Our Boys Who Have Gone to the Front


("Be christs!"--was one of W.    T.    Stead's favourite sayings.    Not "Be like Christ!"--but--"Be christs!"    And he used the word no doubt in its original meaning,--anointed, ordained, chosen.    As such we, whose boys have gone to the Front, think of them.    For they have gone, most of them, from a simple, high sense of duty, and in many cases under direst feeling of personal repulsion against the whole ghastly business.    They have sacrificed everything, knowing full well that many of them will never return to us.)


Ye are all christs in this your self-surrender,--
True sons of God in seeking not your own.
Yours now the hardships,--yours shall be the splendour
Of the Great Triumph and THE KING'S "Well done!"

Yours these ro...

Ever to be
Land of the free,
Hold up your banner of light to the eye,
High! High!
Let its folds fly,
Blessing the earth and rejoicing the sky.

Ever to be
Flag of the free,
Long as the earth shows the sight of a slave,
Wave! Wave!
Mighty to save,
Fronting the fight in the eye of the brave.

Ever to be
Light of the free,
Lashed to the palm tree or nailed to the pine,
Shine! Shine!
Liberty's sign,
Lighting the human to find the Divine.

Exquisite mosses, so lovely and green,
Covering the rocks with emerald sheen;
Hiding the scars which convulsions have made;
Blessing the mound where our angel was laid;
Forming a carpet on which we may tread;
Clothing with beauty the rotten and dead;
Sheathing from storm-blasts the young forest tree--
Beautiful mosses, examples for me.

Trod under foot by all kinds of men;
Gracing the mountain or hid in the fen;
Never adorning the brow of the fair;
Seldom deemed worthy some corner to share
In the bouquets that are cast in the way
Princely feet tread on reception's proud day;
The glory of roses do not attain;
Beautiful mosses, ye grow not in vain.

Answer the end by your Maker designed.
Humble your bloom, but your mission is kind.
Those will...

Spirto ben nato.


Choice soul, in whom, as in a glass, we see,
        Mirrored in thy pure form and delicate,
        What beauties heaven and nature can create,
        The paragon of all their works to be!
Fair soul, in whom love, pity, piety,
        Have found a home, as from thy outward state
        We clearly read, and are so rare and great
        That they adorn none other like to thee!
Love takes me captive; beauty binds my soul;
        Pity and mercy with their gentle eyes
        Wake in my heart a hope that cannot cheat.
What law, what destiny, what fell control,
        What cruelty, or late or soon, denies
        That death should spare perfection so complete?

Love thyself last. Look near, behold thy duty
    To those who walk beside thee down life's road;
Make glad their days by little acts of beauty,
    And help them bear the burden of earth's load.

Love thyself last. Look far and find the stranger,
    Who staggers 'neath his sin and his despair;
Go lend a hand, and lead him out of danger,
    To hights where he may see the world is fair.

Love thyself last. The vastnesses above thee
    Are filled with Spirit Forces, strong and pure.
And fervently, these faithful friends shall love thee:
    Keep thou thy watch o'er others and endure.

Love thyself last; and oh, such joy shall thrill thee,
    As never yet to selfish souls was given.
Whate'er thy lot, a perfect peace will fill thee,
    And earth sha...

Through the world which the Spirit creative and kind
First formed out of chaos, I fly like the wind,
    Until on the strand
    Of its billows I land,
My anchor cast forth where the breeze blows no more,
And Creation's last boundary stands on the shore.
I saw infant stars into being arise,
For thousands of years to roll on through the skies;
    I saw them in play
    Seek their goal far away,
For a moment my fugitive gaze wandered on,
I looked round me, and lo! all those bright stars had flown!

Madly yearning to reach the dark kingdom of night.
I boldly steer on with the speed of the light;
    All misty and drear
    The dim heavens appear,
While embryo systems and seas at their source
Are whirling around the sun-wanderer's course.

Whe...

"The heart knoweth its own bitterness"


The heart hath its moments of hopeless gloom,
As rayless as is the dark night of the tomb;
When the past has no spell, the future no ray,
To chase the sad cloud from the spirit away;
When earth, though in all her rich beauty arrayed,
Hath a gloom o'er her flowers - o'er her skies a dark shade,
And we turn from all pleasure with loathing away,
Too downcast, too spirit sick, even to pray!

Oh! where may the heart seek, in moments like this,
A whisper of hope, or a faint gleam of bliss?
When friendship seems naught but a cold, cheerless flame,
And love a still falser and emptier name;
When honors and wealth are a wearisome chain,
Each link interwoven with grief and with pain,
And each solace or joy that the spiri...

God strikes His Church, but 'tis to this intent,
To make, not mar her, by this punishment;
So where He gives the bitter pills, be sure
'Tis not to poison, but to make thee pure.

The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned
To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave,
And spread the roof above them, ere he framed
The lofty vault, to gather and roll back
The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood,
Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down,
And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks
And supplication. For his simple heart
Might not resist the sacred influences
Which, from the stilly twilight of the place,
And from the gray old trunks that high in heaven
Mingled their mossy boughs, and from the sound
Of the invisible breath that swayed at once
All their green tops, stole over him, and bowed
His spirit with the thought of boundless power
And inaccessible majesty. Ah, why
Should we, in the world's riper years, neglect
God's ancien...

"For thou, Lord, wilt bless the righteous; with favour wilt thou compass him as with a shield."


Like the dew-drops that fall
    Through the chill, midnight hours,
Unheeded by all,
    On the close-folded flowers, -
E'en so, on thy chosen,
    Grief stricken that bend,
Thy tenderest blessings
    In silence descend.

Like the showers that moisten
    The tree's shrivelled root,
And quicken its branches
    To flower and fruit,
E'en thus, on thy people
    Descend from above,
In richest abundance
    The showers of thy love

Like the glad light that never
    Our sad Earth forsakes,
But, as day fadeth, ever
    In the star beam awakes,
So certain and constant,
    So rich and unspent,
Thy blessings unstin...

I.

Far from his close and noisome cell,
By grassy lane and sunny stream,
Blown clover field and strawberry dell,
And green and meadow freshness, fell
The footsteps of his dream.
Again from careless feet the dew
Of summer's misty morn he shook;
Again with merry heart he threw
His light line in the rippling brook.
Back crowded all his school-day joys;
He urged the ball and quoit again,
And heard the shout of laughing boys
Come ringing down the walnut glen.
Again he felt the western breeze,
With scent of flowers and crisping hay;
And down again through wind-stirred trees
He saw the quivering sunlight play.
An angel in home's vine-hung door,
He saw his sister smile once more;
Once more the truant's brown-locked head
Upon his mother's...

Lift up thy torch, O Year, and let us see
        What Destiny
Hath made thee heir to at nativity!

Doubt, some call Faith; and ancient Wrong and Might,
        Whom some name Right;
And Darkness, that the purblind world calls Light.

Despair, with Hope's brave form; and Hate, who goes
        In Friendship's clothes;
And Happiness, the mask of many woes.

Neglect, whom Merit serves; Lust, to whom, see,
        Love bends the knee;
And Selfishness, who preacheth charity.

Vice, in whose dungeon Virtue lies in chains;
        And Cares and Pains,
That on the throne of Pleasure hold their reigns.

Corruption, known as Honesty; and Fame
        That's but a name;
And Innocence, the outward guise of Shame.

And Folly, men ca...

When men of gentle lives depart,
They leave behind no brilliant story
Of fam'd exploits, to make men start
In wonder at their dazzling glory.

The scholar's light, religion's beams,
Tho' fill'd with great, commanding pow'r,
In modest greatness throw their gleams,
In quiet rays, from hour to hour.

The greatest battles oft are fought,
Unseen by any earthly eye;
The victors all alone have wrought,
And, unapplauded, live or die.

'Twas thus with thee, thou rev'rend man;
In peaceful, holy work thy life
Was spent, until th' allotted span
Was cut by Time's relentless knife.

Far from the keen and heartless train,
Who daily feel Ambition's sting,
Thy life, remov'd, felt not the pain,
Which goads each one beneath her wing.

(FROM IN GOD'S WAY)
(See Note 77)

When comes the real morning?
When golden, the sun's rays hover
Over the earth's snow-cover,
And where the shadows nestle,
Wrestle,
Lifting lightward the root enringèd
Till it shall seem an angel wingèd,
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
    But if the weather is bad
    And my spirit sad,
    Never morning I know.
    No.

Truly, it's real morning,
When blossom the buds winter-beaten,
The birds having drunk and eaten
Are glad as they sing, divining
Shining
Great new crowns to the tree-tops given,
Cheering the brooks to the broad ocean riven.
Then it is morning,
Real, real morning.
    But if the weather is bad
    And my spirit sad,
    Never morning I k...

(For the Braille Magazine)


When the outer eye grows dim,
Turns the inner eye to Him,
Who makes darkness light.
Fairer visions you may see,
Live in nobler company,
And in larger liberty,
Than the men of sight.

He sometimes shuts the windows but to open hidden doors,
Where all who will may wander bold and free,
For His house has many mansions, and the mansions many floors,
And every room is free to you and me.

A dark unfathomed tide
Of interminable pride,
A mystery, and a dream,
Should my early life seem;
I say that dream was fraught
With a wild and waking thought
Of beings that have been,
Which my spirit hath not seen,
Had I let them pass me by,
With a dreaming eye!
Let none of earth inherit
That vision of my spirit;
Those thoughts I would control,
As a spell upon his soul:
For that bright hope at last
And that light time have past,
And my worldly rest hath gone
With a sigh as it passed on:
I care not though it perish
With a thought I then did cherish.

She brought her alabaster flask
Well-filled with precious nard;
Nor did she deem the act a task,
Nor look for great reward;
She only thought of His great love,
And felt her gift was small
For Him who left His home above
To suffer death for all.
But her blest Lord more highly prized
The loving heart that gave;
For loveless gifts are e'er despised,
Yet men oft seek to pave
The way that leads to glory land
With deeds devoid of grace;
But only those who love can stand
Approved before His face.

        The impulse of all love is to create.
    God was so full of love, in his embrace
    He clasped the empty nothingness of space,
        And low! the solar system! High in state
        The mighty sun sat, so supreme and great
    With this same essence, one smile of its face
    Brought myriad forms of life forth; race on race,
        From insects up to men.

    Through love, not hate,
        All that is grand in nature or in art
    Sprang into being. He who would build sublime
    And lasting works, to stand the test of time,
        Must inspiration draw from his full heart.
    And he who loveth widely, well, and much,
    The secret holds of the true master touch.