Chapter III

Blow, bugles of battle, the marches of peace; East, west, north, and south let the long quarrel cease Sing the song of great joy that the angels began, Sing of glory to God and of good-will to man! Hark! joining in chorus The heavens bend o'er us' The dark night is ending and dawn has begun; Rise, hope of the ages, arise like the sun, All speech flow to music, all hearts beat as one! 1873.

VESTA.

O Christ of God! whose life and death Our own have reconciled, Most quietly, most tenderly Take home Thy star-named child!

Thy grace is in her patient eyes, Thy words are on her tongue; The very silence round her seems As if the angels sung.

Her smile is as a listening child's Who hears its mother call; The lilies of Thy perfect peace About her pillow fall.

She leans from out our clinging arms To rest herself in Thine; Alone to Thee, dear Lord, can we Our well-beloved resign!

Oh, less for her than for ourselves We bow our heads and pray; Her setting star, like Bethlehem's, To Thee shall point the way! 1874.

CHILD-SONGS.

Still linger in our noon of time And on our Saxon tongue The echoes of the home-born hymns The Aryan mothers sung.

And childhood had its litanies In every age and clime; The earliest cradles of the race Were rocked to poet's rhyme.

Nor sky, nor wave, nor tree, nor flower, Nor green earth's virgin sod, So moved the singer's heart of old As these small ones of God.

The mystery of unfolding life Was more than dawning morn, Than opening flower or crescent moon The human soul new-born.

And still to childhood's sweet appeal The heart of genius turns, And more than all the sages teach From lisping voices learns,--

The voices loved of him who sang, Where Tweed and Teviot glide, That sound to-day on all the winds That blow from Rydal-side,--

Heard in the Teuton's household songs, And folk-lore of the Finn, Where'er to holy Christmas hearths The Christ-child enters in!

Before life's sweetest mystery still The heart in reverence kneels; The wonder of the primal birth The latest mother feels.

We need love's tender lessons taught As only weakness can; God hath His small interpreters; The child must teach the man.

We wander wide through evil years, Our eyes of faith grow dim; But he is freshest from His hands And nearest unto Him!

And haply, pleading long with Him For sin-sick hearts and cold, The angels of our childhood still The Father's face behold.

Of such the kingdom!--Teach Thou us, O-Master most divine, To feel the deep significance Of these wise words of Thine!

The haughty eye shall seek in vain What innocence beholds; No cunning finds the key of heaven, No strength its gate unfolds.

Alone to guilelessness and love That gate shall open fall; The mind of pride is nothingness, The childlike heart is all! 1875.

THE HEALER.

TO A YOUNG PHYSICIAN, WITH DORE'S PICTURE OF CHRIST
HEALING THE SICK.

So stood of old the holy Christ Amidst the suffering throng; With whom His lightest touch sufficed To make the weakest strong.

That healing gift He lends to them Who use it in His name; The power that filled His garment's hem Is evermore the same.

For lo! in human hearts unseen The Healer dwelleth still, And they who make His temples clean The best subserve His will.

The holiest task by Heaven decreed, An errand all divine, The burden of our common need To render less is thine.

The paths of pain are thine. Go forth With patience, trust, and hope; The sufferings of a sin-sick earth Shall give thee ample scope.

Beside the unveiled mysteries Of life and death go stand, With guarded lips and reverent eyes And pure of heart and hand.

So shalt thou be with power endued From Him who went about The Syrian hillsides doing good, And casting demons out.

That Good Physician liveth yet Thy friend and guide to be; The Healer by Gennesaret Shall walk the rounds with thee.

THE TWO ANGELS.

God called the nearest angels who dwell with Him above: The tenderest one was Pity, the dearest one was Love.

"Arise," He said, "my angels! a wail of woe and sin Steals through the gates of heaven, and saddens all within.

"My harps take up the mournful strain that from a lost world swells, The smoke of torment clouds the light and blights the asphodels.

"Fly downward to that under world, and on its souls of pain Let Love drop smiles like sunshine, and Pity tears like rain!"

Two faces bowed before the Throne, veiled in their golden hair; Four white wings lessened swiftly down the dark abyss of air.

The way was strange, the flight was long; at last the angels came Where swung the lost and nether world, red-wrapped in rayless flame.

There Pity, shuddering, wept; but Love, with faith too strong for fear, Took heart from God's almightiness and smiled a smile of cheer.

And lo! that tear of Pity quenched the flame whereon it fell, And, with the sunshine of that smile, hope entered into hell!

Two unveiled faces full of joy looked upward to the Throne, Four white wings folded at the feet of Him who sat thereon!

And deeper than the sound of seas, more soft than falling flake, Amidst the hush of wing and song the Voice Eternal spake:

"Welcome, my angels! ye have brought a holier joy to heaven; Henceforth its sweetest song shall be the song of sin forgiven!" 1875.

OVERRULED.

The threads our hands in blindness spin No self-determined plan weaves in; The shuttle of the unseen powers Works out a pattern not as ours.

Ah! small the choice of him who sings What sound shall leave the smitten strings; Fate holds and guides the hand of art; The singer's is the servant's part.

The wind-harp chooses not the tone That through its trembling threads is blown; The patient organ cannot guess What hand its passive keys shall press.

Through wish, resolve, and act, our will Is moved by undreamed forces still; And no man measures in advance His strength with untried circumstance.

As streams take hue from shade and sun, As runs the life the song must run; But, glad or sad, to His good end God grant the varying notes may tend! 1877.

HYMN OF THE DUNKERS

KLOSTER KEDAR, EPHRATA, PENNSYLVANIA (1738)

SISTER MARIA CHRISTINA sings

Wake, sisters, wake! the day-star shines; Above Ephrata's eastern pines The dawn is breaking, cool and calm. Wake, sisters, wake to prayer and psalm!

Praised be the Lord for shade and light, For toil by day, for rest by night! Praised be His name who deigns to bless Our Kedar of the wilderness!

Our refuge when the spoiler's hand Was heavy on our native land; And freedom, to her children due, The wolf and vulture only knew.

We praised Him when to prison led, We owned Him when the stake blazed red; We knew, whatever might befall, His love and power were over all.

He heard our prayers; with outstretched arm He led us forth from cruel harm; Still, wheresoe'er our steps were bent, His cloud and fire before us went!

The watch of faith and prayer He set, We kept it then, we keep it yet. At midnight, crow of cock, or noon, He cometh sure, He cometh soon.

He comes to chasten, not destroy, To purge the earth from sin's alloy. At last, at last shall all confess His mercy as His righteousness.

The dead shall live, the sick be whole, The scarlet sin be white as wool; No discord mar below, above, The music of eternal love!

Sound, welcome trump, the last alarm! Lord God of hosts, make bare thine arm, Fulfil this day our long desire, Make sweet and clean the world with fire!

Sweep, flaming besom, sweep from sight The lies of time; be swift to smite, Sharp sword of God, all idols down, Genevan creed and Roman crown.

Quake, earth, through all thy zones, till all The fanes of pride and priesteraft fall; And lift thou up in place of them Thy gates of pearl, Jerusalem!

Lo! rising from baptismal flame, Transfigured, glorious, yet the same, Within the heavenly city's bound Our Kloster Kedar shall be found.

He cometh soon! at dawn or noon Or set of sun, He cometh soon. Our prayers shall meet Him on His way; Wake, sisters, wake! arise and pray! 1877.

GIVING AND TAKING.

I have attempted to put in English verse a prose translation of a
poem by Tinnevaluva, a Hindoo poet of the third century of our era.

Who gives and hides the giving hand, Nor counts on favor, fame, or praise, Shall find his smallest gift outweighs The burden of the sea and land.

Who gives to whom hath naught been given, His gift in need, though small indeed As is the grass-blade's wind-blown seed, Is large as earth and rich as heaven.

Forget it not, O man, to whom A gift shall fall, while yet on earth; Yea, even to thy seven-fold birth Recall it in the lives to come.

Who broods above a wrong in thought Sins much; but greater sin is his Who, fed and clothed with kindnesses, Shall count the holy alms as nought.

Who dares to curse the hands that bless Shall know of sin the deadliest cost; The patience of the heavens is lost Beholding man's unthankfulness.

For he who breaks all laws may still In Sivam's mercy be forgiven; But none can save, in earth or heaven, The wretch who answers good with ill. 1877.

THE VISION OF ECHARD.

The Benedictine Echard Sat by the wayside well, Where Marsberg sees the bridal Of the Sarre and the Moselle.

Fair with its sloping vineyards And tawny chestnut bloom, The happy vale Ausonius sunk For holy Treves made room.

On the shrine Helena builded To keep the Christ coat well, On minster tower and kloster cross, The westering sunshine fell.

There, where the rock-hewn circles O'erlooked the Roman's game, The veil of sleep fell on him, And his thought a dream became.

He felt the heart of silence Throb with a soundless word, And by the inward ear alone A spirit's voice he heard.

And the spoken word seemed written On air and wave and sod, And the bending walls of sapphire Blazed with the thought of God.

"What lack I, O my children? All things are in my band; The vast earth and the awful stars I hold as grains of sand.

"Need I your alms? The silver And gold are mine alone; The gifts ye bring before me Were evermore my own.

"Heed I the noise of viols, Your pomp of masque and show? Have I not dawns and sunsets Have I not winds that blow?

"Do I smell your gums of incense? Is my ear with chantings fed? Taste I your wine of worship, Or eat your holy bread?

"Of rank and name and honors Am I vain as ye are vain? What can Eternal Fulness From your lip-service gain?

"Ye make me not your debtor Who serve yourselves alone; Ye boast to me of homage Whose gain is all your own.

"For you I gave the prophets, For you the Psalmist's lay For you the law's stone tables, And holy book and day.

"Ye change to weary burdens The helps that should uplift; Ye lose in form the spirit, The Giver in the gift.

"Who called ye to self-torment, To fast and penance vain? Dream ye Eternal Goodness Has joy in mortal pain?

"For the death in life of Nitria, For your Chartreuse ever dumb, What better is the neighbor, Or happier the home?

"Who counts his brother's welfare As sacred as his own, And loves, forgives, and pities, He serveth me alone.

"I note each gracious purpose, Each kindly word and deed; Are ye not all my children? Shall not the Father heed?

"No prayer for light and guidance Is lost upon mine ear The child's cry in the darkness Shall not the Father hear?

"I loathe your wrangling councils, I tread upon your creeds; Who made ye mine avengers, Or told ye of my needs;

"I bless men and ye curse them, I love them and ye hate; Ye bite and tear each other, I suffer long and wait.

"Ye bow to ghastly symbols, To cross and scourge and thorn; Ye seek his Syrian manger Who in the heart is born.

"For the dead Christ, not the living, Ye watch His empty grave, Whose life alone within you Has power to bless and save.

"O blind ones, outward groping, The idle quest forego; Who listens to His inward voice Alone of Him shall know.

"His love all love exceeding The heart must needs recall, Its self-surrendering freedom, Its loss that gaineth all.

"Climb not the holy mountains, Their eagles know not me; Seek not the Blessed Islands, I dwell not in the sea.

"Gone is the mount of Meru, The triple gods are gone, And, deaf to all the lama's prayers, The Buddha slumbers on.

"No more from rocky Horeb The smitten waters gush; Fallen is Bethel's ladder, Quenched is the burning bush.

"The jewels of the Urim And Thurnmim all are dim; The fire has left the altar, The sign the teraphim.

"No more in ark or hill grove The Holiest abides; Not in the scroll's dead letter The eternal secret hides.

"The eye shall fail that searches For me the hollow sky; The far is even as the near, The low is as the high.

"What if the earth is hiding Her old faiths, long outworn? What is it to the changeless truth That yours shall fail in turn?

"What if the o'erturned altar Lays bare the ancient lie? What if the dreams and legends Of the world's childhood die?

"Have ye not still my witness Within yourselves alway, My hand that on the keys of life For bliss or bale I lay?

"Still, in perpetual judgment, I hold assize within, With sure reward of holiness, And dread rebuke of sin.

"A light, a guide, a warning, A presence ever near, Through the deep silence of the flesh I reach the inward ear.

"My Gerizim and Ebal Are in each human soul, The still, small voice of blessing, And Sinai's thunder-roll.

"The stern behest of duty, The doom-book open thrown, The heaven ye seek, the hell ye fear, Are with yourselves alone."

. . . . .

A gold and purple sunset Flowed down the broad Moselle; On hills of vine and meadow lands The peace of twilight fell.

A slow, cool wind of evening Blew over leaf and bloom; And, faint and far, the Angelus Rang from Saint Matthew's tomb.

Then up rose Master Echard, And marvelled: "Can it be That here, in dream and vision, The Lord hath talked with me?"

He went his way; behind him The shrines of saintly dead, The holy coat and nail of cross, He left unvisited.

He sought the vale of Eltzbach His burdened soul to free, Where the foot-hills of the Eifel Are glassed in Laachersee.

And, in his Order's kloster, He sat, in night-long parle, With Tauler of the Friends of God, And Nicolas of Basle.

And lo! the twain made answer "Yea, brother, even thus The Voice above all voices Hath spoken unto us.

"The world will have its idols, And flesh and sense their sign But the blinded eyes shall open, And the gross ear be fine.

"What if the vision tarry? God's time is always best; The true Light shall be witnessed, The Christ within confessed.

"In mercy or in judgment He shall turn and overturn, Till the heart shall be His temple Where all of Him shall learn."

INSCRIPTIONS.

ON A SUN-DIAL.

FOR DR. HENRY I. BOWDITCH.

With warning hand I mark Time's rapid flight From life's glad morning to its solemn night; Yet, through the dear God's love, I also show There's Light above me by the Shade below. 1879.

ON A FOUNTAIN.

FOR DOROTHEA L. DIX.

Stranger and traveller, Drink freely and bestow A kindly thought on her Who bade this fountain flow, Yet hath no other claim Than as the minister Of blessing in God's name. Drink, and in His peace go 1879

THE MINISTER'S DAUGHTER.

In the minister's morning sermon He had told of the primal fall, And how thenceforth the wrath of God Rested on each and all.

And how of His will and pleasure, All souls, save a chosen few, Were doomed to the quenchless burning, And held in the way thereto.

Yet never by faith's unreason A saintlier soul was tried, And never the harsh old lesson A tenderer heart belied.

And, after the painful service On that pleasant Sabbath day, He walked with his little daughter Through the apple-bloom of May.

Sweet in the fresh green meadows Sparrow and blackbird sung; Above him their tinted petals The blossoming orchards hung.

Around on the wonderful glory The minister looked and smiled; "How good is the Lord who gives us These gifts from His hand, my child.

"Behold in the bloom of apples And the violets in the sward A hint of the old, lost beauty Of the Garden of the Lord!"

Then up spake the little maiden, Treading on snow and pink "O father! these pretty blossoms Are very wicked, I think.

"Had there been no Garden of Eden There never had been a fall; And if never a tree had blossomed God would have loved us all."

"Hush, child!" the father answered, "By His decree man fell; His ways are in clouds and darkness, But He doeth all things well.

"And whether by His ordaining To us cometh good or ill, Joy or pain, or light or shadow, We must fear and love Him still."

"Oh, I fear Him!" said the daughter, "And I try to love Him, too; But I wish He was good and gentle, Kind and loving as you."

The minister groaned in spirit As the tremulous lips of pain And wide, wet eyes uplifted Questioned his own in vain.

Bowing his head he pondered The words of the little one; Had he erred in his life-long teaching? Had he wrong to his Master done?

To what grim and dreadful idol Had he lent the holiest name? Did his own heart, loving and human, The God of his worship shame?

And lo! from the bloom and greenness, From the tender skies above, And the face of his little daughter, He read a lesson of love.

No more as the cloudy terror Of Sinai's mount of law, But as Christ in the Syrian lilies The vision of God he saw.

And, as when, in the clefts of Horeb, Of old was His presence known, The dread Ineffable Glory Was Infinite Goodness alone.

Thereafter his hearers noted In his prayers a tenderer strain, And never the gospel of hatred Burned on his lips again.

And the scoffing tongue was prayerful, And the blinded eyes found sight, And hearts, as flint aforetime, Grew soft in his warmth and light. 1880.

BY THEIR WORKS.

Call him not heretic whose works attest His faith in goodness by no creed confessed. Whatever in love's name is truly done To free the bound and lift the fallen one Is done to Christ. Whoso in deed and word Is not against Him labors for our Lord. When He, who, sad and weary, longing sore For love's sweet service, sought the sisters' door, One saw the heavenly, one the human guest, But who shall say which loved the Master best? 1881.

THE WORD.

Voice of the Holy Spirit, making known Man to himself, a witness swift and sure, Warning, approving, true and wise and pure, Counsel and guidance that misleadeth none! By thee the mystery of life is read; The picture-writing of the world's gray seers, The myths and parables of the primal years, Whose letter kills, by thee interpreted Take healthful meanings fitted to our needs, And in the soul's vernacular express The common law of simple righteousness. Hatred of cant and doubt of human creeds May well be felt: the unpardonable sin Is to deny the Word of God within! 1881.

THE BOOK.

Gallery of sacred pictures manifold, A minster rich in holy effigies, And bearing on entablature and frieze The hieroglyphic oracles of old. Along its transept aureoled martyrs sit; And the low chancel side-lights half acquaint The eye with shrines of prophet, bard, and saint, Their age-dimmed tablets traced in doubtful writ! But only when on form and word obscure Falls from above the white supernal light We read the mystic characters aright, And life informs the silent portraiture, Until we pause at last, awe-held, before The One ineffable Face, love, wonder, and adore. 1881

REQUIREMENT.

We live by Faith; but Faith is not the slave Of text and legend. Reason's voice and God's, Nature's and Duty's, never are at odds. What asks our Father of His children, save Justice and mercy and humility, A reasonable service of good deeds, Pure living, tenderness to human needs, Reverence and trust, and prayer for light to see The Master's footprints in our daily ways? No knotted scourge nor sacrificial knife, But the calm beauty of an ordered life Whose very breathing is unworded praise!-- A life that stands as all true lives have stood, Firm-rooted in the faith that God is Good. 1881.

HELP.

Dream not, O Soul, that easy is the task Thus set before thee. If it proves at length, As well it may, beyond thy natural strength, Faint not, despair not. As a child may ask A father, pray the Everlasting Good For light and guidance midst the subtle snares Of sin thick planted in life's thoroughfares, For spiritual strength and moral hardihood; Still listening, through the noise of time and sense, To the still whisper of the Inward Word; Bitter in blame, sweet in approval heard, Itself its own confirming evidence To health of soul a voice to cheer and please, To guilt the wrath of the Eumenides. 1881.

UTTERANCE. But what avail inadequate words to reach The innermost of Truth? Who shall essay, Blinded and weak, to point and lead the way, Or solve the mystery in familiar speech? Yet, if it be that something not thy own, Some shadow of the Thought to which our schemes, Creeds, cult, and ritual are at best but dreams, Is even to thy unworthiness made known, Thou mayst not hide what yet thou shouldst not dare To utter lightly, lest on lips of thine The real seem false, the beauty undivine. So, weighing duty in the scale of prayer, Give what seems given thee. It may prove a seed Of goodness dropped in fallow-grounds of need. 1881.

ORIENTAL MAXIMS.

PARAPHRASE OF SANSCRIT TRANSLATIONS.

THE INWARD JUDGE.

From Institutes of Manu.

The soul itself its awful witness is. Say not in evil doing, "No one sees," And so offend the conscious One within, Whose ear can hear the silences of sin.

Ere they find voice, whose eyes unsleeping see The secret motions of iniquity. Nor in thy folly say, "I am alone." For, seated in thy heart, as on a throne, The ancient Judge and Witness liveth still, To note thy act and thought; and as thy ill Or good goes from thee, far beyond thy reach, The solemn Doomsman's seal is set on each. 1878.

LAYING UP TREASURE

From the Mahabharata.

Before the Ender comes, whose charioteer Is swift or slow Disease, lay up each year Thy harvests of well-doing, wealth that kings Nor thieves can take away. When all the things Thou tallest thine, goods, pleasures, honors fall, Thou in thy virtue shalt survive them all. 1881.

CONDUCT

From the Mahabharata.

Heed how thou livest. Do no act by day Which from the night shall drive thy peace away. In months of sun so live that months of rain Shall still be happy. Evermore restrain Evil and cherish good, so shall there be Another and a happier life for thee. 1881.

AN EASTER FLOWER GIFT.

O dearest bloom the seasons know, Flowers of the Resurrection blow, Our hope and faith restore; And through the bitterness of death And loss and sorrow, breathe a breath Of life forevermore!

The thought of Love Immortal blends With fond remembrances of friends; In you, O sacred flowers, By human love made doubly sweet, The heavenly and the earthly meet, The heart of Christ and ours! 1882.

THE MYSTIC'S CHRISTMAS.

"All hail!" the bells of Christmas rang, "All hail!" the monks at Christmas sang, The merry monks who kept with cheer The gladdest day of all their year.

But still apart, unmoved thereat, A pious elder brother sat Silent, in his accustomed place, With God's sweet peace upon his face.

"Why sitt'st thou thus?" his brethren cried. "It is the blessed Christmas-tide; The Christmas lights are all aglow, The sacred lilies bud and blow.

"Above our heads the joy-bells ring, Without the happy children sing, And all God's creatures hail the morn On which the holy Christ was born!

"Rejoice with us; no more rebuke Our gladness with thy quiet look." The gray monk answered: "Keep, I pray, Even as ye list, the Lord's birthday.

"Let heathen Yule fires flicker red Where thronged refectory feasts are spread; With mystery-play and masque and mime And wait-songs speed the holy time!

"The blindest faith may haply save; The Lord accepts the things we have; And reverence, howsoe'er it strays, May find at last the shining ways.

"They needs must grope who cannot see, The blade before the ear must be; As ye are feeling I have felt, And where ye dwell I too have dwelt.

"But now, beyond the things of sense, Beyond occasions and events, I know, through God's exceeding grace, Release from form and time and place.

"I listen, from no mortal tongue, To hear the song the angels sung; And wait within myself to know The Christmas lilies bud and blow.

"The outward symbols disappear From him whose inward sight is clear; And small must be the choice of clays To him who fills them all with praise!

"Keep while you need it, brothers mine, With honest zeal your Christmas sign, But judge not him who every morn Feels in his heart the Lord Christ born!" 1882.

AT LAST.

When on my day of life the night is falling, And, in the winds from unsunned spaces blown, I hear far voices out of darkness calling My feet to paths unknown,

Thou who hast made my home of life so pleasant, Leave not its tenant when its walls decay; O Love Divine, O Helper ever present, Be Thou my strength and stay!

Be near me when all else is from me drifting Earth, sky, home's pictures, days of shade and shine, And kindly faces to my own uplifting The love which answers mine.

I have but Thee, my Father! let Thy spirit Be with me then to comfort and uphold; No gate of pearl, no branch of palm I merit, Nor street of shining gold.

Suffice it if--my good and ill unreckoned, And both forgiven through Thy abounding grace-- I find myself by hands familiar beckoned Unto my fitting place.

Some humble door among Thy many mansions, Some sheltering shade where sin and striving cease, And flows forever through heaven's green expansions The river of Thy peace.

There, from the music round about me stealing, I fain would learn the new and holy song, And find at last, beneath Thy trees of healing, The life for which I long. 1882

WHAT THE TRAVELLER SAID AT SUNSET.

The shadows grow and deepen round me, I feel the deffall in the air; The muezzin of the darkening thicket, I hear the night-thrush call to prayer.

The evening wind is sad with farewells, And loving hands unclasp from mine; Alone I go to meet the darkness Across an awful boundary-line.

As from the lighted hearths behind me I pass with slow, reluctant feet, What waits me in the land of strangeness? What face shall smile, what voice shall greet?

What space shall awe, what brightness blind me? What thunder-roll of music stun? What vast processions sweep before me Of shapes unknown beneath the sun?

I shrink from unaccustomed glory, I dread the myriad-voiced strain; Give me the unforgotten faces, And let my lost ones speak again.

He will not chide my mortal yearning Who is our Brother and our Friend; In whose full life, divine and human, The heavenly and the earthly blend.

Mine be the joy of soul-communion, The sense of spiritual strength renewed, The reverence for the pure and holy, The dear delight of doing good.

No fitting ear is mine to listen An endless anthem's rise and fall; No curious eye is mine to measure The pearl gate and the jasper wall.

For love must needs be more than knowledge: What matter if I never know Why Aldebaran's star is ruddy, Or warmer Sirius white as snow!

Forgive my human words, O Father! I go Thy larger truth to prove; Thy mercy shall transcend my longing I seek but love, and Thou art Love!

I go to find my lost and mourned for Safe in Thy sheltering goodness still, And all that hope and faith foreshadow Made perfect in Thy holy will! 1883.

THE "STORY OF IDA."

Francesca Alexander, whose pen and pencil have so reverently
transcribed the simple faith and life of the Italian peasantry,
wrote the narrative published with John Ruskin's introduction under
the title, _The Story of Ida_.

Weary of jangling noises never stilled, The skeptic's sneer, the bigot's hate, the din Of clashing texts, the webs of creed men spin Round simple truth, the children grown who build With gilded cards their new Jerusalem, Busy, with sacerdotal tailorings And tinsel gauds, bedizening holy things, I turn, with glad and grateful heart, from them To the sweet story of the Florentine Immortal in her blameless maidenhood, Beautiful as God's angels and as good; Feeling that life, even now, may be divine With love no wrong can ever change to hate, No sin make less than all-compassionate! 1884.

THE LIGHT THAT IS FELT.

A tender child of summers three, Seeking her little bed at night, Paused on the dark stair timidly. "Oh, mother! Take my hand," said she, "And then the dark will all be light."

We older children grope our way From dark behind to dark before; And only when our hands we lay, Dear Lord, in Thine, the night is day, And there is darkness nevermore.

Reach downward to the sunless days Wherein our guides are blind as we, And faith is small and hope delays; Take Thou the hands of prayer we raise, And let us feel the light of Thee! 1884.

THE TWO LOVES

Smoothing soft the nestling head Of a maiden fancy-led, Thus a grave-eyed woman said:

"Richest gifts are those we make, Dearer than the love we take That we give for love's own sake.

"Well I know the heart's unrest; Mine has been the common quest, To be loved and therefore blest.

"Favors undeserved were mine; At my feet as on a shrine Love has laid its gifts divine.

"Sweet the offerings seemed, and yet With their sweetness came regret, And a sense of unpaid debt.

"Heart of mine unsatisfied, Was it vanity or pride That a deeper joy denied?

"Hands that ope but to receive Empty close; they only live Richly who can richly give.

"Still," she sighed, with moistening eyes, "Love is sweet in any guise; But its best is sacrifice!

"He who, giving, does not crave Likest is to Him who gave Life itself the loved to save.

"Love, that self-forgetful gives, Sows surprise of ripened sheaves, Late or soon its own receives." 1884.

ADJUSTMENT.

The tree of Faith its bare, dry boughs must shed That nearer heaven the living ones may climb; The false must fail, though from our shores of time The old lament be heard, "Great Pan is dead!" That wail is Error's, from his high place hurled; This sharp recoil is Evil undertrod; Our time's unrest, an angel sent of God Troubling with life the waters of the world. Even as they list the winds of the Spirit blow To turn or break our century-rusted vanes; Sands shift and waste; the rock alone remains Where, led of Heaven, the strong tides come and go, And storm-clouds, rent by thunderbolt and wind, Leave, free of mist, the permanent stars behind.

Therefore I trust, although to outward sense Both true and false seem shaken; I will hold With newer light my reverence for the old, And calmly wait the births of Providence. No gain is lost; the clear-eyed saints look down Untroubled on the wreck of schemes and creeds; Love yet remains, its rosary of good deeds Counting in task-field and o'erpeopled town; Truth has charmed life; the Inward Word survives, And, day by day, its revelation brings; Faith, hope, and charity, whatsoever things Which cannot be shaken, stand. Still holy lives Reveal the Christ of whom the letter told, And the new gospel verifies the old. 1885.

HYMNS OF THE BRAHMO SOMAJ.

I have attempted this paraphrase of the Hymns of the Brahmo Somaj
of India, as I find them in Mozoomdar's account of the devotional
exercises of that remarkable religious development which has
attracted far less attention and sympathy from the Christian world
than it deserves, as a fresh revelation of the direct action of the
Divine Spirit upon the human heart.