Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

It is good to be last not first, Pending the present distress; It is good to hunger and thirst, So it be for righteousness. It is good to spend and be spent, It is good to watch and to pray: Life and Death make a goodly Lent So it leads us to Easter Day.

EMBERTIDE.

I saw a Saint.—How canst thou tell that he Thou sawest was a Saint?— I saw one like to Christ so luminously By patient deeds of love, his mortal taint Seemed made his groundwork for humility.

And when he marked me downcast utterly Where foul I sat and faint, Then more than ever Christ-like kindled he; And welcomed me as I had been a saint, Tenderly stooping low to comfort me.

Christ bade him, “Do thou likewise.” Wherefore he Waxed zealous to acquaint His soul with sin and sorrow, if so be He might retrieve some latent saint:— “Lo, I, with the child God hath given to me!”

MID-LENT.

Is any grieved or tired? Yea, by God’s Will: Surely God’s Will alone is good and best: O weary man, in weariness take rest, O hungry man, by hunger feast thy fill. Discern thy good beneath a mask of ill, Or build of loneliness thy secret nest: At noon take heart, being mindful of the west, At night wake hope, for dawn advances still. At night wake hope. Poor soul, in such sore need Of wakening and of girding up anew, Hast thou that hope which fainting doth pursue? No saint but hath pursued and hath been faint; Bid love wake hope, for both thy steps shall speed, Still faint yet still pursuing, O thou saint.

PASSIONTIDE.

It is the greatness of Thy love, dear Lord, that we would celebrate With sevenfold powers. Our love at best is cold and poor, at best unseemly for Thy state, This best of ours. Creatures that die, we yet are such as Thine own hands deigned to create: We frail as flowers, We bitter bondslaves ransomed at a price incomparably great To grace Heaven’s bowers.

Thou callest: “Come at once”—and still Thou callest us: “Come late, tho’ late”— (The moments fly)— “Come, every one that thirsteth, come”—“Come prove Me, knocking at My gate”— (Some souls draw nigh!)— “Come thou who waiting seekest Me”—“Come thou for whom I seek and wait”— (Why will we die?)— “Come and repent: come and amend: come joy the joys unsatiate”— ——(Christ passeth by...)— Lord, pass not by—I come—and I—and I. Amen.

PALM SUNDAY.

“He treadeth the winepress of the fierceness and wrath of Almighty God.”

I lift mine eyes, and see Thee, tender Lord, in pain upon the tree, Athirst for my sake and athirst for me.

“Yea, look upon Me there, Compassed with thorns and bleeding everywhere, For thy sake bearing all, and glad to bear.”

I lift my heart to pray: Thou Who didst love me all that darkened day, Wilt Thou not love me to the end alway?

“Yea, thee My wandering sheep, Yea, thee My scarlet sinner slow to weep, Come to Me, I will love thee and will keep.”

Yet am I racked with fear: Behold the unending outer darkness drear, Behold the gulf unbridgeable and near!

“Nay, fix thy heart, thine eyes, Thy hope upon My boundless sacrifice: Will I lose lightly one so dear-bought prize?”

Ah, Lord; it is not Thou, Thou that wilt fail; yet woe is me, for how Shall I endure who half am failing now?

“Nay, weld thy resolute will To Mine: glance not aside for good or ill: I love thee; trust Me still and love Me still.”

Yet Thou Thyself hast said, When Thou shalt sift the living from the dead Some must depart shamed and uncomforted.

“Judge not before that day: Trust Me with all thy heart, even tho’ I slay: Trust Me in love, trust on, love on, and pray.”

MONDAY IN HOLY WEEK.

“The Voice of my Beloved.”

Once I ached for thy dear sake: Wilt thou cause Me now to ache? Once I bled for thee in pain: Wilt thou rend My Heart again? Crown of thorns and shameful tree, Bitter death I bore for thee, Bore My Cross to carry thee, And wilt thou have nought of Me?

TUESDAY IN HOLY WEEK.

By Thy long-drawn anguish to atone, Jesus Christ, show mercy on Thine own: Jesus Christ, show mercy and atone Not for other sake except Thine own.

Thou Who thirsting on the Cross didst see All mankind and all I love and me, Still from Heaven look down in love and see All mankind and all I love and me.

WEDNESDAY IN HOLY WEEK.

Man’s life is death. Yet Christ endured to live, Preaching and teaching, toiling to and fro, Few men accepting what He yearned to give, Few men with eyes to know His Face, that Face of Love He stooped to show.

Man’s death is life. For Christ endured to die In slow unuttered weariness of pain, A curse and an astonishment, passed by, Pointed at, mocked again By men for whom He shed His Blood—in vain?

MAUNDY THURSDAY.

“And the Vine said...Should I leave my wine, which cheereth God and man, and go to be promotes over the trees?”

The great Vine left its glory to reign as Forest King. “Nay,” quoth the lofty forest trees, “we will not have this thing; We will not have this supple one enring us with its ring. Lo, from immemorial time our might towers shadowing: Not we were born to curve and droop, not we to climb and cling: We buffet back the buffeting wind, tough to its buffeting: We screen great beasts, the wild fowl build in our heads and sing, Every bird of every feather from off our tops takes wing: I a king, and thou a king, and what king shall be our king?”

Nevertheless the great Vine stooped to be the Forest King, While the forest swayed and murmured like seas that are tempesting: Stooped and drooped with thousand tendrils in thirsty languishing; Bowed to earth and lay on earth for earth’s replenishing; Put off sweetness, tasted bitterness, endured time’s fashioning; Put off life and put on death: and lo! it was all to bring All its fellows down to a death which hath lost the sting, All its fellows up to a life in endless triumphing,— I a king, and thou a king, and this King to be our King.

GOOD FRIDAY MORNING.

“Bearing His Cross.”

Up Thy Hill of Sorrows Thou all alone, Jesus, man’s Redeemer, Climbing to a Throne: Thro’ the world triumphant, Thro’ the Church in pain, Which think to look upon Thee No more again.

Upon my hill of sorrows I, Lord, with Thee, Cheered, upheld, yea, carried, If a need should be: Cheered, upheld, yea, carried, Never left alone, Carried in Thy heart of hearts To a throne.

GOOD FRIDAY.

Lord Jesus Christ, grown faint upon the Cross, A sorrow beyond sorrow in Thy look, The unutterable craving for my soul: Thy love of me sufficed To load upon Thee and make good my loss In face of darkened heaven and earth that shook:— In face of earth and heaven, take Thou my whole Heart, O Lord Jesus Christ.

GOOD FRIDAY EVENING.

“Bring forth the Spear.”

No Cherub’s heart or hand for us might ache, No Seraph’s heart of fire had half sufficed: Thine own were pierced and broken for our sake, O Jesus Christ.

Therefore we love Thee with our faint good-will, We crave to love Thee not as heretofore. To love Thee much, to love Thee more, and still More and yet more.

“A bundle of myrrh is my Well-beloved unto me.”

Thy Cross cruciferous doth flower in all And every cross, dear Lord, assigned to us: Ours lowly-statured crosses; Thine how tall, Thy Cross cruciferous.

Thy Cross alone life-giving, glorious: For love of Thine, souls love their own when small, Easy and light, or great and ponderous.

Since deep calls deep, Lord, hearken when we call; When cross calls Cross racking and emulous:— Remember us with him who shared Thy gall, Thy Cross cruciferous.

EASTER EVEN.

The tempest over and gone, the calm begun, Lo, “it is finished” and the Strong Man sleeps: All stars keep vigil watching for the sun, The moon her vigil keeps.

A garden full of silence and of dew Beside a virgin cave and entrance stone: Surely a garden full of Angels too, Wondering, on watch, alone.

They who cry “Holy, Holy, Holy,” still Veiling their faces round God’s Throne above, May well keep vigil on this heavenly hill And cry their cry of love,

Adoring God in His new mystery Of Love more deep than bell, more strong than death; Until the day break and the shadows flee, The Shaking and the Breath.

“Our Church palms are budding willow twigs.”

While Christ lay dead the widowed world Wore willow green for hope undone: Till, when bright Easter dews impearled The chilly burial earth, All north and south, all east and west, Flushed rosy in the arising sun; Hope laughed, and Faith resumed her rest, And Love remembered mirth.

EASTER DAY.

Words cannot utter Christ His returning: Mankind, keep jubilee, Strip off your mourning, Crown you with garlands, Set your lamps burning.

Speech is left speechless; Set you to singing, Fling your hearts open wide, Set your bells ringing: Christ the Chief Reaper Comes, His sheaf bringing.

Earth wakes her song-birds, Puts on her flowers, Leads out her lambkins, Builds up her bowers: This is man’s spousal day, Christ’s day and ours.

EASTER MONDAY.

Out in the rain a world is growing green, On half the trees quick buds are seen Where glued-up buds have been. Out in the rain God’s Acre stretches green, Its harvest quick tho’ still unseen: For there the Life hath been.

If Christ hath died His brethren well may die, Sing in the gale of death, lay by This life without a sigh: For Christ hath died and good it is to die; To sleep whenso He lays us by, Then wake without a sigh.

Yea, Christ hath died, yea, Christ is risen again: Wherefore both life and death grow plain To us who wax and wane; For Christ Who rose shall die no more again: Amen: till He makes all things plain Let us wax on and wane.

EASTER TUESDAY.

“Together with my dead body shall they arise.”

Shall my dead body arise? then amen and yea On track of a home beyond the uttermost skies Together with my dead body shall they.

We know the way: thank God Who hath showed us the way! Jesus Christ our Way to beautiful Paradise, Jesus Christ the Same for ever, the Same to-day.

Five Virgins replenish with oil their lamps, being wise, Five Virgins awaiting the Bridegroom watch and pray: And if I one day spring from my grave to the prize, Together with my dead body shall they.

ROGATIONTIDE.

Who scatters tares shall reap no wheat, But go hungry while others eat.

Who sows the wind shall not reap grain; The sown wind whirleth back again.

What God opens must open be, Tho’ man pile the sand of the sea.

What God shuts is opened no more, Tho’ man weary himself to find the door.

ASCENSION EVE.

O Lord Almighty, Who hast formed us weak, With us whom Thou hast formed deal fatherly; Be found of us whom Thou hast deigned to seek, Be found that we the more may seek for Thee; Lord, speak and grant us ears to hear Thee speak Lord, come to us and grant us eyes to see; Lord, make us meek, for Thou Thyself art meek; Lord, Thou art Love, fill us with charity. O Thou the Life of living and of dead, Who givest more the more Thyself hast given, Suffice us as Thy saints Thou hast sufficed; That beautified, replenished, comforted, Still gazing off from earth and up at heaven We may pursue Thy steps, Lord Jesus Christ.

ASCENSION DAY.

“A Cloud received Him out of their sight.”

When Christ went up to Heaven the Apostles stayed Gazing at Heaven with souls and wills on fire, Their hearts on flight along the track He made, Winged by desire.

Their silence spake: “Lord, why not follow Thee? Home is not home without Thy Blessed Face, Life is not life. Remember, Lord, and see, Look back, embrace.

“Earth is one desert waste of banishment, Life is one long-drawn anguish of decay. Where Thou wert wont to go we also went: Why not to-day?”

Nevertheless a cloud cut off their gaze: They tarry to build up Jerusalem, Watching for Him, while thro’ the appointed days He watches them.

They do His Will, and doing it rejoice, Patiently glad to spend and to be spent: Still He speaks to them, still they hear His Voice And are content.

For as a cloud received Him from their sight, So with a cloud will He return ere long: Therefore they stand on guard by day, by night, Strenuous and strong.

They do, they dare, they beyond seven times seven Forgive, they cry God’s mighty word aloud: Yet sometimes haply lift tired eyes to Heaven— “Is that His cloud?”

WHITSUN EVE.

“As many as I love.”—Ah, Lord, Who lovest all, If thus it is with Thee why sit remote above, Beholding from afar, stumbling and marred and small, So many Thou dost love?

Whom sin and sorrow make their worn reluctant thrall; Who fain would flee away but lack the wings of dove; Who long for love and rest; who look to Thee, and call To Thee for rest and love.

WHITSUN DAY.

“When the day of Pentecost was fully come.”

At sound as of rushing wind, and sight as of fire, Lo! flesh and blood made spirit and fiery flame, Ambassadors in Christ’s and the Father’s Name, To woo back a world’s desire.

These men chose death for their life and shame for their boast, For fear courage, for doubt intuition of faith, Chose love that is strong as death and stronger than death In the power of the Holy Ghost.

WHITSUN MONDAY.

“A pure River of Water of Life.”

We know not a voice of that River, If vocal or silent it be, Where for ever and ever and ever It flows to no sea.

More deep than the seas is that River, More full than their manifold tides, Where for ever and ever and ever It flows and abides.

Pure gold is the bed of that River (The gold of that land is the best), Where for ever and ever and ever It flows on at rest.

Oh goodly the banks of that River, Oh goodly the fruits that they bear, Where for ever and ever and ever It flows and is fair.

For lo! on each bank of that River The Tree of Life life-giving grows, Where for ever and ever and ever The Pure River flows.

WHITSUN TUESDAY.

Lord Jesus Christ, our Wisdom and our Rest, Who wisely dost reveal and wisely hide, Grant us such grace in wisdom to abide According to Thy Will whose Will is best. Contented with Thine uttermost behest, Too sweet for envy and too high for pride; All simple-souled, dove-hearted and dove-eyed, Soft-voiced, and satisfied in humble nest. Wondering at the bounty of Thy Love Which gives us wings of silver and of gold; Wings folded close, yet ready to unfold When Thou shalt say, “Winter is past and gone:” When Thou shalt say, “Spouse, sister, love and dove, Come hither, sit with Me upon My Throne.”

TRINITY SUNDAY.

My God, Thyself being Love Thy heart is love, And love Thy Will and love Thy Word to us, Whether Thou show us depths calamitous Or heights and flights of rapturous peace above. O Christ the Lamb, O Holy Ghost the Dove, Reveal the Almighty Father unto us; That we may tread Thy courts felicitous, Loving Who loves us, for our God is Love. Lo, if our God be Love thro’ heaven’s long day, Love is He thro’ our mortal pilgrimage, Love was He thro’ all aeons that are told. We change, but Thou remainest; for Thine age Is, Was, and Is to come, nor new nor old; We change, but Thou remainest; yea and yea!

CONVERSION OF ST. PAUL.

O blessed Paul elect to grace, Arise and wash away thy sin, Anoint thy head and wash thy face, Thy gracious course begin. To start thee on thy outrunning race Christ shows the splendour of His Face: What will that Face of splendour be When at the goal He welcomes thee?

In weariness and painfulness St. Paul Served God and pleased Him: after-saints no less Can wait on and can please Him, one and all In weariness and painfulness,

By faith and hope triumphant thro distress: Not with the rankling service of a thrall; But even as loving children trust and bless.

Weep and rejoice, answering their Father’s call, Work with tired hands, and forward upward press On sore tired feet still rising when they fall, In weariness and painfulness.

VIGIL OF THE PRESENTATION.

Long and dark the nights, dim and short the days, Mounting weary heights on our weary ways, Thee our God we praise. Scaling heavenly heights by unearthly ways, Thee our God we praise all our nights and days, Thee our God we praise.

FEAST OF THE PRESENTATION.

O firstfruits of our grain, Infant and Lamb appointed to be slain, A Virgin and two doves were all Thy train, With one old man for state, When Thou didst enter first Thy Father’s gate.

Since then Thy train hath been Freeman and bondman, bishop, king and queen, With flaming candles and with garlands green: Oh happy all who wait One day or thousand days around Thy gate.

And these have offered Thee, Beside their hearts, great stores for charity, Gold, frankincense and myrrh; if such may be For savour or for state Within the threshold of Thy golden gate.

Then snowdrops and my heart I’ll bring, to find those blacker than Thou art: Yet, loving Lord, accept us in good part; And give me grace to wait A bruised reed bowed low before Thy gate.

THE PURIFICATION OF ST. MARY THE VIRGIN.

Purity born of a Maid: Was such a Virgin defiled? Nay, by no shade of a shade. She offered her gift of pure love, A dove with a fair fellow-dove. She offered her Innocent Child The Essence and Author of Love; The Lamb that indwelt by the Dove Was spotless and holy and mild; More pure than all other, More pure than His Mother, Her God and Redeemer and Child.

VIGIL OF THE ANNUNCIATION.

All weareth, all wasteth, All flitteth, all hasteth, All of flesh and time:— Sound, sweet heavenly chime, Ring in the unutterable eternal prime.

Man hopeth, man feareth, Man droopeth:—Christ cheereth, Compassing release, Comforting with peace, Promising rest where strife and anguish cease.

Saints waking, saints sleeping, Rest well in safe keeping; Well they rest to-day While they watch and pray,— But their to-morrow’s rest what tongue shall say?

FEAST OF THE ANNUNCIATION.

Whereto shall we liken this Blessed Mary Virgin, Fruitful shoot from Jesse’s root graciously emerging? Lily we might call her, but Christ alone is white; Rose delicious, but that Jesus is the one Delight; Flower of women, but her Firstborn is mankind’s one flower: He the Sun lights up all moons thro’ their radiant hour. “Blessed among women, highly favoured,” thus Glorious Gabriel hailed her, teaching words to us: Whom devoutly copying we too cry “All hail!” Echoing on the music of glorious Gabriel.

Herself a rose, who bore the Rose, She bore the Rose and felt its thorn. All Loveliness new-born Took on her bosom its repose, And slept and woke there night and morn.

Lily herself, she bore the one Fair Lily; sweeter, whiter, far Than she or others are: The Sun of Righteousness her Son, She was His morning star.

She gracious, He essential Grace, He was the Fountain, she the rill: Her goodness to fulfil And gladness, with proportioned pace He led her steps thro’ good and ill.

Christ’s mirror she of grace and love, Of beauty and of life and death: By hope and love and faith Transfigured to His Likeness, “Dove, Spouse, Sister, Mother,” Jesus saith.

ST. MARK.

Once like a broken bow Mark sprang aside: Yet grace recalled him to a worthier course, To feeble hands and knees increasing force, Till God was magnified.

And now a strong Evangelist, St. Mark Hath for his sign a Lion in his strength; And thro’ the stormy water’s breadth and length He helps to steer God’s Ark.

Thus calls he sinners to be penitents, He kindles penitents to high desire, He mounts before them to the sphere of saints, And bids them come up higher.

ST. BARNABAS.

“Now when we had discovered Cyprus, we left it on the left band.” —Acts xxi. 3.

“We sailed under Cyprus, because the winds were contrary.” —Acts xxvii. 4.

St. Barnabas, with John his sister’s son, Set sail for Cyprus; leaving in their wake That chosen Vessel, who for Jesus’ sake Proclaimed the Gentiles and the Jews at one. Divided while united, each must run His mighty course not hell should overtake; And pressing toward the mark must own the ache Of love, and sigh for heaven not yet begun. For saints in life-long exile yearn to touch Warm human hands, and commune face to face; But these we know not ever met again: Yet once St. Paul at distance overmuch Just sighted Cyprus; and once more in vain Neared it and passed;—not there his landing place.

VIGIL OF ST. PETER.

O Jesu, gone so far apart Only my heart can follow Thee, That look which pierced St. Peter’s heart Turn now on me.

Thou who dost search me thro’ and thro’ And mark the crooked ways I went, Look on me, Lord, and make me too Thy penitent.

ST. PETER.

“Launch out into the deep,” Christ spake of old To Peter: and he launched into the deep; Strengthened should tempest wake which lay asleep, Strengthened to suffer heat or suffer cold. Thus, in Christ’s Prescience: patient to behold A fall, a rise, a scaling Heaven’s high steep; Prescience of Love, which deigned to overleap The mire of human errors manifold.

Lord, Lover of Thy Peter, and of him Beloved with craving of a humbled heart Which eighteen hundred years have satisfied; Hath he his throne among Thy Seraphim Who love? or sits he on a throne apart, Unique, near Thee, to love Thee human-eyed?

St. Peter once: “Lord, dost Thou wash my feet?”— Much more I say: Lord, dost Thou stand and knock At my closed heart more rugged than a rock, Bolted and barred, for Thy soft touch unmeet, Nor garnished nor in any wise made sweet? Owls roost within and dancing satyrs mock. Lord, I have heard the crowing of the cock And have not wept: ah, Lord, Thou knowest it. Yet still I hear Thee knocking, still I hear: “Open to Me, look on Me eye to eye, That I may wring thy heart and make it whole; And teach thee love because I hold thee dear, And sup with thee in gladness soul with soul, And sup with thee in glory by and by.”

I followed Thee, my God, I followed Thee To see the end: I turned back flying from Gethsemane, Turned back on flying steps to see Thy Face, my God, my Friend.

Even fleeing from Thee my heart clave to Thee: I turned perforce Constrained, yea chained by love which maketh free; I turned perforce, and silently Followed along Thy course.

Lord, didst Thou know that I was following Thee? I weak and small Yet Thy true lover, mean tho’ I must be, Sinning and sorrowing—didst Thou see? O Lord, Thou sawest all.

I thought I had been strong to die for Thee; I disbelieved Thy word of warning spoken patiently: My heart cried, “That be far from me,” Till Thy bruised heart I grieved.

Once I had urged: “Lord, this be far from Thee:”— Rebel to light, It needed first that Thou shouldst die for me Or ever I could plumb and see Love’s lovely depth and height.

Alas that I should trust myself, not Thee; Not trust Thy word: I faithless slumberer in Gethsemane, Blinded and rash; who instantly Put trust, but in a sword.

Ah Lord, if even at the last in Thee I had put faith, I might even at the last have counselled me, And not have heaped up cruelty To sting Thee in Thy death.

Alas for me, who bore to think on Thee And yet to lie: While Thou, O Lord, didst bear to look on me Goaded by fear to blasphemy, And break my heart and die.

No balm I find in Gilead, yet in Thee Nailed to Thy palm I find a balm that wrings and comforts me: Balm wrung from Thee by agony, My balm, mine only balm.

Oh blessed John who standeth close to Thee, With Magdalene, And Thine own Mother praying silently, Yea, blessed above women she, Now blessed even as then.

And blessed the scorned thief who hangs by Thee, Whose thirsting mouth Thirsts for Thee more than water, whose eyes see, Whose lips confess in ecstasy Nor feel their parching drouth.

Like as the hart the water-brooks I Thee Desire, my hands I stretch to Thee; O kind Lord, pity me: Lord, I have wept, wept bitterly, I driest of dry lands.

Lord, I am standing far far off from Thee; Yet is my heart Hanging with Thee upon the accursed tree; The nails, the thorns, pierce Thee and me: My God, I claim my part.

Scarce in Thy throne and kingdom; yet with Thee In shame, in loss, In Thy forsaking, in Thine agony: Love crucified, behold even me, Me also bear Thy cross.

VIGIL OF ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

Lord, to Thine own grant watchful hearts and eyes; Hearts strung to prayer, awake while eyelids sleep; Eyes patient till the end to watch and weep. So will sleep nourish power to wake and rise With Virgins who keep vigil and are wise, To sow among all sowers who shall reap, From out man’s deep to call Thy vaster deep, And tread the uphill track to Paradise. Sweet souls! so patient that they make no moan, So calm on journey that they seem at rest, So rapt in prayer that half they dwell in heaven Thankful for all withheld and all things given; So lit by love that Christ shines manifest Transfiguring their aspects to His own.

ST. BARTHOLOMEW.

He bore an agony whereof the name Hath turned his fellows pale: But what if God should call us to the same, Should call, and we should fail?

Nor earth nor sea could swallow up our shame, Nor darkness draw a veil: For he endured that agony whose name Hath made his fellows quail.

ST. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS.

“He that excel in strength.”

Service and strength, God’s Angels and Archangels; His Seraphs fires, and lamps His Cherubim: Glory to God from highest and from lowest, Glory to God in everlasting hymn From all His creatures.

Princes that serve, and Powers that work His pleasure, Heights that soar to’ard Him, Depths that sink to’ard Him; Flames fire out-flaming, chill beside His Essence; Insight all-probing, save where scant and dim To’ard its Creator.

Sacred and free exultant in God’s pleasure, His Will their solace, thus they wait on Him; And shout their shout of ecstasy eternal, And trim their splendours that they burn not dim To’ard their Creator.

Wherefore with Angels, wherefore with Archangels, With lofty Cherubs, loftier Seraphim, We laud and magnify our God Almighty, And veil our faces rendering love to Him With all His creatures.

VIGIL OF ALL SAINTS.

Up, my drowsing eyes! Up, my sinking heart! Up to Jesus Christ arise! Claim your part In all raptures of the skies.

Yet a little while, Yet a little way, Saints shall reap and rest and smile All the day. Up! let’s trudge another mile.

ALL SAINTS.

As grains of sand, as stars, as drops of dew, Numbered and treasured by the Almighty Hand, The Saints triumphant throng that holy land Where all things and Jerusalem are new. We know not half they sing or half they do, But this we know, they rest and understand; While like a conflagration freshly fanned Their love glows upward, outward, thro’ and thro’. Lo! like a stream of incense launched on flame Fresh Saints stream up from death to life above, To shine among those others and rejoice: What matters tribulation whence they came? All love and only love can find a voice Where God makes glad His Saints, for God is Love.

ALL SAINTS: MARTYRS.

Once slain for Him who first was slain for them, Now made alive in Him for evermore, All luminous and lovely in their gore With no more buffeting winds or tides to stem The Martyrs look for New Jerusalem; And cry “How long?” remembering all they bore, “How long?” with heart and eyes sent on before Toward consummated throne and diadem. “How long?” White robes are given to their desire; “How long?” deep rest that is and is to be; With a great promise of the oncoming host, Loves to their love and fires to flank their fire: So rest they, worshipping incessantly One God, the Father, Son, and Holy Ghost.

“I gave a sweet smell.”

Saints are like roses when they flush rarest, Saints are like lilies when they bloom fairest, Saints are like violets sweetest of their kind Bear in mind This to-day. Then to-morrow: All like roses rarer than the rarest, All like lilies fairer than the fairest, All like violets sweeter than we know. Be it so. To-morrow blots out sorrow.

Hark! the Alleluias of the great salvation Still beginning, never ending, still begin, The thunder of an endless adoration: Open ye the gates, that the righteous nation Which have kept the truth may enter in.

Roll ye back, ye pearls, on your twelvefold station: No more deaths to die, no more fights to win! Lift your heads, ye gates, that the righteous nation Led by the Great Captain of their sole salvation, Having kept the truth, may enter in.

A SONG FOR THE LEAST OF ALL SAINTS.

Love is the key of life and death, Of hidden heavenly mystery: Of all Christ is, of all He saith, Love is the key.

As three times to His Saint He saith, He saith to me, He saith to thee, Breathing His Grace-conferring Breath: “Lovest thou Me?”

Ah, Lord, I have such feeble faith, Such feeble hope to comfort me: But love it is, is strong as death, And I love Thee.

SUNDAY BEFORE ADVENT.

The end of all things is at hand. We all Stand in the balance trembling as we stand; Or if not trembling, tottering to a fall. The end of all things is at hand.

O hearts of men, covet the unending land! O hearts of men, covet the musical, Sweet, never-ending waters of that strand! While Earth shows poor, a slippery rolling ball, And Hell looms vast, a gulf unplumbed, unspanned, And Heaven flings wide its gates to great and small, The end of all things is at hand.

GIFT AND GRACES

Love loveth Thee, and wisdom loveth Thee: The love that loveth Thee sits satisfied; Wisdom that loveth Thee grows million-eyed, Learning what was, and is, and is to be. Wisdom and love are glad of all they see; Their heart is deep, their hope is not denied; They rock at rest on time’s unresting tide, And wait to rest thro’ long eternity. Wisdom and love and rest, each holy soul Hath these to-day while day is only night: What shall souls have when morning brings to light Love, wisdom, rest, God’s treasure stored above? Palm shall they have, and harp and aureole, Wisdom, rest, love—and lo! the whole is love.

Lord, give me love that I may love Thee much, Yea, give me love that I may love Thee more, And all for love may worship and adore And touch Thee with love’s consecrated touch. I halt to-day; be love ray cheerful crutch, My feet to plod, some day my wings to soar Some day; but, Lord, not any day before Thou call me perfect, having made me such. This is a day of love, a day of sorrow, Love tempering sorrow to a sort of bliss; A day that shortens while we call it long: A longer day of love will dawn to-morrow, A longer, brighter, lovelier day than this, Endless, all love, no sorrow, but a song.

“As a king,...unto the King.”

Love doth so grace and dignify That beggars treat as king with king Before the Throne of God most High: Love recognises love’s own cry, And stoops to take love’s offering.

A loving heart, tho’ soiled and bruised; A kindling heart, tho’ cold before; Who ever came and was refused By Love? Do, Lord, as Thou art used To do, and make me love Thee more.

O ye who love to-day, Turn away From Patience with her silver ray: For Patience shows a twilight face, Like a half-lighted moon When daylight dies apace.

But ye who love to-morrow Beg or borrow To-day some bitterness of sorrow: For Patience shows a lustrous face, In depth of night her noon; Then to her sun gives place.

Life that was born to-day Must make no stay, But tend to end As blossom-bloom of May. O Lord, confirm my root, Train up my shoot, To live and give Harvest of wholesome fruit.

Life that was born to die Sets heart on high, And counts and mounts Steep stages of the sky. Two things, Lord, I desire And I require; Love’s name, and flame To wrap my soul in fire.

Life that was born to love Sends heart above Both cloud and shroud, And broods a peaceful dove. Two things I ask of Thee; Deny not me; Eyesight and light Thy Blessed Face to see.

“Perfect Love casteth out Fear.”

Lord, give me blessed fear, And much more blessed love That fearing I may love Thee here And be Thy harmless dove:

Until Thou cast out fear, Until Thou perfect love, Until Thou end mine exile here And fetch Thee home Thy dove.

Hope is the counterpoise of fear While night enthralls us here.

Fear hath a startled eye that holds a tear: Hope hath an upward glance, for dawn draws near With sunshine and with cheer. Fear gazing earthwards spies a bier; And sets herself to rear A lamentable tomb where leaves drop sere, Bleaching to congruous skeletons austere: Hope chants a funeral hymn most sweet and clear, And seems true chanticleer Of resurrection and of all things dear In the oncoming endless year.

Fear ballasts hope, hope buoys up fear, And both befit us here.

“Subject to like passions as we are.”

Whoso hath anguish is not dead in sin, Whoso hath pangs of utterless desire. Like as in smouldering flax which harbours fire,— Red heat of conflagration may begin, Melt that hard heart, burn out the dross within, Permeate with glory the new man entire, Crown him with fire, mould for his hands a lyre Of fiery strings to sound with those who win. Anguish is anguish, yet potential bliss, Pangs of desire are birth-throes of delight; Those citizens felt such who walk in white, And meet, but no more sunder, with a kiss; Who fathom still unfathomed mysteries, And love, adore, rejoice, with all their might.

Experience bows a sweet contented face, Still setting to her seal that God is true: Beneath the sun, she knows, is nothing new; All things that go return with measured pace, Winds, rivers, man’s still recommencing race:— While Hope beyond earth’s circle strains her view, Past sun and moon, and rain and rainbow too, Enamoured of unseen eternal grace.

Experience saith, “My God doth all things well:” And for the morrow taketh little care, Such peace and patience garrison her soul:— While Hope, who never yet hath eyed the goal, With arms flung forth, and backward floating hair, Touches, embraces, hugs the invisible.

“Charity never faileth.”

Such is Love, it comforts in extremity, Tho’ a tempest rage around and rage above, Tempest beyond tempest, far as eye can see: Such is Love,

That it simply heeds its mourning inward Dove; Dove which craves contented for a home to be Set amid the myrtles or an olive grove.

Dove-eyed Love contemplates the Twelve-fruited Tree, Marks the bowing palms which worship as they move; Simply sayeth, simply prayeth, “All for me!” Such is Love.

“The Greatest of these is charity.”

A moon impoverished amid stars curtailed, A sun of its exuberant lustre shorn, A transient morning that is scarcely morn, A lingering night in double dimness veiled.— Our hands are slackened and our strength has failed: We born to darkness, wherefore were we born? No ripening more for olive, grape, or corn: Faith faints, hope faints, even love himself has paled. Nay! love lifts up a face like any rose Flushing and sweet above a thorny stem, Softly protesting that the way he knows; And as for faith and hope, will carry them Safe to the gate of New Jerusalem, Where light shines full and where the palm-tree blows.

All beneath the sun hasteth, All that hath begun wasteth; Earth-notes change in tune With the changeful moon, Which waneth While earth’s chant complaineth.

Plumbs the deep, Fear descending; Scales the steep, Hope ascending; Faith betwixt the twain Plies both goad and rein, Half fearing, All hopeful, day is nearing.

If thou be dead, forgive and thou shalt live; If thou hast sinned, forgive and be forgiven; God waiteth to be gracious and forgive, And open heaven. Set not thy will to die and not to live; Set not thy face as flint refusing heaven; Thou fool, set not thy heart on hell: forgive And be forgiven.

“Let patience have bet perfect work.”

Can man rejoice who lives in hourly fear? Can man make haste who toils beneath a load? Can man feel rest who has no fixed abode? All he lays hold of, or can see or hear, Is passing by, is prompt to disappear, Is doomed, foredoomed, continueth in no stay: This day he breathes in is his latter day, This year of time is this world’s latter year. Thus in himself is he most miserable: Out of himself, Lord, lift him up to Thee, Out of himself and all these worlds that flee; Hold him in patience underneath the rod, Anchor his hope beyond life’s ebb and swell, Perfect his patience in the love of God.

Patience must dwell with Love, for Love and Sorrow Have pitched their tent together here: Love all alone will build a house to-morrow, And sorrow not be near. To-day for Love’s sake hope, still hope, in sorrow, Rest in her shade and hold her dear: To-day she nurses thee; and lo! to-morrow Love only will be near.

“Let everything that hath breath praise the Lord.”

All that we see rejoices in the sunshine, All that we hear makes merry in the Spring: God grant us such a mind to be glad after our kind, And to sing His praises evermore for everything.

Much that we see must vanish with the sunshine, Sweet Spring must fail, and fail the choir of Spring: But Wisdom shall burn on when the lesser lights are gone, And shall sing God’s praises evermore for everything.

What is the beginning? Love. What the course? Love still. What the goal? The goal is Love on the happy hill. Is there nothing then but Love, search we sky or earth? There is nothing out of Love hath perpetual worth: All things flag but only Love, all things fail or flee; There is nothing left but Love worthy you and me.

Lord, make me pure: Only the pure shall see Thee as Thou art And shall endure. Lord, bring me low; For Thou wert lowly in Thy blessed heart: Lord, keep me so.

Love, to be love, must walk Thy way And work Thy Will; Or if Thou say, “Lie still,” Lie still and pray.

Love, Thine own Bride, with all her might Will follow Thee, And till the shadows flee Keep Thee in sight.

Love will not mar her peaceful face With cares undue, Faithless and hopeless too And out of place.

Love, knowing Thou much more art Love. Will sun her grief, And pluck her myrtle-leaf, And be Thy dove.

Love here hath vast beatitude: What shall be hers Where there is no more curse, But all is good?

Lord, I am feeble and of mean account: Thou Who dost condescend as well as mount, Stoop Thou Thyself to me And grant me grace to hear and grace to see.

Lord, if Thou grant me grace to hear and see Thy very Self Who stoopest thus to me, I make but slight account Of aught beside wherein to sink or mount.

Tune me, O Lord, into one harmony With Thee, one full responsive vibrant chord; Unto Thy praise all love and melody, Tune me, O Lord.

Thus need I flee nor death, nor fire, nor sword: A little while these be, then cease to be, And sent by Thee not these should be abhorred.

Devil and world, gird me with strength to flee, To flee the flesh, and arm me with Thy word: As Thy Heart is to my heart, unto Thee Tune me, O Lord.

“They shall be as white as snow.”

Whiteness most white. Ah, to be clean again In mine own sight and God’s most holy sight! To reach thro’ any flood or fire of pain Whiteness most white:

To learn to hate the wrong and love the right Even while I walk thro’ shadows that are vain, Descending thro’ vain shadows into night.

Lord, not to-day: yet some day bliss for bane Give me, for mortal frailty give me might, Give innocence for guilt, and for my stain Whiteness most white.

Thy lilies drink the dew, Thy lambs the rill, and I will drink them too; For those in purity And innocence are types, dear Lord, of Thee. The fragrant lily flower Bows and fulfils Thy Will its lifelong hour; The lamb at rest and play Fulfils Thy Will in gladness all the day; They leave to-morrow’s cares Until the morrow, what it brings it bears. And I, Lord, would be such; Not high or great or anxious overmuch But pure and temperate, Earnest to do Thy Will betimes and late, Fragrant with love and praise And innocence thro’ all my appointed days; Thy lily I would be, Spotless and sweet, Thy lamb to follow Thee.

“When I was in trouble I called upon the Lord.”

A burdened heart that bleeds and bears And hopes and waits in pain, And faints beneath its fears and cares, Yet hopes again:

Wilt Thou accept the heart I bring, O gracious Lord and kind, To ease it of a torturing sting, And staunch and bind?

Alas, if Thou wilt none of this, None else have I to give: Look Thou upon it as it is, Accept, relieve.

Or if Thou wilt not yet relieve, Be not extreme to sift: Accept a faltering will to give, Itself Thy gift.

Grant us such grace that we may work Thy Will And speak Thy words and walk before Thy Face, Profound and calm, like waters deep and still: Grant us such grace.

Not hastening and not loitering in our pace For gloomiest valley or for sultriest hill, Content and fearless on our downward race.

As rivers seek a sea they cannot fill But are themselves filled full in its embrace, Absorbed, at rest, each river and each rill: Grant us such grace.

“Who hath despised the day of small things?”

As violets so be I recluse and sweet, b Cheerful as daisies unaccounted rare, Still sunward-gazing from a lowly seat, Still sweetening wintry air.

While half-awakened Spring lags incomplete, While lofty forest trees tower bleak and bare, Daisies and violets own remotest heat And bloom and make them fair.

“Do this, and he doeth it.”

Content to come, content to go, Content to wrestle or to race, Content to know or not to know, Each in his place;

Lord, grant us grace to love Thee so That glad of heart and glad of face At last we may sit, high or low, Each in his place;

Where pleasures flow as rivers flow, And loss has left no barren trace, And all that are, are perfect so, Each in his place.

“That no man take thy Crown.”

Be faithful unto death. Christ proffers thee Crown of a life that draws immortal breath: To thee He saith, yea, and He saith to me, “Be faithful unto death.”

To every living soul that same He saith, “Be faithful”:—whatsoever else we be, Let us be faithful, challenging His faith.

Tho’ trouble storm around us like the sea, Tho’ hell surge up to scare us and to scathe, Tho’ heaven and earth betake themselves to flee, “Be faithful unto death.”

“We are come unto mount Zion.”

Fear, Faith, and Hope have sent their hearts above: Prudence, Obedience, and Humility Climb at their call, all scaling heaven toward Love. Fear hath least grace but great expediency; Faith and Humility show grave and strong; Prudence and Hope mount balanced equally. Obedience marches marshalling their throng, Goes first, goes last, to left hand or to right; And all the six uplift a pilgrim’s song. By day they rest not, nor they rest by night: While Love within them, with them, over them. Weans them and woos them from the dark to light. Each plies for staff not reed with broken stem, But olive branch in pledge of patient peace; Till Love being theirs in New Jerusalem, Transfigure them to Love, and so they cease. Love is the sole beatitude above: All other graces, to their vast increase Of glory, look on Love and mirror Love.

“Sit down in the lowest room.”

Lord, give me grace To take the lowest place; Nor even desire, Unless it be Thy Will, to go up higher. Except by grace, I fail of lowest place; Except desire Sit low, it aims awry to go up higher.

“Lord, it is good for us to be here.”

Grant us, O Lord, that patience and that faith: Faith’s patience imperturbable in Thee, Hope’s patience till the long-drawn shadows flee, Love’s patience unresentful of all scathe. Verily we need patience breath by breath; Patience while faith holds up her glass to see, While hope toils yoked in fear’s copartnery, And love goes softly on the way to death. How gracious and how perfecting a grace Must patience be on which those others wait: Faith with suspended rapture in her face, Hope pale and careful hand in hand with fear, Love—ah, good love who would not antedate God’s Will, but saith, Good is it to be here.

Lord, grant us grace to rest upon Thy word, To rest in hope until we see Thy Face; To rest thro’ toil unruffled and unstirred, Lord, grant us grace.

This burden and this heat wear on apace: Night comes, when sweeter than night’s singing bird Will swell the silence of our ended race.

Ah, songs which flesh and blood have never heard And cannot hear, songs of the silent place Where rest remains! Lord, slake our hope deferred, Lord, grant us grace.

THE WORLD. SELF-DESTRUCTION.

“A vain Shadow.”

The world,—what a world, ah me! Mouldy, worm-eaten, grey: Vain as a leaf from a tree, As a fading day, As veriest vanity, As the froth and the spray Of the hollow-billowed sea, As what was and shall not be, As what is and passes away.

“Lord, save us, we perish.”

O Lord, seek us, O Lord, find us In Thy patient care; Be Thy Love before, behind us, Round us, everywhere: Lest the god of this world blind us, Lest he speak us fair, Lest he forge a chain to bind us, Lest he bait a snare. Turn not from us, call to mind us, Find, embrace us, bear; Be Thy Love before, behind us, Round us, everywhere.

What is this above thy head, O Man?— The World, all overspread With pearls and golden rays And gems ablaze; A sight which day and night Fills an eye’s span.

What is this beneath thy feet, O Saint?— The World, a nauseous sweet Puffed up and perishing; A hollow thing, A lie, a vanity, Tinsel and paint.

What is she while time is time, O Man?— In a perpetual prime Beauty and youth she hath; And her footpath Breeds flowers thro’ dancing hours Since time began.

While time lengthens what is she, O Saint?— Nought: yea, all men shall see How she is nought at all, When her death-pall Of fire ends their desire And brands her taint.

Ah, poor Man, befooled and slow And faint! Ah, poorest Man, if so Thou turn thy back on bliss And choose amiss! For thou art choosing now: Sinner,—or Saint.

Babylon the Great.

Foul is she and ill-favoured, set askew: Gaze not upon her till thou dream her fair, Lest she should mesh thee in her wanton hair, Adept in arts grown old yet ever new. Her heart lusts not for love, but thro and thro’ For blood, as spotted panther lusts in lair; No wine is in her cup, but filth is there Unutterable, with plagues hid out of view. Gaze not upon her, for her dancing whirl Turns giddy the fixed gazer presently: Gaze not upon her, lest thou be as she When, at the far end of her long desire, Her scarlet vest and gold and gem and pearl And she amid her pomp are set on fire.

“Standing afar off for the fear of her torment.”

Is this the end? is there no end but this? Yea, none beside: No other end for pride And foulness and besottedness.

Hath she no friend? hath she no clinging friend? Nay, none at all; Who stare upon her fall Quake for themselves with hair on end.

Will she be done away? vanish away? Yea, like a dream; Yea, like the shades that seem Somewhat, and lo! are nought by day.

Alas for her amid man’s helpless moan, Alas for her! She hath no comforter: In solitude of fire she sits alone.

“O Lucifer, Son of the Morning!”

Oh fallen star! a darkened light, A glory hurtled from its car, Self-blasted from the holy height: Oh fallen star!

Fallen beyond earth’s utmost bar, Beyond return, beyond far sight Of outmost glimmering nebular.

Now blackness, which once walked in white; Now death, whose life once glowed afar; Oh son of dawn that loved the night, Oh fallen star!

Alas, alas! for the self-destroyed Vanish as images from a glass, Sink down and die down by hope unbuoyed:— Alas, alas!

Who shall stay their ruinous mass? Besotted, reckless, possessed, decoyed, They hurry to the dolorous pass.

Saints fall a-weeping who would have joyed, Sore they weep for a glory that was, For a fulness emptied into the void, Alas, alas!

As froth on the face of the deep, As foam on the crest of the sea, As dreams at the waking of sleep, As gourd of a day and a night, As harvest that no man shall reap, As vintage that never shall be, Is hope if it cling not aright, O my God, unto Thee.

“Where their worm dieth not, and the fire is not quenched.”

In tempest and storm blackness of darkness for ever, A fire unextinguished, a worm’s indestructible swarm; Where no hope shall ever be more, and love shall be never, In tempest and storm; Where the form of all things is fashionless, void of all form; Where from death that severeth all, the soul cannot sever In tempest and storm.

Toll, bell, toll. For hope is flying Sighing from the earthbound soul: Life is sighing, life is dying: Toll, bell, toll.

Gropes in its own grave the mole Wedding darkness, undeserving, Tending to no different goal.

Self-slain soul, in vain thy sighing: Self-slain, who should make thee whole? Vain the clamour of thy crying: Toll, bell, toll.

DIVERS WORLDS. TIME AND ETERNITY.

Earth has clear call of daily bells, A chancel-vault of gloom and star, A rapture where the anthems are, A thunder when the organ swells: Alas, man’s daily life—what else?— Is out of tune with daily bells.

While Paradise accords the chimes Of Earth and Heaven, its patient pause Is rest fulfilling music’s laws. Saints sit and gaze, where oftentimes Precursive flush of morning climbs And air vibrates with coming chimes.

“Escape to the fountain.”

I peered within, and saw a world of sin; Upward, and saw a world of righteousness; Downward, and saw darkness and flame begin Which no man can express.

I girt me up, I pat me up to flee From face of darkness and devouring flame: And fled I had, but guilt is loading me With dust of death and shame.

Yet still the light of righteousness beams pure, Beams to me from the world of far-off day:— Lord, Who hast called them happy that endure, Lord, make me such as they.