lEtKUIt 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
 UNIVERSITY Of 
 CALIFORNIA 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS 
 
 3n IDerse 
 
 BY 
 
 ALFRED MORRIS 
 
 ILon&on 
 
 T. FISHER UNWIN 
 1896 
 
LOAN STACK 
 
 [All rights reserved.'] 
 
Co tbe 
 
 OLD BOYS OF S. MARK'S SCHOOL, HOLLOWAY, 
 
 THIS LITTLE WORK IS AFFECTIONATELY 
 
 INSCRIBED. 
 
 109 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 PAGE 
 
 PASSING THOUGHTS II 
 
 LAURA 13 
 
 MOTHER CHURCH 22 
 
 THE SONG OF THE OWL .... 26 
 
 " UNTIL THE EVENING " 31 
 
 TOO LATE ! 32 
 
 TEARS 38 
 
 ALONE 40 
 
 THE CHURCHYARD 43 
 
 VENGEANCE 49 
 
 REST . 53 
 
 CONTRASTS 55 
 
 SACRED ECHOES 57 
 
 NO MARRIAGE BELLS TO-DAY 6l 
 
 MY BOYS AND I 63 
 
 THE AFTER-DAYS 65 
 
 THE LAY BROTHER 68 
 
 THE HOLLY TREE . . ... 71 
 
 JOAN OF ARC 73 
 
 WHEN THE DAY IS DONE .... 79 
 
 IN THE SNOW 8l 
 
 MORNING 83 
 
 REPARATION 85 
 
 7 
 
8 CONTENTS. 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, E. A. G 88 
 
 REMEMBRANCES 90 
 
 EMIGRANTS 92 
 
 THE WIND 99 
 
 A LANDSCAPE IOI 
 
 THE BASS-VIOL 103 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, REV. C. L. VAUGHAN . . 107 
 
 AURORA BOREALIS 109 
 
 SLEEP Ill 
 
 ALLELUIA ! 114 
 
 WHAT IS SORROW? Il6 
 
 EVENTIDE .Il8 
 
 THE EVERLASTING HILLS . . . .119 
 
 THE LITTLE GRAVE . 121 
 
 IN MEMORIAM, A. M 123 
 
 THE SEAMLESS ROBE ..... 125 
 
 "AND THERE WAS NO MORE SEA" . . 126 
 
 A LAMENT 128 
 
 CHRISTMAS 130 
 
 A CHRISTMAS WISH 132 
 
 EASTER 134 
 
 ASCENSION DAY ...... 136 
 
 CHILDREN'S FESTAL HYMN .... 138 
 
 " GRANT US THY PEACE " .... 140 
 
 HYMN AT THE LAYING OF THE FOUNDATION 
 
 STONE OF A MISSION HALL . . . 142 
 HYMN AT THE DEDICATION OF A MISSION HALL 144 
 LITANY FOR S. ALBAN'S DAY .... 146 
 
 LITANY FOR A BOYS* GUILD .... 148 
 
TO THE READER. 
 
 "A SMALL craft," you will say, "and certain of 
 shipwreck by the breath of criticism." It may be 
 so, and yet, with many misgivings, it is launched 
 with the humble hope that in its cargo may be 
 found something to revivify the Past with pleasant 
 memories, to interest and perhaps instruct in the 
 Present, and to raise happy anticipations for the 
 Future. 
 
 A. M. 
 EASTERTIDE, 1896. 
 
PASSING THOUGHTS. 
 
 STRANGE passing thoughts ! that fluttering fall 
 apace, 
 
 Like flakes of winter snow, 
 To hide the winding path we trace 
 
 Beneath a garb of woe ! 
 
 That rest on graves where love long buried lies, 
 
 Recalling faces dear, 
 As minor chords breathe tender sighs 
 
 Upon the listful ear. 
 
 Those passing thoughts ! that flit like autumn leaves, 
 
 And tell of fleeting years, 
 Of devious ways the heart retrieves 
 
 In penitential tears. 
 
 Those passing thoughts ! that bring the chime of 
 bells 
 
 Back from the days of yore ; 
 Our childhood in the music dwells 
 
 That echoes evermore. 
 
12 PASSING THOUGHTS. 
 
 Our passing thoughts would scan the future way, 
 
 And, while the seed is sown, 
 Anticipate the final day 
 
 When reapers claim their own ; 
 
 When God, Eternal, yet Who grows not old, 
 
 Gives ever youthful life, 
 And crowns in spring's eternal fold 
 
 Each victor in the strife. 
 
 Perchance the passing thoughts may then retrace 
 
 Life's journey of unrest, 
 Revealing mercy, goodness, grace, 
 
 All working for the best. 
 
LAURA. 
 
 THE Manor House a pile of grandeur stood 
 'Mid " tall ancestral trees." The swallows built 
 Year after year beneath its massive eaves, 
 And man succeeded man in ownership, 
 While ivy leaves grew high and higher still, 
 Till all the walls were cloth'd in shining green. 
 A good old home in very truth it was, 
 So old, indeed, that solemnising thoughts 
 Perforce would rise within the stranger's mind, 
 As first he stood within its ancient hall, 
 E'en as cathedral's lofty arch and aisle 
 The spirit of frivolity dispel. 
 And yet fair childhood's laughter wak'd around 
 The echoes sleeping in those stern old walls, 
 And sent sweet music ringing through the halls 
 And rolling down the lengthen' d corridors. 
 The old, old hearth that told of those long since 
 Departed, who had sought its welcome blaze, 
 The faded pictures on the gloomy walls, 
 The tatter'd banners hanging far aloft, 
 The rusty armour plac'd in every niche, 
 All seem'd to frown upon the joyous notes, 
 And make that ringing laugh as out of place 
 As joy at grief, or mirth around the dead. 
 13 
 
14 LAURA. 
 
 But in the woods fair Laura's laugh attuned 
 With songs of birds in harmony with all. 
 When childhood's days had worn themselves away, 
 Her leisure time was spent amid the flowers 
 That deck'd her garden ground. She oft would 
 
 seek 
 
 The rustic seat beneath the spreading elm, 
 And with a favourite book would while away 
 The hours in sweet forgetfulness of self. 
 Methinks the merry songsters of the grove 
 Their joyous chorus rais'd for her dear sake, 
 And flowers, because she lov'd them all so well, 
 Unfurl' d their beauties to the summer sun. 
 The simple cottagers around all knew 
 And prais'd the generous spirit that was hers. 
 Of her old dames would talk away an hour, 
 Commenting in no measur'd terms of love 
 On all her works of love, how, angel-like, 
 In visits to the sick, her gentle hand 
 Had smooth'd the pillow, where the fever'd brain 
 In vain sought healing rest, how she had cheer'd 
 The sad with loving, gladsome words, how help'd 
 The fallen child and kiss'd the pain away. 
 Of those they'd tell who had assistance got 
 From her large bounty, those whom her kind 
 
 heart 
 From slandrous wrongs had shelter'd, lingering 
 
 still 
 
 On ev'ry detail of the visits paid. 
 And thus the world, half envious of her lot, 
 Declar'd hers was a life without a cloud. 
 
LAURA. 15 
 
 The world was wrong. The heart alone can know 
 The bitterness within. 
 
 The doting love 
 
 Of gentle mother, like the springtide sun 
 On primrose banks, brought out a sweet response 
 Of loving deeds in Laura's tender heart. 
 Love gender' d love, and love grew more and more 
 Till childhood's years were waning. Then a 
 
 shroud 
 
 Of lingering sorrow cast deep shadows o'er 
 Long days to come long days when Laura miss'd 
 Her mother's fond caress, and mother's love 
 Had left in aching heart a dreary void 
 That nought could fill, save envy of the child 
 Who took its little cares and sorrows light 
 To draw sweet solace from its mother's heart. 
 
 Her father, seldom home, seem'd scarce to know 
 
 His daughter lived. Upon his soul had hung 
 
 A cloud of disappointment since her birth. 
 
 He crav'd a son to bear his name and take 
 
 In next succession all his large estate. 
 
 And now 'twas rumour'd that he sought again, 
 
 In second wedded life, to find fulfill'd 
 
 The yearning hope that died at Laura's birth. 
 
 And thus, with heart that longed for kindred 
 
 heart, 
 
 With love that only lived upon the past, 
 And in the present found no resting-place, 
 What wonder if in Laura's soul should spring 
 
16 LAURA. 
 
 A fount of love for Ellington's young squire 
 For him whose manly tenderness had soothed, 
 Whose looks of love drew love up by the roots, 
 Whose words breath'd peace upon the troubled 
 
 heart, 
 Who'd promised love till death. 
 
 And they were wed. 
 
 The village bells ne'er rang in noisier glee, 
 And village dames ne'er richer blessings calFd 
 On happy bride, and never children's hands 
 More lovingly the scattering flow'rets threw 
 Than those at Laura's wedding. Here was made 
 No gaudy show, but in the Church's rite 
 The villagers were one in earnest prayer, 
 And pleaded in the wedding Eucharist 
 For all best blessings on the wedded pair. 
 And loving prayers were answer'd in the love 
 That lighted up the home of Ellington, 
 Were answer'd too when death had snapp'd the 
 
 bond, 
 
 For heaven-born love in heaven alone can thrive, 
 And all good prayers find fullest answer there. 
 
 Not many moons had shone upon the scene, 
 And he was called away in trustful hope, 
 Commending her to God's abiding love. 
 But oh ! the strain on Laura's breaking heart, 
 The anguish pains that rack'd its very depths, 
 The aching grief in midnight's solemn hour, 
 The wearying watches many a sad night through, 
 
LAURA. 17 
 
 The never-ceasing flood of bitter tears ! 
 The heart again alone its bitterness 
 Could know. 
 
 Time ton'd the sorrow down, and hope 
 Wove loving garlands round the heavy cross. 
 The child the lov'd unconscious innocent 
 Expelled the darkness from his mother's heart. 
 For him she lived, in him was her delight, 
 And as she kiss'd her darling little one 
 Full oft, from deepest depths of mother's love, 
 Would summon all the most endearing names 
 To heap in them that changeless love on him. 
 What music was there in his lisping voice, 
 What sunshine in his happy face of smiles, 
 What pleasure by maternal duties given ! 
 
 But all too soon the brightness died away, 
 And, like a springtide frost on tender bud, 
 Dread sickness fell ! The lisping voice was 
 
 hush'd, 
 
 No sunny smile play'd on the little face ! 
 Ah ! who can tell of Laura's anxious care 
 And vigils sad beside her little one ! 
 A mother's never-ceasing heaven-like love 
 For each dear child is unapproachable, 
 Yet even this is ten times multiplied 
 On one that sickness robbeth of its play. 
 Her ev'ry care is then to please and make 
 Affliction light. How many times will her 
 Caress smooth ev'ry pain away, and, when 
 In silent night the world is hush'd, how she 
 
i8 LAURA. 
 
 Will rouse at ev'ry stir and minister 
 
 To ev'ry want, nor dream of selfish rest 
 
 And ease, so long as they do not attend 
 
 On her sick child. And ten times this the love's 
 
 Increased if that frail one's the only child 
 
 The only thing on this cold earth in which 
 
 That parent's love expecteth a return. 
 
 And even ten times this was Laura's love 
 
 For her sick child ! 
 
 And day by day she watch'd, 
 And night by night she waited for the dawn, 
 As dim and dimmer still hope's star burn'd on, 
 While sad and slow the old clock's ticks gave 
 
 pulse 
 
 To sorrow, till in early morning hour 
 The parting strife drew near, and with a sigh 
 A gentle sigh the unpolluted soul 
 Of Laura's child pass'd from the earth away, 
 To join the band of Holy Innocents, 
 Fair flow'rets sparkling with Baptismal dew 
 And swell the loud Hosannahs rais'd to Him 
 Who changeth troubled rest on mother's breast 
 For His dear love and angel's sheltering wing. 
 
 But in that chamber all was still, save when 
 The deep convulsive sob from Laura's heart 
 Arose, as there in bitter grief she knelt 
 And vainly strove in that lov'd form to kiss 
 The parted spirit back again. Then sleep, 
 A restless slumber, seal'd the weeping eyes 
 
LAURA. 19 
 
 In sorrow Laura slept. But misty dreams 
 
 Brought back again the scenes of early days. 
 
 The Manor House and old acquaintances 
 
 Surroundings made, while once again the love 
 
 Of noble heart was told and told again, 
 
 Till Laura's heavy sigh effaced the scene. 
 
 And now, as if in contrast, in her dream 
 
 Her days on earth have well-nigh worn away, 
 
 And she is old, with hair of silver white 
 
 And time's deep furrows trac'd upon her face ; 
 
 The step is feeble and the eyes are dim, 
 
 Yet one in love the closer to her clings, 
 
 Delights to call her " mother," and to see 
 
 Her ev'ry wish fulfill'd. He is her son 
 
 The babe, the little babe, that sleeping lies 
 
 In death's embrace. She sees him grown a man, 
 
 Robust and tall, with sunny countenance 
 
 That beams in smiles on her. His strong, firm arm 
 
 Supports her in the rambles she can take, 
 
 And in the tiny vine-spread summer-house, 
 
 Her wearied limbs at rest, his kindly words 
 
 Are music to her heart, and bless the life 
 
 Of second infancy. And here again 
 
 A sigh of deepest agony burst forth, 
 
 And Laura woke. At rest before her was 
 
 The sleeping form of that dear little one 
 
 Who, grown a man, had tended in her dream. 
 
 A smile was fixed upon its little face, 
 
 In welcome perhaps to some bright angel form 
 
 That came to bear the little soul away. 
 
 The sight drove Laura back again to tears, 
 
20 LAURA. 
 
 Till once again she wept herself to sleep. 
 
 And then a smile of radiant sweetness play'd, 
 
 Like rainbow on the cloud, upon her face, 
 
 For now she saw her infant once again, 
 
 Not dead and ready for the chilling grave, 
 
 But bright and happy with the beautiful, 
 
 Where robes of light, bright golden crowns, and 
 
 harps 
 
 Of sweetest melody rejoice the throng, 
 That dwells on that e'er-flowering, deathless shore. 
 His loving smile bade her approach his bliss, 
 But surging waters darkly roll'd between, 
 And murky darkness veil'd the vision's light ! 
 The dreamer wept, and, weeping, woke again. 
 
 The weary days, the sleepless nights were years 
 To Laura. Grass had cloth'd the tiny mound. 
 And now the chilling wintry winds howl'd through 
 The leafless woods, while gathering clouds hid 
 
 stars 
 
 And heaven's pale moon. A figure glided o'er 
 The dismal fields of Ellington, of cold 
 And storm regardless passing on with song 
 That echo'd in the wakeful rustic's ear 
 In silent hours when earth was wrapped in sleep ! 
 Frail Laura heeded not the gathering storm ! 
 Though closely watch'd, yet had she now con- 
 
 triv'd 
 
 Escape from careful keeper's vigilance ! 
 In sadden'd hearts her cry will never cease 
 The bitter cry of piteous pleading vain, 
 
LAURA. 21 
 
 That she might go to join her little one. 
 In vain she told how infant voice allur'd, 
 How infant hand was beckoning her to rest, 
 And begged with burning tears that she might go 
 And wander free to once again embrace 
 Her dear one in the love of mother's heart ! 
 
 The morn began a cold, cold day, when snow 
 The midnight snow a chilling robe, had cloth'd 
 The landscape o'er. The keepers found too late 
 The maniac inmate of the Hall had gone 
 Had wander'd from the house, they knew not 
 
 where ! 
 
 They trac'd the footsteps in the snow, they trac'd 
 Them on through woods, o'er frozen stream, the 
 
 road, 
 
 The by-path to the old churchyard, and there, 
 Upon a tiny mound, dead Laura slept 
 In that last sleep which has no waking hour 
 Until the ringing trump of God shall rouse 
 All from the dead to sleep again no more. 
 
MOTHER CHURCH. 
 
 COMMISSIONED by its Lord, forth went the band 
 
 To rear the Holy Church in ev'ry land, 
 
 To sow the precious seed in martyrs' tears, 
 
 That sheaves of bliss might crown the after years, 
 
 And in this wilderness a table spread 
 
 To feed the fainting with the Living Bread ! 
 
 From thence our Mother Church, with ceaseless 
 
 care, 
 
 For England's sons has scattered everywhere 
 The flowers of grace, to cheer through paths of 
 
 life 
 
 The faithful hearts undaunted in the strife 
 Brave hearts that follow on in narrow way 
 Till dawns the fulness of the perfect day ! 
 
 She gives her benison on Eden's rose 
 
 The love of wedded pain and Heaven's grace 
 
 flows 
 
 That they, in mystic rite made man and wife, 
 A mutual help may be in chequer'd life 
 Their love an image of the union blest 
 'Twixt Christ and those who in His love find rest. 
 
MOTHER CHURCH. 23 
 
 And when the firstborn heralds grateful joy, 
 When hope's fair flow'rets crown the baby boy, 
 His mother for her u Churching" meekly kneels, 
 As from her full glad heart uprising steals, 
 In words subdued, amid the chancel's calm, 
 The incense fragrance of her thankful psalm. 
 
 Her boy she bringeth to the sacred flood 
 
 That speaks of cleansing and the Precious Blood, 
 
 Where grace from birth-sin makes the sin-stain'd 
 
 whole, 
 
 And God in mercy claims the new-born soul. 
 The Holy Sign of Faith and service here, 
 Of mighty aid when threefold foes are near, 
 Is made upon the infant's brow, that he 
 Christ's faithful soldier evermore may be ; 
 And kneeling worshippers devoutly pray 
 The little one, kept safe in narrow way, 
 May, when the storms of life are past, 
 In God's eternal kingdom rest at last. 
 
 Full soon the boy's first lisping prayers ascend, 
 And with his growing life instructions blend. 
 The Catechism and the holy lore 
 The Church's daily lessons ever pour 
 Make Faith and Duty for the pathway clear, 
 And hymns of faith the pilgrim footsteps cheer. 
 Through Feast and Fast the Gospel story's told, 
 Repeated ever, ever new, though old, 
 And balmy as the breath of summer flowers 
 Whose fragrance lingers round the passing hours. 
 
24 MOTHER CHURCH. 
 
 On rapid wing comes round the solemn hour 
 In which the sevenfold gift of Spirit's dower 
 Descends in Confirmation grace. By bishop's hand 
 A place he takes in royal priesthood band. 
 
 Next comes the happiest, sweetest time of bliss, 
 
 When eastern tints the dewy hill-tops kiss, 
 
 And eastern rays through eastern window-pane 
 
 On tesselated pavement paint again 
 
 The rainbow colours such as John Divine 
 
 Saw compassing the heavenly Altar Shrine. 
 
 Before earth's altar kneels the trembling boy 
 
 With downcast eyes, while floods of holy joy 
 
 Suffuse his raptured soul from highest heaven, 
 
 As in dear Sacrament his Lord is given. 
 
 Oh ! joy, all joys beyond, in First Communion blest 
 
 In Jesus' love to find the heart's true rest, 
 
 While grateful love adoring overflows, 
 
 And all the sweetness of His Presence knows. 
 
 Year after year in rapid flight succeeds ; 
 
 The means of grace supply the longing needs 
 
 Of him in manhood's strength. Then fades the 
 
 day, 
 
 The evening shadows o'er the landscape stray, 
 And tottering steps can reach God's house no 
 
 more. 
 Then Mother Church goes forth with comfort's 
 
 store 
 
 In " Visitation of the Sick." Her vested priest 
 By bedside makes her Eucharistic Feast, 
 
MOTHER CHURCH. 25 
 
 Where soul and body from life-giving Food 
 
 All strength receive when death's dark shadows 
 
 brood, 
 
 And when frail body yields its last long sigh, 
 Commends the passing soul to God on high. 
 
 E'en then her work of love is not complete ! 
 Her white-rob'd throng goes forth the dead to 
 
 meet ; 
 
 She chants aloud her resurrection lay 
 Of endless rest and glory's deathless day. 
 With words of life and love around the bier 
 She brings to stricken hearts hope's quickening 
 
 cheer ; 
 
 Her holy dead then from her portal takes, 
 In holy ground his resting-place she makes, 
 Imploring her dear Lord with earnest cry 
 To bring His everlasting kingdom nigh. 
 
 Thus when the pilgrim's race by grace is run, 
 And anxious toiling on life's way is done, 
 Her sleepy child, by weariness oppress'd, 
 With sweetest lullaby she soothes to rest. 
 From font to grave the pilgrim way she tends, 
 Adds joy to joy, in sorrow comfort lends, 
 To troubled hearts a kindly foretaste brings 
 Of her true home where song of angels rings, 
 Shows forth the day when warriors' strife is o'er, 
 And conquerors reign in triumph evermore. 
 
THE SONG OF THE OWL. 
 
 I SIT alone in the ivied tower, 
 
 In the gloomiest shade it knows, 
 And much do I love in that darksome bower 
 
 My place of dull repose. 
 
 I sit alone all the livelong day, 
 
 And mope as hours roll by, 
 Till western tints have died away, 
 
 Then off in the dark I fly. 
 
 I love the gloom of the darkest night, 
 
 When earth is wrapp'd in sleep, 
 And dark arcades are my delight, 
 
 Where moonbeams never peep. 
 
 In solitude the bright day long 
 
 I roost where church bells ring, 
 While busy birds their careless song 
 
 O'er hill and valley fling. 
 
 While the ploughman's plough turns up the sod, 
 
 And shepherds tend their sheep, 
 While th' weary travellers onward plod 
 
 In cool retreat I sleep. 
 
 26 
 
THE SONG OF THE OWL. 27 
 
 But night, dark night, is a joy to me, 
 
 No tim'rous fears have I, 
 As forth for sport and revelry 
 
 On noiseless wing I fly. 
 
 Though winds may howl around my bower 
 
 Above the churchyard trees, 
 Secure I sleep in the crumbling tower 
 
 That moans with ev'ry breeze. 
 
 When the sad cold moon in sadness beams 
 
 On fallow land and lea, 
 A rushing flight o'er woods and streams 
 
 Is joy indeed for me. 
 
 For years and years have I hVd alone, 
 
 And many a strange sight seen, 
 Few know as I each crumbling stone, 
 
 Or go where I have been. 
 
 To-whit ! To-whoo ! 
 The dark woods through, 
 'Tis merry sport to me ! 
 The darkest night 
 And moon's sad light 
 Alike shall share my glee ! 
 
 'Twas when the wind blew loud and strong, 
 With dismal howls the woods among, 
 I, on my rapid, noiseless flight, 
 Forth darted in the gloom of night. 
 
28 THE SONG OF THE OWL. 
 
 The rays of not a single star 
 
 Could pierce the darkness spread afar ; 
 
 Yet from the cot in Willow Lane 
 
 One flickering light from window pane 
 
 Told where th' old shepherd, wan and pale, 
 
 Was finishing life's weary tale, 
 
 And panting breath died on the breeze 
 
 That sigh'd and whistled through the trees. 
 
 The candle show'd a winding-sheet, 
 
 In measur'd ticks the death-watch beat, 
 
 And I, to give my omen too, 
 
 Against the lattic'd window flew 
 
 With shriek that floated on the gale 
 
 Adown the haunted Willow Vale. 
 
 For abroad I fly, 
 
 And for naught care I. 
 
 The howling gale, 
 
 The piteous wail, 
 
 And midnight drear 
 
 Give never a fear 
 
 As, when on my errands of mystery, 
 My shrieks and the wind make minstrelsy ! 
 
 From lofty perch in ivied tree, 
 In night as black as night can be, 
 I've watched go forth a funeral train 
 Not to the churchyard's hallow'd fane ! 
 I saw men dig in dead of night, 
 Beneath the lantern's feeble light, 
 Unhallow'd grave in broad highway, 
 And there a corpse unhallow'd lay ! 
 
THE SONG OF THE OWL. 29 
 
 'Twas strange to me 
 
 That such should be, 
 
 But nought I fear 
 
 That's dread and drear ; 
 Whatever horrors night may know, 
 No sign of terror will I show ! 
 
 The world was still, and summer flowers 
 Were hung with dew of midnight hours ; 
 Beneath my home each grassy blade 
 And leaflet in the willow glade 
 Stirr'd not to mark the zephyr's flight, 
 So calm, so tranquil was the night. 
 Short time before the sexton old 
 Had dug a grave ; the bell had tolFd, 
 The solemn funeral rites were done, 
 And fitful rays of setting sun 
 Fell chequer'd 'neath the willow's wave 
 Upon another new-made grave. 
 I watch'd it now, as cautious men 
 In dead of night brought forth again, 
 Scare* visible in midnight gloom, 
 The tenant of that darksome tomb ! 
 They bore it hence, I know not where ; 
 I know not, and I do not care ! 
 
 To-whit ! To-whoo ! 
 
 The whole night through ! 
 'Mong dismal tombs in churchyard drear 
 With ghosts and goblins I've no fear ! 
 
30 THE SONG OF THE OWL. 
 
 I've known the sexton old and grey, 
 Who toils the graves among ; 
 
 I've seen him watch the night away ; 
 I knew him young and strong ! 
 
 And still his busy work ne'er stays, 
 Grave after grave is made ; 
 
 Toilsome and many are his days, 
 Yet well he plies his spade. 
 
 He digs for young, he digs for old, 
 
 And digs without a care, 
 Nor thinks that he in churchyard mould 
 
 Full soon a place shall share. 
 
 And when he trudges home at night, 
 
 His tottering step I see, 
 And feel he only has the right 
 
 To share the gloom with me ! 
 
 The sexton, church, and haunted vale, 
 The winds that breathe a mournful wail, 
 The ivied tower and hollow tree 
 Content and pleasure yield for me ! 
 When the moonbeams fall 
 'Cross the shadowy hall, 
 And the chill winds blow, 
 Then flying I go, 
 With my whit-to-whoo, 
 The long night through ! 
 
" UNTIL THE EVENING." 
 
 A CHARM is in the early hours 
 When morning wakes the sleeping flowers, 
 And, slowly rising o'er the hill, 
 The golden sun begins to fill 
 The world with life and busy sound, 
 And gladsome glory flings around. 
 There's joy when, in his noontide pride, 
 His splendour casts the mists aside, 
 Suffusing all with floods of gold, 
 And scattering brilliant gems untold 
 Upon old ocean's azure breast, 
 And on the snowy mountain's crest ; 
 When insects flit on gauzy wing, 
 While larks in highest heaven sing, 
 And fitful gleams, in fairy bands, 
 Are dancing through the forest lands. 
 But best of all the setting sun 
 That giTds the west when day is done, 
 That gives to weary toil a rest, 
 That breathes a calm on aching breast, 
 When home, where truest love can reign, 
 Receives its severed ones again. 
 So, when the toil of life is o'er, 
 Comes happy rest for evermore, 
 Where pilgrims from the world's highway 
 Rejoice in God's dear home for aye. 
 31 
 
TOO LATE ! 
 
 MANY a sky of summer blue 
 The shepherd's humble cottage knew, 
 Many a firelight's ruddy glow 
 Flicker'd o'er the winter's snow. 
 Swallows built beneath its eaves, 
 Springtide deck'd its walls with leaves, 
 Seasons brought no anxious care, 
 Calm content was nestled there. 
 Round it odours stole from flowers, 
 O'er it oaks entangled bowers, 
 Butterflies, in sunny ray, 
 Came, on painted wing, to play ; 
 From its doorway stretch'd a scene 
 Beauteous in the summer sheen. 
 
 Like a sentinel the while 
 Yonder stood the stately pile, 
 Where the lords had liv'd and died 
 Owners of those acres wide. 
 Intervening grassy downs, 
 Gemm'd by daisies' floral crowns, 
 Gave a pla^e where flocks might stray, 
 Where their frolics lambs might play ; 
 32 
 
TOO LATE! 33 
 
 Dog and shepherd lingered near 
 This their happy working sphere. 
 
 When the rooks in straggling line 
 Sought their home at day's decline, 
 Homeward too the shepherd sped, 
 Where the gentle housewife spread 
 Frugal meal, while welcome best 
 Sooth'd the weary one to rest. 
 Ralph, a boy of promise rare, 
 Is the shepherd's joy and care. 
 Only child, for him he lives, 
 Burning love the mother gives ; 
 Both for him toil day by day 
 Hoarded wealth to store away. 
 Mingled beauty in their boy 
 Could not but be source of joy. 
 When he stood by river brim, 
 Glowing after lengthened swim, 
 Classjp art could scarce compare 
 With the beauty figur'd there 
 Features artists love to trace, 
 Chestnut hair, a ruddy face, 
 Eyes that beam'd intelligence, 
 Readiness in every sense ! 
 
 Oft the tutor from the Hall 
 At the cottage made a call, 
 Pleas'd that Ralph's inquiring mind 
 Sought from him fresh lore to find. 
 Constant intercourse thus rose, 
 3 
 
34 TOO LATE! 
 
 Progress mark'd each study's close, 
 Good success full well repaid 
 Efforts by the tutor made ; 
 Till, by means of hoarded store, 
 Ralph stepp'd from his cottage door, 
 Seeking still to reach the light 
 Crowning wisdom's giddy height. 
 
 Gloom fell on the cottage floor, 
 Light seem'd banish'd evermore ; 
 Long the night and dull the day 
 Now that Ralph had gone away. 
 Yet to parents' heart what joy 
 Was a letter from their boy ! 
 Read, re-read, 'mid smiles and tears, 
 Echo'd in the neighbours' ears ; 
 Till, from many a letter sent, 
 Loving hearts were made content, 
 Joyful that their boy's success 
 Came the toil of years to bless. 
 
 Varying years their course had run, 
 Shepherd's work was well-nigh done, 
 Darksome grief's relentless storm 
 More than age had bow'd his form. 
 Yet on mossy bank he took 
 Wonted place beside the brook, 
 Though his faltering step was slow, 
 Though his voice was weak and low, 
 Though the heart-pains furrows trac'd, 
 And the sunny smiles effac'd. 
 
TOO LATE! 35 
 
 Seated in the cottage shade, 
 Now no more her heaven made, 
 'Neath the sorrow's gloomy cloud, 
 Was the old wife's figure bow'd, 
 Craving, as her only joy, 
 Tidings from her absent boy. 
 
 Ralph, by work of able brain, 
 Rose in legal lore to gain 
 Place of honour and renown. 
 Wealth for him threw garlands down, 
 Great ones treated him as kin, 
 Crowds his flowing words took in, 
 Cheers his burning utterance fann'd, 
 High-born ladies sought his hand ! 
 Place and power now turn'd his head, 
 Pomp and gold ambition fed ; 
 Deep down in his harden'd heart 
 Pride cqpceal'd its venom'd dart ; 
 All the love of former days 
 Languish'd in good fortune's rays ; 
 He his origin disclaim'd, 
 Never loving parents nam'd, 
 And the life of days obscure 
 As a secret kept secure. 
 
 When the spring its fragrance shed 
 Ralph across the ocean sped, 
 Basking on a foreign shore, 
 Happy in his money'd store, 
 Never caring for the smart 
 
36 TOO LATE! 
 
 Paining e'er his mother's heart. 
 Yet, divorc'd from charity, 
 Wealth is gilded misery, 
 Sordid passions round it cling, 
 Till it flies on rapid wing. 
 From the land long left behind, 
 Swifter than the course of wind, 
 Full of ill the message flash'd, 
 Golden cup to earth it dashed ; 
 Failure, startling all the world, 
 Down the golden idol hurl'd, 
 And the man who scorn'd the poor 
 Was as beggar on the moor, 
 Was as poor as shepherd old 
 Feebly watching by the fold ! 
 
 Friends of sunshine turn'd to stone, 
 Hearts that fawn'd now ceas'd to own. 
 Like the prodigal Ralph wept, 
 In his soul the warm life crept, 
 Love of home again return'd, 
 Mother's love within him burn'd, 
 Urging swift amends to make, 
 Home his broken heart to take, 
 There to soothe parental fears, 
 And bewail the past in tears. 
 
 Eventide had come again, 
 Childhood's chimes rang out in pain, 
 Rooks the same old journey made 
 Back to elm-trees' nightly shade ; 
 
TOO LATE! 37 
 
 While before the cottage door 
 Unknown children scamper'd o'er 
 What was once his own domain 
 Would those days were back again ! 
 
 " Want the shepherd ? Ah, too late ! 
 
 Yesterday the churchyard gate 
 
 Open'd for his funeral train 
 
 He returns not here again ! " 
 
 " Where's his wife ? Why months ago 
 
 She too pass'd from life of woe, 
 
 Vainly longing for the bliss 
 
 Yielded by one loving kiss 
 
 From a dear one far away, 
 
 Lost upon the world's highway ! " 
 
 Kneeling by a new-made mound 
 In the churchyard's holy ground 
 Was a stranger bow'd in grief ; 
 Tears for him gave no relief, 
 Sorrow's cry from that lich gate 
 Only echo'd, " Late ! Too late ! V 
 
TEARS. 
 
 POOR emblems of a broken heart 
 
 From anguish fountains sent, 
 When sorrows deep sad vigils keep 
 
 And days of joy are spent ! 
 
 Weep on, poor heart, till on the cloud 
 
 The rainbow's radiant form 
 Reveals the love that glows above 
 
 The blackness of the storm. 
 
 Weep on the Man of Sorrows wept 
 
 Beneath the morning beam, 
 Where olives threw their sombre hue 
 
 O'er Cedron's winding stream ; 
 
 While yonder stood Jerusalem, 
 
 Majestic as of old, 
 And heaven's bright light danc'd on the height 
 
 Where shone the Temple's gold. 
 
 Weep on, as He wept 'mid the graves 
 
 Where Lazarus soundly slept ; 
 He drank each woe thy heart can know, 
 
 For thee has " Jesus wept." 
 38 
 
TEARS. 39 
 
 He comes in tender love to mark 
 
 Each tear-drop in life's cup, 
 To soothe each grief and in relief 
 
 The broken heart bind up. 
 
 He waits to comfort stricken hearts, 
 
 And leads by precious grace 
 To that fair shore where never more 
 
 Shall anguish tears have place. 
 
ALONE. 
 
 ALL thoughts will dwell on thee, Jemmie, 
 
 When thou art far away ; 
 And all my hopes will be, Jemmie, 
 
 For thy returning day. 
 
 Without thee home can be no home, 
 
 Each day will be a year, 
 And every dream of restless sleep 
 
 Will bring my darling near. 
 
 Oh, joy beyond all telling, 
 
 When voyages are o'er, 
 And thou in happy home, Jemmie, 
 
 Shalt leave me nevermore. 
 
 Then speed thee back to me, Jemmie, 
 Good angels guard thee well ; 
 
 And love and peace unite, Jemmie, 
 To cast o'er thee a spell. 
 
 And when the storm-blast howls, Jemmie, 
 
 Across the surging sea ; 
 My constant prayers shall rise, Jemmie, 
 
 That God may succour thee. 
 
 4 o 
 
ALONE. 41 
 
 My full heart goes with thee, Jemmie, 
 
 With thee alone to dwell ; 
 And love, unchanging love, Jemmie, 
 
 Breathes in my last farewell. 
 
 No news ! and yet I strive each weary day 
 
 The best to hope for, as I try to say, 
 
 " Thy will be done." He'll surely come home soon, 
 
 For Heaven will grant me this my dearest boon ! 
 
 And yet alone from day to day I wait, 
 
 And start in hope if winds but shake the gate ; 
 
 Upon the road I fix my aching eyes, 
 
 Anon hope lives, and then again it dies ; 
 
 I hie me to the crowd upon the pier, 
 
 As vessel after vessel cometh near, 
 
 But Jemmie's ship comes not to cheer my heart 
 
 And bid its dark forebodings all depart. 
 
 O God, in mercy heafken to my plea, 
 
 Bring back again my dear one on the sea ; 
 
 Oh, give me patience to await Thy while, 
 
 Then crown that patience with his loving smile ! 
 
 I've waited long alone, Jemmie, 
 
 Since last I saw thy face ; 
 I've waited all in vain for thee 
 
 To take the vacant place ; 
 
 And sorrow's cloud keeps daylight from 
 
 The window of my heart, 
 And gloomy grief can ne'er again 
 
 From that dark chamber part. 
 
42 ALONE. 
 
 Hope linger'd on in fitful gleams 
 
 From weary day to day, 
 But fail'd at last, as taper light 
 
 That flickering dies away. 
 
 I wander by the sea, Jemmie, 
 
 And find each rolling wave 
 Brings me a message of a love 
 
 Deep down in ocean grave. 
 
 Sometimes the wild sea's song, Jemmie, 
 
 Is mournful dirge for thee ; 
 Sometimes I hear a solemn knell 
 
 That rings across the sea. 
 
 And when the storm-clouds rise, Jemmie, 
 
 And waves in tempest roar, 
 And for their loved ones on the sea 
 
 Hearts tremble on the shore 
 
 'Tis then I feel that thou, Jemmie, 
 
 Art near me once again, 
 To soothe my life of sorrow deep 
 
 And ease my heart of pain ; 
 
 To whisper of the coming day 
 When joy shall crown each head, 
 
 When graves the lost of earth restore 
 And seas release their dead ; 
 
 When there shall be no sea, Jemmie, 
 
 And all the good are blest ; 
 Where the wicked cease from troubling 
 
 And the weary are at rest. 
 
THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 FAR stretch'd the scene o'er pleasant hill and dale, 
 Bright shone the sun upon the flow'ry vale, 
 Loud sang the birds from many a leafy spray, 
 The little brook made music on its way, 
 The zephyrs, from the ocean passing by, 
 Through green woods flitted with a gentle sigh ; 
 While larks' sweet notes resounded far and near, 
 And merry ploughboys' songs fell on the ear : 
 This was a springtide scene. 
 
 I came once more. 
 
 A russet tint had cloth'd the landscape o'er, 
 The swallows were returning back again 
 To sunny homes beyond the azure main, 
 The birds forgot to w r arble merry lay, 
 The brook, now full, made melancholy way, 
 And cold blasts rushing through the forest shade 
 The leaves of autumn scatter'd in the glade. 
 
 I came again. Rude winds were echoing round, 
 An icy chain the silenc'd brook had bound. 
 'Twas now a village church first met my gaze, 
 Illumin'd by the sun's scant winter rays. 
 All summer hid from view by leafy trees, 
 Unknown it stood, save as the gentle breeze 
 
 43 
 
44 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 Sweet bore its chiming music on the air 
 
 To call the villagers to daily prayer. 
 
 I wander'd to the spot with stricken soul, 
 
 And prayed that patience might the thoughts 
 
 control. 
 
 Around the little church the churchyard lay 
 To me a hopeless scene of dread decay. 
 The fleecy snow spread over every mound, 
 And crested all the gravestones of the ground. 
 
 An infant here had found a dismal bed, 
 There slept a youth among the unknown dead, 
 An uncouth stone mark'd out the old man's grave, 
 And where the winds made coarser grasses wave 
 Slept one forgotten long, and long unknown, 
 For age had crumbled e'en the very stone, 
 Perchance by love erected, wet with tears, 
 To speak (how vain the hope !) for many years ! 
 'Twas here I musing stood and well-nigh wept, 
 Depress'd to think of those who round me slept ; 
 Too blind to gaze where holy spirits soar 
 And drink in light on light for evermore, 
 Till God Himself in Beatific Light 
 Reveals all glory to the ravish'd sight. 
 I mov'd away in haste and pass'd a mound 
 That tore the verdure's carpet spread around, 
 And marked a grave that yawn'd amid the gloom 
 To seize its own, and hold till day of doom. 
 To lich-gate, priest and choir with Holy Sign 
 For funeral rites had pass'd in solemn line, 
 As onward mov'd a white-rob'd maiden train, 
 
THE CHURCHYARD. 45 
 
 Whose voices mingled in a minor strain, 
 
 As round the dead they sang the sweet refrain 
 
 " Far spent the hours of night, 
 
 The day draws near, 
 In which in raiment white 
 The Saints appear. 
 
 Our lov'd ones in their rest 
 
 Of Paradise 
 Await the morning blest 
 
 When they shall rise. 
 
 Could we the chorus hear, 
 
 The glory see, 
 Where death and sorrow's tear 
 
 Can never be, 
 
 
 
 Where angels gather round 
 
 On pinions bright, 
 And evermore resound 
 
 The songs of light. 
 
 Could we the mists remove 
 
 That veil from sight 
 The joys of Beatific Love 
 
 And fadeless light, 
 
 Then would our longing prayer 
 
 Speed on the day 
 Which breaks when sin and care 
 
 All flee away 
 
46 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The prayer that perfect bliss 
 
 For faithful dead 
 May at that morning's kiss 
 
 On each be shed. 
 
 Frail body, here we leave 
 
 In holy rest, 
 Till Jesus shall receive 
 
 His children blest." 
 
 The song seem'd endless lullaby to me, 
 
 And earthward eyes no ray of hope could see. 
 
 In rapid flight the course of time pass'd round, 
 
 And once again I stood on holy ground. 
 
 'Twas when the springtide's riew-made garment 
 
 green 
 
 Had mantled softly o'er the laughing scene. 
 Its verdure bright and tuneful birds the while 
 Had caus'd e'en churchyard gloom to bear a 
 
 smile. 
 
 Beneath the solemn yew's more solemn shade 
 By sleeping dust, where love's last offerings fade, 
 I pensive sat, and soon the mists of sleep 
 Strove from my mind earth's troubled scene to 
 
 keep. 
 
 In vain they fell, for then a passing dream 
 Brought back again the subject of my theme. 
 Methought a child wove in the sunny hours, 
 To deck a grassy mound, a cross of flowers, 
 And sitting there the guard of sleeping dust 
 She rais'd a song that warbled hope and trust 
 
THE CHURCHYARD. 47 
 
 " Safe from the storms of earth, 
 
 All sorrow pass'd away, 
 God grant thee His dear rest 
 Till comes the morning blest 
 
 Of endless day. 
 
 Time ends ! the angel's call 
 
 Shall bid thee joyful rise, 
 And saints in glory bright 
 Shall in all bliss unite 
 
 Above the skies. 
 
 For winter gloom shall pass 
 When comes the sunlit day, 
 
 And everlasting spring 
 
 Shall bid the ransom'd sing 
 The victor's kfy." 
 
 Thus clos'd the song ! Dark vapours hung around, 
 Deep silence swallow'd up each 'livening sound, 
 All nature throbb'd in pain and strove to die, 
 And beauty spread its wings from earth to fly ! 
 'Twas then burst forth a full red fiery sun, 
 E'en such as bids farewell when day is done, 
 And from the east slow broke the mists away, 
 Rich tinted by the sun's deep crimson ray, 
 From earth in varied tints fair flowers upsprang ; 
 Then trumpet's blare throughout Creation rang, 
 And echo'd in the deepest caves below ; 
 It made the sun unheard-of glory show, 
 And call'd from dust of earth and ocean's bed 
 
48 THE CHURCHYARD. 
 
 The countless multitudes of holy dead. 
 
 Then burst such glory that the glorious sun 
 
 To it was dark ; a loud song was begun 
 
 As in His glory, passing to His throne, 
 
 The King of Saints gave welcome to His own. 
 
 I saw the sons of light in glory stand, 
 
 I watch'd the throng pass on to glory's land, 
 
 I listened as with angel hosts they sang, 
 
 And woke as heaven-born echoes round me rang. 
 
 And now I know our happy dead will wake, 
 
 Each spirit shall its glorious body take, 
 
 Our lov'd ones, mourn'd, the new world shall 
 
 restore, 
 
 That we and they may part again no more. 
 Be brave, sad heart, leave thy dear dead to rest, 
 In Christ, Who rose, the sleeping dead are blest 
 
VENGEANCE. 
 
 LIT by the moonbeam, 
 
 Trembling ever, 
 On the murmuring stream, 
 
 Murmuring ever ; 
 Wrapt in midnight sleep, 
 Calm in silence deep, 
 Where had been known to weep 
 
 Wounded hearts never 
 There in the flow'ry glade, 
 Resting in leafy Shade, 
 Blest with a moonbeam's kiss 
 Stood Amy's home of bliss ! 
 
 Around its hearth a happy circle met, 
 
 Upon its glow no cloud of sorrow yet 
 
 Had planted gloomy shadow as a spell 
 
 To break the charms that came in joy to dwell. 
 
 A noble brother was its cherish'd hope, 
 
 And nobly he with tempting foes would cope, 
 
 Or boldly grapple lurking danger's hand 
 
 That menaced happy home and fatherland. 
 
 For him the homestead yielded best of pleasure, 
 
 His heart held Amy as its priceless treasure, 
 
 And all its sunshine in the merry while 
 
 Was gather'd from her ready, winsome smile ! 
 
 4 49 
 
50 VENGEANCE. 
 
 Far westward fell the fading ray, 
 That told the day had fled away ; 
 The zephyrs o'er the hamlet stray'd, 
 Scarce mov'd the leaflets in the glade, 
 The woodland vespers usher' d night, 
 The taper stars gave twinkling light, 
 As nightingales poured forth a song 
 Where babbling streamlets rush'd along. 
 
 There in the twilight, 
 
 Tearfully, sadly, 
 Shrinking from sunlight, 
 
 Wringing hands madly, 
 Wander'd a beauteous maid 
 On to the churchyard's glade, 
 There to stay and weep, 
 Sad vigils long to keep, 
 Where the dead ever sleep 
 Under the greensward deep ! 
 She sadly by the sacred fabric stay'd, 
 And fervently with heart of anguish pray'd. 
 Yet wild her look as by that grave she knelt, 
 No meaning had the theme on which she dwelt. 
 She mingled broken prayers and holy song 
 With cries, that echo sadly bore along, 
 For vengeance on an unknown head to fall, 
 And for herself relief in death's enthrall. 
 " Amy ! Amy ! What dost thou here alone, 
 In tears still lingering by the sculptured stone ? 
 Why vigils keep beside the buried dead ? 
 Hope has not taken wings and from us fled ! " 
 
VENGEANCE. 51 
 
 " No ! no ! but Harry comes not, so I wait 
 A weary while within the churchyard gate, 
 He'll come ! " the thought mad laughter calls, 
 And echo laughs again from sacred walls. 
 
 The cowering pall of night grows light and lighter 
 
 still 
 
 As solemn orb of night slow rises o'er the hill ; 
 A silvery beam across the landscape steals, 
 And churchyard relics night no more conceals. 
 There in the moonlight, 
 Crouching in dewy night, 
 Amy in anguish lies, 
 Bearing heart agonies. 
 
 " When will Harry bid me share 
 
 Home's delight and pleasures, where 
 
 He awaits the perfect day, 
 
 Where for us our dear ones pray ? 
 
 Oh ! my heart must burst in pain 
 
 Till I see my lov'd again ! 
 
 List ! his voice once more I hear, 
 
 As it calls dies out my fear ! 
 
 Eyes grow dim, yet I've his hand ! 
 
 Who are they that by me stand ? 
 What thrilling senses soul and body fill ! 
 There's bliss in dying ; Harry loves me still ! " 
 
 The wind loud howls and dark, dark is the night, 
 Deep thunder rolls, and fearful flashing light 
 Divides the pall of clouds that hide the heaven, 
 As earth to all the tempest's rage is given ! 
 
52 VENGEANCE. 
 
 It is a time when guilty conscience wakes, 
 
 And of the past a dreaded picture makes ! 
 
 Amid the storm the exile murderer sleeps, 
 
 Yet 'tis a sleepless sleep, in which he weeps, 
 
 And, restless, ever rolls his throbbing head, 
 
 And starts in visions of the murder'd dead ! 
 
 In dreams he sees again his victim die, 
 
 He hears the curse of Cain pierce from the sky, 
 
 Cold sweats stand on him, as again is seen, 
 
 In solemn grandeur, 'neath the silver sheen 
 
 The churchyard, where, in shapeless dust, we lay 
 
 (Till comes the morn of resurrection day) 
 
 The ruins of the temple of the soul, 
 
 That flits from earth, and from the earth's control. 
 
 The night is still, the owl is heard alone 
 
 To screech around the churchyard's crumbling 
 
 stone, 
 
 As from her place beside a new-made grave 
 He hears once more the shriek that Amy gave 
 As Harry fell. In vain he strives to turn 
 From eyes that fiercely in his bosom burn. 
 He hears the curse, ''What peace, what peace 
 
 hast thou ? 
 
 Revenge shall follow thee till thou shalt bow 
 Beneath its fiery yoke ; and conscience chains 
 Shall ever find new links of gnawing pains 
 In woes more woeful than the tongue can tell, 
 Till Harry's blood has dragged thee down to hell ! " 
 " Forbear ! forbear ! " the gasping exile cries, 
 A dismal thunder-peal alone replies, 
 The lightning-flash, amid his ruin'd shed, 
 Had left the unknown murderer with the dead ! 
 
REST. 
 
 WHEN the twilight hour is near, 
 When slow forms the dewy tear, 
 When the flitting bats appear, 
 
 And flow' rets sleep ; 
 When the evening hues invest 
 All the crimson-tinted west, 
 Calling May-flies from their rest 
 
 Till starlets peep ; 
 
 When the blackbird's sweet "good-night" 
 Echoes to the dying light, 
 When the owl begins his flight 
 
 On noiseless wing ; 
 When the vesper bell is rung, 
 When the work of day is done, 
 Evensong is sweetly sung 
 
 Its peace to bring ; 
 Then, when worldly turmoil ends, 
 When the toil-worn homeward wends, 
 Where the love-look welcome sends, 
 
 How sweet the rest ! 
 
 When the Sunday bells are rung, 
 When the Eucharist is sung,. 
 And the joyous thankful tongue 
 
 Finds music best ; 
 
 53 
 
54 REST. 
 
 When, as Moses struck of old 
 Rock that living streams unroll'd, 
 Sunday strikes toil's rock of gold 
 
 For rest to spring 
 Then the weary worker knows 
 Joy from holy rest that flows 
 As his grateful anthem shows 
 
 How hearts can sing. 
 And when life's strange journey's o'er, 
 When is reached the peaceful shore 
 Where can weigh down never more 
 
 This earth's unrest, 
 Comes a rest without a sigh 
 Rest, no tear to dim the eye 
 Rest, with angel's lullaby, 
 
 For ever blest ! 
 
CONTRASTS. 
 
 WITHIN, the blazing logs gave dancing light, 
 
 Rich hangings caught its glare, 
 Which bade defiance to the outer night, 
 
 And banish'd restless care, 
 Snug comfort brooded with his downy wing 
 And taught the song the cricket loves to sing. 
 
 Without, the howling wind like beast of prey 
 
 Woke sleeping childhood's fear, 
 A blinding sleet fell on the traveller's jsray, 
 
 Leaves rustled dead and sear ; 
 The search for shelter and repose was vain, 
 And hope had roll'd away with Charles's wain. 
 
 Within, disconsolate, a weeping maid 
 
 Bewail'd the bitter fate 
 Of broken word and faithless vows once made, 
 
 And love that turn'd to hate, 
 Nor tears nor sighs could heal the sorrow's smart 
 Of love uprooted from the inmost heart. 
 
 Without, the newly wed left church porch grey, 
 
 The bells with joy were mad, 
 The children's flow'rets scattered bridal way, 
 
 And ev'ry soul was glad, 
 
 55 
 
56 CONTRASTS. 
 
 Blue sky and golden sunshine promis'd store 
 Of brimming happiness for evermore. 
 
 Within, the windows veil'd and silence deep, 
 
 The scent of fading flowers, 
 A stiffen'd form embraced by chilly sleep, 
 
 While through the tearful hours 
 The watchers, as the taper's light burnt dim, 
 Recited holy prayer and requiem hymn. 
 
 Without, the happy shout of boyhood's mirth, 
 
 The birds that ever sing, 
 The sunlight bidding all the waking earth 
 
 A scented garland bring, 
 Recalling life to revel in its glare 
 And raise a song of rapture everywhere. 
 
 Below, the journey up the rugged height, 
 
 The conflict with the foe, 
 The mists that keep us from the light 
 
 As doubts flit to and fro ; 
 Heartaches and sorrows crowding all the day, 
 And tempting music luring from the way. 
 
 Above, the rest, where only rest has place, 
 
 The sword exchang'd for palm, 
 Revealed glory from the Father's Face, 
 
 The shout of triumph psalm, 
 Where none can suffer and where none can die, 
 For ever banish'd sorrow, tear and sigh. 
 
SACRED ECHOES. 
 
 UPON the abbey pavement old 
 The evening rays were pour'd, 
 
 And on it brush of sunset gold 
 West window's glories stor'd. 
 
 Till slowly twilight's softer ray 
 
 Subdued the richer light, 
 And in recesses darkness lay 
 
 To beckon on the night. 
 
 And shades of monument and tomb 
 
 Pass'd as the daylight died, 
 And lost themselves in deepening gloom 
 
 Befitting eventide. 
 
 Yet still a mystic twilight fell 
 Within the choir's far height, 
 
 Where incense mists rose as a spell 
 To weave the robe of night. 
 
 And piercing it the songs of praise 
 
 Re-echo'd to the sky, 
 And holy chants the faithful raise 
 
 Were wafted up on high 
 
 57 
 
58 SACRED ECHOES. 
 
 The music that from days of old 
 Has e'er to God been given 
 
 The wings that lift frail man to hold 
 Communion sweet with heaven ! 
 
 But where the voices loud with joy 
 
 At th' Consecration feast 
 And where each white-rob'd singing boy, 
 
 And ministering priest ? 
 
 Not silent in the grave's embrace, 
 Not hush'd, for still they sing 
 
 Sweet echoes from their resting-place 
 The songs of Zion bring. 
 
 And through the many changeful years 
 That since have pass'd away, 
 
 Have faithful hearts sung on in tears 
 The songs of golden day. 
 
 Yet still within the ancient pile 
 
 Methinks their vocal strain 
 Pours forth in sweetness to beguile 
 
 The hearts that beat in pain. 
 
 The sacred walls yet bear along 
 The solemn chant and sweet, 
 
 And past and present join in song 
 And anthem's joys repeat. 
 
SACRED ECHOES. 59 
 
 But echoes from the music clear 
 
 Of voice we may not hear, 
 From choir to nave, now far, now near, 
 
 Fall softly on the ear. 
 
 They make me glad, and yet I weep 
 
 As falls their cadence sweet, 
 For ever vigils must I keep 
 
 Till I the singer meet, 
 
 Where faultless choirs for aye unite 
 
 No faltering songs to raise, 
 Where children of eternal light 
 
 Ne'er weary in their praise. 
 
 When comes each day the white-rob'd train 
 
 With solemn step, and slow, 
 And slowly to the organ's strain 
 
 The priests and choir-throng go. 
 
 Then when their moving harmony 
 
 The echoes onward bear, 
 That voice inspiring ecstasy 
 
 We feel is wanting there. 
 
 For he, our boy, of beauty rare 
 
 With love-light in his eyes, 
 No more will pray a choir-boy's prayer, 
 
 No more in song uprise. 
 
60 SACRED ECHOES. 
 
 But when the Abbey service ends 
 
 And angels watch around, 
 The voice we lov'd again ascends 
 
 And soothing notes abound. 
 
 " We pray Thee help Thy servant whom 
 With Thy most precious Blood 
 
 Thou hast redeem'd " this from his room 
 Oft wafted up to God. 
 
 This was his last-sung prayer below, 
 God's angels did him throng, 
 
 And bore to Paradise we know 
 The singer and the song. 
 
 And then within the Abbey-ground, 
 While sorrow bow'd each head, 
 
 His choral brethren standing round 
 Sang service of the dead. 
 
 And there we left him, lov'd and blest, 
 
 Asleep in grassy grave ; 
 A white cross marks that place of rest 
 
 And flow' rets round it wave ; 
 
 And ever round that little bed 
 
 The echoes never cease 
 To roll the anthems for the dead 
 
 And tell of endless peace. 
 
NO MARRIAGE BELLS TO-DAY. 
 
 February 27, 1892, the date fixed for the wedding of Prince 
 Albert Victor, who died January 14, 1892. R.I. P. 
 
 HOPE made a posy rich and rare 
 
 A loving bridal gift to be, 
 
 A promise of felicity 
 
 And changeless love in high degree, 
 For loving hearts to share. 
 
 Alas ! the flowers of bridal cheer 
 
 Bedew'd in bitter tears must die, 
 Exhaling still a fragrant sigh 
 E'en as in sympathy they lie 
 
 A wreath beside the bier. 
 
 Hope rang in joy a marriage peal, 
 
 From England's towers grey and old, 
 A nation's joy the music told, 
 O'er city, hamlet, vale and wold 
 
 A song of lasting weal. 
 
 Alas ! Alas ! for human bliss 
 
 Grief's spectre hushed the merry clang, 
 A mournful peal in sorrow rang, 
 A requiem the mourners sang 
 
 Death stole the bridegroom's kiss. 
 
 61 
 
62 NO MARRIAGE BELLS TO-DAY. 
 
 Hope, in a chorus love had blent, 
 
 Sent forth a gladsome nuptial song, 
 The echoes bore its waves along, 
 And organ's diapasons strong 
 
 Harmoniously were lent. 
 
 But hope's bright music died away ! 
 Adown the church's sacred fold 
 The tones of Dies Iras roll'd, 
 In chilling breath the Dead March told 
 
 How death held icy sway. 
 
 Yet hope fails not where faith is high ; 
 Love's cherish'd blossom never dies, 
 Eternal springtide's flow'rets rise, 
 The joy-bells ring o'er Paradise 
 
 And angels linger by. 
 
 Soon shall the marriage feast be spread, 
 The Bride the Church in fair array, 
 In splendour of th' eternal day 
 Shall own the Bridegroom's smile alway 
 
 When God recalls the dead. 
 
MY BOYS AND I. 
 
 WHEN the days are dark and dreary, 
 When the lagging hours are weary, 
 Then to cheer with life's young dream 
 Bid my boys around me beam. 
 
 When the summer sunlight glances, 
 And the heart in gladness dances, 
 Let young life enhance the bliss, 
 And on beauty plant its kiss. 
 
 When the cup of joy is sweetest, 
 And the rapid hours are fleetest, 
 Sweeter will the chalice be 
 If my loved ones drink with me. 
 
 When the step is light and airy, 
 Leading on through landscapes fairy, 
 Joyous youth with artless air 
 Must with me the journey share. 
 
 When the Christmas brings its greeting, 
 And the scatter'd friends are meeting, 
 Half its joy will disappear 
 If I have no young friends near. 
 63 
 
64 MY BOYS AND I. 
 
 When another year is ending, 
 Friends in love good wishes sending, 
 Best of all, my boys' good cheer, 
 Wishing me a glad New Year. 
 
 Summer days with them are brighter, 
 Winter days with them grow lighter, 
 Landscapes fair are yet more fair, 
 When the young life frolics there. 
 
 When the clouds the light are hiding, 
 Sorrow in the heart abiding, 
 Youthful love for me will form 
 Rainbow's arch on cloud of storm. 
 
 When the light around is paling, 
 When the powers of life are failing, 
 Youthful music pour'd amain 
 Then shall make me young again. 
 
 Thus, though days be dull or cheery, 
 Whether hours be swift or weary, 
 Boyhood's love still lingering near 
 Gives me sunshine all the year. 
 
THE AFTER-DAYS. 
 To F. W. 
 
 ASCENSION DAY ! and all the bells had rung, 
 And triumph music o'er the city flung ; 
 Communions had been, made, and cherish'd hearts 
 Were knit with us in Him Who earth departs 
 To be through all the Church the Food and Life 
 The Strength in all the toil of earthly strife. 
 Then far away, the smoky town forgot, 
 We wander' d where the blue forget-me-not 
 Had fring'd the widening river, where the trees, 
 Fresh budded, murmur'd to the passing breeze, 
 And, arching o'er the water's sedgy side, 
 Droop'd low to kiss the river's brimming tide. 
 We row'd in glee beneath the sunlit sky, 
 And boys' sweet voices and the larks' on high 
 Went mingled through the realms of azure state, 
 As incense up to heaven's golden gate. 
 And now in after-days comes back again 
 The music of the song in sweet refrain, 
 And once again the river scene is here 
 With laughing spring dear memory's course to 
 
 cheer. 
 
 Oh ! in the after- days for us in store 
 God grant the same dear ones may sing once 
 
 more 
 
 5 6 5 
 
66 THE AFTER-DAYS. 
 
 Where life's clear river flows through ageless 
 
 bowers, 
 And endless springtide yields its fadeless flowers. 
 
 'Twas Christmas Eve, and one we lov'd x was dead, 
 The Holy Child had bid Death's angel spread 
 His pinions, bearing hence from winter's snow, 
 From nipping frosts and chilly winds that blow, 
 The dear one early called the cross to bear, 
 That earlier he the crown of life might wear. 
 And when the shadows of the dying year 
 Lay darkly o'er the woodland dead and sear 
 With holy songs we laid him to his rest, 
 And left him sleeping sound on Jesus' breast. 
 And now in after-days, the love not less, 
 The memory of his gentle love we bless. 
 Oh ! in the after-days when life is spent 
 And endless Easter follows life's long Lent, 
 God grant we meet again in joyous band 
 Where deathless glory fills Emmanuel's land. 
 
 Year after year, as summer days come round, 
 To country home, 2 where health and rest are found, 
 Comes youthful life to make the woodland ring 
 In union with the harmonies that spring 
 From village bells, from ever- flowing streams 
 And song of birds awoke by morning beams. 
 Here graceful forms that mock the sculptor's skill, 
 In limpid stream may lave and sport at will ; 
 
 1 I. E., obit. 1875, aged 15. 
 
 3 F. W.'s country place in Hertfordshire. 
 
THE AFTER-DAYS. 67 
 
 Here boyhood's glee dispels the wearing care, 
 
 And gloomy thought is driven from his lair. 
 
 Then, when the busy joy of day is o'er, 
 
 The place of prayer is sought, and blessings pour 
 
 To shield from harm the hours of guileless sleep, 
 
 When guardian angels faithful vigils keep, 
 
 Till song of birds awakes another day 
 
 A summer day too soon to pass away. 
 
 And in the after-days those sunshine hours 
 
 Give light to tint each darksome cloud that lowers ; 
 
 Oh ! in the after-days for which we yearn, 
 
 The visions blest may all our lov'd discern 
 
 In home of endless sunshine, where shall be 
 
 No farewell word, and no dividing sea. 
 
THE LAY BROTHER. 
 
 HEART music ever in him rose 
 From matin hour till day's repose - 
 Music chastening earthly woes. 
 
 The world and self were set aside 
 For love of Him, the Crucified, 
 And God in all was glorified. 
 
 Before the call of matin bell 
 The brother knelt within his cell, 
 As from his lips the utterance fell, 
 
 " Dear Lord, I fain would follow Thee, 
 Yet in the path laid out for me 
 No shadow of Thy Cross I see ; 
 
 To Thee in vow I pledge my life, 
 Can it be Thine with pleasure rife, 
 And nothing known of sorrow's strife ? 
 
 Yet in submission would I pray, 
 Lead as Thou wilt, be Thou my stay 
 Till ends the night in perfect day." 
 
 Next morn, before the Altar Shrine, 
 Where gleam'd aloft the Holy Sign, 
 Love drank in Love in Food Divine. 
 
THE LAY BROTHER. 69 
 
 When fading tints were lingering still 
 
 Above the distant purple hill, 
 
 And song of birds had ceas'd to trill, 
 
 One, plague- struck, bending 'neath his fate, 
 With scarcely strength enough to wait 
 Till willing hands could ope the gate, 
 
 Was given to that brother's care 
 
 To tend and nurse, as rose the prayer 
 
 For grace his brethren's griefs to share. 
 
 'Twas but a youth with pallid face 
 And features cast with beauty's grace, 
 A stripling in life's chequer'd race. 
 
 The brother sat beside the bed, 
 His hand was cool on fever'd head, 
 His glance a constant solace shed. 
 
 But ere the morning gave its glow, 
 
 As night's faint taper burned low 
 
 And embers scarce a spark could show, 
 
 On rapid wing the angels sped 
 
 And flutter' d round the narrow bed 
 
 The stranger in the cell lay dead. 
 
 The brother clos'd the filmed eyes, 
 His prayer of love pierc'd leaden skies 
 That both might meet in Paradise. 
 
70 THE LAY BROTHER. 
 
 And ere the nightfall came again 
 Contagious plague enlarged its reign, 
 The brother lay in mortal pain. 
 
 Two dead ones in the cell at rest, 
 Asleep, with hands cross'd on the breast, 
 By ne'er a fitful dream oppress'd. 
 
 A voice from thence rings ceaselessly, 
 " Thy deeds of precious charity 
 To these the least are done to Me." 
 
THE HOLLY TREE. 
 
 I LOVE the legendary lore, 
 With hidden truths, a goodly store, 
 That soothe us in the weary strife 
 And gladden in the toil of life. 
 Dear Holly Tree the Holy Tree- 
 Hast thou a legend got for me ? 
 
 Ah ! thorns first came with sin of man 
 And fairest of earth's scenes o'erran. 
 Then first earth's pleasures prov'd a snare 
 And all earth's treasures anxious care ; 
 The pleasures left but anguish sore, 
 And treasures could not peace restore ; 
 Earth's joys proved false, and Heaven's 
 
 fair light 
 
 Seem'd lost in everlasting night. 
 Then One in tenderest love drew near, 
 Earth's heavy-laden sons to cheer, 
 To stay the march of sin's foul train 
 And open Paradise again. 
 For this He bore the Cross, the scorn, 
 The mocking robe, the crown of thorn, 
 The bitter death, that men might live 
 The life the God-Man came to give. 
 1 71 
 
72 THE HOLLY TREE. 
 
 Urged on by love's undying flame, 
 Unmov'd by taunts, S. Joseph came, 
 The Body of his Lord to crave 
 And rest It in his own new grave. 
 And He, Who had no place of rest, 
 As o'er earth's wilderness He press'd, 
 Found rest where fragrant flowers bloom, 
 Found rest but in another's tomb ! 
 One relic Joseph bears away 
 The Crown of Thorns to tell for aye 
 That thorny crown wins crown of gold 
 For soldiers in the conflict bold. 
 
 Long years succeed. The faithful band 
 
 Uprear the Cross in many a land, 
 
 And Joseph to our England came 
 
 First herald of the Saving Name 
 
 Still cherishing the Crown of pain 
 
 All dyed with precious crimson stain. 
 
 A part made Glastonbury's Thorn 
 
 To bloom when comes the Christmas morn- 
 
 And lo ! the rest was seen to grow 
 
 With leaves of memory e'er to show 
 
 Again the thorns of agony 
 
 That pierced our Lord on Calvary 
 
 With berries red, like drops of blood 
 
 That fell for us from Holy Rood, 
 
 Bespeaking love of Him Who died 
 
 The love of Jesus Crucified. 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 THE foes advanced, and Victory sat and smiled 
 Upon their arms ! The old man and the child 
 Alike in terror, trembling, quailed. Advance ! 
 And on they make through fairest part of France 
 A bloody way. Stern desolation set 
 His chilling hand on all, gaunt famine ate 
 The plenty up, and towns like Vulcan's height 
 Alarms gave forth, and awful made the night 
 With cruel flames that bended to the wind 
 As clouds of smoke came rolling up behind ! 
 Are these war's glories ? Where the hum of life 
 That mingled when the mirthful song was rife ? 
 A moaning only left, or silence drear ! 
 Where stand the promises of Autumn's cheer ? 
 All trampled out in war's red barrenness 
 Naught now remains the labourer's toil to bless ! 
 Where happy homesteads stood with joy replete, 
 Where old familiar friends were wont to greet 
 Each other with a smile and kindly word, 
 And chat the while on all that each had heard, 
 Naught meets the gazer's ever tearful eye 
 Save ruins, from whose embers rolls on high 
 In heavy pillars, peaceful twilight's shroud, 
 The far-extending, smoky 'whelming cloud. 
 
 73 
 
74 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 Distressed country ! Is there none for thee 
 Will brave the fight and strive to set thee free 
 From inroads of th' ambitious English foe, 
 Regain his conquests, and at once o'erthrow 
 The schemes, hell-born, of those who boldly stand 
 To curse with havoc home and fatherland ? 
 Yea ; one comes forward, though unskilled in arms, 
 Untried in battle-field and war's alarms. 
 A simple village maid, who o'er and o'er 
 In anguish heard the tales the travellers bore, 
 And musing wished that she could take command, 
 Will save her people and her native land. 
 Is she deceived ? Can earthly ears receive 
 A mystic message heavenly voices weave ? 
 Can earthly eyes drink in no earth between 
 The glowing splendours of the heavenly scene ? 
 I cannot say but faith in her was strong 
 The pure in heart can hear the angels' song 
 And in the song she knew a charge from heaven 
 To save her trembling blood-stained land was 
 
 given. 
 
 While holy angels round her vigils kept 
 And visions solaced as she guileless slept, 
 Strange voices bade her drive beyond the coast 
 The legions of the dread invading host, 
 Assured that she to Rheims her prince should bring 
 And there behold him crown'd her country's king. 
 
 'Twas time to stir ! Town after town was lost, 
 The foe victorious had to Orleans cross'd 
 The only stronghold left, whose guarded tower 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 75 
 
 Bore flag of Charles before proud England's 
 power, 
 
 'Twas doomed to be for Henry's wolves a prey 
 
 As succours fail'd, and hopes all died away. 
 
 Not so ; the Maid's brave heart must act its part. 
 
 In arms she comes, to bid the woes depart 
 
 From stricken France. Her words all hearts in- 
 spire, 
 
 And courage flames from utterances of fire 
 
 " At Heaven's behest, before my liege I stand, 
 The champion of our terror-stricken land. 
 I come, like one of old, in God's great Name 
 To bring the pride of cruel foes to shame, 
 And as the sling and stone avenged the wrongs, 
 And gave to Israel joy of triumph songs, 
 So I, with virgin sword, will rescue France, 
 And give the time for song and pipe and dance. 
 What though the lustre fades from out thy crown ! 
 What though thy country be now trodden down ! 
 With aid of saints and angels my weak hand 
 Can tear the shroud of sorrow from our land. 
 What though the foe would mount thy legal throne, 
 And claim the best of all we call our own ! 
 By God's dear grace I'll turn the ebbing tide 
 Till flowing victory be on our side. 
 Arouse ye ! Follow me ! It is decreed 
 That France from England's grasp shall now be 
 
 freed ; 
 
 Heaven's warrior hosts are with us for the right, 
 And Orleans shall be saved by ghostly might. 
 
76 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 To arms ! With faith in God and hearts of steel, 
 Our sturdy ranks our country's wounds shall heal ! 
 Advance ! Anon Rheim's sacred bells shall ring 
 A welcome to thee, God's anointed king ! " 
 
 The maid advances knight in very deed 
 In armour clad, erect on prancing steed, 
 With glittering sword and banner white as snow, 
 As hope's fair star shines on in happy glow. 
 Full soon, against the sky's unvaried blue, 
 The sieged towers of Orleans rise to view. 
 From English hearts the spirit of dismay, 
 With ruthless hand, all courage tears away, 
 They shrink before the maiden's eye of fire, 
 Before her ranks the coward troops retire ! 
 They fly ! they fly ! France, tell it out in song ! 
 Ye clanging bells, the triumph notes prolong ! 
 Historic pages, tell in words of gold 
 How one, like faithful Deborah of old, 
 Has with the sword of God the foe overthrown 
 Has led her king triumphant to his throne ! 
 Ye surging crowds, send up the wild acclaim 
 In grateful homage to heroic name ! 
 
 Her country free, her loving heart would fain 
 Find welcome rest in village home again. 
 The girlish loves and scenes, long left behind, 
 With all dear memories ever intertwined, 
 From feudal pomp and glittering state recall 
 To peaceful life within the cottage wall. 
 Not so ! Charles needs her service in the field, 
 
JOAN OF ARC. 77 
 
 Her cheering presence still will victory yield, 
 And she, reluctant, yet for fatherland 
 Consents again in battle ranks to stand 
 Consents, though angels no commandment gave 
 And nightfall dreams be silent as the grave ! 
 
 Hark ! Hear ye not the shout the victors' cry ? 
 See, see, the stricken Frenchmen scattered fly ! 
 Weep, gentle hearts, in bitter tears o'erflow 
 As skies grow dark and stars no longer glow, 
 For she, the purest heart of that rude age, 
 The worthiest patriot found in archives' page, 
 The faithful to her country, self, and God, 
 Is branded witch too base to tread the sod 
 Condemn'd as earth's offscouring, worse than vile, 
 To meet the witch's doom in flaming pile ! 
 O God ! it cannot be ! Have men no heart ? 
 Have they in chivalry no longer part ? 
 Some hand perforce must stretch itself to save, 
 Some voice must ring back freedom for the brave ! 
 Not one ? O heavens, enshroud thy azure skies ! 
 Thou sun, withdraw thy beams as from us flies 
 Dear Mercy's angel ! Trembling earth, proclaim 
 Anathema on blackest deed of shame ! 
 
 Our warm hearts shrink from that last scene of all, 
 As she, the innocent, goes forth from prison wall 
 To meet dread death, undaunted as of yore 
 When in her hand the battle-flag she bore. 
 No murmuring word is wrung by anguish dire, 
 Heaven's solace grows in midst of rising fire, 
 
78 JOAN OF ARC. 
 
 Till her pure soul, in strength of Holy Name, 
 Elijah-like ascendeth in the flame 
 To see not visions dim in air's dull space 
 But glory's King revealed face to face ! 
 
 Know'st thou, O noble soul, in home above 
 How men thy memory now revere and love, 
 Bewail thy fate and make thy name to be 
 A household word till dawn's eternity ? 
 It may be so. And here 'tis ours to know 
 That heavenly gold is wrought in fire of woe, 
 That thy brief life of tribulation sore 
 Has work'd exceeding glory evermore, 
 Where earth's rejected, gaining life by loss, 
 Exchange for crown of gold the bitter cross. 
 
WHEN THE DAY IS DONE. 
 
 LABOUR'S weary efforts end, 
 Hours of rest refreshment lend 
 As the dews of peace descend, 
 When the day is done. 
 
 All the toiling of the way, 
 All the pain of troubled day, 
 All the cries of battle's fray 
 End when day is done. 
 
 All home's dear ones fondly meet 
 Where the hearts in union beat, 
 As the happy moments fleet 
 When the day is done. 
 
 When the shadow darkly lies, 
 When the teardrop dims the eyes, 
 Hope assures of Paradise, 
 When life's day is done. 
 
 79 
 
80 WHEN THE DAY IS DONE. 
 
 When temptations round us throng, 
 When the strife is fierce and long, 
 Faith bespeaks the victor's song 
 When life's day is done. 
 
 When our dear ones droop and fade, 
 Lost awhile in death's deep shade, 
 Love tells love shall be repaid 
 When life's day is done. 
 
IN THE SNOW. 
 
 WHITHER away in the cold bleak air, 
 As the snowflakes whiten the ground, 
 
 Cannot the wintry breezes scare, 
 Or the darkness gathering round ? 
 
 Hinder me not, for, though old and grey, 
 I must seek my Willie, my own ; 
 
 Out in the snow he roam'd away, 
 And has left me all alone. 
 
 With a heart as chaste as the falling snow, 
 
 And full of dear love to me, 
 He fondly yearns, I surely know, 
 
 His mother again to see. 
 
 So on I go through the blinding snow, 
 
 Not heeding the wrathful wind, 
 Out in the snow I fearless go 
 
 My dearest, my own, to find. 
 
 Over him winds sang a lullaby low, 
 The angel of snow linger'd near ; 
 
 Cloth'd in a garment whiter than snow 
 Shall Willie, my own, appear. 
 
 6 81 
 
82 IN THE SNOW. 
 
 For the snow-blasts open'd the pearly gates 
 
 Of a city the purest see, 
 There my loved one watches and waits 
 
 A welcome to give to me. 
 
 Under a mound of the beautiful snow 
 Slept a mother in sleep profound, 
 
 The boy of her love, lost long ago, 
 In the beautiful snow she found. 
 
MORNING. 
 
 FROM painted windows of the east, 
 Bedeck'd with many a dewdrop gem, 
 And crown'd with sunlit diadem, 
 The Morn trips o'er the landscape's hem 
 
 To spread its golden feast. 
 
 The feather' d heralds of the bowers 
 Expectant wait the leaves among 
 To give in happiness a song 
 Of truest welcome, loud and long, 
 
 That wakes the sleeping flowers. 
 
 He comes where hearts in anguish beat, 
 Where sick men, tossing long in pain, 
 Of weary lengthen'd night complain, 
 And bids bright hope revive again 
 
 And gloomy shades retreat. 
 
 He flits across the resting-place 
 Where slumber wraps the peaceful dead 
 And smiles upon each sacred bed, 
 Where daisy blossom lifts its head 
 
 The grassy mound to grace, 
 83 
 
84 MORNING. 
 
 The promise of that day to give, 
 
 When wrongs of earth shall be put right, 
 Where gather not the mists of night, 
 Where in the home of endless light 
 
 God's saints for ever live. 
 
REPARATION. 
 
 THE hunted fox secures a place of rest, 
 
 The birds aweary seek the hidden nest, 
 
 Yet for the Son of Man earth hath no bed 
 
 No resting pillow for the throbbing Head. 
 
 To this His own created world He came, 
 
 And here His own revil'd His sacred Name, 
 
 No room for Him in BethFhem's crowded inn, 
 
 The Light refused that kills the life of sin ! 
 
 O shameful world ! Love rises in amends, 
 
 Her lavish gifts on Him ungrudging spends, 
 
 And rears the minster's vast entrancing pile 
 
 A stony poem breathing peace the while 
 
 The page of Time grows yellow with decay 
 
 And men in generations pass away. 
 
 For Him the wond'rous carving where no eye 
 
 Beholds the grace and beauty lost on high ; 
 
 For Him the clustered pillars rise afar, 
 
 Each mystic lamp hangs out its ruddy star, 
 
 The windows gleam, the gems like glow-worrns 
 
 shine ; 
 
 For Him the arts in harmony combine. 
 And He, Who is in truth the Living Bread, 
 In this our Bethlehem may rest His Head, 
 And with His lov'd ones evermore abide, 
 Till falls on life the peaceful eventide 
 85 
 
86 REPARATION. 
 
 That gathers God's elect from many lands, 
 And brings that temple near not made with hands. 
 About Him throng'd the sorrow-stricken folk, 
 From broken hearts the cry for healing broke, 
 And words of power absolved the sin-enchain'd, 
 And life and health the dead and sick regain'cl, 
 And comfort dawn'd upon the heart of pain, 
 While childhood's peace came floating back again. 
 In doing good He made unceasing round 
 That ever consecrated Canaan's ground, 
 Yet earth for all return'd the bitter cry 
 " Away with Him ! Away, and crucify ! " 
 Ungrateful world ! The Church's songs arise, 
 Her children's Alleluias rend the skies ; 
 Her sweet Hosannahs blend in worship meet 
 With grateful hymns His Presence blest to greet, 
 In reparation for blaspheming jeer 
 And rabble-cry begetting cross and spear, 
 Till by that Cross and Passion men unite 
 With angels in the songs of endless light ! 
 
 With jest profane, and many a ribald lay, 
 A frenzied mob crowds on the blood-stain'd way 
 Which leads to Golgotha, whose fetid air 
 Draws prowling night-beasts from the secret lair. 
 There on the bitter cross they lift Him high 
 There, mocking, bow, and raise the taunting cry, 
 Till He, our Sacrifice, bows thorn-crown'd Head, 
 And for our life is number'd with the dead. 
 O Love, beyond the reach of words of love ! 
 The theme of saints below and saints above ! 
 
REPARATION. 87 
 
 What can we do but show our hearts' full store 
 
 In worship, highest, best, for evermore ? 
 
 They led Thee forth in mock procession's throng, 
 
 We in procession praise in triumph song, 
 
 With lifted banners speak the victory won, 
 
 The hosts of evil smitten and undone. 
 
 For parted garments, we the frontal weave ; 
 
 For stench of death, make censer's odours 
 
 wreath ; 
 
 For darkness, give the taper's soften'd light ; 
 For cross of shame, erect in gem-set gold 
 Salvation's Sign the badge of saints of old 
 The crowning Sign that throws its radiant glow 
 Where Caesar's ruins crumble down below. 
 So will we worship, till, earth's mists dispell'd 
 And Schism's babel voices ever quell'd, 
 We in the great procession onward pass, 
 Where burning lamps shine on the sea of glass, 
 Where angels' censer yields the fragrant cloud, 
 And white-rob'd choristers of heaven aloud 
 Cry, " Honour, Glory, Blessing, Power, we give 
 To Him Who died and doth for ever live." 
 
IN MEMORIAM, E. A. G. 
 
 STUDENT OF S. KATHARINE'S COLLEGE, TOTTENHAM. 
 
 Fell Asleep December 6, 1888. 
 
 ON the eve of the Patron Saint, T 
 As the year was dying away, 
 While the Advent shadows came creeping on, 
 
 In the dull November day ; 
 The studies and books were laid aside, 
 The life had drawn to its eventide. 
 
 And the Priest, in the Altar's Rite, 
 
 In the last Communion of Love, 
 Then gave to the dying the Bread of Life 
 
 From the great High Priest above, 
 On Whose heart the gentle soul repos'd, 
 As on earthly things the eyelids clos'd. 
 
 On the Feast of the Sailor's Saint, 2 
 The mariner's toils were o'er, 
 She had pass'd the waves of this troublesome 
 
 world, 
 
 To rest on that peaceful shore 
 Where the waiting souls in the regions bright 
 Drink more and more of eternal light. 
 
 1 S. Katharine. 2 S. Nicholas. 
 
IN MEMORIAM, E. A. G. 89 
 
 In the Fane of the Holy Three, r 
 
 'Neath Redemption's holy sign, 
 And before the Throne of the Virgins' Lord, 
 
 Did we our dead resign, 
 
 With the prayer that she in the mansions fair 
 May more and more of God's visions share. 
 
 With the flowers we laid her to rest, 
 
 As the day was dying away, 
 We said our " Good-bye " in the certain hope 
 
 Of the Resurrection Day, 
 
 And a meeting blest, when our dear one wakes, 
 When the shadows flee and the morning breaks. 
 
 1 Church of the Holy Trinity, Stroud Green. 
 
REMEMBRANCES. 
 
 LIFE'S eventide draws near, 
 
 Faint echoes play 
 In changeful music on the ear 
 
 And die away ; 
 
 They bid youth's flow'rets bloom again, 
 And wavelets of a sweet refrain 
 Send back from many a bygone strain 
 
 To cheer life's closing day. 
 
 The home where lov'd ones met 
 
 Long, long ago, 
 In fancy's eye stands radiant yet 
 
 In summer glow, 
 
 And voices death has hush'd awhile, 
 And faces lit with sunny smile, 
 Come back and lovingly beguile 
 
 The days of winter snow. 
 
 The winding road of life 
 
 In light and shade,- 
 Its weary way of toil and strife 
 
 O'er hill and glade, 
 In sorrowing joy again we trace, 
 And fellow pilgrims in life's race 
 Once more beside us take a place 
 
 As sunset colours fade. 
 
 90 
 
REMEMBRANCES. 91 
 
 When pilgrim days are o'er 
 
 And conflicts end, 
 When love and glory evermore 
 
 Harmonious blend, 
 Remembrances may add delight, 
 Where near and dear again unite, 
 Where grateful songs in God's own sight 
 
 Eternally ascend. 
 
 
EMIGRANTS. 
 
 THE lark o'erhead from morning grey 
 
 Had warbled loud a merry lay, 
 
 And sunshine with unstinted gleam 
 
 Had gilded mead and winding stream ; 
 
 Spring's glee attuned each subtle wire 
 
 Vibrating in fair Nature's lyre. 
 
 But deep below her festal song 
 
 The sad heart's minor notes may throng, 
 
 As shade of night deep down may be 
 
 Though sunlight dances on the sea, 
 
 As dead leaves in the forest lie 
 
 Though bursting buds bring summer nigh. 
 
 And John, the farmer's man, was sad, 
 
 For things were strained and times were bad. 
 
 His lower'd wages, never high, 
 
 Could scarce the creature needs supply, 
 
 And that while in the far-off west 
 
 The virgin soil by labour dress'd 
 
 Was promising a bounteous yield 
 
 From many a waving harvest-field. 
 
 His Mary, wife for summers three, 
 Was loath to cross the mighty sea, 
 But scruples must be cast aside 
 
 If, waiting on the other side, 
 
 92 
 
EMIGRANTS. 93 
 
 Success supplies with ready hand 
 The gifts withheld in fatherland. 
 Yet hope's bright music could not scare 
 The parting sorrow from its lair, 
 Nor still the heart's unbidden sigh 
 And clear the teardrop from the eye. 
 'Twas hard to leave each grassy mound 
 Where dear ones slept in holy ground ; 
 A grief to leave the holy place 
 Where store of sacramental grace 
 Gave comfort in the daily strife 
 And strength to live the higher life ; 
 Where round of festival and fast 
 Still knits the present with the past. 
 The broken words that said farewell, 
 The lingering looks o'er hill and dell, 
 Were all a bitterness and pain 
 Enough to tear the heart in twain. 
 
 Not much their store, but treasure best 
 Must journey with them to the West 
 A book of prayer her mother gave, 
 A flow'ret from her baby's grave, 
 An ivy leaf from tower grey 
 Memento of that parting day, 
 When, blessing them, the Rector's prayer 
 Commended them to God's dear care, 
 A Bible, with its yellow page 
 Recording length of pilgrimage 
 Of long-forgotten sire and dame 
 From whom he took unsullied name, 
 
94 EMIGRANTS. 
 
 And keepsakes giv'n with gen'rous hand 
 To cherish in the far-off land. 
 
 With heavy heart they left behind 
 
 Dear scenes of youth, old faces kind ; 
 
 They strained the eyes o'er woodland green 
 
 Where last the old church tower was seen ; 
 
 Their teardrops dimm'd the ocean's blue 
 
 As home's faint cloudland sank from view. 
 
 And many a day, as weary eyes 
 
 No prospect scann'd but sea and skies, 
 
 Those left at home would earnest pray 
 
 For dear ones sailing far away ; 
 
 " Fair be the skies, the winds at peace, 
 
 From danger angels give release, 
 
 May heavenly guides the journey tend 
 
 And succour dear ones to the end ; 
 
 The good ship steer o'er trackless deep, 
 
 And God in love His children keep, 
 
 Give comfort in all toil and pain 
 
 And some day bring them home again." 
 
 Far in the land of woods and lakes 
 The emigrant his log home makes. 
 The earth, from patient toil each year, 
 In harvest gold gives hearty cheer, 
 While time with kindly hand effac'd 
 The deeper lines home-sickness trac'd. 
 Yet memory's faithful pencil drew 
 Undying pictures, ever new, 
 Of childhood's home, where each lov'd spot 
 
EMIGRANTS. 95 
 
 Had rear'd its blue forget-me-not ; 
 Of springtide scenes with sunny glow, 
 Of scented hawthorn's floral snow, 
 Of tender verdure where the cry, 
 Of " Cuckoo " echoed to the sky, 
 Of summer, brilliant as of yore, 
 With cottage garden's varied store, 
 Of autumn's fall with ruddy leaves 
 When swallows left the shelt'ring eaves, 
 And of the chilly winter days 
 When dancing light from ruddy blaze 
 Shone out in lovelight in the eye 
 Ere love had ever learn'd to sigh. 
 
 Hope strove to raise its song of cheer 
 As weary months made weary year ; 
 No Sunday bells, no house of prayer, 
 No priest of God gave blessing there. 
 What could they do each holy day 
 But strive, with dear ones far away, 
 To join in spirit in the Rite 
 Earth's union with the Sons of Light ? 
 
 Like daybreak from the tinted east 
 There came at last a zealous priest, 
 Restoring faith and hope's blest calm 
 In holy Church's soothing balm. 
 On altar rear'd in cabin shade 
 The Great Memorial was made, 
 And Bread of Life made hearts aglow 
 As in the old church long ago. 
 
96 EMIGRANTS. 
 
 In Sacred Tide John's baby boy 
 Was made inheritor of joy. 
 It seem'd as if from home there came, 
 To cheer with light of heavenly flame, 
 The love of Mother Church, to bless 
 And cheer the gloomy wilderness. 
 
 The good priest, seeking scatter'd sheep, 
 
 Pass'd onward, and the shadows deep 
 
 Lay on the scenes of sorrow left, 
 
 Again of means of grace bereft. 
 
 Weeks pass away. The dark clouds spread, 
 
 The light is banish'd overhead, 
 
 And wild despair grows in the heart 
 
 That must from cherish'd treasure part. 
 
 The little child of love and grace, 
 
 And beautiful in limb and face, 
 
 The ladder lifting earthly love 
 
 From earth up to its source above, 
 
 Must be remov'd, that love alone 
 
 May centre round the Father's throne. 
 
 God took the little child to rest 
 Where manhood's trials no path infest, 
 With chrisom robe's unsullied glow 
 As spotless as the mountain's snow. 
 They clear'd a space in forest shade, 
 And there the little child was laid ; 
 No priest with benison was near, 
 No solemn service round the bier, 
 
EMIGRANTS. 97 
 
 Hearts break ! Why tarries blissful day, 
 When all the shadows flee away ? 
 
 An old man sat, and down his face 
 Hot tears each other seem'd to chase 
 Not tears of sorrow, these no more 
 Could tax the burden of fourscore 
 But tears of joy commingling fell, 
 And with the old man all was well. 
 
 Year after year arriv'd fresh bands 
 
 To clear the neighbouring forest lands ; 
 
 A town was rear'd, and stately fane, 
 
 That brought Old England back again, 
 
 With parish priest and chanting choir 
 
 And clanging music from the spire ; 
 
 And Mary's grave, that green was kept, 
 
 Close by where Mary's darling slept, 
 
 To-day, beneath the church bells' sound, 
 
 Becomes a part of holy ground. 
 
 To-day the mitr'd bishop bless'd 
 
 The new churchyard, where lov'd ones rest, 
 
 Then in the church in solemn state 
 
 Proceeded all to consecrate, 
 
 Which done, burst forth in choral praise 
 
 The joy of Eucharistic lays. 
 
 The old man wept, for joy he wept, 
 In thought he once more boyhood kept. 
 At home he saw, as in a dream, 
 The white-rob'd throng, the altar's gleam, 
 7 
 
98 EMIGRANTS. 
 
 The vested priest, the incense cloud, 
 And heard the Gloria pealing loud. 
 And truly in the church now rear'd 
 His boyhood lingered, though betear'd, 
 The service never losing hold, 
 For Mother Church can ne'er grow old. 
 It was enough, his joy complete, 
 He could with one of old repeat 
 His Nimc Dimittis, till should cease 
 Earth's turmoil in the perfect peace. 
 
 Three graves, that eastward, homeward lie 
 Beneath the far Canadian sky, 
 Tell of the rest to pilgrim band 
 Who seek the new and better land. 
 God grant them light of endless day, 
 When sighs and sorrows flee away. 
 
THE WIND. 
 
 THE wind came softly over the lea, 
 
 Bringing a message of love to me, 
 
 It bore on its breath the primrose scent, 
 
 And early flowers their fragrance lent ; 
 
 Its hidden lyre the whole day long 
 
 Gave warbling notes of the spring-birds' song 
 
 And the comfort of hope came floating by 
 
 To the music of winter's lullaby. 
 
 The zephyrs of summer came out to play, 
 
 And the insects buzzed in a roundelay, 
 
 While the lights on the ground where the forest 
 
 grew 
 
 In merriest glee danc'd the whole day through, 
 And the gentle voice of summer was heard, 
 Where scarcely its breath the aspens stirr'd, 
 Assuring that life is not all that's drear 
 While summer's first course precedes autumn's 
 
 cheer. 
 
 There came up a wind from the northern plain, 
 The faded leaves mark'd its pitiless train, 
 The flowers all died at its withering touch, 
 And the song-birds hid from its deadly clutch ; 
 
 99 
 
ioo THE WIND. 
 
 But it brought the snow in a faltering shower 
 And the Christmas chimes from the old church 
 
 tower, 
 
 And the dead earth's breast in its glittering white 
 To heaven reflected the snowy light. 
 
 And so, when the toil of the spring is o'er, 
 And summer in autumn fades more and more, 
 The bitter wind, coming with chilling breath 
 And leading the way to the gate of death, 
 Will surely the heavenly chimes awake, 
 That ever and ever sweet music make, 
 To usher the light of eternal glow 
 To the faithful soul in its robe of snow. 
 
A LANDSCAPE. 
 
 RAVISHING beauty, stretch'd out to the sea ! 
 Faultless mosaic of upland and lea ! 
 Charm of the weary, the solace of age, 
 Painting Divine on the earth's sombre page ! 
 
 Here, 'neath the shade of an o'erspreading tree, 
 Loveliness forms fairy garlands for me, 
 Gardens Queen Flora's bright glories enfold, 
 Buttercups weave me a carpet of gold. 
 
 Snows of the summer 'mong hawthorn leaves lie, 
 Bluebells are nodding as zephyrs creep by, 
 Far in expanse of the unchanging blue 
 Carols the lark in a song ever new. 
 
 Yonder the streamlet, a mirror of light, 
 Murmurs for ever Its song of delight, 
 Dragon-flies poise o'er forget-me-not flowers, 
 O'er the dank grass are the dog-roses' bowers. 
 
 Cloth'd in a garb of the ivy's dark leaves, 
 Peeps the old manor-house forth from the trees, 
 Butterflies carelessly dance all the day 
 Where patchwork of blossoms makes brilliant dis- 
 play. 
 
102 A LANDSCAPE. 
 
 Near stands a cottage where white roses cling, 
 Swallows around it are ever on wing, 
 While from its garden, with fragrance oppress'd, 
 Laughter of childhood makes music the best. 
 
 Far in the west, purpling into the skies, 
 Hills in succession eternally rise, 
 Surely from regions of nightfall to sever 
 Lands where the sunshine falls ever and ever. 
 
 Beautiful country of meadow r and wood, 
 God in creation pronounces thee good ! 
 Thou, His cathedral to echo along 
 Joyous and full Benedicite song. 
 
THE BASS-VIOL. 
 
 THE church was musty, damp, and cold, 
 Its pews worm-eaten, dismal, old ; 
 White slabs on leaning walls record 
 The perfect lives of squire and lord. 
 
 On altar-tombs the shadows crept, 
 Where knights and dames in sculpture slept 
 'Neath rusty helm and banner torn, 
 That once in triumph had been borne. 
 
 And many a brass on pavement lay, 
 And urged the worshippers to pray 
 For souls of worthies, long gone hence 
 In holy faith and penitence. 
 
 The rector's voice in quavering sound 
 Recited holy prayers profound, 
 The clerk, as deputy, alone 
 Responded in a nasal tone. 
 
 In western gallery aloft 
 The village orchestra met oft 
 To practise, and from chime to chime 
 To argue points of tune and time. 
 103 
 
io 4 THE BASS-VIOL. 
 
 On Sundays there, in triple row, 
 With frequent turns and measure slow 
 While people turned in wondering gaze 
 They led the choir in choral praise. 
 
 The strings and flutes in chords unite, 
 The singers sing with earnest might 
 To them the well-worn Hundredth Psalm 
 Of all things is a constant charm. 
 
 One sturdy soul, well-nigh fourscore, 
 Had seen his jubilee and more 
 As bass-viol player, deep and clear, 
 And treat indeed to village ear. 
 
 How he enjoy'd, with steady bow, 
 To make the depths of music flow 
 In Christmas Hymn or Easter song, 
 Each final cadence making long ! 
 
 The feeble rector, full of years, 
 Pass'd onward from this vale of tears, 
 To join the ranks of spirits blest 
 Who in God's Paradise find rest. 
 
 Succeeding rector changes made, 
 But none engender'd deeper shade 
 Than that which from the gallery sent 
 The strings and pipes to banishment. 
 
THE BASS-VIOL. 105 
 
 The old bass-viol was pack'd away, 
 Its owner had no heart to play ; 
 Its occupation gone, he pined 
 In vain for aught to soothe his mind. 
 
 Like those of old by Babylon's stream, 
 His heart without a liv'ning gleam, 
 He could not in the Lord's song bear 
 For evermore his wonted share. 
 
 The old man wept tears easy flow 
 From those far on life's road of woe 
 But in his dreams he play'd again 
 The bass in each familiar strain. 
 
 His grandchild read the holy lore, 
 And from the Revelation's store 
 He drank in music of the throng, 
 Where golden harps assist the song. 
 
 He woke one morning cold and grey, 
 As eastern skies drove night away, 
 And told with joy- tears in his eye 
 How in the night a choir drew nigh. 
 
 Their golden harps and voices clear, 
 Accorded in a deathless sphere : 
 " Hark ! There again the music's made, 
 They want my dear bass-viol's aid ! " 
 
io6 THE BASS-VIOL. 
 
 So said he, and he pass'd away 
 Where, through the length of endless day, 
 Earth's discords end in heaven's new song, 
 And change can never work a wrong. 
 
IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 REV. C. L. VAUGHAN, FOUNDER AND RECTOR OF CHRIST 
 CHURCH, ST. LEONARD'S-ON-SEA. 
 
 As he was ascending the Julier Pass, on his way to a holiday 
 resort, God called him, August 8, 1895. 
 
 AWAY in lands of mount and lake, 
 
 Beyond the southern main, 
 He fain a resting time would take, 
 
 Till duty called again. 
 But God in love gave sweeter rest, 
 Where all souls wait the vision blest. 
 
 Across the sea ! and safe at last, 
 
 Beyond the billows' roar, 
 The waves of troubled life all past, 
 
 He gains the peaceful shore, 
 Where shines the light that grows for aye, 
 Till dawns the Resurrection Day. 
 
 Amid the mighty mountains old, 
 Snow-capped in summer ray, 
 
 God's angels glittering wings unfold, 
 And swiftly bear away 
 
 The gentle soul to true life's rills, 
 
 That flow from everlasting hills. 
 107 
 
io8 IN MEMORIAM. 
 
 No more for him earth's pilgrim hymns, 
 
 But, nearer to the shrine, 
 Where angel-wafted incense dims 
 
 The mystic lights Divine, 
 He hears the nine-fold orders raise 
 High heaven's Eucharistic lays. 
 
 There in a worship, one with ours, 
 
 Still for his flock he prays, 
 That each may in the thornless bowers 
 
 On fadeless glory gaze, 
 And priest and people e'er unite 
 In bliss of Beatific light. 
 
AURORA BOREALIS. 
 
 SWIFT rustling from the courts of light 
 
 Aurora's garments glow, 
 Awaking from the winter's night 
 
 The sparkling gems of snow, 
 
 When lengthen'd shadows slowly fall 
 
 Athwart the northern plain, 
 And spectre night its gloomy pall 
 
 Spreads o'er the earth again, 
 
 When winter frowns through sullen skies, 
 
 And icy fingers chill, 
 While virgin snow untrodden lies 
 
 Upon the silent hill. 
 
 She dances on in mystic glee, 
 Through halls of rainbow dye, 
 
 And, scatter'd on the ice-bound sea, 
 Her fallen jewels lie. 
 
 She throws the gates of night aside, 
 
 While glory passing by 
 Outspreads its ruddy pinions wide 
 
 Across the glowing sky. 
 109 
 
no AURORA BOREALIS. 
 
 E'en so, when on the path of life 
 
 The shadows darkly stray, 
 And hearts are broken in the strife 
 
 As daylight dies away, 
 
 When hearts in which our love would rest 
 
 Are yielding no returns, 
 And winter snow falls on the breast 
 
 That for the summer yearns, 
 
 And only night enwraps the grave 
 Where hope long buried lies, 
 
 And stars withdraw the light they gave, 
 As clouds enshroud the skies, 
 
 There comes from fields of Paradise 
 
 A strange unearthly glow, 
 The violets yield their odours sweet 
 
 Beneath the chilly snow, 
 
 And happy memories, crowding round, 
 
 Flood all the winter night, 
 The weary path o'er frozen ground 
 
 To gladden with their light ; 
 
 Upon the earth-bound graves they lie 
 
 As glow of Dawn of Day ; 
 They tell the promis'd morn is nigh, 
 
 When shadows flee away. 
 
SLEEP. 
 
 O SOOTHING Sleep ! 
 
 That giv'st a calm retreat, 
 When throbbing pulses beat, 
 And tides of sorrow meet 
 
 In strife ! 
 
 Restoring hope 
 
 To restless fever bed, 
 Destroying woes that tread 
 On joy's bright laughing head 
 And life ! 
 
 Strange Sleep ! to hush 
 
 The din of daily strife, 
 To calm the troubled life, 
 And give, when fears are rife, 
 Release ! 
 
 To spread thy wing 
 
 As comes the murky night, 
 Where might attacks the right, 
 And on contention light 
 
 In peace ! 
 
ii2 SLEEP. 
 
 On tossing ship, 
 
 That braves the raging sea, 
 
 A spell work'd out by thee 
 
 Will make the storm to be 
 
 A calm 
 
 In prison cell, 
 
 Though all be dark and drear, 
 Though all be restless fear, 
 All's well, if thou bring' st near 
 Thy balm ! 
 
 The travellers tir'd 
 
 On many a dusty way, 
 Faint in the sultry ray, 
 In thy refreshing sway 
 
 Find rest ! 
 
 The outcast lone 
 
 Seeks thine all-soothing hour, 
 And woos thy magic power 
 To weave a homeland bower 
 The best. 
 
 The little child 
 
 Will from its joyous play 
 To thy enfolding stray, 
 While angels watch alway 
 
 Close by. 
 
SLEEP. 113 
 
 Yet when thy hand 
 
 The robe of being rends, 
 A shadow on thee tends, 
 Thy subtle music lends 
 
 A sigh. 
 
 Say, is't that thou, 
 
 With life-bereaving dart, 
 The balm of sorrow's smart, 
 The younger sister art 
 
 To Death ? 
 
 Yea, even so ! 
 
 Asleep our lov'd ones lie, 
 But morning draweth nigh, 
 When God gives, passing by 
 
 Life's breath ! 
 
ALLELUIA ! 
 
 BORNE on the incense-laden'd air 
 With chords from harps of gold, 
 
 From temple throng in raiment fair 
 The waves of music roll'd. 
 
 The burden of the sacred theme 
 That woke the Psalmist's praise, 
 
 Anticipated as in dream 
 The song of Christian days : 
 
 Of days when life o'er death prevails 
 And Calvary's gloom has fled, 
 
 When Easter Alleluia hails 
 The Firstfruits of the dead. 
 
 And though perforce must pierce the skies 
 
 Earth's Miserere's wail, 
 Yet Alleluias mingling rise 
 
 As saints o'er sin prevail. 
 
 As when fierce hordes assail'd the land, 
 
 And hearts in terror fail'd, 
 And stoutest in the Christian band 
 
 Before the foemen quail'd, 
 114 
 
ALLELUIA/ 115 
 
 When, with God's blessing hearts to cheer 
 
 And noble deeds inspire, 
 The aged bishop's form drew near, 
 
 Re-kindling dying fire, 
 
 The Christian hosts a welcome sang 
 
 In Alleluias loud, 
 That in the wondering welkin rang 
 
 And echo'd to the cloud, 
 
 And struck the chords of panic wide 
 
 Th' invading hosts among, 
 Confusion, like the Red Sea tide, 
 
 Overwhelming dreaded throng ; 
 
 E'en so the Christian soldier quells 
 
 The foe in steadfast fight, 
 His Alleluia yet dispels 
 
 The alien hosts of night. 
 
 From minster choir and village fane, 
 
 Borne on the breath of song, 
 The angels gather up the strain 
 
 Till swells the triumph song, 
 
 That, free from jarring sounds of night, 
 
 Bears on its choral tide 
 The praise of all who stand in light 
 
 That knows no eventide. 
 
WHAT IS SORROW ? 
 
 A WIDOW from the gate of Nain, 
 Chief mourner in the funeral train 
 A mother, knowing all its pain, 
 
 Will tell. 
 
 In bitterness the sad ones weeping 
 For Lazarus in Death's arms now sleeping, 
 Where the tomb his dust is keeping, 
 
 Will tell. 
 
 The king, 1 whose fifteen years were run 
 Without a smile in woe begun 
 And ended for his drowned son 
 
 Will tell. 
 
 The vanquish'd queen 2 amid her foes, 
 The wild despair her sad heart knows, 
 The burning anguish of her woes 
 
 Will tell. 
 
 The livid face and furtive glance, 
 Befitting not the child of France,3 
 The tears that down his pale cheeks dance 
 
 Will tell. 
 
 Henry I. * Margaret of Anjou. 3 The Dauphin. 
 
 116 
 
WHAT IS SORROW? 117 
 
 What is it ? Who the wide world o'er 
 But must support its burden sore, 
 Yet who possesses needful lore 
 
 To say ? 
 
 'Tis like a shadow where we tread, 
 A spectre in the maze we thread, 
 That hovers close till with the dead 
 
 We sleep. 
 
EVENTIDE. 
 
 THE sunlight dies from out the western sky, 
 And sombre twilight slowly passes by, 
 Sweet lingering on the happy silence dwells 
 The dying cadence of the village bells, 
 And from the grove, borne ever and anon, 
 The blackbird's evensong still ringeth on. 
 Each watchful star hangs out its taper light, 
 The wind reposes on the breast of night, 
 By dewdrops sooth'd the daisy falls asleep, 
 The nightingales in hawthorn vigils keep. 
 The day is spent. Come, Lord, at eventide, 
 And in the silent hours with us abide. 
 
 118 
 
THE EVERLASTING HILLS. 
 
 FAR off, and hid by clouds that hover near 
 To veil the peaks, like garment of the seer, 
 The mountains bow in awe each craggy head 
 And tremble as the lightning flash is shed. 
 
 Cloth'd in the mist, for secrets deep amid 
 Their ever-brooding solitude are hid 
 Like hermits lifted from earth's changing state 
 They in God's presence ever stand and wait. 
 
 They heard the last communing with his God 
 When desert road to Canaan's land was trod, 
 And knew the spot where God that servant laid 
 When angel hands the sepulchre had made. 
 
 They know Whose Hand unlock'd that unknown 
 
 grave 
 
 And back to earth the meekest hero gave 
 To join Elias, as the cloud o'erspread, 
 In worshipping the Lord of quick and dead. 
 
 Far off but yesterday, and now so nigh, 
 They almost echo back our sorrow's cry 
 To rest for ever, lifted from earth's care, 
 
 And in the silence heavenly visions share. 
 119 
 
120 THE EVERLASTING HILLS. 
 
 Full oft the misty cowl is cast aside, 
 In noontide glory endless snows abide, 
 And when below the twilight shadows creep 
 The glowing light still crowns the rugged steep. 
 
 So God's dear saints, when closes chequer'd day, 
 Uplifted as the evening shadows stray, 
 Are bath'd in splendour of the fadeless light 
 That ever banishes the shroud of night. 
 
 From out the mountain glacier's icy hand 
 Escape the streams that feed the thirsty land, 
 And I, in impotence, lift longing eyes 
 To those fair hills whence spring the soul's supplies. 
 
 And as encompass'd stands the city blest, 
 Hills keeping guard, that none may dare molest, 
 So God around His people evermore 
 Protection gives when swells the battle's roar. 
 
THE LITTLE GRAVE. 
 " Here I and Sorrow sit." King John. 
 
 'TWAS nothing but a little mound 
 
 Of hallow'd ground, 
 'Twas but a very tiny grave 
 
 Where willows wave, 
 And costly marble had it not : 
 
 Few mark'd the spot 
 " 'Tis but a child's grave," so they said, 
 
 And onward sped. 
 
 And yet 'twas wet with many tears, 
 
 For hope of years, 
 The child of many a fervent prayer 
 
 Was buried there. 
 Few marked the spot, yet one oft made 
 
 The willow shade 
 A resting-place, and vigils kept 
 
 Where " Baby " slept. 
 
 That mother calls it not a mound 
 
 Of churchyard ground, 
 
 Nor calls that spot where willows wave 
 " A little grave," 
 
122 THE LITTLE GRAVE. 
 
 'Tis more, 'tis to her heart more dear 
 Than all earth's gear 
 
 For 'neath that casket's grassy lid 
 
 Love's treasure's hid. . 
 
 And so on sorrow's throne she waits ; 
 
 The grave's closed gates 
 Will ope when sorrow's reign is past, 
 
 And give at last 
 Reunion, where the pure in heart 
 
 No more may part, 
 And broken hearts find healing blest 
 
 In heaven's dear rest. 
 
IN MEMORIAM, A. M. 
 
 Obit., February 17, 1895, <*>&& 80. 
 
 THE glittering snow had cloth'd the hills, 
 
 Ice-bound the waters lay, 
 And bitter winds through leafless woods 
 
 Moan'd all the winter day, 
 But from the snow and chilling blast 
 Our dear one to God's haven pass'd. 
 
 The dull earth sigh'd to skies of grey. 
 
 We yearn' d for days of spring, 
 For sunshine's glory and the joys 
 
 Earth's first-born flow'rets bring, 
 But she sought rest where angels sing 
 The song of everlasting spring. 
 
 The fleeting years of life had run 
 In chequer'd light and shade, 
 
 O'er rugged heights and thorn-set plains 
 The pilgrim pathway stray'd, 
 
 But in the land of spirits blest 
 
 The weary ones find welcome rest. 
 123 
 
124 IN MEMORIAM, A. M. 
 
 Earth's near and dearest one by one 
 
 Departed from her side, 
 And heart of love was oft o'erwhelm'd 
 
 In rush of sorrow's tide, 
 But in the light of yonder shore 
 She gains her near and dear once more. 
 
 And so, commending her to God, 
 
 That He in endless light 
 May give the fulness of all joy 
 
 In Beatific sight, 
 
 We wait the end of sorrow's reign 
 And then receive her back again. 
 
THE SEAMLESS ROBE. 
 
 A SEAMLESS robe He wore, Whose life divine 
 One purpose wove in charity benign, 
 To knit earth's scattered children lovingly 
 In Holy Church, a seamless robe to be. 
 
 The seamless robe ! Will Schism's daring hand 
 Attempt to rend it, tearing strand from strand ? 
 Lord, pity those who set at naught Thy plea 
 That in Thy Church all may be one in Thee. 
 
 The seamless robe ! A touch upon its hem 
 Brought back to fainting heart health's lustrous 
 
 gem, 
 
 Restoring peace and happiness again 
 Where hopeless life was wearing out in pain. 
 
 So in the garment of Thy presence here, 
 In Sacramental robe for us draw near, 
 That sin-sick souls may touch, and find release 
 As virtue from Thee yields Thy perfect peace. 
 
 Dear Christ, Whose raiment on far Tabor's height 
 Outshone the splendour of the noontide light, 
 So clothe us here with garments of Thy grace, 
 That we at last may see Thee face to face. 
 125 
 
"AND THERE WAS NO MORE SEA." 
 
 THOU mighty ever-changing sea, 
 
 Now calm as child asleep, 
 Anon in rage a war to wage 
 
 With winds that o'er thee sweep ; 
 
 Now bearing tints of heaven-born blue, 
 
 Anon the cloudy shade 
 In ebb and flow no rest to know 
 
 Since first divinely made, 
 
 Thou hast a fitting place, where nought 
 
 Continues in one stay, 
 And grief and joy in strange alloy 
 
 Commingle day by day. 
 
 But comes a world before whose joys 
 
 The ills of this world flee, 
 Where none may know the cloud of woe 
 
 And there shall be no sea. 
 
 Old ocean, stretching endlessly, 
 
 Divides the near and dear, 
 And on its shore eyes evermore 
 
 Are dim with many a tear. 
 126 
 
"AND THERE WAS NO MORE SEA." 127 
 
 But there's a land of endless love 
 
 Where partings cannot be, 
 The farewell word shall ne'er be heard 
 
 When there is no more sea. 
 
 The angry waves in fury dash 
 
 Around the sinking bark, 
 The anguish cries in storm- winds rise 
 
 Above the waters dark. 
 
 Deep ocean, in thy cold embrace 
 
 Is many a secret grave, 
 Where corals grow in ruddy glow 
 
 Beneath thy restless wave. 
 
 The mother breaks her heart at home 
 For one the wreck had borne ; 
 
 For pining grief no kind relief 
 Bids lovers cease to mourn. 
 
 But in the fatherland of life 
 There'll be no place for thee, 
 
 No mourner's cry no death to die 
 " There shall be no more sea." 
 
A LAMENT. 
 
 MY heart is sad and broken, 
 
 The day is cold, 
 The clouds their tears are shedding 
 
 On autumn's gold. 
 
 My little child lies dead, and all my weeping 
 Restores him not again to my fond keeping. 
 
 No more I hear the prattle's 
 
 Enchanting sound, 
 That scattered far the worries 
 
 E'er hovering round ; 
 No more for me the light all joy enhancing 
 That radiated from his full eyes' glancing. 
 
 My flow of tears is blinding, 
 
 My hope has died ! 
 List ! Is a whispering angel 
 
 By my side, 
 
 With breathings blest to me the message telling 
 The Lord hath need of him in His bright dwelling ? 
 
 " Dost thou not find life's journey 
 
 Beset with woe, 
 Thy sword for ever battling 
 
 With many a foe ? 
 
 Then love forbids thy grief at that swift winging, 
 Where nothing mars the harmony upspringing. 
 
A LAMENT. 129 
 
 " Grudge not the King of Glory 
 
 True purity ; 
 Grudge not the little children 
 
 Felicity ; 
 
 But rather praise that He His dear love showeth 
 In choosing such to follow where He goeth. 
 
 " Thy child's dear love as ever 
 
 Round thee twines, 
 Intensified and growing, 
 
 It ever shines ; 
 
 It speaks, in tender accents ever calling, 
 To cheer thy steps and stay thy feet from falling. 
 
 " And evermore uprising, 
 As incense sweet, 
 His prayers for thee surrounding 
 
 The Mercy Seat 
 
 Prevail that thou, from strength to strength pro- 
 gressing, 
 Mayest share with him the Beatific blessing. 
 
 " When in the bliss of dying 
 
 The curtain rends, 
 Thy little child awaiting 
 
 Dear welcome tends, 
 
 That makes amends for all the pilgrim sadness, 
 And ushers in a day of cloudless gladness." 
 
CHRISTMAS. 
 
 BRING the holly's blushing store, 
 Trailing ivy frosted o'er, 
 Laurustinus' leaves and flowers 
 Pluck'd from forest-shelter'd bowers, 
 Deck the church, the cot, the hall, 
 Weaving Christmas joy for all. 
 
 Ring, ye bells, ring loud and long, 
 Wafting on the angels' song ; 
 Winter winds repeat the strain, 
 Peace to earth comes back again, 
 Truth and mercy now unite, 
 Turning darkness into light. 
 
 Gather where the joy-bells ring 
 Birthday welcome to the King, 
 Kneel before Emmanuel's Shrine 
 Bethlehem, with Food Divine 
 There in grateful homage pray, 
 " Be Thou bora in me to-day." 
 
 Call around the yule-log's blaze, 
 Gather'd as in bygone days, 
 All the homesteads near and dear, 
 One in heart, as one in cheer, 
 Banish ev'ry thought of care 
 
 By the love-light gleaming there. 
 
 130 
 
CHRISTMAS. 131 
 
 Let sweet chanty have sway, 
 Strife be still'd, feuds done away ; 
 Feed the hungry, make the sad 
 With thy Christmas sunshine glad ; 
 For the crumbs the children fling 
 Birds will cheer the corning spring. 
 
A CHRISTMAS WISH. 
 
 MAY Christmas chimes, that through the air 
 
 Ring in the Natal Feast, 
 Before the streams of morning flow 
 
 Across the sleeping east, 
 To thee bear on their magic wing 
 The peace the Christmas tidings bring ! 
 
 When in the calm of morning hour, 
 
 Incarnate Love draws near, 
 May His blest Presence quicken love, 
 
 Thy falt'ring footsteps cheer, 
 And bid the Anthem never cease 
 That soothes with everlasting peace. 
 
 When loud the chancel's vested choir 
 Takes up the Christmas strain, 
 
 And in the joy of Christmastide 
 Sings Bethlehem's song again 
 
 Of praise to God in highest heaven, 
 
 And peace to sin-stain'd mortals given, 
 
 May music, rising in the soul, 
 
 A spell of gladness send, 
 A foretaste of that Eucharist 
 
 That never has an end, 
 Where, in eternal festal light, 
 Are banished minor songs of night ! 
 132 
 
A CHRISTMAS WISH. 133 
 
 When round the old home's ruddy glow 
 
 Meet near and dear again, 
 And hearts long severed forge once more 
 
 New links in true love's chain, 
 May all be foretastes of the love 
 Unbroken in the home above ! 
 
 And when the swelling last Amen 
 
 Is closing evensong, 
 And decorated arch and aisle 
 
 Its dying notes prolong, 
 Full richly may God's peace descend 
 And in thy life its blessings blend. 
 
EASTER. 
 
 'Tis Easter Day, and earth awakes 
 
 In Resurrection lays ; 
 The Church below her garment takes 
 
 Of beauty and of praise, 
 From Patmos fixing longing eye 
 On her Jerusalem on high. 
 
 Where glad procession sweeps along 
 The streets of shining gold, 
 
 And waves of an ecstatic song, 
 By ceaseless echoes roll'd, 
 
 All break upon th' eternal shore 
 
 In Alleluias evermore. 
 
 The hosts redeemed, in fair array, 
 With palms of triumph wend, 
 
 And in the light of endless day 
 The Lamb Divine attend, 
 
 Who, once the Leader in the strife, 
 
 Now leads beside the stream of life. 
 
 And where, before the Altar Throne, 
 The full-voiced choir has place, 
 
 Where Mercy's rainbow light is thrown 
 And God reveals His Face, 
 
 Where harps a faultless strain outpour 
 
 And prostrate worshippers adore. 
 134 
 
EASTER. 135 
 
 In antiphon the Seraphs sing, 
 
 "Thrice Holy, Lord most high," 
 The angels bend 'neath glittering wing 
 
 And swell the vocal cry, 
 And all the saints uniting raise 
 The song of everlasting praise. 
 
 Seven wond'rous Lights cast gladdening beams, 
 
 Though night can never be, 
 Their radiant glory ever streams 
 
 Upon the crystal sea, 
 O'er which from angels' wafting hand 
 The fragrant incense clouds expand. 
 
 O blissful vision of the rest 
 
 In store when wand'rings cease ! 
 O happy portion of the blest 
 
 In thy dear home of peace ! 
 God grant when this life's Lent is o'er 
 Thine Eastertide for evermore ! 
 
ASCENSION DAY. 
 
 TRUE Manhood now ascendeth, 
 
 Our Jacob and our Head, 
 To gather earth's tired members 
 
 His feet 1 into the bed 
 Of never-fading glory 
 
 Prepar'd for all the blest, 
 Who after days of toiling 
 
 Rejoice in endless rest. 
 
 Our Joseph claims his Goshen, 
 
 That, in its lambent light, 
 We, own'd by Him as brethren, 
 
 May in His joys unite. 
 Our Solomon in glory, 
 
 Now crown'd with regal gold, 
 To pilgrim band from Sheba 
 
 Reveals delights untold. 
 
 As Priest toward the altar 
 
 His Sacrifice to plead, 
 Our Christ in glory passes 
 
 For us to intercede, 
 The choir of holy angels 
 
 The festal introit sings, 
 While rolling cloud of incense 
 
 From angel-censer springs. 
 
 1 Genesis xlix. 33. 
 136 
 
ASCENSION DAY. 137 
 
 As Conqueror returning 
 
 Great Victor in the fight 
 All alien hosts repelling 
 
 And foes all put to flight 
 He claims the crown of triumph, 
 
 The Name all names above, 
 And from earth's ransom'd people 
 
 Their grateful hearts of love. 
 
 " Unfold, eternal portals, 
 
 For Glory's King make way, 
 Receive the Lord of battles 
 
 To reign in endless day ! " 
 " Who is the King of Glory ? " 
 
 " 'Tis He the Church's Head, 
 The King in battle mighty, 
 
 Who liveth and was dead." 
 
 For Him the warder angels 
 
 The massive gates unfold, 
 And through the eternal city's 
 
 Fair streets of burnish'd gold 
 The great procession passes, 
 
 As all the joy-bells ring 
 To welcome Man to glory 
 
 In Jesus, Lord and King. 
 
CHILDREN'S FESTAL HYMN. 
 
 As of old palm-bearing throng 
 Raised the loud Hosannah song, 
 As of old the Temple's praise 
 Echo'd from the children's lays, 
 So to-day our lips proclaim 
 Glory to the Holy Name. 
 Honour, praise, for ever be 
 Jesus, Saviour, unto Thee. 
 
 Thou on earth a little Child, 
 Subject to Thy Mother mild, 
 Hast become the children's Friend 
 Ever loving to the end ; 
 Therefore we, who bear Thy Sign, 
 Yield ourselves as wholly Thine, 
 And in praising Thee unite 
 With the choirs of heavenly light. 
 
 Ever growing in Thy grace, 
 Striving in the heavenly race, 
 May our lives be hymns of joy, 
 Full of love without alloy ! 
 Thus, beneath Thy guiding hand 
 Onward to the promised land, 
 We shall serve Thee and adore 
 Praising Thee for evermore. 
 138 
 
CHILDREN'S FESTAL HYMN. 139* 
 
 Soon the pilgrim song will cease, 
 Warrior hosts shall rest in peace, 
 When earth's praises fade away 
 In the songs of endless day. 
 Lord, to Thee we glory give, 
 Ever with Thee may we live, 
 Praising with Thine angel host 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. 
 
" GRANT US THY PEACE." 
 
 HOLY JESUS, Lamb of God, 
 Blessed Saviour, loving Lord, 
 Hear us, trusting in Thy Word, 
 And grant us peace. 
 
 In the busy hum of life, 
 When the Tempter's wiles are rife, 
 Soothe the weary in the strife 
 With blessed peace. 
 
 As the tempest hovers near 
 And our spirits shrink with fear, 
 Then Thy trembling servants hear, 
 And grant Thy peace. 
 
 When the broken spirit cries, 
 When the conscience bleeding lies, 
 And the tears of anguish rise, 
 
 Oh ! grant Thy peace. 
 
 When the earth is cold and drear, 
 Lost the friends the heart held dear, 
 Come, dear Lord, the darkness cheer 
 
 With Thy blest peace. 
 
 140 
 
"GRANT US THY PEACE." 
 
 When declines our evening sun, 
 As the day of life is done, 
 And the journey almost run, 
 
 Still grant Thy peace. 
 
 When the shadows round us stray, 
 Prince of Peace, be Thou our stay 
 Till we find in endless day 
 
 Thy perfect peace. 
 
 141 
 
HYMN. 
 
 Sting at the Laying of the Foundation Stone ofS. Mark's 
 Mission Hall, September 17, 1887. 
 
 O CHRIST, our One Foundation, 
 
 Thy blessing on us send, 
 That this, the work Thou givest, 
 
 In good success may end. 
 
 Grant that each trusting servant 
 Who here hath lent to Thee, 
 
 With Thine own loving portion 
 Repaid again may be. 
 
 Have all within Thy keeping 
 Who work this house to raise, 
 
 That they preserv'd in safety 
 May yield Thee lives of praise. 
 
 May all now here assembled, 
 
 In bonds of charity, 
 As living stones and holy 
 
 Be built, O Lord, in Thee. 
 
 Here by Thy Spirit's power 
 
 Thy lov'd lost sheep restore, 
 And bring them from their wanderings 
 
 To leave Thy fold no more. 
 
 142 
 
HYMN. 143 
 
 Here may Thy lambs be tended 
 
 And brought up in Thy fear, 
 Be Thou in love the Teacher 
 
 And draw the children near. 
 
 May love's cords here be strengthen'd 
 
 In happy brotherhood, 
 And drooping hearts made joyful 
 
 In fellowship of good. 
 
 We praise Thee and we bless Thee 
 
 In whom redemption came, 
 With Father and the Spirit, 
 
 To endless years the same. Amen. 
 
HYMN. 
 
 Sung at the Dedication of S. Mark's Mission Hall, 
 April 14, 1888. 
 
 LORD of Glory, King of Love, 
 We, with all Thy hosts above, 
 Lift our hearts, loud anthems raise 
 Thy Thrice-holy Name to praise. 
 Untold mercies crowd our way, 
 Grace is shower'd day by day, 
 For success that Thou hast given, 
 Grateful hearts we lift to Heaven. 
 
 Let Thy blessing ever be 
 
 On this house now built for Thee ; 
 
 May it to Thy glory tend, 
 
 And Thy Kingdom here extend ; 
 
 Here may souls be gathered in, 
 
 Rescued from a life of sin, 
 
 Growing day by day in grace, 
 
 Till they reach Thy dwelling-place. 
 
 Bless the preaching of Thy Word, 
 Let the lisping prayer be heard, 
 Thy blest promises fulfil, 
 
 As we wait upon Thy will. 
 
 144 
 
HYMN. 145 
 
 Let the children, as they learn, 
 Feel their hearts within them burn, 
 Gathering manna day by day, 
 Jesus with them on the way. 
 
 Let Thy people willingly 
 Here glad offerings make to Thee, 
 Holding fast Thy gracious word, 
 Lending substance to the Lord : 
 Thou hast taught that they who feed 
 Hungry brethren in their need 
 Do their deeds of love to Thee 
 Thou their great reward shalt be. 
 
 When Thy temple rais'd on high 
 Gains its topstone gloriously, 
 Then may we by Thy dear grace 
 In that building have a place. 
 Fashion'cl by its Architect 
 May we, with Thine own elect, 
 Praise for aye with angel host 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. Amen. 
 
 10 
 
LITANY FOR S. ALBAN'S DAY. 
 
 HOLY LORD of mighty host, 
 Ever guarding Israel's coast, 
 Father, Son, and Holy Ghost ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Trinity. 
 
 Jesu, in Whose Light now stand 
 Victor saints, a noble band, 
 Resting in the peaceful land ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Thou, Whose strength gave Alban might 
 To the death to wage the fight, 
 England's first on blood-stain'd height ; 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Grant that, holding Thee in sight, 
 Wearing all God's armour bright, 
 We may conquer hosts of night ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 Be our Strength in Food Divine, 
 Thy mysterious Bread and Wine, 
 That we may be wholly Thine ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 146 
 
LITANY FOR S. ALBAN'S DAY. 147 
 
 'Neath Thy banner, brave and strong, 
 Through the battle, fierce and long, 
 Lead us on to victors' song ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 When we lay our armour down, 
 Grant to each the fadeless crown, 
 With Thy Soldier of renown ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
LITANY FOR A BOYS' GUILD. 
 
 GOD the Father, throned on high, 
 Lo ! Thy children now draw nigh ; 
 Listen to our humble cry ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Father. 
 
 God the Son, to Thee we plead, 
 
 Ever for us intercede 
 
 In our danger and our need ; 
 
 Save us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 God the Holy Ghost, to Thee, 
 We in solemn Litany 
 Pray for Thy blest purity ; 
 
 Guide us, Holy Spirit. 
 
 Father, Son, and Spirit, blest 
 
 By Thy Church one God confess'd, 
 
 Lead us to Thy people's rest ; 
 
 Spare us, Holy Trinity. 
 
 Jesu, once like us, a boy 
 Like, yet free from sin's alloy, 
 Blessed Mary's sweetest joy ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
LITANY FOR A BOYS' GUILD. 149 
 
 Chiefest Shepherd, dearest Friend, 
 Who hast promis'd to defend 
 And sustain us to the end ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Who didst in the world prepare 
 Pastures for us, fresh and fair, 
 For Thy priests to feed us there ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Who in love dost e'er abide 
 
 By the font's pure cleansing tide 
 
 Precious water from Thy side ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Who diclst there join us to Thee 
 
 In Thy Church's unity, 
 
 That we might Thy members be ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Who to nourish life there given 
 Hast Thy precious body riven, 
 Giving us the Bread of Heaven ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Perfect Victim, true High Priest, 
 Who from sin hath man released 
 Heavenly Bread, on Whom we feast ; 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
ISO LITANY FOR A BOYS' GUILD. 
 
 Tree of Life, true living Vine, 
 Veil'd in form of Bread and Wine, 
 Nourishment and Strength divine ; 
 
 Hear us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 Bless our union, may it prove 
 Constant bond of Christian love, 
 Foretaste of Thy courts above ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 Keep us in the narrow way ; 
 Watch and guard us, lest we stray ; 
 Keep us children of the day ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 May no spot of sin appear 
 On our white baptismal gear, 
 May no evil hover near ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 When afflicted for Thy sake 
 May we straightway all forsake, 
 Glad with Thee Thy cross to take ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 Haste our Confirmation hour, 
 When Thy Spirit comes with power, 
 Comfort, strength, and richest dower ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu, 
 
LITANY FOR A BOYS' GUILD. 151 
 
 When Thou see'st 'tis fit and good, 
 Feed us with Thine Altar-food 
 Precious Body, precious Blood ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 May our souls then strengthen'd be, 
 And our life renew'd in Thee, 
 Never more decay to see ; 
 
 We beseech Thee, Jesu. 
 
 When we meet temptation sore, 
 When, with grief, Thine aid implore, 
 And in tears our sin deplore ; 
 
 Save us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 In the hour when we must die, 
 
 In our last dread agony, 
 
 Lord, do Thou Thy grace supply ; 
 
 Save us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 May all those who still remain 
 Outcasts in the world's domain, 
 At Thy font be born again ; 
 
 Save them, Holy Jesu. 
 
 And in love do Thou restore 
 Wanderers from Thy Church's lore, 
 Let them never wander more ; 
 
 Save them, Holy Jesu. 
 
152 LITANY FOR A BOYS' GUILD, 
 
 When the Heavens shall roll away 
 On the dreadful judgment day, 
 Lord of Mercy, be our stay ; 
 
 Save us, Holy Jesu. 
 
 UNWIN BROTHERS, PRINTERS, WOKING AND LONDON. 
 
I I