These all wait upon Thee. INNOCENT eyes not ours Are made to look on flowers, Eyes of small birds and insects small: Morn after summer morn The sweet rose on her thorn Opens her bosom to them all. The least and last of things That soar on quivering wings, Or crawl among the grass blades out of sight, Have just as clear a right 'Doeth well . . . doeth better.' My love whose heart is tender said to me, 'A moon lacks light except her sun befriend her. Let us keep tryst in heaven, dear Friend,' said she, My love whose heart is tender. From such a loftiness no words could bend her: Yet still she spoke of 'us' and spoke as 'we,' Her hope substantial, while my hope grew slender. Now keeps she tryst beyond earth's utmost sea, Wholly at rest, tho' storms should toss and rend her; And still she keeps my heart and keeps its key, My love whose heart is tender. Before 1886. OUR heaven must be within ourselves, Our home and heaven the work All thro' this race of life which shelves So faith shall build the boundary wall, And hope shall plant the secret That both may show magnifical While over all a dome must spread, And deep foundations must be laid, Before 1886. Vanity of Vanities. OF all the downfalls in the world, Who thought, when Spring was first Of this? The wide world lay em pearled; Who thought of frost that nips the world? Sigh on, my ditty. There lurk a hundred subtle stings THE hills are tipped with sunshine, while I walk In shadows dim and cold: The unawakened rose sleeps on her stalk In a bud's fold, Until the sun flood all the world with gold. The hills are crowned with glory, and the glow Flows widening down apace : Unto the sunny hill-tops I, set low, Lift a tired face, Ah happy rose, content to wait for grace! How tired a face, how tired a brain, how tired A heart I lift, who long For something never felt but still desired; Sunshine and song, Song where the choirs of sunny heaven stand choired. Before 1893. SCARCE tolerable life, which all life long Is dominated by one dread of death; Is such life, life? if so who pondereth May call salt sweetness or call discord song. Ah me, this solitude where swarms a throng! Life slowly grows and dwindles breath by breath: Death slowly grows on us; no word it saith, Kind Lord, show pity. Its cords all lengthened and its 5 August 1858. pillars strong. And the grass bowed when airs of O Christ, my Life, pour in Thine oil heaven would pass, Lifting itself again when it had bowed. That grass spake comfort; weak it was and low, and wine To keep me Thine ; Me ever Thine, and Thee for ever mine. Yet strong enough and high Watch by Thy saints and sinners, |