Waive thy lusts, and let thy ghost thee lead; And truth thee shall deliver, it is no drede. TO HIS EMPTY PURSE. To you, my purse, and to none other wight Complaine I, for ye be my lady dere, I am sorry now that ye be light, For, certes, ye now make me heavy chere, Me were as lefe laid upon a bere, For which unto your mercy thus I crie, Be heavy againe, or els mote I die. Now vouchsafe this day or it be night, That I of you the blissful sowne may here, Or see your color like the sunne bright, That of yelowness had never pere, Ye be my life, ye be my hertes stere, Queene of comfort and good companie, Be heavy againe, or els mote I die. Now purse, that art to me my livès light, And saviour, as downe in this world here, Out of this towne helpe me by your might, Sith that you woll not be my treasure, When smell of spring fills all the air, And meadows bloom, and blue-birds pair; When love first laves her sunny head Shall silent be, as tuneful now; CLARENCE COOK. ON ONE WHO DIED IN MAY. Peach-blow and apple-blossom; With golden dandelion and daffodil; Why, Death, what dost thou here, Fair, at the old oak's knee, The first sloop-sail, What dost thou here. I am his friend, nor ever was his foe? Whose the sweet season, if it be not mine? Mine, not the bobolink's, that song divine, Chasing the shadows o'er the flying wheat! 'Tis a dead voice, not his, that sounds So sweet. Whose passionate heart burns in this flaming rose But his, whose passionate heart long since lay still ? Whose wan hope pales this snowlike lily tall, Beside the garden wall, But his, whose radiant eyes and lily grace, Sleep in the grave that crowns yon tufted hill? Relief from earth's corroding discontent, Relief from pain, The satisfaction of perplexing fears, Full compensation for the long, hard years. Full understanding of the Lord's intent, The things that were so puzzling made quite plain: And all astonished joy as, to the spot, From further skies, Crowd our beloved with white wingèd feet, And voices than the chiming harps more sweet, Faces whose fairness we had half forgot, And outstretched hands, and welcome in their eyes. The slimy trail of half-unnoted sin, The sordid wish which daunts the nobler will. Coarse, brawny hands let down the net When the Lord spake and ordered so; We fight each day with foes we dare They hauled the meshes, heavy-wet, not name, We fight, we fall! Noiseless the conflict and unseen of men; We rise, are beaten down, and rise again, And all the time we smile, we move the same, And even to dearest eyes draw close the veil; But in the blessed heavens these wars are past; Disguise is o'er! With new anointed vision, face to face, We shall see all, and clasped in close embrace Shall watch the haunting shadow flee at last, And know as we are known, and fear no more. MIRACLE. OH! not in strange portentous way Christ's miracles were wrought of old, The common thing, the common clay He touched and tinctured, and straightway It grew to glory manifold. The barley loaves were daily bread Kneaded and mixed with usual skill; No care was given, no spell was said, But when the Lord had blessed, they fed The multitude upon the hill. The hemp was sown 'neath common sun, Watered by common dews and rain, Of which the fisher's nets were spun; Nothing was prophesied or done To mark it from the other grain. Just as in other days, and set Their backs to labor, bending low; But quivering, leaping from the lake The marvellous shining burdens rise Until the laden meshes break, But gazed with wonder in his eyes. So still, dear Lord, in every place Thou standest by the toiling folk, With love and pity in Thy face, And givest of Thy help and grace To those who meekly bear the yoke. Not by strange sudden change and spell, Baffling and darkening nature's face; Thou takest the things we know so well And buildest on them Thy miracle — The heavenly on the common-place. The lives which seem so poor, so low, The hearts which are so cramped and dull, The baffled hopes, the impulse slow, Thou takest, touchest all, and lo! They blossom to the beautiful. We need not wait for thunder-peal Resounding from a mount of fire While round our daily paths we feel Thy sweet love and Thy power to hea! Working in us Thy full desire. INFLUENCE. COUCHED in the rocky lap of hills Down to the valley stream, Dear soul, be strong, Mercy will come ere long, And bring her bosom full of blessings Flowers of never fading graces, Lo! here a little volume, but large To make immortal dressings, book, For worthy souls whose wise embraces Store up themselves for Him who is alone The spouse of virgins, and the virgin's son. |