Evening brings us home,--
From our wanderings afar,
From our multifarious labours,
From the things that fret and jar;
From the highways and the byways,
From the hill-tops and the vales;
From the dust and heat of city street,
And the joys of lonesome trails,--
            Evening brings us home at last,
            To Thee.

From plough and hoe and harrow, from the burden of the day,
From the long and lonely furrow in the stiff reluctant clay,
From the meads where streams are purling,
From the moors where mists are curling,--
            Evening brings us home at last,
            To rest, and warmth, and Thee.

From the pastures where the white lambs to their dams are ever crying,
From the byways where the Night lambs Thy
Love are crucifyin...

With reverent eyes and bowed, uncovered head,
A son of sorrow kneels by fanes you knew;
But cannot say the words that should be said
To crowned and winged divinities like you.

The perfect speech of superhuman spheres
Man has not heard since He of Nazareth,
Slain for the sins of twice two thousand years,
Saw Godship gleaming through the gates of Death.

And therefore he who in these latter days
Has lost a Father falling by the shrine,
Can only use the world’s ephemeral phrase,
Not, Lord, the faultless language that is Thine.

But he, Thy son upon whose shoulders shone
So long Elisha’s gleaming garments, may
Be pleased to hear a pleading human tone
To sift the spirit of the words I say.

O, Master, since the gentle Stenhouse died
And le...

HAND in hand! and lip to lip!

Oh, be faithful, maiden dear!
Fare thee well! thy lover's ship

Past full many a rock must steers
But should he the haven see,

When the storm has ceased to break,
And be happy, reft of thee,

May the Gods fierce vengeance take!

Boldly dared is well nigh won!

Half my task is solved aright;
Ev'ry star's to me a sun,

Only cowards deem it night.
Stood I idly by thy side,

Sorrow still would sadden me;
But when seas our paths divide,

Gladly toil I, toil for thee!

Now the valley I perceive,

Where together we will go,
And the streamlet watch each eve,

Gliding peacefully below
Oh, the poplars on yon spot!

Oh, the beech trees in yon grove!

    I
I seem to be
Sundered from Thee,
Thou Harmony of all creation.
Am I disowned
For talents loaned
And useless hid in vain probation?
Now powerless,
In weariness,
Now in despair a beggar humble
For help, for cheer,
A voice, an ear,
To hear and guide, while on I stumble.
God, let me be.
Of use to Thee!
If vain my purpose and my powers,
Then sinks from sight
My star, - and night
Henceforth my steps enfolding lowers.
Then break and bind
My ravaged mind
The terrors dread of doubt and anguish.
I know the pack,
I drove them back; -
Only to-day does courage languish.
Oh, come now, peace!
Come faith's increase,
That life's strong chain shall ever bind me!
That not in vain
I strive and strain
Myse...

    Crowds! Crowds! Crowds!
        Suddenly here as if come from the clouds
    That faded away as they came;
        Mad acres of people aflame
    With thirst for a morsel of land;
        Wild hunters of fortune, whose game
    Is ever escaping the hand;
        Vast, countless, uncountable throngs
    With restless, unrestable feet,
        That hurry the ways, full of agonized wrongs,
    For the conquest of happiness sweet;
        Wild seas of ambition whose waves of desire
    On their obstacles mighty continually beat,
        Where neither the shore nor the ocean is fixed;
        Like thunderous songs of a choir,
    Whose murmurs in music repeat;
        And confusion and chaos are terribly mingled and mixed.

        Dust! Dust! Dust!

Oh, they have robbed me of the hope
My spirit held so dear;
They will not let me hear that voice
My soul delights to hear.

They will not let me see that face
I so delight to see;
And they have taken all thy smiles,
And all thy love from me.

Well, let them seize on all they can:
One treasure still is mine,
A heart that loves to think on thee,
And feels the worth of thine.

In Sensibility's lov'd praise
    I tune my trembling reed;
And seek to deck her shrine with bays,
    On which my heart must bleed!

No cold exemption from her pain
    I ever wish'd to know;
Cheer'd with her transport, I sustain
    Without complaint her woe.

Above whate'er content can give,
    Above the charm of ease,
The restless hopes, and fears that live
    With her, have power to please.

Where but for her, were Friendship's power
    To heal the wounded heart,
To shorten sorrow's ling'ring hour,
    And bid its gloom depart?

'Tis she that lights the melting eye
    With looks to anguish dear;
She knows the price of ev'ry sigh,
    The value of a tear.

She prompts the tender marks of love
   ...

Two words there 'are, both short, of beauty rare,

Whose sounds our lips so often love to frame,

But which with clearness never can proclaim
The things whose own peculiar stamp they bear.

'Tis well in days of age and youth so fair,

One on the other boldly to inflame;

And if those words together link'd we name,
A blissful rapture we discover there.

But now to give them pleasure do I seek,

And in myself my happiness would find;

I hope in silence, but I hope for this:

Gently, as loved one's names, those words to speak

To see them both within one image shrin'd,

Both in one being to embrace with bliss.

I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.
When I awake, wide-eyed,
I shall be satisfied
With what this life did hide,
The one supernal grace!
I shall be satisfied
With the seeing of thy face.



DECEMBER 27, 1879

Every time would have its song
    If the heart were right,
Seeing Love all tender-strong
    Fills the day and night.


Weary drop the hands of Prayer
    Calling out for peace;
Love always and everywhere
    Sings and does not cease.

Fear, the caitiff, through the night
    Silent peers about;
Love comes singing with a light
    And doth cast him out.

Hate and Guile and Wrath and Doubt
    Never try to sing;
If they did, oh, what a rout
    Anguished ea...

Heroic deeds in every age
Command the world's esteem;
Each finds a place in history's page,
'Midst gloom a glory beam.

And we full oft revert to this,
To show man's true descent
From Him who is the source of bliss,
Tho' now by passions rent.

But we need not consult the past;
The present bears this fruit:
The hero race will ever last;
The tree is sound at root.

And never has the world excelled
The present in this line;
Our loving Lord has not withheld
From us this trait divine.

And we should not from them withhold
The praise we feel is due
For deeds of love, and actions bold,
For spirit kind and true.

Their worth we now should recognize,
Not chant it o'er their graves;
The hero of the past we prize,

The hero's noble shade stands high

On yonder turret grey;
And as the ship is sailing by,

He speeds it on his way.

"See with what strength these sinews thrill'd!

This heart, how firm and wild!
These bones, what knightly marrow fill'd!

This cup, how bright it smil'd!

"Half of my life I strove and fought,

And half I calmly pass'd;
And thou, oh ship with beings fraught,

Sail safely to the last!"

Yes! hope may with my strong desire keep pace,
And I be undeluded, unbetrayed;
For if of our affections none finds grace
In sight of Heaven, then, wherefore hath God made
The world which we inhabit? Better plea
Love cannot have, than that in loving thee
Glory to that eternal Peace is paid,
Who such divinity to thee imparts
As hallows and makes pure all gentle hearts.
His hope is treacherous only whose love dies
With beauty, which is varying every hour;
But, in chaste hearts uninfluenced by the power
Of outward change, there blooms a deathless flower,
That breathes on earth the air of paradise.

Oh love! that stronger art than Wine,
Pleasing Delusion, Witchery divine,
Wont to be priz'd above all Wealth,
Disease that has more Joys than Health;
Though we blaspheme thee in our Pain,
And of Tyranny complain,
We are all better'd by thy Reign.

What Reason never can bestow,
We to this useful Passion owe:
Love wakes the dull from sluggish ease,
And learns a Clown the Art to please:
Humbles the Vain, kindles the Cold,
Makes Misers free, and Cowards bold;
And teaches airy Fops to think.

When full brute Appetite is fed,
And choak'd the Glutton lies and dead;
Thou new Spirits dost dispense,
And fine'st the gross Delights of Sense.

Virtue's unconquerable Aid
That against Nature can persuade;
And makes a roving Mind retire

When I hoped I feared,
Since I hoped I dared;
Everywhere alone
As a church remain;
Spectre cannot harm,
Serpent cannot charm;
He deposes doom,
Who hath suffered him.

Soul of the leaping flame;
Heart of the scarlet fire,
Spirit that hath for name
Only the name - Desire!

Subtle art thou and strong;
Glowing in sunlit skies;
Sparkling in wine and song;
Shining in women's eyes;

Gleaming on shores of Sleep
Moon of the wild dream-clan
Burning within the deep
Passionate heart of Man.

Spirit we can but name,
Essence of Forms that seem,
Odour of violet flame,
Weaver of Thought and Dream.

Laught of the World's great Heart,
Who shall thy rune recote?
Child of the gods thou art,
Offspring of Day and Night.

Lord of the Rainbow ealm,
Many a shape hast thou
Glory with laurelled helm;
Love with the myrtled brow;

Sanctity, robed in white;
Liberty, proud and cal...

        God willed, who never needed speech,
                "Let all things be:"
        And, lo, the starry firmament
                And land and sea
        And his first thought of life that lives
                In you and me.

        His circle of eternity
                We see in part;
        Our spirits are his breath, our hearts
                Beat from his heart;
        Hence we have played as little gods
                And called it art.

        Lacking his power, we shared his dream
                Of perfect things;
        Between the tents of hope and sweet
                Rememberings
        Have sat in ashes, but our souls
                Went forth on wings.

        Where life fell short of some desire
...

ACT I. Sc. I

Enter Teryth from riding, Winefred following.

T. What is it, Gwen, my girl? why do you hover and haunt me?

W. You came by Caerwys, sir?

T.    I came by Caerwys.

W.    There
Some messenger there might have met you from my uncle.

T. Your uncle met the messenger - met me; and this the message:
Lord Beuno comes to-night.

W.    To-night, sir!

T.    Soon, now: therefore
Have all things ready in his room.

W.    There needs but little doing.

T. Let what there needs be done. Stay! with him one com- panion,
His deacon, Dirvan Warm: twice over must the welcome be,
But both will share one cell. This was good news, Gwenvrewi.

W. Ah yes!

T. Why, get thee gone then; tell thy moth...

Who falsely called thee destroyer, still white Angel of Death?
Oh not a destroyer here, but a kind restorer, thou,
For the guilty look is gone, died out with her failing breath,
And the sinless peace of a babe has come to lip and brow.

Drowned in the heaving tide with her life, is her burden of woe,
The dreary weight of sin, the woeful, troublesome years,
The cold pure touch of the water has washed the shame from her brow
Leaving a calm immortal, that looks like the chrism of peace.

I fancy her smile was like this, as she pulled at her mother's gown
Drawing her out with childish fingers to watch the red of the skies
On the old brown doorstep of home, while the peaceful sun went down,
With her mother's hand on her brow, and the glow of the west in her eyes.

"An o...