Chapter II

Once again to wake, nor wish to sleep; Once again to feel, nor feel a pain! Rouse thy soul to watch and pray and weep Once again.

Hope afresh, for hope shall not be vain: Start afresh along the exceeding steep Road to glory, long and rough and plain.

Sow and reap: for while these moments creep, Time and earth and life are on the wane: Now, in tears; to-morrow, laugh and reap Once again.

Sursum Corda.

“Lift up your hearts.” “We lift them up.” Ah me! I cannot, Lord, lift up my heart to Thee: Stoop, lift it up, that where Thou art I too may be.

“Give Me thy heart.” I would not say Thee nay, But have no power to keep or give away My heart: stoop, Lord, and take it to Thyself to-day.

Stoop, Lord, as once before, now once anew Stoop, Lord, and hearken, hearken, Lord, and do, And take my will, and take my heart, and take me too.

O ye, who are not dead and fit Like blasted tree beside the pit But for the axe that levels it,

Living show life of love, whereof The force wields earth and heaven above: Who knows not love begetteth love?

Love poises earth in space, Love rolls Wide worlds rejoicing on their poles, And girds them round with aureoles.

Love lights the sun, Love thro’ the dark Lights the moon’s evanescent arc, Lights up the star, lights up the spark.

O ye who taste that love is sweet, Set waymarks for all doubtful feet That stumble on in search of it.

Sing notes of love: that some who hear Far off inert may lend an ear, Rise up and wonder and draw near.

Lead life of love: that others who Behold your life, may kindle too With love, and cast their lot with you.

Where shall I find a white rose blowing?- Out in the garden where all sweets be.— But out in my garden the snow was snowing And never a white rose opened for me. Nought but snow and a wind were blowing And snowing.

Where shall I find a blush rose blushing?— On the garden wall or the garden bed.— But out in my garden the rain was rushing And never a blush rose raised its head. Nothing glowing, flushing or blushing: Rain rushing.

Where shall I find a red rose budding?— Out in the garden where all things grow. But out in my garden a flood was flooding And never a red rose began to blow. Out in a flooding what should be budding? All flooding!

Now is winter and now is sorrow, No roses but only thorns to-day: Thorns will put on roses to-morrow, Winter and sorrow scudding away. No more winter and no more sorrow To-morrow.

“Redeeming the Time.”

A life of hope deferred too often is A life of wasted opportunities; life of perished hope too often is life of all-lost opportunities: Yet hope is but the flower and not the root, And hope is still the flower and not the fruit;- Arise and sow and weed: a day shall come When also thou shalt keep thy harvest home.

“Now they desire a better Country.”

Love said nay, while Hope kept saying All his sweetest say, Hope so keen to start a-maying— Love said nay.

Love was bent to watch and pray; Long the watching, long the praying; Hope grew drowsy, pale and grey.

Hope in dreams set off a-straying, All his dream-world flushed by May; While unslumbering, praying, weighing, Love said nay.

A CASTLE-BUILDER’S WORLD.

“The line of confusion, and the stones of emptiness.”

Unripe harvest there hath none to reap it From the misty gusty place, Unripe vineyard there hath none to keep it In unprofitable space. Living men and women are not found there, Only masks in flocks and shoals; Flesh-and-bloodless hazy masks surround there, Ever wavering orbs and poles; Flesh-and-bloodless vapid masks abound there, Shades of bodies without souls.

“These all wait upon Thee.”

Innocent eyes not ours Are made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds and insects small: Morn after summer morn The sweet rose on her thorn Opens her bosom to them all. The least and last of things That soar on quivering wings, Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, Have just as clear a right To their appointed portion of delight As Queens or Kings.

“Doeth well...doeth better.”

My love whose heart is tender said to me, “A moon lacks light except her sun befriend her. Let us keep tryst in heaven, dear Friend,” said she, My love whose heart is tender.

From such a loftiness no words could bend her: Yet still she spoke of “us” and spoke as “we,” Her hope substantial, while my hope grew slender.

Now keeps she tryst beyond earth’s utmost sea, Wholly at rest, tho storms should toss and rend her; And still she keeps my heart and keeps its key, My love whose heart is tender.

Our heaven must be within ourselves, Our home and heaven the work of faith All thro’ this race of life which shelves Downward to death.

So faith shall build the boundary wall, And hope shall plant the secret bower, That both may show magnifical With gem and flower.

While over all a dome must spread, And love shall be that dome above; And deep foundations must be laid, And these are love.

“Vanity of Vanities.”

Of all the downfalls in the world, The flutter of an Autumn leaf Grows grievous by suggesting grief: Who thought, when Spring was first unfurled, Of this? The wide world lay empearled; Who thought of frost that nips the world? Sigh on, my ditty.

There lurk a hundred subtle stings To prick us in our daily walk: An apple cankered on its stalk, A robin snared for all his wings, A voice that sang but never sings; Yea, sight or sound or silence stings. Kind Lord, show pity.

The hills are tipped with sunshine, while I walk In shadows dim and cold: The unawakened rose sleeps on her stalk In a bud’s fold, Until the sun flood all the world with gold.

The hills are crowned with glory, and the glow Flows widening down apace: Unto the sunny hill-tops I, set low, Lift a tired face,— Ah, happy rose, content to wait for grace!

How tired a face, how tired a brain, how tired A heart I lift, who long For something never felt but still desired; Sunshine and song, Song where the choirs of sunny heaven stand choired.

Scarce tolerable life, which all life long Is dominated by one dread of death; Is such life, life? if so, who pondereth May call salt sweetness or call discord song. Ah me, this solitude where swarms a throng! Life slowly grows and dwindles breath by breath: Death slowly grows on us; no word it saith, Its cords all lengthened and its pillars strong. Life dies apace, a life that but deceives: Death reigns as tho’ it lived, and yet is dead: Where is the life that dies not but that lives? The sweet long life, immortal, ever young, True life that wooes us with a silver tongue Of hope, much said and much more left unsaid.

All heaven is blazing yet With the meridian sun: Make haste, unshadowing sun, make haste to set; O lifeless life, have done. I choose what once I chose; What once I willed, I will: Only the heart its own bereavement knows; O clamorous heart, lie still.

That which I chose, I choose; That which I willed, I will; That which I once refused, I still refuse: O hope deferred, be still. That which I chose and choose And will is Jesus’ Will: He hath not lost his life who seems to lose: hope deferred, hope still.

“Balm in Gilead.”

Heartsease I found, where Love-lies-bleeding Empurpled all the ground: Whatever flowers I missed unheeding, Heartsease I found.

Yet still my garden mound Stood sore in need of watering, weeding, And binding growths unbound.

Ah, when shades fell to light succeeding I scarcely dared look round: “Love-lies-bleeding” was all my pleading, Heartsease I found.

“In the day of his Espousals.”

That Song of Songs which is Solomon’s Sinks and rises, and loves and longs. Thro’ temperate zones and torrid zones, That Song of Songs.

Fair its floating moon with her prongs: Love is laid for its paving stones: Right it sings without thought of wrongs.

Doves it hath with music of moans, Queens in throngs and damsels in throngs, High tones and mysterious undertones, That Song of Songs.

“She came from the uttermost part of the earth.”

“The half was not told me,” said Sheba’s Queen, Weighing that wealth of wisdom and of gold: “Thy fame falls short of this that I have seen: The half was not told.

“Happy thy servants who stand to behold, Stand to drink in thy gracious speech and mien; Happy, thrice happy, the flock of thy fold.

“As the darkened moon while a shadow between Her face and her kindling sun is rolled, I depart; but my heart keeps memory green: The half was not told.”

Alleluia! or Alas! my heart is crying: So yours is sighing; Or replying with content undying, Alleluia!

Alas! grieves overmuch for pain that is ending, Hurt that is mending, Life descending soon to be ascending, Alleluia!

The Passion Flower hath sprung up tall, Hath east and west its arms outspread; The heliotrope shoots up its head To clear the shadow of the wall: Down looks the Passion Flower, The heliotrope looks upward still, Hour by hour On the heavenward hill.

The Passion Flower blooms red or white, A shadowed white, a cloudless red; Caressingly it droops its head, Its leaves, its tendrils, from the light: Because that lowlier flower Looks up, but mounts not half so high, Hour by hour Tending toward the sky.

God’s Acre.

Hail, garden of confident hope! Where sweet seeds are quickening in darkness and cold; For how sweet and how young will they be When they pierce thro’ the mould. Balm, myrtle, and heliotrope There watch and there wait out of sight for their Sun: While the Sun, which they see not, doth see Each and all one by one.

“The flowers appear on the Earth.”

Young girls wear flowers, Young brides a flowery wreath, But next we plant them In garden plots of death. Whose lot is best: The maiden’s curtained rest, Or bride’s whose hoped-for sweet May yet outstrip her feet? Ah! what are such as these To death’s sufficing ease? He sleeps indeed who sleeps in peace Where night and morning meet. Dear are the blossoms For bride’s or maiden’s head, But dearer planted Around our blessed dead. Those mind us of decay And joys that fade away, These preach to us perfection, Long love and resurrection. We make our graveyards fair, For spirit-like birds of air, For Angels may be finding there Lost Eden’s own delection.

“Thou knewest...thou oughtest therefore.”

Behold in heaven a floating dazzling cloud, So dazzling that I could but cry Alas! Alas, because I felt how low I was; Alas, within my spirit if not aloud, Foreviewing my last breathless bed and shroud: Thus pondering, I glanced downward on the grass; And the grass bowed when airs of heaven would pass, Lifting itself again when it had bowed. That grass spake comfort; weak it was and low, Yet strong enough and high enough to bend In homage at a message from the sky: As the grass did and prospered, so will I; Tho’ knowing little, doing what I know, And strong in patient weakness till the end.

“Go in peace.”

Can peach renew lost bloom, Or violet lost perfume, Or sullied snow turn white as overnight? Man cannot compass it, yet never fear: The leper Naaman Shows what God will and can; God Who worked there is working here; Wherefore let shame, not gloom, betinge thy brow, God Who worked then is working now.

“Half Dead”

O Christ the Life, look on me where I lie Ready to die: O Good Samaritan, nay, pass not by. O Christ, my Life, pour in Thine oil and wine To keep me Thine; Me ever Thine, and Thee for ever mine. Watch by Thy saints and sinners, watch by all Thy great and small: Once Thou didst call us all,—O Lord, recall. Think how Thy saints love sinners, how they pray And hope alway, And thereby grow more like Thee day by day. O Saint of saints, if those with prayer and vow Succour us now... It was not they died for us, it was Thou.

“One of the Soldiers with a Spear pierced his Side.”

Ah, Lord, we all have pierced Thee: wilt Thou be Wroth with us all to slay us all? Nay, Lord, be this thing far from Thee and me: By whom should we arise, for we are small, By whom if not by Thee?

Lord, if of us who pierced Thee Thou spare one, Spare yet one more to love Thy Face, And yet another of poor souls undone, Another, and another—God of grace, Let mercy overrun.

Where love is, there comes sorrow To-day or else to-morrow: Endure the mood, Love only means our good.

Where love is, there comes pleasure With or withouten measure, Early or late Cheering the sorriest state.

Where love is, all perfection Is stored for heart’s delection; For where love is Dwells every sort of bliss.

Who would not choose a sorrow Love’s self will cheer to-morrow? One day of sorrow, Then such a long to-morrow!

Bury Hope out of sight, No book for it and no bell; It never could bear the light Even while growing and well: Think if now it could bear The light on its face of care And grey scattered hair.

No grave for Hope in the earth, But deep in that silent soul Which rang no bell for its birth And rings no funeral toll. Cover its once bright head; Nor odours nor tears be shed: It lived once, it is dead.

Brief was the day of its power, The day of its grace how brief: As the fading of a flower, As the falling of a leaf, So brief its day and its hour; No bud more and no bower Or hint of a flower.

Shall many wail it? not so: Shall one bewail it? not one: Thus it hath been from long ago, Thus it shall be beneath the sun. O fleet sun, make haste to flee; O rivers, fill up the sea; O Death, set the dying free.

The sun nor loiters nor speeds, The rivers run as they ran, Thro’ clouds or thro’ windy reeds All run as when all began. Only Death turns at our cries:— Lo, the Hope we buried with sighs Alive in Death’s eyes!

A Churchyard Song of Patient Hope.

All tears done away with the bitter unquiet sea, Death done away from among the living at last, Man shall say of sorrow—Love grant it to thee and me!— At last, “It is past.”

Shall I say of pain, “It is past,” nor say it with thee, Thou heart of my heart, thou soul of my soul, my Friend? Shalt thou say of pain, “It is past,” nor say it with me Beloved to the end?

One woe is past. Come what come will Thus much is ended and made fast: Two woes may overhang us still; One woe is past.

As flowers when winter puffs its last Wake in the vale, trail up the hill, Nor wait for skies to overcast;

So meek souls rally from the chill Of pain and fear and poisonous blast, To lift their heads: come good, come ill, One woe is past.

“Take no thought for the morrow.”

Who knows? God knows: and what He knows Is well and best. The darkness hideth not from Him, but glows Clear as the morning or the evening rose Of east or west.

Wherefore man’s strength is to sit still: Not wasting care To antedate to-morrow’s good or ill; Yet watching meekly, watching with good will, Watching to prayer.

Some rising or some setting ray From east or west, If not to-day, why then another day Will light each dove upon the homeward way Safe to her nest.

“Consider the Lillies of the field.”

Solomon most glorious in array Put not on his glories without care:— Clothe us as Thy lilies of a day, As the lilies Thou accountest fair, Lilies of Thy making, Of Thy love partaking, Filling with free fragrance earth and air: Thou Who gatherest lilies, gather us and wear.

“Son, remember.”

I laid beside thy gate, am Lazarus; See me or see me not I still am there, Hungry and thirsty, sore and sick and bare, Dog-comforted and crumbs-solicitous: While thou in all thy ways art sumptuous, Daintily clothed, with dainties for thy fare: Thus a world’s wonder thou art quit of care, And be I seen or not seen I am thus. One day a worm for thee, a worm for me: With my worm angel songs and trumpet burst And plenitude an end of all desire: But what for thee, alas! but what for thee? Fire and an unextinguishable thirst, Thirst in an unextinguishable fire.

“Heaviness may endure for a night, but joy cometh in the morning.”

No thing is great on this side of the grave, Nor any thing of any stable worth: Whatso is born from earth returns to earth: No thing we grasp proves half the thing we crave: The tidal wave shrinks to the ebbing wave: Laughter is folly, madness lurks in mirth: Mankind sets off a-dying from the birth: Life is a losing game, with what to save? Thus I sat mourning like a mournful owl, And like a doleful dragon made ado, Companion of all monsters of the dark: When lo! the light cast off its nightly cowl, And up to heaven flashed a carolling lark, And all creation sang its hymn anew. While all creation sang its hymn anew What could I do but sing a stave in tune? Spectral on high hung pale the vanishing moon Where a last gleam of stars hung paling too. Lark’s lay—a cockcrow—with a scattered few Soft early chirpings—with a tender croon Of doves—a hundred thousand calls, and soon A hundred thousand answers sweet and true. These set me singing too at unawares: One note for all delights and charities, One note for hope reviving with the light, One note for every lovely thing that is; Till while I sang my heart shook off its cares And revelled in the land of no more night.

“The Will of the Lord be done.”

O Lord, fulfil Thy Will Be the days few or many, good or ill: Prolong them, to suffice For offering up ourselves Thy sacrifice; Shorten them if Thou wilt, To make in righteousness an end of guilt. Yea, they will not be long To souls who learn to sing a patient song; Yea, short they will not be To souls on tiptoe to flee home to Thee. O Lord, fulfil Thy Will: Make Thy Will ours, and keep us patient still Be the days few or many, good or ill.

“Lay up for yourselves treasures in heaven.”

Treasure plies a feather, Pleasure spreadeth wings, Taking flight together,— Ah! my cherished things.

Fly away, poor pleasure, That art so brief a thing: Fly away, poor treasure, That hast so swift a wing.

Pleasure, to be pleasure, Must come without a wing: Treasure, to be treasure, Must be a stable thing.

Treasure without feather, Pleasure without wings, Elsewhere dwell together And are heavenly things.

“Whom the Lord loveth he chasteneth.”

“One sorrow more? I thought the tale complete.”— He bore amiss who grudges what he bore: Stretch out thy hands and urge thy feet to meet One sorrow more.

Yea, make thy count for two or three or four: The kind Physician will not slack to treat His patient while there’s rankling in the sore.

Bear up in anguish, ease will yet be sweet; Bear up all day, for night has rest in store: Christ bears thy burden with thee, rise and greet One sorrow more.

“Then shall ye shout.”

It seems an easy thing Mayhap one day to sing; Yet the next day We cannot sing or say.

Keep silence with good heart, While silence fits our part: Another day We shall both sing and say.

Keep silence, counting time To strike in at the chime: Prepare to sound.— Our part is coming round.

Can we not sing or say? In silence let us pray, And meditate Our love-song while we wait.

Everything that is born must die; Everything that can sigh may sing; Rocks in equal balance, low or high, Everything.

Honeycomb is weighed against a sting; Hope and fear take turns to touch the sky; Height and depth respond alternating.

O my soul, spread wings of love to fly, Wings of dove that soars on home-bound win; Love trusts Love, till Love shall justify Everything.

Lord, grant us calm, if calm can set forth Thee; Or tempest, if a tempest set Thee forth; Wind from the east or west or south or north, Or congelation of a silent sea, With stillness of each tremulous aspen tree.

Still let fruit fall, or hang upon the tree; Still let the east and west, the south and north, Curb in their winds, or plough a thundering sea; Still let the earth abide to set Thee forth, Or vanish like a smoke to set forth Thee.

Changing Chimes.

It was not warning that our fathers lacked, It is not warning that we lack to-day. The Voice that cried still cries: “Rise up and act: Watch alway,—watch and pray,—watch alway,— All men.”

Alas, if aught was lacked goodwill was lacked; Alas, goodwill is what we lack to-day. O gracious Voice, grant grace that all may act, Watch and act,—watch and pray,—watch alway.— Amen.

“Thy Servant will go and fight with this Philistine.”

Sorrow of saints is sorrow of a day, Gladness of saints is gladness evermore: Send on thy hope, send on thy will before To chant God’s praise along the narrow way. Stir up His praises if the flesh would sway, Exalt His praises if the world press sore, Peal out His praises if black Satan roar A hundred thousand lies to say them nay. Devil and Death and Hades, threefold cord Not quickly broken, front thee to thy face; Front thou them with a face of tenfold flint Shout for the battle, David I never stint Body or breath or blood, but proof in grace Die for thy Lord, as once for thee thy Lord.

Thro’ burden and heat of the day How weary the hands and the feet That labour with scarcely a stay, Thro’ burden and heat!

Tired toiler whose sleep shall be sweet, Kneel down, it will rest thee to pray: Then forward, for daylight is fleet.

Cool shadows show lengthening and grey, Cool twilight will soon be complete: What matters this wearisome way Thro’ burden and heat?

“Then I commended Mirth”

“A merry heart is a continual feast.” Then take we life and all things in good part: To fast grows festive while we keep at least A merry heart Well pleased with nature and well pleased with art; A merry heart makes cheer for man and beast, And fancies music in a creaking cart. Some day, a restful heart whose toils have ceased, A heavenly heart gone home from earthly mart: To-day, blow wind from west or wind from east, A merry heart.

Sorrow hath a double voice, Sharp to-day but sweet to-morrow Wait in patience, hope, rejoice, Tried friends of sorrow.

Pleasure hath a double taste, Sweet to-day but sharp to-morrow: Friends of pleasure, rise in haste, Make friends with sorrow.

Pleasure set aside to-day Comes again to rule to-morrow: Welcomed sorrow will not stay, Farewell to sorrow!

Shadows to-day, while shadows show God’s Will. Light were not good except He sent us light. Shadows to-day, because this day is night Whose marvels and whose mysteries fulfil Their course and deep in darkness serve Him still. Thou dim aurora, on the extremest height Of airy summits wax not over-bright; Refrain thy rose, refrain thy daffodil. Until God’s Word go forth to kindle thee And garland thee and bid thee stoop to us, Blush in the heavenly choirs and glance not down: To-day we race in darkness for a crown, In darkness for beatitude to be, In darkness for the city luminous.

“Truly the light is sweet.”

Light colourless doth colour all things else: Where light dwells pleasure dwells And peace excels. Then rise and shine, Thou shadowed soul of mine, And let a cheerful rainbow make thee fine. Light, fountain of all beauty and delight, Leads day forth from the night, Turns blackness white. Light waits for thee Where all have eyes to see: Oh, well is thee, and happy shalt thou be!

“Are ye not much better than they?”

The twig sprouteth, The moth outeth, The plant springeth, The bird singeth: Tho’ little we sing to-day Yet are we better than they; Tho’ growing with scarce a showing, Yet, please God, we are growing.

The twig teacheth, The moth preacheth, The plant vaunteth, The bird chanteth, God’s mercy overflowing Merciful past man’s knowing. Please God to keep us growing Till the awful day of mowing.

“Yea, the sparrow hath found her an house.”

Wisest of sparrows that sparrow which sitteth alone Perched on the housetop, its own upper chamber, for nest; Wisest of swallows that swallow which timely has flown Over the turbulent sea to the land of its rest: Wisest of sparrows and swallows, if I were as wise! Wisest of spirits that spirit which dwelleth apart Hid in the Presence of God for a chapel and nest, Sending a wish and a will and a passionate heart Over the eddy of life to that Presence in rest: Seated alone and in peace till God bids it arise.

“I am small and of no reputation.”

The least, if so I am; If so, less than the least, May I reach heaven to glorify the Lamb And sit down at the Feast.

I fear and I am small, Whence am I of good cheer; For I who hear Thy call, have heard Thee call To Thee the small who fear.

O Christ my God Who seest the unseen, O Christ my God Who knowest the unknown, Thy mighty Blood was poured forth to atone For every sin that can be or hath been. O Thou Who seest what I cannot see, Thou Who didst love us all so long ago, O Thou Who knowest what I must not know, Remember all my hope, remember me.

Yea, if Thou wilt, Thou canst put up Thy sword; But what if Thou shouldst sheathe it to the hilt Within the heart that sues to Thee, O Lord? Yea, if Thou wilt.

For if Thou wilt Thou canst purge out the guilt Of all, of any, even the most abhorred: Thou canst pluck down, rebuild, build up the unbuilt.

Who wanders, canst Thou gather by love’s cord? Who sinks, uplift from the under-sucking silt To set him on Thy rock within Thy ward? Yea, if Thou wilt.

Sweetness of rest when Thou sheddest rest, Sweetness of patience till then; Only the Will of our God is best For all the millions of men.

For all the millions on earth to-day, On earth and under the earth; Waiting for earth to vanish away, Waiting to come to the birth.

O foolish Soul! to make thy count For languid falls and much forgiven, When like a flame thou mightest mount To storm and carry heaven. A life so faint,—is this to live? A goal so mean,—is this a goal? Christ love thee, remedy, forgive, Save thee, O foolish Soul.

Before the beginning Thou hast foreknown the end, Before the birthday the death-bed was seen of Thee: Cleanse what I cannot cleanse, mend what I cannot mend, O Lord All-Merciful, be merciful to me. While the end is drawing near I know not mine end; Birth I recall not, my death I cannot foresee: O God, arise to defend, arise to befriend, O Lord All-Merciful, be merciful to me.

The goal in sight! Look up and sing, Set faces full against the light, Welcome with rapturous welcoming The goal in sight.

Let be the left, let be the right: Straight forward make your footsteps ring A loud alarum thro’ the night.

Death hunts you, yea, but reft of sting; Your bed is green, your shroud is white: Hail! Life and Death and all that bring The goal in sight.

Looking back along life’s trodden way Gleams and greenness linger on the track; Distance melts and mellows all to-day, Looking back.

Rose and purple and a silvery grey, Is that cloud the cloud we called so black? Evening harmonizes all to-day, Looking back.

Foolish feet so prone to halt or stray, Foolish heart so restive on the rack! Yesterday we sighed, but not to-day Looking back.