TRIFLES MAKE THE SUM OF LIFE 
 
 The daily round of duty, the daily task of love 
 Howe'er trifling, savours of the angels' work above. 
 The gentle smile in passing, the kind word on the 
 
 way — 
 Germs oft in richest blossom to bloom in cloudless 
 
 day. 
 
 The love that speaks in silent acts, the true devoted 
 
 heart 
 Can never give enough of joy, enough of good impart ; 
 But love is not a trifle — nor should we deem it so, 
 It is our hope, our joy, our trust, our bane, our weal, 
 
 or woe. 
 
 Yes, little kindly actions far more than words do tell 
 What clear and plainest language could never say so 
 
 well. 
 Such little loving actions done by tender, gentle hands, 
 Will leave their marks indelible on life's own golden 
 
 sands. 
 
 8i G
 
 TRIFLES MAKE THE SUM OF LIFE 
 
 Oh, life's made up of trifles as of drops the ocean blue, 
 They waft us to Eternity — that path all must pursue. 
 Then let us ne'er waste a minute of those that God 
 
 has giv'n. 
 Since each one passing nears us to the pearly gates 
 
 of heav'n. 
 
 82
 
 B 
 
 KING CYRUS' CAPTIVES 
 
 EFORE the presence of august King Cyrus, 
 
 In all the glory of his regal sway ; 
 A heathen Prince, wife, children, household, 
 captives, — 
 Came, 'neath their galling yoke of fears, that day. 
 
 A voiceless misery of mute pain, dumb woe. 
 That prince's eyes reveal'd still more his gait ; 
 
 Bent by the blasting blow of bondage, surely 
 Grim death were sweeter than this sterner state. 
 
 The King spake gently — with a pitying eye 
 On one so young, so noble and so sad — 
 
 " Say, what wilt thou give thy children to redeem ? " 
 He answer'd, " All, all in the world he had." 
 
 " But giving all for them what yet remainest, 
 What ransom canst thou offer for thy wife ? " 
 
 83
 
 KING CYRUS' CAPTIVES 
 
 The captive spoke in clear unfaltering tones, 
 " For her I'll forfeit sire, my very life." 
 
 " Freedom to you and yours," rejoin'd King Cyrus. 
 
 " Begone — I spare your dear ones and your life." 
 They left that mighty presence — and the air was 
 
 With his praises and their thankful cries all rife. 
 
 So home they journey'd descanting as they went 
 On Persia's monarch and his noble heart ; 
 
 But one tongue was silent though the thoughts ran 
 deep ; 
 One only in his praises bore no part. 
 
 What seem'd ungracious the Prince's ire aroused. 
 Who straightway ask'd his wife why this should be ? 
 
 *' I can but think of one," in tears she answer'd, 
 Of one who would his life have giv'n for me." 
 
 If like this captive's wife, our hearts and hopes 
 Were centred in that Love which died to free 
 
 Us from a direr bondage than earth's fetters, 
 
 Our lives by such sweet thoughts would nobler be. 
 
 84
 
 MATTIE IN THE CLOISTERS 
 
 w; 
 
 'EARILY a little figure 
 
 Barely clad, and thin and ill, — 
 Sought the shelter of the cloisters, - 
 Where beneath the arches still 
 Found he solace from the sorrow 
 
 Of an outside world of care, 
 That made life in years so tender, 
 Sad and clouded, sear'd and bare. 
 
 Grandly through the vaulted arches 
 
 Stole the organ's richest tones, — 
 Swelling into soulful volumes, 
 
 Dying into murm'ring moans ; 
 Striking sore poor Mattie's heartstrings. 
 
 While the big tears dimm'd his eyes ; 
 Till the sobs that struggling shook him 
 
 Brought an angel from the skies. 
 
 85
 
 MATTIE IN THE CLOISTERS 
 
 Slowly down the aisle appearing 
 
 Came she robed in sheen of white ; 
 And her face was fair and beaming 
 
 With a sweet unearthly light. 
 Mattie wonder'd at the vision, 
 
 Like a child no fear arose, 
 And he seem'd as though admiring 
 
 The strange beauty of her clothes. 
 
 Very tenderly she kiss'd him ; 
 
 Then she bore him far away 
 Past the scenes where he in gladness 
 
 Oft did with his comrades play. 
 Over hedge and tree and flower. 
 
 To the golden cloudless land, — 
 Where the children meet together, 
 
 Play upon its shining strand. 
 
 Back the gates of pearl and jacinth ! 
 And the lady enter'd in ; 
 86
 
 MATTIE IN THE CLOISTERS 
 
 Close behind her Little Mattie 
 Left the underworld of sin. 
 
 With the robe of Christ his Saviour, 
 Far from want and scorn and pain, 
 
 Never will he seek for shelter 
 In an earthly court again. 
 
 87
 
 CHRIST OR DIANA 
 
 (Suggested by Mr. E. Long's picture, exhibited at 
 the Royal Academy.) 
 
 BLUSHES a rosy hue aslant the sky, 
 Aurora smiles ; the solemn hour draws nigh 
 That shall decide the freedom of a life 
 Chain'd down and bound beneath a nation's knife ; 
 Debas'd and fetter'd to caprice of will, 
 Oh who but for a gain untold could bear it still ? 
 Lo, where it listeth doth the Boreas blow, 
 But where it resteth can we never know. 
 Alike the ray which probes the wounds of night, 
 Transpierc'd a hopeless blindness into sight ; 
 And o'er the desert of a maiden's heart 
 Diffus'd such radiance that new life did start, 
 Now breaking forth on eagle wings to soar 
 Where Faith and Sight unite for evermore. 
 
 88
 
 CHRIST OR DIANA 
 
 The moment come — the multitude around, 
 Beneath the tow'ring buildings closely wound ; 
 Rang'd high in tiers, in dappled hues gaze on 
 To see which triumph may the day have won. 
 " Christ or Diana " rings along the sea ; 
 " Let her but cast one grain and she is free." 
 Clad in her vestal robe of white she stands ; 
 'Tis hers by one small act to burst her bands — 
 Freedom or bondage choose, yea, heav'n or hell ; 
 The tremor of that moment who can tell ? 
 Reigns now a strange dead silence — all await 
 To see a slave dissolve this grain of fate. 
 Blanch'd with a pallor that reveals the pain, 
 Her features set, the eyes uprais'd again, 
 Her soul speaks through them to the eager throng, ' 
 Of high resolving, noble, pure and strong ; 
 Of unseen presence felt whose aid is near 
 At this all-trying moment to o'ercome each fear. 
 " Avaunt, Diana ! bondage do I brave ! " 
 Is the averting movement of the slave. 
 
 89
 
 CHRIST OR DIANA 
 
 " Shall one dire grain possess pow'r to recall 
 The sentence that a lifetime doth enthrall ? 
 Or buy my soul from Him Who died to prove 
 The deep reality of His great love. 
 Nay, rather bondage with its hundred years, 
 Than reeking misery of shame and tears. 
 Christ ever ! though a while in bonds to be, 
 A Christian's crown shall set the slave-girl free." 
 
 90
 
 o 
 
 THE CHILD'S LETTER 
 
 H Cissy is so ill, mamma, 
 
 She looks so thin and wan, 
 The light has left her dancing eyes, 
 The rosy hue is gone ; 
 She lies serenely still in bed, 
 
 Nor stirs her head to see 
 Her Robin gazing for the smile 
 He loves so tenderly. 
 
 " Say, will she die, my dear mamma ? 
 
 I think my heart would break 
 If nevermore with me again 
 
 Her woodland walks she'll take. 
 The doctor, can't he make her well ? 
 
 He cured our little Jane ; 
 So write to him at once to come 
 
 And see her yet again." 
 
 91
 
 THE CHILD'S LETTER 
 
 The mother wrote, then gently turn'd 
 
 Her weary, woe-worn eyes 
 With uprais'd finger solemnly 
 
 Towards the clear blue skies. 
 " 'Tis only One Who reigns above, 
 
 Can make her well and strong ; 
 Ask God to spare her precious life — 
 
 To Him all lives belong." 
 
 The child look'd grave, and ran away 
 
 On some idea intent ; 
 The one thought uppermost that nigh 
 
 His heaving bosom rent. 
 " If mamma can write to doctor, 
 
 To God then I can write ; 
 Oh where is pen and paper ? 
 
 I'll write this ver}' night." 
 
 " Dear God," he wrote, " please will you make 
 My Uttle sister v/ell ? " 
 92
 
 THE CHILD'S LETTER 
 
 Then he clos'd it and address'd it, 
 
 But how — I cannot tell ; 
 Nor did he e'en forget to put 
 
 A stamp where it should be; 
 While to the pillar-box he flew 
 
 And posted it with glee. 
 
 " Oh when will God write back ? " he mus'd, 
 
 So proudly pleas'd he seem'd, 
 For full of faith and confidence, 
 
 His starry dark eyes gleam'd. 
 And to mamma all smiles he went 
 
 To tell what he had done ; 
 Then she bent tenderly and kiss'd 
 
 Her little angel-son. 
 
 " God won't write back dear child," she said,— 
 
 " If 'its His will to give 
 What you desire, oh then be sure 
 
 Our Cissy she will live. 
 
 93
 
 THE CHILD'S LETTER 
 
 His will be done ! So come with me, 
 
 Maybe her sleep is o'er." 
 And softly did they enter through 
 
 The thickly muffled door. 
 
 Slowly the clos'd eyes open'd now 
 
 With calm inquiring gaze 
 To the dear faces bending low 
 
 Their lambent love-lit rays. 
 The fever had abated, so 
 
 The crisis thus was o'er : 
 " God has receiv'd my letter then," 
 
 Said Robin, nothing more. 
 
 94
 
 T 
 
 LOVELY IN DEATH 
 
 HOU fair young form of maidenhood 
 Making e'en death a lovely sight ; 
 Just in the flush of life's sweet bloom, 
 How soon thy day is turn'd to night. 
 
 The absence of the vital spark 
 
 Disrobes thy features of no charm ; 
 
 Rather the impress it has left 
 
 Has serv'd to paint them bright and warm. 
 
 Thy hair wears still its glossy hue, 
 Twining and twisting o'er thy brow 
 
 As if 'twould scoff the hand of death, 
 And mock its presence even now. 
 
 Lovely those eyes, so large, so deep. 
 Breathing a love in sooth divine ; 
 
 Bright with the ray thy spirit left. 
 In Heav'n's own halo do they shine. 
 
 95
 
 LOVELY IN DEATH 
 
 Those veiling lashes curl'd and dark, — 
 Contrast well with thy marble cheek ; 
 
 The chisell'd nose — the clear-cut lips — 
 Make all description faint and weak. 
 
 Thy dress so white, the rose that lies 
 Upon thy stirless silent breast, 
 
 Are emblems of the hidden life 
 Thy soul has found in endless rest. 
 
 Thou casket of a deathless gem, 
 
 Now in the grave at peace shall lie, — 
 
 Till the last trump of God shall sound 
 To bid thee join thy soul on high ! 
 
 96
 
 THE DAYS OF LONG AGO 
 
 (This song is set to music by C. W. Thomas, Esq., 
 and published by Hart and Co.) 
 
 B 
 
 Y the riverside they wander'd 
 
 In the days of long ago ; 
 When their youthful hearts were throbbing 
 "With a passion-piercing glow ; 
 When the star-strown smiling future 
 
 Lit the fervour of their love 
 Into a spark as radiant 
 
 As undying flames above. 
 " For ever mine " — " for ever thine " — 
 
 Ah ! well their troth they spoke, 
 While the pale sun gleam'd above them 
 
 And the silver wavelets broke. 
 'Twas but a living dream, 
 Now at length they know ; 
 
 97 H
 
 THE DAYS OF LONG AGO 
 
 For nevermore returning 
 Are the days of long ago ! 
 
 'Neath an aspen's quiv'ring branches, 
 
 By a green and mossy mound. 
 Shrouded in a veil of sorrow, — 
 
 So an aged man is found. 
 Hoar\', bent, convuls'd with sorrow 
 
 For the love of long ago, 
 Does his soul discharge its anguish 
 
 As but truest love can flow. 
 By the riverside no longer 
 
 Will they wander as of yore. 
 For the golden light of morning 
 
 O'er their hearts can break no more. 
 'Twas but a living dream. 
 
 Now at length they know ; 
 For nevermore returning 
 
 Are the days of long ago ! 
 
 98
 
 o 
 
 GONE BEFORE 
 
 H give me back the golden years 
 
 Of the time when long ago — 
 Sweet sun-kist smiles did woo the hours, 
 And a tear I ne'er did know. 
 When flow'r-hung joys bestrewn with gems, 
 
 Drops ambrosial shed around ; 
 And the lov'd and lost so near me, 
 Loving arms around me wound. 
 
 They too have pass'd to join the throng 
 
 Round the mystic great white throne ; 
 While their vacant places leave me, 
 
 Ah, so weary, sad and lone. 
 Only echoes of their voices 
 
 Steal along the evening air — 
 As I dream I see them sitting 
 
 By my side as once they were. 
 
 99
 
 GONE BEFORE 
 
 Angels whisp'ring in the silence 
 
 Of the hush'd and starry night, 
 Waft the deathless germs to usward 
 
 From their fire-tipp'd wings of light. 
 And they sprout as trees, life-giving — 
 
 Fruit that ne'er can wither more, — 
 Ready ripened to be garner'd 
 
 In the vast eternal store. 
 
 100
 
 CHANGELESS STILL 
 
 (This song is set to music by C. W. Thomas, Esq., 
 and published by Hart and Co.) 
 
 IN the dawning when the sunlight 
 Stream'd upon the sleepy flow'rs ; 
 And the wind was shaking gently 
 
 Show'rs of dew from off the bow'rs, — • 
 Came a maiden tripping softly 
 
 With the love-light in her eyes, — 
 To the trysting-tree where waiting, 
 
 Her beloved she espies. 
 " Can you love me thus and leave me ? " 
 
 Cried she in that parting hour ; — 
 And his word, " For ever changeless," 
 Held her in its soothing pow'r. 
 
 In the dawning after years, 
 
 Years of waiting and regret, — 
 
 lOI
 
 CHANGELESS STILL 
 
 Came the maiden stepping sadly, 
 
 While her eyes with tears are wet. 
 'Neath the trysting-tree, she gazes, — 
 
 Stands an angel waiting there ! 
 Can it be her heart's beloved, 
 
 Come from realms divinely fair ? 
 " Changeless still," he murmured softly, 
 
 " Death is not so strong as love. 
 And I've come to fetch you, darling. 
 
 To a better world above." 
 
 102
 
 w 
 
 ART 
 
 HAT within the soul illumined 
 
 Lieth deep — remote from sight ; 
 Unsuspected till it flameth 
 With a long enduring light ? 
 Giving of its best and rarest, 
 Giving of itself — the fairest ; 
 
 But Art wing'd with silent might. 
 
 What is Art but the expression 
 
 Of a spark within divine ; 
 Struggling ever to the surface 
 
 Over all it moves to shine ? 
 Giving of its best and rarest, 
 Giving of itself — the fairest ; 
 
 Making radiance with one line. 
 
 What the finest thought of genius 
 From an intellectual mine, 
 103
 
 ART 
 
 Wrapt in unrevealed glor}', 
 
 If no Art can it define ? 
 Giving of its best and rarest ; 
 Giving of itself — the fairest ; 
 
 Poet, Painter, what is thine. 
 
 Art embraces all of beauty 
 With o'erwhelming force entire ; 
 
 Ev'ry particle consuming 
 In its own supreme desire. 
 
 Giving of its best and rarest ; 
 
 Giving of itself — the fairest ; 
 To perpetuate its fire. 
 
 104
 
 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 
 
 WE stood beside the lowly stone 
 In Grasmere churchyard — still and 
 lone — 
 Which marks the spot where he now sleeps 
 
 Beneath the Yew that o'er it weeps. 
 A poet's grave ! a throne may be 
 
 Has not a greater dignity. 
 Wordsworth, thy name alone can bring 
 
 A thousand mem'ries of the spring, — 
 To those who feel the thrilling touch 
 
 Of hands that sweep their heartstrings much. 
 Childhood returns beneath thy spell. 
 
 And all the scenes we lov'd so well ; 
 While Heav'n that lay so near us then, 
 
 Appears to hallow us again. 
 
 105
 
 WORDSWORTH'S GRAVE 
 
 Amongst the hills thou lovest well, 
 No note rings out a passing knell ; 
 
 Yet lightly tread — for one lies here 
 Who watches from a fairer sphere ; 
 
 Whose gems of thought will ever shine 
 With light less human than divine. 
 
 1 06
 
 TILL THE DAY BREAK 
 
 TILL He comes — when morning breaketh and 
 the shadows disappear ; 
 And the silver streak of daylight o'er the distant 
 hills gleams near. 
 Then fairer than the fairest and lovelier that the 
 
 dawn, — 
 Shall shine the King in beauty who for us a child 
 was born. 
 
 What rapture in that meeting ; what ineffable delight 
 To eyes that straining sought Him in the darkness of 
 
 the night : 
 When the steaming foaming breakers roU'd o'er the 
 
 rocks of life, — 
 And no beacon lit the blackness of the elemental 
 
 strife. 
 
 Ah ! then the tears of many shall be sucked into the 
 
 deep ; 
 
 107
 
 TILL THE DAY BREAK 
 
 No more the knees shall falter and no more dear eyes 
 
 shall weep : 
 Each tear shall flash a diamond in the crown of perfect 
 
 love, 
 When He makes up His jewels for the treasury above. 
 
 The light that never yet has shone either on sea or 
 
 shore, — 
 Shall fill the fiery firmament and star the shining 
 
 floor : 
 For fairer than the fairest and lovelier than the dawn, 
 Shall rise the King in beauty on that undying morn. 
 
 io8
 
 REQUIEM. 
 TO MY HUSBAND 
 
 TOLL, bell, toll, for repose of his soul ; 
 Toll, for his labours are done : 
 Ring bell, ring, for union in Heav'n ; 
 Ring — for the kingdom is won. 
 
 Toll, bell, toll, for he liv'd to be kind 
 In thought, in deed, and in word ; 
 
 Ring bell, ring, that he finds the rest 
 Which to the Just is assur'd. 
 
 109
 
 M 
 
 A CHRISTMAS GREETING 
 
 AY the angels who sang on that starry night 
 
 so many long years ago ; 
 Shed showers of blessings this happy time 
 from their fire-tipp'd wings of snow, — 
 On you and on those whom you hold most dear, 
 
 that God's peace and joy ring 
 Like some sweet strain in the seraph-choir of the Baby 
 Christmas-King. 
 
 no
 
 THE BLESSED DAMOZEL 
 (On seeing Dante Gabriel Rosetti's picture.) 
 
 SHE leant from Heav'n with angel-grace — 
 To see her love below ; 
 O God, she cried, in this fair place. 
 Must there still cling the woe 
 Of loving when the breaking heart 
 From its diviner self must part ? 
 
 If prayer can save, I pray Thee hear, 
 
 And give him back to me : 
 Thy holy Angels intercede — 
 
 Whate'er they ask shall be. 
 The incense of their prayers arise, 
 
 To draw the light back to my eyes. 
 
 Ill
 
 L 
 
 A SUMMER DAY 
 
 OVE me little, love me long," 
 
 Was the burden of his song ; 
 And she smil'd in sweet accord 
 With the ardour of his word. 
 Lovers of a summer day. 
 Will your loving love alway ? 
 
 Happy bird upon the trees. 
 
 Singing to the flow'r-blown breeze,- 
 Call'd them with a dulcet note 
 
 From its little warbling throat — 
 Lovers of a summer day, 
 
 Will your loving love alway ? 
 
 Blushing rose upon the stem, 
 Cast a tender look at them ; 
 
 Shook her petals with a sigh 
 To the soft wind passing by — 
 112
 
 A SUMMER DAY 
 
 Lovers of a summer day, 
 Will your loving love alway ? 
 
 Plighted heart and hand for aye, 
 Who shall rise to say them nay ? 
 
 So we leave them as they stand, 
 Heav'n can be no fairer land. 
 
 Lovers of a summer day, — 
 Love for ever — love alway. 
 
 "3
 
 w 
 
 A POET 
 
 OULD you know a poet 
 
 Worship him — a star 
 In Heav'n's bright firmament, 
 Lowly as you are ? 
 Then look up above you, 
 
 In that higher sphere 
 
 Where he sings so sweetly. 
 
 Angels pause to hear. 
 
 If you will but listen 
 
 You may catch a note 
 Of divinest meaning, 
 
 As it down doth float : — 
 But you cannot reach him, 
 
 He — a poet-star — 
 For he dwells where only 
 
 Such pure spirits are. 
 
 114
 
 IN MEMORIAM 
 (To the memory of my beloved Mother.) 
 
 HERE all free from pain and sorrow 
 She lies at rest — 
 Waiting for the sweet to-morrow 
 On Jesu's breast. 
 Pure was her life and fair and true ; 
 
 She knew not guile ; 
 The gentlest nature was reveal'd 
 
 In her rare smile. 
 The muses knew her well and woke 
 
 Her golden voice — 
 That captive held all listeners, 
 
 And made rejoice. 
 Her beauteous form and face retained 
 
 Till she arose — 
 And joined the blessed choir through which 
 Her own song flows. 
 
 "5
 
 R 
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 (By permission of the Editor of The Girls' Own Paper.) 
 
 ING out sweet bells with all your merry 
 
 pealing 
 The joyous news that thrills our hearts 
 to-day — 
 Of the young Babe whose birth a star revealing, 
 Stood over where the Christmas- King did lay. 
 Angels sing on the same grand song as then : 
 ** Glory to God — and peace, goodwill to men." 
 
 All tears that fall all sorrows now prevailing, 
 
 The tide drink up that rolls back mountains high ; 
 
 No more be heard the cry of one bewailing, 
 When Jesus came to-day all eyes to dry. 
 
 Angels sing on the same grand song as then : 
 *' Glory to God — and peace, goodwill to men." 
 
 ii6
 
 A CHRISTMAS CAROL 
 
 Hand claspt in hand and hearts once more uniting, 
 Meet round the board where He the Lord shall 
 bless 
 
 All those who in His birth are here delighting, 
 Partakers each of His own righteousness. 
 
 Angels sing on the same grand song as then : 
 " Glory to God — and peace, goodwill to men." 
 
 O love of loves ! all human thought transcending ; 
 
 Grant us the joy the shepherds felt when near 
 They viewed the host of heavenly choirs descending 
 
 To pour their tale of gladness in their ear. 
 Angels sing on the same grand song as then : 
 
 " Glory to God — and peace, goodwill to men." 
 
 117
 
 A 
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE KING 
 
 (By permission of the Editor of The Girls' Own Paper.) 
 
 RE you working for the Master in the sun- 
 shine and the shade, 
 Not alone where flowers are blooming but 
 where tears have swept the glade ? 
 Where there is no joyous echo of the little children's 
 
 cry — 
 For they cannot sing with gladness when they lay 
 them down to die. 
 
 Merry little lambs are playing in the meadows all the 
 
 day; 
 But the children of the city bow their heads and fade 
 
 away. 
 You will find them in their sorrow — drooping, 
 
 weeping all alone ; 
 
 Little pinched and pallid faces with no language 
 
 but a groan. 
 
 ii8
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE KING 
 
 Are you working in the vineyard, sowing, pruning as 
 
 you're bid ? 
 Although the world may never know it, from God 
 
 no thing is hid. 
 And be sure your work is incense most acceptable 
 
 above, 
 If apart from all self-seeking, you perform it out of 
 
 love. 
 
 A kind word in its season is as balm to an aching heart; 
 And in little ways undreamt of you may play an angel's 
 
 part. 
 'Tis the grains that make the desert, and the drops 
 
 the ocean wide ; 
 While each step you take is golden if the King is 
 
 at your side. 
 
 You may never see the blossoms of your loving service 
 
 given 
 
 Here on earth ; but rest assured you will see them 
 
 up in Heaven. 
 
 119
 
 THE SERVICE OF THE KING 
 
 The precious seeds you sow in tears, shall upspring 
 
 in stars of light, 
 To crown you with their radiance in our God's most 
 
 holy sight. 
 
 120
 
 H 
 
 A PORTRAIT 
 
 OLD up the mirror that I may see 
 
 If the gods have been kind ; 
 A face moulded for witchery, 
 And air proud and refin'd. 
 Blue eyes, the windows through which there 
 gleams 
 A light that burns deep down — 
 Kindled from an ethereal fire 
 Which is God's — not my own. 
 
 121
 
 TO ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 
 Poet Laureate. In Memoriam. 
 
 A 
 
 METEOR in the firmament, 
 Has flashed across the stars — 
 
 Paling their light ; it shot afar 
 And burst Heaven's golden bars. 
 
 Then from those fair seraphic choirs 
 
 Soft anthems floating rise ; 
 In one undying song they sing 
 
 The peace of Paradise. 
 
 And one sweet voice of fuller tone 
 Rings through those arches tall, — 
 
 A voice the world can ne'er forget — 
 The sweetest voice of all. 
 
 What though the lyre he wakes no more, 
 Lies all unstrung to-day ; 
 
 122
 
 TO ALFRED, LORD TENNYSON 
 
 Immortal echoes from those strings 
 Can never pass away. 
 
 No " moaning of the bar " disturbed 
 
 The mighty spirit's flight ; 
 " From out our bourne of time and place," 
 
 He sings in undimm'd light. 
 
 123
 
 BORDERLAND 
 
 [These lines are written on a touching anecdote in 
 the late Lord Tennyson's life.] 
 
 I 
 
 'SE not good for much, that's sartin ; 
 
 I know my end's drawing nigh ; 
 But it's 'ard on yer luck I think, 
 
 To pull up and say goodbye. 
 The world ain't bin vary pleasant, 
 
 I've 'ad to work pretty 'ard ; 
 And ofttimes press'd for a penny. 
 To find but a bit o' lard. 
 
 Still, though the times were agin me, 
 I strode along some'at brave ; 
 
 For when yer down o' yer pocket, 
 The folks oft think yer a knave. 
 
 An' it's ard'ous to convince 'em 
 124
 
 BORDERLAND 
 
 That a man can honest be, 
 When 'e's nothin' to show for it 
 But a darn'd patch o' 'is knee. 
 
 Eh well, an' am I adreamin', 
 
 What does it all come to now ? 
 Or what more in a 'undred years — 
 
 For to death we all must bow. 
 I'd like to see my ole 'oman, 
 
 Jist once 'ere 'afore I die ; 
 But its vary 'ard I'm thinkin', 
 
 Vary 'ard to say goodbye. 
 
 So Anne, it's yerself then, is it ? — 
 'Ow chang'd sin' yer were a gurl ; 
 
 When yer eyes were bright as dewdrops, 
 An' yer 'air one twisty curl. 
 
 Then yer was belle o' the village, 
 An' look'd low when yer took me ; 
 
 125
 
 BORDERLAND 
 
 But Anne, so long as yer lov'd me, 
 Lord ! it was nothin' to we. 
 
 We only 'ad each other, Anne, 
 
 An' I toil'd for yer right weal ; 
 An' we us'd to be contented, — 
 
 Though we 'adn't a great deal. 
 But bless me if love don't make us 
 
 A satisfied with our lot, 
 Then my peace is now all blusted, 
 
 An' my life 'as bin all rot. 
 
 It seems I'm getting 'azy, Anne, 
 
 Jist gi' me yer 'and, ole wife ; 
 I know I'm starting out ternight, 
 
 An* leaving the old 'ard life. 
 I 'ear that singin' in my ears. 
 
 Like the ole church-bells at 'ome ; 
 An' when inside that blessed place, 
 
 I shall look for yer to come. 
 126
 
 BORDERLAND 
 
 But stop, I wants to tell yer, Anne, 
 
 When I'm right away up there ; 
 Don't yer carry on — ole 'oman — 
 
 But jist lift yer 'eart in prayer. 
 What's that them bells keeps aringin' ? 
 
 Eh ? only strikin' the noon : 
 It ain't so *ard to say goodbye — 
 
 If yer come soon, Anne — Come soon. 
 
 127
 
 CHRISTINA ROSETTI 
 
 EVERENTLY and lovingly I turn the 
 
 ■ leaves 
 Whereon her heart is writ ; 
 Sweet saint, now sleeping 'neath the snow, 
 Whose soul is white as it. 
 
 R 
 
 128
 
 THE VOICE OF SPRING 
 
 |A VOICE more sweet than all earth's many 
 / ^ voices, 
 JL. JL. Rings out o'er woodland dales and hills 
 away — 
 Thrilling the pregnant soil and waking sleepers, — 
 With the fair herald of Spring's newborn day. 
 
 Pale with the crystal mantle of the winter ; 
 
 Now glows a rosy hue o'er land and sea ; 
 And sleeping nature waits in expectation — 
 
 Of the unfolding beauties that shall be. 
 
 A shiver white trembles the prone creation ; 
 
 Then gaily gladly steps she forth to meet 
 The warm embraces of the Sun-god's radiance — 
 
 And with them close her mingling pulses beat. 
 
 129
 
 THE VOICE OF SPRING 
 
 The flowers peep out from some forgotten cranny ; 
 
 The tender leaves of faintest green appear : 
 And merry birds sing carols to the daisies — 
 
 To serenade the fairest time of year. 
 
 O ! voice of Spring — O ! promise of the future — 
 So shalt thou wake us in sleep's garden laid, 
 
 On that undying morn of resurrection, 
 
 Of which this earthly spring is but the shade. 
 
 Sing happy hearts which love hath made united ; 
 
 Joy casts her flow'rs before your feet to-day ; 
 And all creation fills the spheres with music — 
 
 In pasans to the promise of the May. 
 
 130
 
 BEATITUDE 
 
 THIS poor and crumbling temple of the 
 flesh, 
 Enshrines the Holy Ghost ; 
 The spark that struggling with its destiny 
 
 O'ercomes this earthly host — 
 And breaking through the bonds of time and space, 
 
 Rides on its psychic wing, — 
 Through countless aeons of progressive states, 
 To God — the everything. 
 
 131
 
 Letter from the late Right Honble. William E. 
 Gladstone, Prime Minister, on receiving a 
 presentation copy of Mrs. Mosscockle's book, 
 " The Golden Quest." 
 
 Dear Madam, — 
 
 I thank you for the gift of your Poems, and with 
 however httle confidence in my own judgment, 
 I recognise in them the possession of a thoroughly 
 genuine gift. 
 
 Beheve me. 
 
 Your very faithful 
 
 W. E. Gladstone. 
 
 133
 
 PRESS NOTICES 
 
 " Fantasias " 
 
 This small volume of poems shows a cultivated 
 and comprehensive taste, as the subjects of the verses 
 include religion, classic mythology, and domestic 
 incident. The poem placed first in the book is entitled 
 " Follow Me," and includes a few dramatic repre- 
 sentations of the response made by different ages 
 and conditions in human life. — The Queen. 
 
 I have, by the way, come across a charming little 
 book, " Fantasias," by Mrs. Mosscockle, published 
 very neatly by Kegan Paul, Trench and Co. and full 
 of gems which the mind may lay up and garner, and 
 the soul be all the better of knowing, and the lips of 
 repeating, and the heart of treasuring. It is a sweet 
 and pure book — one such as is seldom met with in 
 this age of lurid colouring, and sultry sentiment, 
 and dangerous, insidious teaching : a book such as 
 we should like our children to possess, and feel a 
 safety and pleasure in the knowledge that they are 
 occupied in studying. In my busy life, I have rarely 
 time to read ; an occupied journalist is supposed to 
 write always — without time to think, or read, or eat, 
 or sleep, or even to pray — and he does it — is obliged 
 to do it — and it is only when he occasionally takes up 
 and tastes such sweet waters as these of which I am 
 
 134
 
 writing, that he knows and realises the unhealthiness 
 of the Marah in which his tired facukies are so often 
 steeped. To our readers, one and all, I say, get the 
 book, and turn down a leaf at " The Little Street- 
 sweeper," "Aqua Vitae," "The Child's Letter," 
 " Trifles make the Sum of Life," and " Mattie in 
 the Cloisters." They are all good, and all beautiful. — 
 Lady's Pictorial. " 
 
 In the small volume of poems christened " Fan- 
 tasias," from the pen of Mrs. Mosscockle, the opening 
 verses, " Follow Me," are the best. A good deal of 
 deep, religious and tender sentiment finds expression, 
 and occasionally not without the ring of genuine 
 poetic feeling. — The Daily Telegraph. 
 
 Some of the tender and pathetic verses contained 
 in the little volume entitled " Fantasias," are already 
 familiar in the guise of favourite songs, and it would 
 be easy to point out in it many others admirably 
 adapted to be " wedded to sweet music," and secure 
 similar success to that attained by " The Days of 
 Long Ago," and " Changeless Still." That the 
 author is capable of more sustained effort and dramatic 
 construction than can be manifested in these short 
 productions is proved by the first poem of this book, 
 " Follow Me," though a less ambitious choice of 
 subject would probably have given a more satisfactory 
 result, — Morning Post. 
 
 '6 
 
 The title is a very apt one, for the poems are full 
 of strange fancies, many of them beautifully expressed. 
 An age which is strongly marked by a love of 
 
 135
 
 materialism, with a strong spice of cynicism, is not 
 likely to be favourable to poetry ; but the writer is a 
 true poet. Many of the poems are marked by the 
 highest Christian spirit. — Western Morning News. 
 
 The beautiful little poems contained in this small 
 volume, are well worthy of notice. Each one has its 
 own peculiar charm for a poetic mind, but a peculiar 
 pathos is attached to one called " The Child's Letter." 
 — Court Journal. 
 
 " THE GOLDEN QUEST " 
 
 " The Golden Quest " and other poems by Mrs. 
 Mosscockle. The chief poem, which forms half the 
 book, has a good deal of dash in some parts — there 
 are some nice passages in several of the minor poems. 
 — The Queen. 
 
 Another lady's work, by the way, has found favour 
 with JNIr. Gladstone. This is Mrs. Mosscockle, of 
 whose new book, " The Golden Quest," Mr. Glad- 
 stone has written that " he recognises in it the 
 possession of a thoroughly genuine gift." — Pall Mall 
 Gazette. 
 
 Mrs. Mosscockle, who has already excited some 
 attention by her little budget of poems styled " Fan- 
 tasias," W'rites with much sincerity and a strong 
 undercurrent of religious enthusiasm. Of the present 
 series, the first poem, by far the longest and most 
 ambitious, is, on the whole, the most successful. 
 " The Bee and the Rose " is the prettiest of the smaller 
 
 136 ,
 
 poems, and the one succeeding it, commemorating 
 the Forest Gate disaster, will attract the attention of 
 the reader. — Manchester Examiner. 
 
 " The Golden Quest, and other poems," by Mrs. 
 Mosscockle, is a little volume of verse, which has 
 secured a good word from Mr. Gladstone : in our 
 judgment it is entirely deserving of his commendation 
 both for loftiness of tone and strength of poetic vision. 
 — The Christian. 
 
 " The Golden Quest " takes up quite half the 
 volume, which consists of 72 pages. The little book 
 contains eighteen pieces, all of which show a highly 
 cultivated taste, great power of poetic expression, 
 and genuine sympathy with fallen humanity. — 
 Newcastle Chronicle. 
 
 " The Golden Quest " is the title of a neat volume 
 of poems by Mrs. Mosscockle. The poems are marked 
 by strong religious feeling, and all are chaste and 
 elegant in construction. — Halifax Evening Courier. 
 
 137
 
 Printed by The IVestminiley Press, 
 411a Harro-u! Road, London, W.
 
 I 
 
 UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY 
 Los Angeles 
 
 This book is DUE on the last date stamped below. 
 
 mSflVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA
 
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 Mosscockle - 
 
 5097 Poems 
 M8U7A17 
 
 UC SOUTHERN REGIOrjAl I IRRARY FACILITY 
 
 'WW 
 
 AA 000 381 143 7 
 
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 5097 
 
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