George MacDonald

From the German of Dessler. O Lord, how happy is the time When in thy love I rest!

The lightning and thunder They go and they come: But the stars and the stillness

I took it for a bird of prey that soared High over ocean, battled mount, and plain; 'Twas but a bird-moth, which with limp horns gored

Who know thee, love: thy life be such That, ere the year be o'er, Each one who loves thee now so much,

PART I. 1. I lay and dreamed. The master came

PART I. I. I lay and dreamed. The Master came,

Ah me! in ages far away, The good, the heavenly land, Though unbeheld, quite near them lay,

0 Lord, my God, how long Shall my poor heart pant for a boundless joy? How long, O mighty Spirit, shall I hear

Babe Jesus lay in Mary's lap, The sun shone in his hair; And this was how she saw, mayhap,

THE YEAR OF THE TROUBLE IN LANCASHIRE. The skies are pale, the trees are stiff, The earth is dull and old;

Loving looks the large-eyed cow, Loving stares the long-eared ass At Heaven's glory in the grass!

Lord, hear my discontent: all blank I stand, A mirror polished by thy hand; Thy sun's beams flash and flame from me--

When the clock hath ceased to tick Soul-like in the gloomy hall; When the latch no more doth click

A child was born in sin and shame, Wronged by his very birth, Without a home, without a name,

I dreamed of a song--I heard it sung; In the ear of my soul its strange notes rung. What were its words I could not tell,

THE OUTER DREAM. Young, as the day's first-born Titanic brood, Lifting their foreheads jubilant to heaven,

The stars are spinning their threads, And the clouds are the dust that flies, And the suns are weaving them up

When God's own child came down to earth, High heaven was very glad; The angels sang for holy mirth;

O Mother Earth, I have a fear Which I would tell to thee-- Softly and gently in thine ear

My gift would find thee fast asleep, And arise a dream in thee; A violet sky o'er the roll and sweep

Proudly the youth, by manhood sudden crowned, Went walking by his horses to the plough, For the first time that morn. No soldier gay

Rose o' my hert, Open yer leaves to the lampin mune; Into the curls lat her keek an' dert,

I will think as thinks the rabbit:-- Oh, delight In the night

The croak of a raven hoar! A dog's howl, kennel-tied! Loud shuts the carriage-door:

'Tis a poor drizzly morning, dark and sad. The cloud has fallen, and filled with fold on fold The chimneyed city; and the smoke is caught,

Queen Mary one day Jesus sent To fetch some water, legends tell; The little boy, obedient,

I. Upon a rock, high on a mountain side, Thousands of feet above the lake-sea's lip,

My thoughts are like fire-flies, pulsing in moonlight; My heart like a silver cup, filled with red wine; My soul a pale gleaming horizon, whence soon light

Everything goes to its rest; The hills are asleep in the noon; And life is as still in its nest

Thou who mad'st the mighty clock Of the great world go; Mad'st its pendulum swing and rock,

When I look back upon my life nigh spent, Nigh spent, although the stream as yet flows on, I more of follies than of sins repent,

All sights and sounds of day and year, All groups and forms, each leaf and gem, Are thine, O God, nor will I fear

All sights and sounds of every year, All groups and forms, each leaf and gem, Are thine, O God, nor need I fear

Thou foldest me in sickness; Thou callest through the cloud; I batter with the thickness

The hinges are so rusty The door is fixed and fast; The windows are so dusty

Ane by ane they gang awa; The getherer gethers grit and sma': Ane by ane maks ane and a'!

Hark, in the steeple the dull bell swinging Over the furrows ill ploughed by Death! Hark the bird-babble, the loud lark singing!

I dreamed of a song, I heard it sung; In the ear that sleeps not its music rung. And the tones were upheld by harmonies deep,

I would I were an angel strong, An angel of the sun, hasting along! I would I were just come awake,

A brown bird sang on a blossomy tree, Sang in the moonshine, merrily, Three little songs, one, two, and three,

I dinna ken what's come ower me! There's a how whaur ance was a hert! I never luik oot afore me,

Lord Jesus, Oh, ease us Of Self that oppresses,

Job xiv. 13-15. RONDEL. Would that thou hid me in the grave

INTRODUCTION. I sought the long clear twilights of the North, When, from its nest of trees, my father's house

The veil hath lifted and hath fallen; and him Who next it stood before us, first so long, We see not; but between the cherubim

I Thank Thee, boundless Giver, That the thoughts Thou givest flow In sounds that like a river

I. I see thy house, but I am blown about, A wind-mocked kite, between the earth and sky,

Come through the gloom of clouded skies, The slow dim rain and fog athwart; Through east winds keen with wrong and lies

Sighing above, Rustling below, Thorough the woods

"If I sit in the dust For lauding good wine, Ha, ha! it is just:

"It is only just To laud good wine: If I sit in the dust,

The monk was praying in his cell, And he did pray full sore; He had been praying on his knees

The monk was praying in his cell, With bowed head praying sore; He had been praying on his knees

I have long enough been working down in my cellar, Working spade and pick, boring-chisel and drill; I long for wider spaces, airy, clear-dark, and stellar:

I. Who follows Jesus shall not walk In darksome road with danger rife;

Are the leaves falling round about The churchyard on the hill? Is the glow of autumn going out?

I am a bubble Upon thy ever-moving, resting sea: Oh, rest me now from tossing, trespass, trouble!

The stars cleave the sky. Yet for us they rest, And their race-course high

My wife contrived a fleecy thing Her husband to infold, For 'tis the pride of woman still

In the ancient house of ages, See, they cannot rest! With a hope, which awe assuages,

They were parted at last, although Each was tenderly dear; As asunder their eyes did go,

Came of old to houses lonely Men with wings, but did not show them: Angels come to our house, only,

Annie she's dowie, and Willie he's wae: What can be the matter wi' siccan a twae, For Annie she's fair as the first o' the day,

Daylight fades away. Is the Lord at hand In the shadows gray

If in my arms I bore my child, Would he cry out for fear Because the night was dark and wild

When thou turn'st away from ill, Christ is this side of thy hill. When thou turnest toward good,

Heaven and the sea attend the dying day, And in their sadness overflow and blend-- Faint gold, and windy blue, and green and gray:

Autumn clouds are flying, flying O'er the waste of blue; Summer flowers are dying, dying,

Along the tops of all the yellow trees, The golden-yellow trees, the sunshine lies; And where the leaves are gone, long rays surprise

The stars are all watching; God's angel is catching At thy skirts in the darkness deep!

Where did you come from, baby dear? Out of the everywhere into here. Where did you get those eyes so blue?

"Come, children, put away your toys; Roll up that kite's long line; The day is done for girls and boys--

It's all very well, Said the Bell, To be the big Organ below!

Better to smell a violet, Than sip the careless wine; Better to list one music tone,

Better to smell the violet Than sip the glowing wine; Better to hearken to a brook

I will sing a song, Said the owl. You sing a song, sing-song

A quiet heart, submissive, meek, Father, do thou bestow, Which more than granted, will not seek

As Jesus went into Jericho town, Twas darkness all, from toe to crown, About blind Bartimeus.

"My life is drear; walking I labour sore; The heart in me is heavy as a stone; And of my sorrows this the icy core:

Methought I stood among the stars alone, Watching a grey parched orb which onward flew Half blinded by the dusty winds that blew,

Brother artist, help me; come! Artists are a maimed band: I have words but not a hand;

Close her eyes: she must not peep! Let her little puds go slack; Slide away far into sleep:

Star high, Baby low: 'Twixt the two

Beautiful stories wed with lovely days Like words and music:--what shall be the tale Of love and nobleness that might avail

He who by a mother's love Made the wandering world his own, Every year comes from above,

Cold my heart, and poor, and low, Like thy stable in the rock; Do not let it orphan go,

Well for youth to seek the strong, Beautiful, and brave! We, the old, who walk along

Christmas-Days are still in store:-- Will they change--steal faded hither? Or come fresh as heretofore,

Great-hearted child, thy very being The Son, Who know'st the hearts of all us prodigals;-- For who is prodigal but he who has gone

Though in my heart no Christmas glee, Though my song-bird be dumb, Jesus, it is enough for me

I think I might be weary of this day That comes inevitably every year, The same when I was young and strong and gay,

Wash the window; rub it dry; Make the ray-door clean and bright: He who lords it in the sky

Still am I haunting Thy door with my prayers; Still they are panting

Come to me, come to me, O my God; Come to me everywhere! Let the trees mean thee, and the grassy sod,

Come unto me, the Master says:-- But how? I am not good; No thankful song my heart will raise,

When the snow is on the earth Birds and waters cease their mirth; When the sunlight is prevailing

Lie down upon the ground, thou hopeless one! Press thy face in the grass, and do not speak. Dost feel the green globe whirl? Seven times a week

Lord, according to thy words, I have considered thy birds; And I find their life good,

Out of the gulf into the glory, Father, my soul cries out to be lifted. Dark is the woof of my dismal story,

When I am dead unto myself, and let, O Father, thee live on in me, Contented to do nought but pay my debt,

When in the bosom of the eldest night This body lies, cold as a sculptured rest; When through its shaded windows comes no light,

Mourn not, my friends, that we are growing old: A fresher birth brings every new year in. Years are Christ's napkins to wipe off the sin.

'Tis the midnight hour; I heard The Abbey-bell give out the word. Seldom is the lamp-ray shed

A Symbol. [Sidenote: He looks from his window on the midnight town.] 'Tis the midnight hour; I heard

O Father, I am in the dark, My soul is heavy-bowed: I send my prayer up like a lark,

If I might guess, then guess I would That, mid the gathered folk, This gentle Dorcas one day stood,

An angel saw me sitting by a brook, Pleased with the silence, and the melodies Of wind and water which did fall and rise:

"What! you Dr. Doddridge's dog, and not know who made you?" My little dog, who blessed you With such white toothy-pegs?

Dark, as if it would not tell, Lies the water, still and cool: Dip the bucket in the well,

Graut Euch nicht, Ihr lieben Leute, Vor dem ungeheuren Morgen; Wenn es kommt, es ist das Heute,

No bird can sing in tune but that the Lord Sits throned in equity above the heaven, And holds the righteous balance always even;

O God, whose daylight leadeth down Into the sunless way, Who with restoring sleep dost crown

'Tis not the violent hands alone that bring The curse, the ravage, and the downward doom, Although to these full oft the yawning tomb

Farewell, O Arm of the Lord! Man who hated the sword, Yet struck and spared not the thing abhorred!

"Earth, if aught should check thy race, Rushing through unfended space, Headlong, stayless, thou wilt fall

Would-be prophets tell us We shall not re-know Them that walked our fellows

[The fact which suggested this poem is related by Clarke in his Travels.] I. Blue sky above, blue sea below,

[The fact to which the following verses refer, is related by Dr. Edward Clarke in his Travels.] Blue sunny skies above; below, A blue and sunny sea;

Oft, as I rest in quiet peace, am I Thrust out at sudden doors, and madly driven Through desert solitudes, and thunder-riven

Here is a temple strangely wrought: Within it I can see Two spirits of a diverse thought

I do remember how, when very young, I saw the great sea first, and heard its swell As I drew nearer, caught within the spell

Waking in the night to pray, Sleeping when the answer comes, Foolish are we even at play--

The miser lay on his lonely bed; Life's candle was burning dim. His heart in an iron chest was hid

God gives his child upon his slate a sum-- To find eternity in hours and years; With both sides covered, back the child doth come,

Some men there are who cannot spare A single tear until they feel The last cold pressure, and the heel

When the summer gave us a longer day, And the leaves were thickest, I went away: Like an isle, through dark clouds, of the infinite blue,

Uplifted is the stone And all mankind arisen! We are thy very own,

Whan Andrew frae Strathbogie gaed The lift was lowerin dreary, The sun he wadna raise his heid,

"And yet it moves!" Ah, Truth, where wert thou then When all for thee they racked each piteous limb? Wert thou in heaven, and busy with thy hymn

Dead art thou? No more dead than was the maid Over whose couch the saving God did stand-- "She is not dead but sleepeth," said,

I said, I will arise and work some thing, Nor be content with growth, but cause to grow A life around me, clear as yes from no,

Gray clouds my heaven have covered o'er; My sea ebbs fast, no more to flow; Ghastly and dry, my desert shore

Little one, you must not fret That I take your clothes away; Better sleep you so will get,

"What maks ye sae canty, granny dear? Has some kin' body been for ye to speir? Ye luik as smilin an' fain an' willin

Greitna, father, that I'm gauin, For fu' well ye ken the gaet; I' the winter, corn ye're sawin,

Sweep up the flure, Janet; Put on anither peat. It's a lown and a starry nicht, Janet,

The warl it's dottit wi' hames As thick as gowans o' the green, Aye bonnier ilk ane nor the lave

I am weary, and very lonely, And can but think--think. If there were some water only

Of whispering trees the tongues to hear, And sermons of the silent stone; To read in brooks the print so clear

Ance was a woman wha's hert was gret; Her love was sae dumb it was 'maist a grief; She brak the box--it's tellt o' her yet--

If thou art tempted by a thought of ill, Crave not too soon for victory, nor deem Thou art a coward if thy safety seem

A tattered soldier, gone the glow and gloss, With wounds half healed, and sorely trembling knee, Homeward I come, to claim no victory-cross:

An unborn bird lies crumpled and curled, A-dreaming of the world. Round it, for castle-wall, a shell

Summer is come again. The sun is bright, And the soft wind is breathing. Airy joy Is sparkling in thine eyes, and in their light

"Where is thy crown, O tree of Love? Flowers only bears thy root! Will never rain drop from above

How shall he sing who hath no song? He laugh who hath no mirth? Will cannot wake the sleeping song!

Father, I cry to thee for bread With hungred longing, eager prayer; Thou hear'st, and givest me instead

Father, in the dark I lay, Thirsting for the light, Helpless, but for hope alway

What gars ye sing sae, birdie, As gien ye war lord o' the lift? On breid ye're an unco sma' lairdie,

I know what beauty is, for thou Hast set the world within my heart; Of me thou madest it a part;

Yes, Master, when thou comest thou shalt find A little faith on earth, if I am here! Thou know'st how oft I turn to thee my mind.

I would I were a child, That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father! And follow thee with running feet, or rather

I would I were a child, That I might look, and laugh, and say, My Father! And follow Thee with running feet, or rather

If I were a monk, and thou wert a nun, Pacing it wearily, wearily, Twixt chapel and cell till day were done--

There may be seeming calm above, but no!-- There is a pulse below which ceases not, A subterranean working, fiery hot,

Of the poor bird that cannot fly Kindly you think and mournfully; For prisoners and for exiles all

Now in the dark of February rains, Poor lovers of the sunshine, spring is born, The earthy fields are full of hidden corn,

The mountain-stream may humbly boast For her the loud waves call; The hamlet feeds the nation's host,

As to her child a mother calls, "Come to me, child; come near!" Calling, in silent intervals,

In the winter, flowers are springing; In the winter, woods are green, Where our banished birds are singing,

King Cole he reigned in Aureoland, But the sceptre was seldom in his hand Far oftener was there his golden cup--

Prince Breacan of Denmark was lord of the strand And lord of the billowy sea; Lord of the sea and lord of the land,

I. There breathes not a breath of the summer air But the spirit of love is moving there;

I. There breathes not a breath of the morning air, But the spirit of Love is moving there;

Sometimes, O Lord, thou lightest in my head A lamp that well might pharos all the lands; Anon the light will neither rise nor spread:

Is there a secret Joy, that may not weep, For every flower that ends its little span, For every child that groweth up to man,

O Thou that walkest with nigh hopeless feet Past the one harbour, built for thee and thine. Doth no stray odour from its table greet,

First-born of the creating Voice! Minister of God's Spirit, who wast sent Waiting upon him first, what time he went

First-born of the creating Voice! Minister of God's spirit, who wast sent To wait upon Him first, what time He went

Little Bo-Peep, she has lost her sheep, And will not know where to find them; They are over the height and out of sight,

Little Boy Blue lost his way in a wood-- Sing apples and cherries, roses and honey: He said, "I would not go back if I could,

I have a puppet-jointed child, She's but three half-years old; Through lawless hair her eyes gleam wild

I have an elfish maiden child; She is not two years old; Through windy locks her eyes gleam wild,

My heart is full of inarticulate pain, And beats laborious. Cold ungenial looks Invade my sanctuary. Men of gain,

Away from the city's herds! Away from the noisy street! Away from the storm of words,

I missed him when the sun began to bend; I found him not when I had lost his rim; With many tears I went in search of him,

Lost the little one roams about, Pathway or shelter none can find; Blinking stars are coming out;

Love is the part, and love is the whole; Love is the robe, and love is the pall; Ruler of heart and brain and soul,

Love alone is great in might, Makes the heavy burden light, Smooths rough ways to weary feet,

Love, the baby, Crept abroad to pluck a flower: One said, Yes, sir; one said, Maybe;

A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in boyhood. "Hear'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" Said the youth softly, as outstretched he lay

A recollection and attempted completion of a prose fragment read in childhood. "Know'st thou that sound upon the window pane?" Said the youth quietly, as outstretched he lay,

A name of the Year. Some say the word means a march of wolves, which wolves, running in single file, are the Months of the Year. Others say the word means the path of the light. O ye months of the year,

"They have no more wine!" she said. But they had enough of bread; And the vessels by the door

"WHO is this little one lying," Said Time, "at my garden-gate, Moaning and sobbing and crying,

The stars are steady abune; I' the water they flichter and flee; But, steady aye, luikin doon

O Lord of life, thy quickening voice Awakes my morning song! In gladsome words I would rejoice

Beautiful mother is busy all day, So busy she neither can sing nor say; But lovely thoughts, in a ceaseless flow,

When thy heart, love-filled, grows graver, And eternal bliss looks nearer, Ask thy heart, nor show it favour,

"My eyes make pictures, when they are shut." COLERIDGE. Fair morn, I bring my greeting

I. Night, with her power to silence day, Filled up my lonely room,

Why dost thou want to sing When thou hast no song, my heart? If there be in thee a hidden spring,

I heard, in darkness, on my bed, The beating of my heart To servant feet and regnant head

To G. E. M. 'Tis a little room, my friend-- Baby walks from end to end;

'Tis a little room, my friend; A baby-walk from end to end; All the things look sadly real,

I. One is a slow and melancholy maid; I know riot if she cometh from the skies

I like ye weel upo Sundays, Nannie, I' yer goon and yer ribbons and a'; But I like ye better on Mondays, Nannie,

Nature, to him no message dost thou bear Who in thy beauty findeth not the power To gird himself more strongly for the hour

I have not any fearful tale to tell Of fabled giant or of dragon-claw, Or bloody deed to pilfer and to sell

There is a river whose waters run asleep run run ever

O Lord, if on the wind, at cool of day, I heard one whispered word of mighty grace; If through the darkness, as in bed I lay,

I love thy skies, thy sunny mists, Thy fields, thy mountains hoar, Thy wind that bloweth where it lists--

Tumultuous rushing o'er the outstretched plains; A wildered maze of comets and of suns; The blood of changeless God that ever runs

What dost thou here, O soul, Beyond thy own control, Under the strange wild sky?

O do not leave me, mother, lest I weep; Till I forget, be near me in that chair. The mother's presence leads her down to sleep--

O lassie ayont the hill, Come ower the tap o' the hill, Come ower the tap wi' the breeze o' the hill,

O wind of God, that blowest in the mind, Blow, blow and wake the gentle spring in me; Blow, swifter blow, a strong warm summer wind,

Trust him in the common light; Trust him in the awesome night; Trust him when the earth doth quake:

Loosener of springs, he died by thee! Softness, not hardness, sent him home; He loved thee--and thou mad'st him free

I. I honour Nature, holding it unjust To look with jealousy on her designs; With every passing year more fast she twines

Oh that a wind would call From the depths of the leafless wood! Oh that a voice would fall

Sad-hearted, be at peace: the snowdrop lies Buried in sepulchre of ghastly snow; But spring is floating up the southern skies,

I. This is the sweetness of an April day; The softness of the spring is on the face

Whence do ye come, ye creatures? Each of you Is perfect as an angel! wings and eyes Stupendous in their beauty--gorgeous dyes

Hears't thou the dash of water, loud and hoarse, With its perpetual tidings upward climb, Struggling against the wind? Oh, how sublime!

I have a fellowship with every shade Of changing nature: with the tempest hour My soul goes forth to claim her early dower

Had I a great ship coming home, With big plunge o'er the sea, What bright things, hid from star and foam,

I. "Bonny lassie, rosy lassie, Ken ye what is care?

I. A pale green sky is gleaming; The steely stars are few;

Power that is not of God, however great, Is but the downward rushing and the glare Of a swift meteor that hath lost its share

We doubt the word that tells us: Ask, And ye shall have your prayer; We turn our thoughts as to a task,

Nobody knows the world but me. The rest go to bed; I sit up and see. I'm a better observer than any of you all,

Above my head the great pine-branches tower; Backwards and forwards each to the other bends, Beckoning the tempest-cloud which hither wends

Mourner, that dost deserve thy mournfulness, Call thyself punished, call the earth thy hell; Say, "God is angry, and I earned it well--

Quiet, quiet dead, Have ye aught to say From your hidden bed

Her mother, Elfie older grown, One evening, for adieu, Said, "You'll not mind being left alone,

"Rejoice," said the Sun; "I will make thee gay With glory and gladness and holiday; I am dumb, O man, and I need thy voice!"

I. When round the earth the Father's hands Have gently drawn the dark;

A power is on me, and my soul must speak To thee, thou grey, grey man, whom I behold With those white-headed children. I am bold

I. I have only one foot, but thousands of toes; My one foot stands well, but never goes;

Heart, thou must learn to do without-- That is the riches of the poor, Their liberty is to endure;

I do not know thy final will, It is too good for me to know: Thou willest that I mercy show,

Strait is the path? He means we must not roam? Yes; but the strait path leads into a boundless home.

Oh holy Sabbath bells, Ye have a pleasant voice! Through all the land your music swells,

Said the boy as he read, "I too will be bold, I will fight for the truth and its glory!" He went to the playground, and soon had told

O Peter, wherefore didst thou doubt? Indeed the spray flew fast about, But he was there whose walking foot

Rich is the fancy which can double back All seeming forms, and from cold icicles Build up high glittering palaces where dwells

All things are shadows of thee, Lord; The sun himself is but thy shade; My spirit is the shadow of thy word,

I cannot praise thee. By his instrument The master sits, and moves nor foot nor hand; For see the organ-pipes this, that way bent,

On the far horizon there Heaps of cloudy darkness rest; Though the wind is in the air

"Shew us the Father." Chiming stars of space, And lives that fit the worlds, and means and powers, A Thought that holds them up reveal to ours--

"Good morrow, my lord!" in the sky alone Sang the lark as the sun ascended his throne. "Shine on me, my lord: I only am come,

Oh! is it Death that comes To have a foretaste of the whole? To-night the planets and the stars

Lord, I have laid my heart upon thy altar But cannot get the wood to burn; It hardly flares ere it begins to falter

A Microcosm In Terza Rima. I. Quiet I lay at last, and knew no more

Lighter and sweeter Let your song be; And for sorrow--oh cheat her

I was very cold In the summer weather; The sun shone all his gold,

Roses all the rosy way! Roses to the rosier west Where the roses of the day

Merry, merry we well may be, For Jesus Christ is come down to see: Long before, at the top of the stair,

JANUARY 26, 1885. Gordon, the self-refusing, Gordon, the lover of God,

With us there is no gray fearing, With us no aching for lack! For the morn it is always nearing,

I shall be satisfied With the seeing of thy face. When I awake, wide-eyed,

In his arms thy silly lamb, Lo, he gathers to his breast! See, thou sadly bleating dam,

Lord, what is man That thou art mindful of him! Though in creation's van,

I. We bore him through the golden land, One early harvest morn;

I. O night, send up the harvest moon To walk about the fields,

I. A gentle wind, of western birth On some far summer sea,

I. The flush of green that dyed the day Hath vanished in the moon;

I. A glory on the chamber wall! A glory in the brain!

I. The dreary wind of night is out, Homeless and wandering slow;

I. The sky has turned its heart away, The earth its sorrow found;

I. Back shining from the pane, the fire Seems outside in the snow:

"I do beseech Thee, God, show me thy face." "Come up to me in Sinai on the morn: Thou shalt behold as much as may be borne."

If Thou hadst been a sculptor, what a race Of forms divine had ever preached to men! Lo, I behold thy brow, all glorious then,

"There, Buonarotti, stands thy statue. Take Possession of the form; inherit it; Go forth upon the earth in likeness fit;

Some men I have beheld with wonderment, Noble in form and feature, God's design, In whom the thought must search, as in a mine,

If Thou hadst been a painter, what fresh looks, What shining of pent glories, what new grace Had burst upon us from the great Earth's face!

So if Thou hadst been scorned in human eyes, Too bright and near to be a glory then; If as Truth's artist, Thou hadst been to men

But I have looked on pictures made by man, Wherein, at first, appeared but chaos wild; So high the art transcended, it beguiled

And is not Earth thy living picture, where Thou utterest beauty, simple and profound, In the same form by wondrous union bound;

If Thou hadst been a Poet! On my heart The thought dashed. It recoiled, as, with the gift, Light-blinded, and joy-saddened, so bereft.

Thou wouldst have led us through the twilight land Where spirit shows by form, form is refined Away to spirit by transfiguring mind,

But as Thou earnest forth to bring the Poor, Whose hearts were nearer faith and verity, Spiritual childhood, thy philosophy,--

The eye was shut in men; the hearing ear Dull unto deafness; nought but earthly things Had credence; and no highest art that flings

So highest poets, painters, owe to Thee Their being and disciples; none were there, Hadst Thou not been; Thou art the centre where

So, as Thou wert the seed and not the flower, Having no form or comeliness, in chief Sharing thy thoughts with thine acquaintance Grief;

All divine artists, humble, filial, Turn therefore unto Thee, the poet's sun; First-born of God's creation, only done

Men may pursue the Beautiful, while they Love not the Good, the life of all the Fair; Keen-eyed for beauty, they will find it where

And yet I fear lest men who read these lines, Should judge of them as if they wholly spake The love I bear Thee and thy holy sake;

The highest marble Sorrow vanishes Before a weeping child.[2] The one doth seem, The other is. And wherefore do we dream,

Thou art before me, and I see no more Pilate or soldiers, but the purple flung Around the naked form the scourge had wrung,

Methinks I see thee, lying calm and low, Silent and dark within thy earthy bed; Thy mighty hands, in which I trusted, dead,

Inscribed to S.F.S. They say that lonely sorrows do not chance. I think it true, and that the cause I know:

Inscribed to S.F.S., about her father. I went to listen to my teacher friend. O Friend above, thanks for the friend below!

Inscribed to S.F.S. I, strengthened, left him. Next in a close place, Mid houses crowded, dingy, barred, and high,

Inscribed to S.F.S. And there I found him whom I went to find, A man of noble make and head uplift,

I pray you, all ye men who put your trust In moulds and systems and well-tackled gear, Holding that Nature lives from year to year

Days of old, Ye are not dead, though gone from me; Ye are not cold,

Here stands a giant stone from whose far top Comes down the sounding water: let me gaze Till every sense of man and human ways

If thou wouldst live the Truth in very deed, Thou hast thy joy, but thou hast more of pain. Others will live in peace, and thou be fain

There is a bellowing in me, as of might Unfleshed and visionless, mangling the air With horrible convulse, as if it bare

Summer, sweet Summer, many-fingered Summer! We hold thee very dear, as well we may: It is the kernel of the year to-day--

"Murmuring, 'twixt a murmur and moan, Many a tune in a single tone, For every ear with a secret true--

First came the red-eyed sun as I did wake; He smote me on the temples and I rose, Casting the night aside and all its woes;

DECEMBER 28, 1879. A dim, vague shrinking haunts my soul, My spirit bodeth ill--

Sweep and sweep and sweep the floor, Sweep the dust, pick up the pin; Make it clean from fire to door,

Grief held me silent in my seat; I neither moved nor smiled: Joy held her silent at my feet,

"Traveller, what lies over the hill? Traveller, tell to me: Tip-toe-high on the window-sill

They all were looking for a king To slay their foes, and lift them high: Thou cam'st a little baby thing

Satan, avaunt! Nay, take thine hour, Thou canst not daunt,

There was an auld fisher, he sat by the wa', An' luikit oot ower the sea; The bairnies war playin, he smil't on them a',

Lord, I'm an auld man, An' I'm deein! An' do what I can

Now have I grown a sharpness and an edge Unto my future nights, and I will cut Sheer through the ebon gates that yet will shut

I. One do I see and twelve; but second there Methinks I know thee, thou beloved one;

Oh! the bonny, bonny dell, whaur the yorlin sings, Wi' a clip o' the sunshine atween his wings; Whaur the birks are a' straikit wi' fair munelicht,

The water ran doon frae the heich hope-heid, Wi' a Rin, burnie, rin; It wimpled, an' waggled, an' sang a screed

Is there a man on earth, who, every night, When the day hath exhausted each strong limb, Lays him upon his bed in chamber dim,

0 Lord, at Joseph's humble bench Thy hands did handle saw and plane; Thy hammer nails did drive and clench,

Heavily slumbered noonday bright Upon the lone field, glory-dight, A burnished grassy sea:

Heavily lay the warm sunlight Upon the green blades shining bright, An outspread grassy sea:

The infant lies in blessed ease Upon his mother's breast; No storm, no dark, the baby sees

"Little one, who straight hast come Down the heavenly stair, Tell us all about your home,

A clock aeonian, steady and tall, With its back to creation's flaming wall, Stands at the foot of a dim, wide stair.

I. What human form is this? what form divine? And who are these that gaze upon his face

The Lord gaed wi' a crood o' men Throu Jericho the bonny; 'Twas ill the Son o' Man to ken

And must I ever wake, gray dawn, to know Thee standing sadly by me like a ghost? I am perplexed with thee that thou shouldst cost

The witch lady walked along the strand, Heard a roaring of the sea, On the edge of a pool saw a dead man's hand,

The weary Old Year is dead at last; His corpse 'mid the ruins of Time is cast, Where the mouldering wrecks of lost Thought lie,

The Deil's forhooit his ain, his ain! The Deil's forhooit his ain! His bairns are greitin in ilka neuk,

DEDICATION Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find Against each worded page a white page set:--

1. LORD, I do choose the higher than my will. I would be handled by thy nursing arms

1. SO shall abundant entrance me be given Into the truth, my life's inheritance.

1. I AM a little weary of my life-- Not thy life, blessed Father! Or the blood

Sweet friends, receive my offering. You will find Against each worded page a white page set:-- This is the mirror of each friendly mind

1. I TO myself have neither power nor worth, Patience nor love, nor anything right good;

1. LORD, what I once had done with youthful might, Had I been from the first true to the truth,

1. ALAS, my tent! see through it a whirlwind sweep! Moaning, poor Fancy's doves are swept away.

1. FROM thine, as then, the healing virtue goes Into our hearts--that is the Father's plan.

1. THE song birds that come to me night and morn, Fly oft away and vanish if I sleep,

1. WHAT though my words glance sideways from the thing Which I would utter in thine ear, my sire!

1. THOU art of this world, Christ. Thou know'st it all; Thou know'st our evens, our morns, our red and gray;

1. REMEMBER, Lord, thou hast not made me good. Or if thou didst, it was so long ago

1. WE are a shadow and a shining, we! One moment nothing seems but what we see,

FROM SCHILLER. "Which of you, knight or squire, will dare Plunge into yonder gulf?

I. I say! hey! cousin there! I mustn't call you brother! Yet you have a tail behind, and I have another!

Down a warm alley, early in the year, Among the woods, with all the sunshine in And all the winds outside it, I begin

A little bird sat on the edge of her nest; Her yellow-beaks slept as sound as tops; Day-long she had worked almost without rest,

Where went the feet that hitherto have come? Here yawns no gulf to quench the flowing past! With lengthening pauses broke, the path grows dumb;

'Tis we, not in thine arms, who weep and pray; The children in thy bosom laugh and play.

Of old, with goodwill from the skies-- God's message to them given-- The angels came, a glad surprise,

A harebell hung her wilful head: "I am tired, so tired! I wish I was dead." She hung her head in the mossy dell:

There was a girl that lost things-- Nor only from her hand; She lost, indeed--why, most things,

To give a thing and take again Is counted meanness among men; To take away what once is given

In God alone, the perfect end, Wilt thou find thyself or friend.

From off the earth the vapours curled, Went up to meet their joy; The boy awoke, and all the world

Had I the grace to win the grace Of some old man in lore complete, My face would worship at his face,

Suggested by a drawing of Thomas Moran, the American painter. This must be the very night! The moon knows it!--and the trees!

They come to thee, the halt, the maimed, the blind, The devil-torn, the sick, the sore; Thy heart their well of life they find,

"What gars ye sing," said the herd-laddie, "What gars ye sing sae lood?" "To tice them oot o' the yerd, laddie,

Behind my father's cottage lies A gentle grassy height Up which I often ran--to gaze

Behind my father's house there lies A little grassy brae, Whose face my childhood's busy feet

Ah, holy midnight of the soul, When stars alone are high; When winds are resting at their goal,

Of old, with goodwill from the skies, The holy angels came; They walked the earth with human eyes,

"Death, whaur do ye bide, auld Death?" "I bide in ilka breath," Quo' Death;

Through still, bare streets, and cold moonshine His homeward way he bent; The clocks gave out the midnight sign

Still flowed the music, flowed the wine. The youth in silence went; Through naked streets, in cold moonshine,

Within each living man there doth reside, In some unrifled chamber of the heart, A hidden treasure: wayward as thou art

I. Hark, the rain is on my roof! Every murmur, through the dark,

In the air why such a ringing? On the earth why such a droning? In the air the lark is singing;

"O lat me in, my bonny lass! It's a lang road ower the hill, And the flauchterin snaw begud to fa'

The Man says: Laverock i' the lift, Hae ye nae sang-thrift,

There is not any weed but hath its shower, There is not any pool but hath its star; And black and muddy though the waters are

Out of thy door I run to do the thing That calls upon me. Straight the wind of words Whoops from mine ears the sounds of them that sing

Look! look there! Send your eyes across the gray By my finger-point away

Brothers, look there! What! see ye nothing yet? Knit your eyebrows close, and stare;

"Thou wanderest in the land of dreams, O man of many songs! To thee what is, but looks and seems;

Up cam the tide wi' a burst and a whush, And back gaed the stanes wi' a whurr; The king's son walkit i' the evenin hush,

Kiss me: there now, little Neddy, Do you see her staring steady? There again you had a chance of her!

She comes! again she comes, the bright-eyed moon! Under a ragged cloud I found her out, Clasping her own dark orb like hope in doubt!

Be welcome, year! with corn and sickle come; Make poor the body, but make rich the heart: What man that bears his sheaves, gold-nodding, home,

The brother knew well the castle old, Every closet, each outlook fair, Every turret and bartizan bold,

I. I stood in an ancient garden With high red walls around;

Bing, Bim, Bang, Bome! Sang the Bell to himself in his house at home, High in the church-tower, lone and unseen,

When peevish flaws his soul have stirred To fretful tears for crossed desires, Obedient to his mother's word

I. A pool of broken sunbeams lay Upon the passage-floor,

Speak, Prophet of the Lord! We may not start To find thee with us in thine ancient dress, Haggard and pale from some bleak wilderness,

Doon cam the sunbeams, and up gaed the stour, As we spangt ower the road at ten mile the hoor, The horse wasna timmer, the cart wasna strae,

A Part Of The Story Omitted In The Old Romances. I. How sir Galahad despaired of finding the Grail.

My little boy, with smooth, fair cheeks, And dreamy, large, brown eyes, Not often, little wisehead, speaks,

The thousand streets of London gray Repel all country sights; But bar not winds upon their way,

'Tis time to sleep, my little boy: Why gaze thy bright eyes so? At night our children, for new joy

See how the storm of life ascends Up through the shadow of the world! Beyond our gaze the line extends,

O Lord, I cannot but believe The birds do sing thy praises then, when they sing to one another, And they are lying seed-sown land when the winter makes them grieve,

When the cock crows loud from the glen, And the moor-cock chirrs from the heather, What hear ye and see ye then,

In the desert by the bush, Moses to his heart said Hush. David on his bed did pray;

My little child receives my gift, A simple piece of bread; But to her mouth she doth not lift

My Lily snatches not my gift; Glad is she to be fed, But to her mouth she will not lift

It is May, and the moon leans down at night Over a blossomy land; Leans from her window a lady white,

Within my heart a worm had long been hid. I knew it not when I went down and chid Because some servants of my inner house

What shall I be?--I will be a knight Walled up in armour black, With a sword of sharpness, a hammer of might.

Alas, 'tis cold and dark! The wind all night hath sung a wintry tune! Hail from black clouds that swallowed up the moon

I envy the tree-tops that shake so high In winds that fill them full of heavenly airs; I envy every little cloud that shares

Stately, lang-robit, an' steppin at ease, The rich men gaed up the temple ha'; Hasty, an' grippin her twa baubees,

I. There was John Gordon an' Archibold, An' a yerl's twin sons war they;

Forth to his study the sculptor goes In a mood of lofty mirth: "Now shall the tongues of my carping foes

There cam a man to oor toon-en', And a waesome carl was he, Snipie-nebbit, and crookit-mou'd,

When things are holding wonted pace In wonted paths, without a trace Or hint of neighbouring wonder,

From out a windy cleft there comes a gaze Of eyes unearthly, which go to and fro Upon the people's tumult, for below

Said the Wind to the Moon, "I will blow you out! You stare In the air

Chained is the Spring. The Night-wind bold Blows over the hard earth; Time is not more confused and cold,

Where the bud has never blown Who for scent is debtor? Where the spirit rests unknown

The wind it blew, and the ship it flew, And it was "Hey for hame!" But up an' cried the skipper til his crew,

They are blind, and they are dead: We will wake them as we go; There are words have not been said,

The rich man sat in his father's seat-- Purple an' linen, an' a'thing fine! The puir man lay at his yett i' the street--

Thy world is made to fit thine own, A nursery for thy children small, The playground-footstool of thy throne,

Cry out upon the crime, and then let slip The dogs of hate, whose hanging muzzles track The bloody secret; let the welkin crack

Make not of thy heart a casket, Opening seldom, quick to close; But of bread a wide-mouthed basket,

A lang-backit, spilgie, fuistit auld carl Gangs a' nicht rakin athort the warl Wi' a pock on his back, luikin hungry an' lean,

As I was walkin on the strand, I spied ane auld man sit On ane auld black rock; and aye the waves

I cannot write old verses here, Dead things a thousand years away, When all the life of the young year

Such guests as you, sir, were not in my mind When I my homely dish with care designed; 'Twas certain humble souls I would have fed

I know not what among the grass thou art, Thy nature, nor thy substance, fairest flower, Nor what to other eyes thou hast of power

A fresh young voice that sings to me So often many a simple thing, Should surely not unanswered be

Oh, melancholy fragment of the night Drawing thy lazy web against the sun, Thou shouldst have waited till the day was done

When, long ago, the daring of my youth Drew nigh thy greatness with a little thing, Thou didst receive me; and thy sky of truth

WITH THE FOLLOWING POEM. I walked all night: the darkness did not yield. Around me fell a mist, a weary rain,

Thus, once, long since, the daring of my youth Drew nigh thy greatness with a little thing; And thou didst take me in: thy home of truth

Seek not my name--it doth no virtue bear; Seek, seek thine own primeval name to find-- The name God called when thy ideal fair

If I did seem to you no more Than to myself I seem, Not thus you would fling wide the door,

Go not forth to call Dame Sorrow From the dim fields of Tomorrow; Let her roam there all unheeded,

To God and man be simply true; Do as thou hast been wont to do; Bring out thy treasures, old and new--

To God and man be simply true: Do as thou hast been wont to do: Or, Of the old more in the new:

A broken tale of endless things, Take, lady: thou art not of those Who in what vale a fountain springs

The sun is sinking in the west, Long grow the shadows dim; Have patience, sister, to be blest,

The silence of traitorous feet! The silence of close-pent rage! The roar, and the sudden heart-beat!

Ah, truant, thou art here again, I see! For in a season of such wretched weather I thought that thou hadst left us altogether,

Men sought, ambition's thirst to slake, The lost elixir old Whose magic touch should instant make

It is no winter night comes down Upon our hearts, dear friends of old; But a May evening, softly brown,

I. Take of the first fruits, Father, of thy care, Wrapped in the fresh leaves of my gratitude

Oh how oft I wake and find I have been forgetting thee! I am never from thy mind:

Imagination cannot rise above thee; Near and afar I see thee, and I love thee; My misery away from me I thrust it,

0 Earth, Earth, Earth, I am dying for love of thee, For thou hast given me birth,

I. Old fables are not all a lie That tell of wondrous birth,

O sister, God is very good-- Thou art a woman now: O sister, be thy womanhood

When, with all the loved around thee, Still thy heart says, "I am lonely," It is well; the truth hath found thee:

Through the unchanging heaven, as ye have sped, Speed onward still, a strange wild company, Fleet children of the waters! Glorious ye,

Thou art my thought, my heart, my being's fortune, The search for thee my growth's first conscious date; For nought, for everything, I thee importune;

Dead, why defend thee, who in life For thy worst foe hadst died; Who, thy own name a word of strife,

My TO-MORROW is but a flitting Fancy of the brain; God's TO-MORROW an angel sitting,

Lord, keep us by thy word in hope, And check the murder of Turk and Pope, Who Jesus Christ, thine only Son,

Long ago, there lived far to the west a very young man, good, but extremely odd. He tormented himself continually about this nothing and that nothing, always walked in silence and straight before him, sat down alone when the others were at their sports and merry-makings, and brooded over strange things. Caves and woods were his dearest haunts; and there he talked on and on with beasts and birds, with trees and rocks--of course not one rational word, but mere idiotic stuff, to make one laugh to death. He continued, however, always moody and serious, in spite of the utmost pains that the squirrel, the monkey, the parrot, and the bullfinch could take to divert him, and set him in the right way. The goose told stories, the brook jingled a ballad between, a great thick stone cut ridiculous capers, the rose stole lovingly about him from behind and crept through his locks, while the ivy stroked his troubled brow. But his melancholy and gravity were stubborn. His parents were much troubled, and did not know what to do. He was in good health, and ate well enough; they had never caused him any offence; and, until a few years ago, he had been the liveliest and merriest of them all, foremost in all their games, and a favourite with all the maidens. He was very handsome, looked like a picture, and danced like an angel. Amongst the maidens was one, a charming and beautiful creature, who looked like wax, had hair like golden silk, and cherry-red lips, was a doll for size, and had coal-black, yes, raven-black eyes. Whoever saw her was ready to swoon, she was so lovely. Now Rosebud, for that was her name, was heartily fond of the handsome Hyacinth, for that was his name, and he loved her fit to die. The other children knew nothing of it. A violet told them of it first. The little house-cats had been quite aware of it, for the houses of their parents lay near each other. So when Hyacinth stood at night by his window, and Rosebud at hers, and the cats ran past mouse-hunting, they saw the two standing there, and often laughed and tittered so loud that they heard it and were offended. The violet told it in confidence to the strawberry, and she told it to her friend, the raspberry, who never ceased rasping when Hyacinth came along; so that by and by the whole garden and wood were in the secret, and when Hyacinth went out, he heard on all sides the cry: "Little Rosy is my posy!" This vexed him; but the next moment he could not help laughing from the bottom of his heart, when the little lizard came slipping along, sat down on a warm stone, waggled his tail, and sang-- "Little Rosebud, good and wise, All at once has lost her eyes:

A new song here shall be begun-- The Lord God help our singing!-- Of what our God himself hath done,

Jesus Christ, our Saviour true He who Death overthrew, Is up arisen,

Now let us pray the Holy Ghost, Of all things, for the true faith most, In that to preserve us when we are dying,

Let God be blest, be praised, and be thanked, Who to us himself hath granted This his own flesh and blood to feed and save us!

Christ Jesus, our Redeemer born, Who from us did God's anger turn Through his sufferings sore and main

Dear Christians, let us now rejoice, And dance in joyous measure; That, of good cheer, and with one voice,

Her, the worthy maid, my heart doth hold, And I shall not forget her. Praise, honour, virtue of her are told;

From heaven high I come to you, I bring a story good and new: Of goodly news so much I bring,

Praised be thou, O Jesus Christ, That a man on earth thou liest! Born of a maiden--it is true--

To Jordan when our Lord had gone, His Father's pleasure willing, He took his baptism of St. John,

Come, saviour of nations wild, Of the maiden owned the child That may wonder all the earth

From heaven the angel-troop come near And to the shepherds plain appear: A tender little child, they cry,

Jesus we now must laud and sing, The maiden Mary's son and king, Far as the blessed sun doth shine,

I am content. In triumph's tone My song, let people know! And many a mighty man, with throne

Of all the joys earth possesses, None the gladness fine surpasses Which I give you with my singing,

In the midst of life, we are Aye in Death's embraces. Who is there who help us can

LX. They have company this evening, And the house is full of light;

PEACE. [Footnote: I have here used rimes although the original has none. With notions of translating severer now than when, many years ago, I attempted this poem, I should not now take such a liberty. In a few other points also the translation is not quite close enough to please me; but it must stand.] High in heaven the sun was glowing,

Death held our Lord in prison For sin that did undo us; But he hath up arisen

Herod, why dreadest thou a foe Because the Christ comes born below? He seeks no mortal kingdom thus,

In these epigrams I have altered the form, which in the original is the elegiac distich. Thousand-masted, mighty float, Out to sea Youth's navy goes:

In these epigrams I have altered the form, which in the original is the elegiac distich. Dear is my friend, but my foe too Is friendly to my good;

Men talk with their lips and dream with their soul Of better days hitherward pacing; To a happy, a glorious, golden goal

I. Before all the wondrous shows of the widespread space around him, what living, sentient thing loves not the all-joyous light, with its colours, its rays and undulations, its gentle omnipresence in the form of the wakening Day? The giant world of the unresting constellations inhales it as the innermost soul of life, and floats dancing in its azure flood; the sparkling, ever-tranquil stone, the thoughtful, imbibing plant, and the wild, burning, multiform beast-world inhales it; but more than all, the lordly stranger with the meaning eyes, the swaying walk, and the sweetly closed, melodious lips. Like a king over earthly nature, it rouses every force to countless transformations, binds and unbinds innumerable alliances, hangs its heavenly form around every earthly substance. Its presence alone reveals the marvellous splendour of the kingdoms of the world. Aside I turn to the holy, unspeakable, mysterious Night. Afar lies the world, sunk in a deep grave; waste and lonely is its place. In the chords of the bosom blows a deep sadness. I am ready to sink away in drops of dew, and mingle with the ashes.--The distances of memory, the wishes of youth, the dreams of childhood, the brief joys and vain hopes of a whole long life, arise in gray garments, like an evening vapour after the sunset. In other regions the light has pitched its joyous tents: what if it should never return to its children, who wait for it with the faith of innocence?

True love, knight, as to a brother, Yield I you again; Ask me not for any other,

In these epigrams I have altered the form, which in the original is the elegiac distich. To this man, 'tis a goddess tall, Who lifts a star-encircled head;

AFTER THE MANNER OF HANS SACHS. While yet unknown, and very low, Our Lord on earth went to and fro;

IV. Thy little hand lay on my bosom, dear: What a knocking in that little chamber!--dost hear?

Ah, from out this valley hollow, By cold fogs always oppressed, Could I but the outpath follow--

Night lay upon mine eyelids; Upon my mouth lay lead; With rigid brain and bosom,

I dreamt of the daughter of a king, With white cheeks tear-bewetted; We sat 'neath the lime tree's leavy ring,

In the sunny summer morning Into the garden I come; The flowers are whispering and talking,

The phantoms of times forgotten Arise from out their grave, And show me how once in thy presence

O Lady fair, whose honoured name doth grace Green vale and noble ford of Rheno's stream-- Of all worth void the man I surely deem

As in the twilight brown, on hillside bare, Useth to go the little shepherd maid, Watering some strange fair plant, poorly displayed,

Ladies, and youths that in their favour bask, With mocking smiles come round me: Prithee, why, Why dost thou with an unknown language cope,

Diodati--and I muse to tell the tale-- This stubborn I, that Love was wont despise And make a laughter of his snares, unwise,

Certes, my lady sweet, your blessed eyes-- It cannot be but that they are my sun; As strong they smite me as he smites upon

A modest youth, in love a simpleton, When to escape myself I seek and shift, Lady, I of my heart the humble gift

In these epigrams I have altered the form, which in the original is the elegiac distich. Which religion I profess? None of which you mention make.

To the tune--Ein Lappisch Mann: A Silly Man. Who number one Keeps in the van,

I am so weary with the burden old Of foregone faults, and power of custom base, That much I fear to perish from the ways,

The elect angels and the souls in bliss, The citizens of heaven, when, that first day, My lady passed from me and went their way,

I. Come, God, Creator, Holy Ghost, Visit the heart of all thy men;

Poems are painted window-panes: Look from the square into the church-- Gloom and dusk are all your gains!

Psyche moans, in deep-sunk, darksome prison, For redemption; ah! for light she aches; Fears, hopes, after every noise doth listen--

I. Threefold is of Time the tread: Lingering comes the Future pacing hither;

In peace and joy I now depart, For God hath willed it. Comforted is my mind and heart,

Son, first-born, at home abiding! All without is cold and bare: Hide me from the tempest's chiding

I. Without thee, what were life or being! Without thee, what had I not grown!

Up there, upon yonder mountain, Stands a castle old, in the gorse, Where once, behind doors and portals,

I. These are the holy ten commands Which came to us from God's own hands

In one true God we all believe, Maker of the earth and heaven; Who, us as children to receive,

"Which of you, knight or squire, will dare Plunge into yonder gulf? A golden beaker I fling in it--there!

In a garden sweet went walking Two lovers hand in hand; Two pallid figures, low talking,

Although the fools say with their mouth: Great God, we magnify him; Their heart cares nothing for the truth,

Our God he is a castle strong, A good mail-coat and weapon; He sets us free from every wrong

The grave is deep and soundless, Its brink is ghastly lone; With veil all dark and boundless

From trouble deep I cry to thee; Lord God, hear thou my crying; Thy gracious ear oh turn to me,

Happy who in God's fear doth stay, And in it goeth on his way; Thine own hand thee shall find thy food,

Were God not with us all the time-- Israel may loud declare it-- Were God not with us all the time,

1. Chorus: Kyrie,            2. Chorus: Eleison. 1. Christe,                2. Eleison. 1. Kyrie,                    2. Eleison.

Our Father in the heaven who art, Who tellest all of us, in heart Brothers to be, and on thee call,

In the far forest, overhead, A bell is often heard obscurely; How long since first, no one can tell--

"How far the world lies under me! Scarce can I see the men below there crawling! How high it bears me up, my lofty calling!

Sleep, baby boy, sleep sweet, secure; Thy father's very miniature! That art thou, though thy father goes

The principle whence everything To life and shape ascended-- The pulley whereon Zeus the ring

Unto the seer, Isaiah, it was given That, in the spirit, he saw the Lord of heaven Up on a lofty throne, in radiance bright;

Would that the Lord would grant us grace, And in his volume write us! With its clear shining let his face

The first Choir.--Lord God, thee praise do we. The second Choir.--Lord, we give thanks to thee. 1. Thee, Father, eternal God,

I. God, the Father, with us be, Let us not fall to badness;

That was the sound of the wicket! That was the latch as it rose! No--the wind that through the thicket

Ah God, from heaven look down and view; Let it thy pity waken; Behold thy saints how very few!

Three words I will tell you, of meaning full: The lips of the many shout them; Yet were they born of no sect or school,

You have two ears--and but one mouth: Let this, friend, be a token-- Much should be heard, and not so much

Bands of dark and bands of light Lie athwart the homeward way; Now we cross a belt of Night,

I'm a puir man I grant, But I am weel neiboured; And nane shall me daunt

Few in joy's sweet riot Able are to listen: Thou, to make me quiet,

I came upon a fountain on my way When it was hot, and sat me down to drink Its sparkling stream, when all around the brink

Were thou and I the white pinions On some eager, heaven-born dove, Swift would we mount to the old dominions,

I. When, in the mid-sea of the night, I waken at thy call, O Lord,

Comes there, O Earth, no breathing time for thee, No pause upon thy many-chequered lands? Now resting on my bed with listless hands

The sun is gone down And the moon's in the sky But the sun will come up

What would you see, if I took you up My little aerie-stair? You would see the sky like a clear blue cup

I waited for the Master In the darkness dumb; Light came fast and faster--

Lie, little cow, and chew thy cud, The farmer soon will shift thy tether; Chirp, linnet, on the frozen mud,

This is the way we wash the clo'es Free from dirt and smoke and clay! Through and through the water flows,

Were I a skilful painter, My pencil, not my pen, Should try to teach thee hope and fear,

Doon frae Jerus'lem a traveller took The laigh road to Jericho; It had an ill name an' mony a crook,

Winter froze both brook and well; Fast and fast the snowflakes fell; Children gathered round the hearth

The homely words how often read! How seldom fully known! "Which father of you, asked for bread,

The bairns i' their beds, worn oot wi' nae wark, Are sleepin, nor ever an eelid winkin; The auld fowk lie still wi' their een starin stark,

Trust my father, saith the eldest-born; I did trust him ere the earth began; Not to know him is to be forlorn;

When the storm was proudest, And the wind was loudest, I heard the hollow caverns drinking down below;

Who lights the fire--that forth so gracefully And freely frolicketh the fairy smoke? Some pretty one who never felt the yoke--

Who would have thought that even an idle song Were such a holy and celestial thing That wickedness and envy cannot sing--

Content Primroses, With hearts at rest in your thick leaves' soft care, Peeping as from his mother's lap the child

Willie speaks. Is it wrong, the wish to be great, For I do wish it so?

Win' that blaws the simmer plaid Ower the hie hill's shoothers laid, Green wi' gerse, an' reid wi' heather--

They were parted then at last? Was it duty, or force, or fate? Or did a worldly blast

TO E.M. II. Dear friend, you love the poet's song, And here is one for your regard.

I woke at midnight, and my heart, My beating heart, said this to me: Thou seest the moon, how calm and bright!

Shepherd, on before thy sheep, Hear thy lamb that bleats behind! Scarce the track I stumbling keep!

O wild and dark! a night hath found me now Wherein I mingle with that element Sent madly loose through the wide staring rent

To whom the heavy burden clings, It yet may serve him like a staff; One day the cross will break in wings,