by 
 
 of

 
 IF gin 
 
 AND OTHER POEMS. 
 
 BY 
 
 ROBERTSON OF IRVINE, 
 
 POET-PREACHER. 
 
 (Suthric & <Son. 
 
 EDINBURGH : ANDREW ELLIOT ; GLASGOW AND 
 EDINBURGH : MENZIKS & Co.
 
 5232 
 -B55 
 
 No 
 
 ARUROSSAN : 
 PKINTKD BY ARTHUR GUTHIUE &
 
 PREFA CE. 
 
 In response to requests from widely-separated 
 quarters, the poems of William B. Robertson, D.D., 
 of Irvine, are here, for the first time, brought 
 together. With a few exceptions they suggest 
 pulpit use, and belong to various periods of his 
 gifted ministry a ministry essentially evangelical, 
 and even doctrinal, but ever open to the wind 
 "which bloweth where it listeth." Hence the 
 frequent outblossoming of that peculiar vein of 
 spiritual thought which found its liigliest and 
 most eloquent expression in sacred verse, and 
 ivhich deservedly earned for him the title of 
 Poet-Preacher. Thus, in consecrating his genius 
 to the highest ends, he found in symbol what he 
 taught as spiritual truths; ivhile in simple, yet 
 artfully melodious lines lie fanned the flame of 
 praise ; brought comfort to bereaved mourners by 
 teaching that the seen and the unseen are only 
 separated by a "thin cloud-veil;" and, with 
 true poetic instinct, sanctified by a sympathetic 
 nature, met the deepest needs of the human 
 
 heart. 
 
 ARTHUR 
 
 Ardrossan. iSgS.
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 SELECTED POEMS : 
 
 Dream of the Foolish Virgin, - - 9 
 
 Able to Save, - - ... /y 
 
 " Jonath-Elim-Rehokim," - - - if) 
 
 Chiaroscuro, - 21 
 
 Man is Born unto Trouble, - - - 22 
 
 The Serving Maid, - 23 
 
 The Veiled Bride, - 28 
 
 Stage Scenery, ----- 30 
 
 It Came to Pass, ----- ^ 
 
 At a Baptism, ----- ^ 
 
 The Gate Beautiful, - - - - 41 
 
 Shadows, ------ 44 
 
 Returning to God, - - - -45 
 
 Water into Wine, - ... ^ 
 
 Table Triplets, ----- ^p 
 
 Skin for Skin, 57 
 
 Unconscious Beauty, - - - -58 
 
 Thy Will be Done, - ... 61 
 
 CONSOLATION POEMS: 
 
 " It Darkens ere the Dawning" - - 65 
 
 Stabat Mater, 68 
 
 Departed, ji 
 
 The Child's Angel, - ... -j^
 
 CONTENTS. 
 
 Consolation Poems (continued.) 
 
 The Smoking Flax and Bruised Reed, - 75 
 
 Talitlia Cumi, ----- 78 
 
 The Jar of Tears, cS'o 
 
 The Mystery of Pain,- - 82 
 
 TEXT HYMNS: 
 
 Evening Intercessions, - - - 87 
 
 " Spring Up, Well," 90 
 
 Easter Echoes, 93 
 
 Hymn to the Holy Ghost, - - 96 
 
 Hymn to the Eternal, - - - 99 
 
 The Three Weepings, - - - - 101 
 
 Washing the Disciples' Feet, - - 103 
 
 Up, Up, my Heart, - - - 107 
 
 Dies Irae, in 
 
 PERSONAL AND DESCRIPTIVE: 
 
 Eviva, 117 
 
 " Tall and Alone," - 119 
 
 Margaret, - - - 123 
 
 Epitaph, 126 
 
 The " Campo Santo," 127 
 
 From a Rhyming Letter to a Friend, - 131 
 
 Early Rising, - - - 149 
 
 New Mercies,
 
 M DREAM OF M-FOOL!SH-VI6 
 
 IK* 
 
 HAIR WITH LILIES BRAIDEN. 
 
 ALL FOR MARRIAGE DREST. 
 BRIDEGROOM- WAITING MAIDEN 
 
 LAID HER DOWN TO REST;
 
 of f0e 
 
 Why tarries he so weary long ? 
 
 A little slumber sweet, 
 To bridge the night, until the throng 
 
 Comes sweeping through the street ! 
 
 Slumb'ring all the number, 
 Wise and foolish both, 
 
 Sin may come with slumber, 
 Sisters Sin and Sloth. 
 
 White enclasping ringers 
 
 Round her lamp are clenched, 
 Leaping light that lingers, 
 
 Ah ! how quickly quenched ! 
 And not by blasts nor dropping rains, 
 
 Nor thick besmothering damp, 
 But all because no oil remains 
 
 To feed the dying lamp. 
 
 Oil the lamp is needing, 
 
 Oil for wasting fires, 
 Grace the heart's flame feeding, 
 
 Grace the heart requires.
 
 Through sleep's ebon portals 
 
 The maiden walks in dreams, 
 Life to dream-eyed mortals 
 
 Is not what it seems ; 
 Through flower' d arcade in citron grove, 
 
 To the hidden sound of flutes, 
 A fair youth leads her, talking love, 
 
 Under the golden fruits. 
 
 Flick' ring lamp is burning 
 
 Dimly and more dim, 
 Faithless heart is turning 
 
 More and more from Him. 
 
 Rosen wreath he chooses 
 
 For her braiden hair, 
 Laughing then he looses 
 
 Lilies wreathen there ; 
 " Hold back ! rash youth, this lily knot 
 
 The Bridegroom's friend gave me, 
 And it were ill exchanged, I wot, 
 
 Fair though the roses be."
 
 of f 0e 
 
 Flick' ring lamp that burneth, 
 Mingled bright and dim, 
 
 Heart's temptation spurneth, 
 And yet not true to Him. 
 
 More to tempt the maiden, 
 
 Softer sound the flutes, 
 Arching branches laden 
 
 With the golden fruits 
 Lead to cushioned banquet hall, 
 
 Blazoned with pearls and wines, 
 Ah ! maiden wake if wake at all ! 
 
 How dim the watch-lamp shines 
 
 Flick'ring lamp is burning 
 Dimly and more dim, 
 
 Faithless heart is turning 
 All aw r ay from Him. 
 
 Tinted lights are glancing 
 Over floor and wall,
 
 Shapes of beauty dancing 
 Round and round the hall ; 
 
 And music runs in thrilling showers, 
 Dissolving heart and brain, 
 
 Till she has lost all will and power 
 To drive him back again. 
 
 Flick' ring lamp is Burning 
 Ne'er till now so dim, 
 
 Faithless heart is turning 
 More and more from Him. 
 
 Strokes the tressed maiden, 
 
 Strokes her arched brow, 
 " Give me, queenly maiden ! 
 
 Give the lilies now." 
 Languid denial murmur'd half, 
 
 His honied words have drown'd, 
 He plucks the lilies with a laugh, 
 
 And strews them on the ground. 
 
 Out ! the lamp it burneth 
 Never as before,
 
 of 
 
 Grace abused returneth 
 Never, never more. 
 
 Lightning ! Cracking thunder ! 
 
 Lights out ! Black as death ! 
 Flooring split asunder, 
 
 Red hell glares beneath. 
 Spectres' arms her waist enclasp, 
 
 In snakes her tresses stream, 
 And downward drawn in lightning's grasp, 
 
 She shrieks, and breaks the dream ! 
 
 Oh, the doleful waking ! 
 
 Now the lamp is quenched, 
 Heart with anguish breaking, 
 
 Face with weeping drenched. 
 
 Dream ! still rolls the thunder, 
 
 Bridegroom in the street, 
 Dream ! 'twas that shout stunned her, 
 
 Shouting Him to meet.
 
 His train a shining river flows 
 Between black shades of night, 
 
 And in the midst the Bridegroom goes 
 Attired in blaze of white. 
 
 Midnight cry that summeth 
 
 Every joy and woe, 
 Lo ! the Bridegroom, cometh ! 
 
 Out to meet Him go ! 
 
 Torches brighter blazing, 
 
 Louder sound the hymns, 
 Now her dead lamp raising 
 
 All in vain she trims ; 
 The vessel's oil is spent, and none 
 
 Has any oil to spare ; 
 She runs for they have bid her run 
 
 To buy in wild despair. 
 
 Tresses all dishevelled, 
 
 Bridal dress all torn, 
 The laughter of the street is levelled 
 
 All at her in scorn.
 
 ream of f0e Soofie^ Q?irgin. 
 
 Knocking, stands she knocking, 
 
 Knocking at the gate, 
 Echo answers, mocking, 
 
 " Maiden comes too late." 
 " Too late," words from within declare, 
 
 " Too late," " I know thee not ; " 
 No wedding guest can enter there, 
 
 When once the door is shut. 
 
 Saints in glory singing, 
 
 " Blest are they w r ho wait ; " 
 
 Hands with anguish wringing, 
 Sorrow cries, " Too late ! " 
 
 16
 
 flble to Save. 
 
 " He is able also to save them to the uttermost that 
 come unto God by him, seeing he ever livtth to make inter- 
 cession for them." Heb. vii. 25. 
 
 A LOWLY Man ! He takes my sins, 
 
 and bears the heavy load ; 
 A lowly Man ! He takes my hand, and 
 
 leads me up the road ; 
 And when I know the lowly Man is my 
 
 Creator, God ! 
 Oh ! this has solved much darksome 
 
 speech, and loos' d tongues that were 
 
 dumb ; 
 For all creation round me now a gospel 
 
 has become, 
 And what had seemed to me, before, mere 
 
 wild confused Babel, 
 
 Is now a fire-tongued Pentecost, proclaim- 
 ing, " Christ is able !" 
 
 7
 
 to 
 
 The thunders in the crashing skies an- 
 
 nounce it as they roll, 
 The lightnings on the black storm wall 
 
 write it in lurid scroll : 
 And stars repeat it down the dark, in 
 
 mystic gleaming light, 
 The Urim and the Thummim on the 
 
 breastplate of the night ; 
 And strong Orion shouts to me, what 
 
 slumbered in old fable ; 
 And echoes from eternal night-vaults 
 
 answer, " Christ is able ! " 
 And comet, cresting bended heavens, 
 
 wafts echo to the word, 
 Like waving white plumes in the star- 
 
 mailed helmet of the Lord ; 
 For all creation its evangels utters forth 
 
 abroad 
 In man's ear, when I know in truth my 
 
 Saviour Christ is God. 
 
 18
 
 " Mine enemies would daily swallow me up : for they be 
 many that Jif/ht against me, thou most High." Ps. Ivi. 2. 
 
 " T ONATH-ELIM-REHOKIM," 
 ** Dove of the Terebinth Tree, 
 Bearing the sorrow that stroke him, 
 Bearing it silently. 
 
 So did the David, heart-broken 
 How could he tell it in Gath ? 
 
 All the hard things had been spoken 
 Against him by friends in wrath. 
 
 Driven from home among strangers, 
 
 Wand' ring with wildered brain ; 
 Ne'er did he 'mid the new dangers 
 Of the old wrong complain.
 
 Only when grief grew violent, 
 Then his good harp took he, 
 
 And played the old air of the silent 
 Dove of the Terebinth Tree. 
 
 Wild through the strings went his fingers, 
 Dashing out wrath 'gainst his foes ; 
 
 Over his friends the strain lingers, 
 Never a word against those. 
 
 How would the Philistines glory 
 O'er him, had David showed 
 
 The sin, and the shame, and the story 
 Of wrong in the house of God. 
 
 Much they had done to provoke him, 
 
 Never a word said he, 
 " Jonath-Elim-Rehokim," 
 
 Dove of the Terebinth Tree.
 
 Cljiaroscuro. 
 * 
 
 A HE superstitious darkness take 
 * To be of all things head and chief, 
 And ignorance the mother make 
 Of all devotion and belief. 
 
 To sceptics truth is what is plain, 
 What they can clearly see all round ; 
 
 They make their little three-inch brain 
 Gauge of all mysteries profound. 
 
 But not the dark, but not the clear, 
 Can be the measure of the true ; 
 
 Nor night, nor noon, is given us here, 
 But chiaroscuro 'twixt the two ; 
 
 Which to the good is dawn of heaven 
 That brightens to the perfect light, 
 
 But to the bad a dusk of even 
 That darkens to eternal night.
 
 Man is Born uqto Trouble. 
 
 TI^HATEVER is not made human 
 
 Is, while it lives, quite glad ; 
 But man, that is born of woman, 
 His days are few and sad. 
 
 The tiny insect in gladness 
 
 Its little lifetime plays ; 
 But man that is born to sadness 
 . Goes darkly all his days. 
 
 The jaded hack has his stable, 
 
 The hunted fox his den ; 
 But nothing on earth is able 
 
 To give true rest to men. 
 
 The eagle has her high eyrie, 
 
 The lark her lowly bed ; 
 But the Son of Man, when weary, 
 
 Had nowhere to lay His head.
 
 Tlje Serving Maid. 
 
 OOD to Evil said, 
 
 " Evil might I borrow, 
 For a serving maid, 
 
 Your dark daughter, Sorrow?" 
 "Surely," Evil said, 
 
 " Take her oh ! my goodness, 
 A nice serving maid 
 
 Free from every rudeness." 
 
 Evil laughed, and quick 
 
 Ran to tell the Devil 
 Of this clever trick, 
 
 Played on Good by Evil ; 
 Ne'er more guest will come 
 
 To the house of Goodness, 
 When this maid comes home, 
 
 With her dreadful rudeness.
 
 J^eruing (tttaft. 
 
 Yet in house of Goodness 
 
 Sorrow, altered, grows, 
 Puts off all her rudeness, 
 
 On soft footstep goes. 
 Ne'er more word of cursing, 
 
 She is meek and mild, 
 And she takes to nursing 
 
 Goodness' little child 
 
 Patience. Pale and sickly 
 
 Is this child to nurse, 
 He seems dying quickly, 
 
 Getting worse and worse. 
 Till she, strange drink giving, 
 
 Feeds him with her tears, 
 Then the child gets thriving 
 
 Nobly, for his years. 
 
 Lullabies she sings him, 
 In most mournful strain, 
 
 Nourishment she brings him, 
 All in cups of pain ; 
 
 Nursed, apart and lonely, 
 In the darkest rooms,
 
 And she walks him only 
 Out among the tombs. 
 
 Dressed like him in mourning, 
 
 Blacker every year, 
 With the sole adorning 
 
 Of the jewell'd tear 
 Tear, on white face glistening 
 
 In the dim lamp light, 
 When she sitteth listening 
 
 To his moan all night. 
 
 Him for schooling too sick, 
 
 She herself must train, 
 So she gives him music 
 
 From the sobbing rain, 
 From the lone wind's sighing, 
 
 From the murm'ring brooks ; 
 And the strewed leaves lying 
 
 Round him, are the books- 
 Books, which none but Sorrow 
 
 Sibyl-like has read, 
 Of a green to-morrow 
 
 For the withered dead.
 
 JJertnng 
 
 Pictures, too, portraying 
 
 Red cross, and white throne, 
 
 And a knelt child, praying, 
 Lord " Thy will be done." 
 
 So, through Sorrow's teaching, 
 
 Patience perfect grows, 
 Till to manhood reaching, 
 
 Forth to war he goes. 
 Forth, meekly defiant 
 
 Of all danger wild, 
 Stronger than a giant, 
 
 Gentler than a child. 
 
 " Who is this ?" cries Evil, 
 
 " Coming down this way," 
 " Who !" thunders the Devil, 
 
 " Friend or foeman, say ? 
 Com'st to help or harm him, 
 
 Pale-faced warrior thou, 
 Mailed with grief -worn armour, 
 
 Plumed with pensive brow ?" 
 
 Down together rushing 
 On him so, these twain, 
 
 26
 
 Jiertring 
 
 Through meek endurance crushing, 
 
 He has smote and slain. 
 Thus through endured temptation, 
 
 Blessings spring from curse, 
 And to Victor Patience, 
 
 Sorrow must be nurse.
 
 Tlje Veiled Bride. 
 
 " And Rebekah lifted up her eyes ; and when she saiv 
 Isaac, she lighted off the camel;" and . . . "took a 
 veil, and covered herself." Gen. xxiv. 64-65. 
 
 T T EILED the future comes refusing 
 
 To be seen, like Isaac's bride, 
 Whom the lonely man met musing 
 In the field, at eventide. 
 
 Round him o'er the darkening waste, 
 Deeper shades of evening fall ; 
 
 And behind him in the past, 
 Mother Sarah's funeral. 
 
 Mother Sarah being dead, 
 
 Cometh then his destiny ; 
 Veil'd Rebecca he must wed, 
 
 Whatsoe'er her features be. 
 
 33
 
 On he walks in silent prayer, 
 Bids the veil'd Rebecca hail ! 
 
 Doubting not she will prove fair, 
 When at length she drops the veil. 
 
 When the veil is dropt aside, 
 Dropt in Mother Sarah's tent, 
 
 Oh ! she is right fair, this bride, 
 Whom his loving God has sent ! 
 
 So then walking 'twixt the two, 
 
 'Twixt the past, with pleasures dead, 
 
 And the future veil'd from view, 
 The veil'd future thou must wed. 
 
 Walk, like Isaac, praying God, 
 Walk by faith and not by sight, 
 
 And tho' darker grows the road, 
 Doubt not all will yet come right. 
 
 Things behind forgetting, hail 
 
 Every future from above ! 
 Doubt not when it drops the veil, 
 
 'Twill be such as thou canst love.
 
 Stage Scenery. 
 
 * 
 
 "For the fashion of this ivorld passeth away. 
 1 Cor. vii. 31. 
 
 O CENERY, nothing more I ween, 
 
 Painted on a shifting screen, 
 Painted river, wood and hill, 
 Painted city, sun, and star, 
 Things that rather seem than are 
 Nothing real hearts to fill, 
 Mere illusion for the eye, 
 Stage play and stage scenery ! 
 
 Stage griefs are not really sad, 
 Stage joys are not really glad, 
 Real bargains are not made 
 On the streets of masquerade.
 
 Crown'd kings, when the play is ended, 
 Lay aside their robes of pride, 
 Sceptred, throned, and slave-attended, 
 Yet poor men enough outside. 
 
 Weddings on the stage ! No ! Both 
 Bride and bridegroom plight their troth, 
 Endless as the ring between : 
 Yet full soon the marriage oath 
 Comes dissolved behind the screen ; 
 For these stage brides are not wed, 
 And their dead, too, are not dead, 
 Though across the stage with pall 
 Sadly borne by mourners all 
 In a doleful funeral ! 
 
 Then "the time is short" the time 
 Shut in by a second coming, 
 Deeds of long years, deeds sublime 
 In a little night play summing, 
 And droll little Pantomime 
 Playful plucks, in passing by, 
 Thy black robe ! grim Tragedy ! 
 
 3!
 
 Jkenerg. 
 
 On ! the mystic drama moving 
 Hoping, fearing, hating, loving, 
 And the angel over all, 
 With the trump of God down-bending, 
 At whose blast the screen shall fall, 
 And another curtain rending, 
 'Twixt the seeming and the true, 
 Brings the Eternal Real to view ! 
 
 How, then, does the lesson run ? 
 " Having wives as having none, 
 Weeping as not weeping be, 
 And rejoice not merrily. 
 
 " Buy ! thy grasp on bought things loosing, 
 
 Use this world as not abusing; " 
 
 For, as actors well should know, 
 
 It is all mere passing show 
 
 Passing show, and seeming all, 
 
 And the curtain soon to fall 
 
 On things seen and temporal ! 
 
 Weep ! weep truly, for dead souls, 
 Lest when bell of judgment tolls,
 
 Jlkenerp. 
 
 Darkness, with her hearse and pall, 
 Gives them dismal funeral ; 
 For the rest, refrain from weeping, 
 For they are not dead but sleeping. 
 
 Rachael weeps no more at Rama 
 In the last act of the drama, 
 For her children's shroud and clay 
 Are the things that pass away. 
 
 33
 
 It Canje to Pass. 
 
 One generation passcth away, and another cometh; but 
 the earth abideth forever." Eccl. i. 4- 
 
 TXASSING \ all things come to pass, 
 
 As we often thoughtless say 
 Generations are like grass, 
 And our fathers ! where are they ? 
 Cross' d the stage, and passed away. 
 Marriages have come to pass, 
 Funerals have not come to stay, 
 Nothing ever comes to stay, 
 All things only " come to pass." 
 
 On ! flows the phantasmal river, 
 Passing always pausing never, 
 Joys and sorrows, mingled ever. 
 
 34
 
 Came to 
 
 Bridal dresses glancing white, 
 And black hearses plumed in night ; 
 Now red lips and laughing eyes, 
 Now clasped hands and bitter cries, 
 Now the ringing of sweet bells, 
 Now the tolling of deep knells 
 With most sorrowful farewells. 
 On flows the phantasmal river, 
 Passing always pausing never ! 
 
 Pausing never ! like the stream, 
 And yet pausing like the beam 
 Shining with a steady gleam, 
 Shining in that running stream. 
 
 For amidst this whirl and flow, 
 In which all things come and go, 
 What remaineth ? Lord, 'tis Thou ! 
 In Thine Everlasting Now ! 
 
 Though the days are passing ever, 
 Yet "to-day" departeth never; 
 And though withereth the grass, 
 Grass anew the fields are giving ; 
 
 35
 
 to 
 
 And though men men come to pass, 
 Yet " the man " is always living. 
 Liveth the Divine Ideal, 
 And the ideal shapes the real ; 
 And the rest is shadow, all 
 Passing and phantasmal. 
 Liveth the creating Word 
 Of the I AM, of the Lord, 
 Who amidst all change is true, 
 Evermore makes all things new !
 
 flt a Baptism. 
 
 " Suffer the little children to come unto Me, and 
 forbid them not." Mark x. 14. 
 
 " CPRINKLE, sprinkle, now, 
 Blessed Saviour Thou ! " 
 " Thou baptise the young immortal * 
 Entering through the Church's portal, 
 
 Hands, and feet, and brow, 
 
 Sprinkle, sprinkle Thou." 
 
 Not by works of right, 
 Sin-stained souls come white ; 
 Not till Thou, from pit abyssmal 
 Raise them, and with wave baptismal 
 Wash them clean and bright, 
 Sin-stained souls come white. 
 
 ALTERNATIVE LINES. 
 
 From Thy white hands sweetest water 
 On this little baby daughter : 
 
 On her fair young brow, 
 
 Sprinkle, sprinkle Thou !
 
 Jesus, holy child, 
 
 Only undefiled ! 
 
 Ne'er was, ne'er shall be another 
 Spotless babe of maiden mother 
 
 Like thee undefiled, 
 
 Jesus, holy child ! 
 
 Slumbers hidden sin 
 
 Baby's breast within ? 
 Our eyes trace not one dark feature 
 In so fair and young a creature. 
 
 God's eye sees within, 
 
 Sees that hidden sin. 
 
 Sprung from tainted root, 
 
 Buds in beauty shoot ; 
 But our tree of life is blasted, 
 Withered leaves and blossoms wasted ; 
 
 And much bitter fruit 
 
 Shows that tainted root. 
 
 Shells that ocean strews, 
 
 All in rainbow hues, 
 
 Round earth's neck stringed necklace tying, 
 Soon in air and sunshine lying
 
 Soon on earth they lose 
 All their rainbow hues. 
 
 Ling' ring Paradise 
 
 Round the infant lies, 
 Sounds, like fading music, ringing 
 O'er her, and a deep light springing 
 
 Through those soft mild eyes, 
 
 Ling' ring Paradise'! 
 
 Eden's silver gates, 
 Lo ! the black-veiled Fates 
 Shut behind Thee ; but the Graces 
 Onward lead, with unveiled faces, 
 To where Jesus waits 
 At Heaven's golden gates. 
 
 Quenched is Eden's light ! 
 
 Quenched in sin's black night ! 
 Yet, 'tis night, our heaven's extending, 
 And one brightest star ascending : 
 
 Morning star and bright ! 
 
 Pledge of heavenly light. 
 
 Richer, nobler life 
 
 Comes through toil and strife, 
 
 39
 
 Lost one saved excels the angel ; 
 
 Who, thro' faith, thro' Christ's evangel, 
 
 Conquers in the strife, 
 
 Wins the crown of life. 
 
 Ne'er, then child of earth, 
 
 Rue thy lowly birth. 
 If thy better birthright prizing ; 
 If, through Lord Christ's own baptizing, 
 
 Born in second birth, 
 
 Thou shalt rise from earth. 
 
 Fall'n though fall to rise, 
 
 Climb to loftiest skies, 
 Where the blood-washed robe ranks fairest, 
 And those pearls are counted rarest 
 
 Which, beneath the skies, 
 
 Were tears in human eyes. 
 
 Come, then, blessed Dove ! 
 
 Through cleft heavens above, 
 Crown this babe, white-robed ascending ; 
 While we on the shore, down bending, 
 
 O'er the depths of love, 
 
 Cry, come blessed Dove ! 
 
 4 o
 
 Tlje Gate Beautiful. 
 
 \\ 7"H Y loves the mother baby so ? 
 
 Because the child is fair ? 
 Nay ! beauty more from love doth grow 
 Than love from beauty, and a glow 
 Outshines from her own heart to show 
 Those beauteous eyes, that golden hair, 
 That no one else beholdeth there. 
 
 Twin sisters out of girlhood grew, 
 Twin sisters came from school- 
 
 So like, their mother hardly knew 
 
 The difference betwixt the two ; 
 
 Yet, only one of them charmed you ! 
 
 And why ? but on the simple rule, 
 Your own love made her beautiful. 
 
 4"
 
 $eauftfuf. 
 
 Oh ! Love can raise a world from nought, 
 Can over chaos brood, 
 
 Transforming with creative thought 
 
 Whatever is into what ought 
 
 To be, till beauty without spot 
 Ascends out of the chaos rude, 
 And love beholds, and lo ! 'tis good. 
 
 God's love sees all that it has done, 
 And us doth spotless call 
 
 In Christ the Perfect and Alone ! 
 
 For God is well pleased in His Son : 
 
 And when with Him we are made one, 
 Though lost and ruined by the Fall 
 Love sees in us no fault at all. 
 
 Oh ! not to mask a godless race 
 
 Hath God so given His Son. 
 When we our soiled faces place 
 Beneath, behind that beauteous Face, 
 They catch His likeness, grace for grace, 
 Yet cry, " See God, His face alone, 
 The Face of Thine Anointed Son."
 
 (Bate Q&eaufifuf. 
 
 Such was the temple pilgrim's prayer 
 
 When first he entered in, 
 Beholding God's own beauty there, 
 And counting thus one day more fair 
 Than any thousand, rich and rare, 
 
 Spent in the tents of sin. 
 And lame men at the Gate that lay, 
 
 As at Bethesda's pool, 
 When healed, went straightway up to pray 
 This prayer, returning day by day ; 
 So still, unto the temple, they 
 
 Pass in, by " Gate Beautiful." 
 
 43
 
 Shadows. 
 
 T3ENEATH o'erhanging mountains 
 "^ The stars are hid from view, 
 Those light besprinkling fountains 
 
 That fret the vaulted blue ; 
 But as the pilgrim passes on, 
 
 The mountains fade from light, 
 The starry hosts return anon 
 And march with him all night. 
 
 And stars are lofty centres, 
 
 That spread their golden rays 
 Where nothing earthly enters 
 
 To break or mar their blaze ; 
 So griefs are passing showers and storms 
 
 That haunt our earthly road, 
 But joys are ever-during forms 
 
 That dwell in heaven with God ! 
 
 44
 
 Returning to God. 
 
 ' They have, forsaken me." > 
 'All is vanity." 
 
 ' When he came to himself he said, I will arise and go 
 to my father." 
 
 ^O Thee my God returning, 
 
 I to myself came first, 
 And found within me burning 
 
 Such quenchless fire of thirst 
 That I must seek Thee rather 
 
 Than perish, thirsting so : 
 Then said I, " To my Father 
 I will arise and go." 
 
 Away from Thee, the fountain 
 
 Of living waters deep, 
 I hewed me in the mountain 
 
 A cistern, rain to keep ; 
 
 45
 
 to 
 
 The cloud came, and I caught her, 
 And her moist garments wrung, 
 
 Yet found no drop of water 
 To cool my parched tongue. 
 
 Blest are the discontented 
 
 That evermore desire ! 
 Blest are the souls tormented 
 
 In that ascending fire : 
 From God himself asunder 
 
 They cannot long remain, 
 For nothing else and under 
 
 Can ever heal their pain. 
 
 4 6
 
 Water iqto Wipe. 
 
 r IKE water-pots at Cana stand 
 ^-^ Behind us stony years, 
 That have been filled at Christ's command 
 With grievous rain of tears. 
 
 Some fewer firkins, others more, 
 
 These stony urns contain ; 
 Not into every year could pour 
 
 An equal fall of rain. 
 
 But firkins two or three apiece, 
 
 That fill them to the brim ; 
 When all are filled so, rain will cease, 
 
 Waiting the word from Him. 
 
 The word comes, " Draw out now and 
 bear"- 
 
 When miracle divine ! 
 They draw and bear to banquet, where 
 
 The water now is wine. 
 
 47
 
 info 
 
 The best wine first, the last the worst 
 
 Man's feasts are ordered so; 
 They run to waste, pall on the taste, 
 
 From bad to worse they go. 
 
 Joy loses joy in course of years, 
 
 And is quite lost when past ; 
 But rain of tears such vintage bears 
 
 As yields the good wine last. 
 
 And as Lord Christ in vineyard still 
 
 Makes yearly wine from rain, 
 So His first miracle He will, 
 
 Returning, work again. 
 
 When, His own marriage being come, 
 
 He, seated by her side, 
 Shall order to the banquet-room 
 
 The new wine for His bride. 
 
 And her cup-bearer, Memory, 
 
 From urns of ancient years, 
 Shall fetch those choicest draughts that be, 
 
 The wine that once was tears. 
 
 4 8
 
 Table Triplets. 
 
 * 
 
 'And they saiv God, and did eat and drink." 
 Exodus xxiv. 11. 
 
 Y 
 
 EAR by year, the Man Divine, 
 
 Where the southern sunlights shine, 
 Turns the water into wine. 
 
 Year by year, He makes the corn, 
 Under ground in burial borne, 
 Rise with Him on Easter Morn. 
 
 Whence, ere one year's store is spent, 
 Bread and wine afresh are sent 
 For the next Year's Sacrament. 
 
 And, like Abram, life is fed, 
 Coming victor o'er the dead, 
 With the High Priest's wine and bread. 
 
 49
 
 tafife tripfefe. 
 
 Priest of God, and Prince of Peace ! 
 How the bread and wine increase 
 In Thy hands, and never cease ! 
 
 Thou wert broken 'mongst the dead, 
 That our hunger might be fed, 
 Even with common daily bread. 
 
 Whence, in things both great and small, 
 Life should be transfigured all, 
 To a high church festival. 
 
 Not with host to be adored, 
 
 But with each man's daily board, 
 
 Counted holy to the Lord. 
 
 II. 
 
 God the Pilgrim, here doth hide 
 Pierced hands and pierced side, 
 Till we say, " With us abide."
 
 Then the bread doth break and deal, 
 At the Emmaus evening meal, 
 And Himself doth so reveal. 
 
 When with tears we wash His feet, 
 
 When He sits with us at meat, 
 
 He gives Bread from Heaven to eat, 
 
 And that wine-cup with the bread, 
 Into which the blood was shed, 
 Lamb of God to slaughter led ! 
 
 Thus from tables here below, 
 Straight to upper rooms we go, 
 Eating holy supper so ! 
 
 Even the hidden manna eat, 
 Face to face with God we meet, 
 At the sprinkled mercy-seat. 
 
 Though His heavens He down hath bowed, 
 Though His Burning Eye dark-browed 
 Looks through black eyelash of cloud. 
 
 5 1
 
 Still we fast, nor fear, nor shrink, 
 On the Christ between we think, 
 So see God, and eat and drink. 
 
 Open'd now the sin-shut gate, 
 Inside which, no gloomy Fate, 
 But a Father God doth wait. 
 
 God ! who gave His Son to die, 
 Sealing so His purpose high, 
 All things freely to supply. 
 
 Whence green earth doth still remain, 
 Heat and cold, and sun and rain, 
 Fruiting fields with golden grain. 
 
 And with wine the vineyards glow, 
 And our Father's house below 
 Is a house of feasting so. 
 
 Where we feast, and fear no more, 
 With the Bright Cloud hovering o'er 
 Our blood-sprinkled lintel'd door.
 
 tafife triplets. 
 
 Down the ages, feeding all, 
 Olden men and children small 
 In a world-wide banquet hall. 
 
 Hung in tapestry flowered in green, 
 Underneath a dome-like screen, 
 Blue with golden stars between. 
 
 Guests in thousands come and go, 
 
 And Thou ! walking to and fro, 
 
 From Thy pierc'd Hand feed'st them so ! 
 
 Oh ! Thou Cup-bearer Divine ! 
 
 What a bitter draught was Thine, 
 
 Ere Thou brought' st us this sweet wine ! 
 
 Thou wast crown' d with thorns, that Thou 
 Might' st twine roses round the brow 
 Of Thy guests at table now !
 
 afife trtpfefe. 
 
 III. 
 
 Still we fear, and watch with prayer, 
 
 Lest our table be a snare, 
 
 And Christ not remembered there. 
 
 Lest into temptation led, 
 Through the fulness of the bread, 
 And the wine that sparkles red. 
 
 Stern ! from all indulgence shrink, 
 To God's glory, eat and drink, 
 Kindly on Christ's poor men think. 
 
 Christ, in each poor man anew, 
 Hungers, thirsts, and marks what you, 
 In remembrance of Him, do. 
 
 His own meat, through fasting, still 
 Was to do His Father's will, 
 Hungry souls with good to fill. 
 
 And where wells, the deepest sink, 
 
 Still He sits upon the brink ! 
 
 Thirsts, and says, " Give me to drink." 
 
 54
 
 Then, since common bread and wine, 
 Are ordained by Him the sign, 
 Of the mysteries Divine : 
 
 Through all languages and lands, 
 
 (Blest is he that understands, 
 
 Bread and wine from those pierc'd hands !) 
 
 Go ye ! and all nations teach ! 
 
 What this meaneth this dumb speech ; 
 
 Which through all the world doth reach. 
 
 Broken body ! Broken bread ! 
 Bruised vine and vintage shed, 
 Feast of feasts, for all men spread. 
 
 Oh ! those faithful preachers twain, 
 Nothing know but Christ the slain, 
 Our Hope till He come again ! 
 
 Blest the guests that sit and sup, 
 Blest still more, that rising up, 
 Carry forth that Bread and Cup ! 
 
 55
 
 Rise then, kings and priests to God ! 
 Bear the Bread and Wine abroad, 
 Let the Lord's death forth be showed. 
 
 North and South, and East and West, 
 Till the whole Church sits as guest, 
 In the Wedding Garment drest. 
 
 Then the Bridegroom comes, and lo ! 
 We, to higher chambers go, 
 With Himself. Amen. Even so !
 
 for 
 
 YA/ ELL said the devil in days of old 
 
 " Skin for skin,", and gold for gold ! 
 " All that a man hath will he give," 
 Only to live ! to live ! to live ! 
 
 Who would leave life's bright warm halls 
 For death's dank, dripping, mouldy walls ? 
 Who would exchange life's laurel wreath 
 For cypress black as thine ? O death ! 
 
 Go to the slaughter the silly flocks, 
 Goes to the slaughter the stupid ox, 
 But shall man quietly yield and go ? 
 Never oh never, never, no ! 
 
 Loth were I to lie as a clod, 
 Trodden, and rotten, and Oh ! good God ! 
 Give me breath, and tears, and strife, 
 But only give me life ! life ! life ! 
 
 57
 
 Unconscious 
 
 T TNCONSCIOUS beauty is most rare, 
 ^-^ Unconscious art most true ; 
 The noblest works of artists are 
 Those they unconscious do. 
 
 Who is the artist high ? The wife, 
 That her true mission knows, 
 
 To mould the poetry of life 
 Out of its hard dull prose. 
 
 She never may have learnt the art 
 Of song, or sketch, at school ; 
 
 But all the same, out of her heart 
 Shall well the beautiful. 
 
 The mere arrangement of a room 
 
 Shall equal genius show 
 With works of Masters old, by whom 
 
 The art lived long ago.
 
 (Unconscious 
 
 Give her a table, a few chairs, 
 Some books, perhaps no more, 
 
 With these few notes, she'll play off airs 
 That Handel could not score. 
 
 The simplest forms of household toil 
 
 Shall grow beneath her touch 
 To pictures Raphael in oil 
 
 Or fresco made not such. 
 
 The true poetic gleam is there, 
 The Orphic rhythm and ring; 
 
 She makes the stones clasp hands in prayer, 
 And cloistered silence sing. 
 
 The mystic beauty shed abroad 
 
 On all her work and way ; 
 It is the beauty of her God, 
 
 Upon her night and day. 
 
 For God's own life within her beats, 
 And thrills from heart to face ; 
 
 Her little life, His life repeats 
 Responsive, " grace for grace." 
 
 5"
 
 QXnconecioue 
 
 Oh ! daughter of Almighty God, 
 Thy birth and rank are high ! 
 
 Thou art a Princess of the Blood 
 Seed royal of the sky ! 
 
 And Priestess to the world around, 
 With white, unsandalled feet ; 
 
 Where'er thou walk'st is holy ground, 
 Where souls with God shall meet. 
 
 Let every work of household toil 
 In Lord Christ's name be done, 
 
 And the anointing holy oil 
 O'er all thy raiment run. 
 
 Till virtue from the very hem 
 Of thy white robe shall flow, 
 
 To make men touch with awe, and them 
 That touch be healed so. 
 
 Priestess of God ! let every breath ; 
 
 In praise and prayer arise ; 
 Thy life the daily offering, death 
 
 Thy evening sacrifice. 
 
 60
 
 Will ]}e 
 
 "O my Father, if this cup may not pass away from 
 me, except I drink it, Thy will be done." Matt. 
 xxvi., 4%- 
 
 WAS with a garden time began 
 
 The garden whence God drave the man ; 
 'Tis with a garden time shall close 
 The garden to which Christ brings those 
 That with Himself shall first have been 
 In that Gethsemane between, 
 That on the road from Eden lies, 
 When journeying to Paradise. 
 
 In Eden garden first man put, 
 When eating of forbidden fruit, 
 His own will 'gainst the will Divine, 
 He said, my will be done, not Thine. 
 
 61
 
 Wtff (J$e one. 
 
 In garden next, Gethsemane, 
 
 Has Christ redeemed the will, when He 
 
 His own will did to God's resign 
 
 He said, Thy will be done, not Mine. 
 
 There is a garden, third, above, 
 Where will is so absorbed in love, 
 That there, " Thy will be done," is said, 
 But mention none of ours is made. 
 O, Garden fair from heaven descend, 
 That, as at first so in the end, 
 God's will and man's will may be one, 
 Even so on earth Thy will be done.
 
 Goijsolatioi) Poenjs,
 
 6 4
 
 It Darkens ere tlje Dawning.' 
 
 fT darkens ere the dawning 
 ^ More than in all the night, 
 Earth's shadows stretch an awning 
 
 Across the doors of light ; 
 O'er the horizon nearest 
 
 Lie balanced light and shade, 
 And when the light is clearest 
 
 The dark is darkest made. 
 
 It darkens to the dying, 
 As ne'er in life before, 
 
 The shadows blackest lying 
 About the heavenly door ; 
 
 65
 
 <Dar8en0 ere f0e awning." 
 
 The heavenly light sheds glances 
 On pilgrims' eyes afar, 
 
 But he finds who advances 
 How dark the shadows are. 
 
 " No light" from lamp or casement ; 
 
 " No light" here can you see, 
 Dear child ! what sore amazement 
 
 Of darkness fell on thee, 
 That holy autumn morning, 
 
 Till dawn of glory pours 
 Round thy w-hite brow, adorning 
 
 Another morn than ours. 
 
 Our light's a veil that hides us, 
 
 And hides all from our sight, 
 It none the less divides us 
 
 Although the veil be white ; 
 And what, when life is ending, 
 
 When heart and eye-sight fail, 
 Is darkness, but the rending 
 
 Of this dividing veil ? 
 
 66
 
 ere f 0e <)an)ntng. ++ 
 
 Not so, through veils, God sees us, 
 
 But by immediate sight, 
 And those in heaven with Jesus 
 
 See too, in God's own light; 
 " Know as they're known/' asunder 
 
 Is every veil withdrawn, 
 And now they cease to wonder 
 
 It darkened ere the dawn.
 
 Stabat Mater. 
 
 "Note there stood by the cross of Jesus his mother." 
 John xix. 25. 
 
 OTANDS the dolorous mother weeping, 
 By the cross her vigil keeping, 
 
 Where her Son was crucified. 
 
 Stabat Mater dolorosa, 
 Juxta crucem lacrymosa, 
 Dum pendebat Filius. 
 
 Where her drooping eyelids languish 
 O'er Him, and the sword of anguish 
 Pierces through the Mother's side. 
 Stabat Mater, etc.
 
 |Jfa6af Qttafer. 
 
 Veil'd she stands in grief unspoken, 
 How much more is Thy heart broken, 
 Oh, Jesu Maria thou ! 
 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 Hers of ours was anguish double, 
 Grief for sin, and Mother's trouble 
 Met and mingled both in one. 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 Both to life and death she brought Him, 
 And in double anguish sought Him 
 As her Saviour and her Son. 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 Oh ! Thou Son of Man, our Brother, 
 A frail woman was Thy Mother, 
 And Thy Father is our God ! 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 Help us, like to her who bore Thee, 
 Deeply mourning, to adore Thee, 
 Who hast saved us by Thy blood. 
 Stabat Mater, etc.
 
 (gtafer. 
 
 Help us through Thy Cross to borrow 
 Double strength of love and sorrow, 
 Like to her who called Thee Son. 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 Till rich Heaven repay all losses, 
 And the crowns repay the crosses, 
 When the victory is won. 
 
 Stabat Mater, etc. 
 
 
 7 o
 
 Departed. 
 
 DEPARTED, say we? is it 
 "^"^ Departed or come nigh ? 
 Dear friends in Christ more visit 
 
 Than leave us when they die. 
 What thin veil still may hide them 
 
 Some little sickness rends, 
 And lo ! we stand beside them 
 
 Are they departed friends ? 
 
 Their dews on Zion mountain 
 
 Our Hermon hills bedew, 
 Their river from the fountain 
 
 Flows down to meet us too, 
 The oil on the head and under, 
 
 Down to the skirts hath run, 
 And though we seem asunder, 
 
 We still in Christ are one. 
 
 7>
 
 The many tides of ocean 
 
 Are one vast tidal wave, 
 That sweeps in landward motion 
 
 Alike to coast and cave ; 
 And life from Christ o'erflowing 
 
 Is one wave evermore, 
 To earth's dark borders going, 
 
 Or heaven's bright pearly shore. 
 
 Hail ! perfected immortals ! 
 
 Even now we bid you hail 
 We, at the blood-stained portals, 
 
 And ye, within the veil. 
 The thin cloud-veil between us 
 
 Is mere dissolving breath, 
 One heaven surrounds and screens us, 
 
 And where art thou, O Death ?
 
 Tlje Qild's Hqgel. 
 
 " In heaven their anyels do always behold the face of 
 my Father." Matt, xriii. 10. 
 
 t^LDER sister, elder brother, 
 
 Come and go around the mother, 
 As she bids them come and go : 
 But the babe in her embrace 
 Rests and gazes on her face, 
 And is most happy so. 
 
 Christ, our Lord, in His evangel, 
 Tells us how the young child's angel, 
 
 In the world of heavenly rest, 
 Gazes in enraptured trance 
 On his Father's countenance, 
 
 And is supremely blest. 
 
 73
 
 Other angels come and go 
 As the Lord will, to and fro. 
 
 Some to earth on missions fleet, 
 Some stand singing, some are winging 
 Their swift flight, and homeward bringing 
 
 The saved to Jesus' feet. 
 
 Angel hosts, all mingling, changing, 
 Circle above circle ranging, 
 
 Marshalling, throng God's holy place ; 
 But the children's angels, dearest 
 To the Father's heart, come nearest, 
 
 They always see His face. 
 
 And oh ! if earthly beauty beaming 
 From frail mother's face, rush streaming 
 
 Deep into her infant's heart, 
 What rare beauty theirs must be, 
 Heavenly God, who gaze on Thee ! 
 
 Who see Thee as Thou art ! 
 
 74
 
 Tlje Smoking Fla^ aqd Bruised 
 Reed. 
 
 "A bruised reed shall he not break, and the smoking 
 flax shall he not quench." Isaiah xlii. 3. 
 
 HEN evening choirs the praises 
 
 hymned 
 In Zion's courts of old, 
 The high priest walked his rounds, and 
 
 trimmed 
 
 The shining lamps of gold : 
 And if, perchance, some flame burned low, 
 
 With fresh oil vainly drenched, 
 He cleansed it from its socket, so 
 The smoking flax was quenched. 
 
 But Thou who walkest, Priest Most High, 
 
 Thy golden lamps among, 
 What things are weak, and near to die, 
 ' Thou makest fresh and strong ; 
 
 75
 
 mofting 
 
 Thou breathest on the trembling spark, 
 
 That else must soon expire, 
 And swift it shoots up through the dark, 
 
 A brilliant spear of fire ! 
 
 The shepherd that to stream and shade 
 
 Withdrew his flock at noon, 
 On reedy stop soft music made, 
 
 In many a pastoral tune ; 
 And if, perchance, the reed were crushed, 
 
 It could no more be used, 
 Its mellow music marred and hushed ; 
 
 He brake it when so bruised. 
 
 But Thou, Good Shepherd, who dost feed 
 
 Thy flock in pastures green, 
 Thou dost not break the bruised reed, 
 
 That sorely crushed hath been ; 
 The heart that dumb in anguish lies, 
 
 Or yields but notes of woe, 
 Thou dost re-tune to harmonies 
 
 More rich than angels know !
 
 anfc Q&ruieeb (Ree&. 
 
 Lord, once my love was all ablaze, 
 
 But now it burns so dim ! 
 My life was praise, but now my days 
 
 Make a poor broken hymn; 
 Yet ne'er by Thee am I forgot, 
 
 But helped in deepest need, 
 The smoking flax Thou quenchest not, 
 
 Nor break'st the bruised reed. 
 
 77
 
 Talitlja Cunji. 
 
 ' ' A nd he took the damsel l>y the hand, and said 
 unto her, Talitha curtii ; which is, being interpreted, 
 Damsel, I say unto thee, arise." Mark v. ^1. 
 
 TV/TAIDEN to my twelfth year come, 
 **** I had read in Scripture story 
 Of a damsel, cold and dumb, 
 
 Wakened by the Lord of Glory ; 
 And it seemed to me He spoke, 
 
 And His living word thrilled through me, 
 Till in me new life awoke, 
 
 As He said, Talitha Cumi ! 
 
 I had to my chamber gone, 
 
 Eyes all swollen and red with weeping, 
 For my heart felt like a stone, 
 
 And my life a dream in sleeping ;
 
 umt. 
 
 Jesus in my chamber stood, 
 
 Jesus stretched His hands unto me 
 Hands all pierc'd, and dropping blood, 
 
 As He said, Talitha Cumi ! 
 
 Friends and neighbours gathered in, 
 
 Made no small ado and weeping, 
 Dead I was, yes, dead in sin, 
 
 Dead, but I was only sleeping ; 
 For Thy word renewed me, Lord. 
 
 Freed from the disease that slew me, 
 And to pious friends restored, 
 
 Crown'd with Thy Talitha Cumi. 
 
 Now with lamp I watch and wait 
 
 For my Lord's returning to me ; 
 Should I slumber when 'tis late, 
 
 Let that word rouse and renew me ; 
 And when long laid in the tomb, 
 
 Long forgot by those who knew me, 
 Thou wilt not forget to come, 
 
 Come with Thy Talitha Cumi. 
 
 79
 
 Tlje Jar of Tears.* 
 
 * 
 
 A MOTHER'S heart with anguish bled, 
 
 Her eyes were red with weeping, 
 For her dear little child was dead 
 And in the churchyard sleeping. 
 
 By night she sought the open air 
 
 To soothe her spirit wounded ; 
 Lo ! Christ the Child was passing there 
 
 With babes in white surrounded. 
 
 In lustrous white the children shone, 
 Their heavenly raiment wearing, 
 
 And on their foreheads every one 
 A crown of glory bearing. 
 
 * Founded on an old myth improvised from the German. 
 
 80
 
 Her own dear child among the rest, 
 
 She saw him halt and tarry 
 " My child ! why keep'st thou not abreast ? 
 
 Hast thou some weight to carry?" 
 
 " Ah yes, a jar of tears I bear, 
 
 Heavier than any other ; 
 Because thou shed'st so many a tear 
 
 For me, my darling rriother. 
 
 " My night-dress, too, is drenched with them, 
 
 And I am kept from sleeping, 
 Oh, mother mine thy sorrow stem, 
 
 And cease thy heavy weeping. 
 
 " Thou, too, shalt see the children's land, 
 
 And all with Jesus find us, 
 Where no tears touch the happy band 
 
 But those you shed behind us."
 
 Tlje Mystery of Pain. 
 
 ' ' We know that the whole creation yroaneth and travaileth 
 in pain together until note." Horn. viii. %%. 
 
 f\ H ! Life it is a mystery 
 
 That goes from pain to pain, 
 In grief we're born, in grief we die, 
 And what brief space betwixt may lie 
 Is filled with tears like rain. 
 
 From mystery to mystery 
 
 We came, when life was born, 
 And when this little day shall die, 
 Who knows what wild and angry sky 
 
 May rise to-morrow morn ?
 
 of 
 
 We only know that yesterday 
 
 We went a happier road, 
 For tones of sweetest music play, 
 Far up behind us, on the way 
 
 On which we came from God. 
 
 The silver sound of harps that seem 
 
 To have been heard before, 
 And flashing golden gates that gleam, 
 But crossed with swords of cherubim, 
 
 And opening never more. 
 
 We know this life runs downward fast 
 
 Through darkening days to death, 
 The present sadder than the past, 
 The saddest above ground the last, 
 And who knows what beneath ? 
 
 Thou know'st, O Christ! Thou say'st to me 
 
 That I shall live in dust ; 
 I do not know how this can be, 
 Like all the rest 'tis mystery, 
 ' But in Thy word I trust. 
 
 83
 
 of 
 
 For Thou hast read through pain, and now 
 
 The secret dost reveal, 
 With crown of thorns upon Thy brow, 
 Thou livest and wast dead, and Thou 
 
 Dost open every seal. 
 
 Life's chequered seals of white and red, 
 
 And Death's black seal, and lo ! 
 The harps are sounding overhead, 
 And through the portals of the dead, 
 To higher heavens we go. 
 
 Into our heart of grief to look 
 
 The Lamb of God was slain ; 
 He on Himself our sorrows took, 
 And straight the bitterness forsook 
 
 The mystery of pain.
 
 86
 
 Eveqiqg intercessions. 
 
 "Let my prayer be set forth before thee as incense; 
 and the lifting up of my hands as the evening sacri- 
 fice." Psalms cxli. 2. 
 
 bright temple in the skies, 
 Night is opening slowly, 
 Let our song like incense rise 
 From a priesthood holy. 
 
 Sacred flame, in Christ's name, 
 In our censers laying, 
 We come humbly praying. 
 
 For our loved ones all we pray ; 
 
 Thou God looking hither 
 Dost see the near and far away 
 
 In one glance together ; 
 Seen by Thee, they and we, 
 
 Both that one eye under, 
 
 Are not far asunder.
 
 (Evening 5nferce06ton0. 
 
 When the sailor on the deep 
 
 Rests on his rude pillow, 
 Rocked a little hour to sleep 
 
 On the heaving billow ; 
 
 Save, Lord, save from storm wave, 
 
 Guide with gentle motion 
 
 Through the pathless ocean. 
 
 Where the sick lie wearily 
 
 Tossing in their sorrow, 
 Murm'ring oft the plaintive cry, 
 
 " Would that it were morrow ! " 
 Oh ! repress sore distress, 
 
 Give them calm sweet sleeping, 
 
 In their night of weeping. 
 
 Where the tempted may have strayed 
 
 Into scenes of danger, 
 Let not virtue be betrayed, 
 
 Rise, Lord, to avenge her ! 
 
 With strong arm, shield from harm, 
 
 Or from trial rather 
 
 Keep them, Holy Father !
 
 (Evening 3nferce00ton0. 
 
 Where the penitent has gone 
 
 To his chamber weeping, 
 Leave, ah ! leave him not alone, 
 
 Bitter vigil keeping ; 
 
 Breathe, oh Lord ! some soft word, 
 
 All that true peace speaking, 
 
 His vexed heart is seeking:. 
 
 Star lamps now are rilled with fire, 
 Heaven's broad dome revealing, 
 
 Lord, we are a lowly choir ! 
 At Thy threshold kneeling, 
 Yet our song, even among 
 Angels' songs ascending, 
 Holds Thine ear attending. 
 
 89
 
 "Spring Up, well." 
 
 Then Israel sang this song, Spring up, well; sing 
 ye unto it." Num. xxi. 17. 
 
 A S when pilgrims faint and weary, 
 Where the sandy billows swell, 
 Sing across the desert dreary, 
 
 "Spring up, O Well." 
 So ! the Church, the Royal Daughter, 
 
 Brought in wilderness to dwell, 
 Sings, in search of living water, 
 
 " Spring up, O Well." 
 
 Lo ! while yet the song is singing, 
 Breaks the living water through, 
 
 Like the tears of earth upspringing 
 From her eyes of deepest blue. 
 
 90
 
 (Up, 
 
 Then in streams it runs and rushes, 
 
 As the choral voices swell, 
 Till full out the fountain gushes, 
 
 " Spring up, O Well." 
 
 Sing it softly, sing it slowly, 
 Sing it with the morning bell, 
 
 Singing " Holy, Holy, Holy, 
 
 "Spring up, O Well." 
 
 Quick the singing, quick the springing, 
 Quick the welling waters flow, 
 
 Through the weary deserts dreary 
 Sounds of mirth and gladness go. 
 
 Hark ! the voice of many waters 
 Breaking through the desert dumb ; 
 
 Come ye, come ye, sons and daughters, 
 Everyone that thirsteth, " Come ! " 
 
 All, for all the fountain springing, 
 And let him that heareth tell 
 
 How he hears the pilgrims singing, 
 
 " Spring up, O Well."
 
 + <> TOeff .** 
 
 Still for God our souls are weary 
 In this dry and thirsty land, 
 
 Till beyond the desert dreary, - 
 And beneath the palms we stand ; 
 
 Till we hear behind us ringing 
 Soft and low, the funeral knell, 
 
 And before bright angels singing 
 
 " Spring up, O Well." 

 
 Easter Echoes. 
 
 " And the angel answered and said unto the women, 
 fear not ye : for I know that ye seek Jesus, which ivas 
 crucified. 
 
 " He is not here ; for he is risen, as he said. Come, 
 sec the place where the Lord lay." Matt, xxviii. 5-6. 
 
 HAVE seen the buried corn, 
 
 Under ground in Spring-time borne, 
 Rise with Christ on Easter morn. 
 
 When the sunlights and the rain, 
 To the tomb where it has lain, 
 Coming, find it risen again. 
 
 Angels in those sunlights seen ; 
 While each weeping shower between 
 ' Is a weeping Magdalene.
 
 She sweet spices brings with her, 
 For the corn in sepulchre, 
 But the stone she cannot stir. 
 
 Frozen ground is hard as stone, 
 Under w r hich the seed lies sown, 
 With the seal of frost thereon. 
 
 Ne'er can rain pass with her spices, 
 Valued at most costly prices, 
 Through the glittering guard of ices 
 
 Guard, w r ith glittering shield and spear, 
 Keeping watch around the bier, 
 In the moonlight cold and clear ; 
 
 Keeping watch till break of day : 
 And the sobbing sisters say, 
 Who shall roll the stone away ? 
 
 Lo ! at dawn from Eastern skies, 
 God's strong Angel, Morning, flies, 
 With his flashing, flaming eyes, 
 
 94
 
 When the keepers fall as slain, 
 Seal and stone are all in vain ; 
 The dead corn is up again. 
 
 From its husk and winding sheet, 
 Where, behold at head and feet, 
 Sunlights twain have ta'en their seat. 
 
 And those shining sunlights twain 
 Tell the weeping, sobbing rain, 
 The dead corn is risen again. 
 
 So the Christ, and so the corn, 
 Under ground in Spring-time borne, 
 Rise again on Easter morn ! 
 
 2Afl|M9 
 
 95
 
 to tlje Holy Gljost. 
 
 " Likewise the Spirit also helpeth our infirmities : for 
 we knoiv not ichat ivc should pray for as ivc ought ; but the 
 Spirit itself maketh intercession for us with groaninys 
 which cannot be uttered. 
 
 " And he that searcheth the hearts knoweth what is 
 the mind of the Spirit, because he maketh intercession for 
 the saints according to the ivill of God." Rom. viii. 26-27, 
 
 HEN joys are joys that words tran- 
 scend, 
 
 When griefs have shut the heart ; 
 When we, who at the altar bend, 
 
 Can only pray in part ; 
 When angels, both of joy and grief, 
 
 Strike priests at prayer-time dumb, 
 'Tis then, with Thy Divine relief, 
 Thou, Comforter, dost come ! 
 
 9 6
 
 to 
 
 When we with words of Scripture pray, 
 
 And do not, cannot know 
 The meaning full of what we say, 
 
 In praying Scripture so, 
 By Thee, in meaning full before 
 
 The Throne, the prayer is brought, 
 Whence we receive exceeding more 
 
 Than we have asked or thought. 
 
 When joys are joys unspeakable, 
 
 That rise all thought above, 
 And earnest souls with rapture fill 
 
 In the silent heavens of love ; 
 As babe soft mother's arms upraise, 
 
 Thou, Dove ! on Thy white wings 
 Dost bear us up, on God to gaze ! 
 
 Far down the angel sings ! 
 
 And when our griefs deep buried lie 
 Beneath all utterance dumb ; 
 
 Into that silent agony 
 Thou with Thy help dost come ! 

 
 fo 
 
 Then, with the unutterable groans, 
 
 Is intercession given, 
 That makes above all trumpet-tones 
 
 Our silence heard in Heaven. 
 
 Oh ! Holy Ghost, the Comforter ! 
 
 All speed to help us make ; 
 Our hearts with griefs they cannot bear, 
 
 With very joys they break ; 
 Blind yearnings after God, dumb cries 
 
 That ne'er their aim could reach, 
 Didst Thou not give their blindness eyes, 
 
 And make their silence speech.
 
 to tlje Eternal. 
 
 ' ' The eternal God is thy re/uye, and underneath are 
 the everlasting arms." Deut. xxxiii. 27. 
 
 """pHE dead still live to Thee, O God ! 
 
 The unborn are living now, 
 O'er past and future, spread abroad 
 Eternal wings dost Thou ! 
 
 To Thee, old priest, by altar fires, 
 
 His sacrifice still brings ; 
 And still to Thee the prophets' choir 
 
 God's holy anthem sings. 
 
 Our fathers' morning song gone by, 
 Thou still, O God, dost hear ; 
 
 And still the crucifixion cry 
 Is sounding in Thine ear. 
 
 99
 
 to f$e (gfernaf. 
 
 And so Thou seest us in our shrouds, 
 
 And standing at Thy bar ; 
 Already with Thee all the crowds 
 
 Of unfleshed spirits are. 
 
 The risen dead in white array 
 Are singing round Thy throne, 
 
 As if already judgment day 
 A thousand years were gone. 
 
 With Thee, who driest the mourner's tears, 
 Great God to whom we pray ! 
 
 One day is as a thousand years, 
 A thousand years one day.
 
 Tije Tijree weepings. 
 * 
 
 /. John xi. 35. 
 II. Luke xix. 41. 
 III. Matt. xxvi. 36, and Hcb. v. 7. 
 
 'TWEAKS of sympathy He shed 
 
 At a lonely village tomb, 
 Where friend Lazarus lay dead, 
 
 Waiting till the life should come. 
 Still while shrouded Lazarus slept, 
 Jesus stood, and Jesus wept. 
 
 Other tears of thwarted pity 
 O'er His heaving bosom flowed, 
 
 As He gazed on that doomed city 
 Which denied her Christ and God 
 
 O'er the lost the shadows close, 
 
 What mysterious tears were those ?
 
 0e 0ree TEeepituje. 
 
 Tears of agony He wept 
 
 'Neath the moon'd and midnight sky, 
 Where the sword no longer slept, 
 
 From that garden, hark ! a cry ! 
 For the sword no more is sleeping, 
 But the Strong One strongly weeping. 
 
 Tears, oh, Jesu ! Give us part 
 
 In the place won through Thy tears, 
 
 Whilst Thy healed, once broken heart 
 All our griefs attracts and bears ; 
 
 For who knows if Thy Love's cross'd, 
 
 What tears Thou rainest on the lost.
 
 Washing ttye Disciples' Feet 
 
 John xiii., 3-10. 
 
 AT evening when the Paschal moon 
 
 In brightness walked abroad 
 Above the city's streets and hills, 
 
 And simple courts of God 
 Who in that upper chamber sit, 
 
 At table, six and six ? 
 Who rises in the midst of them, 
 
 On whom all eyes do fix ? 
 
 "He came from God ; " and who He is 
 They know not, but He knew, 
 
 And they shall know hereafter, if 
 They mark what He doth do, 
 
 And yield themselves to what He does 
 For yielding is the road 
 
 To knowing and we must be still, 
 
 To know that God is God. 
 
 I0 3
 
 $eef. 
 
 "He rises up from table," 
 
 Who all His creatures feeds 
 From table of His Providence 
 
 According to their needs ; 
 And spreads the yearly feast for men 
 
 Each blessed Autumn yields, 
 And the broad golden table of 
 
 Rich rip'ning harvest fields. 
 
 He "lays aside His garment, "- 
 
 Whose raiment is the Light 
 Of worlds, in rich emblazonry 
 
 Of day, and lustrous night ; 
 A star-flower' d spangled robe,- 
 
 Soon from His shoulders cast, 
 And folded up, and laid aside 
 
 In wardrobe of the past. 
 
 Then, "with a towel He girds Himself," 
 Who, by His strength doth stand, 
 
 And girds the mighty ocean 
 With belt of weakest sand ; 
 
 104
 
 And though worlds pass and perish, 
 He, unchanging, still remains, 
 
 And His eternal righteousness 
 The girdle of His reins. 
 
 Then, "in a basin 'water pours, "- 
 
 He who doth lowly stand, 
 Even He ! doth hold the ocean 
 
 In the hollow of His hand; 
 And that vast ocean of the night, 
 
 With wave on wave afar, 
 And only phosphorescent gleams 
 
 All stars and systems are. 
 
 Then, " washes His disciples' feet. "- 
 
 And who is this ? but He 
 Whose own feet wash the shoreless tides 
 
 Of old Eternity ! 
 And tears of million penitents 
 
 That weep behind His seat, 
 While their dishevelled tresses fall 
 ' In sorrow o'er His feet. 
 
 -105
 
 * $eef. 
 
 Then, " '-wipes them -with the towel; " for He 
 
 This service stoops to do, 
 Who sits upon the throne, and saith, 
 
 " Lo ! I make all things new !" 
 On one side with ascending crown 
 
 For highest Godhead meet, 
 And on the other bending down 
 
 To cleanse men's soiled feet. 
 
 In heaven, the loftiest God ! on earth, 
 
 The lowliest man is seen ; 
 And with His all-embracing life 
 
 He fills the space between. 
 And who is this ? for every one, 
 
 New washed, should know His name 
 The loftiest God, and lowliest man, 
 
 And both in one, the same ! 
 
 Earth to His feet is but a stool, 
 Yet earth is His abode ! 
 
 His name is called the Wonderful, 
 The Child, the Mighty God ! 
 
 106
 
 Up, Up, My Heart. 
 
 ' ' The mystery ivhich hath been hid from ages and 
 from generations, but now is made manifest to his 
 saints." Col. i. 26. 
 
 TP, up, my heart 1 
 ^^ No more give way to sadness ; 
 
 But know thou art 
 Redeemed to life and gladness. 
 
 The secret, God long hid 
 In dark evangels, 
 
 Now comes abroad 
 With trumpets of the angels. 
 
 * From the Romaunsch. 
 
 107
 
 + (Ujn 
 
 The hidden morn, 
 With which Time long went mother, 
 
 At last is born ; 
 O ! Christ, Thou, and no other, 
 
 Com'st us to save, 
 From sin and dark disgraces, 
 
 And thro' Thy grave 
 Show us sweet holy faces. 
 
 In Bethlehem, see 
 One born of woman lowly ; 
 
 Meek Virgin she, 
 In shadow of the Holy. 
 
 But Him, oh tell ! 
 Who towers in grandeur lonely ? 
 
 Earth, Heaven, and Hell, 
 Make answer, Jesus only. 
 
 Both God and man, 
 Unutterable wonder ! 
 
 In person one, 
 In nature still asunder.
 
 (Up, <&p. me fearf. 
 
 Of our flesh, God 
 Disrobeth Himself never ; 
 
 And men, by blood, 
 His brothers are for ever. 
 
 Who with sore pain 
 Death on the cross hath tasted, 
 
 All our foes slain 
 And their black kingdom wasted. 
 
 The while He lay, 
 Bound in the grave's dark prison, 
 
 Till the third day 
 Behold ! the Conqueror risen ! 
 
 Him, high Heaven holds, 
 With hands all pierced and bleeding, 
 
 Which now he folds, 
 For sinners interceding ; 
 
 And shields us so 
 From Satan's fierce assaulting, 
 
 When pilgrims go, 
 Upon their journey halting. 
 
 109
 
 , (Up, m f earf. 
 
 Up, then, my heart ! 
 To Thee, my Jesus only, 
 
 Till when I part 
 On my last journey lonely. 
 
 Safe from all harms 
 Thy blood shall shield me dying, 
 
 Till in Thine arms 
 I wake to find me lying.
 
 Dies Irae. 
 
 " The great day of his wrath is come; and who shall be 
 able to stand." Rev. vi. 17. 
 
 AY of anger, all arresting, 
 Heaven and earth in fire-shroud vesting, 
 Seer and Psalmist both attesting. 
 
 What distress man's heart is rending, 
 When, behold ! the Judge descending, 
 Trial strict o'er all impending ! 
 
 Rolls the trumpet's shattering thunder, 
 Rends the realm of tombs asunder, 
 Driving all the great throne under. 
 
 * Translation.
 
 Death, with nature, agonizes, 
 All creation, startled, rises, 
 Summoned to the dread assizes. 
 
 Opened Book all eyes engages, 
 Bearing record of all ages, 
 Blazoned on its burning pages ; 
 
 Whence the Judge strict doom is dealing, 
 Every hidden thought revealing, 
 None escaping, none appealing. 
 
 What shall I for answer render ? 
 Whom implore for my defender ? 
 When the just's own hope is slender. 
 
 King of majesty tremendous, 
 
 Who dost freely grace extend us, 
 Fount of pity, succour send us. 
 
 Jesus, call to mind how knowing 
 My sad journey caused Thy going, 
 So come, that day mercy showing.
 
 Faint, Thou seeking me hast hasted, 
 For me, on the cross death tasted : 
 Shall such anguish all be wasted ? 
 
 Righteous Judge ! Thy terrors shake me, 
 Lest, when Thou from death shalt wake me, 
 Death more dreadful overtake me. 
 
 Spare me ! to my doom assenting, 
 
 Spare me ! sin with shame lamenting ; 
 Thou, God, sparest souls repenting. 
 
 Thou forgav'st the woman crying, 
 
 Heard'st the robber's prayer in dying, 
 So to me, too, hope supplying. 
 
 Worthless all my tears and turning, 
 Yet, these in Thy grace not spurning, 
 Save me from the endless burning. 
 
 With Thy chosen sheep beside me, 
 
 From the goats, great Judge, divide me, 
 On Thy right a place provide me.
 
 tea 3rae. 
 
 From the doomed to bitter sadness, 
 
 Driven by scorching flames to madness, 
 Call me with the blest to gladness. 
 
 Lowly kneeling, prostrate crying, 
 Contrite heart in ashes lying, 
 Lord, forsake me not when dying. 
 
 Breaks that day, that day of weeping, 
 Wakes the dead in ashes sleeping, 
 Mournful tryst to judgment keeping. 
 
 God be merciful to them ! 
 Jesus ! Lord, slow to condemn, 
 Grant us blessed requiem ! Amen. 
 
 
 114
 
 ai)d
 
 n6
 
 Eviva. 
 
 T HEARD all the birds, in the days of 
 
 Spring, 
 
 Twitter and chatter, and whistle and sing, 
 But the earth in these days gave no fruit, 
 Nor till harvest time, when the birds were 
 
 mute ; 
 
 And then came the reaper and vintager out, 
 And brought home the corn and wine with 
 
 a shout, 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 In days of old, when I was young, 
 Flowed silver speech from a fluent tongue, 
 But now I keep silence, as I ought, 
 And the silence gives me golden thought ; 
 
 117
 
 And whether by speech or by pictured book, 
 For something or other ere long you may 
 look 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 The gay young summer, in whites and 
 
 greens, 
 
 Is never an end, but is only a means 
 To that higher end which the autumn brings, 
 When sweating brow'd labour feasts with 
 
 kings, 
 And the year is crown'd with a golden 
 
 crown, 
 
 And all heaven's paths drop fatness down 
 Eviva. 
 
 So those who prefer their youth to their age, 
 Must be making a backward pilgrimage ; 
 When things go right, the beginning's not 
 
 ill, 
 
 But the end, says the wise man, is better still, 
 And fools they must be who prefer the past, 
 When the Banquet of Life gives the good 
 
 wine last 
 
 Eviva. 
 
 118
 
 "Tall and Hloqe." 
 
 I^ALL and alone, on the flat headstone 
 
 Where her sailor husband lay, 
 She stood looking down o'er the sloping 
 
 town * 
 
 To the harbour and the bay, 
 With face set fast 'gainst the biting blast, 
 And the freezing sleet and spray. 
 
 The only son of this widowed one 
 
 Was toiling to cross the bar, 
 And she saw his boat to the leeward float, 
 
 With the breakers stretching far ; 
 And she held her breath, for she knew that 
 death, 
 
 Must be where the breakers are. 
 
 * Irvine the locale of Robertson's life-ministry. 
 
 119
 
 Still slowly he rowed ; (oh ! pitiful God ! 
 
 The widow and orphan's stay !) 
 A strange hour passed, and the bitter blast 
 
 Still drove the boat away 
 To the leeward far, of the harbour bar, 
 
 And the entrance to the bay. 
 
 And there she stands, with her praying 
 
 hands, 
 
 Like sculptured marble form, 
 Statuesque, on the tomb of the husband, 
 
 whom 
 
 They had laid in the earth, one morn ; 
 While her boy to save, from a watery grave, 
 She prays, and he fights the storm. 
 
 Darkness came down over bay and town, 
 As the steeple clock struck three, 
 
 A heavy rain squall so blackened all, 
 That nothing could she see ; 
 
 And a hollow roar went down the shore, 
 Where the hollow breakers be.
 
 But still she stands, with her praying hands 
 That succour from heaven sought, 
 
 Till after the rain, when it cleared again, 
 Oh, God ! where is the boat ? 
 
 Gone down a wreck and only a speck 
 Is seen on the waters afloat ! 
 
 She did not shrink, she could not think, 
 She stood, like marble, dumb ; 
 
 Only tears to her eyes in silence rise, 
 Not floods of tears but some, 
 
 While the spirit moans with the speechless 
 
 groans, 
 That with deepest anguish come. 
 
 They brought her down to her house in 
 town, 
 
 And laid her on a bed : 
 She never spoke for her heart it broke, 
 
 And no more tears were shed ; 
 But, like marble still, as pale and chill, 
 
 Next morning she lay dead.
 
 On the brown seaside, at the ebb of tide, 
 
 A breathless form was found. 
 When the hollow roar went down the shore, 
 
 Had the noble boy been drowned ! 
 So not alone, by the flat headstone, 
 
 They rest in holy ground. 
 
 I hope all three, where there's no more sea, 
 
 Have met before the throne ; 
 And that the twain, now living again, 
 
 Shall hear Christ say to the one, 
 " Behold thy mother ! " and to the other, 
 
 " Woman, behold thy son ! "
 
 Margaret. 
 
 A BIRTHDAY WISH. 
 
 IV/TlNSTREL monks in days of old, 
 
 Sang some quaint! conceits and pretty, 
 
 Of those twelve pearls set in gold, 
 
 That make gates into the city. 
 Such a gate amongst us set, 
 Such a pearl and fairer yet, 
 Mayst thou be, pearl Margaret ! 
 
 Jasper 1 like the earth is green, 
 
 Sapphire, 2 azure like the sky ; 
 
 And like fires that glance between, 
 
 The pale flamed chalcedony. 3 
 
 Such like pearl, or fairer yet, 
 All pearl beauties in thee met, 
 Mayst thou be, pearl Margaret ! 
 
 i Betokens, they say, evergreen faith. 
 2 Heavenly mindedness. 3 Humble and earnest prayer. 
 
 123
 
 Emerald, 1 greener than the spring, 
 Black sardonyx, 2 red and white ; 
 Sardius, 3 with its crimson ring, 
 And the gold-flamed chrysolite. 4 
 Such like pearl, or fairer yet, 
 All pearl beauties in thee met, 
 Mayst thou be, pearl Margaret ! 
 
 Beryl 5 hath tears that sunlight hold, 
 Topaz 6 flashes dazzling blaze, 
 And with sprinkled drops of gold 
 Shines the purple chrysoprase. 7 
 Such like pearl, or fairer yet, 
 All fair beauties in thee met, 
 Mayst thou be, pearl Margaret ! 
 
 Jacinth 8 changing with the sky, 
 Vies with rose-flamed amethyst; 9 
 But what pearl can ever vie, 
 
 i Great faithfulness. 2. Grief for sin, and purity. 
 3 Cross-bearing. 4 Charity. 5 Hope in sorrow. 
 
 6 Holiness, j Love or charity amid suffering. 
 8 Adaptation to circumstances. 9 Spiritual beauty. 
 
 124
 
 With young lips no guile has kissed, 
 And all stars must wane and set, 
 Where pure eyes dawn, Margaret ! 
 
 Good, be thou then more than fair, 
 For mere beauty may befool, 
 
 Though our hearts to temple prayer 
 Go best through " Gate Beautiful." 
 
 So to the holy, nearer yet 
 
 Through thee, pearl gate 'mongst us set, 
 May we come, pearl Margaret ! 
 
 125
 
 Epitaplj. 
 
 C EVEN dead the sea gave to the shore 
 
 To wrap beneath the sod, 
 Till they and we shall stand before 
 The Judgment Seat of God. 
 
 Their names, their lives, their faith unknown, 
 
 These dumb dead here arrive ; 
 But what's hid now shall then be shown, 
 
 Where here they stand alive. 
 
 Sail on ! dark coffined fleet of seven ! 
 
 On to revealing day ; 
 And may we make the harbour Heaven, 
 
 Not lost nor cast away. 
 
 * Inscribed on a stone of remembrance, erected in 
 Irvine Churchyard over the burial place of the crew of 
 the schooner Success of Nantes, drowned while trying to 
 make the harbour, February 27, 1860. 
 
 126
 
 Tlje "Canjpo Santo.' 
 
 T N the Campo Santo, Pisa, 
 
 Every passing tourist sees a 
 Cloistered square of holy mould, 
 Brought from Palestine of old 
 From the garden from the clay 
 From the place where Jesus lay. 
 
 Pious thought of those old Pisans, 
 Which, for this and other reasons, 
 Moved them, at great cost and toil, 
 To fetch home the holy soil, 
 Fifty ship loads, shipped at Acre ; 
 The good templar knights the while, 
 Seaward from the holy city, 
 When crusaders fought to take her, 
 Guarding transport troops that came a 
 Quick route overland by Rama, 
 
 127
 
 " Campo 
 
 Camels, mules, and loaded waggons, 
 Guarding from those flying dragons, 
 Moslem horsemen, bent on war, 
 Hovering round them near and far, 
 With glitt'ring shield and scimitar. 
 
 All those shiploads through the seas, 
 Brought by Pisan galleys strong, 
 Priests aboard on bended knees 
 Chanting holy prayer and song, 
 While the sailor to the breeze 
 Spreads the sail, and sings with these, 
 Now an Ave, now a Canto, 
 Till at length the port is made, 
 And the holy earth all laid 
 In the Pisan Campo Santo. 
 
 Then for very joy they weep, 
 Thinking, when they die, to sleep 
 Safely in the very clay, 
 In which blessed Jesus lay. 
 Blessed rest for the Pisans weary ! 
 Tho' the night be dark and dreary, 
 With the cold ground for their bed, 
 
 128
 
 And the stony pillow under head, 
 Yet, in the dream of death below, 
 Angels in white may come and go, 
 As in the marble, where one sees a 
 Jacob's dream by John of Pisa, 
 Till in the morning dawn they hear 
 Maybe with somewhat less of fear, 
 Maybe with somewhat less dismay, 
 Because they are clad in the holy clay- 
 Ringing loud, and shrill, and clear, 
 The trump of the " Dies Irae." 
 As for me, this Easter morn, 
 Since I have seen the buried corn, 
 To its tomb so lately borne, 
 Rise as the Christ rose from the dead, 
 Lifting high its living head 
 Over the dry and blackened mould, 
 Under which, in damp and cold, 
 It did lie but yesterday, 
 Now I know that all the clay, 
 Through all fields and gardens spread, 
 Weaving the garments for the dead, 
 All the earth and all the mould, 
 'In all churchyards new and old, 
 
 129
 
 Has been blessed and sanctified. 
 
 Through the grave of the Christ that died, 
 
 Blest as truly from his lips 
 
 As the holy earth in the Pisan ships ; 
 
 And whether at Palestine or Pisa, 
 
 Or wherever else one sees a 
 
 Grave Hark " Come ! " the angels say, 
 
 " See the place where Jesus lay."
 
 Front a Rising Letter to a 
 Frieqd. 
 
 * 
 
 the omnibus adagio 
 Climbs the steep above Bellagio, 
 Starting at good trotting pace 
 From the steamboat landing place 
 To a stiff er slope of hill, a 
 Short way past Frizzoni Villa ; 
 Turning then by north to east, 
 Past the church where the old priest, 
 In his black skull cap and surtout, 
 Looks with his great dark eyes at you, 
 'Taking for his health of body
 
 rom a (gaming feeffer 
 
 (If not also of his soul) 
 
 Not a go or two of toddy, 
 
 Like priests nearer to the pole, 
 
 But (much better on the whole) 
 
 Evening exercise, al fresco, 
 
 Walking to and fro before 
 
 The old church's romanesque (oh 
 
 What a poor style !) west front door ; 
 
 Square flat, with round windows o'er, 
 
 'Neath his Campanile bells, 
 
 That hang like inverted wells, 
 
 With their round mouths gaping down 
 
 On the little red-tilled town, 
 
 Ready each with iron tongue, 
 
 From the brazen larynx hung, 
 
 Vibrating when it is swung, 
 
 Noisy torrents forth to pour, 
 
 Every half or quarter hour, 
 
 To baptize the district round, 
 
 And to shield it so from evil, 
 
 From the Turk and from the devil, 
 
 Who, as monarch of the air, 
 
 132
 
 to a rien&. 
 
 Made them to put bells up there, 
 
 Four bells in a turret square, 
 
 And one deep-toned great bell under, 
 
 Rolling its baptized thunder 
 
 With the lighter sprinkling chimes, 
 
 Ringing at all sorts of times, 
 
 To dislodge the fiend unholy. 
 
 See ! the ringers mount the stair ; 
 
 Ring them softly, ring them slowly ! 
 
 Ring them faster, ring them freely ! 
 
 From the old square Campanile. 
 
 But the devil and his works 
 Being little worse than the Turks, 
 That is brave old Paynim (oh no !) 
 They are infidels that swear 
 Now-a-days by Dollinger, 
 'Gainst the blessed Pio Nono. 
 So 'gainst Protestants like us, 
 Rumbling past in the omnibus, 
 Each mouth must needs wag its tongue 
 To dissolve the baneful spell 
 
 133
 
 Srom a (Riming better 
 
 That our presence carries. Well, 
 Anyway, the bells are ringing, 
 Oh, how sweet in the evening air ! 
 Strokes for the hour, and chimes for prayer, 
 Six for the time, and a sweet-toned chime, 
 Prettily called an Angelus. 
 
 Ring out under the great blue dome, 
 Answer from Trinity bells at home. 
 Up and out of your prayer-house small, 
 Up to the roof and out over the wall. 
 Up to the roof must Saint Peter go, 
 Praying while dinner's cooked below ; 
 There shall he learn to slay and eat 
 Out of the great four-cornered sheet ; 
 There shall he see each party wall, 
 Builded so high with stones so small 
 Builded by his sect, and by all, 
 Topple and crumble, and crash and fall. 
 Then from the roof of his church at Rome, 
 Shall he stretch his hands forth meeting 
 Ours, that shall return the greeting. 
 
 134
 
 to a 
 
 Each shall find the dome too small 
 
 Roman Saint Peter and London Saint Paul. 
 
 Only the world with dome of air 
 
 Can assemble all to prayer, 
 
 By the church bells ringing there 
 
 Silver bells for the days in white, 
 
 Sombre golden bells for the night, 
 
 Like the four in the turret square, 
 
 Crosswise and lengthwise two a pair, 
 
 Bright and dark, and dark and bright, 
 
 Or alternate in straight row, 
 
 That across the year doth go, 
 
 One for the day and one for the night ; 
 
 Day from day its answer bringing, 
 
 Night unto night its echo ringing, 
 
 David heard them sounding so, 
 
 Some three thousand years ago ; 
 
 And, still rung by unseen hands, 
 
 They are telling, throughout all lands, 
 
 (Blessed is he that understands) 
 
 Men should lift up hands in prayer, 
 
 Holy, and always, and everywhere,
 
 Stom a (Riming letter 
 
 11 For Heaven will hear if men will call 
 As the blue sky bendeth over all." 
 From the high and narrow street, 
 Where the two sides almost meet, 
 Narrower lanes and wider go, 
 Crosswise to the lake below 
 Lanes that lengthen out the more 
 As you leave the line of shore, 
 Lengthening from the angle sharp, 
 Like the strings upon a harp, 
 To that low lane steep and stony, 
 Which, if you have missed your seat, 
 You must climb with weary feet, 
 To the gates of Serbelloni. 
 
 A big portress keeps the key, 
 On a little salary. 
 She, or else her youthful mate 
 (She ran off with him of late,) 
 Always, or by turns, must wait, 
 To enclose or shut the gate. 
 And to keep well free of starving,
 
 to a 
 
 As their salary's not great, 
 They sell wood ('tis olive) carving, 
 Done by his young henpecked hands. 
 The bazaar-like table stands 
 Up a few steps near the arches, 
 Covered with its wooden gold, 
 Of which they make double profit, 
 Since, if you buy any of it, 
 Both the wood and you are sold ! 
 Then at tinkle, tinkle small, 
 Scarcely heard, if heard at all, 
 Forth, like grenadier, she marches, 
 Should' ring the great iron key; 
 As Saint Peter's wife, when he 
 Otherwise engaged may be, 
 Hears the tinkling silver bell, 
 Whose dear sound he knows so well, 
 Clink, clink, in the money box, 
 To pay up the ransom high 
 Of poor souls in Purgatory. 
 
 137
 
 Stom a (Homing Defter 
 
 (For poor scorched souls, in a trice) 
 The cool gates of Paradise. 
 But not for heretics like us, 
 Come straight up from earthly ice, 
 With our wickedness and vice 
 Not burnt out of us, and so, 
 Thinking in our robes of snow 
 Through the blessed gates to go, 
 Whether in a Free Church fly, 
 With its blinded windows high, 
 Or, with open windows thus, 
 In a Broad Church omnibus. 
 
 Broad Church ! I confess that I 
 Am a Broad Churchman ; and why 
 " Broad " may not be also " High " 
 In artistic culture, and 
 Sound and orthodox withal, 
 Thoroughly " Evangelical," 
 I can never understand. 
 I have no faith in the juggling tricks 
 Practised by Roman Catholics, 
 
 138
 
 to a 
 
 Who "hocus pocus " the holy bread, 
 And kindle fires beneath the dead, 
 Which, whatever the grate may hold, 
 Yield good ashes of silver and gold 
 From the flames outside painted red. 
 
 I don't believe in pardons sold, 
 And salvation by wafers made 
 Every morning at mass, and laid 
 All by the priest on the people's lips, 
 Betwixt his thumb and his finger's tips, 
 Like sixpences made and with sixpences paid; 
 And the poor soul, having paid the fees, 
 Passes, with one or two of these 
 Stuck 'twixt his marble close-pressed lips, 
 On through the dark detective grave, 
 Where they unmask the priest as a knave, 
 Whose design was neither to save 
 The poor man's soul nor his sixpences. 
 
 I do not believe in those who mix 
 Tinsel with gold and truth with tricks, 
 
 '39
 
 rom a (gaming &effer 
 
 In the Church of the Roman Catholics ; 
 But I do believe in one Living, Broad, 
 Holy, Catholic Church of God, 
 Where there is neither bond nor free, 
 Primate nor priest, nor plain U.P., 
 Open prayer nor liturgy ; 
 But in the Church they all are one, 
 Who one Father, through one Son, 
 By one Spirit, seek in prayer, 
 And, as brothers of one Brother, 
 Worship Him, and love each other ; 
 And it matters nothing where, 
 Whether in a barn of bricks 
 Or a cloistered aisle with a crucifix, 
 If only, under the dome of love, 
 Wide as the blue heavens above, 
 Ring the bells, and the bells reply 
 " Earth is Broad, and Heaven is High, 
 In the Church of the Holy Trinity." 
 
 Think ye not when the bells are rung 
 And the grand "Venite" sung 
 
 140
 
 to a 
 
 In the temple courts below, 
 
 Thousands all in white shall spring 
 
 Out from the cloistered shades, to sing 
 
 " Exultemus Domino ? " 
 
 Think you not when the trumpet's thunder, 
 
 Shatt'ring, rends all tombs asunder, 
 
 That from vaulted crypt, from under 
 
 Chancel aisle and minster floor, 
 
 Pav'd with broken tombstones o'er; 
 
 From beneath the crosses seen 
 
 Planted thick on the churchyard green ; 
 
 From beneath the ruins hoary 
 
 Of old monastery and cell, 
 
 Where last morn the matin bell 
 
 Found the sleepless saint still slowly, 
 
 Through profoundest melancholy, 
 
 Toiling after peace and holy 
 
 Conquest over sin and hell, 
 
 Where the softened morning ringing 
 
 Drew the crowd of pilgrims, singing, 
 
 Up the hill with its seven stations, 
 
 To the cross, 'twixt walls of stone
 
 Srom a (Riming Defter 
 
 Frescoed o'er with gospel story, 
 
 And the Christ, in golden glory, 
 
 As Redeemer of the nations, 
 
 Sitting, crowned upon a throne, 
 
 Worshipped in this mute evangel, 
 
 By long lines of saint and angel, 
 
 Out of which there always rose a 
 
 Gentle " Mater Dolorosa :" 
 
 Pictures preached when priests were dumb, 
 
 And the singing pilgrims come, 
 
 "Veni, Redemptor Gentium!" 
 
 When the listening veiled maiden, 
 
 With some early sorrow laden, 
 
 Looks up through her lattice lonely, 
 
 Looks, I hope, to "Jesus only:" 
 
 Now they sleep in the vaults below, 
 
 And the bells are silenced long ago 
 
 Think you not, when the shatt' ring thunder, 
 
 Rending sepulchres asunder, 
 
 Brings up all things hidden under. 
 
 That from their old buried places, 
 
 From their dark forgotten slumber, 
 
 142
 
 fo a 
 
 Multitudes that none can number, 
 
 Visions of sweet angel faces, 
 
 Bearing on their furrows traces 
 
 Of sore weeping, forms still clasping 
 
 White hands as of old, but grasping 
 
 Now a golden lyre between, 
 
 And a victor's palm branch green 
 
 Think you not that crowds on crowds, 
 
 Faces white, in golden clouds 
 
 Shall float up into the light, 
 
 To Jerusalem the Golden, 
 
 To that dear loved Lamb in white, 
 
 Whose red cross they long had pressed, 
 
 In unutterable sadness, 
 
 To their bruised and throbbing breast, 
 
 Finding peace, but never gladness, 
 
 For the much rain in the night, 
 
 And because their eyes were holden 
 
 That they could not see Him right ? 
 
 Now they do, and, thank God, never 
 Shall they cease to see Him more, 
 
 143
 
 Stem a Ql0gming Buffer 
 
 As they spread alongst the river, 
 On the green and golden shore, 
 And in widening circles round ; 
 Whilst from Horeb caves afar, 
 Those that have been fretting ever 
 That so few are faithful found, 
 Shall look forth amazed to see 
 What vast multitudes there are 
 That have never bowed the knee 
 Unto Baal on Romish ground, 
 Nor have even like them (so sound) 
 Bowed to Baals of Bigotry, 
 And the Moloch, Reprobation, 
 And impossible Salvation 
 Made so by divine decree, 
 Save to those few, two or three, 
 Who believe in their creation 
 To the peerage, and the station 
 Of church aristocracy. 
 
 But these are after thoughts, and not 
 Being uttered on the spot,
 
 to a 
 
 For this, and another reason, 
 
 That they come 'twixt bits of laughter 
 
 Both before, and also after, 
 
 As things serious shouldn't do, 
 
 You may think them out of season, 
 
 And I rather think so too ! 
 
 Out now on the terrace bold, 
 
 Ere the day melts down its gold, 
 
 Orange rocks above the trees 
 
 And pale yellow cottages, 
 
 Sprinkled over fell and wold 
 
 The dark purple of the hills, 
 
 Broken with white crests of snow, 
 
 And red granite bands below, 
 
 Over which the silver rills 
 
 And white tumbling cascades flow, 
 
 Shading thro' breadths of tender green, 
 
 Over which soft sunlights low 
 
 With a clear soft brightness go, 
 
 To the white line of the lake, 
 
 145
 
 better 
 
 Where small crested ripples break 
 Under walls of rocks and trees, 
 Saffron villages between, 
 With white churches high o'er these, 
 Up black cypressed terraces. 
 The upward slopes, inverted, seem 
 Mirrored in the crystal green, 
 Where, like huge unweildy boat, 
 The dark mountains seem to float 
 On aeriel depths, that go 
 Fathomless down to the skies below, 
 And in sharp-cut outlines show 
 Jagged points and winding bays, 
 Round the green lake now ablaze, 
 Like the jasper sea in the holy dream, 
 With softened tinted lights that gleam 
 With white sails of tiny barks, 
 Flitting betwixt lights and darks, 
 All with scarlet awning hung 
 O'er some would-be mermaid young, 
 That with graceful hands doth steer, 
 To her singing gondolier, 
 
 146
 
 to a 
 
 In to the black shade in shore, 
 From the clear enamelled lake, 
 With bright fairy streaks that break 
 The mosaic picture wrought, 
 Delicate as maiden thought, 
 That doth softly come and go 
 As it listeth, to and fro, 
 Toned down in its tinting so, 
 One scarce knows what it has been ; 
 Or like colours I have seen 
 Glancing betwixt lights and darks 
 On the church walls of Saint Mark's 
 Or the necks of the doves that flock 
 Thither by the minster clock 
 Daily at the stroke of two, 
 To be fed there thousands do 
 And, alighted in the square, 
 In the shades and sunlights there, 
 Gleam in every rainbow hue ; 
 While their softly murmured coo, 
 Which in thousands they repeat, 
 ' Floats in wavelets to your feet, 
 
 J 47
 
 a (Riming feeffer to a 
 
 As you walk in the piazza, 
 And with that soft murmur adds a 
 Likeness more unto the lake, 
 Where the waves mere ripples make 
 That so softly shoreward break. 
 
 148
 
 Early Rising. 
 
 TJ^ VERY morning here's what I do, 
 
 10 A.M. or even before, 
 Upstairs comes poor little Fido, 
 
 Barking at my chamber door, 
 And if Fido gets no answer, 
 
 Gets no answer save a snore, 
 " Oh ! you are a lazy man, sir," 
 
 Fido barks out more and more. 
 And if still he gets no answer, 
 
 None but silence or a snore, 
 
 Fido pushes up my door. 
 Little gipsy, mad or tipsy, 
 
 Puffing, snuffing, sneezing, wheezing, 
 Frisky, like a dog in whisky, 
 
 Up he dances pirouetting 
 
 i 49
 
 (Rising. 
 
 To the centre of the floor, 
 
 Where up on his hind legs getting 
 Fifteen inches tall and more ! 
 
 His raised eyes on a level setting 
 With the nose that gives the snore. 
 
 Gipsy ! neither mad nor tipsy, 
 Sober now as judge or G:>ugh, 
 He says, " Rauf ! " 
 
 Fido speaks German 
 
 And this is his little sermon, 
 Sum and substance of his speech is, 
 "Rauf! herauf ! herauf ! rauf!" which is 
 
 The dogmatics Fido preaches, 
 Standing surpliced on my floor. 
 
 And if still I give no answer, 
 None but silence or a snore, 
 
 Pirouettes my little dancer, 
 Pirouettes mad as before, 
 Pirouettes across the floor, 
 
 To the clothes I have been wearing, 
 Clothes that yesterday I wore ; 
 
 Takes them, pulls them, tossing, tearing,
 
 (gtetng. 
 
 Strews them up and down the floor, 
 Coat and vest, and shoe and stocking, 
 " Ho ! you dog you, this is shocking ! 
 
 Auf ! du Hiindchen ! rauf ! herauf ! " 
 Then, his head on one side cocking, 
 Wags his tail, and my words mocking, 
 
 Barks in answer, " Rauf ! raut ! rauf ! " 
 Till at last he beats 'me fairly, 
 I must get up, get up early, 
 This is what each morn I do, 
 Many thanks to you for Fido ! 
 
 151
 
 New Mercies. 
 
 *'.';* 
 
 T^ACH day of days the last ! 
 
 The archangel's trumpet blast 
 Is every moment blowing, 
 And earth to ashes going ; 
 And were to ashes gone : 
 But, sitting on the Throne, 
 He saith whose name is True 
 Lo ! I make all things new ! 
 
 PRINTED AT THE "HERALD" OFFICE, ARDROSSAN.
 
 DATE DUE