Lift not the painted veil which those who live
Call Life: though unreal shapes be pictured there,
And it but mimic all we would believe
With colours idly spread, - behind, lurk Fear
And Hope, twin Destinies; who ever weave
Their shadows, o'er the chasm, sightless and drear.
I knew one who had lifted it - he sought,
For his lost heart was tender, things to love
But found them not, alas! nor was there aught
The world contains, the which he could approve.
Through the unheeding many he did move,
A splendour among shadows, a bright blot
Upon this gloomy scene, a Spirit that strove
For truth, and like the Preacher found it not.

Devotion! When thy name is named,
What matchless visions rise!
The Hebrew, leaving Pharoah’s house,
To Israel’s rescue flies;
The Moabitess, gleans, content,
Beneath the burning skies.

The flower of Christendom is given
To gain the Holy Grave;
O’er Acre and o’er Askelon
The blessed banners wave;
By Edward’s bed I see thee kneel,
O Queen beloved and brave!

Who art thou, girl, in warrior garb,
St. Catherine’s sword in hand?
’Tis La Pucelle, and France is free;
O shame that thou must stand
Bound, helpless, at the cruel stake,
To wait the headman’s brand!

And now upon the wild North Sea
From Lindisfarne’s bleak shore,
To save the lives of shipwrecked men
A maiden plies the oar;
Seamen and landsmen honour thee,
G...

And we ourselves?    Are our hands clean?
Are our souls free from blame
For this world-tragedy?
Nay then!    Like all the rest,
We had relaxed our hold on higher things,
And satisfied ourselves with smaller.
Ease, pleasure, greed of gold,--
Laxed morals even in these,--
We suffered them, as unaware
Of their soul-cankerings.
We had slipped back along the sloping way,
No longer holding First Things First,
But throning gods emasculate,--
Idols of our own fashioning,
Heads of sham gold and feet of crumbling clay.
If we would build anew, and build to stay,
We must find God again,
And go His way.

The neighbours gossiped idly at the door.
Copernicus lay dying overhead.
His little throng of friends, with startled eyes,
Whispered together, in that dark house of dreams,
From which by one dim crevice in the wall
He used to watch the stars.
        "His book has come
From Nuremberg at last; but who would dare
To let him see it now?"--
                            "They have altered it!
Though Rome approved in full, this preface, look,
Declares that his discoveries are a dream!"--
"He has asked a thousand times if it has come;
Could we tear out those pages?"--
                    "He'd suspect."--
"What shall be done, then?"--
            "Hold it back awhile.
That was the priest's voice in the room above.
He may forget it. Those last sacraments

Thank God for life, in such an age as this,
    Rich with the promises of better things.
Thank God for being part of this great nation's heart,
    Whose strong pulsations are not ruled by kings.

Our thanks for fearless and protesting speech
    When cloven hoofs show 'neath the robes of state.
For us no servile song of 'Kings can do no wrong.'
    Not royal birth, but worth, makes rulers great.

Thank God for peace within our border lands,
    And for the love of peace within each soul.
Who thinks on peace has wrought, mosaic-squares of thought
    In the foundation of our future goal.

Our thanks for love, and knowledge of love's laws.
    Love is a greater power than vested might.
Love is the central source of all enduring force.
    Love is the ...

    Sitting patient in the shadow
    Till the blessed light shall come,
    A serene and saintly presence
    Sanctifies our troubled home.
    Earthly joys and hopes and sorrows
    Break like ripples on the strand
    Of the deep and solemn river
    Where her willing feet now stand.


    O my sister, passing from me,
    Out of human care and strife,
    Leave me, as a gift, those virtues
    Which have beautified your life.
    Dear, bequeath me that great patience
    Which has power to sustain
    A cheerful, uncomplaining spirit
    In its prison-house of pain.


    Give me, for I need it sorely,
    Of that courage, wise and sweet,
    Which has made the path of duty
    Green beneath your willing feet.
    Gi...

By sound of name, and touch of hand,
Thro' ears that hear, and eyes that see,
We know each other in this land,
How little must that knowledge be?

How souls are all the time alone,
No spirit can another reach;
They hide away in realms unknown,
Like waves that never touch a beach.

We never know each other here,
No soul can here another see --
To know, we need a light as clear
As that which fills eternity.

For here we walk by human light,
But there the light of God is ours,
Each day, on earth, is but a night;
Heaven alone hath clear-faced hours.

I call you thus -- you call me thus --
Our mortal is the very bar
That parts forever each of us,
As skies, on high, part star from star.

A name is nothing but a name
...

Seek not the spirit, if it hide
Inexorable to thy zeal:
Trembler, do not whine and chide:
Art thou not also real?
Stoop not then to poor excuse;
Turn on the accuser roundly; say,
'Here am I, here will I abide
Forever to myself soothfast;
Go thou, sweet Heaven, or at thy pleasure stay!'
Already Heaven with thee its lot has cast,
For only it can absolutely deal.

And do I see some cause a hope to feede,
Or doth the tedious burden of long wo
In weaken'd minds quick apprehending breed
Of euerie image which may comfort shew?
I cannot brag of word, much lesse of deed,
Fortune wheeles still with me in one sort slow;
My wealth no more, and no whit lesse my need;
Desier still on stilts of Feare doth go.
And yet amid all feares a hope there is,
Stolne to my hart since last faire night, nay day,
Stellas eyes sent to me the beames of blisse,
Looking on me while I lookt other way:
But when mine eyes backe to their heau'n did moue,
They fled with blush which guiltie seem'd of loue.

    McLeod of Dare called his son to him.
    McLeod of Dare looked stern and grim,

    For he was sending on mission grave
    His son, and though he knew him brave

    The old man trembled lest he should make
    In heedless youth a grave mistake.

    'Twas not for the country, nor for the king,
    Nay, 'twas a more important thing

    Than country, or clan, or feud, or strife,
    The young man went to woo a wife.

    He listened, did Neil, with scanty grace,
    Haughty gloom on his handsome face,

    While the old man told him where to go,
    And what to say, and what to do.

    "The morrow ye'll go for a lang, lang stay
    Wi' your rich uncle, Donald Gray.

    "He'll gie ye a welcome wairm and true,

The leaf is faded, and decayed the flower,
The birds have ceased to sing in wayside bower,
The babbling brook is silenced by the cold,
And hill and vale the frost and snow enfold.
The life we see seems hasting to the tomb
Nor sun, nor star, relieves the dismal gloom;
The good man suffers with the base and vile,
And honesty and truth give place to guile.


Things are not always as they seem to be;
The outer surface only man may see.
The summer sleeps beneath the quilt of snow,
Behind the clouds is hid the solar glow,
The babbling brook will burst its icy bands,
And birds will sing, and trees will clap their hands.
The fallen leaf has left a bud behind,
And flowers will bloom of brightest hue and kind;
For when we look beneath the outward crust
Wi...

I mourn upon this battle-field,
But not for those who perished here.
Behold the river-bank
Whither the angry farmers came,
In sloven dress and broken rank,
Nor thought of fame.
Their deed of blood
All mankind praise;
Even the serene Reason says,
It was well done.
The wise and simple have one glance
To greet yon stern head-stone,
Which more of pride than pity gave
To mark the Briton's friendless grave.
Yet it is a stately tomb;
The grand return
Of eve and morn,
The year's fresh bloom,
The silver cloud,
Might grace the dust that is most proud.

Yet not of these I muse
In this ancestral place,
But of a kindred face
That never joy or hope shall here diffuse.

Ah, brother of the brief but blazing star!
What has...

High-mindedness, a jealousy for good,
A loving-kindness for the great man's fame,
Dwells here and there with people of no name,
In noisome alley, and in pathless wood:
And where we think the truth least understood,
Oft may be found a "singleness of aim,"
That ought to frighten into hooded shame
A money-mongering, pitiable brood.
How glorious this affection for the cause
Of steadfast genius, toiling gallantly!
What when a stout unbending champion awes
Envy and malice to their native sty?
Unnumbered souls breathe out a still applause,
Proud to behold him in his country's eye.

Those days have gone, those happy days,
When we two loved to roam,
Beside the rivulet that strays,
Near by my rustic home.
Yes, they have fled, and in the past,
We've left them far behind,
Yet dear I hold, those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

You dreamed not then of wealth or fame,
The world was bright and fair,
I seldom knew a grief or game,
That you, too, did not share.
And though I mourn my hapless fate,
In mem'ry's store I find,
And dearly hold those days of old,
When you were true and kind.

Say, can the wealth you now possess,
Such happiness procure,
As did our youthful pleasures bless,
When both our hearts were pure?
No, - and though wandering apart,
I strive to be resigned;
And dearer hold those days ...

            O throbbing heart, be still!
                Canst thou not bear
The heavy dash of Memory's troubled tide,
    Long sternly pent, but broken forth again,
Sweeping all barriers ruthlessly aside,
    And leaving desolation in its train
                Where all was fair?

            Fair, did I say? - Oh yes! -
                I'd reared sweet flowers
Of steadfast hope, and quiet, patient trust,
    Above the wreck and ruin of my years; -
Had won a plant of beauty from the dust,
    Fanned it with breath of prayer, and wet with tears
                Of loneliest hours!

            O throbbing heart, be still!
                That cherished flower -
Faith in thy God - last grown, yet first in worth,
    Will spring anew ere long - it ...

Friend of a wayward hour, you came
Like some good ghost, and went the same;
And I within the haunted place
Sit smiling on your vanished face,
    And talking with - your name.

But thrice the pressure of your hand -
First hail - congratulations - and
Your last "God bless you!" as the train
That brought you snatched you back again
    Into the unknown land.

"God bless me?" Why, your very prayer
Was answered ere you asked it there,
I know - for when you came to lend
Me your kind hand, and call me friend,
    God blessed me unaware.

Sunlight upon Judha's hills!
And on the waves of Galilee;
On Jordan's stream, and on the rills
That feed the dead and sleeping sea!
Most freshly from the green wood springs
The light breeze on its scented wings;
And gayly quiver in the sun
The cedar tops of Lebanon!

A few more hours, a change hath come!
The sky is dark without a cloud!
The shouts of wrath and joy are dumb,
And proud knees unto earth are bowed.
A change is on the hill of Death,
The helmed watchers pant for breath,
And turn with wild and maniac eyes
From the dark scene of sacrifice!

That Sacrifice! the death of Him,
The Christ of God, the holy One!
Well may the conscious Heaven grow dim,
And blacken the beholding, Sun.
The wonted light hath fled away,
Night s...

A batter'd, wreck'd old man,
Thrown on this savage shore, far, far from home,
Pent by the sea, and dark rebellious brows, twelve dreary months,
Sore, stiff with many toils, sicken'd, and nigh to death,
I take my way along the island's edge,
Venting a heavy heart.

I am too full of woe!
Haply, I may not live another day;
I can not rest, O God - I can not eat or drink or sleep,
Till I put forth myself, my prayer, once more to Thee,
Breathe, bathe myself once more in Thee - commune with Thee,
Report myself once more to Thee.

Thou knowest my years entire, my life,
(My long and crowded life of active work - not adoration merely;)
Thou knowest the prayers and vigils of my youth;
Thou knowest my manhood's solemn and visionary meditations;
Thou knowest how,...