We are not worthy to endure
The fervour of thy burning eyes, Thy perfect lips, thy bosom pure,
Thy radiant aspect, sweetly wise. Breathe balm upon our span of breath, For thou art almost Queen of death.
To thee, enwreathed with passion flowers,
Our unreluctant prayers are given :
Thou art so near, when other powers
Seem worlds away in frigid heaven:
They know not, for they live apart,
The craving tumult of the heart.
Thy altar needs no victim slain;
It reeks not with the bleeding steer; Thy kingdom is no realm of pain, Thy worship is no creature's fear. Yet art thou trebly more divine, Needing no hecatombs of kine.
The empires wane, the empires grow; They prosper or they are dismayed: Time lays their wrangling voices low;
The victors and the vanquished fade. The foam-wreath on the crested spray Lasts but an instant less than they.
But thou abidest, in thy might
Eternal, and a rainbow beam
Is round thy head; and clusters bright
Of orbs among thy tresses gleam :
Clothed in the garment of the sun,
Sweet as the star of day begun.
Parent of Nature, lovely Queen,
Awake the frozen land's repose,
Until the perfumed buds are seen
With promise of the myriad rose.
Descend, and on thy halcyon wing
Unlock the fountains of the Spring.
Peace! there is nothing more for men to speak ;
A larger wisdom than our lips decrees.
Of that dumb mouth no longer reason seek,
No censure reaches that eternal peace,
And that immortal ease.
Believe them not that would disturb the end
With earth's invidious comment, idly meant.
Speak and have done thy evil; for my friend
Is gone beyond all human discontent,
And wisely went.
Say what you will, and have your sneer and go,
You see the specks, we only heed the fruit
Of a great life, whose truth-men hate truth so-
No lukewarm age of compromise could suit.
Laugh and be mute.
CHARLES, LORD BOWEN. 1835-1894
GOOD-NIGHT, GOOD-MORNING
The Sun, a shining orb, descends
Behind the mountain wold;
Gloom gathers fast, the daylight ends;
Sheep journey to the fold.
Peace and farewell, ye torrent rills—
Good-night to earth and sky;
So homeward from the silent hills
We went, my love and I.
Come, sweet night. Day, take thy flight:
My love will make the darkness light.
Rest to the earth-the weary earth-
Sweet rest: till far away
Upon the hills we saw the birth
And triumph of the day.
Again the mighty sun arose,
And on each mountain lawn
Began the million golden glows
That usher in the dawn.
Go, dear night. Come, purple light;
Rise, love, and make the morning bright.
At noon I found these violets blue
Where early morning lies,
And brought them fresh with light and dew
Not purer than her eyes.
To her who was my morning flower,
As is my flower of noon,
Soon comes a duskier twilight hour,
And night will follow soon.
Sweet face, stay: life ebbs away;
Be thou thy lover's evening ray.
Small current of the wilds afar from men,
Changing and sudden as a baby's mood;
Now a green babbling rivulet in the wood,
Now loitering broad and shallow through the glen,
Or threading 'mid the naked shoals, and then
Brattling against the stones, half mist, half flood,
Between the mountains where the storm-clouds
And each change but to wake or sleep again.
Pass on, young stream, the world has need of thee;
Far hence a mighty river on its breast
Bears the deep-laden vessels to the sea;
Far hence wide waters feed the vines and corn.
Pass on, small stream, to so great purpose born,
On to the distant toil, the distant rest.
FREDERICK MYERS. 1843-1900
Hark! what a sound, and too divine for hearing
Stirs on the earth, and trembles in the air!
Is it the thunder of the Lord's appearing?
Is it the music of His people's prayer?
Surely He cometh, and a thousand voices
Shout to the saints, and to the deaf are dumb; Surely He cometh, and the earth rejoices,
Glad in His coming who hath sworn, I come.
This hath He done, and shall we not adore Him?
This shall He do, and can we still despair?
Come, let us quickly fling ourselves before Him,
Cast at His feet the burthen of our care.
Yea thro' life, death, thro' sorrow and thro' sinning,
He shall suffice me, for He hath sufficed :
Christ is the end, for Christ was the beginning,
Christ the beginning, for the end is Christ.
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