Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto: We cannot do or undo; Lord, undo Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key Of all we are not though we might have been. Dear Lord, if ever mercy moved If so be love of us can move Thee yet, If still the nail-prints in Thy Hands are seen, Remember us,-yea how shouldst Thou forget? Remember us for good, and seek, and find. 3 Each soul I might have succoured, may have slain, All souls shall face me at the last That great last moment poised for That final moment for man's bliss or bane. Vanity of vanities, yea all is vain Which then will not avail or help or heal: Disfeatured faces, worn-out knees that kneel, Will more avail than strength or beauty then. Lord, by Thy Passion,-when Thy Face was marred In sight of earth and hell tumult uous, Lord, for Thy sake, not ours, supply our lacks, For Thine own sake, not ours, Christ, pity us. Before 1882. THE THREAD OF LIFE I THE irresponsive silence of the land, The irresponsive sounding of the sea, Speak both one message of one sense to me : 'Aloof, aloof, we stand aloof; so stand Thou too aloof bound with the flawless band Of inner solitude; we bind not thee; But who from thy self-chain shall set thee free? What heart shall touch thy heart? what hand thy hand? '— And I am sometimes proud and sometimes meek, And sometimes I remember days of old When fellowship seemed not so far to seek And all the world and I seemed much less cold, And at the rainbow's foot lay surely gold, And hope felt strong and life itself not weak. 2 And Thy heart failed in Thee Thus am I mine own prison. Every like melting wax, And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard, thing Around me free and sunny and at ease: Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; Which the sun kisses, where the gay Who gives Himself to me, and bids birds sing And where all winds make various murmuring; me sing A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; Where bees are found, with honey He bids me sing, O Death, where Therefore myself is that one only Thou, O Lord, in pain hadst no SEVEN vials hold Thy wrath: but But waiting for our treasure and our what can hold Thy mercy save Thine own Infini- Beyond the fading splendour of the tude, Boundlessly overflowing with all good, All lovingkindness, all delights un told? zest west, Beyond this deathstruck life and deathlier evil. Not with the sparrow building here a house : But with the swallow tabernacling LORD, make us all love all: that Beyond earth's gourds and past her Who having parted count reunion From pangs or sleep, safe folded round Thy seat. LORD, grant us wills to trust Thee Oh if our brother's blood cry out at How shall we meet Thee Who hast loved us all, Thee Whom we never loved, not loving him? The unloving cannot chant with Seraphim, Yesterday, this day, day by day the Bear harp of gold or palm victorious, Onward and upward toward that Disgrace me not with uttermost Thy hidden Beauty in the holy LORD, grant us eyes to see and ears As waters and as thunders fill the sphere. It is not death, O Christ, to die for Lord, grant us what Thou wilt, and Thee : Nor is that silence of a silent land Which speaks Thy praise so all may understand: Darkness of death makes Thy dear lovers see Thyself Who Wast and Art and Art to Be; Thyself, more lovely than the lovely band Of saints who worship Thee on either hand, Loving and loved thro' all eternity. Death is not death, and therefore do I hope : what Thou wilt Deny, and fold us in Thy peaceful fold: Not as the world gives, give to us Thine own: Inbuild us where Jerusalem is built With walls of jasper and with streets of gold, And Thou Thyself, Lord Christ, for Corner Stone. Before 1893. 'Cried out with Tears.' Nor silence silence; and I there- LORD, I believe, help Thou mine fore sing A very humble hopeful quiet psalm, Searching my heart-field for an offering; A handful of sun-courting heliotrope, Of myrrh a bundle, and a little balm. Before 1893. unbelief: Lord, I repent, help mine impeni tence : Hide not Thy Face from me, nor spurn me hence, Nor utterly despise me in my grief; Nor say me nay, who worship with the thief Bemoaning my so long lost in nocence : |