ONE BY THE CLOCK.

Thus lurk a hundred subtle stings
To prick us in our daily walk:

An apple cankered on its stalk,
A robin snared for all his wings,
A voice that sang but never sings;
Yea, sight or sound or silence stings.
Kind Lord, show pity.

169

ONE BY THE CLOCK.

AFTER midnight, in the dark

The clock strikes one,

New day has begun.

Look up and hark!

With singing heart forestall the carolling lark.

After midday, in the light

The clock strikes one,

Day fall has begun.

Cast up, set right

The day's account against the on-coming night.

After noon and night, one day

For ever one

Ends not, once begun.

Whither away,

O brothers, and O sisters? Pause and pray.

GRIEF is not grievous to a soul that knows

Christ comes,

and listens for that hour to strike.

IN THE WILLOW SHADE.

I

SAT beneath a willow tree,

Where water falls and calls;

While fancies upon fancies solaced me,

Some true, and some were false.

Who set their heart upon a hope

That never comes to pass,

Droop in the end like fading heliotrope,
The sun's wan looking-glass.

Who set their will upon a whim

Clung to through good and ill,

Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, Or hit or miss their will.

All things are vain that wax and wane,
For which we waste our breath;
Love only doth not wane and is not vain,
Love only outlives death.

A singing lark rose toward the sky,
Circling he sang amain;

He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high,
And then he sank again.

A second like a sunlit spark

Flashed singing up his track;

But never overtook that foremost lark,
And songless fluttered back.

IN THE WILLOW SHADE.

171

A hovering melody of birds

Haunted the air above;

They clearly sang contentment without words,

And youth and joy and love.

O silvery weeping-willow tree

With all leaves shivering,

Have you no purpose but to shadow me
Beside this rippled spring?

On this first fleeting day of Spring,

For Winter is gone by,

And every bird on every quivering wing
Floats in a sunny sky;

On this first Summer-like soft day,
While sunshine steeps the air
And every cloud has gat itself away,
And birds sing everywhere.

Have you no purpose in the world

But thus to shadow me

With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled,
O weeping-willow tree?

With all your tremulous leaves outspread

Betwixt me and the sun,

While here I loiter on a mossy bed

With half my work undone ;

My work undone, that should be done
At once with all my might;

For after the long day and lingering sun
Comes the unworking night.

This day is lapsing on its way,
Is lapsing out of sight;

And after all the chances of the day
Comes the resourceless night.

The weeping-willow shook its head

And stretched its shadow long;

The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red,
The birds forbore a song.

Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves,

The ripple made a moan,

The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; And then I felt alone.

I rose to go, and felt the chill,

And shivered as I went;

Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still,

What more that willow meant;

That silvery weeping-willow tree

With all leaves shivering,

Which spent one long day overshadowing me,
Beside a spring in Spring.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

173

GOLDEN SILENCES.

THERE is silence that saith, "Ah me!"
There is silence that nothing saith;
One the silence of life forlorn,

One the silence of death;

One is, and the other shall be.

One we know and have known for long,
One we know not, but we shall know,
All we who have ever been born;
Even so, be it so,

There is silence, despite a song.

Sowing day is a silent day,

Resting night is a silent night;

But who reaps the ripened corn
Shall shout in his delight,

While silences vanish away.

WHAT'S IN A NAME?

WHY

HY has Spring one syllable less
Than any its fellow season?
There may be some other reason,
And I'm merely making a guess;
But surely it hoards such wealth
Of happiness, hope and health,