Part 2

For me--for me-- God knows that I am feeble like the rest!-- I often wandered forth, more child than maiden, Among the midnight hills of Galilee, Whose summits looked heaven-laden; Listening to silence as it seemed to be God's voice, so soft yet strong--so fain to press Upon my heart as Heaven did on the height, And waken up its shadows by a light, And show its vileness by a holiness. Then I knelt down most silent like the night, Too self-renounced for fears, Raising my small face to the countless blue Whose stars did mix and tremble in my tears. God heard _them_ falling after--with His dew.

So, seeing my corruption, can I see This Incorruptible now born of me-- This fair new Innocence no sun did chance To shine on (for even Adam was no child), Created from my nature, all defiled, This mystery from out mine ignorance-- Nor feel the blindness, stain, corruption, more Than others do, or _I_ did heretofore?-- Can hands wherein such burden pure has been, Not open with the cry 'unclean, unclean!' More oft than any else beneath the skies? Ah King, ah Christ, ah Son! The kine, the shepherds, the abased wise, Must all less lowly wait Than I, upon thy state!-- Sleep, sleep, my kingly One!

Art Thou a King, then? Come, His universe, Come, crown me Him a king! Pluck rays from all such stars as never fling Their light where fell a curse. And make a crowning for this kingly brow!-- What is my word?--Each empyreal star Sits in a sphere afar In shining ambuscade: The child-brow, crowned by none, Keeps its unchildlike shade. Sleep, sleep, my crownless One!

Unchildlike shade!--no other babe doth wear An aspect very sorrowful, as Thou.-- No small babe-smiles, my watching heart has seen, To float like speech the speechless lips between; No dovelike cooing in the golden air, No quick short joys of leaping babyhood. Alas, our earthly good In heaven thought evil, seems too good for Thee: Yet, sleep, my weary One!

And then the drear sharp tongue of prophecy, With the dread sense of things which shall be done, Doth smite me inly, like a sword--a sword? (_That_ 'smites the Shepherd!') then, I think aloud The words 'despised,'--'rejected,'--every word Recoiling into darkness as I view The DARLING on my knee. Bright angels,--move not!--lest ye stir the cloud Betwixt my soul and his futurity! I must not die, with mother's work to do, And could not live--and see.

It is enough to bear This image still and fair-- This holier in sleep, Than a saint at prayer: This aspect of a child Who never sinned or smiled-- This presence in an infant's face: This sadness most like love This love than love more deep, This weakness like omnipotence, It is so strong to move! Awful is this watching place, Awful what I see from hence-- A king, without regalia, A God, without the thunder, A child, without the heart for play; Aye, a Creator rent asunder From His first glory and cast away On His own world, for me alone To hold in hands created, crying--SON!

That tear fell not on THEE, Beloved, yet Thou stirrest in thy slumber! THOU, stirring not for glad sounds out of number Which through the vibratory palm trees run From summer wind and bird, So quickly hast Thou heard A tear fall silently?-- Wak'st Thou, O loving One?--

--_E. B. Browning._

[1] It is a Jewish tradition that Moses died of the kisses of God's lips.

THE VOICE FROM GALILEE.

I heard the voice of Jesus say, "Come unto me and rest; Lay down, thou weary one, lay down Thy head upon my breast." I came to Jesus as I was-- Weary, and worn, and sad; I found in Him a resting-place, And He has made me glad.

I heard the voice of Jesus say, "Behold I freely give The living water--thirsty one, Stoop down, and drink, and live." I came to Jesus, and I drank Of that life-giving stream. My thirst was quench'd, my soul revived, And now I live in Him.

I heard the voice of Jesus say, "I am this dark world's light; Look unto me, thy morn shall rise, And all thy day be bright." I looked to Jesus, and I found In Him my Star, my Sun; And in that Light of Life I'll walk Till trav'ling days are done.

--_Horatius Bonar._

LEAD, KINDLY LIGHT.

Lead, kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom, Lead Thou me on; The night is dark, and I am far from home, Lead Thou me on; Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see The distant scene; one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou Shouldst lead me on; I loved to choose and see my path; but now Lead Thou me on. I loved the garish day, and spite of fears, Pride ruled my will; remember not past years.

So long Thy power hath blest me, sure it still Will lead me on O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till The night is gone, And with the morn those angel faces smile, Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile.

--_Cardinal Newman._

Weary of earth and laden with my sin, I look at heaven and long to enter in; But there no evil thing may find a home, And yet I hear a voice that bids me, "Come."

So vile I am, how dare I hope to stand In the pure glory of that holy land? Before the whiteness of that Throne appear? Yet there are Hands stretched out to draw me near.

The while I fain would tread the heavenly way, Evil is ever with me day by day; Yet on mine ears the gracious tidings fall, "Repent, confess, thou shalt be loosed from all."

It is the voice of JESUS that I hear, His are the Hands stretched out to draw me near, And His the Blood that can for all atone, And set me faultless there before the Throne.

'Twas He who found me on the deathly wild, And made me heir of heaven, the FATHER'S child, And day by day, whereby my soul may live, Gives me His Grace of pardon, and will give.

O great Absolver, grant my soul may wear The lowliest garb of penitence and prayer, That in the FATHER'S courts my glorious dress May be the garment of Thy righteousness.

Yea, Thou wilt answer for me, Righteous LORD; Thine all the merits, mine the great reward; Thine the sharp thorns, and mine the golden crown; Mine the life won, and Thine the life laid down.

Nought can I bring, dear LORD, for all I owe, Yet let my full heart what it can bestow; Like Mary's gift let my devotion prove, Forgiven greatly, how I greatly love.

--_Unidentified._

"Come unto Me, ye weary, And I will give you rest." O blessed voice of JESUS, Which comes to hearts oppressed; It tells of benediction, Of pardon, grace, and peace, Of joy that hath no ending, Of love which cannot cease.

"Come unto Me, ye wanderers, And I will give you light." O loving voice of JESUS, Which comes to cheer the night; Our hearts were filled with sadness, And we had lost our way; But He has brought us gladness And songs at break of day.

"Come unto Me, ye fainting, And I will give you life; O cheering voice of JESUS, Which comes to aid our strife; The foe is stern and eager, The fight is fierce and long; But He has made us mighty, And stronger than the strong.

"And whosoever cometh, I will not cast him out." O welcome voice of JESUS, Which drives away our doubt; Which calls us very sinners, Unworthy though we be, Of love so free and boundless, To come, dear LORD, to Thee.

--_Unidentified._

EARTH'S BEAUTY.

Where the wave murmurs not, Where the gust eddies not, Where the stream rushes not, Where the cliff shadows not, Where the wood darkens not, I would not be!

Bright tho' the heavens were, Rich tho' the flowers there, Sweet tho' the fragrant air, And all as Eden fair, Yet as a dweller there, I would not be!

O wave, and breeze, and rill, and rock, and wood, Was it not God Himself that called you GOOD?

--_Horatius Bonar._

"Servant of God, well done, Rest from thy loved employ; The battle fought, the vict'ry won, Enter thy Master's joy."

The voice at midnight came, He started up to hear; A mortal arrow pierced his frame, He fell--but felt no fear.

Tranquil amidst alarms, It found him on the field, A veteran slumbering on his arms, Beneath his red-cross shield.

The pains of death are past, Labor and sorrow cease; And, life's long warfare closed at last, His soul is found in peace.

Soldier of Christ, well done! Praise be thy new employ; And while eternal ages run, Rest in thy Saviour's joy.

--_James Montgomery._

THE ANGEL'S STORY.

Through the blue and frosty heavens Christmas stars were shining bright; Glistening lamps throughout the City Almost matched their gleaming light; While the winter snow was lying, And the winter winds were sighing, Long ago, one Christmas night.

While, from every tower and steeple, Pealing bells were sounding clear, (Never with such tones of gladness, Save when Christmas time is near,) Many a one that night was merry Who had toiled through all the year.

That night saw old wrongs forgiven, Friends, long parted, reconciled; Voices all unused to laughter, Mournful eyes that rarely smiled, Trembling hearts that feared the morrow, From their anxious thoughts beguiled.

Rich and poor felt love and blessing From the gracious season fall; Joy and plenty in the cottage, Peace and feasting in the hall; And the voices of the children Ringing clear above it all!

Yet one house was dim and darkened; Gloom, and sickness, and despair, Dwelling in the gilded chambers, Creeping up the marble stair, Even stilled the voice of mourning,-- For a child lay dying there.

Silken curtains fell around him, Velvet carpets hushed the tread, Many costly toys were lying, All unheeded, by his bed; And his tangled golden ringlets Were on downy pillows spread.

The skill of that mighty City To save one little life was vain,-- One little thread from being broken, One fatal word from being spoken; Nay, his very mother's pain, And the mighty love within her, Could not give him health again.

So she knelt there still beside him, She alone with strength to smile, Promising that he should suffer No more in a little while, Murmuring tender song and story Weary hours to beguile.

Suddenly an unseen Presence Checked those constant moaning cries, Stilled the little heart's quick fluttering, Raised those blue and wondering eyes, Fixed on some mysterious vision, With a startled sweet surprise.

For a radiant angel hovered, Smiling, o'er the little bed; White his raiment, from his shoulders Snowy dove-like pinions spread, And a starlike light was shining, In a Glory round his head.

While, with tender love, the angel, Leaning o'er the little nest, In his arms the sick child folding, Laid him gently on his breast, Sobs and wailings told the mother That her darling was at rest.

So the angel, slowly rising, Spread his wings, and through the air Bore the child, and, while he held him To his heart with loving care, Placed a branch of crimson roses Tenderly beside him there.

While the child, thus clinging, floated Towards the mansions of the Blest, Gazing from his shining guardian To the flowers upon his breast, Thus the angel spake, still smiling On the little heavenly guest:

"Know, dear little one, that Heaven Does no earthly thing disdain, Man's poor joys find there an echo Just as surely as his pain; Love, on earth so feebly striving, Lives divine in Heaven again!

"Once in that great town below us, In a poor and narrow street, Dwelt a little sickly orphan; Gentle aid, or pity sweet, Never in life's rugged pathway Guided his poor tottering feet.

"All the striving anxious fore-thought That should only come with age Weighed upon his baby spirit, Showed him soon life's sternest page; Grim Want was his nurse, and Sorrow Was his only heritage.

"All too weak for childish pastimes, Drearily the hours sped; On his hand so small and trembling Leaning his poor aching head, Or, through dark and painful hours, Lying sleepless on his bed.

"Dreaming strange and longing fancies Of cool forests far away; And of rosy, happy children, Laughing merrily at play, Coming home through green lanes, bearing Trailing boughs of blooming May.

"Scarce a glimpse of azure heaven Gleamed above that narrow street, And the sultry air of summer (That you call so warm and sweet) Fevered the poor orphan, dwelling In the crowded alley's heat.

"One bright day, with feeble footsteps Slowly forth he tried to crawl, Through the crowded city's pathways, Till he reached a garden-wall, Where 'mid princely halls and mansions Stood the lordliest of all.

"There were trees with giant branches, Velvet glades where shadows hide; There were sparkling fountains glancing Flowers, which in luxuriant pride Even wafted breaths of perfume To the child who stood outside.

"He against the gate of iron Pressed his wan and wistful face, Gazing with an awe struck pleasure At the glories of the place; Never had his brightest day-dream Shone with half such wondrous grace.

"You were playing in that garden, Throwing blossoms in the air, Laughing when the petals floated Downwards on your golden hair; And the fond eyes watching o'er you, And the splendor spread before you, Told a House's Hope was there.

"When your servants, tired of seeing Such a face of want and woe, Turning to the ragged orphan, Gave him coin, and bade him go, Down his cheeks so thin and wasted Bitter tears began to flow.

"But that look of childish sorrow On your tender child-heart fell, And you plucked the reddest roses From the tree you loved so well, Passed them through the stern cold grating, Gently bidding him 'Farewell!'

"Dazzled by the fragrant treasure And the gentle voice he heard, In the poor forlorn boy's spirit, Joy, the sleeping Seraph, stirred; In his hand he took the flowers, In his heart the loving word.

"So he crept to his poor garret; Poor no more, but rich and bright, For the holy dreams of childhood-- Love, and Rest, and Hope, and Light-- Floated round the orphan's pillow Through the starry summer night.

"Day dawned, yet the visions lasted; All too weak to rise he lay; Did he dream that none spake harshly, All were strangely kind that day? Surely then his treasured roses Must have charmed all ills away.

"And he smiled, though they were fading; One by one their leaves were shed; 'Such bright things could never perish, They would bloom again,' he said. When the next day's sun had risen Child and flowers both were dead.

"Know, dear little one! our Father Will no gentle deed disdain; Love on the cold earth beginning Lives divine in Heaven again, While the angel hearts that beat there Still all tender thoughts retain."

So the angel ceased, and gently O'er his little burden leant; While the child gazing from the shining, Loving eyes that o'er him bent, To the blooming roses by him, Wondering what that mystery meant.

Thus the radiant angel answered, And with tender meaning smiled: "Ere your childlike, loving spirit, Sin and the hard world defiled, God has given me leave to seek you,-- I was once that little child!"

* * * * *

In the churchyard of that city Rose a tomb of marble rare Decked, as soon as Spring awakened, With her buds and blossoms fair,-- And a humble grave beside it,-- No one knew who rested there.

--_Adelaide Procter._

Jesus, the very thought of thee With sweetness fills my breast: But sweeter far thy face to see, And in thy presence rest.

Nor voice can sing, nor heart can frame, Nor can the memory find A sweeter sound than thy blest name, O Saviour of mankind!

O Hope of every contrite heart! O Joy of all the meek! To those who fall, how kind thou art! How good to those who seek!

But what to those who find? Ah! this, Nor tongue nor pen can show; The love of Jesus, what it is, None but his loved ones know.

Jesus, our only joy be thou, As thou our prize wilt be; Jesus, be thou our glory now, And through eternity.

--_Bernard._

MORALITY.

We cannot kindle when we will The fire which in the heart resides; The spirit bloweth and is still, In mystery our soul abides. But tasks in hours of insight willed Can be through hours of gloom fulfilled.

With aching hands and bleeding feet We dig and heap, lay stone on stone; We bear the burden and the heat Of the long day, and wish 'twere done. Not till the hours of light return, All we have built do we discern.

Then, when the clouds are off the soul, When thou dost bask in nature's eye, Ask how _she_ viewed thy self-control, Thy struggling, tasked morality.-- Nature, whose free, light, cheerful air, Oft made thee, in thy gloom, despair.

And she, whose censure thou dost dread, Whose eye thou wast afraid to seek, See, on her face a glow is spread, A strong emotion on her cheek! "Ah, child!" she cries, "that strife divine, Whence was it, for it is not mine?"

There is no effort on _my_ brow; I do not strive, I do not weep: I rush with the swift spheres, and glow In joy, and when I will, I sleep. Yet that severe, that earnest air, I saw, I felt it once--but where?

I knew not yet the gauge of time, No more the manacles of space; I felt it in some other clime, I saw it in some other place. 'Twas when the heavenly house I trod, And lay upon the breast of God.

--_Matthew Arnold._

MORNING.

Hues of the rich unfolding morn, That, ere the glorious sun be born, By some soft touch invisible, Around his path are taught to swell;--

Thou rustling breeze, so fresh and gay, That dancest forth at opening day, And brushing by with joyous wing, Wakenest each little leaf to sing;--

Ye fragrant clouds of dewy steam, By which deep grove and tangled stream Pay, for soft rains in season given, Their tribute to the genial heaven;--

Why waste your treasures of delight Upon our thankless, joyless sight, Who, day by day, to sin awake, Seldom of heaven and you partake?

Oh! timely happy, timely wise, Hearts that with rising morn arise! Eyes that the beam celestial view, Which evermore makes all things new!

New every morning is the love Our wakening and uprising prove: Through sleep and darkness safely brought, Restored to life, and power, and thought.

New mercies, each returning day, Hover around us while we pray; New perils past, new sins forgiven, New thoughts of God, new hopes of heaven.

If on our daily course our mind Be set, to hallow all we find, New treasures still, of countless price, God will provide for sacrifice.

Old friends, old scenes, will lovelier be, As more of heaven in each we see: Some softening gleam of love and prayer Shall dawn on every cross and care.

As for some dear familiar strain Untired we ask, and ask again. Ever, in its melodious store, Finding a spell unheard before.

Such is the bliss of souls serene, When they have sworn and steadfast mean, Counting the cost, in all to espy Their God, in all themselves deny.

O could we learn that sacrifice, What lights would all around us rise! How would our hearts with wisdom talk Along life's dullest, dreariest walk!

We need not bid, for cloister'd cell, Our neighbor and our work farewell, Nor strive to wind ourselves too high For sinful man beneath the sky:

The trivial round, the common task, Would furnish all we ought to ask; Room to deny ourselves; a road To bring us, daily, nearer God.

Seek we no more; content with these, Let present rapture, comfort, ease, As heaven shall bid them, come and go:-- The secret this of rest below.

Only, O Lord, in Thy dear love Fit us for perfect rest above; And help us, this and every day, To live more nearly as we pray.

--_John Keble._

DIVINE ORDER.

'Tis first the true and then the beautiful,-- Not first the beautiful and then the true; First the wild moor, with rock and reed and pool, Then the gay garden, rich in scent and hue.

'Tis first the good and then the beautiful,-- Not first the beautiful and then the good; First the rough seed, sown in the rougher soil, Then the flower-blossom, or the branching wood.

Not first the glad and then the sorrowful,-- But first the sorrowful, and then the glad; Tears for a day,--for earth of tears is full, Then we forget that we were ever sad.

Not first the bright, and after that the dark,-- But first the dark, and after that the bright; First the thick cloud, and then the rainbow's arc, First the dark grave, then resurrection-light.

'Tis first the night,--stern night of storm and war,-- Long nights of heavy clouds and veiled skies; Then the far sparkle of the Morning-star, That bids the saints awake and dawn arise.

--_Horatius Bonar._

THE ISSUES OF LIFE AND DEATH.

Oh, where shall rest be found-- Rest for the weary soul? 'Twere vain the ocean depths to sound, Or pierce to either pole. The world can never give The bliss for which we sigh: 'Tis not the whole of life to live, Nor all of death to die.

Beyond this vale of tears There is a life above, Unmeasured by the flight of years; And all that life is love. There is a death whose pang Outlasts the fleeting breath: Oh, what eternal horrors hang Around the second death!

Lord God of truth and grace, Teach us that death to shun, Lest we be banished from Thy face, And evermore undone. Here would we end our quest; Alone are found in Thee, The life of perfect love,--the rest Of immortality.

--_James Montgomery._

Gracious Spirit, Love divine! Let Thy light within me shine; All my guilty fears remove, Fill me full of heaven and love.

Speak Thy pardoning grace to me, Set the burdened sinner free; Lead me to the Lamb of God, Wash me in His precious blood.

Life and peace to me impart, Seal salvation on my heart; Breathe Thyself into my breast,-- Earnest of immortal rest.

Let me never from Thee stray, Keep me in the narrow way; Fill my soul with love divine, Keep me, Lord, forever Thine.

--_Stocker._

ST. AGNES' EVE.

Deep on the convent roof the snows Are sparkling to the moon: My breath to heaven like vapor goes: May my soul follow soon! The shadows of the convent-towers Slant down the snowy sward, Still creeping with the creeping hours That lead me to my Lord: Make Thou my spirit pure and clear As are the frosty skies, Or this first snowdrop of the year That in my bosom lies.

As these white robes are soil'd and dark, To yonder shining ground; As this pale taper's earthly spark, To yonder argent round; So shows my soul before the Lamb, My spirit before Thee; So in mine earthly house I am, To that I hope to be. Break up the heavens, O Lord! and far, Thro' all yon starlight keen, Draw me, Thy bride, a glittering star, In raiment white and clean.