Rosaline.

“When tongues speak sweetly, then they name her name,

And Rosaline they call her."

LOVE'S LABOUR LOST.

HERE'S music in thy name

Whose lightest tone doth melody impart,
And kindles in my well-nigh passionless heart
Love's new-born flame.

Dovelike, unto the ark of thy white arms
I fly, since earth affords no resting-place :
I gaze upon thy calm and placid face-
A pale moon shining o'er a world of charms!
Sweet is the fragrance of chaste woodland flowers,
Each in their small domain a rustic queen;
But silken petals couched in gorgeous bowers
Are types of thy soft languors, Rosaline.

O that a painter's skill had been my share
In Nature's heritage, and 'twere the care
Of my whole life for some most holy shrine
To paint one angel visage, bodying all
On earth we image as celestial,

I'd limn through life to catch a gleam of thine.
Or I could rhyme whole years of summer days
And never find in all my mother-tongue,

Or in those strains that deathless bards have sung
Such diction as should rightly speak thy praise;
For thou art peerless. Therefore like to those
Who, till their God unseals the earthly sense,
Bend at His throne in silent reverence,
So at thy beauty's shrine will I repose,

Nor break the charméd calm that reigneth there
Till thine approving smile inspire a fitting prayer.

S o'er life's dangerous paths we sadly tread,
While passing through this strange and weary
land,

Lo! a rich Feast of Love for us is spread,
By the nail-pierced Hand.

Fainting and footsore, toil we in the way;
No manna glistens on the desert sod;
And yet to earnest souls that kneel and pray,
There comes the Bread of God.

For us there flows no pure life-giving Rill,
Such as for Israel's need of old sufficed;
Yet here our thirsting spirits we may fill
With the glad Wine of Christ.

THE HOLY COMMUNION.

Resting beneath His shadow, cool and sweet,

We gain fresh strength for conflict with our foes;
Here the lone desert, with its sultry heat,

Doth blossom as the rose.

And though these earthly shadows, dark and dim,
Veil from our sight His blessèd Presence now,
Yet Faith exulting lifts her eyes to Him,
And sees the thorn-crowned Brow!

Waves from the ocean of His mighty love
Break in rejoicing on the expectant shore,
Whispering sweet voices of the Land above,
Where storms shall be no more.

Glad then, and sacred to all lowly hearts,
The Table spread by the dear Hands of Christ,
Where He his gifts of blessing still imparts
In Holy Eucharist!

Telling of Calvary and its bitter Cross,

The nails, the thorns, and the spear-wounded Side; Bidding us count all earthly things but loss

For love of Him who died.

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THE HOLY COMMUNION.

Pointing us onward to the Day of Light,

When, 'mid the glories of His Home Divine, Christ and His Church, in robes of purest white, Shall drink His own new Wine!

S. EDMUND HALL, OXFORD.

R. H. B.