IV. Now is winter and now is sorrow, THROUGH coldness and through keenness, These make the blackthorn blow. HOMEWARD BOUND. HOME by different ways. Yet all Homeward bound through prayer and praise, Young with old and great with small, Home by different ways. Many nights and many days Wind must blow and rain must fall, Life hath called and death will call Home by different ways. AN IMMURATA" SISTER. 155 AN IMMURATA" SISTER. LIFE flows down to death; we cannot bind That current that it should not flee; Life flows down to death, as rivers find Men work and think, but women feel; And so I should be glad to die And cease from impotence of zeal, And be at peace among the dead. Hearts that die, by death renew their youth, Why should I seek and never find That something which I have not had? The world hath sought time out of mind; Ah, empty world and empty I! For we have spent our strength for nought, And soon it will be time to die. Sparks fly upward toward their fount of fire, Kindling, flashing, hovering: Kindle, flash, my soul; mount higher and higher, Thou whole burnt-offering! A TIME to suffer, and a time to do, And then the time is past. Heaven's chimes are slow, but sure to strike at last. "LIFT up your hearts" "We lift them up "—ah me! I cannot, Lord, lift up my heart to Thee; Stoop, lift it up, that where Thou art I too may be. HEARTSEASE. HEARTSEASE I found, where Love-lies-bleeding Empurpled all the ground; Whatever flowers I missed unheeding, Heartsease I found. Yet still my garden mound Ah, when shades fell to light succeeding, "Love-lies-bleeding" was all my pleading, TEMPUS FUGIT. WH WHERE LOVE IS. HERE love is, there comes sorrow Endure the mood, Love only means our good. Where love is, there comes pleasure, With or withouten measure Early or late Cheering the sorriest state. Where love is, all perfection Dwells every sort of bliss. Who would not choose a sorrow Love's self will cheer to-morrow? One day of sorrow Then such a long to-morrow! LOVE recognizes love's own cry, TEMPUS FUGIT. LOVELY Spring, A brief sweet thing, 157 TO-MORROW BLOTS OUT SORROW. PARTING after parting, Sore loss and gnawing pain; Meeting grows half a sorrow, When shall the day break That these things shall not be? When shall the new earth be ours Without a sea, And time that is not time, But eternity? SAINTS are like roses when they flush rarest, Saints are like lilies when they bloom fairest, |