Lead her from the festive boards, By your truth she shall be true — TRUTH. ARTH outgrows the mythic fancies EA Sung beside her in her youth; And those debonair romances Christ hath sent us down the angels; TRUTH. Lit for blessed mysteries; And a Priest's Hand, through creation, Truth is fair; should we forego it? Can we sigh right for a wrong? Sing His Truth out fair and full, Truth is large. Our aspiration What is true and just and honest, O brave poets, keep back nothing; Truest Truth the fairest Beauty! 35 THE A CHANGED WORLD. HE face of all the world is changed, I think, Since first I heard the footsteps of thy soul Move still, oh, still, beside me; as they stole Betwixt me and the dreadful outer brink Of obvious death, where I who thought to sink Was caught up into love and taught the whole Of life in a new rhythm. The cup of dole God gave for baptism, I am fain to drink, And praise its sweetness, sweet, with thee anear. The names of country, heaven, are changed away, For where thou art or shalt be, there or here; And this this lute and song - loved yesterday, (The singing angels know) are only dear, Because thy name moves right in what they say. LOVE. LOVE, mere love, is beautiful indeed And worthy of acceptation. Fire is bright, Let temple burn, or flax! An equal light Leaps in the flame from cedar-plank or weed. And love is fire; and when I say at need I love thee - mark! — I love thee! I stand transfigured, glorified aright, - in thy sight With conscience of the new rays that proceed Out of my face toward thine. There's nothing low In love, when love the lowest : meanest creatures ONLY A CURL. Who love God, God accepts while loving so. THE PROSPECT. METHINKS we do as fretful children do, Leaning their faces on the window-pane To sigh the glass dim with their own breaths' stain, The life beyond us, and our souls in pain, We miss the prospect which we 're called unto, Thy vision may be clear to watch along ONLY A CURL. I. FRIENDS of faces unknown and a land Unvisited over the sea, Who tell me how lonely you stand 37 II. While you ask me to ponder and say III. Shall I speak like a poet, or run Yet my arm's round my own little son, IV. And I feel what it must be and is, V. How you think, staring on at the door, That its brightness, familiar before, For the dark of your sorrow and sin. |