{"collection":"scripture-revelation","full_text_available":true,"graph_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/api/page/gutenberg_9989/graph","html_url":"https://unchartedknowledge.5gfusion.net/v2/page/gutenberg_9989","id":"gutenberg_9989","license":"Public Domain (US)","rights_basis":"gutenberg_metadata_copyright_false","source":"gutenberg","source_url":"https://www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/9989","summary":null,"tags":["Category: Poetry","Category: Religion/Spirituality","Poetry"],"text":"Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Josephine Paolucci and the\nOnline Distributed Proofreading Team.\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\n\nBEES IN AMBER\n\nA LITTLE BOOK OF THOUGHTFUL VERSE\n\nBY JOHN OXENHAM\n\n1913\n\n\n\n\nTO THOSE I HOLD DEAREST\n\nTHIS OF MY BEST.\n\n\n\n\nCONTENTS\n\n\nCREDO\n\nNEW YEAR'S DAY AND EVERYDAY\n\nPHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN\n\nFLOWERS OF THE DUST\n\nTHE PILGRIM WAY\n\nEVERYMAID\n\nBETTER AND BEST\n\nTHE SHADOW\n\nTHE POTTER\n\nNIGHTFALL\n\nTHE PRUNER\n\nTHE WAYS\n\nSEEDS\n\nWHIRRING WHEELS\n\nTHE BELLS OF YS\n\nTHE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE\n\nCUP OF MIXTURE\n\nWEAVERS ALL\n\nTHE CLEARER VISION\n\nSHADOWS\n\nTHE INN OF LIFE\n\nLIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD\n\nCROSS-ROADS\n\nQUO VADIS?\n\nTAMATE\n\nBURDEN-BEARERS\n\nTHE IRON FLAIL\n\nSARK\n\nE.A.\n\nTHE PASSING OF THE QUEEN\n\nTHE GOLDEN CORD\n\nTHANK GOD FOR PEACE!\n\nGOD'S HANDWRITING\n\nSTEPHEN--SAUL\n\nPAUL\n\nWAKENING\n\nMACEDONIA, 1903\n\nHEARTS IN EXILE\n\nWANDERED\n\nBIDE A WEE!\n\nTHE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID\n\nDON'T WORRY!\n\nTHE GOLDEN ROSE\n\nGADARA, A.D. 31\n\nTHE BELLS OF STEPAN ILINE\n\nBOLT THAT DOOR!\n\nGIANT CIRCUMSTANCE\n\nTHE HUNGRY SEA\n\nWE THANK THEE, LORD\n\nTHE VAIL\n\nNO EAST OR WEST\n\nTHE DAY--THE WAY\n\nLIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY\n\nFREEMEN\n\nTHE LONG ROAD\n\nTHE CHRIST\n\nTHE BALLAD OF LOST SOULS\n\nPROFIT AND LOSS\n\nFREE MEN OF GOD\n\nTREASURE-TROVE\n\nTHE GATE\n\nBRING US THE LIGHT\n\nALL'S WELL!\n\nHIS MERCY ENDURETH FOR EVER\n\nGOD IS GOOD\n\nSOME--AND SOME\n\nTHE PRINCE OF LIFE\n\nJUDGMENT DAY\n\nDARKNESS AND LIGHT\n\nINDIA\n\nLIVINGSTONE\n\nLIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER\n\nLIVINGSTONE'S SOLILOQUY\n\nKAPIOLANI\n\nTHEY COME!\n\nPROCESSIONALS\n\nFAITH\n\n\"I WILL!\"\n\nA LITTLE TE DEUM OF THE COMMONPLACE\n\nPOLICEMAN X\n\nYOUR PLACE\n\nIN NARROW WAYS\n\nSHUT WINDOWS\n\nPROPS\n\nBED-ROCK\n\nAFTER WORK\n\nKAPIOLANI IN RAROTONGAN\n\n\n\n\nAUTHOR'S APOLOGY\n\n\nIn these rushful days an apology is advisable, if not absolutely\nessential, from any man, save the one or two elect, who has the temerity\nto publish a volume of verse.\n\nThese stray lines, such as they are, have come to me from time to time,\nI hardly know how or whence; certainly not of deliberate intention or of\nmalice aforethought. More often than not they have come to the\ninterruption of other, as it seemed to me, more important--and\nundoubtedly more profitable--work.\n\nThey are for the most part, simply attempts at concrete and\nrememberable expression of ideas--ages old most of them--which \"asked\nfor more.\"\n\nMost writers, I imagine, find themselves at times in that same\npredicament--worried by some thought which dances within them and\nstubbornly refuses to be satisfied with the sober dress of prose. For\ntheir own satisfaction and relief, in such a case, if they be not fools\nthey endeavour to garb it more to its liking, and so find peace. Or, to\nvary the metaphor, they pluck the Bee out of their Bonnet and pop it\ninto such amber as they happen to have about them or are able to\nevolve, and so put an end to its buzzing.\n\nIn their previous states these little Bonnet-Bees of mine have\napparently given pleasure to quite a number of intelligent and\nthoughtful folk; and now--chiefly, I am bound to say, for my own\nsatisfaction in seeing them all together--I have gathered\nthem into one bunch.\n\nIf they please you--good! If not, there is no harm done, and one man is\ncontent.\n\nJOHN OXENHAM\n\n\n\n\nCREDO\n\n\nNot what, but WHOM, I do believe,\n    That, in my darkest hour of need,\n    Hath comfort that no mortal creed\n    To mortal man may give;--\nNot what, but WHOM!\n    For Christ is more than all the creeds,\n    And His full life of gentle deeds\n    Shall all the creeds outlive.\nNot what I do believe, but WHOM!\n    WHO walks beside me in the gloom?\n    WHO shares the burden wearisome?\n    WHO all the dim way doth illume,\n    And bids me look beyond the tomb\n    The larger life to live?--\nNot what I do believe,\nBUT WHOM!\nNot what,\nBut WHOM!\n\n\n\n\nNEW YEAR'S DAY--AND EVERY DAY\n\n  _Each man is Captain of his Soul,\n  And each man his own Crew,\n  But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,\n  And He will bring us through_.\n\n\nWe break new seas to-day,--\nOur eager keels quest unaccustomed waters,\nAnd, from the vast uncharted waste in front,\nThe mystic circles leap\nTo greet our prows with mightiest possibilities;\nBringing us--what?\n  --Dread shoals and shifting banks?\n  --And calms and storms?\n  --And clouds and biting gales?\n  --And wreck and loss?\n  --And valiant fighting-times?\nAnd, maybe, Death!--and so, the Larger Life!\n\n    _For should the Pilot deem it best\n    To cut the voyage short,\n    He sees beyond the sky-line, and\n    He'll bring us into Port_.\n\nAnd, maybe, Life,--Life on a bounding tide,\n    And chance of glorious deeds;--\n    Of help swift-born to drowning mariners;\n    Of cheer to ships dismasted in the gale;\n    Of succours given unasked and joyfully;\n    Of mighty service to all needy souls.\n\n    _So--Ho for the Pilot's orders,\n    Whatever course He makes!\n    For He sees beyond the sky-line,\n    And He never makes mistakes_.\n\nAnd, maybe, Golden Days,\n    Full freighted with delight!\n    --And wide free seas of unimagined bliss,\n    --And Treasure Isles, and Kingdoms to be won,\n    --And Undiscovered Countries, and New Kin.\n\n    _For each man captains his own Soul,\n    And chooses his own Crew,\n    But the Pilot knows the Unknown Seas,\n    And He will bring us through_.\n\n\n\n\nPHILOSOPHER'S GARDEN\n\n\n    \"_See this my garden,\n      Large and fair_!\"\n--Thus, to his friend,\nThe Philosopher.\n\n  \"'_Tis not too long_,\"\nHis friend replied,\nWith truth exact,--\n  \"_Nor yet too wide.\n  But well compact,\n   If somewhat cramped\n    On every side_.\"\n\nQuick the reply--\n  \"_But see how high!--\n  It reaches up\n  To God's blue sky_!\"\n\nNot by their size\nMeasure we men\nOr things.\nWisdom, with eyes\nWashed in the fire,\nSeeketh the things\nThat are higher--\nThings that have wings,\nThoughts that aspire.\n\n\n\n\nFLOWERS OF THE DUST\n\n\nThe Mills of God grind slowly, but they grind exceeding small--\nSo soft and slow the great wheels go they scarcely move at all;\nBut the souls of men fall into them and are powdered into dust,\nAnd in that dust grow the Passion-Flowers--Love, Hope, Trust.\n\nMost wondrous their upspringing, in the dust of the Grinding-Mills,\nAnd rare beyond the telling the fragrance each distils.\nSome grow up tall and stately, and some grow sweet and small,\nBut Life out of Death is in each one--with purpose grow they all.\n\nFor that dust is God's own garden, and the Lord Christ tends it fair,\nWith oh, such loving tenderness! and oh, such patient care!\nIn sorrow the seeds are planted, they are watered with bitter tears,\nBut their roots strike down to the Water-Springs and the Sources of the\n        Years.\n\nThese flowers of Christ's own providence, they wither not nor die,\nBut flourish fair, and fairer still, through all eternity.\nIn the Dust of the Mills and in travail the amaranth seeds are sown,\nBut the Flowers in their full beauty climb the Pillars of the Throne.\n\nNOTE.--The first line only is adapted from the Sinngedichte of\nFriedrich von Logau.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PILGRIM WAY\n\n\nBut once I pass this way,\nAnd then--no more.\nBut once--and then, the Silent Door\nSwings on its hinges,--\nOpens ... closes,--\nAnd no more\nI pass this way.\nSo while I may,\nWith all my might,\nI will essay\nSweet comfort and delight,\nTo all I meet upon the Pilgrim Way.\nFor no man travels twice\nThe Great Highway,\nThat climbs through Darkness up to Light,--\nThrough Night\nTo Day.\n\n\n\n\nEVERYMAID\n\n\nKing's Daughter!\nWouldst thou be all fair,\nWithout--within--\nPeerless and beautiful,\nA very Queen?\n\nKnow then:--\nNot as men build unto the Silent One,--\nWith clang and clamour,\nTraffic of rude voices,\nClink of steel on stone,\nAnd din of hammer;--\nNot so the temple of thy grace is reared.\nBut,--in the inmost shrine\nMust thou begin,\nAnd build with care\nA Holy Place,\nA place unseen,\nEach stone a prayer.\nThen, having built,\nThy shrine sweep bare\nOf self and sin,\nAnd all that might demean;\nAnd, with endeavour,\nWatching ever, praying ever,\nKeep it fragrant-sweet, and clean:\nSo, by God's grace, it be fit place,--\nHis Christ shall enter and shall dwell therein.\nNot as in earthly fane--where chase\nOf steel on stone may strive to win\nSome outward grace,--\n_Thy temple face is chiselled from within_.\n\n\n\n\nBETTER AND BEST\n\n\nBetter in bitterest agony to lie,\nBefore Thy throne,\nThan through much increase to be lifted up on high,\nAnd stand alone.\n\nBetter by one sweet soul, constant and true,\nTo be beloved,\nThan all the kingdoms of delight to trample through,\nUnloved, unloved.\n\nYet best--the need that broke me at Thy feet,\nIn voiceless prayer,\nAnd cast my chastened heart, a sacrifice complete,\nUpon Thy care.\n\nFor all the world is nought, and less than nought,\nCompared with this,--\nThat my dear Lord, with His own life, my ransom bought,\nAnd I am His.\n\n\n\n\nTHE SHADOW\n\n\nShapeless and grim,\nA Shadow dim\nO'erhung the ways,\nAnd darkened all my days.\nAnd all who saw,\nWith bated breath,\nSaid, \"It is Death!\"\n\nAnd I, in weakness\nSlipping towards the Night,\nIn sore affright\nLooked up. And lo!--\nNo Spectre grim,\nBut just a dim\nSweet face,\nA sweet high mother-face,\nA face like Christ's Own Mother's face,\nAlight with tenderness\nAnd grace.\n\n\"Thou art not Death!\" I cried;--\nFor Life's supremest fantasy\nHad never thus envisaged Death to me;--\n\"Thou art not Death, the End!\"\n\nIn accents winning,\nCame the answer,--\"_Friend,\n    There is no Death!\n    I am the Beginning,\n    --Not the End_!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE POTTER\n\n\nA Potter, playing with his lump of clay,\nFashioned an image of supremest worth.\n  \"_Never was nobler image made on earth,\n  Than this that I have fashioned of my clay.\n  And I, of mine own skill, did fashion it,--\n  I--from this lump of clay_.\"\n\nThe Master, looking out on Pots and Men,\nHeard his vain boasting, smiled at that he said.\n  \"_The clay is Mine, and I the Potter made,\n  As I made all things,--stars, and clay, and men.\n  In what doth this man overpass the rest?\n  --Be thou as other men_!\"\n\nHe touched the Image,--and it fell to dust,\nHe touched the Potter,--he to dust did fall.\n  Gently the Master,--\"_I did make them all,--\n  All things and men, heaven's glories, and the dust.\n  Who with Me works shall quicken death itself,\n  Without Me--dust is dust_.\"\n\n\n\n\nNIGHTFALL\n\n\nFold up the tent!\nThe sun is in the West.\nTo-morrow my untented soul will range\nAmong the blest.\n      And I am well content,\n      For what is sent, is sent,\n      And God knows best.\n\nFold up the tent,\nAnd speed the parting guest!\nThe night draws on, though night and day are one\nOn this long quest.\n      This house was only lent\n      For my apprenticement--\n      What is, is best.\n\nFold up the tent!\nIts slack ropes all undone,\nIts pole all broken, and its cover rent,--\nIts work is done.\n      But mine--tho' spoiled and spent\n      Mine earthly tenement--\n      Is but begun.\n\nFold up the tent!\nIts tenant would be gone,\nTo fairer skies than mortal eyes\nMay look upon.\nAll that I loved has passed,\n    And left me at the last\n    Alone!--alone!\n\nFold up the tent!\nAbove the mountain's crest,\nI hear a clear voice calling, calling clear,--\n\"To rest! To rest!\"\n      And I am glad to go,\n      For the sweet oil is low,\n      And rest is best!\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRUNER\n\n\nGod is a zealous pruner,\nFor He knows--\nWho, falsely tender, spares the knife\nBut spoils the rose.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WAYS\n\n\nTo every man there openeth\nA Way, and Ways, and a Way.\nAnd the High Soul climbs the High way,\nAnd the Low Soul gropes the Low,\nAnd in between, on the misty flats,\nThe rest drift to and fro.\nBut to every man there openeth\nA High Way, and a Low.\nAnd every man decideth\nThe Way his soul shall go.\n\n\n\n\nSEEDS\n\n\nWhat shall we be like when\nWe cast this earthly body and attain\nTo immortality?\nWhat shall we be like then?\n\nAh, who shall say\nWhat vast expansions shall be ours that day?\nWhat transformations of this house of clay,\nTo fit the heavenly mansions and the light of day?\nAh, who shall say?\n\nBut this we know,--\nWe drop a seed into the ground,\nA tiny, shapeless thing, shrivelled and dry,\nAnd, in the fulness of its time, is seen\nA form of peerless beauty, robed and crowned\nBeyond the pride of any earthly queen,\nInstinct with loveliness, and sweet and rare,\nThe perfect emblem of its Maker's care.\n\nThis from a shrivelled seed?--\n--Then may man hope indeed!\n\nFor man is but the seed of what he shall be.\nWhen, in the fulness of his perfecting,\nHe drops the husk and cleaves his upward way,\nThrough earth's retardings and the clinging clay,\nInto the sunshine of God's perfect day.\nNo fetters then! No bonds of time or space!\nBut powers as ample as the boundless grace\nThat suffered man, and death, and yet, in tenderness,\nSet wide the door, and passed Himself before--\nAs He had promised--to prepare a place.\n\nYea, we may hope!\nFor we are seeds,\nDropped into earth for heavenly blossoming.\nPerchance, when comes the time of harvesting,\nHis loving care\nMay find some use for even a humble tare.\n\nWe know not what we shall be--only this--\nThat we shall be made like Him--as He is.\n\n\n\n\nWHIRRING WHEELS\n\n\nLord, when on my bed I lie,\nSleepless, unto Thee I'll cry;\nWhen my brain works overmuch,\nStay the wheels with Thy soft touch.\n\nJust a quiet thought of Thee,\nAnd of Thy sweet charity,--\nJust a little prayer, and then\nI will turn to sleep again.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BELLS OF YS\n\n\nWhen the Bells of Ys rang softly,--softly,\n    _Soft--and sweet--and low_,\nNot a sound was heard in the old gray town,\nAs the silvery tones came floating down,\nBut life stood still with uncovered head,\nAnd doers of ill did good instead,\nAnd abroad the Peace of God was shed,\n  _When the bells aloft sang softly--softly,\n    Soft--and sweet--and low,--\n  The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--\n    Aloft, and aloft, and alow_.\n\nAnd still those Bells ring softly--softly,\n    _Soft--and sweet--and low_.\nThough full twelve hundred years have gone,\nSince the waves rolled over the old gray town,\nBold men of the sea, in the grip of the flow,\nStill hear the Bells, as they pass and go,\nOr win to life with their hearts aglow,\n  _When the Bells below sing softly--softly,\n    Soft--and sweet--and low,--\n  The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--\n    Alow, and alow, and alow_.\n\nO the Mystical Bells, they still ring softly,\n    _Soft--and sweet--and low_,--\nFor the sound of their singing shall never die\nIn the hearts that are tuned to their melody;\nAnd down in the world's wild rush and roar,\nThat sweeps us along to the Opening Door.\n\nHearts still beat high as they beat of yore,\n  _When the Bells sing softly--softly--softly,\n    Soft--and sweet--and low,\n  The Silver Bells and the Golden Bells,--\n    Alow, and aloft, and alow_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE LITTLE POEM OF LIFE\n\n\n      I;--\n      Thou;--\n      We;--\n      They;--\nSmall words, but mighty.\nIn their span\nAre bound the life and hopes of man.\n\nFor, first, his thoughts of his own self are full;\nUntil another comes his heart to rule.\nFor them, life's best is centred round their love;\nTill younger lives come all their love to prove.\n\n\n\n\nCUP OF MIXTURE\n\n\nFor every Guest who comes with him to sup,\nThe Host compounds a strangely mingled cup;--\nRed Wine of Life and Dregs of Bitterness,\nAnd, will-he, nil-he, each must drink it up.\n\n\n\n\nWEAVERS ALL\n\n\nWarp and Woof and Tangle,--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\nLiving and dying--and mightier dead,\nFor the shuttle, once sped, is sped--is sped;--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\n\nWhite, and Black, and Hodden-gray,--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\nTo every weaver one golden strand\nIs given in trust by the Master-Hand;--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\n\nAnd that we weave, we know not,--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\nThe threads we see, but the pattern is known\nTo the Master-Weaver alone, alone;--\n    _Weavers of Webs are we_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CLEARER VISION\n\n\nWhen, with bowed head,\nAnd silent-streaming tears,\nWith mingled hopes and fears,\nTo earth we yield our dead;\nThe Saints, with clearer sight,\nDo cry in glad accord,--\n\"_A soul released from prison\nIs risen, is risen,--\nIs risen to the glory of the Lord_.\"\n\n\n\n\nSHADOWS\n\n\nShadows are but for the moment--\nQuickly past;\nAnd then the sun the brighter shines\nThat it was overcast.\n\nFor Light is Life!\nGracious and sweet,\nThe fair life-giving sun doth scatter blessings\nWith his light and heat,--\nAnd shadows.\nBut the shadows that come of the life-giving sun\nCrouch at his feet.\n\nNo mortal life but has its shadowed times--\nNot one!\nLife without shadow could not taste the full\nSweet glory of the sun.\n\nNo shadow falls, but there, behind it, stands\nThe Light\nBehind the wrongs and sorrows of life's troublous ways\nStands RIGHT.\n\n\n\n\nTHE INN OF LIFE\n\n\n_As It was in the Beginning,--\nIs Now,--\nAnd...?\n\n     Anno Domini I_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     \"No room!\n     No room!\nThe Inn is full,\nYea--overfull.\nNo room have we\nfor such as ye--\nPoor folk of Galilee,\n     Pass on! Pass on!\"\n\n\"Nay then!--\nYour charity\nWill ne'er deny\nSome corner mean,\nWhere she may lie unseen.\nFor see!--\nHer time is nigh.\"\n\n\"Alack! And she\nSo young and fair!\nPlace have we none;\nAnd yet--how bid ye gone?\nStay then!--out there\nAmong the beasts\nYe may find room,\nAnd eke a truss\nTo lie upon.\"\n\n\n  _Anno Domini 1913, etc., etc_.\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n     \"No room!\n     No room!\nNo room for Thee,\nThou Man of Galilee!\nThe house is full,\nYea, overfull.\nThere is no room for Thee,--\n     Pass on! Pass on!\n\nNay--see!\nThe place is packed.\n\"We scarce have room\nFor our own selves,\nSo how shall we\nFind room for Thee,\nThou Man of Galilee,--\n     Pass on! Pass on!\n\nBut--if Thou shouldst\nThis way again,\nAnd we can find\nSo much as one small corner\nFree from guest,\nNot then in vain\nThy quest.\nBut now--\nThe house is full.\n     Pass on!\"\n\nChrist passes\nOn His ceaseless quest,\nNor will He rest\nWith any,\nSave as Chiefest Guest.\n\n\n\n\nLIFE'S CHEQUER-BOARD\n\n\"'Tis all a Chequer-Board of Nights and Days,\nWhere Detiny with men for pieces plays,\nHither and thither moves, and mates and slays,\nAnd one by one back in the Closet lays.\"\n\n_Omar Khayyam_.\n\n\nA Chequer-Board of mingled Light and Shade?\nAnd We the Pieces on it deftly laid?\nMoved and removed, without a word to say,\nBy the Same Hand that Board and Pieces made?\n\nNo Pieces we in any Fateful Game,\nNor free to shift on Destiny the blame;\nEach Soul doth tend its own immortal flame,\nFans it to Heaven, or smothers it in shame.\n\n\n\n\nCROSS-ROADS\n\n\nOft, as he jogs along the Winding-Way,\nOccasion comes for Every Man to say,--\n\"This Road?--or That?\" and as he chooses them,\nSo shall his journey end in Night or Day.\n\n\n\n\nQUO VADIS?\n\n\nPeter, outworn,\nAnd menaced by the sword,\nShook off the dust of Rome;\nAnd, as he fled,\nMet one, with eager face,\nHastening cityward,\nAnd, to his vast amaze,\nIt was The Lord.\n  \"_Lord, whither goest Thou_?\"\nHe cried, importunate,\nAnd Christ replied,--\n  \"_Peter, I suffer loss.\n  I go to take thy place,\n  To bear thy cross_.\"\n\nThen Peter bowed his head,\nDiscomforted;\nThere, at the Master's feet,\nFound grace complete,\nAnd courage, and new faith,\nAnd turned--with Him,\nTo Death.\n\nSo we,--\nWhene'er we fail\nOf our full duty,\nCast on Him our load,--\n    Who suffered sore for us,\n    Who frail flesh wore for us,\n    Who all things bore for us,--\nOn Christ, The Lord.\n\n\n\n\nTAMATE\n\n\n_Great-Heart is dead, they say_,--\n    Great-Heart the Teacher,\n    Great-Heart the Joyous,\n    Great-Heart the Fearless,\n    Great-Heart the Martyr,\n    Great-Heart of Sweet White Fire.\n\n_Great-Heart is dead, they say_,--\n    Fighting the fight,\n    Holding the Light,\n    Into the night.\n_Great-Heart is dead, they say_.--\n    But the Light shall burn the brighter.\n    And the night shall be the lighter,\n    For his going;\n    And a rich, rich harvest for his sowing.\n\n_Great-Heart is dead, they say_!--\nWhat is death to such an one as Great-Heart?\n    One sigh, perchance, for work unfinished here;--\n    Then a swift passing to a mightier sphere,\n    New joys, perfected powers, the vision clear,\n    And all the amplitude of heaven to work\n    The work he held so dear.\n\n_Great-Heart is dead, say they_?\n    Nor dead nor sleeping! He lives on! His name\n    Shall kindle many a heart to equal flame.\n    The fire he lighted shall burn on and on,\n    Till all the darkness of the lands be gone,\n    And all the kingdoms of the earth be won,\n    And one.\n\n_A soul so fiery sweet can never die,\nBut lives and loves and works through all eternity_.\n\n\n\n\nBURDEN-BEARERS\n\n\nBurden-bearers are we all,\nGreat and small.\nBurden-sharers be ye all,\nGreat and small!\nWhere another shares the load,\nTwo draw nearer God.\nYet there are burdens we can share with none,\nSave God;\nAnd paths remote where we must walk alone,\nWith God;\nFor lonely burden and for path apart--\nThank God!\nIf these but serve to bring the burdened heart\nTo God.\n\n\n\n\nTHE IRON FLAIL\n\n\nTime beats out all things with his iron flail,\nThings great, things small.\nWith steady strokes that never fail,\nWith slow, sure strokes of his iron flail,\nTime beats out all.\n\n\n\n\nSARK\n\n\nPearl Iridescent! Pearl of the sea!\nShimmering, glimmering Pearl of the sea!\n    White in the sun-flecked Silver Sea,\n    White in the moon-decked Silver Sea,\n    White in the wrath of the Silver Sea,--\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n    Lapped in the smile of the Silver Sea,\n    Ringed in the foam of the Silver Sea,\n    Glamoured in mists of the Silver Sea,--\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n    Glancing and glimmering under the sun.\n    Jewel and casket all in one,\n    Joy supreme of the sun's day dream,\n    Soft in the gleam of the golden beam,--\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n    Splendour of Hope in the rising sun,\n    Glory of Love in the noonday sun,\n    Wonder of Faith in the setting sun,--\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n\n    Gaunt and grim to the outer world,\n    Jewel and casket all impearled\n    With the kiss of the Silver Sea!--\n    With the flying kiss of the Silver Sea,\n    With the long sweet kiss of the Silver Sea,\n    With the rainbow kiss of the Silver Sea,--\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n    And oh the sight,--the wonderful sight,\n    When calm and white, in the mystic light\n    Of her quivering pathway, broad and bright,\n    The Queen of the Night, in silver dight,\n    Sails over the Silver Sea!\n\nWherever I go, and wherever I be,\nThe joy and the longing are there with me,--\nThe gleam and the glamour come back to me,--\nIn a mystical rapture there comes to me,\nThe call of the Silver Sea!\nAs needle to pole is my heart to thee,\nPearl of the Silver Sea!\n\n\n\n\nE.A., Nov. 6, 1900\n\n\nBright stars of Faith and Hope, her eyes\n    Shall shine for us through all the years.\n    For all her life was Love, and fears\nTouch not the love that never dies.\n\nAnd Death itself, to her, was but\n    The wider opening of the door\n    That had been opening, more and more,\nThrough all her life, and ne'er was shut.\n\n--And never shall be shut. She left\n    The door ajar for you and me,\n    And, looking after her, we see\nThe glory shining through the cleft.\n\nAnd when our own time comes,--again\n    We'll meet her face to face;--again\n    Well see the star-shine; and again\nShe'll greet us with her soft, \"Come ben!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE PASSING OF THE QUEEN\n\n\n_Hark! The drums! Muffled drums!\nThe long low ruffle of the drums_!--\nAnd every head is bowed,\nIn the vast expectant crowd,\nAs the Great Queen comes,--\n  By the way she knew so well,\n  Where our cheers were wont to swell,\n  As we tried in vain to tell\n  Of our love unspeakable.\nNow she comes\nTo the rolling of the drums,\nAnd the slow sad tolling of the bell.\nLet every head be bowed,\nIn the silent waiting crowd,\nAs the Great Queen comes,\nTo the slow sad ruffle of the drums!\n\n  _Who is this that comes,\n  To the rolling of the drums,\n  In the sorrowful great silence of the peoples_?\nTake heart of grace,\nShe is not here!\nThe Great Queen is not here!\n  What most in her we did revere,--\n  The lofty spirit, white and clear,\n  The tender love that knew no fear,\n  The soul sincere,--\nThese come not here,\nTo the rolling of the drums,\nIn the silence and the sorrow of the peoples.\n\n  _Death has but little part\n  In her. Love cannot die.\n  Who reigns in every heart\n  Hath immortality_.\nSo, though our heads are bent,\nOur hearts are jubilant,\nAs she comes,--\nAs a conqueror she comes--\nWith the rolling of the drums,\nTo the stateliest of her homes,\nIn the hearts of her true and faithful peoples.\n  _For the Great Queen lives for ever\n  In the hearts of those who love her.\nJanuary, 1901_.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN CORD\n\n\nThrough every minute of this day,\n        Be with me, Lord!\nThrough every day of all this week,\n        Be with me, Lord!\nThrough every week of all this year,\n        Be with me, Lord!\nThrough all the years of all this life,\n        Be with me, Lord!\nSo shall the days and weeks and years\nBe threaded on a golden cord,\nAnd all draw on with sweet accord\nUnto Thy fulness, Lord,\nThat so, when time is past,\nBy Grace, I may at last,\n        Be with Thee, Lord.\n\n\n\n\nTHANK GOD FOR PEACE!\nJUNE, 1902\n\n\n        _Thank God for Peace_!\nUp to the sombre sky\nRolled one great thankful sigh,\nRolled one great gladsome cry--\nThe soul's deliverance of a mighty people.\n        _Thank God for Peace_!\n\nThe long-low-hanging war-cloud rolled away,\nAnd night glowed brighter than the brightest day.\nFor Peace is Light,\nAnd War is grimmer than the Night.\n\n        _Thank God for Peace_!\nGreat ocean, was your mighty calm unstirred\nAs through your depths, unseen, unheard,\nSped on its way the glorious word\nThat called a weary nation to ungird,\nAnd sheathed once more the keen, reluctant sword?\n\n        _Thank God for Peace_!\nThe word came to us as we knelt in prayer\nThat wars might cease.\nPeace found us on our knees, and prayer for Peace\nWas changed to prayer of deepest thankfulness.\nWe knelt in War, we rose in Peace to bless\nThy grace, Thy care, Thy tenderness.\n\n        _Thank God for Peace_!\nNo matter now the rights and wrongs of it;\nYou fought us bravely, and we fought you fair.\nThe fight is done. Grip hands! No malice bear!\nWe greet you, brothers, to the nobler strife\nOf building up the newer, larger life!\n\nJoin hands! Join hands! Ye nations of the stock!\nAnd make henceforth a mighty Trust for Peace.\nA great enduring peace that shall withstand\nThe shocks of time and circumstance; and every land\nShall rise and bless you--and shall never cease\nTo bless you--for that glorious gift of Peace.\n\n\n\n\nGOD'S HANDWRITING\n\n\nHe writes in characters too grand\nFor our short sight to understand;\nWe catch but broken strokes, and try\nTo fathom all the mystery\nOf withered hopes, of death, of life,\nThe endless war, the useless strife,--\nBut there, with larger, clearer sight,\nWe shall see this--His way was right.\n\n\n\n\nSTEPHEN--SAUL\n\n\nStephen, who died while I stood by consenting,\n  Wrought in his death the making of a life,\nBruised one hard heart to thought of swift repenting,\n  Fitted one fighter for a nobler strife.\n\nStephen, the Saint, triumphant and forgiving,\n  Prayed while the hot blows beat him to the earth.\nWas that a dying? Rather was it living!--\n  Through his soul's travail my soul came to birth.\n\nStephen, the Martyr, full of faith and fearless,\n  Smiled when his bruised lips could no longer pray,--\nSmiled with a courage undismayed and peerless,--\n  Smiled!--and that smile is with me, night and day.\n\nO, was it _I_ that stood there, all consenting?\n  _I_--at whose feet the young men's clothes were laid?\nWas it _my_ will that wrought that hot tormenting?\n  My heart that boasted over Stephen, dead?\n\nYes, it was I. And sore to me the telling.\n  Yes, it was I. And thought of it has been\nGod's potent spur my whole soul's might compelling\n  These outer darknesses for Him to win.\n\n\n\n\nPAUL\n\n\nBond-slave to Christ, and in my bonds rejoicing,\n  Earmarked to Him I counted less than nought;\nHis man henceforward, eager to be voicing\n  That wondrous Love which Saul the Roman sought.\n\nSought him and found him, working bitter sorrow;\n  Found him and claimed him, chose him for his own;\nBound him in darkness, till the glorious morrow\n  Unsealed his eyes to that he had not known.\n\n\n\n\nWAKENING\n\n\nThis mortal dies,--\nBut, in the moment when the light fails here,\nThe darkness opens, and the vision clear\nBreaks on his eyes.\nThe vail is rent,--\nOn his enraptured gaze heaven's glory breaks,\nHe was asleep, and in that moment wakes.\n\n\n\n\nMACEDONIA, 1903\n\n\nDevils' work!\nDevils' work, my masters!\n      _Britain, your hands are red_!\nYou may close your heart, but you cannot shirk\nThis terrible fact,--_We--kept--the--Turk_.\nHis day was past and we knew his work,\nBut he played our game, so we kept the Turk,\nFor our own sake's sake we kept the Turk.\n      _Britain, your hands are red_!\n\nRed are the walls and the ways,\n      _And--Britain, your hands are red_!\nThere is blood on the hearth, and blood in the well,\nAnd the whole fair land is a red, red hell,--\n      _Britain, your hands are red_!\n\n\"_Come over! Come over and help us_!\"\nWe are deaf to the ancient cry.\n--\"_For the sake of our women and children_!\"\nAnd Britain stands quietly by.\n      _O Britain, your hands are red_!\n\n_Cleanse your hands, Britain_!\nYea, cleanse them in blood if it _must_ be!\nFor blood that is shed in the cause of right\nHas power, as of old, to wash souls white.\n      _Cleanse your hands, Britain_!\n\nO for the fiery grace of old,--\nThe heart and the masterful hand!\nBut grace grows dim and the fire grows cold,\nWe are heavy with greed and lust and gold,\nAnd life creeps low in the land.\n\n_Break your bonds, Britain_!\nStand up once again for the right!\nWe have stained our hands in the times that are past,\nBefore God, we would wash them white.\n\n_For the Nations are in the proving;\nEach day is Judgment Day;\nAnd the peoples He finds wanting\nShall pass--by the winding way_.\n\n\n\n\nHEARTS IN EXILE\n\n\nO Exiled Hearts--for you, for you--\nLove still can find the way!\n  _Hear the voices of the women on the road_!\nO Shadowed Lives--for you, for you--\nHope hath not lost her ray!\n  _Hear the laughter of the children on the road_!\nO Gloomy Night--for you, for you--\nDawn tells of coming day!\n  _Hear the clink of breaking fetters on the road_!\nO Might sans Right--for you, for you--\nThe feet of crumbling clay!\n  _Hear the slow, sure tread of Freedom on the road_!\n\n\n\n\nWANDERED\n\n\nThe wind blows shrill along the hill,\n--_Black is the night and cold_--\nThe sky hangs low with its weight of snow,\nAnd the drifts are deep on the wold.\nBut what care I for wind or snow?\nAnd what care I for the cold?\n        _Oh ... where is my lamb--\n        My one ewe lamb--\n        That strayed from the fold_?\n\nThe beasts are safely gathered in,\n--_Black is the night and cold_--\nThey are snug and warm, and safe from harm,\nIn stall and byre and fold.\nAnd the dogs and I, by the blazing fire,\nCare nought for the snow and the cold.\n        _Oh ... where is my lamb--\n        My one ewe lamb--\n        That strayed from the fold_?\n\nThe barns are bursting with their store\nOf grain like yellow gold;\nA full, fat year has brought good cheer,\n--_Black is the night and cold_.--\nBut ...  What care I for teeming barns?\nAnd what care I for gold?\n        _Oh ... where is my lamb--\n        My one ewe lamb--\n        That strayed from the fold_?\n\nIn the great kitchen, maids and men,\n--_Black is the night and cold_--\nLaugh loud and long, with jest and song,\nAnd merry revel hold.\nLet them laugh and sing, let them have their fling,\nBut for me--I am growing old.\n        _Oh ... where is my lamb--\n         My one ewe lamb--\n         That strayed from the fold_?\n\nThe old house moans, and sighs and groans,\n--_Black is the night and cold_--\nWe have seen brave times, you and I, old friend,\nBut now--we are growing old.\nWe have stood foursquare to many a storm,\nBut now--we are growing old.\n        _Oh ... where is my lamb--\n         My one ewe lamb--\n         That strayed from the fold_?\n\nHer mother sleeps on the hill out there,\n--_Black is the night and cold_,--\nShe is free from care, she is happier there,\nBeneath the warm brown mould.\nAnd I've sometimes hoped they may have met,\nAnd the end of the tale be told.\n        _Ah ... where is our lamb--\n         Our one ewe lamb--\n         That strayed from the fold_?\n\nWas that a branch that shed its load?\n--_Black is the night and cold_,--\nOr--was it a footstep in the snow--\nA timid footstep--halting, slow?\nAh me! I am getting old!\nIs that a tapping--soft and low?\nCan it be ... I thought I heard ... but no,\n'Twas only a branch that shed its snow,--\nGod's truth! I am getting old!\n        _For I thought ... maybe\n         It was my lamb\n         Come home again to the fold_.\n\nDear Lord! a hand at the frozen pane!\n--_White on the night's black cold_--\nO my lamb! my lamb! are you come again?\nMy dear lost lamb, are you come again?\nAre you come again to the fold?\nIt is!... It is!... Now I thank Thee, Lord,\nFor Thy Mercies manifold!\n        _She is come again!\n         She is home again!\n         My lamb that strayed from the fold_!\n\n\n\n\nBIDE A WEE!\n\n\nThough the times be dark and dreary,\nThough the way be long,\nKeep your spirits bright and cheery,--\n--\"Bide a wee, and dinna weary!\"\n  Is a heartsome song.\n\n\n\n\nTHE WORD THAT WAS LEFT UNSAID\n\n\n\"A red rose for my helmet,\nAnd a word before we part!\nThe rose shall be my oriflamme\nThe word shall fill my heart.\"\n    _Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart--\n    Just a look, just a word and a look!\n    A look or a sign that my love shall divine\n    And a word for my hungering heart_!\n\nShe toyed with his love and her roses;\nWas it mischief or mischance?--\nShe dropped him a rose--'twas a white one,\nAnd he lifted it on his lance.\n    _Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!\n    Is it thus--is it thus we part?\n    With never a look, and never a sign,\n    Nor a word for my hungering heart_!\n\nShe sought him among the dying,\nShe found him among the dead;\nAnd the rose was still in his helmet.\nBut his life had stained it red.\n    _Heart, Heart, Heart of my heart!\n    Now my heart within me is dead.\n    And alack for the look!\n    And alas for the sign!\n    And the word that was left unsaid_!\n\n\n\n\nDON'T WORRY\n\n\nJust do your best,\nAnd leave the rest\nTo Him who gave you\nLife,--\nAnd Zeal for Labour,--\nAnd the Joy of Strife,--\nAnd Zest of Love,--\nAnd all that lifts your soul above\nThe lower things.\n\nLife's truest harvest is in what we _would_,\nAnd strive our best for,\nNot most in what we _could_.\nThe things we count supreme\nStand, haply, not so high\nIn God's esteem\nAs _How_ and _Why_.\n\nAll-Seeing Sight\nCleaves through the husk of things,\nRight to the Roots and Springs,--\nSees all things whole,\nAnd measures less the body than the soul.\nAll-Righteous Right\nWill weigh men's motives,\nNot their deeds alone.\nEnd and Beginning unto Him are one;\nAnd _would_ for _could_ shall oft, perchance, atone.\n\nMotives are seeds,\nFrom which at times spring deeds\nNot equal to the soul's outreaching hope.\nStrive for the stars!\nCount nought well done but best!\nThen, with brave patience, leave the rest\nTo Him who knows.\nHe'll judge you justly ere the record close.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GOLDEN ROSE\n\n\nThe Golden Rose is blowing still,\n  Is growing still, is glowing still,\nIn lonely vale, on lordly hill,\nThe Golden Rose is glowing still;--\n  If only you can find it!\n\nThe Golden Rose still breaks and blows,\n  Still breaks and blows, still gleams and glows,\n'Mid icy blasts, and wintry snows,\nThe Golden Rose still breaks and blows;--\nSearch w ell and you may find it!\n\nThe Golden Rose can never die,\n  'Tis grafted on Eternity;\nIn hearts that Love doth glorify,\nThe Golden Rose can never die,--\n  May it be yours to find it!\n\n\n\n\nGADARA, A.D. 31\n\n\nRabbi, begone! Thy powers\nBring loss to us and ours.\nOur ways are not as Thine.\nThou lovest men, we--swine.\nOh, get you hence, Omnipotence,\nAnd take this fool of Thine!\nHis soul? What care we for his soul?\nWhat good to us that Thou hast made him whole,\nSince we have lost our swine?\n\nAnd Christ went sadly.\nHe had wrought for them a sign\nOf Love, and Hope, and Tenderness divine;\nThey wanted--swine.\nChrist stands without _your_ door and gently knocks;\nBut if your gold, or swine, the entrance blocks,\nHe forces no man's hold--he will depart,\nAnd leave you to the treasures of your heart.\n\nNo cumbered chamber will the Master share,\nBut one swept bare\nBy cleansing fires, then plenished fresh and fair\nWith meekness, and humility, and prayer.\nThere will He come, yet, coming, even there\nHe stands and waits, and will no entrance win\nUntil the latch be lifted from within.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BELLS OF STEPAN ILINE\n\n(_Cradle Song from \"The Long Road_.\")\n\n\nWhisht, Baby! Whisht!\nQuick below the cover!\nDown into your nest, my bird!\nAnd--don't--you--dare--peep--over!\nFor the grey wolves they are prowling,\nThey are prowling, they are prowling.\nAnd the snow-wind it is howling,\nIt is howling, it is howling.\nHark!--Hark!--\nOut there in the dark--\nOw--ooh! Ow--ooh!\nS-s-s-s-s-seee--oo--ooh!\nThe wolves they are lean,\nSo-o-o lean, so-o-o lean!\nAnd the wind it is keen,\nSo-o-o keen, so-o-o keen!\nAnd they seek little babies who aren't sleeping!\nBut lie you still, my Baby dear!\nLie still, lie still, and maybe you'll hear--\nHark!--Hark!--\nOut there in the dark,--\nThe silver bells and the golden bells,\nThe swinging bells and the singing bells,--\nThe bells that are heard but never are seen,\nThe wind and the wolves, and the bells in between,--\nThe bells of Iline,\nGood Stepan Iline,--\nThe bells of good Stepan Iline!\n\n\n\n\nBOLT THAT DOOR!\n\n\nEach sin has its door of entrance.\nKeep--that--door--closed!\nBolt it tight!\nJust outside, the wild beast crouches\nIn the night.\nPin the bolt with a prayer,\nGod will fix it there.\n\n\n\n\nGIANT CIRCUMSTANCE\n\n\nThough every nerve be strained\nTo fine accomplishment,\nFull oft the life fall spent\nBefore the prize is gained.\nAnd, in our discontent\nAt waste so evident,\nIn doubt and vast discouragement\nWe wonder what is meant.\nBut, tracing back, we find\nA Power that held the ways--\nA Mighty Hand, a Master Mind,\nThat all the troubled course defined\nAnd overruled the days.\nSome call it Fate; some--Chance;\nSome--Giant Circumstance;\nAnd some, upreaching to the sense\nOf God within the circumstance,\nDo call it--Providence!\n\n\n\n\nTHE HUNGRY SEA\n\n\nDown to the sea, the hungry sea,\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\nSeeking food for the bairns and me,\nSeeking food in the hungry sea;\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\n\nMy man and my lad--their bones are white,\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\nInto the maw of the grim black night,\nTheir hearts were bold and their faces bright;\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\n\n\nThe sun was red and the clouds were black,\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\nAnd the sky was heavy with flying wrack,\nWhen forth they fared,--and they came not back;\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\n\n\nForth they fared and they came not back,\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\nO, I fear the sea, and I hate the sea,\nThat took my man and my lad from me;\n      _O the sea is hungry ever_!\n\n\n\n\nWE THANK THEE, LORD\n\n\nWe thank Thee, Lord,\nThat of Thy tender grace,\nIn our distress\nThou hast not left us wholly comfortless.\n\nWe thank Thee, Lord,\nThat of Thy wondrous might,\nInto our night\nThou hast sent down the glory of the Light.\n\nWe thank Thee, Lord,\nThat all Thy wondrous ways,\nThrough all our days,\nAre Wisdom, Right, and Ceaseless Tenderness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE VAIL\n\n\nHe only sees both sides of that dark vail\nThat hangs before men's eyes--\nHe only. It is well!\nHope ever stands unseen\nBehind the screen,\nFor knowledge would bring Hope to sudden death,\nAnd cloud the present with the coming ill.\nI would lie still, Dear Lord,\nI would lie still,\nAnd stay my troubled heart on Thee,\nObedient to Thy will.\n\n\n\n\nNO EAST OR WEST\n\n\nIn Christ there is no East or West,\n  In Him no South or North,\nBut one great Fellowship of Love\n  Throughout the whole wide earth.\n\nIn Him shall true hearts everywhere\n  Their high communion find.\nHis service is the golden cord\n  Close-binding all mankind.\n\nJoin hands then, Brothers of the Faith,\nWhatever your race may be!--\nWho serves my Father as a son\n  Is surely kin to me.\n\nIn Christ now meet both East and West,\n  In Him meet South and North,\nAll Christly souls are one in Him,\n  Throughout the whole wide earth.\n\n\n\n\nTHE DAY--THE WAY\n\n\n  Not for one single day\nCan I discern my way,\n          But this I surely know,--\n  Who gives the day,\n  Will show the way,\n          So I securely go.\n\n\n\n\nLIBERTY, EQUALITY, FRATERNITY\n\n\nO God, within whose sight\nAll men have equal right\n    To worship Thee.\nBreak every bar that holds\nThy flock in diverse folds!\nThy Will from none withholds\n    Full liberty.\n\nLord, set Thy Churches free\nFrom foolish rivalry!\n    Lord, set us free!\nLet all past bitterness\nNow and for ever cease,\nAnd all our souls possess\n    Thy charity!\n\nLord, set the people free!\nLet all men draw to Thee\n    In unity!\nThy temple courts are wide,\nTherein let all abide\nIn peace, and side by side,\n    Serve only Thee!\n\nGod, grant us now Thy peace!\nBid all dissensions cease!\n    God, send us peace!\nPeace in True Liberty,\nPeace in Equality,\nPeace and Fraternity,\n    God, send us peace!\n\n\n\n\nFREEMEN\n\n\nLet no man stand between my God and me!\nI claim a Free man's right\nOf intercourse direct with Him,\nWho gave me Freedom with the air and light.\nGod made me free.--\nLet no man stand between\nMe and my liberty!\n\nWe need no priest to tell us God is Love.--\nHave we not eyes to see,\nAnd minds to apprehend, and hearts\nThat leap responsive to His Charity?\nGod's gifts are free.--\nLet no man stand between\nUs and His liberty!\n\nWe need no priest to point a way to heaven.--\nGod's heaven is here,--is there,--\nMan's birthright, with the light and air,--\n\"God is His own and best interpreter.\"\nHis ways are free.--\nLet no man stand between\nUs and His liberty!\n\nLet no man strive to rob us of this right!\nFor this, from age to age,\nOur fathers did a mighty warfare wage,\nAnd, by God's help, we'll keep our heritage!\nGod says--\"Be Free!\"\nAnd we,--\n\"NO MAN SHALL STAND BETWEEN\nOUR SONS AND LIBERTY!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHE LONG ROAD\n\n\nLong the road,\n    Till Love came down it!\nDark the life,\n    Till Love did crown it!\nDark the life,\n    And long the road,\nTill Love came\n    To share the load!\nFor the touch\n    Of Love transfigures\nAll the road\n    And all its rigours.\nLife and Death,\nLove's touch transfigures.\nLife and Death\n    And all that lies\nIn between,\nLove sanctifies.\nOnce the heavenly spark is lighted,\nOnce in love two hearts united,\nNevermore\n    Shall aught that was be\nAs before.\n\n\n\n\nTHE CHRIST\n\n\nThe good intent of God became the Christ.\nAnd lived on earth--the Living Love of God,\nThat men might draw to closer touch with heaven,\nSince Christ in all the ways of man hath trod.\n\n\n\n\nTHE BALLAD OF LOST SOULS\n\n\nWith the thirty pieces of silver,\nThey bought the Potter's Field;\nFor none would have the blood-money\nAnd the interest it might yield.\n\nThe Place of Blood for the Price of Blood,\nAnd that was meet, I ween,\nFor there they would bury the dead who died\nIn frowardness and sin.\n\nAnd the first man they would bury there\nWas Judas Iscariot;\nAnd that was as dreadful a burying\nAs ever was, I wot.\n\nFor the sick earth would not keep him;\nEach time it thrust him out,\nAnd they that would have buried him\nStood shuddering round about.\n\nAnd others they would bury\nIn that unhallowed spot,\nBut honest earth would none of them,\nBecause of Iscariot.\n\nAnd oh, it was a fell, fell place,\nWith dead black trees all round,\nAnd a quag that boiled and writhed and coiled\nWhere had been solid ground.\n\nFor every tree that stood there,\nAnd the green grass every blade,\nShrivelled and died on every side,\nWhenever the price was paid.\n\nAnd in despair they left him there,\nAnd there his body lay,\nTill his sad soul came, all black with shame,\nAnd carried it away.\n\nAnd those denied a sepulture\nIn that most dismal spot,\nGibbered and flew, a ghastly crew,\nIncensed with rage, that grew and grew,\nAgainst Iscariot.\n\nFor their souls were all in torment,\nWhile their bodies uncovered lay,\nAnd never a moment's rest was theirs,\nEither by night or day.\n\nThat was a place of wailings,\nAnd the grisly things of Death,--\nThe bare black arms of the trees above,\nAnd the black quag underneath.\n\nNo light of the moon fell on it,\nNor ever a star did shine\nOn the quivering face of that dread place,\nBecause of Iscariot's sin.\n\nThen there came by the soul of Iscariot,\nThe same who sold his Lord,\nAnd he dragged his body after him,\nBut never spake a word.\n\nSince earth his body would not,\nHe must drag it to and fro,\nHe had tried in vain to be quit of it,\nBut it would not let him go.\n\nSo the soul of Judas Iscariot\nCame by the Potter's Field,\nAnd there the ill his deed had wrought\nWas unto him revealed.\n\nAnd when the others saw him,\nThey leaped at him eagerly;--\n\"This is he for whom we suffer!\n--'Tis he! 'Tis he! 'Tis he!\"\n\nThen all afire with mad desire,\nThey chased him through the dark,\nAnd each soul carried his dead bodie,\nGrim, and stiff, and stark.\n\nThey struck at him with their bodies,\nThey cursed him for his sin,\nThey made to tear his dumb soul there,\nWith their fingers long and lean.\n\nAnd Judas fled in his horror,\nWith that fell crew behind,\nAnd as they sped the people said\nDeath rode upon the wind.\n\nThey chased him near, they chased him far,\nBecause of his treachery,\nAnd ever he just escaped their lust,\nAnd ever they were nigh.\n\nThey chased him near, they chased him far,\nAnd ever they were nigh,\nAnd never a star shone out on them\nOut of the cold black sky.\n\nAnd as they sped by Calvary,\nThere were empty crosses three,--\nAnd on the ground, below the mound,\nLay one in agony.\n\n\"_Three times I swore I knew Him not,\nAnd then--He looked on me.\nAh, such a look!--no harshest word\nHad ever proved so sharp a sword\nTo my inconstancy_.\n\n\"_Three times I did deny Thee, Lord!\nAnd yet, thou couldst forgive,\nNow am I thine--in life, in death;\nThee will I serve with every breath,\nWhile I have breath to give_.\"\n\nThey sped by an open window,\nWhere one knelt all alone,\nIn great amaze, in greater grief,\nIn woe that wrestled with belief,\nThe Mother mourned her Son.\n\n\"_My son, I knew thee more than man,--\nAh me!--and the heart of me!\nYet, man in God, and God in man,\nStill wast thou part of me_.\n\n\"_The nails through thy dear hands and feet,--\nAh me! they pierced my own.\nThe thorns that on thy brow they plied,--\nThe spear they drove into thy side,--\nThe pangs thy Godhead could not hide,--\nThey pierced me too, my son_.\n\n\"_My son! My son! My more than son,\nMy heart is full for thee!\nYet, tho' I know thee so much more\nThan ever mortal man before,--\nYet, tho' I worship and adore,--\nWoe's me!--and the heart of me_!\"\n\nAnd ever they came by the Potter's Field,\nAnd thrust their bodies in,\nAnd ever the sick earth spat them out,\nBecause of Iscariot's sin.\n\nThey sped along a palace-wall,\nThe feast waxed high inside,--\nOn Golgotha the Cross still stood,\nThe Cross where man had nailed his God,\nRed was the Rood still with his blood,--\nThey drank--\"_The Crucified_!\"\n\nThe revel gashed the sombre night,\nAnd fast the wine-cups plied,--\nTime touched Eternity that day;--\nGod had come down to man that day;--\nThe world began anew that day;--\nThey drank--\"_The Crucified_!\"\n\nAnd ever again to the Potter's Field,\nThe Souls in torment came,\nBut the black quag boiled and writhed and coiled,\nAnd would have none of them.\n\nAnd everywhere strange shapes of death\nWalked in the fearsome gloom,\nFor that last cry from Calvary\nHad rent in twain the Temple vail,\nAnd burst the gates of Doom.\n\nThrough all the startled city, walked\nThe saints that had been dead,\nAnd to the sorrowful in heart\nHoly comfort ministred.\n\nAnd when they met Iscariot,\nSore hounded in the chase,\nThey cried to him, for the Love of God,\nTo seek God's grace.\n\nAnd ever to the Field of Death,\nThe souls in torment came,\nSeeking the rest of the Blessed Dead,--\nBut earth would none of them.\n\nAnd as they whirled through a garden,\nThey came on an empty tomb,\nThe stone was gone, a soft light shone\nFull softly on the gloom.\n\nBright was that Light, and wondrous bright,\n'Twas brighter than the sun;\nAs then it shone, so shines it now,\nAnd shall when Time is done.\n\nAnd all along the pathway\nWas a track of throbbing light;\nWhere the Christ had gone His footsteps shone,\nLike stars in a velvet night.\n\n'Twas the spent soul of Iscariot\nWas like the wind-blown dust,\nAs nearer still, and near, and near,\nHe bent and crept, in doubt, and fear,\nHe came because he must.\n\n'Twas the sick soul of Iscariot\nThat drew from out the night\nAnd the full of his sin was known to him\nIn the Shining of the Light.\n\nIn the rim of the Light he laid him,\nRepented of his sin.\n\"_I wotted not! I wotted not!\nDear Master, take me in_!\"\n\nAnd as he lay there sorrowing,\nUp came the felon crew.\nThey flailed him with their dead bodies\nThey heeded not his rue.\n\nThey flailed him with their dead bodies,\nThey heeded not their spleen.\n\"_I wotted not! I wotted not!\nDear Master, take me in_!\"\n\nAnd then ... a Vision and a Voice,--\nAnd the Word made manifest,--\n\"_Lay down thy load where I abode,\nAnd I will give thee rest_!\n\n\"_And ye,--no more hunt Iscariot!\nHe repents him of his sin.\nAnd never a soul that repenteth\nBut he may enter in_.\n\n\"_This Day the Door is opened\nThat shall never close again,\nAnd never a soul that would come in\nShall seek to come in vain_.\"\n\nAnd the dead soul of Iscariot\nWas born again that night;\nFor the Lord Christ came dead souls to claim\nAnd lead them into Light.\n\nAnd the souls of the unburied,\nWhen they looked upon His face,\nWere cleansed of sin and entered in\nTo His redeeming grace.\n\nSo, by that wonderful great Love\nWhich highest heaven extols,--\nTo Mother Earth their dead bodies,\nAnd unto Christ their souls.\n\n\n\n\nPROFIT AND LOSS\n\n\nProfit?--Loss?\nWho shall declare this good--that ill?--\nWhen good and ill so intertwine\nBut to fulfil the vast design\nOf an Omniscient Will?--\nWhen seeming gain but turns to loss,--\nWhen earthly treasure proves but dross,--\nAnd what seemed loss but turns again\nTo high, eternal gain?\n\nWisest the man who does his best,\nAnd leaves the rest\nTo Him who counts not deeds alone,\nBut sees the root, the flower, the fruit,\nAnd calls them one.\n\n\n\n\nFREE MEN OF GOD\n\n\nFree men of God, the New Day breaks\nIn golden gleams across the sky;\nThe darkness of the night is past,\nThis is the Day of Victory.\n    For this our fathers strove,\n    In stern and fiery love--\n    That men to come should be\n    Born into liberty--\nThat all should be--as we are--Free!\n\nFree men of God, gird up your loins,\nAnd brace you for the final fight!\nStrike home, strike home for Truth and Right!\n--Yet bear yourselves as in His sight!\n    For this our fathers fought,\n    This with their lives they bought--\n    That you and I should be\n    Heirs of their liberty--\nThat all should be--as we are--Free!\n\nFree men we are and so will be;\nWe claim free access unto Him,\nWho widened all the bounds of life,\nAnd us from bondage did redeem.\n    Let no man intervene,\n    Or draw a vail between\n    Us and our God, for He\n    Would have His people free,--\nAnd we would be--as Thou art--Free.\n\nFree men of God, your Birthright claim!\nOur fathers won it with a price.\nThey paid in full to axe and flame,\nNor counted up the sacrifice.\n    This is our heritage,\n    And here we do engage,\n    Each man unto his son\n    Intact to pass it on.\nSo shall they be--as we are--Free!\n\nOur Sure Defence, in times of stress,\nThy gates stand open, wide and free,\nWhen men provoke and wrongs oppress,\nWe seek Thy wider liberty.\n    With loftier mind and heart,\n    Let each man bear his part!\n    So--to the final fight,\n    And God defend the right!\nWe shall, we must, we will be--Free!\n\n\n\n\nTREASURE-TROVE\n\n\nLord Christ, let me but hold Thy hand\nAnd all the rest may go.\nFor nothing is, but only seems,\nAnd life is full of idle dreams,\n        Until Thyself we know.\n\nThe whole wide world is nought beside\nThe wonder of Thy love.\nAnd though my state be mean and strait,\nGive me but heart to work and wait,\n        And I have Treasure-Trove.\n\n\n\n\nTHE GATE\n\n\"A little child shall lead them.\"\n\n\nI trod an arduous way, but came at last\nTo where the city walls rose fair and white\nAbove the darkening plain,--a goodly sight.\nAnd eagerly, while yet a great way off,\nMy eyes did seek the Gates--the Great White Gates\nThat close not ever, day or night, but stand\nWide as the love of Christ that opened them.\nBut nought could I discern of gate or breach,\nThe wall stood flawless far as eye could reach.\n\n\"But when I drew in closer to the wall,\nI saw a lowly portal, strait and small;\nSo small, a man might hardly enter there,\nLow-browed and shadowed, and close-pressed to earth--\nA very needle's eye--scarce visible.\nI looked and wondered. Could this trivial way\nBe the sole entrance to the light of day?\nAnd as I stood perplext, a clear voice cried,--\n_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\n\nAnd while I stood in doubt, there came along\nOne of earth's mighty ones--a conqueror\nOf Kings. He looked for gates that should swing wide\nTo meet his high estate and welcome him.\nHe stood and gazed, then raised his voice and cried,\n\"My work on earth is done. I would within,\"\nAnd from the City wall the voice replied,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nHe stood perplext, then set himself to wait,\nTill Might should help him to discern the Gate.\n\nAnother came,--a man of mind so rare,\nHe scarce had breathed the common earthly air.\nKnowledge was his, and wisdom so profound,\nAll things he knew in heaven and earth. No bound\nTo his accomplishment, until he sought\nThe great wide-opened Gate,--and found it not.\nHe stood perplext, and then cried wearily,\n\"Pray give me entrance. I am done with earth.\"\nAnd from the City wall the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nHe looked in vain, then set himself to wait,\nTill Wisdom should direct him to the gate.\n\nI saw a woman come, noble and fair,\nAnd pure of heart, and in her goodly deeds\nMore richly robed than Fashion's fairest queen.\nAnd to myself I said,--\"Surely for her\nA way will open that she may go in!\"\nShe said no word, but stood and looked upon\nThe shining walls, with eyes that answering shone.\nAnd from the City wall the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nShe looked in vain, then set herself to wait,\nTill Love should help her to discern the Gate.\n\nAnd one there came, with clear keen face--a Judge\nOf men on earth, and famed for fearless truth.\nHis robes were stainless and his heart was clean.\n\"Entrance I crave,\" he cried, \"to well-earned rest,--\nAnd mercy-tempered justice and no more.\"\nAnd from the City wall the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nHe looked in vain, then set himself to wait\nTill Judgment should direct him to the Gate.\n\nAnd one there came, sad-eyed, his brow still raw\nFrom pressure of an earthly crown. He too\nSought glorious entrance through wide-opened gates,\nAnd stood perplext. He had borne well his part,\nAnd served his people and his God, and died\nThe Martyr's death, and yet he found no gate.\n\"I fain would rest,\" he cried. \"My life has been\nOne ceaseless striving. I would enter in.\"\nAnd from the City wall the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nPerplext he stood, then set himself to wait,\nTill Patient Waiting should discern the Gate.\n\nAnd one who had had riches beyond most,\nAnd yet subserved them to his Master's good,\nCame searching for the heavenly gates, and stood\nAmazed to find no opening in the walls.\n\"I gave of all I had,\" he cried, \"and held\nNought as my own,--yet entrance is denied.\"\nAnd from the City wall the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nHe stood perplext, then set himself to wait\nTill Charity should point him to the Gate.\n\nAnd many more there were who entrance craved,\nAnd sought the Great White Gates, and stood perplext.\nAnd ever, from within, the clear voice cried,--\n\"_Come! Enter in! The Gate is open wide_.\"\nThey sought in vain, and set themselves to wait\nTill Light was given them to discern the Gate.\n\nAnd then--a child in white came carolling\nAlong the arduous road we all had trod.\nHe stopped and looked, then laughed with childish glee,--\n\"_Why wait ye here without? Come, follow me_!\"--\nAnd passed, scarce bending, through the lowly door,--\nWe heard his singing,--him we saw no more.\n\nThe woman stooped and looked, with eyes that shone,\nInto the doorway where the child had gone;\nThen loosed her robes and dropped, and in a shift\nOf pure white samite, on her hands and knees\nShe crept into the doorway and was gone,\nAnd we stood gazing at the way she went.\n\nAnd, one by one, they followed. First the Judge\nLaid by his robes, and bowed him to the ground,\nAnd followed--where the little child had led.\nAnd he whose brow had borne that weighty crown\nBent low and followed,--where the little child had led.\nAnd he who knew so much of earthly things\nDiscarded them, and, on his hands and knees,\nCrept through the doorway,--where the little child had led.\nAnd he of riches laid him in the dust\nAnd followed,--where the little child had led.\nAnd, last of all, the War Lord cast aside\nHis victor's wreaths, and all his pomp and pride,\nAnd followed,--where the little child had led.\nAnd, groping through my fears, I bowed my head\nAnd followed,--where the little child had led.\n\n\n\n\nBRING US THE LIGHT\n\n\nI hear a clear voice calling, calling,\nCalling out of the night,\nO, you who live in the Light of Life,\n        Bring us the Light!\n\nWe are bound in the chains of darkness,\nOur eyes received no sight,\nO, you who have never been bond or blind,\n        Bring us the Light!\n\nWe live amid turmoil and horror,\nWhere might is the only right,\nO, you to whom life is liberty,\n        Bring us the Light!\n\nWe stand in the ashes of ruins,\nWe are ready to fight the fight,\nO, you whose feet are firm on the Rock,\n        Bring us the Light!\n\nYou cannot--you shall not forget us,\nOut here in the darkest night,\nWe are drowning men, we are dying men,\n        Bring, O, bring us the Light!\n\n\n\n\nALL'S WELL!\n\n\nIs the pathway dark and dreary?\n    God's in His heaven!\nAre you broken, heart-sick, weary?\n    God's in His heaven!\nDreariest roads shall have an ending,\nBroken hearts are for God's mending.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\nAre life's threads all sorely tangled?\n    God's in His heaven!\nAre the sweet chords strained and jangled?\n    God's in His heaven!\nTangled threads are for Love's fingers,\nTrembling chords make heaven's sweet singers.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\nIs the burden past your bearing?\n    God's in His heaven!\nHopeless?--Friendless?--No one caring?\n    God's in His heaven!\nBurdens shared are light to carry,\nLove shall come though long He tarry.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\nIs the light for ever failing?\n    God's in His heaven!\nIs the faint heart ever quailing?\n    God's in His heaven!\nGod's strong arms are all around you,\nIn the dark He sought and found you.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\nIs the future black with sorrow?\n    God's in His heaven!\nDo you dread each dark to-morrow?\n    God's in His heaven!\nNought can come without His knowing.\nCome what may 'tis His bestowing.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\nPeace and heaven lie all about us.\n    God's in His heaven!\nPeace within makes heaven without us.\n    God's in His heaven!\nGod's great love shall fail us never,\nWe are His, and His for ever.\n        All's well! All's well!\n          All's ... well!\n\n\n\n\nHIS MERCY ENDURETH FOR EVER\n\n\nOur feet have wandered, wandered far and wide,--\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nFrom that strait path in which the Master died,--\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nLow have we fallen from our high estate,\nLong have we lingered, lingered long and late;\n    _But the tenderness of God\n    Is from age to age the same,\n    And His Mercy endureth for ever_!\n\nThere is no sin His Love can not forgive;--\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nNo soul so stained His Love will not receive;\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nNo load of sorrow but His touch can move,\nNo hedge of thorns that can withstand His Love;\n    _For the tenderness of God\n    Is from age to age the same,\n    And His Mercy endureth for ever_!\n\nSo we will sing, whatever may betide;--\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nNought but ourselves can keep us from His side;--\n  _His mercy endureth for ever_!\nWhat though no place we win in life's rough race,\nOur loss may prove the measure of His grace.\n        _For the tenderness of God\n        Is from age to age the same,\n        And His Mercy endureth for ever_!\n\n\n\n\nGOD IS GOOD\n\n\nI faced a future all unknown,\nNo opening could I see,\nI heard without the night wind moan,\nThe ways were dark to me,--\n\"I cannot face it all alone\nO be Thou near to me!\"\n\nI had done sums, and sums, and sums,\nInside my aching head.\nI'd tried in vain to pierce the glooms\nThat lay so thick ahead.\nBut two and two will not make five,\nNor will do when I'm dead.\n\nAnd then I thought of Him who fed\nFive thousand hungry men,\nWith five small casual loaves of bread,--\nWould he were here again!--\nDear God! hast Thou still miracles\nFor the troubled sons of men?\n\nHe has, He will, He worketh still,\nIn ways most wonderful.\nHe drew me from the miry clay,\nHe filled my cup quite full.\nAnd while my heart can speak I'll tell\nHis love unspeakable.\n\n\"Rest in the Lord!\"--I saw it there,\nOn the tablets of the night.\nAnd, comforted, I dropped my care\nWhere burdens have no weight.\nThen, trustfully, I turned and slept,\nAnd woke, and it was light.\n\nGod works to-day as He did of old\nFor the lightening of men's woes.\nHis wonders never can be told,\nHis goodness no man knows,--\nHis Love, His Power, His Tenderness,--\nNor shall do till life's close.\n\nHis kindness is so very great,\nHis greatness is so good.\nHe looks upon my low estate,\nHe gives me daily food.\nAnd nothing is too small for Him,--\nYes, truly! God is good.\n\n\n\n\nSOME--AND SOME\n\n\nSome have much, and some have more,\nSome are rich, and some are poor,\nSome have little, some have less,\nSome have not a cent to bless\nTheir empty pockets, yet possess\nTrue riches in true happiness.\n\n\n\n\nTHE PRINCE OF LIFE\n\n\nO, Prince of Life, Thy Life hath tuned\nAll life to sweeter, loftier grace!\nLife's common rounds have wider bounds\nSince Thou hast trod life's common ways.\n\nO, Heart of Love! Thy Tenderness\nStill runs through life's remotest vein;\nAnd lust and greed and soulless creed\nShall never rule the world again.\n\nO Life of Love!--The Good Intent\nOf God to man made evident,--\nAll down the years, despite men's fears,\nThy Power is still omnipotent.\n\nO Life! O Love! O Living Word!--\nRent Vail, revealing God to man,--\nHelp, Lord! Lest I should crucify,\nBy thought or deed, Thy Love again.\n\n\n\n\nJUDGMENT DAY\n\n\nEvery day is Judgment Day,\nCount on no to-morrow.\nHe who will not, when he may,\nAct to-day, to-day, to-day,\nDoth but borrow\nSorrow.\n\n\n\n\nDARKNESS AND LIGHT\n\n\nThere is darkness still, gross darkness, Lord,\nOn this fair earth of Thine.\nThere are prisoners still in the prison-house,\nWhere never a light doth shine.\nThere are doors still bolted against Thee,\nThere are faces set like a wall;\nAnd over them all the Shadow of Death\nHangs like a pall.\n    _Do you hear the voices calling,\n    Out there in the black of the night?\n    Do you hear the sobs of the women,\n    Who are barred from the blessed light?\n    And the children,--the little children,--\n    Do you hear their pitiful cry?\n    O brothers, we must seek them,\n    Or there in the dark they die_!\n\nSpread the Light! Spread the Light!\nTill earth's remotest bounds have heard\nThe glory of the Living Word;\nTill those that see not have their sight;\nTill all the fringes of the night\nAre lifted, and the long-closed doors\nAre wide for ever to the Light.\nSpread--the--Light!\n    _O then shall dawn the golden days,\n    To which true hearts are pressing;\n    When earth's discordant strains shall blend--\n    The one true God confessing;\n    When Christly thought and Christly deed\n    Shall bind each heart and nation,\n    In one Grand Brotherhood of Men,\n    And one high consecration_.\n\n\n\n\nINDIA\n\n\nA land of lights and shadows intervolved,\nA land of blazing sun and blackest night,\nA fortress armed, and guarded jealously,\nWith every portal barred against the Light.\n\nA land in thrall to ancient mystic faiths,\nA land of iron creeds and gruesome deeds,\nA land of superstitions vast and grim,\nAnd all the noisome growths that Darkness breeds.\n\nLike sunny waves upon an iron-bound coast,\nThe Light beats up against the close-barred doors,\nAnd seeks vain entrance, yet beats on and on,\nIn hopeful faith which all defeat ignores.\n\nBut--time shall come, when, like a swelling tide,\nThe Word shall leap the barriers, and The Light\nShall sweep the land; and Faith and Love and Hope\nShall win for Christ this stronghold of the night.\n\n\n\n\nLIVINGSTONE\n\n\nTo lift the sombre fringes of the Night,\nTo open lands long darkened to the Light,\nTo heal grim wounds, to give the blind new sight,\n  Right mightily wrought he.\n        Forth to the fight he fared,\n        High things and great he dared,\n        He thought of all men but himself,\n        Himself he never spared.\n        He greatly loved--\n        He greatly lived--\n        And died right mightily.\n\nLike Him he served, he walked life's troublous ways,\nWith heart undaunted, and with calm, high face,\nAnd gemmed each day with deeds of sweetest grace;\n  Pull lovingly wrought he.\n         Forth to the fight he fared,\n         High things and great he dared,\n         In His Master's might, to spread the Light,\n         Right lovingly wrought he.\n         He greatly loved--\n         He greatly lived--\n         And died right mightily.\n\nLike him he served, he would not turn aside;\nNor home nor friends could his true heart divide;\nHe served his Master, and naught else beside,\n  Right faithfully wrought he.\n        Forth to the fight he fared,\n        High things and great he dared,\n        In His Master's might, to spread the Light,\n        Right faithfully wrought he.\n        He greatly loved--\n        He greatly lived--\n        And died right mightily.\n\nHe passed like light across the darkened land,\nAnd dying, left behind him this command,\n\"The door is open! So let it ever stand!\"\n  Full mightily wrought he.\n        Forth to the fight he fared,\n        High things and great he dared,\n        In His Master's might, to spread the Light,\n        Right mightily wrought he.\n        He greatly loved--\n        He greatly lived--\n        And died right mightily.\n\n\n\n\nLIVINGSTONE THE BUILDER\n\n\n        _With a will!\n        With a will!\n    With a will and surely!\n        Without fail,\n        Drive each nail,\n    Build we so, securely_!\n\nThe Pioneer,--the Undaunted One,\nWorn with long journeyings through the Great Dark Land,\nRests for a season from his mighty labours,\nAnd seeks fresh vigour in a change of toil.\n\n        _Labour is sweet,\n              When hands and hearts are willing,--\n        Who truly works\n              Is God's own law fulfilling_.\n\nWith his own hands he helps to build a temple,\nHere, in the wilds, a temple to his God,\nRough-hewn and roughly thatched, but still a house\nOf prayer, a holy place, and consecrate\nTo Him whose noblest temples are not built\nWith hands, but in the opened hearts of men.\n\n        _The Master worked,\n              With His own hands expressing\n        His sure belief\n              That therein lay God's blessing_.\n\nThus, as he toils, with axe, and nail, and hammer,\nHis heart rejoices,--so the Master worked,\nAnd by His lowly toil for ever stamped\nTrue labour with its highest dignity.\n\n              _With a will!\n              With a will!\n        With a will and surely!\n              Without fail,\n              Drive each nail,\n        Build we so, securely_!\n\n\n\n\nLIVINGSTONE'S SOLILOQUY\n\n\n    \"My heart to-day\nIs strangely full of home!\nHow is it\nWith the dear ones over there?\n    Five years!\n    Five long-drawn years!\n    And one short moment is enough\n      To alter life's complexion for eternity!\n    Home! Home! Home!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    How is it with you all\n    At Home?\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nAnd you, my dearest one,\nAre ever nearer to me than the rest!\n    Your body lies\n    Beneath the baobab\n    In far Shapanga;\nBut your soul is ever nearest\n    When I need you most.\nWhere a man's treasure is\n    His heart is.\nAnd half my heart is buried there with you,\nAnd half works on for Africa.\n    Home! Home! Home!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\nWhy should such thought of home\n    Drag at my heart to-day?\n    Why should I longer roam?\n    Why should I not go home?\nFive years of toilsome wanderings\n    May claim a rest!\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    Nay! God knows best!\n    When He sees well\nHe'll take me home and give me well-earned rest.\n    The work is not yet done.\n    This land of Night\nIs not yet fully opened to the Son\n    And His fair Light.\n    But--when the work is done--\nAh--then!--how gladly will I go--\n    Home!--Home--Home!--\n    To rest!\"\n\n\n\n\nKAPIOLANI\n\n\nWhere the great green combers break in thunder on the barrier reefs,--\nWhere, unceasing, sounds the mighty diapason of the deep,--\nRinged in bursts of wild wave-laughter, ringed in leagues of flying\n        foam,--\nLong lagoons of softest azure, curving beaches white as snow,\nLap in sweetness and in beauty all the isles of Owhyhee.\n\nLand more lovely sun ne'er shone on than these isles of Owhyhee,\nSpendthrift Nature's wild profusion fashioned them like fairy bowers;\nYet behind--below the sweetness,--underneath the passion-flowers,\nLurked grim deeds, and things of horror, grisly Deaths, and ceaseless\n        Fears,\nFears and Deaths that walked in Darkness, grisly Deaths and ceaseless\n        Fears.\n\n\nNOTE.--Kapiolani--pronounced Kah-pee-o-lah-ny, with slight accent on\nsecond syllable.\n\nMauna Loa--Mona Lo-ah.\n\nKilauea--Kil-o-ee-ah.\n\nHale-Mau-Mau--Ha-lee-Mah-oo-Mah-oo.\n\nOn the slope of Mauna Loa, in the pit of Kilauea,\nIn the lake of molten lava, in the sea of living fire,\nIn the place of Ceaseless Burnings, in her home of Wrath and Terror,\nDwelt the dreadful goddess Pele--Pele of the Lake of Fire;\nPele of the place of torment, Pele of the Lake of Fire.\n\nIn the dim far-off beginnings, Pele flung the islands up\nFrom the bottom of the ocean, from the darksome underworld;\nBuilt them for a house to dwell in, built them for herself alone,\nSo she claimed them and their people, claimed them as her very own,\nAnd they feared her, and they worshipped--\nPele, the Remorseless One.\n\nBut, at times, when she lay sleeping, underneath the lake of fire,\nThey forgot to do her reverence, they forgot the fiery one;\nThen in wrath the goddess thundered from the Lake of Ceaseless\n        Burnings,\nFlamed and thundered in her anger, till the very skies were red,\nPoured black ruin on the island, shook it to its rocky bed.\n\nThen in fear the people trembled and bethought them of their sins,\nAnd the great high priest of Pele came like Death down Mauna Loa,\nCame to soothe the awful goddess, came to choose the sacrifice,\nChose the fairest youth or maiden, pointed with a deadly finger,\nLed them weeping up the mountain, victims to the Lake of Fire.\n\nOn the snowy beach of coral, youths and maidens full of laughter,\nFlower-bedecked and full of laughter, sported gaily in the sun;\nUp above, the slender palm-trees swung and shivered in the trade-wind,\nAll around them flowers and spices,--red hibiscus, sweet pandanus,\nAnd behind, the labouring mountain groaned and growled unceasingly.\n\n        \"_Sea and sunshine,\n        Care is moonshine,\n      All our hearts are light with laughter.\n        We are free\n        As sun and sea,\n  What care we for what comes after?\"\n\n            Bride.\n\n  \"Life was sweet before Love found her,\n     In his faery bowers.\n        Life is sweeter,\n        And completer,\n        Since he found her,\n        There, and crowned her\n        With his fadeless flowers.\"\n\n            Bridegroom.\n  \"Love sought long before he found her,\n  Ne'er was love like ours!\n  Long he sought her,\n  E'er he caught her.\n  But he found her\n  There, and bound her\n  With his fadeless flowers.\"\n\n    \"Gaily sporting,\n    Pleasure courting,\n  Nought know we of care or sorrow.\n    We are free\n    As sun and sea,\n  What care we what comes to-morrow_?\"\n\nLouder still and louder, Pele roars within her lake of fire,\nAnd the youths and maidens trembling look in fear up Mauna Loa,\nDreading sight of that grim figure stalking down the mountain side;\nFor when Pele claims her victims none the summons may avoid.\nPele calls for whom she chooses--whom she chooses goes,--and dies.\n\nSee! He comes! They start in terror. There, along the mountain side,\nDeath comes stalking, slowly, surely,--_Pele must be satisfied_.\nWhich among them will he summon, with his dreadful pointing finger?\nAll their hearts become as water, all their faces blanch with fear,\nDeaths they suffer in the waiting, while dread Death draws near.\n\nNow he stands in dreadful menace, seeking with a baleful eye\nFor the sweetest and the fairest--for the meetest sacrifice.\n\"Choose, O choose!\"--they cry in terror; \"choose your victim and be\n        gone,\nFor we each die deaths while waiting, till dread Pele's choice be\n        known!\nChoose your victim, Priest of Pele, choose your victim and be gone!\"\n\nSlowly points the dreadful finger, marks the newly-wedded bride;\nAll the rest, save one, fall from her, as the living from the dead.\nFrom the first of time's beginnings Pele ne'er has been gainsayed;\nPele chooses whom she chooses, each and all the choice abide,\nFor the common good and safety,--_Pele must be satisfied_!\n\nStill the mountain reels and shudders, still the awful thunders peal,\nLike a snake the ruthless finger holds them all in terror still;\nOne is there whose life is broken, parted from his chosen bride,\nBut the threatening finger, heedless of the lives it may divide,\nLights upon a tiny maiden,--_Pele must be satisfied_!\n\nSlow, the grim high-priest of Pele turns to climb the mountain side;\nSlow, the victims turn and follow,--_Pele must be satisfied_.\nAnd the rest shrink, dumb and helpless, daring not to lift an eye,\nAnd beyond, the labouring mountain cracks and belches living fires,\nTill the island reels and shudders at dread Pele's agonies.\n\nBut a greater one than Pele walked the mountain side that day;--\nTo them, climbing, dumb and dim-eyed--like a flash of heavenly flame,\nSwift and bright as saving angel, fair Kapiolani came,\nSwiftly as a saving angel, gleaming like a heavenly flame,\nThirsting like a sword for battle, fair Kapiolani came.\n\nRadiant with the faith of martyrs, all aglow with new-born zeal,\nBurning to release the people from the bondage and the thrall,\nFrom the deadly thrall of Pele, from the ever-threatening doom,\nFrom the everlasting menace, from the awful lake of fire,\nLike a bright avenging angel fair Kapiolani came!\n\n\"Hear me now, you priest of Pele, and ye men of Owhyhee!\nHearken! ye who cringe and tremble, at the sound of Kilauea,\nFearful of the wrath of Pele, fearful of the lake of fire!--\nPriest, I say there is no Pele! Pele is not--never was!\nPele lives but in your legends--there is only one true God!\"\n\n\"Cursed, thrice accursed, you who thus great Pele do defy,\nHere, upon her sacred mountain, of a surety you shall die!\nPele, mighty Pele, Vengeance! Strike her with thy dreadful doom!\nSo let every scoffer perish!--Pele! Pele! Pele! come!\"\nAnd Kapiolani answered--\"Pele! Pele! Pele! come!\"\n\nLoud the mountain roared and thundered; shuddered all who heard and\n        saw,\nDauntless stood Kapiolani, dauntless with her faithful few.\n\"Come!\" she cried again. \"Come, Pele! Smite me with thy dreadful doom!\nI am waiting, mighty Pele!--Pele! Pele! Pele! come!\"\nAnd the mountain roared and thundered;--but the goddess did not come.\n\n\"Hearken, Priest! You have deceived us. All your life has been a lie,\nBlack your heart is, red your hands are, with the blood of those who\n        die.\nAll these years you have misled us with your awful threats of doom.\nNow it ends! I do defy you, and your goddess I defy.\nPele, is not, never has been. All your worship is a lie.\n\n\"I will climb your sacred mountain. I will dare your lake of fire.\nI will eat your sacred berries. I will dare your goddess there,\nThere and then to wreak her vengeance, then and there to come in fire,\nAnd with awful burnings end me, now and for eternity;\nBut if Pele does not end me, then her worship ends this day.\"\n\nThen the great high priest of Pele turned to fiery Kilauea.\n\"Come!\" he said, \"the goddess calls you!\"--and they climbed the\n        mountain side,\nUp the slopes of Mauna Loa, to the hell of Kilauea,\nWith the bright blue sky above them, with the blazing sun above them,\nWhile the mountain shook beneath them, and its head was wrapped in\n        fire.\n\nFearful, hopeful, all the people crept along the shaking path,\nHardly breathing at their daring, thus to brave dread Pele's wrath,\nBending low lest she should see them, breathing soft lest she should\n        hear,\nCertain that Kapiolani would be sacrificed that day,\nTo the vengeance of the goddess, to the anger of Pele.\n\n        \"_As little child\n        On mother's breast,\n        O rest, my heart,\n        Have rest!\n        Who rests on Him\n        Is surely blest.\n        So rest, my heart,\n        Have rest_!\n        _As warrior bold\n        His foes among,\n        Be strong, my heart,\n        Be strong!\n        Who rests on Him\n        Shall ne'er go wrong.\n        Be strong, my heart,\n        Be strong_!\"\n\nThus, Kapiolani, dauntless, singing softly as she went,\nWith a face as calm and fearless as a child on pleasure bent,\nClimbed the side of Mauna Loa, to the dreadful lake of fire,\nWhile the mountain shook and thundered, while the people blanched and\n        shuddered,\nClimbed to Hale-Mau-Mau,--to the dreadful lake of fire.\n\nAll the people waited trembling, stood afar off pale and trembling,\nWhile Kapiolani, fearless, climbed up to the lake of fire,\nWith the fiery glow all round her, with a heavenly light about her.\nShining with a radiance brighter than since time began had shone\nFrom the Lake of Ceaseless Burnings, from the dreadful lake of fire.\n\n\"Here,\" she cried, \"I pluck your berries, Pele,--and I give you none!\nSee! I eat your sacred berries, Pele,--and I give you none!\nPele, here I break your tabus! Come, with all your dreadful fires!\nBurn me, Pele! I defy you!--Pele! Pele! Pele! come!\"\nCome now, Pele, or for ever own that you are overcome!\n\n\"Pele comes not. Is she sleeping? Is she wandering to-day?\nIs she busy with her burnings? Has the goddess nought to say?\nHear me, friends!--There is no Pele! One true God alone there is.\nHis, this mountain! His, these burnings! You, and I, and all\n        things,--His!\nGoodness, Mercy, Loving-Kindness, Life Eternal--all are His!\n\n\"From this day, let no man tremble, when he feels the mountain shake!\nFrom this day, no man or maiden shall be killed for Pele's sake!\nFrom this day, we break the thraldom of the dreadful lake of fire.\nFrom this day, we pass for ever from the scourge of Pele's rod.--\nFrom this day, Thou, Lord Jehovah, be our one and only God!\"\n\n\n\n\nTHEY COME!\n\n\nFrom North and South, and East and West,\n      They come!\nThe sorely tried, the much oppressed,\nTheir Faith and Love to manifest,\n      They come!\nThey come to tell of work well done,\nThey come to tell of kingdoms won,\nTo worship at the Great White Throne,\n      They come!\nIn a noble consecration,\nWith a sound of jubilation.\n      They come! They come!\n\nThrough tribulations and distress,\n      They come!\nThrough perils great and bitterness,\nThrough persecutions pitiless,\n      They come!\nThey come by paths the martyrs trod,\nThey come from underneath the rod,\nClimbing through darkness up to God,\n      They come!\nOut of mighty tribulation,\nWith a sound of jubilation,\n      They come! They come!\n\nFrom every land beneath the sun,\n      They come!\nTo tell of mighty victories won;\nUnto the Father through the Son,\n      They come!\n\nThey come--the victors in the fight,\nThey come--the blind restored to sight,\nFrom deepest Darkness into Light;\n      They come!\nIn a holy exaltation,\nWith a sound of jubilation,\n      They come! They come!\n\n\n\n\nPROCESSIONALS\n\n\nNORTH\n\nWe come from the gloom of the shadowy trail\n  Out away on the fringe of the Night,\nWhere no man could tell, when the darkness fell,\n  If his eyes would behold the light.\n        To--the--Night,--\n        To--the--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,--\n        Came--the--Light,\n        Came--the--Light,\n    Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.\n\nThere are wanderers still, without ever a guide,\n  Out there on the fringe of the Night,\nThey are bond and blind,--to their darkness resigned,\n  With never a wish for the Light.\n        To--their--Night,--\n        To--their--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night,\n        Take--the--Light!\n        Take--the--Light!\n    Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!\n\n\nSOUTH\n\nWe come from the land of the blazing sun,\n  From the land that was blacker than night,--\nFrom the white-hot sand of the Great Dark Land,\n  Where Might was the only Right.\n        To--the--Night,--\n        To--the--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,\n        Came--the--Light,\n        Came--the--Light,\n    Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.\n\nThere are sorrows still, there is darkness still,\n  There are still gross wrongs to set right;\nThere are grim black stains, there are peoples in chains,\n  To be loosed from the grip of the Night.\n        To--their--Night,--\n        To--their--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night,\n        Take--the--Light!\n        Take--the--Light!\n    Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!\n\n\nEAST\n\nWe come from the East, from the glowing East,\n  Where the Past, with its hand of ice,\nStill reaches across through its ages of loss,\n  And still holds the land like a vice.\n      To--the--Night,--\n      To--the--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,--\n      Came--the--Light,\n      Came--the--Light,\n    Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.\n\nO, the sorrowful ones of the caste-bound lands,\n  How they long for the wider way!\nHow they sigh in the gloom of their close-barred tomb\n  For the Light of the Coming Day!\n        To--their--Night,--\n        To--their--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night,\n        Take--the--Light,\n        Take--the--Light!\n    Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!\n\n\nWEST\n\nWe come from the Isles, from the Western Isles,\n  From the isles of the sunny seas,--\nWhere the smiles and the wiles, with which Nature beguiles,\n  Are but shrouds for her tragedies.\n        To--the--Night,--\n        To--the--Night,--\n    To the darkness and the sorrow of the Night,--\n        Came--the--Light,\n        Came--the--Light,\n    Came the Wonder and the Glory of the Light.\n\nThere is Darkness more deadly than Death itself,\n  There is Blindness beyond that of sight.\nThere are souls fast bound in the depths profound\n  Of unconscious and heedless Night.\n        To--their--Night,--\n        To--their--Night,--\n     To the darkness and the sorrow of their Night,\n        Take--the--Light!\n        Take--the--Light!\n    Take the Wonder and the Glory of the Light!\n\n\n\n\nFAITH\n\n\nLord, give me faith!--to live from day to day,\nWith tranquil heart to do my simple part,\nAnd, with my hand in Thine, just go Thy way.\n\nLord, give me faith!--to trust, if not to know;\nWith quiet mind in all things Thee to find,\nAnd, child-like, go where Thou wouldst have me go.\n\nLord, give me faith!--to leave it all to Thee,\nThe future is Thy gift, I would not lift\nThe vail Thy Love has hung 'twixt it and me.\n\n\n\n\n\"I WILL!\"\n\n\nSay once again Thy sweet \"I will!\"\n  In answer to my prayers.\n\"Lord, if Thou wilt!\"--\n                     --\"I will!\n  Rise up above thy cares!\"\n\n\n\n\nA LITTLE TE DEUM OF THE COMMONPLACE\n\nA FRAGMENT\n\n\n    _With hearts responsive\n    And enfranchised eyes,\n    We thank Thee, Lord,--_\nFor all things beautiful, and good, and true;\nFor things that seemed not good yet turned to good;\nFor all the sweet compulsions of Thy will\nThat chased, and tried, and wrought us to Thy shape;\nFor things unnumbered that we take of right,\nAnd value first when first they are withheld;\nFor light and air; sweet sense of sound and smell;\nFor ears to hear the heavenly harmonies;\nFor eyes to see the unseen in the seen;\nFor vision of The Worker in the work;\nFor hearts to apprehend Thee everywhere;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor all the wonders of this wondrous world;--\nThe pure pearl splendours of the coming day,\nThe breaking east,--the rosy flush,--the Dawn,--\nFor that bright gem in morning's coronal,\nThat one lone star that gleams above the glow;\nFor that high glory of the impartial sun,--\nThe golden noonings big with promised life;\nThe matchless pageant of the evening skies.\nThe wide-flung gates,--the gleams of Paradise,--\nSupremest visions of Thine artistry;\nThe sweet, soft gloaming, and the friendly stars;\nThe vesper stillness, and the creeping shades;\nThe moon's pale majesty; the pulsing dome,\nWherein we feel Thy great heart throbbing near;\nFor sweet laborious days and restful nights;\nFor work to do, and strength to do the work;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor those first tiny, prayerful-folded hands\nThat pierce the winter's crust, and softly bring\nLife out of death, the endless mystery;--\nFor all the first sweet flushings of the Spring;\nThe greening earth, the tender heavenly blue;\nThe rich brown furrows gaping for the seed;\nFor all Thy grace in bursting bud and leaf,--\nThe bridal sweetness of the orchard trees,\nRose-tender in their coming fruitfulness;\nThe fragrant snow-drifts flung upon the breeze;\nThe grace and glory of the fruitless flowers,\nAmbrosial beauty their reward and ours;\nFor hedgerows sweet with hawthorn and wildrose;\nFor meadows spread with gold and gemmed with stars;\nFor every tint of every tiniest flower;\nFor every daisy smiling to the sun;\nFor every bird that builds in joyous hope;\nFor every lamb that frisks beside its dam;\nFor every leaf that rustles in the wind;\nFor spiring poplar, and for spreading oak;\nFor queenly birch, and lofty swaying elm,\nFor the great cedar's benedictory grace;\nFor earth's ten thousand fragrant incenses,--\nSweet altar-gifts from leaf and fruit and flower;\nFor every wondrous thing that greens and grows;\nFor wide-spread cornlands,--billowing golden seas;\nFor rippling stream, and white-laced waterfall;\nFor purpling mountains; lakes like silver shields;\nFor white-piled clouds that float against the blue;\nFor tender green of far-off upland slopes;\nFor fringing forests and far-gleaming spires;\nFor those white peaks, serene and grand and still;\nFor that deep sea--a shallow to Thy love;\nFor round green hills, earth's full benignant breasts;\nFor sun-chased shadows flitting o'er the plain;\nFor gleam and gloom; for all life's counter-change;\nFor hope that quickens under darkening skies;\nFor all we see; for all that underlies,--\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor that sweet impulse of the coming Spring,\nFor ripening Summer, and the harvesting;\nFor all the rich Autumnal glories spread,--\nThe flaming pageant of the ripening woods;\nThe fiery gorse, the heather-purpled hills;\nThe rustling leaves that fly before the wind.\nAnd lie below the hedgerows whispering;\nFor meadows silver-white with hoary dew;\nFor sheer delight of tasting once again\nThat first crisp breath of winter in the air;\nThe pictured pane; the new white world without;\nThe sparkling hedgerow's witchery of lace;\nThe soft white flakes that fold the sleeping earth;\nThe cold without, the cheerier warmth within;\nFor red-heart roses in the winter snows;\nFor all the flower and fruit of Christmas-tide;\nFor all the glowing heart of Christmas-tide;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor all Thy ministries,--\nFor morning mist, and gently-falling dew;\nFor summer rains, for winter ice and snow;\nFor whispering wind and purifying storm;\nFor the reft clouds that show the tender blue;\nFor the forked flash and long tumultuous roll;\nFor mighty rains that wash the dim earth clean;\nFor the sweet promise of the seven-fold bow;\nFor the soft sunshine, and the still calm night;\nFor dimpled laughter of soft summer seas;\nFor latticed splendour of the sea-borne moon;\nFor gleaming sands, and granite-frontled cliffs;\nFor flying spume, and waves that whip the skies;\nFor rushing gale, and for the great glad calm;\nFor Might so mighty, and for Love so true,\nWith equal mind,\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor maiden sweetness, and for strength of men;\nFor love's pure madness and its high estate;\nFor parentage--man's nearest reach to Thee;\nFor kinship, sonship, friendship, brotherhood\nOf men--one Father--one great family;\nFor glimpses of the greater in the less;\nFor touch of Thee in wife and child and friend;\nFor noble self-denying motherhood;\nFor saintly maiden lives of rare perfume;\nFor little pattering feet and crooning songs;\nFor children's laughter, and sweet wells of truth;\nFor sweet child-faces and the sweet wise tongues;\nFor childhood's faith that lifts us near to Thee\nAnd bows us with our own disparity;\nFor childhood's sweet unconscious beauty sleep;\nFor all that childhood teaches us of Thee;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor doubts that led us to the larger trust;\nFor ills to conquer; for the love that fights;\nFor that strong faith that vanquished axe and flame\nAnd gave us Freedom for our heritage;\nFor clouds and darkness, and the still, small voice;\nFor sorrows bearing fruit of nobler life;\nFor those sore strokes that broke us at Thy feet;\nFor peace in strife; for gain in seeming loss;\nFor every loss that wrought the greater gain;\nFor that sweet juice from bitterness out-pressed;\nFor all this sweet, strange paradox of life;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor friends above; for friends still left below;\nFor the rare links invisible between;\nFor Thine unsearchable greatness; for the vails\nBetween us and the things we may not know;\nFor those high times when hearts take wing and rise\nAnd float secure above earth's mysteries;\nFor that wide, open avenue of prayer,\nAll radiant with Thy glorious promises;\nFor sweet hearts tuned to noblest charity;\nFor great hearts toiling in the outer dark;\nFor friendly hands stretched out in time of need;\nFor every gracious thought and word and deed;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor songbird answering song on topmost bough;\nFor myriad twitterings of the simpler folk;\nFor that sweet lark that carols up the sky;\nFor that low fluting on the summer night;\nFor distant bells that tremble on the wind;\nFor great round organ tones that rise and fall,\nEntwined with earthly voices tuned to heaven,\nAnd bear our hearts above the high-arched roof;\nFor Thy great voice that dominates the whole,\nAnd shakes the heavens, and silences the earth;\nFor hearts alive to earth's sweet minstrelsies;\nFor souls attuned to heavenly harmonies;\nFor apprehension, and for ears to hear,--\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor that supremest token of Thy Love,--\nThyself made manifest in human flesh;\nFor that pure life beneath the Syrian sky--\nThe humble toil, the sweat, the bench, the saw,\nThe nails well-driven, and the work well-done;\nFor all its vast expansions; for the stress\nOf those three mighty years;\nFor all He bore of our humanity;\nHis hunger, thirst, His homelessness and want,\nHis weariness that longed for well-earned rest;\nFor labour's high ennoblement through Him,\nWho laboured with His hands for daily bread;\nFor Lazarus, Mary, Martha, Magdalene,\nFor Nazareth and Bethany;--not least\nFor that dark hour in lone Gethsemane;\nFor that high cross upraised on Calvary;\nThe broken seals,--the rolled-back stone--The Way,\nFor ever opened through His life in death;\nFor that brief glimpse vouchsafed within the vail;\nFor all His gracious life; and for His Death,\nWith low-bowed heads and hearts impassionate,\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor all life's beauties, and their beauteous growth;\nFor Nature's laws and Thy rich providence;\nFor all Thy perfect processes of life;\nFor the minute perfection of Thy work,\nSeen and unseen, in each remotest part;\nFor faith, and works, and gentle charity;\nFor all that makes for quiet in the world;\nFor all that lifts man from his common rut;\nFor all that knits the silken bond of peace;\nFor all that lifts the fringes of the night,\nAnd lights the darkened corners of the earth;\nFor every broken gate and sundered bar;\nFor every wide-flung window of the soul;\nFor that Thou bearest all that Thou hast made;\n        _We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\nFor perfect childlike confidence in Thee;\nFor childlike glimpses of the life to be;\nFor trust akin to my child's trust in me;\nFor hearts at rest through confidence in Thee;\nFor hearts triumphant in perpetual hope;\nFor hope victorious through past hopes fulfilled;\nFor mightier hopes born of the things we know;\nFor faith born of the things we may not know;\nFor hope of powers increased ten thousand fold;\nFor that last hope of likeness to Thyself,\nWhen hope shall end in glorious certainty;\n    --_With quickened hearts\n    That find Thee everywhere,\n    We thank Thee, Lord_!\n\n\n\n\nPOLICEMAN X\n\nIF HE WOULD BUT DARE\n\n\nI stood, unseen, within a sumptous room,\nWhere one clothed all in white sat silently.\nSo sweet his presence that a pure soft light\nRayed from him, and I saw--most wondrous sight!--\nThe Love of God shrined in the flesh once more,\nAnd glowing softly like a misted sun.\nHis back was towards me. Had I seen his face\nMethought I must have fallen. I was wrong.\nThe door flung wide. With hasty step\nCame one in royal robes and all the pride\nAnd pomp of majesty, and on his head\nA helmet with an eagle poised for flight.\nHe stood amazed at sight of him in white,\nHis lips apart in haughty questioning.\nBut no words came. Breathless, he raised his hand\nAnd gave salute as to a mightier lord,\nAnd doffed his helm, and stood. And in his eyes I saw\nThe reflex glory of his Master's face.\n\nThe Master spoke. His voice so soft and sweet\nThrilled my heart's core and shook me where I stood,--\n    \"_Time runs apace. The New Time is at hand.\n    Shall it be Peace or War? It rests with_ THEE.\"\nIn dumb amaze the other shook his head.\n    \"_Thy brother of the North has cast his lot\n    For peace. Alone he cannot compass it.\n    Shall it be Peace or War? It rests with_ THEE.\"\nAgain the other shook his head amazed,\nBut never swerved a hair's breadth in his gaze.\n    \"_Shall it be Peace or War? Join hands with him,\n    Thy Northern brother, with the Western Isles,\n    And with their brethren of the Further West,\n    And Peace shall reign to Earth's remotest bound_.\"\nAnd still the other shook his head amazed.\n    \"_Shall it be Peace or War? Millions of lives\n    Are in thy hand, women and men and those\n    My little ones. Their souls are mine. Their lives\n    Are in thy hand. Of thee I shall require them.\n    Shall it be Peace or War_?\"\n\n       *       *       *       *       *\n\n    \"I am but one,\"\nThe other answered with reluctant tongue.\n  \"_Thou art_ THE _one and so I come to thee.\n  For Peace or War the scales are in thy hand.\n  As thou decidest now, so shall it be.\n  But,--as thou sayest now, so be it\n  With thee--then.\n  Shall it be Peace or War? Nay--look_!--\"\nAnd at the word--where stood the wall--a space;\nAnd at their feet, like mighty map unrolled,--\nThe kingdoms of the earth, and every kingdom\nGroaned with the burden of its armour-plate.\nAnd the weight grew till man was crushed beneath,\nAnd lost his manhood and became a cog\nTo roll along the great machine of war.\nAnd, as he watched, the War-Lord's eyes flamed fire,\nHis nostrils panted like a mettled steed's.\nThis was the game of games he knew and loved,\nAnd every fibre of his soul was knit\nTo see what passed.\n    Then,--in a sun-white land,\nWhere a great sea poured out through narrow gates\nTo meet a greater,--came the clang of arms,\nAnd drew the nations like a tocsin peal,\nTill all the sun-white sands ran red, and earth\nSweat blood, and writhed in fiery ashes, and\nGrew sick with all the reek and stench of war,\nAnd heaven drew back behind the battle-clouds.\nAnd ever, through the clamour of the strife,\nI heard the ceaseless wailing of a child,\nAnd the sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, endless\nSobbing of a reft and broken woman;--\nAnd the hoarse whisper of the War-Lord's voice,--\n  \"Britain fights once again for Barbary\n  Lest others occupy to her undoing.\n  And Italy and Greece and Turkey join,\n  To beat back France and Spain.\"\nAgain I saw,--\nWhere legions marched and wound 'mid snowy peaks,\nAnd came upon a smiling vine-clad land,\nAnd filled it with the reek and stench of war.\nThe hoarse voice spoke,--\n    \"The provinces she stole\n    And lost, Austria takes back.\"\nAgain I saw,--\nWhere white-capped hosts crept swiftly to the straits\nTwixt old and new, and drenched the land with blood,\nAnd filled it with the reek and stench of war.\nThe War-Lord spoke,--\n        \"Despite his love of peace,\n        Our brother of the North has seized his chance,\n        And got his heart's desire.\"\nAgain I saw,--\nWhere legions poured through the eternal snows,\nAnd legions swept o'er every sea to meet\nTheir long-expected onslaught, and the dead\nWere piled in mountains, and the snows ran red.\nThe War-Lord spoke,--\n        \"Up, Britain, up! Strike home!\n        Or drop your rod of Empire in the dust--\n        One of you dies this day.\"\nAgain I saw,--\nBeneath us, legions swarming to the West,\nDevouring kingdoms till they reached the sea,\nAnd filling all the lands with blood and fire.\nThe War-Lord gazed, with eyes that blazed and flamed,\nAnd panted like a soul in torment,--\"Mine!\n                       All these are mine!\"\n  \"_Thine, sayest thou?--Thine now,\n  When thou shalt stand before me--then,\n  I shall require them of thee_.\"\n                 --Thus the voice\nOf Him who sat and gazed with sorrowing face,\nWhile all the earth beneath us reeked of war,\nAnd heaven grew dim behind the battle-clouds.\nAnd ever, through the clamour of the strife,\nI heard the ceaseless wailing of a child,\nAnd the sobbing, sobbing, sobbing, endless\nSobbing of a reft and broken woman.\n  \"_Shall it be Peace or War_?\"\nA two-edged sword\nCould cut no sharper than the gentle voice\nOf Him who bowed with sorrow at the sight\nOf man destroying man for sake of gain.\nI waited, breathless, for the warrior's word.\nBut no word came. His heart was with his men.\n  \"_Shall it be Peace or War? Look yet again_!\"\nAnd at their feet, like mighty map unrolled,\nLay all the kingdoms of the earth--at peace.\nThe glad earth smiled beneath a smiling heaven,\nAnd brought forth fruit for all her children's needs.\nThe desert lands had blossomed, and the earth\nWas large enough for all. Her voice came up,\nA softly-rounded murmur of content,\nLike bees that labour gladly on the comb.\nThe reign of Peace,--and yet an army lay\nCouchant and watchful, ready for the strife\nIf strife need be,--the strife of quelling strife,--\nAn army culled in part from all the lands.\nOwning no master but the public weal,\nAnd prompt to quench the first red spark of war.\nEven as we watched, a frontier turmoil rose,\nAnd therewith rose the army, and the fire\nDied out while scarce begun. The smoke of it\nWas scarcely seen, the noise scarce heard; for all\nThe lands, sore-spent with war, had welcomed Peace,\nAnd bowed to mightier forces than their own;\nMen cast aside their armour and their arms,\nAnd lived men's lives and were no more machines.\n  \"_Wars shall there be, indeed, till that last war\n  That shall wage war on War and sweep the earth\n  Of all war-wagers and of all mankind_.\"\nSo spake the voice and ceased. And still we gazed,--\nA great white building, on its topmost tower\nA great white flag, proclaimed a World's Tribunal\nFor the righting of the nations' wrongs.\nAnd that great army answered its behests\nAnd owned allegiance to no other head.\nPeace reigned triumphant. On the quiet air\nI heard the merry laughter of the child,\nAnd the great sigh of gratitude that rose\nFrom all the mother-hearts of all the world.\n  \"_Shall it be Peace or War_?\"--\n                Once more the voice,--\n  \"_To one man is it given to decide_,\n  THOU ART THE MAN! _The scales are in_ THY _hand.\n  Think well, and say,--Shall it be Peace or War?\n  As thou, shalt say so shall it be with thee_.\"\nBut, ere the answer came, all vanished like\nA scrap of paper in a fire of coals.\nThen, with a crackling peal, the thick black vail\nThat hangs before the face of men was rent,\nAnd in the instant lightning flash I saw,--\n\nA chamber hung with black and heaped with flowers,\nWhere candles tall flashed white on watchers' swords.\nHigh on a high-raised bier lay one at rest--\nCrosses and orders on his quiet breast,\nHead proudly cushioned on his country's flag,\nHands calmly folded on his helmet's crest,\nHis back to earth, his mute face turned to heaven,--\nAnswering the summons of his Over-Lord.\nI strained my eyes upon his face to learn\nThereon his answer. But the dark vail dropped,\nAnd left me wondering what his word had been.\nHad I but read his face I should have known\nWho lay there.--Man, like other men? Or one\nWho grasped the greater things, and by his will\nBrought Peace on Earth and drew Earth nearer Heaven.\nThe bells beat softly on the midnight air\nProclaiming the New Time? Shall it be Peace?\nA voice within me cried and would not cease,\n\"_One man could do it if he would but dare_.\"\n\nNOTE.--This was written in 1898, at the time of the Tzar's Rescript to\nthe Powers suggesting a Peace Conference with a view to the lightening\nof the ever-growing burden of arms.\n\nThe possibilities have changed their faces, but at heart the great\nproblem remains much the same. And above all, the great fact remains\nthat if Great Britain, Germany, Russia and the United States joined\nhands for a World Peace, they could ensure it. Germany is still\nmistrustful. On her lies a great responsibility.\n\n\n\n\nYOUR PLACE\n\n\nIs your place a small place?\n      Tend it with care!--\n            He set you there.\n\nIs your place a large place?\n      Guard it with care!--\n            He set you there.\n\nWhatever your place, it is\n      Not yours alone, but His\n            Who set you there.\n\n\n\n\nIN NARROW WAYS\n\n\nSome lives are set in narrow ways,\nBy Love's wise tenderness.\nThey seem to suffer all their days\nLife's direst storm and stress.\nBut God shall raise them up at length,\nHis purposes are sure,\nHe for their weakness shall give strength,\nFor every ill a cure.\n\n\n\n\nSHUT WINDOWS\n\n(_For the Braille Magazine_)\n\n\nWhen the outer eye grows dim,\nTurns the inner eye to Him,\n  Who makes darkness light.\nFairer visions you may see,\nLive in nobler company,\nAnd in larger liberty,\n  Than the men of sight.\n\nHe sometimes shuts the windows but to open hidden doors,\nWhere all who will may wander bold and free,\nFor His house has many mansions, and the mansions many floors,\nAnd every room is free to you and me.\n\n\n\n\nPROPS\n\n\nEarthly props are useless,\n      On Thy grace I fall;\nEarthly strength is weakness,\n      Father, on Thee I call,--\n      For comfort, strength, and guidance,\n      O, give me all!\n\n\n\n\nBED-ROCK\n\n\nI have been tried,\nTried in the fire,\nAnd I say this,\nAs the result of dire distress,\nAnd tribulation sore--\nThat a man's happiness doth not consist\nOf that he hath, but of the faith\nAnd trust in God's great love\nThese bring him to.\nNought else is worth consideration.\nFor the peace a man may find\nIn perfect trust in God\nOutweighs all else, and is\nThe only possible foundation\nFor true happiness.\n\n\n\n\nAFTER WORK\n\n\nLord, when Thou seest that my work is done,\nLet me not linger on,\nWith failing powers,\nAdown the weary hours,--\nA workless worker in a world of work.\nBut, with a word,\nJust bid me home,\nAnd I will come\nRight gladly,--\nYea, right gladly\nWill I come.\n\n\n\n\nKAPIOLANI IN RAROTONGAN\n\n\nMr. F.W. Christian, of the Polynesian Society of New Zealand, whose\npersonal acquaintance with the South Sea Islands and their dialects is\nunique, is translating \"Kapiolani\" into Rarotongan. He writes--\n\n\"I enclose a four-line stanza which, translating your first line--'Where\nthe great green combers break,' etc.--strictly according to East\nPolynesian ballad-metres, ushers in your great theme.\n\n\"'Kapiolani' will, I trust, God willing, become a household classic\nin many of the Eastern Islands, such as Rapa and Manahiki, where the\nRarotongan language runs current as a sort of Lingua Franca or Sacred\nEsperanto, thanks to the magnificent translation of the Bible by the\ngreat missionary, John Williams. I have translated the poem most carefully,\nand as accurately as possible into the peculiar metre and cast of\nexpression which an Eastern Polynesian 'Atu-Pe'e, or Versifier, would\nimmediately grasp as idiomatic. The first lines run thus:--\"\n\n\nTei te ngai mangungu--anga no te an ngaru roro'a\nKi runga no te punga matoato'a\nNgaru kerekere, ngaru mamaata e tini\nKi runga no te 'Akau-Pipini.","title":"Bees in Amber: A Little Book of Thoughtful Verse","tradition":"scripture-revelation","translated_text":null,"word_count":18018}