Tho’ Sin too oft, when smitten by Thy rod,
Rail at ‘Blind Fate’ with many a vain ‘Alas’’
From sin thro’ sorrow into Thee we pass
By that same path our true forefathers trod;
And let not Reason fail me, nor the sod
Draw from my death Thy living flower and grass,
Before I learn that Love, which is, and was
My Father, and my Brother, and my God!
Steel me with patience! soften me with grief!
Let blow the trumpet strongly while I pray,
Till this embattled wall of unbelief
My prison, not my fortress, fall away!
Then, if Thou willest, let my day be brief,
So Thou wilt strike Thy glory thro’ the day.

Spirit of Song! whose whispers
Delight my pensive brain,
When will the perfect harmony
Ring through my feeble strain?

When will the rills of melody
Be widened to a stream!
When will the bright and gladsome Day
Succeed this morning dream?

"Mortal," the spirit whispered,
"If thou wouldst truly win
The race thou art pursuing,
Heed well the voice within:

And it shall gently teach thee
To read thy heart, and know
No human strain is perfect,
However sweet it flow.

And if thou readest truly,
As surely shalt thou find
That truths, like rills, though diverse,
Are choicest in their kind.

The souls of Poet-Dreamers
Touch heaven on their way;
With the light of Song to guide them
It should be always Day."

O Ary Scheffer! when beneath thine eye,
Touched with the light that cometh from above,
Grew the sweet picture of the dear Lord's love,
No dream hadst thou that Christian hands would tear
Therefrom the token of His equal care,
And make thy symbol of His truth a lie!
The poor, dumb slave whose shackles fall away
In His compassionate gaze, grubbed smoothly out,
To mar no more the exercise devout
Of sleek oppression kneeling down to pray
Where the great oriel stains the Sabbath day!
Let whoso can before such praying-books
Kneel on his velvet cushion; I, for one,
Would sooner bow, a Parsee, to the sun,
Or tend a prayer-wheel in Thibetar brooks,
Or beat a drum on Yedo's temple-floor.
No falser idol man has bowed before,
In Indian groves or islands of the sea,

To-day a bird on wings as white as foam
    That crests the blue-gray wave,
With the vesper light upon its breast, flew home
    Seaward. The God who gave
To the birds the virgin-wings of snow
Somehow telleth them the ways they go.

Unto the Evening went the white-winged bird --
    Gray clouds hung round the West --
And far away the tempest's tramp was heard.
    The bird flew for a rest
Away from the grove, out to the sea --
Is it only a bird's mystery?

Nay! nay! lone bird! I watched thy wings of white
    That cleft thy waveward way --
Past the evening and swift into the night,
    Out of the calm, bright day --
And thou didst teach me, bird of the sea,
More than one human heart's history.

Only men's hearts -- tho' God shows each ...

Long have I searched, cathedral shrine, and hall,
To find a symbol, from the hand of art,
That gave the full expression (not a part)
Of that ecstatic peace which follows all
Life's pain and passion.    Strange it should befall
This outer emblem of the inner heart
Was waiting far beyond the great world's mart -
Immortal answer, to the mortal call.

Unknown the artist, vaguely known his creed:
But the bronze wonder of his work sufficed
To lift me to the heights his faith had trod.
For one rich moment, opulent indeed,
I walked with Krishna, Buddha, and the Christ,
And felt the full serenity of God.

No aimless wanderers, by the fiend Unrest
Goaded from shore to shore;
No schoolmen, turning, in their classic quest,
The leaves of empire o'er.
Simple of faith, and bearing in their hearts
The love of man and God,
Isles of old song, the Moslem's ancient marts,
And Scythia's steppes, they trod.
Where the long shadows of the fir and pine
In the night sun are cast,
And the deep heart of many a Norland mine
Quakes at each riving blast;
Where, in barbaric grandeur, Moskwa stands,
A baptized Scythian queen,
With Europe's arts and Asia's jewelled hands,
The North and East between!
Where still, through vales of Grecian fable, stray
The classic forms of yore,
And beauty smiles, new risen from the spray,
And Dian weeps once more;
Where every tongue i...

I.

There breathes not a breath of the morning air,
But the spirit of Love is moving there;
Not a trembling leaf on the shadowy tree
Mingles with thousands in harmony;
But the Spirit of God doth make the sound,
And the thoughts of the insect that creepeth around.
And the sunshiny butterflies come and go,
Like beautiful thoughts moving to and fro;
And not a wave of their busy wings
Is unknown to the Spirit that moveth all things.
And the long-mantled moths, that sleep at noon,
And dance in the light of the mystic moon--
All have one being that loves them all;
Not a fly in the spider's web can fall,
But He cares for the spider, and cares for the fly;
And He cares for each little child's smile or sigh.
How it can be, I cannot know;
He is wiser than...

SUNG AT THE SECOND CHURCH, AT THE ORDINATION OF REV. CHANDLER ROBBINS

We love the venerable house
Our fathers built to God;--
In heaven are kept their grateful vows,
Their dust endears the sod.

Here holy thoughts a light have shed
From many a radiant face,
And prayers of humble virtue made
The perfume of the place.

And anxious hearts have pondered here
The mystery of life,
And prayed the eternal Light to clear
Their doubts, and aid their strife.

From humble tenements around
Came up the pensive train,
And in the church a blessing found
That filled their homes again;

For faith and peace and mighty love
That from the Godhead flow,
Showed them the life of Heaven above
Springs from the life below.

They li...

The gods are dead; but still for me
Lives on in wildwood brook and tree
Each myth, each old divinity.

For me still laughs among the rocks
The Naiad; and the Dryad's locks
Drop perfume on the wildflower flocks.

The Satyr's hoof still prints the loam;
And, whiter than the wind-blown foam,
The Oread haunts her mountain home.

To him, whose mind is fain to dwell
With loveliness no time can quell,
All things are real, imperishable.

To him - whatever facts may say -
Who sees the soul beneath the clay,
Is proof of a diviner day.

The very stars and flowers preach
A gospel old as God, and teach
Philosophy a child may reach;

That cannot die; that shall not cease;
That lives through idealities
Of Beauty, ev'n as Rome...

(My Soul) I summon to the winding ancient stair;
Set all your mind upon the steep ascent,
Upon the broken, crumbling battlement,
Upon the breathless starlit air,
"Upon the star that marks the hidden pole;
Fix every wandering thought upon
That quarter where all thought is done:
Who can distinguish darkness from the soul

(My Self). The consecretes blade upon my knees
Is Sato's ancient blade, still as it was,
Still razor-keen, still like a looking-glass
Unspotted by the centuries;
That flowering, silken, old embroidery, torn
From some court-lady's dress and round
The wodden scabbard bound and wound
Can, tattered, still protect, faded adorn

(My Soul.) Why should the imagination of a man
Long past his prime remember things that are
Emblematica...

Our souls should be vessels receiving
The waters of love for relieving
    The sorrows of men.

For here lies the pleasure of living:
In taking God's bounties, and giving
    The gifts back again.

Master of sweet and loving lore,
    Give us the open mind
To know religion means no more,
    No less, than being kind.

Give us the comprehensive sight
    That sees another's need;
And let our aim to set things right
    Prove God inspired our creed.

Give us the soul to know our kin
    That dwell in flock and herd,
The voice to fight man's shameful sin
    Against the beast and bird.

Give us a heart with love so fraught
    For all created things,
That even our unspoken thought
    Bears healing on its wings.

Give us religion that will cope
    With life's colossal woes,
And turn a radiant face of hope
    On troops of pigmy foes.

Give us the mastery of our fate
    In thoughts so warm and white,
T...

I do not look for holy saints to guide me on my way
Or male and female devilkins to lead my feet astray.
If these are added I rejoice, if not, I shall not mind
So long as I have leave and choice to meet my fellow-kind.
For as we come and as we go (and deadly soon go we!)
The people, lord, Thy people, are good enough for me.

Thus I will honour pious men whose virtue shines so bright
(Though none are more amazed than I when I by chance do right)
And I will pity foolish men for woe their sins have bred
(Though ninety-nine percent of mine I brought on my own head)
And Amorite or Eremite or General Averagee
The people, Lord, Thy people are good enough for me

And when the bore me overmuch, I will not shake mine ears
Recalling many thousand such whom I have bored to tea...

However inexplicable may seem
Event and circumstance upon the earth,
Though favours fall on those who none esteem,
And insult and indifference greet worth,
Though poverty repays a life of toil,
And riches spring where idle feet have trod,
And storms lay waste the patiently tilled soil -
Yet Justice sways the universe of God.

As undisturbed the stately stars remain
Beyond the glare of day's obscuring light,
So Justice dwells, though mortal eyes in vain
Seek it persistently by reason's sight.
But, when once freed, the illumined soul looks out -
Its cry will be, 'O God, how could I doubt?'

Dark was the world when from the bowers
    Of forfeit Eden man went forth,
With aching heart and blighted powers,
    To till the sterile soil of earth;
Yet, even then, a glimmering light
    Faintly illumed the eastern skies,
And, struggling through the mists of night,
    Beamed soft on Abel's sacrifice.

It shone on Abram's eager eyes
    Upon Moriah's lonely height,
And Jacob, 'neath the midnight skies,
    In hallowed dreams beheld its light;
And o'er Arabia's desert sand
    Where weary Israel wandered on,
In doubt and fear toward Canaan's land,
    The hallowed dawning brighter shone.

Ages roll on 'mid deep'ning day,
    And prophet-bard and holy seer
Watch eagerly the kindling ray,
    To see the blessed sun appear -
Wat...

Lord, give me faith!--to live from day to day,
With tranquil heart to do my simple part,
And, with my hand in Thine, just go Thy way.

Lord, give me faith!--to trust, if not to know;
With quiet mind in all things Thee to find,
And, child-like, go where Thou wouldst have me go.

Lord, give me faith!--to leave it all to Thee,
The future is Thy gift, I would not lift
The vail Thy Love has hung 'twixt it and me.




"I WILL!"


Say once again Thy sweet "I will!"
In answer to my prayers.
"Lord, if Thou wilt!"--
                                --"I will!
Rise up above thy cares!"

Heav'n from all creatures hides the book of fate,
All but the page prescrib'd, their present state:
From brutes what men, from men what spirits know:
Or who could suffer being here below?
The lamb thy riot dooms to bleed today,
Had he thy reason, would he skip and play?
Pleas'd to the last, he crops the flow'ry food,
And licks the hand just rais'd to shed his blood.
Oh blindness to the future! kindly giv'n,
That each may fill the circle mark'd by Heav'n:
Who sees with equal eye, as God of all,
A hero perish, or a sparrow fall,
Atoms or systems into ruin hurl'd,
And now a bubble burst, and now a world.

Hope humbly then; with trembling pinions soar;
Wait the great teacher Death; and God adore.
What future bliss, he gives not thee to know,
But gives th...

"Another day will follow this,"
Ah, - that shall sewerly be,
But th' day 'at dawns to-morn, my lad,
May nivver dawn for thee,
This day is thine, soa use it weel,
For fear when it has passed,
Some duty has been left undone
On th' day at proved thy last.

What's passed an gooan's beyond recall,
An th' futer's all unknown;
Dooant specilate on what's to be,
Neglect in what's thi own.
When morn in comes thank God tha'rt spared
To see another day;
An when tha goas to bed at neet,
Life's burdens on Him lay.

Although thy station may be low,
Thy life's conditions hard,
Mak th' best o' what falls to thi lot,
An tha shall win reward.
Man's days ov toil on earth are few
Compared to that long rest
'At stretches throo Eternity,
...