CONQUERORJ. S. W.

NOT only in the legend does he standBeside the river current rushing fast,A dim-drawn giant figure, strong and vast,His staff within his hand;But in our own day visible, besideThe darker stream of human pain and sin,Our eyes have watched him, battling hard to winFor weaker souls a pathway through the tide.Upheld by him and safely carried o’erThe waves which else had overwhelmed and drowned,How many a faint and doubting heart hath foundGlad footing on the unhoped-for, distant shore!And still as his strong, tireless arm againAnd yet again their burden raised and took,You read in the deep reverence of his lookHe did the work for God and not for men.Christophorus our saint, named now with tears.The deeds he did were Christ’s, the words he said,All his strong, vital, splendid strength he laidAt the Lord’s feet through the unstinting years.And now beside that Lord in highest Heaven,Past the dark stream of Death, which all must tread,He rests secure, with joy upon his head,And a “New Name” which hath to him been given.But still to memory’s eye he stands the same,A stalwart shape where the deep waters run,Upbearing, aiding, strengthening every one,Carrying them onward in his Lord’s dear name.

NOT only in the legend does he standBeside the river current rushing fast,A dim-drawn giant figure, strong and vast,His staff within his hand;

NOT only in the legend does he stand

Beside the river current rushing fast,

A dim-drawn giant figure, strong and vast,

His staff within his hand;

But in our own day visible, besideThe darker stream of human pain and sin,Our eyes have watched him, battling hard to winFor weaker souls a pathway through the tide.

But in our own day visible, beside

The darker stream of human pain and sin,

Our eyes have watched him, battling hard to win

For weaker souls a pathway through the tide.

Upheld by him and safely carried o’erThe waves which else had overwhelmed and drowned,How many a faint and doubting heart hath foundGlad footing on the unhoped-for, distant shore!

Upheld by him and safely carried o’er

The waves which else had overwhelmed and drowned,

How many a faint and doubting heart hath found

Glad footing on the unhoped-for, distant shore!

And still as his strong, tireless arm againAnd yet again their burden raised and took,You read in the deep reverence of his lookHe did the work for God and not for men.

And still as his strong, tireless arm again

And yet again their burden raised and took,

You read in the deep reverence of his look

He did the work for God and not for men.

Christophorus our saint, named now with tears.The deeds he did were Christ’s, the words he said,All his strong, vital, splendid strength he laidAt the Lord’s feet through the unstinting years.

Christophorus our saint, named now with tears.

The deeds he did were Christ’s, the words he said,

All his strong, vital, splendid strength he laid

At the Lord’s feet through the unstinting years.

And now beside that Lord in highest Heaven,Past the dark stream of Death, which all must tread,He rests secure, with joy upon his head,And a “New Name” which hath to him been given.

And now beside that Lord in highest Heaven,

Past the dark stream of Death, which all must tread,

He rests secure, with joy upon his head,

And a “New Name” which hath to him been given.

But still to memory’s eye he stands the same,A stalwart shape where the deep waters run,Upbearing, aiding, strengthening every one,Carrying them onward in his Lord’s dear name.

But still to memory’s eye he stands the same,

A stalwart shape where the deep waters run,

Upbearing, aiding, strengthening every one,

Carrying them onward in his Lord’s dear name.

THE voice of Duty, low, but clarion clear,Found her, safe seated in the golden hazeOf youth and ease, living luxurious days.She roused to listen; her enchanted earHeard nevermore the music of the earth—The dancing measure, or the reveler’s call,Or flute note of Apollo, nor the fallOf Orphic melodies. As nothing worthShe counted them; in vain her ear to pleaseThey rang their varied changes, urged and wooed,Following swift Duty, leader to all good,She went thenceforward;—so she conquered Ease.Then fell her tender feet on harder road,With stones beset and briers and many a thorn;And there, her woman’s strength all overborne,She sank at length, fainting beneath her load.And time went by, while helpless still she lay,Shackled by weakness, vexed with hopes and fears,Watching the long and tantalizing yearsBuilt from the salt sands of her every day;But still she bravely smiled through loss and gain;Through the slow ebb of cheer and fortune’s frown,Her quenchless soul no chilling waves could drown,No fires exhaust;—and so she conquered Pain.And, last, the dim, mysterious shape drew near,Whom men name “Death,” with pale, averted eyes;(But whom the Heavenly ones call otherwise!)She met his hovering presence without fear.Long time they strove; and as the Patriarch cried,“Except thou bless, I will not let thee go”!So she; until at dawn the vanquished foeUtterly blessed, and left her satisfied.Oh, sweet to her the first, long, rapturous breathOf Heaven, after life’s pent and prisoning air;Freedom unstinted, power to will and dareThe victory won from Life and over Death.

THE voice of Duty, low, but clarion clear,

Found her, safe seated in the golden haze

Of youth and ease, living luxurious days.

She roused to listen; her enchanted ear

Heard nevermore the music of the earth—

The dancing measure, or the reveler’s call,

Or flute note of Apollo, nor the fall

Of Orphic melodies. As nothing worth

She counted them; in vain her ear to please

They rang their varied changes, urged and wooed,

Following swift Duty, leader to all good,

She went thenceforward;—so she conquered Ease.

Then fell her tender feet on harder road,With stones beset and briers and many a thorn;And there, her woman’s strength all overborne,She sank at length, fainting beneath her load.And time went by, while helpless still she lay,Shackled by weakness, vexed with hopes and fears,Watching the long and tantalizing yearsBuilt from the salt sands of her every day;But still she bravely smiled through loss and gain;Through the slow ebb of cheer and fortune’s frown,Her quenchless soul no chilling waves could drown,No fires exhaust;—and so she conquered Pain.

Then fell her tender feet on harder road,

With stones beset and briers and many a thorn;

And there, her woman’s strength all overborne,

She sank at length, fainting beneath her load.

And time went by, while helpless still she lay,

Shackled by weakness, vexed with hopes and fears,

Watching the long and tantalizing years

Built from the salt sands of her every day;

But still she bravely smiled through loss and gain;

Through the slow ebb of cheer and fortune’s frown,

Her quenchless soul no chilling waves could drown,

No fires exhaust;—and so she conquered Pain.

And, last, the dim, mysterious shape drew near,Whom men name “Death,” with pale, averted eyes;(But whom the Heavenly ones call otherwise!)She met his hovering presence without fear.Long time they strove; and as the Patriarch cried,“Except thou bless, I will not let thee go”!So she; until at dawn the vanquished foeUtterly blessed, and left her satisfied.Oh, sweet to her the first, long, rapturous breathOf Heaven, after life’s pent and prisoning air;Freedom unstinted, power to will and dareThe victory won from Life and over Death.

And, last, the dim, mysterious shape drew near,

Whom men name “Death,” with pale, averted eyes;

(But whom the Heavenly ones call otherwise!)

She met his hovering presence without fear.

Long time they strove; and as the Patriarch cried,

“Except thou bless, I will not let thee go”!

So she; until at dawn the vanquished foe

Utterly blessed, and left her satisfied.

Oh, sweet to her the first, long, rapturous breath

Of Heaven, after life’s pent and prisoning air;

Freedom unstinted, power to will and dare

The victory won from Life and over Death.

THE New Year came surrounded with Hope and Joy and Song,And he smiled like dawning sunrise as he stood amid the throng.The hopeful months they followed expectantly and slow;But the Old Year went companionless, as all the Old Years go.All sad and stern the Old Year went, along the unknown way;His heart was full of bitterness, he had no word to say.Then wonder seized upon his heart, for he was not alone;A mighty shadow step by step was gliding by his own!He turned to face a vast dark shape with eyes like clouded day,And, “Who art thou, O wondrous one?” the Old Year, awed, did say.“I am thy fellow pilgrim up the pathway of the sky;Together bound, thou the dead year, I the dead century.”The Old Year bared his forehead, and bent his feeble knee.“I am unworthy of such grace, such august company.”The other raised him gently. “Kneel not to me,” he said;“The less, the larger, are as one when numbered with the dead.“A hundred of thy fellows have gone to swell my tale;A hundred centuries such as I, poured in the mighty scaleIn which God swings eternity, shall count for nothing moreThan the dust borne by the wind away, the fleet foam on the shore.“Centuries or years or cycles, we fleet and disappear;But the Lord who is the source of time, and builds each growing year,Abides. Within His sight you and I are shadows dim;Yet He made us both, He loves us both, and now we go to Him.”The Old Year shivered as he heard these words of lofty cheer;Then light came to his faded eyes, and courage chased his fear.He felt a strong hand clasp his own, and, held and guided so,He went forth with the Century to where the dead Years go.

THE New Year came surrounded with Hope and Joy and Song,

And he smiled like dawning sunrise as he stood amid the throng.

The hopeful months they followed expectantly and slow;

But the Old Year went companionless, as all the Old Years go.

All sad and stern the Old Year went, along the unknown way;His heart was full of bitterness, he had no word to say.Then wonder seized upon his heart, for he was not alone;A mighty shadow step by step was gliding by his own!

All sad and stern the Old Year went, along the unknown way;

His heart was full of bitterness, he had no word to say.

Then wonder seized upon his heart, for he was not alone;

A mighty shadow step by step was gliding by his own!

He turned to face a vast dark shape with eyes like clouded day,And, “Who art thou, O wondrous one?” the Old Year, awed, did say.“I am thy fellow pilgrim up the pathway of the sky;Together bound, thou the dead year, I the dead century.”

He turned to face a vast dark shape with eyes like clouded day,

And, “Who art thou, O wondrous one?” the Old Year, awed, did say.

“I am thy fellow pilgrim up the pathway of the sky;

Together bound, thou the dead year, I the dead century.”

The Old Year bared his forehead, and bent his feeble knee.“I am unworthy of such grace, such august company.”The other raised him gently. “Kneel not to me,” he said;“The less, the larger, are as one when numbered with the dead.

The Old Year bared his forehead, and bent his feeble knee.

“I am unworthy of such grace, such august company.”

The other raised him gently. “Kneel not to me,” he said;

“The less, the larger, are as one when numbered with the dead.

“A hundred of thy fellows have gone to swell my tale;A hundred centuries such as I, poured in the mighty scaleIn which God swings eternity, shall count for nothing moreThan the dust borne by the wind away, the fleet foam on the shore.

“A hundred of thy fellows have gone to swell my tale;

A hundred centuries such as I, poured in the mighty scale

In which God swings eternity, shall count for nothing more

Than the dust borne by the wind away, the fleet foam on the shore.

“Centuries or years or cycles, we fleet and disappear;But the Lord who is the source of time, and builds each growing year,Abides. Within His sight you and I are shadows dim;Yet He made us both, He loves us both, and now we go to Him.”

“Centuries or years or cycles, we fleet and disappear;

But the Lord who is the source of time, and builds each growing year,

Abides. Within His sight you and I are shadows dim;

Yet He made us both, He loves us both, and now we go to Him.”

The Old Year shivered as he heard these words of lofty cheer;Then light came to his faded eyes, and courage chased his fear.He felt a strong hand clasp his own, and, held and guided so,He went forth with the Century to where the dead Years go.

The Old Year shivered as he heard these words of lofty cheer;

Then light came to his faded eyes, and courage chased his fear.

He felt a strong hand clasp his own, and, held and guided so,

He went forth with the Century to where the dead Years go.

IT did not seem unmeet that she whose heartHad doors wide open always for each friend,And held no lonely corners set apart,Should go, companioned closely, to the end.It was not strange she left without farewell;That was a word she never loved to say.Her gentle lips, whatever fate befell,Parted more readily for glad “Good-day.”Heart of the home wherein her presence madePerpetual sunshine for each shady place,Centre of kindly thought, of kindly aid,And hospitality’s long practised grace.Dear friend, who did not tarry for good-byesBut swiftly trod the heavenward path of air,God keep thee in His safe, sure Paradise,And let us, following, find thy welcome there.

IT did not seem unmeet that she whose heartHad doors wide open always for each friend,And held no lonely corners set apart,Should go, companioned closely, to the end.

IT did not seem unmeet that she whose heart

Had doors wide open always for each friend,

And held no lonely corners set apart,

Should go, companioned closely, to the end.

It was not strange she left without farewell;That was a word she never loved to say.Her gentle lips, whatever fate befell,Parted more readily for glad “Good-day.”

It was not strange she left without farewell;

That was a word she never loved to say.

Her gentle lips, whatever fate befell,

Parted more readily for glad “Good-day.”

Heart of the home wherein her presence madePerpetual sunshine for each shady place,Centre of kindly thought, of kindly aid,And hospitality’s long practised grace.

Heart of the home wherein her presence made

Perpetual sunshine for each shady place,

Centre of kindly thought, of kindly aid,

And hospitality’s long practised grace.

Dear friend, who did not tarry for good-byesBut swiftly trod the heavenward path of air,God keep thee in His safe, sure Paradise,And let us, following, find thy welcome there.

Dear friend, who did not tarry for good-byes

But swiftly trod the heavenward path of air,

God keep thee in His safe, sure Paradise,

And let us, following, find thy welcome there.

SO far! Is it so far then, that dear countryWhich homesick hearts expectant claim as theirs,Chiding the years as slow which patient come and go,And make no answer to reproach or prayers?Is it so far then? For at times it seemethMore dear, familiar, close than aught beside,Bounding our mortal day, lying beside our way,Only the little veil of flesh to hide.Is it so far? When those who have gone thitherSeem so near always, always near and sure,Loving and aiding still, sharing our joy and ill,Lifting our burdens, helping to endure.Is it so far then? I cannot believe it.When the veil parts and rends and lets us through,The first surprise of bliss, I think, will be in this,That the far off was nearer than we knew;That what we mourned as lost was close beside us,Touching us every day in every spot,While, blinded with dull tears, groping through faithless years,We were upheld and led and knew it not.Let us not call it far—the heavenly country;It bounds our little space like viewless air,And while we sorrowing say that it is far awayWe touch it, all unknowing, everywhere.

SO far! Is it so far then, that dear countryWhich homesick hearts expectant claim as theirs,Chiding the years as slow which patient come and go,And make no answer to reproach or prayers?

SO far! Is it so far then, that dear country

Which homesick hearts expectant claim as theirs,

Chiding the years as slow which patient come and go,

And make no answer to reproach or prayers?

Is it so far then? For at times it seemethMore dear, familiar, close than aught beside,Bounding our mortal day, lying beside our way,Only the little veil of flesh to hide.

Is it so far then? For at times it seemeth

More dear, familiar, close than aught beside,

Bounding our mortal day, lying beside our way,

Only the little veil of flesh to hide.

Is it so far? When those who have gone thitherSeem so near always, always near and sure,Loving and aiding still, sharing our joy and ill,Lifting our burdens, helping to endure.

Is it so far? When those who have gone thither

Seem so near always, always near and sure,

Loving and aiding still, sharing our joy and ill,

Lifting our burdens, helping to endure.

Is it so far then? I cannot believe it.When the veil parts and rends and lets us through,The first surprise of bliss, I think, will be in this,That the far off was nearer than we knew;

Is it so far then? I cannot believe it.

When the veil parts and rends and lets us through,

The first surprise of bliss, I think, will be in this,

That the far off was nearer than we knew;

That what we mourned as lost was close beside us,Touching us every day in every spot,While, blinded with dull tears, groping through faithless years,We were upheld and led and knew it not.

That what we mourned as lost was close beside us,

Touching us every day in every spot,

While, blinded with dull tears, groping through faithless years,

We were upheld and led and knew it not.

Let us not call it far—the heavenly country;It bounds our little space like viewless air,And while we sorrowing say that it is far awayWe touch it, all unknowing, everywhere.

Let us not call it far—the heavenly country;

It bounds our little space like viewless air,

And while we sorrowing say that it is far away

We touch it, all unknowing, everywhere.

WORK is the fresh air of the soul!It clears the heavy brain,Quickens the pulses of the mind,Warms thought to action, and the blindAnd sluggish will sunk into easeOf ineffective lethargiesIt stirs to life again.Grief is the cold air of the soul!It chills and blights the flowers,In urgent gusts it sways and smites,Freezing the source of all delights;But roots grow strong by dint of storm,And, when the spring awakes, they formThe growth of happier hours.Love is the warm air of the soul!It reacheth far and wide,Clasping all life with healing touch,Wooing the little into much,Making brown branch and buried rootTo bud and blossom and bear fruitLike the sweet summer-tide.Blow, heavenly winds, on every soul!And stir them constantly;Sting us and quicken us and bless,Relax not in thy urgent stress,Till out of toil and love and painFull strength and stature we attain,And are led home by thee.

WORK is the fresh air of the soul!

It clears the heavy brain,

Quickens the pulses of the mind,

Warms thought to action, and the blind

And sluggish will sunk into ease

Of ineffective lethargies

It stirs to life again.

Grief is the cold air of the soul!It chills and blights the flowers,In urgent gusts it sways and smites,Freezing the source of all delights;But roots grow strong by dint of storm,And, when the spring awakes, they formThe growth of happier hours.

Grief is the cold air of the soul!

It chills and blights the flowers,

In urgent gusts it sways and smites,

Freezing the source of all delights;

But roots grow strong by dint of storm,

And, when the spring awakes, they form

The growth of happier hours.

Love is the warm air of the soul!It reacheth far and wide,Clasping all life with healing touch,Wooing the little into much,Making brown branch and buried rootTo bud and blossom and bear fruitLike the sweet summer-tide.

Love is the warm air of the soul!

It reacheth far and wide,

Clasping all life with healing touch,

Wooing the little into much,

Making brown branch and buried root

To bud and blossom and bear fruit

Like the sweet summer-tide.

Blow, heavenly winds, on every soul!And stir them constantly;Sting us and quicken us and bless,Relax not in thy urgent stress,Till out of toil and love and painFull strength and stature we attain,And are led home by thee.

Blow, heavenly winds, on every soul!

And stir them constantly;

Sting us and quicken us and bless,

Relax not in thy urgent stress,

Till out of toil and love and pain

Full strength and stature we attain,

And are led home by thee.

VEILS of pallid mist and grayWrap the world of yesterday;Fir-fringed island, rocky cape,Yellow sands, and mountain shape,Sun and sky, and waters blue,All are blotted from the view.Out to sea we blindly stare;Did we dream that such things were?No; untouched, and safe and sure,All these lovely things endure;Underneath that hovering mist,All the blue and amethyst,All the rocky cliffs and sea,All the surf-lines rippling free,Mountain forms and islands green,—All are there, although unseen.If we bravely bide and waitThrough this brief eclipse of Fate,Smile through the unsmiling noon,Keeping heart and hope in tune,—Shadow shall give place to sun,And, out-stealing, one by one,All the fair things mourned in vainShall be made our own again.Dear heart, faint heart, who in shadeSitteth, pale, perplexed, afraid,At the brief evanishmentOf thy yesterday’s content,—Courage take; for hope endures,Though a little mist obscures,And behind the fog-wreaths dunBrightens the eternal sun.

VEILS of pallid mist and gray

Wrap the world of yesterday;

Fir-fringed island, rocky cape,

Yellow sands, and mountain shape,

Sun and sky, and waters blue,

All are blotted from the view.

Out to sea we blindly stare;

Did we dream that such things were?

No; untouched, and safe and sure,All these lovely things endure;Underneath that hovering mist,All the blue and amethyst,All the rocky cliffs and sea,All the surf-lines rippling free,Mountain forms and islands green,—All are there, although unseen.

No; untouched, and safe and sure,

All these lovely things endure;

Underneath that hovering mist,

All the blue and amethyst,

All the rocky cliffs and sea,

All the surf-lines rippling free,

Mountain forms and islands green,—

All are there, although unseen.

If we bravely bide and waitThrough this brief eclipse of Fate,Smile through the unsmiling noon,Keeping heart and hope in tune,—Shadow shall give place to sun,And, out-stealing, one by one,All the fair things mourned in vainShall be made our own again.

If we bravely bide and wait

Through this brief eclipse of Fate,

Smile through the unsmiling noon,

Keeping heart and hope in tune,—

Shadow shall give place to sun,

And, out-stealing, one by one,

All the fair things mourned in vain

Shall be made our own again.

Dear heart, faint heart, who in shadeSitteth, pale, perplexed, afraid,At the brief evanishmentOf thy yesterday’s content,—Courage take; for hope endures,Though a little mist obscures,And behind the fog-wreaths dunBrightens the eternal sun.

Dear heart, faint heart, who in shade

Sitteth, pale, perplexed, afraid,

At the brief evanishment

Of thy yesterday’s content,—

Courage take; for hope endures,

Though a little mist obscures,

And behind the fog-wreaths dun

Brightens the eternal sun.

WITHIN the Porch of Life we sit,The access to the heavenly door,The shadowy porch where cold rains pour,And every bleak wind blows on it.And those who crowd to stand thereonSmiling with youth grow grave anon.We sit among our fellows so,Shivering a little in the wind,And still our eyes reach out to findThe faint beam of an inward glow—A home-like ray, which through the doorSteals, softly beckoning, evermore.There in sure comfort, safe and warm;They sit who have an entrance won,Smiling and glad; each dearest oneWho once endured the bitter storm,And shared our patience and our pain,But come not forth to share again.Dear door, which never is shut tight,And knows no bolt and needs no bar,But through all ages stands ajarTo bless the eyes which yearn for sight,And keep the souls that wait withoutFrom the slow desolate death of doubt!The Porch of Life is hard and bare,And long the waiting sometimes seems.But while we catch the out-reaching beams,Making the darkness subtly fair,And know the door is open still,We can endure it with goodwill.

WITHIN the Porch of Life we sit,

The access to the heavenly door,

The shadowy porch where cold rains pour,

And every bleak wind blows on it.

And those who crowd to stand thereon

Smiling with youth grow grave anon.

We sit among our fellows so,Shivering a little in the wind,And still our eyes reach out to findThe faint beam of an inward glow—A home-like ray, which through the doorSteals, softly beckoning, evermore.

We sit among our fellows so,

Shivering a little in the wind,

And still our eyes reach out to find

The faint beam of an inward glow—

A home-like ray, which through the door

Steals, softly beckoning, evermore.

There in sure comfort, safe and warm;They sit who have an entrance won,Smiling and glad; each dearest oneWho once endured the bitter storm,And shared our patience and our pain,But come not forth to share again.

There in sure comfort, safe and warm;

They sit who have an entrance won,

Smiling and glad; each dearest one

Who once endured the bitter storm,

And shared our patience and our pain,

But come not forth to share again.

Dear door, which never is shut tight,And knows no bolt and needs no bar,But through all ages stands ajarTo bless the eyes which yearn for sight,And keep the souls that wait withoutFrom the slow desolate death of doubt!

Dear door, which never is shut tight,

And knows no bolt and needs no bar,

But through all ages stands ajar

To bless the eyes which yearn for sight,

And keep the souls that wait without

From the slow desolate death of doubt!

The Porch of Life is hard and bare,And long the waiting sometimes seems.But while we catch the out-reaching beams,Making the darkness subtly fair,And know the door is open still,We can endure it with goodwill.

The Porch of Life is hard and bare,

And long the waiting sometimes seems.

But while we catch the out-reaching beams,

Making the darkness subtly fair,

And know the door is open still,

We can endure it with goodwill.

HIGH lifted on the island cliffIts lantern fronts the sea,And sendeth forth a fine, straight rayOf dazzling light to me—A slender line of shimmering shineAcross night’s mystery.It is the path set for my eyesTo travel to the light,And warm their darkness in the blaze,And be made glad and bright.None other may catch just that ray,Or have the self-same sight.And yet, a hundred other eyes,Bent on that central blaze,Find each its separate, shining path,Its line of guiding rays;And all eyes meet in concord sweetBy all these differing ways.No voice shall say: “The Light is mine,All other eyes are dim!”No hand the glory hold or hideWhich streams to ocean’s rim,None claim or seize one ray as hisMore than belongs to him.O Light of Truth, which lighteneth all,And shineth all abroad,What favored soul or souls shall say,“Mine is the only road?”Each hath his own, to him made known,And all lead up to God.

HIGH lifted on the island cliffIts lantern fronts the sea,And sendeth forth a fine, straight rayOf dazzling light to me—A slender line of shimmering shineAcross night’s mystery.

HIGH lifted on the island cliff

Its lantern fronts the sea,

And sendeth forth a fine, straight ray

Of dazzling light to me—

A slender line of shimmering shine

Across night’s mystery.

It is the path set for my eyesTo travel to the light,And warm their darkness in the blaze,And be made glad and bright.None other may catch just that ray,Or have the self-same sight.

It is the path set for my eyes

To travel to the light,

And warm their darkness in the blaze,

And be made glad and bright.

None other may catch just that ray,

Or have the self-same sight.

And yet, a hundred other eyes,Bent on that central blaze,Find each its separate, shining path,Its line of guiding rays;And all eyes meet in concord sweetBy all these differing ways.

And yet, a hundred other eyes,

Bent on that central blaze,

Find each its separate, shining path,

Its line of guiding rays;

And all eyes meet in concord sweet

By all these differing ways.

No voice shall say: “The Light is mine,All other eyes are dim!”No hand the glory hold or hideWhich streams to ocean’s rim,None claim or seize one ray as hisMore than belongs to him.

No voice shall say: “The Light is mine,

All other eyes are dim!”

No hand the glory hold or hide

Which streams to ocean’s rim,

None claim or seize one ray as his

More than belongs to him.

O Light of Truth, which lighteneth all,And shineth all abroad,What favored soul or souls shall say,“Mine is the only road?”Each hath his own, to him made known,And all lead up to God.

O Light of Truth, which lighteneth all,

And shineth all abroad,

What favored soul or souls shall say,

“Mine is the only road?”

Each hath his own, to him made known,

And all lead up to God.

OUR own are our own forever, God taketh not back his gift.They may pass beyond our vision, but our souls shall find them out,When the waiting is all accomplished, and the deathly shadows lift,And glory is given for grieving, and the surety of God for doubt.We may find the waiting bitter, and count the silence long,God knoweth we are dust, and he pitieth our pain;And when faith has grown to fulness, and the silence changed to song,We shall eat the fruit of patience, and shall hunger not again.So sorrowing hearts who dumbly in darkness and all aloneSit missing a dear lost presence and the joy of a vanished day,Be comforted with this message that our own are forever our own,And God, who gave the gracious gift, he takes it never away.

OUR own are our own forever, God taketh not back his gift.

They may pass beyond our vision, but our souls shall find them out,

When the waiting is all accomplished, and the deathly shadows lift,

And glory is given for grieving, and the surety of God for doubt.

We may find the waiting bitter, and count the silence long,God knoweth we are dust, and he pitieth our pain;And when faith has grown to fulness, and the silence changed to song,We shall eat the fruit of patience, and shall hunger not again.

We may find the waiting bitter, and count the silence long,

God knoweth we are dust, and he pitieth our pain;

And when faith has grown to fulness, and the silence changed to song,

We shall eat the fruit of patience, and shall hunger not again.

So sorrowing hearts who dumbly in darkness and all aloneSit missing a dear lost presence and the joy of a vanished day,Be comforted with this message that our own are forever our own,And God, who gave the gracious gift, he takes it never away.

So sorrowing hearts who dumbly in darkness and all alone

Sit missing a dear lost presence and the joy of a vanished day,

Be comforted with this message that our own are forever our own,

And God, who gave the gracious gift, he takes it never away.

ALITTLE lamp can send but a brief and feeble ray,The great lights bravely beam, and their radiance far awayIs the comfort of the nations and the furtherance of the day.All men remember when the great lights were lit,The day is kept in honor, and they name it as they sitAnd watch the guiding flame, thanking and blessing it.But the small and struggling lights which a breath of storm might kill,Each fain to light a continent, but doomed to smallness still,Is there no one to praise them for their service of goodwill?Yes, one, the Lord of all, who is the source of Light;He sees them where they burn in the blackness of Earth’s night,And the larger and the less alike are precious in his sight.He is the secret source by which their flames are fed,From the beacon’s wide, white ray which flashes overhead,To the intermittent ray which the half-spent tapers shed;And to each he says, “Well done,” which has bravely sought to burn.And when the dawn ariseth, and each is quenched in turn,Absorbed into the perfect day for which pure spirits yearn;—Each little flame that struggled to make the night more fairShall find its place in Paradise and burn in heavenly air,And the Father of all Lights shall be its welcome there.

ALITTLE lamp can send but a brief and feeble ray,The great lights bravely beam, and their radiance far awayIs the comfort of the nations and the furtherance of the day.

ALITTLE lamp can send but a brief and feeble ray,

The great lights bravely beam, and their radiance far away

Is the comfort of the nations and the furtherance of the day.

All men remember when the great lights were lit,The day is kept in honor, and they name it as they sitAnd watch the guiding flame, thanking and blessing it.

All men remember when the great lights were lit,

The day is kept in honor, and they name it as they sit

And watch the guiding flame, thanking and blessing it.

But the small and struggling lights which a breath of storm might kill,Each fain to light a continent, but doomed to smallness still,Is there no one to praise them for their service of goodwill?

But the small and struggling lights which a breath of storm might kill,

Each fain to light a continent, but doomed to smallness still,

Is there no one to praise them for their service of goodwill?

Yes, one, the Lord of all, who is the source of Light;He sees them where they burn in the blackness of Earth’s night,And the larger and the less alike are precious in his sight.

Yes, one, the Lord of all, who is the source of Light;

He sees them where they burn in the blackness of Earth’s night,

And the larger and the less alike are precious in his sight.

He is the secret source by which their flames are fed,From the beacon’s wide, white ray which flashes overhead,To the intermittent ray which the half-spent tapers shed;

He is the secret source by which their flames are fed,

From the beacon’s wide, white ray which flashes overhead,

To the intermittent ray which the half-spent tapers shed;

And to each he says, “Well done,” which has bravely sought to burn.And when the dawn ariseth, and each is quenched in turn,Absorbed into the perfect day for which pure spirits yearn;—

And to each he says, “Well done,” which has bravely sought to burn.

And when the dawn ariseth, and each is quenched in turn,

Absorbed into the perfect day for which pure spirits yearn;—

Each little flame that struggled to make the night more fairShall find its place in Paradise and burn in heavenly air,And the Father of all Lights shall be its welcome there.

Each little flame that struggled to make the night more fair

Shall find its place in Paradise and burn in heavenly air,

And the Father of all Lights shall be its welcome there.

ON the half-frozen lawn, where the early grass was springing,In the sunny days just over, and where now the frost is lying,I hear a happy chorus of little voices singing,A hopeful, cheery call and a hopefuller replying.’Tis the bluebird and the robin,—what brings them back so earlyFrom the sunny southern meadows, and the fields of honeyed clover,From the stately tall magnolias, hung with blossoms sweet and pearly,And the starry yellow jasmine which the wood-bee hovers over?And now that they have come, beguiled and led a-strayingBy Mother Nature, who would seem to joy in such deceiving,How can they sing so blithely, with frost and famine playing,As if the world were never meant to be a place for grieving?What is the secret of the hope that bears them up so bravelyIn the shelterless unfed to-day, the unprovided morrow?Oh, would that I might learn it,—I who sit here looking gravelyWith an apprehensive shiver for the shape of coming sorrow!Say, bluebird, and say, robin? They answer but by singing,As with a whirr of fluttering wings the small shapes dart and fly;But my sadness rises with them, and all my cares seem winging,And leaving me as glad as they, but I cannot tell you why.

ON the half-frozen lawn, where the early grass was springing,

In the sunny days just over, and where now the frost is lying,

I hear a happy chorus of little voices singing,

A hopeful, cheery call and a hopefuller replying.

’Tis the bluebird and the robin,—what brings them back so earlyFrom the sunny southern meadows, and the fields of honeyed clover,From the stately tall magnolias, hung with blossoms sweet and pearly,And the starry yellow jasmine which the wood-bee hovers over?

’Tis the bluebird and the robin,—what brings them back so early

From the sunny southern meadows, and the fields of honeyed clover,

From the stately tall magnolias, hung with blossoms sweet and pearly,

And the starry yellow jasmine which the wood-bee hovers over?

And now that they have come, beguiled and led a-strayingBy Mother Nature, who would seem to joy in such deceiving,How can they sing so blithely, with frost and famine playing,As if the world were never meant to be a place for grieving?What is the secret of the hope that bears them up so bravelyIn the shelterless unfed to-day, the unprovided morrow?Oh, would that I might learn it,—I who sit here looking gravelyWith an apprehensive shiver for the shape of coming sorrow!

And now that they have come, beguiled and led a-straying

By Mother Nature, who would seem to joy in such deceiving,

How can they sing so blithely, with frost and famine playing,

As if the world were never meant to be a place for grieving?

What is the secret of the hope that bears them up so bravely

In the shelterless unfed to-day, the unprovided morrow?

Oh, would that I might learn it,—I who sit here looking gravely

With an apprehensive shiver for the shape of coming sorrow!

Say, bluebird, and say, robin? They answer but by singing,As with a whirr of fluttering wings the small shapes dart and fly;But my sadness rises with them, and all my cares seem winging,And leaving me as glad as they, but I cannot tell you why.

Say, bluebird, and say, robin? They answer but by singing,

As with a whirr of fluttering wings the small shapes dart and fly;

But my sadness rises with them, and all my cares seem winging,

And leaving me as glad as they, but I cannot tell you why.

IF only—shadow did not follow sun,If only—tempests lurked not in blue weather,If only—life did not so swiftly runAnd dreams need not be waked from altogether.If only—hearts were not attuned to ache,If only—joy and mirth turned not to grieving,If only—we could seize and overtakeThe rainbow Hope which lures us on deceiving!If only—love were not poured out to waste,If only—discord spared sweet music’s closes,If only—blight and canker did not hasteTo mar the lily’s white, the stainless roses!If only—sentinels beside the ways,Death, suffering, and sin stood not to daunt us,If shadows from the vanished yesterdaysAnd fears for the to-morrows did not haunt us.If only!—human grief unceasinglyRepeats in myriad tongues the wistful sighing.Mighty and mournful is the mingled cry,But never comes there any full replying,Except when, o’er the tumult and the pain,Above the upraised, questioning, tear-stained faces,We catch at times a half heard, answering strain,An antiphone from the high, heavenly places.“If only, Lord,” the happy voices sing,“If only—we have Thee, who faileth never,Nor life, nor death, nor any other thingCan hurt our joy forever and forever.“If men could know how quickly pain is spent,What compensations heaven has in keeping,What home means after earth’s bleak banishment,If only—they would smile instead of weeping.”Sing louder, radiant host, wake our dull ears,Till, though the path be hard and the day lonely,We, too, shall answer through the mists of tears,“If only—we have Thee, Lord, have Thee only.”

IF only—shadow did not follow sun,If only—tempests lurked not in blue weather,If only—life did not so swiftly runAnd dreams need not be waked from altogether.

IF only—shadow did not follow sun,

If only—tempests lurked not in blue weather,

If only—life did not so swiftly run

And dreams need not be waked from altogether.

If only—hearts were not attuned to ache,If only—joy and mirth turned not to grieving,If only—we could seize and overtakeThe rainbow Hope which lures us on deceiving!

If only—hearts were not attuned to ache,

If only—joy and mirth turned not to grieving,

If only—we could seize and overtake

The rainbow Hope which lures us on deceiving!

If only—love were not poured out to waste,If only—discord spared sweet music’s closes,If only—blight and canker did not hasteTo mar the lily’s white, the stainless roses!

If only—love were not poured out to waste,

If only—discord spared sweet music’s closes,

If only—blight and canker did not haste

To mar the lily’s white, the stainless roses!

If only—sentinels beside the ways,Death, suffering, and sin stood not to daunt us,If shadows from the vanished yesterdaysAnd fears for the to-morrows did not haunt us.

If only—sentinels beside the ways,

Death, suffering, and sin stood not to daunt us,

If shadows from the vanished yesterdays

And fears for the to-morrows did not haunt us.

If only!—human grief unceasinglyRepeats in myriad tongues the wistful sighing.Mighty and mournful is the mingled cry,But never comes there any full replying,

If only!—human grief unceasingly

Repeats in myriad tongues the wistful sighing.

Mighty and mournful is the mingled cry,

But never comes there any full replying,

Except when, o’er the tumult and the pain,Above the upraised, questioning, tear-stained faces,We catch at times a half heard, answering strain,An antiphone from the high, heavenly places.

Except when, o’er the tumult and the pain,

Above the upraised, questioning, tear-stained faces,

We catch at times a half heard, answering strain,

An antiphone from the high, heavenly places.

“If only, Lord,” the happy voices sing,“If only—we have Thee, who faileth never,Nor life, nor death, nor any other thingCan hurt our joy forever and forever.

“If only, Lord,” the happy voices sing,

“If only—we have Thee, who faileth never,

Nor life, nor death, nor any other thing

Can hurt our joy forever and forever.

“If men could know how quickly pain is spent,What compensations heaven has in keeping,What home means after earth’s bleak banishment,If only—they would smile instead of weeping.”

“If men could know how quickly pain is spent,

What compensations heaven has in keeping,

What home means after earth’s bleak banishment,

If only—they would smile instead of weeping.”

Sing louder, radiant host, wake our dull ears,Till, though the path be hard and the day lonely,We, too, shall answer through the mists of tears,“If only—we have Thee, Lord, have Thee only.”

Sing louder, radiant host, wake our dull ears,

Till, though the path be hard and the day lonely,

We, too, shall answer through the mists of tears,

“If only—we have Thee, Lord, have Thee only.”

AFEW notes, half harmoniousAnd half discordant, subtly blent,The master sounds and touches, thusTo test and try his instrument.Not music’s self, but its presage;Not tune, but hint of tune it is;Of better things the pledge and gage,And prized for what it promises.Just so the sweet musician, Spring,’Mid blowing winds and dropping rains,Tightens and sounds each vagrant string,In odd, capricious, sudden strains.It is not music she essays,But just a hint of what shall beWhen earth and sky and nights and daysJoin in the summer harmony.And do we dream, or is it true,The grass so brown but yester-mornHas caught a subtly greener hueIn sheltered corners of the lawn?Can there be buds upon the hedge—Wee, starry pointlets half unrolled?And were we blind to read the pledgeWritten in the willow’s pencilled gold?And is it fancy that there breathesA vagrant perfume in the air,A scent of freshly opened leaves?There are no leaves yet anywhere.Ah, dear Spring, stay thy flying feet;Try all thy chords; play leisurely;Though if thy preludes are so sweetWhat will the finished music be?

AFEW notes, half harmoniousAnd half discordant, subtly blent,The master sounds and touches, thusTo test and try his instrument.

AFEW notes, half harmonious

And half discordant, subtly blent,

The master sounds and touches, thus

To test and try his instrument.

Not music’s self, but its presage;Not tune, but hint of tune it is;Of better things the pledge and gage,And prized for what it promises.

Not music’s self, but its presage;

Not tune, but hint of tune it is;

Of better things the pledge and gage,

And prized for what it promises.

Just so the sweet musician, Spring,’Mid blowing winds and dropping rains,Tightens and sounds each vagrant string,In odd, capricious, sudden strains.

Just so the sweet musician, Spring,

’Mid blowing winds and dropping rains,

Tightens and sounds each vagrant string,

In odd, capricious, sudden strains.

It is not music she essays,But just a hint of what shall beWhen earth and sky and nights and daysJoin in the summer harmony.

It is not music she essays,

But just a hint of what shall be

When earth and sky and nights and days

Join in the summer harmony.

And do we dream, or is it true,The grass so brown but yester-mornHas caught a subtly greener hueIn sheltered corners of the lawn?

And do we dream, or is it true,

The grass so brown but yester-morn

Has caught a subtly greener hue

In sheltered corners of the lawn?

Can there be buds upon the hedge—Wee, starry pointlets half unrolled?And were we blind to read the pledgeWritten in the willow’s pencilled gold?

Can there be buds upon the hedge—

Wee, starry pointlets half unrolled?

And were we blind to read the pledge

Written in the willow’s pencilled gold?

And is it fancy that there breathesA vagrant perfume in the air,A scent of freshly opened leaves?There are no leaves yet anywhere.

And is it fancy that there breathes

A vagrant perfume in the air,

A scent of freshly opened leaves?

There are no leaves yet anywhere.

Ah, dear Spring, stay thy flying feet;Try all thy chords; play leisurely;Though if thy preludes are so sweetWhat will the finished music be?

Ah, dear Spring, stay thy flying feet;

Try all thy chords; play leisurely;

Though if thy preludes are so sweet

What will the finished music be?

EACH soul must serve some master. Everywhere,Alike in wilderness and market places,They stand and wait all the long hours of day.They wait with expectation in their facesAnd mutely question each new wayfarer,And “Art thou he?” their asking glances say.Then some with downcast aspect take their wageAnd follow after shapes of darksome mien,Evil and doubtful, leading from the light;And some with radiant eyes alight are seen,Crowding, as bound on common pilgrimage,Behind a peaceful Leader robed in white.And Pain calls one to serve him at his will,And cloudy Doubt another claims for slave,And wingéd Riches offer specious feesAnd brightly gild a pathway to the grave,And Patience, with a forehead veiled and still,Enrols a few, making no promises.Some at the early dawning go their way,Some when the suntides wave the morning sky,And some at heat of noon and harvest-tide,While others with dull, disappointed eyesWatch the long shadows creep and dim the day,And still unhired and unemployed abide.Lord of the vintage, recompensing Lord,Behold these waiting ones and call them in,Let them not choose another Lord than Thee,Made the despairing thralls of self and sin,Losing the joy of toil and full rewardWhich make Thy service perfect liberty.Send forth the servants of Thy love and power,These whom no man hath hired make Thine own.Before the spent sun vanish in the westLet the brief toil the ill-spent day atone,And though not called till the eleventh hour,Give them like blessed wages with the rest.

EACH soul must serve some master. Everywhere,

Alike in wilderness and market places,

They stand and wait all the long hours of day.

They wait with expectation in their faces

And mutely question each new wayfarer,

And “Art thou he?” their asking glances say.

Then some with downcast aspect take their wageAnd follow after shapes of darksome mien,Evil and doubtful, leading from the light;And some with radiant eyes alight are seen,Crowding, as bound on common pilgrimage,Behind a peaceful Leader robed in white.

Then some with downcast aspect take their wage

And follow after shapes of darksome mien,

Evil and doubtful, leading from the light;

And some with radiant eyes alight are seen,

Crowding, as bound on common pilgrimage,

Behind a peaceful Leader robed in white.

And Pain calls one to serve him at his will,And cloudy Doubt another claims for slave,And wingéd Riches offer specious feesAnd brightly gild a pathway to the grave,And Patience, with a forehead veiled and still,Enrols a few, making no promises.

And Pain calls one to serve him at his will,

And cloudy Doubt another claims for slave,

And wingéd Riches offer specious fees

And brightly gild a pathway to the grave,

And Patience, with a forehead veiled and still,

Enrols a few, making no promises.

Some at the early dawning go their way,Some when the suntides wave the morning sky,And some at heat of noon and harvest-tide,While others with dull, disappointed eyesWatch the long shadows creep and dim the day,And still unhired and unemployed abide.

Some at the early dawning go their way,

Some when the suntides wave the morning sky,

And some at heat of noon and harvest-tide,

While others with dull, disappointed eyes

Watch the long shadows creep and dim the day,

And still unhired and unemployed abide.

Lord of the vintage, recompensing Lord,Behold these waiting ones and call them in,Let them not choose another Lord than Thee,Made the despairing thralls of self and sin,Losing the joy of toil and full rewardWhich make Thy service perfect liberty.

Lord of the vintage, recompensing Lord,

Behold these waiting ones and call them in,

Let them not choose another Lord than Thee,

Made the despairing thralls of self and sin,

Losing the joy of toil and full reward

Which make Thy service perfect liberty.

Send forth the servants of Thy love and power,These whom no man hath hired make Thine own.Before the spent sun vanish in the westLet the brief toil the ill-spent day atone,And though not called till the eleventh hour,Give them like blessed wages with the rest.

Send forth the servants of Thy love and power,

These whom no man hath hired make Thine own.

Before the spent sun vanish in the west

Let the brief toil the ill-spent day atone,

And though not called till the eleventh hour,

Give them like blessed wages with the rest.

WHEN the sun sets, let me say,“Each day is an Easter day,When the Lord may rise in me,Bringing life and victory;Every eve an Easter eve,When my heart a glorious guestMust make ready to receive,Swept and cleansed and duly dressed.“On its altar there shall lieLilies white of purity;Roses white and roses redShall their grateful odors shed;Passion flowers with cross on breast,Violet purple sweet, I’ll layWhere my Lord’s dear feet may rest,Haply—on this Easter day.”No long waiting need we know,While the slow months come and go;No set Lent observe, if weMake all time our Lent to be;Not one festal, brief and bright,But a year, where every mornHearts made ready over nightWake to find an Easter dawn.So each night, O faithful heart,Keep thy vigil, draw apart,Dress thy altar fair and fit,Sure the Lord will hallow it!Death in vain forbids Him rise,Sin in vain would bar His way,And, each morrow, in the skies,There shall dawn an Easter day!

WHEN the sun sets, let me say,

“Each day is an Easter day,

When the Lord may rise in me,

Bringing life and victory;

Every eve an Easter eve,

When my heart a glorious guest

Must make ready to receive,

Swept and cleansed and duly dressed.

“On its altar there shall lieLilies white of purity;Roses white and roses redShall their grateful odors shed;Passion flowers with cross on breast,Violet purple sweet, I’ll layWhere my Lord’s dear feet may rest,Haply—on this Easter day.”

“On its altar there shall lie

Lilies white of purity;

Roses white and roses red

Shall their grateful odors shed;

Passion flowers with cross on breast,

Violet purple sweet, I’ll lay

Where my Lord’s dear feet may rest,

Haply—on this Easter day.”

No long waiting need we know,While the slow months come and go;No set Lent observe, if weMake all time our Lent to be;Not one festal, brief and bright,But a year, where every mornHearts made ready over nightWake to find an Easter dawn.

No long waiting need we know,

While the slow months come and go;

No set Lent observe, if we

Make all time our Lent to be;

Not one festal, brief and bright,

But a year, where every morn

Hearts made ready over night

Wake to find an Easter dawn.

So each night, O faithful heart,Keep thy vigil, draw apart,Dress thy altar fair and fit,Sure the Lord will hallow it!Death in vain forbids Him rise,Sin in vain would bar His way,And, each morrow, in the skies,There shall dawn an Easter day!

So each night, O faithful heart,

Keep thy vigil, draw apart,

Dress thy altar fair and fit,

Sure the Lord will hallow it!

Death in vain forbids Him rise,

Sin in vain would bar His way,

And, each morrow, in the skies,

There shall dawn an Easter day!

THE King is coming! All the roadWith branches of the palm is strewed;The multitudes are thronging fastTo see him as he rideth past.They look for pomp and sovereignty,Purple and gold and crown to see,They bring the sick, the halt, the dumb.The King is coming! Let him come.The Christ is coming! Coarsely dressedWith sandalled feet and fisher’s vest,His steed the lowly ass’s foal,His crown the viewless aureole;No sword, no seal, no royal cloak;Twelve tired and dusty working folkMake of his court the tale and sum.The Christ is coming! Let him come.The King is coming! Every yearHe comes for hearts that hold him dear,Borne in as on that by-gone dayWith palm-boughs strewed along his way,No longer clad in lowly guise,But King of Kings to faithful eyes.To every heart that gives him roomThe Lord of Love vouchsafes to come.The Christ is coming! Heart of mine,What fitting gift, of love the sign,Hast thou to lay as offeringUpon the pathway of the King?No palm-branch hast thou? Nothing meet?Then lay thyself before his feet.His smile can make thy dryness bloom.The Christ is coming! Let him come!

THE King is coming! All the road

With branches of the palm is strewed;

The multitudes are thronging fast

To see him as he rideth past.

They look for pomp and sovereignty,

Purple and gold and crown to see,

They bring the sick, the halt, the dumb.

The King is coming! Let him come.

The Christ is coming! Coarsely dressedWith sandalled feet and fisher’s vest,His steed the lowly ass’s foal,His crown the viewless aureole;No sword, no seal, no royal cloak;Twelve tired and dusty working folkMake of his court the tale and sum.The Christ is coming! Let him come.

The Christ is coming! Coarsely dressed

With sandalled feet and fisher’s vest,

His steed the lowly ass’s foal,

His crown the viewless aureole;

No sword, no seal, no royal cloak;

Twelve tired and dusty working folk

Make of his court the tale and sum.

The Christ is coming! Let him come.

The King is coming! Every yearHe comes for hearts that hold him dear,Borne in as on that by-gone dayWith palm-boughs strewed along his way,No longer clad in lowly guise,But King of Kings to faithful eyes.To every heart that gives him roomThe Lord of Love vouchsafes to come.

The King is coming! Every year

He comes for hearts that hold him dear,

Borne in as on that by-gone day

With palm-boughs strewed along his way,

No longer clad in lowly guise,

But King of Kings to faithful eyes.

To every heart that gives him room

The Lord of Love vouchsafes to come.

The Christ is coming! Heart of mine,What fitting gift, of love the sign,Hast thou to lay as offeringUpon the pathway of the King?No palm-branch hast thou? Nothing meet?Then lay thyself before his feet.His smile can make thy dryness bloom.The Christ is coming! Let him come!

The Christ is coming! Heart of mine,

What fitting gift, of love the sign,

Hast thou to lay as offering

Upon the pathway of the King?

No palm-branch hast thou? Nothing meet?

Then lay thyself before his feet.

His smile can make thy dryness bloom.

The Christ is coming! Let him come!

IN travelling guise they held the Paschal FeastIn olden days.With loins girt about, and shoes on feet,And staves in hand, they met and shared the meat,And gave God praise.No lingering at the banquet; each man tookHis portion due,And swiftly hied him forth, even as didHis fathers, worn slaves of the pyramid,Zion in view.A single morsel might suffice for some,Snatched as they went;On promise and on type their souls were fed,So, though their bodies lacked a little bread,They were content.And even thus, my soul, be it with thee,This Easter Day.With loins girt about, and staff in hand,As one made ready for the Promised Land,Who may not stay;Come, then. The feast is spread which angels stillDesire to taste;Take thou thy crumb, nor wait for farther good,To bask and batten on immortal food,But rise in haste;And get thee forth to the hard-trodden way,The toil and tire,The wilderness with many thorns beset,O’er which the cloudy pillar hovers yet,The guiding fire.The Promised Land it beckons fair and far,Beyond thy view.And though the foe be fierce, and travail long,The Lord shall hold thee up, and keep thee strong,And guide thee through.Then, at the upper table, safely set,Thou mayst abideIn full security and rest at last,With all the thirst and hunger of the pastQuite satisfied.

IN travelling guise they held the Paschal FeastIn olden days.With loins girt about, and shoes on feet,And staves in hand, they met and shared the meat,And gave God praise.

IN travelling guise they held the Paschal Feast

In olden days.

With loins girt about, and shoes on feet,

And staves in hand, they met and shared the meat,

And gave God praise.

No lingering at the banquet; each man tookHis portion due,And swiftly hied him forth, even as didHis fathers, worn slaves of the pyramid,Zion in view.

No lingering at the banquet; each man took

His portion due,

And swiftly hied him forth, even as did

His fathers, worn slaves of the pyramid,

Zion in view.

A single morsel might suffice for some,Snatched as they went;On promise and on type their souls were fed,So, though their bodies lacked a little bread,They were content.

A single morsel might suffice for some,

Snatched as they went;

On promise and on type their souls were fed,

So, though their bodies lacked a little bread,

They were content.

And even thus, my soul, be it with thee,This Easter Day.With loins girt about, and staff in hand,As one made ready for the Promised Land,Who may not stay;

And even thus, my soul, be it with thee,

This Easter Day.

With loins girt about, and staff in hand,

As one made ready for the Promised Land,

Who may not stay;

Come, then. The feast is spread which angels stillDesire to taste;Take thou thy crumb, nor wait for farther good,To bask and batten on immortal food,But rise in haste;

Come, then. The feast is spread which angels still

Desire to taste;

Take thou thy crumb, nor wait for farther good,

To bask and batten on immortal food,

But rise in haste;

And get thee forth to the hard-trodden way,The toil and tire,The wilderness with many thorns beset,O’er which the cloudy pillar hovers yet,The guiding fire.

And get thee forth to the hard-trodden way,

The toil and tire,

The wilderness with many thorns beset,

O’er which the cloudy pillar hovers yet,

The guiding fire.

The Promised Land it beckons fair and far,Beyond thy view.And though the foe be fierce, and travail long,The Lord shall hold thee up, and keep thee strong,And guide thee through.

The Promised Land it beckons fair and far,

Beyond thy view.

And though the foe be fierce, and travail long,

The Lord shall hold thee up, and keep thee strong,

And guide thee through.

Then, at the upper table, safely set,Thou mayst abideIn full security and rest at last,With all the thirst and hunger of the pastQuite satisfied.

Then, at the upper table, safely set,

Thou mayst abide

In full security and rest at last,

With all the thirst and hunger of the past

Quite satisfied.

THE Christmas moon rides bravely in the skies,The young and untried year is at the gate.We tremble at his aspect grave with fate,At his inscrutable, unsmiling eyes,Subtle with hope and full of prophecies.Lord, he is all unknown, but Thou art true;As in the old year, guide us in the new.The clock has struck—with the last clanging knellComes in the new year, goeth out the old;To-morrow is to-day, to have and hold;The future binds us with her mystic spell.For bliss? for bale? what man shall ask or tell?Forward we look with wistful, questioning eyes;Lord, who art wisdom’s fountain, make us wise.The old year’s love shall live on in the new.But love is weak and ignorant and blind,Led by each wandering fancy of the mind,Enticed by song of bird and scent of dew,Misleading still where fain it would be true.O Lord, whose love fails never night or day,Teach us to love in Thine own perfect way.That comes to end which now is just begun.To wax, to wane, it is the common fate,The new year must be old year; soon or lateThe hovering shadow wrappeth every one,And hides him from the day and from the sun.Darkness and light are Thine, O Lord, Most High;Make us content to live and glad to die.

THE Christmas moon rides bravely in the skies,

The young and untried year is at the gate.

We tremble at his aspect grave with fate,

At his inscrutable, unsmiling eyes,

Subtle with hope and full of prophecies.

Lord, he is all unknown, but Thou art true;

As in the old year, guide us in the new.

The clock has struck—with the last clanging knellComes in the new year, goeth out the old;To-morrow is to-day, to have and hold;The future binds us with her mystic spell.For bliss? for bale? what man shall ask or tell?Forward we look with wistful, questioning eyes;Lord, who art wisdom’s fountain, make us wise.

The clock has struck—with the last clanging knell

Comes in the new year, goeth out the old;

To-morrow is to-day, to have and hold;

The future binds us with her mystic spell.

For bliss? for bale? what man shall ask or tell?

Forward we look with wistful, questioning eyes;

Lord, who art wisdom’s fountain, make us wise.

The old year’s love shall live on in the new.But love is weak and ignorant and blind,Led by each wandering fancy of the mind,Enticed by song of bird and scent of dew,Misleading still where fain it would be true.O Lord, whose love fails never night or day,Teach us to love in Thine own perfect way.

The old year’s love shall live on in the new.

But love is weak and ignorant and blind,

Led by each wandering fancy of the mind,

Enticed by song of bird and scent of dew,

Misleading still where fain it would be true.

O Lord, whose love fails never night or day,

Teach us to love in Thine own perfect way.

That comes to end which now is just begun.To wax, to wane, it is the common fate,The new year must be old year; soon or lateThe hovering shadow wrappeth every one,And hides him from the day and from the sun.Darkness and light are Thine, O Lord, Most High;Make us content to live and glad to die.

That comes to end which now is just begun.

To wax, to wane, it is the common fate,

The new year must be old year; soon or late

The hovering shadow wrappeth every one,

And hides him from the day and from the sun.

Darkness and light are Thine, O Lord, Most High;

Make us content to live and glad to die.

FATHER, how can I thus be bold to prayThat thou shalt grant me that or spare me this?How should my ignorance not go astray,How should my foolish lips not speak amissAnd ask for woe when fain they would ask bliss?How shall I dare to prompt thee, the All-wise,To show me kindness? Thou art ever kind.What is my feeble craving in thine eyesWhich view the centuries vast, before, behind,And sweep unnumbered worlds like viewless wind?Thy goodness ordereth what thing shall be,The wisdom knoweth even my inmost want;Why should I raise a needless prayer to thee,Or importune Omnipotence to grantMy wishes, dim, short-sighted, ignorant?And yet I come,—for thou hast bidden and said,But not to weary thee, or specifyA wish, but rather with this prayer instead:“O Lord, thou knowest:—give it or deny,Fill up the cup of joy, or pass me by.”Just as thou wilt is just what I would will;Give me but this, the heart to be content,And if my wish is thwarted to lie still,Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent,And the sweet thing made plain which the Lord meant.

FATHER, how can I thus be bold to pray

That thou shalt grant me that or spare me this?

How should my ignorance not go astray,

How should my foolish lips not speak amiss

And ask for woe when fain they would ask bliss?

How shall I dare to prompt thee, the All-wise,To show me kindness? Thou art ever kind.What is my feeble craving in thine eyesWhich view the centuries vast, before, behind,And sweep unnumbered worlds like viewless wind?

How shall I dare to prompt thee, the All-wise,

To show me kindness? Thou art ever kind.

What is my feeble craving in thine eyes

Which view the centuries vast, before, behind,

And sweep unnumbered worlds like viewless wind?

Thy goodness ordereth what thing shall be,The wisdom knoweth even my inmost want;Why should I raise a needless prayer to thee,Or importune Omnipotence to grantMy wishes, dim, short-sighted, ignorant?

Thy goodness ordereth what thing shall be,

The wisdom knoweth even my inmost want;

Why should I raise a needless prayer to thee,

Or importune Omnipotence to grant

My wishes, dim, short-sighted, ignorant?

And yet I come,—for thou hast bidden and said,But not to weary thee, or specifyA wish, but rather with this prayer instead:“O Lord, thou knowest:—give it or deny,Fill up the cup of joy, or pass me by.”

And yet I come,—for thou hast bidden and said,

But not to weary thee, or specify

A wish, but rather with this prayer instead:

“O Lord, thou knowest:—give it or deny,

Fill up the cup of joy, or pass me by.”

Just as thou wilt is just what I would will;Give me but this, the heart to be content,And if my wish is thwarted to lie still,Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent,And the sweet thing made plain which the Lord meant.

Just as thou wilt is just what I would will;

Give me but this, the heart to be content,

And if my wish is thwarted to lie still,

Waiting till puzzle and till pain are spent,

And the sweet thing made plain which the Lord meant.

Back to Index Next