Or seek or find or hold or cleave unto : Our self-undoing, for Thine is the key 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, That great last moment poised for woe or weal, Which then will not avail or help or heal: And Thy heart failed in Thee like melting wax, And Thy Blood dropped more precious than the nard, Lord, for Thy sake, not our's, supply our lacks, For Thine own sake, not our's, Christ, pity us. THE THREAD OF LIFE. I. 'HE irresponsive silence of the land, THE 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 all the world and I seemed much less cold, 2. Thus am I mine own prison. Everything Around me free and sunny and at ease : Or if in shadow, in a shade of trees Which the sun kisses, where the gay birds sing Where bees are found, with honey for the bees; Where sounds are music, and where silences Are music of an unlike fashioning. Then gaze I at the merrymaking crew, And smile a moment and a moment sigh 3. Therefore myself is that one only thing From crudeness ripeness mellow and sanative; And this myself as king unto my King I give, to Him Who gave Himself for me; Who gives Himself to me, and bids me sing A sweet new song of His redeemed set free; He bids me sing: O death, where is thy sting? And sing: O grave, where is thy victory? AN OLD-WORLD THICKET. "Una selva oscura."-Dante. AWAKE or sleeping (for I know not which) I was or was not mazed within a wood Where every mother-bird brought up her brood Of oak or ash, of cypress or of beech, Of silvery aspen trembling delicately, Of plane or warmer-tinted sycomore, Of elm that dies in secret from the core, Of pines, of all green lofty things that be. Such birds they seemed as challenged each desire; Like anything they seemed, and everything. Such mirth they made, such warblings and such chat And all our subtlest reasonings wild or weak. Their meat was nought but flowers like butterflies, With berries coral-coloured or like gold; Their drink was only dew, which blossoms hold Deep where the honey lies; Their wings and tails were lit by sparkling eyes. The shade wherein they revelled was a shade That danced and twinkled to the unseen sun; Branches and leaves cast shadows one by one, And all their shadows swayed In breaths of air that rustled and that played. A sound of waters neither rose nor sank, And spread a sense of freshness through the air; It seemed not here or there, but everywhere, As if the whole earth drank, Root fathom deep and strawberry on its bank. But I who saw such things as I have said, Was overdone with utter weariness; And walked in care, as one whom fears oppress, Because above his head Death hangs, or damage, or the dearth of bread. Each sore defeat of my defeated life Faced and outfaced me in that bitter hour; Self stabbing self with keen lack-pity knife. |