i>:. ■,'.•.'!,. UBPARY mVERSUY OF Cf^UfORHlA P^IVERSIDE 1/- Love Triumphant And Other New Poems '■C/y/'y^/Z'/t-i-'. v/ y '■C/y/:'^^/Z Love Triumphant And Other New Poems BY ANNIE MATHESON \ ^ ^ AUTHOR OP "love's JIOSIC," "THE RELIGION OF HUMASITT," AND OTHER POEMS LONDON A. D. INNES & COMPANY LIMITED 1898 A8e Love Triumphant. Triumphant Love ! Now comes apace Tliy flood-tide, that will leave no trace Of Time and Death, dead, hand in hand. Half-rooted in the desolate sand, Heart-shapen, hlooins Thy garb of grace, Till, by thy waves, that conquer space. The robe of that sweet flower'' s embrace Be freed from Timers cold rocky strand. Triumphant Love. Sole King of an immortal race, Though men Tliy mortal name debase! Thy feet upon the rock noio stand, Tliy icings the infinite have spanned ! Unveil Tliy pmver, reveal Thy face, Triumphant Love ! Love Triumphant. 11. Triumphmit Love, loith heart and mind To Thine ascended glory blind. We saiv not Thee, tchen Tliee rce met. But that dark symbol cross-wise set In icays ivhere Thou hast led mankind ; Betrayal, failure, undivined Renunciation, love enshrined In loss ; long, long did we forget Triumphant Love I O glorious face, once hid behind The uplifted arm round which teas tioined The judgment-robe that lightnings fret ! Those wondrous eyes ice saic not yet : Bid now, in Judgement, lo, loe. find — Triumphant Love ! Love Triumphant. III. Triumphant Love, oh, keep us pure By Thine oton passion to endure, Till every heart in Thine shall beat — Our Sun, our Shadow from the lieat — And no false sun or shade allure ! Let never a dream of hate immure Our life tvithin its prison secure, Nor Self its treadmill-round repeat. Triumphant Love ! If Thou to hardship now enure The soul, in this life's overture To greater music, we entreat That we, through darkness, death, defeat, May triumph in Thy triumph sure. Triumphant Love ! ITH the concurrence of the publishers, who generously held out a hand for the little book, and of Mr. and Mrs. G. F. Watts, but for whose kindliness it might never have existed as a book at all, this slender volume of songs, imperfect though it be, is inscribed to the sorrowful, the down- trodden, the oppressed, and, above all, to that religious community whose sufferings are a blot upon our unchristian Christianity, the great race * who laid the foundations of our faith and of international unity ; for in writing of Love Triumphant it can never be forgotten that the militant love which makes for social progress, has for nearly two thousand years borne the name of One who was the Son of a Jewish Mother, even of that peasant Daughter of the Chosen Race whose Magnificat is daily sung throughout Christendom. * See pp. 13, 40, 86. \ CONTENTS I'AGE Love Triumphant ... ... ... ... ... 1 To "C.uussima" ... ... ... ... ... 4 St'MMEK AND AuTUMN ... ... ... ... 5 The Great Commoner ... ... ... ... 7 To Robert Browning ... ... ... ... 19 Of my Little Daughter ... ... ... ... 22 The Year of Re-joicing ... ... ... ... 23 The Unshe.4theu Sword ... ... ... ... 29 The Tsar's Eirenicon ... ... ... ... 33 For Concord ... ... ... .•• ... 34 After her Death ... ... ... ... ... 37 For Co-operation ... ... ... 38 The Mist ... ... ... ... ... ... 39 Jew to Gentile ... ... ... ... ... 40 The First Spring Day in London ... ... ... 43 From the Battle-field ... ... ... ... 44 For those in Mortal Comk.\t ... ... ... 46 May Measures ... ... ... ... ... 48 A Discord ... ... ... ... ... ... 50 The Priest's Ballad ... ... ... ... 51 xii Contents. PAGE From the Frontier ... ... ... ... 54 An Old Song ... ... ... ... ... 56 Kinship ... ... ... ... ... ... 57 A Song of the Paschal Host ... ... ... 59 Love ... ... ... ... ... ... 60 Labour ... ... ... ... ... ... Gl Lead-Poisoning ... ... ... ... ..'. 64 From the German ... ... ... ... ... 67 God's Alchemy ... ... ... ... ... 68 St. George defend the Right ... ... ... 70 From the German of Julius Eodbnberg ... ... 73 Christmas ... ... ... ... ... ... 74 The Speculative Monk ... ... ... ... 76 A Musician ... ... ... ... ... ... 77 In Exile ... ... ... ... ... 78 Meeting and Parting ... ... ... ... 80 EccE Homo ... ... ... ... ... 82 The Vale of Misery ... ... ... ... 84 SONNETS. Love's Cosmopolitan ... ... ... ... 86 Unification ... ... ... ... ... 87 The Ideal Wife ... ... ... ... ... 89 AGAIN.ST Social Carelessness ... ... ... 90 The Christmas Rose ... ... ... ... 92 A Certain Statesman who has for awhile stood aside FOR Others ... ... ... ... ... 93 London Water ... ... ... ... ... 94 To Greece ... ... ... ... ... 95 Contents. xui 97 100 PACE To THE LATE DoWAGEU CoUNTESS RuSSELL ... ... 96 Time, Death, and Judgement To George Fuedeuick Watts, R.A. ... General Gordon ... ■■• ••• ••• 101 Carnot 102 Lord Leighton ... ... ..• ••• ••• 10^ To Alfred Tennyson ... .•• .•• ... 10.5 The Cup of Health ... ... ... ••• 106 To M. a. M. 107 Municipal Contests ... ... ... ••• 108 A Song for Women ... ... ... •.• •.■ HI L'Envoi ... ... ••• 113 Love Triumphant And Other New Poems. LOVE TRIUMPHANT. (suggested by a cartoon of sir EDWARD BURNE JONES.) ■'I came that they may have life, and may have abuudance." — St. John x. 10. (See marginal note in Revised Version.) O Love, bring back to Man again The joys of dewy prime, Ennobled by the conquered pain. Enriched of garnered Time ; And Woman, when that day is born, With Man who serves made one. Shall bless the crown of sorrows, worn By Love, the Workman's Son ! O Breath of Eden, Light of Love, now winnow the world and burn The chaff and the stubble, below and above that tly when the mill-wheels turn ! O joy of Liberty, Labour, Love, return, return, return ! 2 Love Triumphant. It is not toil makes man a slave, Though now in serfdom bound : Love works, Who first the order gave That man should till the ground. When base desires corrupt or soil, O Love ! all work and art. Create and quicken fruitful toil. Redeem our sordid heart ! O Wind of Eden, Fire of Love, now winnow the world, and burn The chaff o' the grinding below and above when the mighty mill-wheels turn ! O joy of Labour, Liberty, Love, to this dark world, return ! The tree of life is full of fruit If all may only share. But death is gnawing through the root In selfish, grasping Care : O Love, consume our cruel greed, Enrich the toiling poor ! For those in hell of deathly need Throw wide Thy palace door ! O Sword of Eden, Fire of Love, come back in judge- ments stern, When lives are broken, beneath and above, where man's swift mill-wheels spurn Hearts made for Liberty, Labour, and Love ! — Avenging God, return ! O Light of Light, unerring, just ! O Love, Thou Workman fine ! Love Triumphant. 3 Make lovely still our lowliest dust, And through our darkness shine, Till Love and Labour, hand in hand, Have made an Eden of the Land And all the Earth is Thine ! While we are toiling through the night, our hearts within us burn : Before us, in the dawning light, is One whose face eludes our sight ; — O Son of Man, unveil Thy might ! Son of God, return ! ( 4 ) TO "carissima:' (A Dramatic Lyric.) Septkmbek 29th — St. Michael and All Akgels. It was your fingers that each September Wove the wreaths on Saint Michael's day, And here on earth you would still remember The dead you loved who had gone away. If great Saint Michael, his festa blessing, Would send you forth from the heavenly host To cheer some soul with a swift caressing, Your heart would tell you who needs you most ! My wreath is spoiled as I try to weave it : You said it was not work for a man ! In heaven, as here at your grave I leave it, Pray for me, pray as you only can ! Shall I forget you, the unforgetting. You, who were dearer than life and breath ? — When the sun has forgotten its rising and setting, I shall remember through life and death ! ( 5 ) SUMMER AND AUTUMN. (A Dramatic Lyric.) THE RHYME OF A LOVER TO HIS BELOVED. The fir-trees screened my heathery bank, By fragrant gorse and whin : While like the wine of life I drank The perfumed nectar in, To noon's enraptured silence sank The sweet birds' joyous din. The year's most perfect hour of bloom Had consummated earth ; No fleck of cloud, no hint of doom, Disturbed the magic birth Of Nature's best, too pure for gloom, Too exquisite for mirth. Bees rested in their revelling maze "Where harebeDs graced the moor : The sky was all one sapphire blaze. My roof and Heaven's floor : I felt the Timeless stand at gaze Through Time's wide open door ! Summer and Autumn. Yet through ray soul a liunger crept Of Beauty's Self to take, A cry that deep withm had slept Seemed all at once to wake, And sudden passion through me swept For more than suns can make. But when, long after, through the sleet Of autumn's chilling stress, I paced an ugly crowded street And felt amid the press, Because my heart so wildly beat, That you drew near to bless, A bliss half human, half divine, Defying death and fate, Rose round my life to make me thine, Dear joy, sweet love, true mate ! I saw the eternal watchfires shine. And earth was Heaven's gate. ( 7 ) THE GREAT COMMONER. THE nation's song OF MOURNING AND OF TRIUMPH, While the clock in Parliament-tower Tolls out the passing hour, Let the sweet Abbey chimes Ring du-ges through their rhymes, North, south, and east and west. For one who will be remembered, in far-off future times And distant climes, As England's ornament and manhood's flower ! Here lay his bones to rest. For he is now a guest With the Immortals — He, the great Commoner, Who was the champion Of the unblest ! Christendom's Paladin And the world s citizen, Britain's true son ! Throw wide the portals Of the great Abbey ! Give of your pity then To the whole race of men ! 8 The Great Commoner. Nevei', while tyrants trod On the opprest, Reddening the gory sod, Crushing the human clod, Would this man sheathe his sword, lower his crest- He who held peace so deai-, loved honour best ! But, at the God's behest. He, on Ascension day. Leaving earth's night. Passed from our midst away. Out of our longing sight, Into the light ! II. In counsel great, a warrior on whose breast The English rose, The white flower of his country and his God, Held far above The prate of faction and of petty strife, From Moslem foes A universal fear and honour won. White flower, whose multitudinous petals hold A symbol manifold Of his own life, Where no dark secret ever was enscrolled But, deep in fragrance, only a heart of gold For home and wife, And patient love For all the boundless brotherhood of Christ ! For him, amid the doubting creeds of men, The Great Commoner. One faith sutticed, The faith of Wyclif and of Damien And of the man whose death half broke his heart, Heroic Gordon, England's soldier-saint — The faith too of the poor who make no plaint But, homel(!ss, hopeless, and with hunger faint. Still trust in God, and still to one another Prove friend and brother. TIT. Master and prince among men, He, in the quick of every noble strife, Played a brave part, With tiery wrath for cruel deed or base, Yet never a touch of mean or rancorous guile. His kindling smile Was courtly greeting to the lowliest. Stainless and brave. He to the Empire gave What lies beyond all party politics And will with the eternal future mix, — Manhood, the glory and grace That shine a moment through a human face ! IV. Scrupulous, just ; Eager, irate Against all selfish, hypocritical lust, He, like his Master, was compassionate, lo The Great Commoner. "With tender courage, to the weak who swerved Through pity or passion ; but his scorn reserved For tempters and oppressors of the weak ! His life will speak With gi'eater power than all the eloquence With which he swayed the crowd who, rapt, intense, Hung on his word, while far-off listening nations Caught up and echoed the reverberations Of those swift convolutions Of subtle and weighty speech, Those practical solutions Of riddles hard to reach, Those burning indignations, Forensic perorations. And passionate thrilling fervours that only truth could teach ! His life will speak As long as this our language shall endure ; For he was pure, And in His Name Who once drew human breath, Whose manhood never failed in life or death, And Whom he worshipped since his life began, He was a man ! V. A faithful guardian of the State, A man "the common people" loved, He sought no titles from the great, But to his Queen and country proved The Great Commoner. ii A loyal servant, day and night, With all his might ; Whose pastime still was some new toil Of hand or brain, And who, in agony of pain, Yet I'ose above this mortal coil And read love's inmost meaning plain. Oh, we are fain To hear once more that silver trumpet speak Which called the strong to battle for the weak, Yet could rejoice Ln bloodless victories of unflinching peace When tyrants learned that tyrannies must cease ! Him weary "workhouse folk" adored And Princes welcomed. Ah ! his glad release From pain's dim torture-prison at the last Left us the gloiious gift of all the past, Our undeserts receiving his reward, — And, though our future now be overcast. And low the colours droop before our mast, Yet are we proud ! His very shroud Is sacred, and, beside his open grave, While the May heaven is fair with promise above, One instant is rehearsal, Confederate, universal. Of that unbroken, international love, That peerless bond Written in cipher on the years beyond Our dazzled ken, When life will be true life and men be men. 12 The Great Commoner. VI. Colliers and Princes bore this honoured pall : All serve and honour him who served and honoured all. Hei'e in the Abbey of the Church he loved And often fought for with resplendent powers, Great names more eloquent than fading flowers, Whose glory had been incomplete without him. Like laurels for a victor tried and proved, Are wreathed about him ! Now let his tomb be in the midst of them, Their jewelled fame to him a diadem,- — The men of letters, statesmen, warriors bold. Of his days and the famous days of old, And many friends who left him in his prime, Some dying old and some before their time ! With bent heads softly breathe the names of those Whom Gladstone loved and who with him repose ; — His friend, "Lord John," who took himself to task For rank and wealth and, under that still mask, Hid such a tender heart for human need, And for unhappy nations yet unfreed, That, fearing his emotions, he controlled His quivering passions till men thought him cold And even hard ! And he, that other fi'iend, the Laureate bard, Our Tennyson of poet-voice and face, Throughout the Empire dear to all our race, Who held aloft great Arthur's shining cross, So through all time to comfort human loss And make our life more fair and clear of stain Until the Kang of men return again ! The Great Commoner, 13 Stanley, as Catholic as old Saint Paul, Who knew the Church should open wide for all, Like Raleigh, who unlocked our ocean-door, Or Pitt with his bold schemes to help the poor ; — These were among his friends : and such a host Gather around, that other names are lost In the vast crowd. Among the multitude with heads all bowed, Lay down the coffin in the appointed place ! Here, on his right, the man of rapier keen, With whom so many a tilt and tourney has been When they crossed swords, a son of that old race That gave to Christianity the Christ ! And, on his left, lies he who sacrificed Consistency to his courageous truth, The praise of men to his far-seeing ruth. For Beaconsficld now neighbours the great Peel, And Ireland's patriot Grattan too is near. Who, who shall count the mighty common-weal On whose bright names life set a public seal And wrote their record in the Abbey here ? Among the men *" whose memory Death has crowned, How many kinsmen of his creed he found ; — Kingsley, and Thackeray, he of the big heart And child-like faith Unruffled by what shallow scoffing saith. Whose bitter thrusts through all false armour dart, WTio loved true love, true life and all true art ! And Maurice, he who walked with God and spent His inmost soul in battle obedient, * Of the great ineu uanied as memorialized in the Abbey, by no means all are buried there. 14 The Great Commoner. Whose pure humility and self-denial Freed the great truth for which he stood on trial ; — Their honours now his honoured grave surround. VII. Once, as the bier drew hither, it delayed Where the last tribute was to Lawrence paid, Wise-hearted Lawrence, whom the Punjaub held For such a man as only God could weld. Who saved us India in our time of need ! And Livingstone and Stephenson and those Through whom a fairer London slowly rose From the old buildings, resting round about, Encircled him while hymns of praise rang out : Nor far away was he, who, by his art. For " workhouse children " moved the people's heart — And how the people loved him, how they wept When death too early took him and he slept ! VIII. No statesman of them all is brother to him Whose bones we carry ! Not mighty Cromwell nor great Halifax, Nor Clarendon, nor any, stern or lax, — Not one of them, from Pym to Palmerston ! Not even Chatham and his patriot son ! But poets turn from one another to him Who has with them a kingly fellowship And, diligent, did neither haste nor tarry, But sought their glorious vision to translate Into the deeds that make a nation great. The Great Commoner. 15 'J'he words of life that, though a stroke may slip, Are yet the poetry of statesmanship ; Chaucer and Milton ! He who loved the folk ; And he who served the state, Nor ever stooped to any servile yoke, Poet of God and man and deathless fate ! Ben Jonson, strong and vivid and elate ! Shakspere, — no democrat, yet one who loved All stalwart souls who had their mettle proved, Or king or commoner, it mattered not, Love's arrows lurked, he saw, in every lot, — God rules, he thought, though man may strive and plot, Spenser, who through his faery realm pursued Innocent Truth, with beauty still endued. Truth, that, despite Duessa, yet will be Triumphant, and will set the tighter free ! Burns, that Olympian son, of Scotland born. Who met Apollo with his plough at morn : In homespun churl or Prince of all the clan, He saw not Prince or peasant but a man ! Wordsworth, " the priest of Nature and of God ; " Keble who never from our midst is gone. Whose blessing is with all he looked upon. And Matthew Arnold, he whose classic line To many a fainting soul is food and wine. Browning, who loved the earth on which he trod. Loved man, and man's Great Master, every day Breathing a spirit into common clay, Man of the world, who saw the Eternal look Through every human face and living book, And in the quips that suited well his rhyme Clothed burning faith that will uplift all time. i6 The Great Commoner. IX. Macaulay, Shaftesbury, Cauning, Pitt, and Fox, Are round the bier ; Behind them wait celestial magicians Who mock the music of the heavenly sphei-e, Master-musicians ; Undying Purcell. and the glorious Great Handel, who unlocks The gates of Heaven with his strains victorious ! — All, near the Empress-Throne beloved so dearly, Where still the Queen salutes her people yearly In the great Parliament, where night and day This happy warrior wore his strength away. — All round him in this burying-place of kings, Where Love and History meet with folded ^vings ; And half in sight of those old Temple Gardens Where now the children wander, and, long since, In the old days of public plots and pardons, White roses bloomed for courtier and for prince ! And others, too, are here, of varying minds And divers gifts that the world's pageant needs. Rejoicing that his battle now is won ; — Blake, Newton, Darwin, Wesley, Wilberforce, Great souls who, freed from earth, hold intercourse, And whom death mingles, mingling all the creeds. Now that the fight is over in Avalun ! X. Oh, though we mourning say, Death is a foe to-day, Bidding surrender, This, the great Commoner, The Great Commoner. 17 Saw, under all disguise, Wisdom's unerring eyes, Silent and tender. She who has loved him best "Would not now break his rest ! Children and grandchildren, wont to caress him. Joining with her, his love, rise up and bless him. Though sorrow break our song For the true man and strong. In this rough world of wrong. Yet, through our selfish tears, Passionate hopes and fears, Weary desponding, Bearing life's load of pain, Knowing his glorious gain, Swiftly responding To the grand choral hymn all the world's singing. While we still weep for her Who was, through all his life. Comrade as well as wife, Ah, while we keep for her Reverence most loyal. Joyful in sorrow, we say. Death crowned a Man to-day, Death that is royal ! (Hark the gi-eat Abbey-chimes clashing and ringing !) Here by the battle-field. Where he was wont to wield So bright a weapon, — Here, where his strength he spent In the fierce tournament, i8 The Great Commoner. Here, amid weeping crowds Under the river-clouds That the winds leap on ; — Here, by the classic Thames, Close to the Altai'-flames Of the Home-city ; Here, in the sacred stones. Lay the great warrior's bones. In perfect peace ! Long for us all he toiled, By sordid care unsoiled : — Let the toil cease ! XL Oh, let the toil cease ! Love in His pity Gave this weak doubting age One man of holy rage, Ours, yet above us ! Though now to mortal eyes No more he swiftly rise. Fervent, uplift our aims. Courteous, adjust our claims, Chide us, and love us. Praise Love who made a man all fear defying, Praise for the warrior dead, now tranquil lying ! Still in our thought of him All Christ has wrought of him, Lives on undying — Virtue, immortal still, toils not for wages, Dauntless, affronting pain. Careless of selfish gain, Crowned by the good of all, through all the ages ! ( 19 ) TO ROBERT BROWNING. Still dost thou " strive and thrn'^e," And love and live? — Still dost thou give New welcome to the tighters who arrive, Ere, hand in hand With her thou lovest, thou dost onward fare. In that far land "Where she is still thy dearest joy and care, Whose soul no death from out thy soul could rive, "Soul of thy soul," when here on earth alive. And there too where, more close than men can wive. Spirit with spirit is made one and wed In more than earthly marriage? — Christ has said, And thou in noble words interpreted. They are there as angels — perfect love their lot — And, being married, therefore marry not ! Thou, Poet, wast a man, A man of men. No angel then — Supei'b in manhood through thine earthly span ! With resonant voice, This in thy poems didst thou still proclaim c 20 To Robert Browning. Thy daily choice, Beyond the glory of a seraph's fame That wings of passing angels, radiant, fan ! But, with thy death, that larger life began Whose verge as our horizon here we scan, Where, by thy Ring's sweet Posy pledged anew, Thou givest earthly love its heavenly due, For thou didst look to find supremely true Enraptured harmonies of twofold bliss Prefigured by thy love's most perfect kiss ! And dost thou then at last, Unfearing lest The Future's breast Be troubled by the sorrows of the Past, With her, thine own, Delight now in the " ultimate, angels' law," Foreseen, foreknown, — The joy that in the desert John foresaw — Love's own fi^uition that aside may cast The earthly discipline that held it fast ? — Are Love and Duty one at last, at last, Where even Death himself divides no more. And yearning eyes meet eyes that still adore, Dear eyes and face that long since went before Into the hidden country, to foresee, And so make ready, Love's own home for thee ? O glad, resplendent fate, And destiny fit ! Who lost no whit Of love or power on this side Heaven's gate, To Robert Browning. 21 Now show the world In that immortal poem named your life, That love's not hurled On winds of chance, dividing man and wife, A transient passion as the foolish prate, . A lawless storm to scathe and desolate, A secret robbery of the civic state ! God's fire and light it is, to warm and shine ; His touch, that turns the water into wine ; A holy flame, undying and divine ; The world's salvation, ecstasy on earth. That holds the secrets of eternal birth ! And dost thou fight and toil 1 — Who would not till Fields wont to thi-ill "With love's sweet guerdon wooed from sun and soil, The sacred dower Of men and angels, and the unseen God, The mystic flower That roots the deeper under trampled sod, And grows the stronger in the dragon's coil ? — You — you have loved ! No death nor hell can foil Your married love ; while others fret and moil. You will but And new worlds of wider scope. And reap on each new height more fruitful hope. While mountains, climbed, still show a vaster slope, A higher summit, and the star-sown space Reveals new constellations th.at embrace New work, new love, in their evolving grace ! ( 22 ) OF MY LITTLE DAUGHTER, BEFORE DEATH TOUCHED HER. {A Dramatic Lyric.) I THINK of her when sunshine falls Across my clingy office walls, And when the birds outside confer, I think of her. When airs of paradise I meet From violets in a London street That breathe a fragrance undeliled, T miss my child. When cooing notes delight my ear, Though great St. Paul's be looming near, I think of her, my nesting-dove, My little love. My blossom lies so still and pale. The world were light within the scale If that grave angel drawing nigh Would pass her by. 23 THE YEAR OF REJOICING. AN ODE TO THE EMPRESS MOTHER. In Remembrance of 1897. Mother of Empires, and thy people's Mother ! On whom is laid the burden, day and night, Of sacrificing to the public right Thy private pleasure, — Not hoarding for thyself the soft delight Of home's sweet secrecy and sacred leisure, — For God and People still with all thy might Giving to state-craft in ungrudging measure Thought, labour, care, as in the Master's sight, — Teaching thy many folk to serve each other ! Thou art not of the fools who squander amiss On many a passing gaud the eternal treasure, Or snatch at glory, fashioned for another. Thou never wittingly hast swerved athwart The straight and kingly path where walk the just ! In thee the many million toilers trust, Pathetically patient ; miners swart. Or pale-faced women in their workroom pent, Who make the heirlooms for our moth and rust And, choked with fur or lead, may die for this j 24 The Year of Rejoicing. And all the thousand other folk content To do the rough work of this troublesome life For bare subsistence, who, amid the strife. Not weeping their own sorrows, yet are seen With tears of joy to sing : " God save the Queen !" Thou too hast toiled with many a toil unknown. When work has been A weary effort offered up alone Through hours that held thee at thy task, apart, When children's voices in their play-time must Have echoed often through thy longing heart ! Nor hast thou once aside the burden thrust With indolent hand. God bless thee, and to-day Give thee a joy for which the lowliest pray — • The presence of those dearest who are gone. His presence, who, before Death took him away And led him higher, ever up and on. Was thy first love, and is thy last love too. Who crowned thy womanhood with passionate bliss And held thee to thine own brave purpose true ! He is not far, perhaps ; perchance he knows And, through the triumph, feels, the simple things That touch the loving souls of queens and kings As well as subjects — sympathies that come. As sunlight from the sun's heart comes and goes, Out of the heart of God who is our Home. Let others sing aloud in epic strain The outward splendours of thy peaceful reign ; Thy manifold sway, The Year of Rejoicing. 25 The governance of fair and dusky nations Who, through the round world, dream of thee, their Mother, And, by the swift electric undulations Of mystic ether, weave all lands in one To send thee, ere the year go on its way. Their salutations ! Let others sing Of ships majestic and a world-wide mart, A growing knowledge, a reA'i\-ing art. Ease, bought by drudgery that's nobly done. And miracles of science ! — I will wake With homelier note, and many a pause and break, Like V)irds that twitter on with fluttered wing, A song of how thy love had power to make Thy hearth a kingdom's hearthstone, pure and good, Whither the homeless look, thy Mother-throne, The last hope of the hopeless and alone. Save God Himself and His redeeming rood ! My song shall whisper of thy gentle life. Uplifting manners, humanizing laws To higher ideals ! Thou, as mother, wife, And woman, hast made strong the cause Of many a trampled virtue, and withstood Powers in high places with corruption rife. Hast deepened hope of civic brotherhood And found among both rich and poor thy friends. Giving to both alike, with equal hand, A sympathy that felt, in either lot, Sorrows and joys they only understand Who know where love is and where love is not. And yet a cloud the sky's wide banner rends ! 26 The Year of Rejoicing. Long has the East been making angry moan, While we, self-centred, stolid, blind to our fault, Deepened the shadow on our country's name. By love to thee at last made quick with shame, Let us with agony of effort assault The barriers we have built, and seek to atone For our past sin, and win thee back thine own — That loyal trust in thine all-conquering fame Which burned in India's heart, a mystic flame On alien altars, full of hidden power ! We dare not lose it, dare not count in vain The dauntless story of a terrible past That buried men and women in its grave, A story written with the blood and toil Of Indian heroes, England's youth and flower — Of men whose lives enriched a far-off" soil And, when our folly left a ghastly stain On history's page, did yet for us regain The adverse day, and by their death and pain Blot out the blot. Ah, let it not be said, Delhi was far,'" and careless folk forgot ! (xod save our India ! Ay, and may God save A nearer treasure that away we cast, A treasure fashioned for adventure brave — Even Ireland's love, her love whose sons have bled For thee and thine, nor ever grudged the cost. Where on the field there fell the heroic dead, Strong in their faith to country, God, and thee I * Delhi dur ust, an allusion to a native proverb. The Year of Rejoicinj?. 27 Love yet will conquer, Love that still must be .Steadfast in patience and a wise reserve, Content in humble guise to wait and serve. And thou, our Empress Queen, hast lived to see Vast changes wrought by Love. Thou, who hast kept A steward's watch for all thy kingdom's weal, Discerning in what men call idle chance Or secular work, God's sacred mandate seal, The daily miracle of circumstance, Much that may be Of infinite future still to hurt or heal, . . . Thou, as a servant waiting on His hand, Withdrawn awhile (as Mary's self might stand With Lazarus dead), thou, brave in self-control, Hast seen thy Kingdom-church awake from trance, Till through the slumbrous eyes looked forth a soul. Cast off the charnel-clothes in which she slept. And trembling, stumbling, through all error advance Into the service of the sad and poor. Victoria ! victorious in love, Who sixty years, while others laughed or wept, Hast worked for us and held thy way above All petty aims, the Master's will to prove. When thou didst pass our great cathedral door, Then in the church that is to many a home, A quiet roof-tree from the city's heat. Resounded through the over-arching dome, Named after Paul, a citizen and free, A nation's thanks to God who gave us thee ; And countless hearts that quick with loyalty beat, 28 The Year of Rejoicing. There dimly learned how Love's own will is done, Through thee, the Empress, and the lowliest one Of all thy subjects, who the dust has swept From some poor crossing, serving like Saint Paul With hand-wrought labour, if, while work enthral, Love's law of liberty unbroken be, And no self-seeking on the service fall. We, who obey thee, know that thou hast stood, Through long years of courageous womanhood, Thyself obedient to the Lord of all ; As handmaids watch their mistress, three-score years. Through sorrow and joy and cares and hopes and fears, Looking to Him who tends the sparrow's brood And in the desert gave the people food, The Love with whom there is no great nor small. And who invested thee with love of all. In lifelong service for thy people's good ! 1897. ( =9 ) THE UN SHEATHED SWORD. [Written on the first news of Stepniak's death and future cremation, at a moment when there was still a fear that we might fall into the guilty madness of a war with America, and still a hope that we might take up om- dishonoured responsibilities in Armenia.] * The sword was wrought with flame : Let fire caress the sheath And make a glowing wreath, Consuming with its breath The scabbard that we loved Vjecause it bore his name, Unsheathed, the immortal sword escapes, unhurt of death. * The WTiter at the time of Stepniak's death knew practically nothing of him (except through a friend who was his friend) beyond his last talk with the Calmnets as reported by the Daily Chronicle, in which talk tliere seemed to be three notes : (1) Making for peace with America ; (2) Making for defence of Amieuia ; (3) A greeting in the Eussian words of greeting, " Christ is risen ! " though Stepniak would of course have disavowed Christianity for himself. This threefold chord inspired the poem. "Asked what lie thought about President Cleveland's threatening message. Stepniak mournfully owned that democracy, too. had its dangers ; that even the hand of Alexander II. had been forced by the Panslavists in 1876, and that the Russo- Turkish war was more the result of popular passion than of dynastic or despotic ambition. On the ' Calmnets ' preparing to depart, Stepniak accompanied them to 3° The Unsheathed Sword. Upon the anvil hurled, Souls fired and quick with wrong, Are struck to metal stronsr : While, making rhythmic song, Love's own resistless hammer thunders throuoii the world To forge true-tempered steel that may to God belong. And now the Armourer, Love, Who with consuming fire Can life and death inspire. Has blinded our desire, Pierced through the earthly mist with lightnings from above, And seized a burnished blade that service cannot tire. Love's war is clean of stain By earthly weapons wrought. His unseen fight is fought In fires of burning thought. the door and shook hands heartily with all, wishing each the compli- ments of the season ; when one of them, desiring to air the little Russian at his command hy applying the greeting of Easter to the parlance of the present time, remarked : ' A happy Christmas to you, Christos voslrres.' ' Ah yes, CJiristos voskres* replied the genial, burly, and broad-browed Nihilist, with a gratified smUe at thus hearing the sound of his ovin native language in the land of his exile. ' Christ has risen ! '—and a few hours later his guests were shocked to learn that Stepniak's career had been suddenly cut short at a level-crossing within a stone's throw almost of his own house, and that the epilogue to the drama of his troubled, adventurous, and high- aiming life was soon to have its scene in the crematorimii of Woking." The Unsheathed Sword. ii For Love and Wisdom still from murderous deed refrain Lest victory be a crime by blood and darkness bought. O ! cool and quick-edged sword By furnace-blows made meet ! Our hearts with passionate beat, Thy parting touch entreat, Swayed by the Prince of Peace, of life and death the Lord, Lest brothers close and slay, in tierce love-kindled heat. " Christos voskres ! " * my friend ! — Consuming Love ! we need Thy fire our souls to speed : But art Thou risen indeed ? O Fire, consummg Fire, our doubt and darkness end ! The scabbard is Thine own and Thou the sword hast freed. Our lost allegiance claim ! Our clouded vision clear. Lest (hurt by one held dear), With sin, that fears to fear. We rush on her we love, the Daughter of our name ; Light fire of hell, and burn, before the end is near ! * A Russian greeting used at Easter, and Tueaning, " Christ has 32 The Unsheathed Sword. Armenia, outraged, torn. In death for succour cries. O Christ, in us arise ! Burn up our " Christian " lies ! Till our dishonoured honour, asleep, undone, forsworn, Shall in Thy power awake, and toil, and agonize. " I bring not peace but a sword ; " Thou, Prince of Peace, hast said : Thy blood, so foully shed, Is guilt upon our head. The blood of these, Thy brethren ! Make of us, O Lord, A weapon in Thy band, a weapon sharp and dread ! ( 33 ) THE TSAR'S EIRENICON. God bless the Tsar, whose daring thought, With vast and complex issues fraught. Has flashed upon confusion's night A noble hope, eftulgent might. With wisdom and with love enwrought ! A darkened world has ever taught, " High-sounding aim low aim has sought ; " But light rejoices in the light : God bless the Tsar ! We think of brave young lives that bought Our vaunted peace — the fallen who fought, The millions wounded in the fight — Man's nought, but, if the Tsar be right, God set a figure to his nought ! * God bless the Tsar ! * " Jinuny Dawson," the Methodist preacher, was once heard to pray with sudden passion, '• Lord, we're all nought, we're all nought ! But, Lord, put a figure to 't ! " ( 34 ) FOR CONCORD. ■' That they all may be one." Though LoA^e redeem us, do we stake Our souls upon the mighty bond, As brothers, serve for others' sake, Till love in hatred's self awake, And love, on this side death, respond To love beyond ? Is life, this little life, so long, That we its wasting hours should spend In cherishing eternal wrong. Or beckoning passions that will throng Our reckless path until the end. To smite and rend ? If, clutching pleasure, shirking pain. We forfeit manhood in the act, AVhat profit, though the world we gain And lose ourselves ; too late, in vain. Find love is gone, and we enact The devil's pact ' For Concord. 35 From iniinite hope and fellowship Have rung our own dividing knell, And deep in isolation dip, Until the heaven, whose key we grip, The selfish heaven we guard so well, Is lonely hell ? — Yet once we felt the life that fills The boundless universe ; and, lo. It sweeps through myriad stars, and thrills The dewy flowers, the dreaming hills And all the souls that to and fro Still come and go ! Through sorrow, and loss, and noble rage. The rapture of the world is wrought, Of every country, every age, The one immortal heritage, Above all joy, beyond all thought, With wisdom fraught, — The deepening concord, blissful, tense. When sympathies divinely mate. Or diflering notes in long suspense, Uniting, meet their recompense. And, storming music's inmost gate. Fulfil their fate ! Lost ! Lost ! Then are we lost indeed If this, our life, we cast away 36 For Concord. In snatching all the power we need To choke our own imperious greed, Till we, self-murdered day by day, Lie deep in clay ! The Love once slain, divinely crowned, Not as a Servant but a Son, Feels v\ ery wound when, trampled, bound, We sufier and no help is found. He died that all men might be one : His will be done ! ( 37 ) AFTER HER DEATH. {A Dramatic Lyric.) When in a tempest the sky has been falling, Colour and perfume the roses unfold ; Sweetly the bu-ds then are whistling and calling, Twittering the love-songs that never gi-ow old. When you were with me, my sunshine, my dearest, Earth was too beautiful even for song, You were my music, my sweetest and nearest : Ah, I have lost you, have sought you so long ! Life of my life, if you knew how I need you, Death would be vanquished, one moment of grace, Here in an instant my anguish would speed you : — Oh, what a silence should be your embrace ! ( 38 ) FOR CO-OPERATION. When Love and Labour mate, Though dullard fools have found The world a treadmill-round, Roofed in by cramping fate, Love, royal Drudge uncrowned, Finds prison-labour sweet. His light, untiring feet, That, buoyant, leap and bound In steadfast, rhythmic beat, Turn wheels beneath his tread That grind the corn for bread Whereof his children eat. With hand and heart and head. He toils, and, toiling, sings : His joy gives labour wings And wakes the very dead. Love, breathe through earthly things. Through anguish, care, and strife : The fructifying life Thy royal presence brings ! ( 39 ) THE MIST. The sun and the dew were so far apart, The world would have said they could never have met, But the sun looked down with a burning heart When the earth with the crystal dew was wet ; So the dew went up in a golden mist — And they kist. Till the dew came back at the close of day, In a robe of the colour of amethyst, — And a crown of pearls on the green earth lay, Like tears of hope and of wild regret That told of an unforgotten tryst, Ere the sun had set. ( 40 ) JEW TO GENTILE. {A Dramatic Lyric.) Your vulgar pride I trample ! I am a Jew, Son of the race to whom the Eternal gave, Not the poor blessings of a slave, But the fierce chastisement of sons, The elect to pain, the few, Chosen and blotted out His world to save In sunless darkness like to Ajalon's ! Others, by their false gods. Are beaten with rods, But we, who once the sacred mountain trod — The kinsmen of the Everlasting God, Are smitten and scourged, and lashed with scorpions ! You say your God was of the outcast race, Priest, Victim, Servant, Hebrew, sacrificed That history might learn of Christ, A Jew according to the flesh ; — Yet, gazing on our face. While we, with toil no mortal eyes have priced, Jew to Gentile. 41 The seed-corn of your future harvest thresh, You scorn your Master's kin For Judas' sin, Though many a Judas is a Gentile now, And He was Jewish in whose Name you bow. Thus do you wound the Son of Man afresh ! You in your churclies chant the poems to-day That crown the memory of our shepherd king, While Christendom delights to sing The promise of that royal line ; And in His Name you pray Who said He came a message first to bring (Comfort and healing, food and hope divine,) To those lost sheep loved well— • His Isriiel. He chose His earthly friends of Jewish race, And, in the gifts that now your altar grace, You keep our Paschal Feast with Bread and AVine ! Moses, Isaiah, Peter, Paul, and John, We claim them all, — and, in your Christian art. The Eternal Motherhood, the Heart Of Love Creative, is enwrought, Worshipped and dreamed upon, For tender comfort shrined and set apart, — A Christian symbol of a Jewish thought ! * We deify no man. But yet we can * " As one whom his Mother comforteth. so will I comfort you." — Isaiah Ixvi. 13. 42 Jew to Gentile. Revere a Manhood most divinely pure, Self-vanquishment supreme that will endure, Teaching the sacrifice our prophets taught. We hold for ever an undying trust That in the eternal counsels we must keep. Love slumbers not ; God will not sleep. Watching, untired, o'er Israel, And though we are but dust, Yet we, through all the world, His scattered sheep. His truth and love must evermore forthtell. His love and power that bless Through righteousness, His Unity, His undivided will. His law, one perfect law, uniting still His boundless universe through heaven and hell ! Yea, though He slay us, we will hold the post Appointed for us ere the race began. With love to God and love to man. By which imprisoned souls are freed ! We will not count the cost, Though cruel voices ignorantly ban, But only bless the more in our great need ! We keep His glorious bond. Nor look beyond His Unity, His Fatherhood, that make The Brotherhood of man, for kinship's sake. Through every diff'erence of race and creed ! ( 43 ) THE FIRST SPRING DAY IN LONDON. On rainbow-lifted clouds, On dingy-hearted crowds, On London roofs and on the dusky river, Apollo scatters from his heavenly quiver New light and song : In human souls our cold estrangements sever, His breath, that is the breath of God for ever, Undoes the wrong, And stirs the winter-frozen love that never Was heir of death, yet dreamed of death so long : Sweet arrows shiver Through sacred dust, to make the inmate strong. On gi'imy window-sills, Celestial sunshine thrills Awaking snowdrops, and is softly stealing Through smoky panes to bless the folk with healing. Around Saint Paul's, Now iris-bosomed birds, in love excelling. Are cooing ; and in many a stricken dwelling. On prisoning walls, A gleam of God, of wondrous worlds foretelling That know not space nor time, a moment falls, And life, revealing Eternal life, sets free earth's spell-bound thralls. ( 44 ) FROM THE BATTLE-FIELD. (^A Dramatic Lyric) Do not grieve that you spoke no word, ( When at last they tell you that I am dead), Ah, do not grieve, my darling, my bird, That never, for us, good-bye was said ! For well I knew that our hearts conferred, And all was uttered, though nought was heard, When soul with soul was in silence wed. Nothing was known by those who stood, (Nor dreamed of our mystery, yours and mine), Beside us there in the fragrant wood. Where the dewy flowers grew fair and fine : They said the day had been long and good ; — The Poet, who made your womanhood, Had fashioned for us a day divine. I asked no pledge, I took no kiss ; (He sang of it all, the nightingale) — Love, I am dying, who tell you this — But I knew you would not flinch, nor fail, And the rending anguish, half, was bliss. As I met your eyes and could not miss What would for my life and death avail. From the Battle = Field. 45 You know not what the sweet eyes said, (You were ever the one to take the blame !), And Avhen they tell you that I am dead, As if you had scarcely heard my name, You will hardly dare to bow the head, Until these passionate lines be read Of a love beyond all word or claim. But now that death ordains eclipse Of joy that made my daylight's sum. And life for me in darkness dips On seas no human line can plumb, (For words unspoken you shall not weep, Nor scourge yourself as the blind and dumb ! Your soul gave mine what in death I keep !) This letter over the ocean slips, By the carrier birds, the white-winged ships. To bless for ever your silent lips, For the lif(i that is, and the life to come. ( 46 ) FOR THOSE IN MORTAL COMBAT. Whether I live or die, Succeed or fail, Thou art my strength, and I Through Thee prevail, — Bliss, when with sorrow I strove. And peace in strife, — In death, undying Love, Immortal life ! Pain may at last destroy And vanquish me, Yet is it a door to joy — To joy and Thee ! Deep in Thy heart I find All held most dear ; Men blamed, but men are blind, — Thy love sees clear. In Thee my body and soul Renew their birth. Thy beauty will make whole What's bruised on earth, For those in Mortal Combat. 47 Will grace, through death, renew Till all is fair As flowers in morning dew And sunlit air ! O Love, I shrink and fear — I cannot see : Let me come near — more near — Till hid in Thee ! Then is the victory mine Wherever I dwell, Thine, only, always, Thine, In heaven or hell. O Mystery of Love Threefold and One, On earth — through death — above — Thy will be done ! ( 48 ) MAY MEASURES. " See how she leans ohliquely, like a circling top, as she spins between centrifugal and centripetal forces ; but what makes that little cant upon her axis. I cannot discover, though every one knows that tluit causes the changing seasons." — Laicals Notebook. Sweet, slow result of swift opposing powers That strain the axis of the spinning world Obliquely to the orbit where she's hurled, In her revolving poise, like hurtled flowers. Which must before a driving wind incline. And, inly urged, rise upward out of dust. Yet ever from their upward path are thrust, And stoop a little in their battling line ! How strange that Earth her May-time should derive From conflict that no human heart would choose ! And yet how much of vernal charm she'd lose If she with primal impulse need not striA'e ! If on her axis moving easeful, dull. Not di'awn by troubling impulse to resist, She in unchanging sameness might exist As in a shipyard sleeps the unmasted hull ! May Measures. 49 But Earth, we know, has braved a million storms And breasted many a thwarting influence That proved, like thee, unseen beneficence, Increasing beauty in its countless forms. Is all the infinite that never ends Dominioned by these stern magnetic laws. Of all attractions the restraint and cause. Provoking joys that make divine amends ? — ( 50 ) A DISCORD. The buds were out on the lilac trees, And the almonds blossomed like Aaron's rod ; The smell of the earth was in the breeze, And the fragrant sunshine breathed of God. But, up in an attic cold and bare, A worn-out woman bowed the head ; Her only daughter, her love and care, That sweet spring morning, was lying dead. ( 51 ) THE PRIESTS BALLAD. Oncr at the Gates of Heaven thei'e stood A gentle vision of womanhood Whom all the -world had praised as good : (Like a rose in June was she). And while to the gate St. Peter came, She smiled to think she was pure of blame As any woman could be. St. Peter paused with an angry frown — " Woman, we know of your fair renown ! " And the lady cast her sweet eyes down, (8he trembled, she knew not why). " The gates are fastened," St. Peter said, ' ' For the sake of your sister, seven days dead — It was not her time to die." Then the lady lifted her lovely head, "No sister have I in the world," she said. But St. Peter answered, " Fire and bread (How little to you it seems !) Would have saved your sister from worse than death ; Though she cried on God with her dying breath, And called on you in her dreams. 52 The Priest's Ballad. " No sister ? and yet you bear the Name Of Christ, her Brother and Lord, Who came To set her free from the sin and shame "When He died to save the lost ! Much beautiful weft for your dainty wear Your sister fashioned ; — and can you dare To whisper to God the cost ? " Was it enough, or did those who sold Turn to copper your silver that should have been gold ? She was clutched by famine and pain and cold (And I may not speak the rest) — • Such things are hidden " — his sad lip curled — " From women like you through all the world — She is Mary Magdalen's guest." Then the lady shuddered, as pale as snow — " But, good St. Peter, I did not know ; We do not ask in the world below," (And sadly St. Peter smiled) — " If, in the trafiic that saves our purse, On the broidered raiment rests a curse, By murder itself defiled." " Poor, fallen angel ! " St. Peter said, " Her sins lie heavy upon your head ! " But she wept and whispered in pain and dread — (She had stood so proud and high), " No angel ever, but fallen, indeed : I will find my sister, that she may plead For the woman who let her die ! " The Priest's Ballad. 53 Then she looked up in swift surprise, For Love had come, and Love's own eyes Rebuked, forgave her, made her wise — (To grieve those eyes was hell). — '' Poor, blinded child ! " they seemed to say, " Back to the dark town take thy way — Go, serve thy sisters well ! " ( 54 ) FROM THE FRONTIER. A BELATED LETTER WRITTEN DURING THE RECENT WAR. And is it nought to thee, dearest ; And is it nought to thee 1 Dost ever dream of me, dearest ; Dost ever dream of me ? — When the bullets, round us flying. Make their havoc of the dying ; When the ambushed foe's upon us. And the fire is raining on us. Where the rush, our lines defying, First began? WTien love must hold his breath, dearest, And duty lead the van ; When a man, forgetting death, dearest, Remembers he's a man ; When through flood and ice we're faring. We, the white men, and the daring Dusky sons of Indian mothers — Loyal servants, faithful brothers — Who will front, with eyes uncaring. Hell's array ! From the Frontier. 55 Oh, forg(!t ine, love, forget rae ! Thou art with me night and day, And delirious hopes beset me In the wild and fierce array. But I would not have thee weeping, If a dream should cross thy sleeping, While beneath thy flag I fight, love, Through the numbing, freezing night, love. Far away ! ( 56 ) AN OLD SONG. I WOULD I had thy strength, sweet, delicate Spring, That, through what's earthly in the world and me, I, breathing brightness, might exult, like thee, In golden halo circling everything ! No ground too hard for piercing, and no bough Too stubborn for thee — forcible to bless With wealth of that ethereal loveliness That breaks through stony clods we know not how ! O dewy grass and leaves of " living green " ! — Translucent blossoms born in orchards bare, All heavenly hued ! How did the brave Spring dare To call you forth where burial long had been ? Come, let us deeply drink of life and light. Where fountains well from their eternal source. Till through us flows the God's mysterious force To woo the May-dawn out of wintry night ! ( 57 ) KINSHIP. {A Dramatic Lyric.) OF BEASTS AND BIRDS AND MOTHER-EARTH, A LOVER DISCOURSES. Dear beasts, I love them ! I rejoice to know I have a kinship with their ancient race. How wistfully they look me in the face. As who should say, " Though dumb, my heart's aglow " ! And then the birds, sweet throated, blissfid things ! When they are silent, yet they lend me wings — A swallow, or a seagull, floating by. Uplifts me far into the sunset sky. Glad too am I to nestle in the breast Of Mother-earth, and feel with deep delight This mystic flesh, enwoven day and night With unseen presence, thrilled with strange unrest Of some high future, may at moments find Restful relationship, that's wholly kind. With summer field, wide river, fragrant wood. That outward world which God named "very good." 58 Kinship. But when, clear friend, at last I meet your eyes, Although I lock my heart and will not see, Lest sudden joy should overmaster me And win my self-surrender, faith defies All foolish doubt, and our two souls exult In that unspoken certainty occult — That we were born — we know, nor need to prove- Of Love Himself, in Whom we live and move ! ( 59 ) A SONG OF THE PASCHAL HOST.* Eternal Love, undying Host, Awake the dead who dwell alone ! By all we love and cherish most, Call forth in man the Holy Ghost, ' And roll away the prisoning stone ! Awake, uplift, the slumbering soul. That, each from each, we seal and bar ! O Life of life, our source and goal, Let sunrise thrill with sweet control The dark that hid the morning star ! Thy kin, O Love, yet Thee we shame By mouldering grief and care and strife : Unwind our grave-clothes in the Name Of Him Who through the birth-door came, And through the death- door gave us life, — Who set immortal manhood free When mortal hate and scorn He bore ! Tiu-ough Him, Love, one Name of Thee, Unblind our eyes that cannot see, And wake the dead for evermore ! * " Host " is au old English word for " sacrifice." ( 6o ) LOVE. Oh, what is love ? — a hope, a dream 1 — The secret source of upward strife ! The pain that will from death redeem — The life of life ! A bliss in agony ; at last, As One Whose Name is Love has willed, The peace that comes when storm is past Through faith fulfilled. At first, the waking throes of birth, A quickening goad, a smiting rod ; At last, the crowning grace of earth. The restful ecstasy of God ! ( 6i ) LABOUR. SUGGESTED BY THE CARTOON OF SIR EDWARD BURNE JONES. O JOYOUS labour, man and wife at one. Together toiling till the day is done — God's earth as free to them as wind and sun ; The little children playing at their side Among the flowers that watch them open-eyed ; — We gaze, soul-hungry, never satisfied. Behold, how well the painter understood The sacred bliss of manhood, womanhood ! And how the curse was blessing fraught with good ! He crowned his Eve with briers of budding thorn, In pledge of Sharon's rose by Mary worn, Whereby through sorrow deeper joy was born. And in the spindle frail wherewith she span, The legend dawns of how, since life began, A hidden beauty waits the God in Man. 62 Labour. Long slept the world ; and are we waking yet ? The tangled hedges grow apace, quick-set ; And men in dreams their knightly vows forget. Too often, folk who fain would deh'e or spin, To field or market may not entrance win, Nor dig the garden idlers loiter in. It is not labour makes a man a slave ; Gyves cannot bind a spirit pure and brave ; But some have bought their freedom with a grave ; And sons and daughters of the God have died. Who sought for labour — and the world is wide — Yet found, except in bondage, bread denied. He Who is Life and Light and Love, is just, And fashions beauty out of lowly dust : His wrath is righteous, and in Him we trust. He works throughout the worlds, the starry host, Where human thought and vision both are lost : He sees our wasteful ways, and counts the cost. Oh, let us wake, and, though the night be long. Still keep the watch, and guard, with patience strong, The weak who in the darkness suffer wrong. ^o* Creation's morning will not come again ; But garnered centuries are not in vain, And life is nobler for the conquered pain. Labour. 63 Yea, when at last the hour of God shall chime, More perfect than the joys of dewy prime. Eternal joy shall break the bars of time. The light is breaking, golden through the grey. And on the vexed horizon, far away. We see the dawn, who dream of perfect day. ( 64 ) LEAD-POISONING. A DRAMATIC FRAGMENT. Then, damn you, master, for you've killed my girl — And such a horrid death as devils make ! She was that pretty ! — gold hair all a-curl, And eyes like summer mornings when they wake — And now — great God ! I think my soul's a-fire — All bruised and broken is my Heart's-desire. Not Potteries-born 1 No, I'm from Midland way ; And she, my sweetheart, that you've done to death. Was London-bred — a bird was not more gay ; So sweet her voice, so light she drew her breath ! Last year her father died, and, left alone, She came up here to kinsfolk of her own. You ask the truth, and you shall have the truth. She'd never done a stroke for pay till then ; She looked a dainty lady, did my Ruth ; But now— God help her !— there's no help from men. She moved like waving wild flowers in the wood With dancing step ; and she was pure and good. Lead-Poisoninsr. 65 Just like yon wild anemones that blow In woods and fields — so sweet her colour came — I plucked them for 'er once ; and, where they grow, They mind me o' the music of her name. But through those lovely veins did poison wind. To twist her body and undo her mind. They've closed the coffin, and I'm glad she's dead. For death is better than such death-in-life ; Her wits all frenzied and half gone, they said ; Her dear eyes blind. Though she'd a' been my wife. And now I shall be lonesome evermore, T couldn't a' stood to see the load she bore. It's not your fault, you say, because she chose A ghastly trade in which such poisons lurk ; And if she'd left you, there are scores o' those Who would a-tried for that self-murderous work ; But she was poor and proud ; and, at the first, When she fell sick, she didn't know the worst. She was so young and ignorant ! — and — well. She took the work before she knew the truth : I was so far away — she didn't tell The hideous facts — she was too proud, my Ruth ! Her people here were starving, and she thought. So long as life was in her, work she ought ! And, then, when folk are desperate weak and faint, They're careless, too — tired — tired of everything : They ask for naught beneath that leaden taint, Except a moment's ease from torturing. 66 Lead = Poisoning. Offences needs must come, it once was said ; But he through whom they come were better dead ! O, sir, I'm mad wi' grief — no letters came, Till, crazed at last, I left my home, you see. And journeyed here in anger and in blame ; I thought to tell her she'd forgotten me. I knocked at her poor place : " Come in," she cried But she was mad, Sir, — mad until she died ! Sir, stop it ; you have power and you have brains ; Don't let the poor fools work at suicide ! They choose the wage together wi' the pains. Such is their pluck, their folly, and their pride. But if offences come, they come through you. Sir, she forgave — that's more than I can do ! ( 67 ) FROM THE GERMAN. Since thou art dead, how lonely is my lot ! Often I dream it cannot be, thou art not Gone quite away ; soon wilt thou be returning ; And, laughing, then thou comest and dost speak Sweet hurried words and softly stroke my cheek, As in old times, and quiet all my yearning. Then I awake — must see thee yet again, And, as a mother seeks her child in vain, I search the shadows that may lurk behind thee. Till straight a thought through all my heart will rend, That I might search the world, from end to end. And nowhere, nowhere, nowhere, should T find thee! ( 68 ) GOD'S ALCHEMY. How strange are Nature's ways, Her magic deep ! Lo, while she seems to sleep, Dark nights and cheerless days. Cold, parching winds that sweep Through shivering boughs across the mountain steep, In Spring-time's long and wearisome delays, Prepare the treasure fragrant May will reap. Dull earth and misty gloom Do then prepare The dewy perfume rare And rainbow-tinted bloom That Spring-time will declare ; While, in the swelling roots and branches bare. The secret life is breaking wintry doom To meet at last the sun's caressing care. Then, won from storm and rain Tn darkness cold, God's Alchemy. 69 Will joyous flowers unfold The yearly sweet refrain Of secrets softly told, Recurrent in the music Time may hold, Though deeper, sweeter, mysteries remain In God's eternal symphony enscroUed. ST. GEORGE DEFEND THE RIGHT. St. George's Day is also Shakspere's Day, and, this year, it has marked the beginning of the Cuban war in defence of the down- trodden and oppressed.* Of all the nations God is God, Eternal Light of Light, And lives that underfoot are trod Are ever in His sight ! Let evil be to death withstood, Since only Good is highest good For all the boundless brotherhood Who share His love and feel His rod, While, through the desolate night In tears and agony and blood, His sons defend the Right. Though peace we love, yet more we hate All base and ]:)rutal might : At last the Arbiter of fate Will make the darkness light. * It has been suggested that the rose should on that day be worn, just as the shamrock and thistle have their day. St. George defend the Right. 7^ Now, mourning many a home liereft, Where life will be asunder cleft And wife or mother lonely left ; Yet do we cry with voice elate, Through anguish and affright, Though riven be the soul's own weft, " St. George defend the Right ! " St. George, who spurned the devil's dross. And smote the Worm of night, Who still, through all defeat and loss, For trampled folk will fight ! And, in the tongue our Shakspere loved, Wherein his patriot passion moved Till every caitiff shrank reproved. We cry now, " By the Holy Cross " — In every perilous plight, " Though tyranny be iron-gloved, — St. George defend the Right ! " '■o^ One only may adjust the blame With true unswerving sight. Or, clear as upward-burning flame. Behold the unsullied Right, — The Lord of all the nations. He, And all the worlds that, ordered, free. Through midnight gloom our watchmen see : Now in His sacred, awful Name With hidden glory bright. We sing, till earthly shadows flee, " St. George defend the Right ! " 72 St. George defend the Right. And if the rose our symbol be, The flower of love and light, Behold how fair beyond the sea Bloom roses red and white ! O'er many a soldier's grave will nod Sweet blooms that strew the lonely sod With crimson. Yet, unfearing, plod On, on, a tortured folk to free In Death and Hell's despite ! If God have called you, then will God Himself defend the Right ! ( 73 ) FROM THE GERMAN OF JULIUS RODENBERG. All is still ! At moments only, Through the waves a whisper's fleeting, And, when clouds divide, a lonely Star looks down from heaven in greeting. Greeting undivined ! And, stealing Through the fields, the night wind's sighing, Like a breath that's deep with feeling. Or a last farewell's low crying. All the forms about me meeting, Hither fashioned by my yearning, While through tears I give them greeting. Now the greetings are returning. Then they smile and leave me lonely — Go, untracked as their assembling ; All is still ! At moments only, Thro' the waves a whisper's trembling. ( 74 ) CHRISTMAS. God bless you all with plenty and to spare, Untouched by moth or rust or secret care — Love, peace, and beauty, and resplendent health- God's own eternal, uncorrupted wealth ! If Love, Himself, the world's redeeming Loi*d, Has spread for you and me a Christmas board, Then, as we break the bread and pour the wine, May He be present at your feast and mine ! If some, beloved by Him, hold wealth in trust, And learn through love to be, as Love is, just ; While others whom He loves, like Him, partake The lack of all things, borne for love's own sake, Let rich and poor, in ceaseless sacrament, Content, yet fired with noble discontent. By sharing daily bread, have food Divine, And love that changes water into wine ! Christmas. 75 The world is hungry, and our sad hearts ache That none, save God, for all the world can make A daily banquet, where the poor at last May all be bidden to a fair repast. But all of us, the lowliest and the least. May serve in turn awhile at Love's own feast, Where folk, who many a day find scanty fare. At Love's high table may a welcome share. ( 76 ) THE SPECULATIVE MONK. (^A Dramatic Lyric.) We will be strong to war with sin, Though in our heart be fires of hell, If only Satan come not in As Gabriel. We ask a single gaze to see The hidden, deep, dividing line, When fair false-seeming, cursed of Thee, Meets truth Divine. This is our agony, Lord, Past ill has made us fools and blind, And tied our soul within its cord, And gagged our mind. O Jesu, by Thy sinless pain. By anguished love and grief unknown, Unseal our eyes to see again What is Thine own. ( 77 ) A MUSICIAN. (A Dramatic Lyric.) She came to me and said, " Tell him I am not dead, But love him still." I answered, " Friend, T will 1 " (Beat not so loud, my heart.) He loved her, and she knew Such love is given to few Here on this earth — I think she knew its worth : (Beat not so loud, my heart.) Now, when my spirit stirs The music that was hers At twilight dim. She speaks through me to him In love no death can shroud, And I am glad and proud, — (My heart, beat not so loud.) ( 78 ) IN EXILE. (A Dramatic Lyric.) I HAVE a plant men barely see When they look in to visit me, But while I work, or dream, or sing, The perfume of the tiny thing, Most delicate, a sweet caressing, Is wafted round me like a blessing ! O Love, my own ! so far away, Yet near me every hour and day, Your absent beauty fills my room And makes a sunlight of the gloom ; Your presence, how can men ignore it, When all I am bows down before it 1 Not like my plant, unblossomed, small, Your beauty is beloved of all. But toward your soul's most secret place. More lovely than your lovely face, In vain the eager crowd hath striven ; To me alone the key is given ! In Exile. 79 So near, so far, clear love, come back ! It is your very self I lack. If, like my plant, you dwelt with me, How restful all my toil would be ! Sweet absent love, your presence haunting, Is joy that knows a joy is wanting ! ( So ) MEETING AND PARTING. (-4 Dramatic Lyric.) The soft west wind came through the door And kissed her on the brow and breast, The sunshine danced about the floor Where Mary's foot the flagging prest. And she, my love, so slim and tall, Was fairer than my deepest dream. When I came stepping through the hall, And trembled in the sunshine gleam I brought her. Her cheek grew like the wilding rose, Sweet colour kindled in her eyes — The azure that the noonday knows When light and love are in the skies. I had been many a year away, An exiled prisoner, honour-bound, And now upon a wondrous day, Set free by Fate that once had frowned, I sought her. We found our Eden, plucked its flowers, And, underneath the tree of life, Meeting and Parting:. 8i Within the fragrant vernal bowers, I wooed and won her for a wife. * * * * Oh, Mary, at your grave I stand : The sunshine glitters on the dew , And stooping, with a silly hand, I touch the blossoms, piercing blue — Your token ! The crocus, with its white and gold, That borders there your hillock round, Now blazons Spring-time, gay and cold. Your scyllas shiver on the mound. And I must live the Spring-time through . Bear grief, as others do and can, With soul that cries aloud for you. And for your sake will live, — a man — Unbroken. ( 82 ) ECCE HOMO. AFTER LOOKING AT EFFEMINATE MODERN PICTURES OF TEE CHRIST. WITH GKATEFUL ACKNOWLEDGMENTS TO RABBI BEN EZRA. How little they know of His ardour and beauty, His sternness of purpose and chivalrous might, His bitter rebuke for betrayers of duty, His passionate purity, radiant of light ! Redeemer and Poet, the Image and Splendour Of God uncreated, by man unbeheld, The Potter whose touches are potent and tender ; The Worker in metal He only can weld ! The dream of the world and the wheel of our dreaming, The glow and the glory, the love and the strife : These too are His making, for through them are streaming The infinite forces that fashion all life. But lo ! as they break us and thwart us and bend us, A touch through the whirring, the curve of a line, When life is at darkest is felt to befriend us, — A touch that is human, yet wholly Divine ! Ecce Homo. 83 Then, deep in the furnace of torments infernal, The rapture of heaven we know and we feel : His touch that we see not, untiring, eternal, That yearns to our yearning, is guiding the wheel ! O Love, the indwelling, by Thee are we shriven, Inetiable Comforter, Lord of delight ! To those who are born of Thy Spirit, is given The quickening of peace in the thick of the fight. Thou comest, and swift, through the doorways of dulness. Come joy and vitality, glory and grace ! Who loves Thee will serve Thee with life in its fulness, Or die at his post with Thy joy on his face. O Christ, the unconquered, how dimly we know Thee, Thou Sun of the universe. Light of the world ! For all the sweet fire of our life that we owe Thee, Thy heart took the anguish the enemy hurled ! O Thou Who wast born of a brave human Mother, Some kneel in-Thy presence, some, worshipping, stand ! Life's Symbol and Mystery 1 Master and Brother ! We grope in the darkness and feel for Thy hand. ( 84 ) THE VALE OF MISERY. '• Who going through the vale of misery use it for a well." PsA. Ixxxiv. 6. An arid waste, not yet redeemed, — Now freezing cold, Now stifling, scorched — the valley seemed. To bondage sold, He toiled there, like a man who dreamed. In pain untold. But, digging, patient, weak or strong. For bitter bread, He never cursed his private wrong, But toiled instead To bless the Common weal that long Left him unfed. Deep down the pit, and deeper yet, He, digging, went. Untiring, though the sun had set, — In darkness pent, — For God, he said, will not forget The man He sent. The Vale of Misery. 85 His task fulfilled, at last the day Renewed the gold In glooming hills that round him lay. A fate foretold Gave freedom back — he crept away, Grown early old. But ages after he had passed Beyond that place. On sunny mountains felt at last His Lord's embrace. And, while His arms were round him cast, Beheld His face, The souls, who through that valley fared. Found there a well. Though who to help their pains had cared They could not tell, Sweet solace, said they, he prepared Amidst of hell. The fainting, thirsting folk who found Sweet waters nigh, Upwelling out of thankless ground That's hard and dry. Said, this man's fame, the wide world round, Shall never die ! ( 86 ) LOVE'S COSMOPOLITAN. A SONNET DEDICATED TO LONDON'S CATHEDRAL OF SAINT PAUL THE TENTMAKER, " Nor can we forget that the great Apostle of faith has yet placed faith below love." — Claude G. Montefiobe (on St. Paul) in the Jeioish Quarterly Bevieiv. Apostle, citizen, and artisan ! About thy vast cathedral, through the street Is hurrying tramp of multitudinous feet ; But far within, for many a homeless man Thy shrine is home, where, for a passing span. Cool silence stills the heart's tumultuous beat : Before the altar he may rest and eat Who has not broken bread since day began. Thou who didst glory in the uplifted cross Whereby ascended Love, self-sacrificed, Draws all men near, and heart to heart a few, Thou who didst count the world for love but loss, Hail, chosen servant of the risen Christ, Ambassador of God, great-hearted Jew ! ( 87 ) UNIFICATION. " As a city that is at unity in itself."— PsA. cxxii. 3. O " DIM, rich city " of the quick and dead, With ample dome and solemn minster crowned, ^Vhere rest the peaceful bones of men renowned, Amid the restless throng who toil for bread ! How hardly is thy weary riddle read ! How slowly is its destined answer found ! For some, indeed, have all things and abound, And some, alas ! have neither board nor bed. "When on thy glooming Thames the sunlight gleams, I wonder, seeing how beautiful thou art. What blood and tears thy ransom still may cost. Brave sons and true thou hast, and noble dreams, But ever, deep within thy passionate heart, r hear the muffled moaning of the lost. 88 Unification. II. " One " art thou 1 — One ? — When by the outer wall Of church and palace, patient men in vain Ask room to live, or grind their souls for gain Of such poor pittance as to slaves may fall, While men, their brothers, with enough for all. Pass by, unhelping, though to help them fain, Being burdened with their secret share of pain, Or, by their dead traditions held in thrall 1 — The Master-mason, still our strength and song, Inspires the labour that shall never cease, Rebmlding all that has been basely done. Redeeming order, righting cruel wrong. Till thou art crowned with righteousness and peace ; Though mortal, in Immortal love made one ? ( 89 ) THE IDEAL WIFE. (without distinction of nationality.) ■■• A WIFE whose love has vanquished doubt and fear, In faith and courage man's eternal mate, Of reason and of will commensurate ! A loveliness that time will but endear. Whereof the flower, enfolding, year by year, A soul more beautiful, with light elate, Steals sweetness from the winds of adverse fate — Like snowy lilies fed with radiance clear ! Man's Home and Comrade, — passionate, pure and strong, Among the merry, gay with quip and jest, To all the sad and lonely, motherhood ! — The heart of him she loves, to war with wrong ! He is her Strength and she to him is Rest, Revealing, each to each, Truth, Beauty, Good. * This sounet arose out of a foolish discussion in the newspapers as to the ideal wives of differing races. ( 9° ) AGAINST SOCIAL CARELESSNESS. Could we but know how black our murders are, By help uugiven, courageous deeds undone, — If, 'twixt the rising and the setting sun. Our eyes were doomed to watch them, near and far. Those countless souls and bodies that we mar. Locked up in prisons where our gauds are spun. Or crushed by Mammon's wheels till hell be won Because no brake is on the Devil's car, — If, one brief hour, we saw the million lives, Maimed, poisoned, starved, till health and beauty rot,- Then, with the wisdom love from pain derives. How would our party cant be all forgot Till we had rescued toil from deadly gyves And cleansed our charter from this murderous blot ! Against Social Carelessness. 91 TI. What ! Liberty you want 1 Give Love the keys ! Love shall be foreman and inspector too, — A million-minded love, austerely true, The love that disciplines, protects, and frees, — A nation's love, that, million-minded, sees For all a claim, for every soul a due ; That will command, and righteously will sue, For justice, till at last, by Love's decrees. That seem but slow, yet are divinely sure. Stern Love shall win sweet Liberty for mate ; In perfect law the two shall marriage find. Behold this vision if your hearts be pure ! Let Love awhile be gaoler at the gate. To save the prisoners and to guard the blind. ( 92 ) THE CHRISTMAS ROSE. STAR of hope !ind courage, winter-bound ! Thy stem, now graced with that corolla white, All glistening clear, as if compact of light, Has striven through the hard and bitter ground, And in the coarse earth vital beauty found. Symbolic art thou of His love and might Who did not flash, transcendent, on our sight, But came by ways at which the dreamers frowned. The pains that darken this, our mortal span, The common joys, made holy, sacrificed As God's enrichment of our sorrowing earth, — The Son of Man has blessed for every man. At Cana, Calvary, Bethlehem, the Christ Has sealed as sacred, marriage, death, and birth. ( 93 ) A CERTAIN STATESMAN WHO HAS FOR AWHILE STOOD ASIDE FOR OTHERS. •' He has himself disavowed the name of enthusiast, . . . but en- thusiasms he has : . . . sympathies for the sufferings of the poor. . . enthusiasms for social progress." Their cry is in his ears and wails aloud : To him, the sons of toil, with slow-born trust, Look up with eyes that seem to say : " Be just : Thou art our brother ! Though our backs are bowed With slavish burdens, we are glad and proud Thou standest upright." — Such a moment must Make brave men tremble, being born of dust. Though heirs of God and sorrowing with the crowd. But this man loves his fellows : love is might — The Craftsman, Love, through whom the worlds were made. The Carpenter who wrought in Joseph's shed, Will claim his labour in the blinding light For those who labour in the prison shade ; And round him are the eyes of quick and dead. ( 94 ) LONDON WATER. " Can any man forbid water ? " CEUEL masters ! who, when poor men crave The birthright gift that would then- suffering ease, Deny it, — sow corruption and disease Till filth and loathliness the flesh deprave, While thirst and sickness torture and enslave ! The innocent victims of such sins as these Are still deprived, by careless harsh decrees, Of water that might cleanse and heal and save ! If thii'sty unwashed Lazarus we despise, For us will burn the fire of deathless pain Which impotence will to despair allot. While Love will then in loving wrath ordain A hell more awful than where Lazarus lies. Saying, " Depart from me; I know you not." ( 95 ) TO GREECE. Written early in April, 1897. Tiiou, of dauntless heroes, daring son ! Though half the armies of the world should fight Against thee, sentry through the deepening night, Till all the empii'es think their cause is won. Beside thee stands the eternal Champion, Who through defeat and death upholds the Right, And wrote on history's page in flaming light The words Thermopylae and Marathon. We cannot read His counsels, yet the past Has left its record on our earthly strand ; The wave may vanish, but the tide moves on. And righteousness will triumph at the last : What kingdoms are divided, what shall stand, He knows Who wrote the doom of Babylon. ( 96 ) TO THE LATE DOWAGER COUNTESS RUSSELL. Sweet soul, in motherhood for ever young, And crowned by dignities of noble love ! In greatness humble as the lark above — The soaring lark whose praise the world has sung. Who, home returning, heeds not the world's tongue ! Or stars that in their still progression move, Obedient, — tranquil as a nesting dove. Or harp ^olian for God's music strung ! Loved by the great men of this critical age— Thou wast thy husband's helpmeet, heart, and eyes. The Queen too loved thee — ay, and many a one Whose good name is her only heritage. Thyself true woman, loving, brave, and wise, Thou art with Him Whose voice has said, " Well done ! " ( 97 ) TIME, DEATH, AND JUDGEMENT. THREK SONNETS SUGGESTED 15V THE PICTURE GIVEN BY MR. WATTS TO SAINT PAUL's CATHEDRAL. I. Save that grim Horror that pulls down the beata Of Reason's balance, jangling wrong and right, Demoniac Madness, still, to mortal sight. Great Time and Death, through sunlit splendours gleam, Of all the phantoms of this mortal dream, The most mysterious ! Robed in flaming light, Beyond, no phantom, but with Godhood dight — Swift Judgement weighs the hours we must redeem ! He comes apace. Death dies, and Time beholds Eternity's encircling universe. Time mowed the flowers that Death might end the proem. Then wove their colours in the broidered folds Hung round the little stage where we rehearse One hieroglyph in Love's Immortal Poem. 98 Time, Death, and Judgement. II. How soon will sunset close our working day ! Time's filmy eyes, so strangely sad and sweet, See that far inn where parted lovers meet, And all the tears of earth are wiped away ; But if no life- won offering there we lay, Where on the threshold pause the travellers' feet, How can we those good workmen, shameless, meet Who still arrive, with honest labour gay 1 — The poem will not cease because we fail. But shall we miss the joy of taking part, And weaving good from every evil chance. Till Love, who marks our dintless, rusty mail. Awakes immortal sorrow in our heart, And on our naked soul the labourers glance ? Time, Death, and Judgement. 99 III. Shall harvests ripen, yet no corn be found From seed we planted — we who watch the sky. And fear the very birds that past us Hy, Lest storm assail or greed pluck up the ground, — While eager hearts on whom the witlings frowned Because they put their way-worn garments by To toil more swiftly ere the seed-corn die. Are clothed in beauty, and their sheaves abound 1 These, serving all the world with ardour brave, Give body and soul, and glory in the cost. Though dreaming life may end with ended breath ; Shall we, ignoble, seek our souls to save, And find our very souls abodes of death 1 Who saves himself, said Christ, himself is lost. ( 100 ) TO GEORGE FREDERICK WATTS, R.A. Poet and craftsman of the Eternal One Through Whom the worlds were made and beauty born, A priest who daily, from the earliest morn, Dost serve His altar till the day is done. And, from the rising to the setting sun, Dost minister His sacraments, a sworn Servant of Truth and Love, who still hast worn Their royal colours that all folly shun ! The works of God thou dost for us translate With prophet's vision, noble patient toil, Royal humility most generous. And bear to us who stand outside the gate (Careful that nought the cup or platter soil) The sacred wine, the food miraculous ! ( loi ) GENERAL GORDON. IN MBMORIAM. With clear eyes calmly counting all the cost, When a great empire trembled and grew faint And bade him help her, this strong "soldier saint" Went forth alone to brave the heathen host. Beloved of God and men, yet at his post Forsaken, Gordon made no coward plaint — Only, with passionate sad self-restraint, Laid down his life, knowing the battle lost. No sickly pietist in cloister dim, But full of love to all things that had breath, Love that was wrath when those he loved had swerved. He was not, for God took him, crowning him With His own crown, — betrayal, failure, death, — Like that undying Captain whom he served. ( I02 ) CARNOT. Behind the vanishing verge thy white sails dip, Beyond the earth, God's colours at thy mast. And all thy shrouds well set to brave the blast ! With brimming eyes, we gaze, and trembling lip, But thou hast given the enemy the slip. Struck in mid-seas, yet bearing to the last. Into a future world from out the past, Thy great Republic's love and fellowship ! A madman tore thy bulwarks wide, and broke The gallant vessel, of all seas the pride ; But hurt thy Captain death nor traitor can ! The soul, that through thy body moved and spoke, Lives on unhurt, unconquered, glorified. More loved than faultless angels, a good man ! ( I03 ) LORD LEIGHTON. SONNET ON LORD LEIGHTON'S PICTURE OF ELISHA RAISING THE SON OF THE SHUNAMMITE. Yet if thy pictures often left me cold, — Thy beautiful, great pictures, where each face In halls Olympian might have claimed a place, And every human form, with ease untold. Even as flowers in Eden might unfold, Still bodied forth some more than human grace, — One picture, one, no future shall erase From Memory's heart and visionary hold ! No picture this of chill, supernal charm. But full of passionate pathos such as wakes In homes where one dear child has fallen asleep, And we would have him back. Ah ! Love's strong arm Still holds him from us, and our prayer but makes Love draw us closer as we stand and weep ! I04 Lord Leighton. II. But when I think of thee, not most I think How thou didst climb the summit of success While Fortune, open-handed, seemed to bless Thine every step to the extremest brink Of that dark gulf where men in secret shrink From agony, until the God's caress. By Love's long rapture, mortal pangs redress : Nay, rather, down the gulf my thought will sink. Crowned by the generation thou didst serve, Resplendent, beautiful, and set above Our sordid cares ! to me thou wilt remain One who in anguish could his spirit nerve To final fortitude, unvanquished love, Triumphant even in the clutch of pain ! ( I05 ) TO ALFRED TENNYSON, Some, idle spendthrifts of celestial dower, When comes the God of Light with earth and tire. Like untaught children play with flame and mire ; But thou, good workman, in thy watchman's tower Didst fashion many an altar, many a flower, To cheer the world with heaven-born desire : For still the unseen Master does not tire Of shaping men and poems by His power. Of mortal clay was wrought a temple-stone, Of mortal sorrow an immortal star To guide us from the firmament above. When, tempest-tossed, on midnight seas, alone, We mark thy beacon, luminous afar. Thou seer of life, and death, and holy love ! ( io6 ) THE CUP OF HEALTH. ' If joy bo the wine of life, health is the piu-e element out of which God makes much of it." — Wayfarer's Notebook. Sweet draught of living water from the spring Of life abounding, bubbling cool and bright, Each crystal bead filled with celestial light. How art thou blest ! Now lips that thirsted sing ; And thought, that faintly crept, will find its wing ; Eyes dim with travel now receive their sight ! O well of life, let me drink deep ! Delight Now fills my heart and breathes through everything. Some say life's cup holds keener joy than thine, O cup of health, glad gift of life's one Lord : First fill the pitchers festal days afford Full at the fountain of this life divine, That when the heavenly Master gives the word, The Christ Himself may make the water wine. ( I07 ) TO M. A. M Wk miss thee, miss thee, miss thee ; ah, and yet At moments when some tender long-sought boon Falls at oui' feet, then in the solemn noon Of joy's great sunlight, like an amulet, To wear in secret against worldly fret. The quick thought comes that we shall meet thee soon, Where we shall need no light of sun nor moon, And where the love shall neither rise nor set ; Then swifter, sweeter, nearer, comes belief That Love perchance through thee has wrought the gift: Through thee, who well hast read our difficult part, Hast laid thy hand upon our hidden grief, And, while thy prayers to heaven our soul uplift, Dost even in heaven hold us to thy heart. ( io8 ) MUNICIPAL CONTESTS. THREE SONNETS. I. Written duking the Contest. Now let your great traditions guard your heart, Brave city of Milton, Shakspere's Capital, Where good and evil still hold carnival, And in your civic contests bear a part ! Let proud philosophy and love and art Call forth artillery from their arsenal To thunder for your rights municipal, And sweep corruption from your crowded mart ! No slave of party ever can be free ; Oh, leai'n of charity from that Saint Paul To whom you dedicate your centi-al dome — A citizen of no mean city he — And keep your altar-hearth aglow for all, To make, amid your many mansions, Home ! Municipal Contests. 109 II. " For all high aims, Despising party names, Now let good men and true to-day unite ! " Song 0/ a Citizen. You vaunt the fame of the victorious dead Who led your armies — Nelson, Wellington, And faithful Gordon — ay, and many a son, Unknown to fame, who suffered in your stead, And in your far-off battles bravely bled That distant empire might for you be won ; Who, while their loved ones, weeping, sighed, " Well done ! " Laid down their lives for all you coveted ! But far within you lurks a subtle foe. The Mammon insolent for power and gold, Who, traitorous, binds the rich in secret thi^all, And tramples lowly toil with hideous woe. Awake, ere life and honour both be sold, And you, divided, tremble to your fall ! no Municipal Contests. III. Let Hope and Memory give us souls on fire, Strong hands that weary not in militant love, A courage guileless as the innocent dove, And yet a lion ! Let us never tire Till we have wrought anew to high desire What moth and rust corrupt. Let mountains move By lowly delving ; faith, that's born above, Now humbly cleanse a path through public mire ! His will be done with whom the last are first, Who damns all murder and all cruel waste Of human souls ; Who, from the flames of hell Wins finely-tempered spirits ! From the worst He bids us reap the best, nor, tarrying, haste. But build, in this world, heaven's citadel. Ill A SONG FOR WOMEN. [Reprinted, by kind permission of Messrs. Rivington and Messrs. Macniillan, from an earlier volume, now out of print. The song was also issued as a leaflet by the Women's Protective and Provident League.] Within a dreary narrow room That looks upon a noisome street, Half fainting with the stifling heat, A starving girl works out her doom. Yet not the less in GocVs sweet air The little birds sing, free of care, And haicthorns hlossom everyiohere. Swift ceaseless toil scarce wins her bread : From early dawn till twilight falls. Shut in by four dull ugly walls. The hours crawl round with murderous tread. And all the ichile, in some still place, Where intertwining houghs embrace, The hlaclchirds build, time flics apace. 112 A Song for Women. With envy of the folk who die, Who may at last their leisure take, Whose longed-for sleep none roughly wake, Tired hands the restless needle ply. But far and, tcide in meadoios green Tlie golden buttercups are seen, And, reddening sorrel nods between. Too pure and proud to soil her soul, Or stoop to basely gotten gain, By days of changeless want and pain The seamstress earns a prisoner's dole. WJiile in the peaceful fields the sheep Feed, quiet ; and through heaven's blue deep The silent cloud-wings stainless siveep. And if she be alive or dead That weary woman scarcely knows, But back and forth her needle goes In tune with throbbing heart and head. Lo, ivhere the leaning alders part, White-bosomed sicallows, blithe of heart, Above still waters skim and dart. O God in heaven ! shall I, who share That dying woman's womanhood. Taste all the summer's bounteous good Unburdened by her weight of care ? Tlie tohite moon-daisies star the grass, The lengthening shadoios o'er them pass ; The meadow pool is smooth as glass. ( TI3 ) UENVOI. O Christmas joy ! that Love should dwell, As God, in Man, Emmanuel ! The bright and Morning Star, That is for us the Star of Love, Burns through the darkling mists above, That hide His throne afar ! Rekindle us, O Love, and make Our hearts aglow for Thy dear sake, To all who need Thee most ; That through the year's brief, winding way, We, too, each day a Christmas Day, May help the heavenly host ; Find, here on earth, with many a friend, Pearl-doors, through which the angels wend, And, patient, toil with them ; Here learn the common clay to mix In likeness of the heavenly bricks That sparkle, gem by gem, And, tired with love, love's own reward. Build up the city of the Lord, The New Jerusalem ; 114 L' Envoi. Till, in our world's most sordid street, Among the sorrowing crowds we meet. Though marred beyond all grace, We see, with eyes by Love unsealed. Love's own humanity revealed In every human face ; That all our lives may overbrim With loving service done for Him ! PRINTED BY WILLIAJI CLOWES AND SONS, LIMITED, LONDON AND BECCLES. DATE DUE 1 CAYLORO PHtNTEO IN U.S.A. ■■'"■■ ''"'»^rii»a AA 000 641364 '■llHIIHIIII 5 IVERSITY OF C, fiii^iiMifl 3 1210 01285 3246