No More Learning

We are of thee, the children of thy love,
The brothers of thy well-beloved Son:
Descend, O Holy Spirit! like a dove,
Into our hearts, that we may be as one,-
As one with thee, to whom we ever tend;
As one with Him, our Brother and our Friend.
We would be one in hatred of all wrong,
One in our love of all things sweet and fair,
One with the joy that breaketh into song,
One with the grief that trembles into prayer,
One in the power that makes thy children free
To follow truth, and thus to follow thee.
Oh! clothe us with thy heavenly armor, Lord, —
Thy trusty shield, thy sword of love divine.
Our inspiration be thy constant word;
We ask no victories that are not thine.
Give or withhold, let pain or pleasure be:
Enough to know that we are serving thee.
John WHITE CHADWICK.
THE STARRY HOST
THE
He countless stars, which to our human eye
Are fixed and steadfast, each in proper place,
Forever bound to changeless points in space,
Rush with our sun and planets through the sky,
And like a flock of birds still onward fy;
Returning never whence began their race,
They speed their ceaseless way with gleaming face
As though God bade them win Infinity.
Ah whither, whither is their forward flight
Through endless time and limitless expanse ?
What power with unimaginable might
First hurled them forth to spin in tireless dance ?
What beauty lures them on through primal night,
So that for them to be is to advance ?
JOHN LANCASTER SPALDING.


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16884
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
UNIVERSAL WORSHIP
O
THOU, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of Hebrew bards was strung;
Whom kings adored in songs sublime,
And prophets praised with glowing tongue:
Not now on Zion's height alone
Thy favored worshipers may dwell,
Nor where at sultry noon thy Son
Sat weary, by the patriarch's well:
From every place below the skies
The grateful song, the fervent prayer,
The incense of the heart, may rise
To heaven, and find acceptance there.
To thee shall age with snowy hair,
And strength and beauty, bend the knee;
And childhood lisp, with reverent air,
Its praises and its prayers to thee.
O thou, to whom in ancient time
The lyre of prophet-bards was strung,-
To thee at last in every clime
Shall temples rise, and praise be sung.
JOHN PIERPONT.
THE DEDICATION OF A CHURCH
W
HERE ancient forests round us spread,
Where bends the cataract's ocean-fall,
On the lone mountain's silent head,
There are thy temples, God of all!
Beneath the dark-blue midnight arch,
Whence myriad suns pour down their rays,
Where planets trace their ceaseless march,
Father! we worship as we gaze.
The tombs thy altars are; for there,
When earthly loves and hopes have Aed,
To thee ascends the spirit's prayer,
Thou God of the immortal dead!
All space is holy; for all space
Is filled by thee: but human thought


## p. 16885 (#585) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16885
Burns clearer in some chosen place,
Where thy own words of love are taught.
Here be they taught; and may we know
That faith thy servants knew of old,
Which onward bears through weal and woe,
Till Death the gates of heaven unfold.
Nor we alone: may those whose brow
Shows yet no trace of human cares,
Hereafter stand where
And raise to thee still holier prayers.
do now,
ANDREWS NORTON.
THE OLD CHURCH
C"
LOSE to the road it stood among the trees,
The old, bare church, with windows small and high,
And open doors that gave, on meeting-day,
A welcome to the careless passer-by.
Its straight, uncushioned seats, how hard they seemed !
What penance-doing form they always wore
To little heads that could not reach the text,
And little feet that could not reach the floor.
What wonder that we hailed with strong delight
The buzzing wasp, slow sailing down the aisle,
Or, sunk in sin, beguiled the constant fly
From weary heads, to make our neighbors smile.
How softly from the church-yard came the breeze
That stirred the cedar boughs with scented wings,
And gently fanned the sleeper's heated brow
Or Auttered Grandma Barlow's bonnet strings.
With half-shut eyes, across the pulpit bent,
The preacher droned in soothing tones about
Some theme, that like the narrow windows high,
Took in the sky but left terrestrials out.
Good, worthy man, his work on earth is done:
His place is lost, the old church passed away;
And with them, when they went, there must have gone
That sweet, bright calm, my childhood's Sabbath day.
ANNIE FELLOWS JOHNSON.


## p. 16886 (#586) ##########################################

16886
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
THE WINGED WORSHIPERS
To Two SWALLOWS IN A CHURCH
AY, guiltless pair!
What seek ye from the fields of heaven?
Ye have no need of prayer,
Ye have no sins to be forgiven.
G
Why perch ye here,
Where mortals to their Maker bend?
Can your pure spirits fear
The God ye never could offend?
Ye never knew
The crimes for which we come to weep;
Penance is not for you,
Blest wanderers of the upper deep!
To you 'tis given
To wake sweet Nature's untaught lays;
Beneath the arch of heaven
To chirp away a life of praise.
Then spread each wing,
Far, far above, o'er lakes and lands,
And join the choirs that sing
In yon blue dome not reared with hands;
Or, if ye stay
To note the consecrated hour,
Teach me the airy way,
And let me try your envied power!
Above the crowd
On upward wings could I but fly,
I'd bathe in yon bright cloud,
And seek the stars that gem the sky.
'Twere heaven indeed,
Through fields of trackless light to soar,
On Nature's charms to feed,
And Nature's own great God adore.
CHARLES SPRAGUE.


## p. 16887 (#587) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16887
THE CIRCUIT PREACHER
H"
is thin wife's cheek grows pinched and pale with anxiousness
intense;
He sees the brethren's prayerful eyes o'er all the conference;
He hears the bishop slowly call the long appointment” rolls,
Where in his vineyard God would place these gatherers of souls.
(
>
Apart, austere, the knot of grim presiding elders sit:
He wonders if some city charge may not for him have writ?
Certes! could they his sermon hear on Paul and Luke awreck,
Then had his talent ne'er been hid on Annomessix Neck!
Poor rugged heart, be still a pause, and you, worn wife, be meek!
Two years of banishment they read far down the Chesapeake!
Though Brother Bates, less eloquent, by Wilmington is wooed,
The Lord that counts the sparrow's fall shall feed his little brood.
«Cheer up, my girl! here Brother Riggs our circuit knows 'twill
please :
He raised three hundred dollars there, besides the marriage fees.
What! tears from us who preached the word these thirty years or
SO -
Two years on barren Chincoteague, and two in Tuckahoe ?
“The schools are good, the brethren say, and our church holds the
wheel:
The Presbyterians lost their house; the Baptists lost their zeal.
The parsonage is clean and dry; the town has friendly folk,-
Not half so dull as Murderkill, nor proud like Pocomoke.
“Oh, thy just will, our Lord, be done! though these eight seasons
more
We see our ague-crippled boys pine on the Eastern shore,
While we, thy stewards, journey out our dedicated years
Midst foresters of Nanticoke or heathen of Tangiers !
“Yea! some must serve on God's frontiers, and I shall fail perforce
To sow upon some better ground my most select discourse :
At Sassafras or Smyrna preach my argument on Drink,'
My series on the Pentateuch at Appoquinimink.
«Gray am I, brethren, in the work, though tough to bear my part:
It is these drooping little ones that sometimes wring my heart,
And cheat me with the vain conceit the cleverness is mine
To fill the churches of the Elk, and pass the Brandywine.


## p. 16888 (#588) ##########################################

16888
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
« These hairs were brown when, full of hope, ent’ring these holy
lists,
Proud of my order as a knight, — the shouting Methodists,-
I made the pine woods ring with hymns, with prayer the night-
winds shook,
And preached from Assawaman Light far north as Bombay Hook.
“My nag was gray, my gig was new fast went the sandy miles;
The eldest trustees gave me praise, the fairest sisters smiles;
Still I recall how Elder Smith of Worten Heights averred
My Apostolic Parallels the best he ever heard.
«All winter long I rode the snows, rejoicing on my way;
At midnight our revival hymns rolled o'er the sobbing bay;
Three Sabbath sermons, every week, should tire a man of brass-
And still our fervent membership must have their extra class!
(
"Aggressive with the zeal of youth, in many a warm requite
I terrified Immersionists, and scourged the Millerite;
But larger, tenderer charities such vain debates supplant,
When the dear wife, saved by my zeal, loved the Itinerant.
“No cooing dove, of storms afeard, she shared my life's distress -
A singing Miriam, alway, in God's poor wilderness.
The wretched at her footstep smiled, the frivolous were still:
A bright path marked her pilgrimage, from Blackbird to Snowhill.
"A new face in the parsonage, at church a double pride! -
Like the Madonna and her babe they filled the Amen side):
Crouched at my feet in the old gig, my boy, so fair and frank,
Naswongo's darkest marshes cheered, and sluices of Choptank.
“My cloth drew close; too fruitful love my fruitless life outran:
The townfolk marveled, when we moved, at such a caravan!
I wonder not my lads grew wild, when, bright, without the door
Spread the ripe, luring, wanton world — and we, within, so poor!
"For, down the silent cypress aisles came shapes even me to scout,
Mocking the lean flanks of my mare, my boy's patched roundabout,
And saying: 'Have these starveling boors, thy congregation, souls,
That on their dull heads Heaven and thou pour forth such living
coals? )
« Then prayer brought hopes, half secular, like seers by Endor's
witch:
Beyond our barren Maryland God's folks were wise and rich;


## p. 16889 (#589) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16889
Where climbing spires and easy pews showed how the preacher
thrived,
And all old brethren paid their rents, and many young ones wived !
«I saw the ships Henlopen pass with chaplains fat and sleek;
From Bishopshead with fancy's sails I crossed the Chesapeake;
In velvet pulpits of the North said my best sermons o'er -
And that on Paul to Patmos driven, drew tears in Baltimore.
“Well! well! my brethren, it is true we should not preach for
pelf;
(I would my sermon on St. Paul the bishop heard himself! )
But this crushed wife — these boys — these hairs! they cut me to
the core;
Is it not hard, year after year, to ride the Eastern Shore ?
“Next year? Yes, yes, I thank you much!
Then my reward
may fall!
(That is a downright fair discourse on Patmos and St. Paul! )
So, Brother Riggs, once more my voice shall ring in the old lists.
Cheer up, sick heart, who would not die among these Methodists ? ”
GEORGE ALFRED TOWNSEND.
SACRIFICE
FASTING
Lent
'T' uplift the curtain with a weary hand
,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
Calm peace is frighted with my mood to-night,
Nor visits my dull chamber with her light,
To guide my senses into her sweet rest
And leave me blest.
Long hours since the city rocked and sung
Itself to slumber: only the stars swung
Aloft their torches in the midnight skies
With watchful eyes.
No sound awakes; I, even, breathe no sigh,
Nor hear a single footstep passing by;


## p. 16890 (#590) ##########################################

16890
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Yet I am not alone, for now I feel
A presence steal
Within my chamber walls: I turn to see
The sweetest guest that courts humanity;
With subtle, slow enchantment draws she near,
And Sleep is here.
What care I for the olive branch of Peace ?
Kind Sleep will bring a thrice-distilled release, -
Nepenthes that alone her mystic hand
Can understand.
And so she bends, this welcome sorceress,
To crown my fasting with her light caress.
Ah, sure my pain will vanish at the bliss
Of her warm kiss.
But still my duty lies in self-denial;
I must refuse sweet Sleep, although the trial
Will reawaken all my depth of pain.
So once again
I lift the curtain with a weary hand:
With more than sorrow, silently I stand,
Look out while darkness overspreads the way,
And long for day.
«Go, Sleep,” I say, before the darkness die,
To one who needs you even more than I;
For I can bear my part alone, but he
Has need of thee.
“ His poor tired eyes in vain have sought relief,
His heart more tired still, with all its grief;
His pain is deep, while mine is vague and dim -
Go thou to him.
« When thou hast fanned him with thy drowsy wings,
And laid thy lips upon the pulsing strings
That in his soul with fret and fever burn,
To me return. ”
She goes.
The air within the quiet street
Reverberates to the passing of her feet;
I watch her take her passage through the gloom
To your dear home.


## p. 16891 (#591) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16891
Beloved, would you knew how sweet to me
Is this denial, and how fervently
I pray that Sleep may lift you to her breast,
And give you rest -
A privilege that she alone can claim.
Would that my heart could comfort you the same;
But in the censer Sleep is swinging high,
All sorrow's die.
She comes not back, yet all my miseries
Wane at the thought of your calm sleeping eyes -
Wane, as I hear the early matin bell
The dawn foretell.
And so, dear heart, still silently I stand,
Uplift the curtain with a weary hand;
The long, long night has bitter been and lone,
But now 'tis gone.
Dawn lights her candles in the East once more,
And darkness flees her chariot before;
The Lenten morning breaks with holy ray,
And it is day!
BRIER
Good Friday
B
ECAUSE, dear Christ, your tender, wounded arm
Bends back the brier that edges life's long way,
That no hurt comes to heart, to soul no harm,
I do not feel the thorns so much to-day.
Because I never knew your care to tire,
Your hand to weary guiding me aright,
Because you alk before and crush the brier,
It does not pierce my feet so much to-night.
Because so often you have hearkened to
My selfish prayers, I ask but one thing now:
That these harsh hands of mine add not unto
The crown of thorns upon your bleeding brow.
E. PAULINE JOHNSON (“Tekahionwake”).


## p. 16892 (#592) ##########################################

16892
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
ART THOU WEARY?
AKT
RT thou weary, art thou languid,
Art thou sore distressed ?
“Come to me,” saith One, «and coming,
Be at rest. ”
Hath he marks to lead me to him,
If he be my Guide ?
“In his feet and hands are wound-prints,
And his side. "
Is there diadem as Monarch,
That his brow adorns ?
« Yea, a crown, in very surety,
But of thorns. ”
If I find him, if I follow
What his guerdon here?
“Many a sorrow, many a labor,
Many a tear. »
If I still hold closely to him,
What hath be at last ?
“Sorrow vanquished, labor ended,
Jordan passed. ”
If I ask him to receive me,
Will he say me nay?
“Not till earth, and not till heaven,
Pass away. ”
Finding, following, keeping, struggling,
Is he sure to bless ?
«Saints, apostles, prophets, martyrs,
Answer, Yes. ”
ST. STEPHEN THE SABAITE.
Translation of John Mason Neale.
THE GUEST
[Behold, I stand at the door, and knock: if any man hear my voice, and
open the door, I will come in to him, and will sup with him; and he with me. ]
PEECHLESS Sorrow sat with me;
I was sighing wearily.
Lamp and fire were out; the rain
Wildly beat the window-pane.
S"


## p. 16893 (#593) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16893
In the dark we heard a knock,
And a hand was on the lock:
One in waiting spake to me,
Saying sweetly,
"I am come to sup with thee ! »
All my room was dark and damp:
“Sorrow,” said I, “trim the lamp;
Light the fire, and cheer thy face;
Set the guest-chair in its place. ”
And again I heard the knock;
In the dark I found the lock:-
“Enter! I have turned the key!
Enter, Stranger,
Who art come to sup with me! ”
Opening wide the door He came,
But I could not speak his name;
In the guest-chair took his place,
But I could not see his face!
When my cheerful fire was beaming,
When my little lamp was gleaming,
And the feast was spread for three,
Lo! my Master
Was the Guest that supped with me!
HARRIET MCEWEN KIMBALL.
I HOLD STILL
PR
Ain's furnace heat within me quivers,
God's breath upon the flame doth blow,
And all my heart in anguish shivers,
And trembles at the fiery glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And in his hottest fire hold still.
He comes and lays my heart, all heated,
On the hard anvil, minded so
Into his own fair shape to beat it
With his great hammer, blow on blow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And at his heaviest blows hold still.


## p. 16894 (#594) ##########################################

16894
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
He takes my softened heart and beats it, -
The sparks fly off at every blow;
He turns it o'er and o'er, and heats it,
And lets it cool, and makes it glow:
And yet I whisper, As God will!
And, in his mighty hand, hold still.
Why should I murmur? for the sorrow
Thus only longer-lived would be;
Its end may come, and will, to-morrow,
When God has done his work in me:
So I say, trusting, As God will!
And, trusting to the end, hold still.
He kindles for my profit purely
Affliction's glowing fiery brand,
And all his heaviest blows are surely
Inflicted by a Master-hand:
So I say, praying, As God will!
And hope in him, and suffer still.
Julius STURM (German).
WISHES AND PRAYERS
0
UR wishes and our prayers are not
Always the same;
Alas! we often wish for what
We dare not name.
We strive to pray with bitter tears
For what we should,
But sadder than all else appears
The prayed-for good.
Lord! pardon me if I deplore
My granted prayer:
Lord, what thou taught'st me to pray for,
Teach me to bear.
MARGARET DELAND.


## p. 16895 (#595) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16895
MILTON'S PRAYER OF PATIENCE
I
AM old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown,
Afflicted and deserted of my kind;
Yet am I not cast down.
I am weak, yet strong;
I murmur not that I no longer see:
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father Supreme! to thee.
All-merciful One!
When men are furthest, then art thou most near;
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me; and its holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling-place, -
And there is no more night.
On my bended knee
I recognize thy purpose clearly shown:
My vision thou hast dimmed, that I may see
Thyself - thyself alone.
I have naught to fear:
This darkness is the shadow of thy wing;
Beneath it I am almost sacred; here
Can come no evil thing.
Oh, I seem to stand
Trembling, where foot of mortal ne'er hath been,
Wrapped in that radiance from the sinless land
Which eye hath never seen!
Visions come and go:
Shapes of resplendent beauty round me throng;
From angel lips I seem to hear the flow
Of soft and holy song.
It is nothing now,
When heaven is opening on my sightless eyes,
When airs from Paradise refresh my brow,
That earth in darkness lies.


## p. 16896 (#596) ##########################################

16896
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
In a purer clime
My being fills with rapture,- waves of thought
Roll in upon my spirit,- strains sublime
Break over me unsought.
Give me now a lyre!
I feel the stirrings of a gift divine:
Within my bosom glows unearthly fire,
Lit by no skill of mine.
ELIZABETH LLOYD HOWELL.
THE VOYAGE
HICHEVER way the wind doth blow,
Some heart is glad to have it so;
Then blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
W*
My little craft sails not alone:
A thousand feets from every zone
Are out upon a thousand seas;
And what for me were favoring breeze
Might dash another, with the shock
Of doom, upon some hidden rock.
And so I do not dare to pray
For winds to waft me on my way,
But leave it to a Higher Will
To stay or speed me; trusting still
That all is well, and sure that He
Who launched my bark will sail with me
Through storm and calm, and will not fail,
Whatever breezes may prevail,
To land me, every peril past,
Within his sheltering heaven at last.
Then, whatsoever wind doth blow,
My heart is glad to have it so;
And blow it east or blow it west,
The wind that blows, that wind is best.
CAROLINE ATHERTON MASON.


## p. 16897 (#597) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16897
THE WILL OF GOD
1
WORSHIP thee, sweet will of God!
And all thy ways adore;
And every day I live, I seem
To love thee more and more.
Thou wert the end, the blessed rule,
Of our Savior's toils and tears;
Thou wert the passion of his heart
Those three-and-thirty years.
And he hath breathed into my soul
A special love of thee -
A love to lose my will in his,
And by that loss be free.
He always wins who sides with God;
To him no chance is lost:
God's will is sweetest to him when
It triumphs at his cost.
When obstacles and trials seem
Like prison-walls to be,
I do the little I can do,
And leave the rest to thee.
FREDERICK WILLIAM FABER.
NOT MY WILL, BUT THINE
TAK
AKE thou the heart I cannot give;
Take that which is thine own.
To give, to take, to will, to do,
Is thine, and thine alone.
Yet, leaning on th' upholding arm,
I trust, but cannot see;
Help me, as of myself, to stretch
My helpless hands to thee.
And when thon hast received thine own,
Oh, keep it, Lord, I pray;
And save me from the wayward will
That seeks a wider way.
XXVIII-1057


## p. 16898 (#598) ##########################################

16898
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
If ever, before adverse winds,
Between the cloud and sea,
I- at the mercy of my heart -
Am drifting far from thee;
Light of all tempted souls, be mine,
Till, sea and desert passed,
Safe in thy circling love I find
My anchorage at last!
M. A. L.
THE THINGS I MISS
A
N EASY thing, O Power Divine,
To thank thee for these gifts of thine!
For summer's sunshine, winter's snow,
For hearts that kindle, thoughts that glow.
But when shall I attain to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss ?
For all young Fancy's early gleams,
The dreamed-of joys that still are dreams,
Hopes unfulfilled, and pleasures known
Through others' fortunes, not my own,
And blessings seen that are not given,
And never will be, this side heaven.
Had I too shared the joys I see,
Would there have been a heaven for me?
Could I have felt thy presence near,
Had I possessed what I held dear?
My deepest fortune, highest bliss,
Have grown perchance from things I miss.
Sometimes there comes an hour of calm ;
Grief turns to blessing, pain to balm;
A Power that works above my will
Still leads me onward, upward still:
And then my heart attains to this, -
To thank thee for the things I miss.
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON.


## p. 16899 (#599) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16899
«THOUGH NAUGHT THEY MAY TO OTHERS BE »
I
F in these thoughts of mine that now assuage
The tedium of the toilsome life I live,
The few who chance to notice should perceive
Nothing their lasting interest to engage,
And quickly cease to turn the farther page, -
It were a shameful thing if I should grieve.
For if kind Destiny has chosen to give
To other minds, in many a clime and age,
Days brighter than my hours, should I repine ?
And what if by an over-hasty glance
Some import be not heeded, or, perchance,
Too dim a light upon the pages shine ?
Would I be wronged, even though the wealth I own,
And not the less enjoy, were all unknown?
GEORGE MCKNIGHT.
THE ABBÉ'S DREAM
T"
HE Abbé Michael dreamed one night
That heaven was open to his sight;
And first among the radiant throng
Which filled the streets with praise and song,
He saw a man whose reckless. might
Had seamed his earthly life with wrong.
The Abbé saw not streets of gold,
Or splendid mansions manifold,
Or sea of glass, or jewels rare,
Or pearly gates beyond compare,
Or hosts of angels richly stoled;
He only saw this sinner there!
The hymns of triumph reached his ears,
But brought no solace for his tears;
Peace from his jealous soul had flown:
“My life is spent for God alone,”
He cried; and yet this man appears
Among the nearest to the throne. ”
((
»
(
But ere he woke he heard a voice,
Which said unto his heart, “Rejoice!
The diamond which is full of light
Was once a coal as black as night!


## p. 16900 (#600) ##########################################

16900
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Judge not the means which God employs
To make the wrong bloom into right. ”
NATHAN HASKELL DOLE.
TAKE MY LIFE
TA
WAKE my life, and let it be
Consecrated, Lord to thee.
Take my moments and my days:
Let them flow in ceaseless praise.
Take my hands, and let them move
At the impulse of thy love.
Take my feet, and let them be
Swift, and beautiful for thee.
Take my voice, and let me sing
Always, only, for my King.
Take my lips, and let them be
Filled with messages from thee.
Take my silver and my gold:
Not a mite would I withhold.
Take my intellect, and use
Every power as thou shalt choose.
Take my will, and make it thine:
It shall be no longer mine.
Take my heart: it is thine own;
It shall be thy royal throne.
Take my love: my Lord, I pour
At thy feet its treasure-store.
Take myself, and I will be
Ever, only, all for thee.
FRANCES RIDLEY HAVERGAL


## p. 16901 (#601) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16901
JUSTICE
A
HUNDRED noble wishes fill my heart:
I long to help each soul in need of aid;
In all good works my zeal would have its part,
Before no weight of toil it stands afraid.
But noble wishes are not noble deeds,
And he does least who seeks to do the whole:
Who works the best, his simplest duties heeds;
Who moves the world, first moves a single soul.
Then go, my heart, thy plainest work begin;
Do first not what thou canst, but what thou must;
Build not upon a corner-stone of sin,
Nor seek great works until thou first be just.
CHARLES FRANCIS RICHARDSON.
LOVE AND HUMILITY
F
AR have I clambered in my mind,
But naught so great as love I find:
Deep-searching wit, mount-moving might,
Are naught compared to that good sprite.
Life of delight, and soul of bliss!
Sure source of asting happiness!
Higher than heaven! lower than hell!
What is thy tent? Where mayst thou dwell ?
My mansion hight humility,
Heaven's vastest capability.
The further it doth downward bend,
The higher up it doth ascend;
If it go down to utmost naught,
It shall return with what it sought.
Could I demolish with mine eye
Strong towers; stop the fleet stars in sky,
Bring down to earth the pale-faced moon,
Or turn black midnight to bright noon;
Though all things were put in my hand, -
As parched, as dry, as Libyan sand
Would be my life, if Charity
Were wanting. But Humility


## p. 16902 (#602) ##########################################

16902
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Is more than my poor soul durst crave,
That lies entombed in lowly grave.
But if 'twere lawful up to send
My voice to heaven, this should it rend:
Lord, thrust me deeper into dust,
That thou mayst raise me with the just.
HENRY MORE.
CONSCIENCE
T.
HE friend I loved betrayed my trust
And bowed my spirit to the dust.
I keep the hurt he gave, yet know
He was forgiven long ago.
From him I did not merit ill;
But I would bear injustice still,
Content, could years of guiltless woe
Undo the wrong I did my foe.
FLORENCE EARLE COATES.
CONSCIENCE AND REMORSE
(
“G
OOD-By,” I said to my Conscience-
“Good-by for aye and aye;)
And I put her hands off harshly,
And turned my face away:
And Conscience, smitten sorely,
Returned not from that day.
But a time came when my spirit
Grew weary of its pace:
And I cried, “Come back, my Conscience,
I long to see thy face; »
But Conscience cried, “I cannot,-
Remorse sits in my place. ”
PAUL LAWRENCE DUNBAR.


## p. 16903 (#603) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16903
THE HOUSE OF HATE
INE enemy builded well, with the soft blue hills in sight;
But betwixt his house and the hills I builded a house for spite:
And the name thereof I set in the stonework over the gate,
With a carving of bats and apes; and I called it the House of Hate.
M"
And the front was alive with masks of malice and of despair;
Horned demons that leered in stone, and women with serpent hair:
That whenever his glance would rest on the soft hills far and blue,
It must fall on my evil work, and my hatred should pierce him through.
And I said, “I will dwell herein, for beholding my heart's desire
On my foe:) and I knelt, and fain had brightened the hearth with
fire;
But the brands they would hiss and die, as with curses a strangled
man,
And the hearth was cold from the hour that the House of Hate
began.
And I called with a voice of power, “Make ye merry, all friends of
mine,
In the hall of my House of Hate, where is plentiful store and wine;
We will drink unhealth together unto him I have foiled and fooled ! »
And they stared and they passed me by, but I scorned thereby to be
schooled.
And I ordered my board for feast, and I drank in the topmost seat
Choice grape from a curious cup, and the first it was wonder-sweet;
But the second was bitter indeed, and the third was bitter and black,
And the gloom of the grave came on me, and I cast the cup to wrack.
Alone, I was stark alone, and the shadows were each a fear,
And thinly I laughed but once, for the echoes were strange to hear;
And the wind on the stairway howled, as a green-eyed wolf might
cry,
And I heard my heart: I must look on the face of a man or die!
So I crept to my mirrored face, and I looked and I saw it grown
(By the light in my shaking hand) to the like of the masks of stone:
And with horror I shrieked aloud as I flung my torch and fled;
And a fire-snake writhed where it fell, and at midnight the sky was
red.
And at morn, when the House of Hate was a ruin despoiled of flame,
I fell at mine enemy's feet and besought him to slay my shame.


## p. 16904 (#604) ##########################################

16904
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
»
But he looked in mine eyes and smiled, and his eyes were calm and
great:
“You rave or have dreamed,” he said, -"I saw not your House of
Hate ! »
Lippincott's Magazine.
THE WIND OF MEMORY
R
ED curtains shut the storm from sight,
The inner rooms are live with light;
The fireside faces all aglow
See not the pale ghost in the snow,-
The pale ghost at the window pressed,
With the wind moaning in her breast.
She sees the face she hurt with scorn;
The other face where joy, new born,
Died out at her cheap mockery;
The eyes she filled, how bitterly!
The head that drooped beneath her jest —
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Invisible, unfelt, unknown,
She lingers trembling. She alone
Notes tenderly her vacant place,
And sees in it her vanished face;
She only — of this happy nest!
The wind is moaning in her breast.
Star-like the happy windows glow,
Framed in with mile on mile of snow;
And from their light a thing of death,
Of grief and memory, vanisheth,-
Her sin not deep but unredressed,
And the wind m ng in her breast.
ETHELWYN WETHERALD.


## p. 16905 (#605) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16905
MY SHADOW
I
DUG a grave, and laid within
Its secret depths one secret sin.
I stamped the earth upon it well;
I left no trace, the tale to tell.
Then from the darksome place I fled,
And turned my face to God and said :-
« O God, I come to serve thee now; -
Hereafter to thy will I bow.
This sin must be — I cannot save
My soul from it, so dig this grave.
But there, O God, it hidden lies;
And I will gird my loins, and rise,
Go to my Father, and declare
That from this day his yoke I bear.
Straitly thy law I will obey,
Unswerving walk in Virtue's way,
Till thou forget that it hath been, -
This buried, unrepented sin.
(Yea, shall my soul, because of one
Deliberate sin, be quite undone ?
Shall God forever hide his face,
His mercy hold for me no place?
May I not far behind me cast
Those things I buried in the Past,
And, reaching out to those before,
Serve thee with faithful heart the more ? »
Time wraps that day in mists of years;
Upright I walk among my peers.
Honors and riches have I borne;
Plenty hath blest me with her horn.
With zeal untired my feet have trod
The blessed path that leads to God.
But sometimes beckoning Memory lifts
Her darkening veil, and all the gifts
That Fortune in my way hath placed
Are dust and ashes to my taste.
Out of the Past there steals anear
That sin, and whispers, “I am here!
Thou laidest me in ground that bears
No hallowing of repentant prayers.


## p. 16906 (#606) ##########################################

16906
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
No ghost can lie in grave unblest;
For thee and me there is no rest.
Thy works, thy faith, cannot avail:
My shadow follows in thy trail.
Between thy sacrifice and thee
Shall ever rise the thought of me! )
'Tis but a fantasy, I know:
Why should despair torment me so ?
Yea, I shall smile, when morning breaks,
At fears with which my heart now quakes.
I dug a grave, and laid within
Its secret depths one secret sin.
I closed the grave — and know full well
That day I shut myself in hell!
LOUISE BETTS EDWARDS.
THE JUDGMENT
The
Hou hast done evil
And given place to the Devil;
Yet so cunningly thou concealest
The thing which thou feelest,
That no eye espieth it,-
Satan himself denieth it:
Go where it chooseth thee,
There is none that accuseth thee;
Neither foe nor lover
Will the wrong uncover;
The world's breath raiseth thee,
And thy own past praiseth thee.
Yet know thou this:
At quick of thy being
Is an eye, all seeing,
The snake's wit evadeth not,
The charmed lip persuadeth not:
So thoroughly it despiseth
The thing thy hand prizeth,
Though the sun were thy clothing,
It should count thee for nothing.


## p. 16907 (#607) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16907
Thine own eye divineth thee;
Thine own soul arraigneth thee:
God himself cannot shrive thee
Till that judge forgive thee.
DORA READ GOODALE.
<IF I HAVE SINNED »
I
F I HAVE sinned in act, I may repent;
If I have erred in thought, I may disclaim
My silent error, and yet feel no shame:
But if my soul, big with an ill intent,
Guilty in will, by fate be innocent,
Or being bad, yet murmurs at the curse
And incapacity of being worse,
That makes my hungry passion still keep Lent
In keen expectance of a Carnival,-
Where in all worlds that round the sun revolve,
And shed their influence on this passive ball,
Lives there a power that can my soul absolve ?
Could any sin survive, and be forgiven,
One sinful wish would make a hell of heaven.
HARTLEY COLERIDGE.
WHAT THE KING SAID TO CHRIST AT THE JUDGMENT
I
AM who knew thee on that day,–
The Child that in the manger lay;
I called thee Master, King.
I laid my gifts at thy young feet,
Jewels and myrrh, frankincense sweet, - .
Such gifts as sovereigns bring.
The trumpet sounds another morn,
And I, of crown and sceptre shorn,
Look on thee from afar.
Now thou hast come, a King in state,
Know me, the beggar at the gate,
Who followed once thy star.
ISA CARRINGTON CABELL.


## p. 16908 (#608) ##########################################

16908
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
DIES IRÆ
D"
IES iræ, dies illa!
Solvet sæclum in favilla,
Teste David cum Sibylla.
Quantus tremor est futurus,
Quando Judex est venturus,
Cuncta stricte discussurus.
Tuba mirum spargens sonum
Per sepulcra regionum,
Coget omnes ante thronum.
Mors stupebit, et natura,
Quum resurget creatura,
Judicanti responsura.
Liber scriptus proferetur,
In quo totum continetur,
Unde mundus judicetur.
Judex ergo cum sedebit,
Quidquid latet, apparebit:
Nil inultuin remanebit.
Quid sum, miser! tunc dicturus,
Quem patronum rogaturus,
Quum vix justus sit securus?
Rex tremendæ majestatis,
Qui salvandos salvas, gratis,
Salva me, fons pietatis!
Recordare, Jesu pie,
Quod sum causa tuæ viæ;
Ne me perdas illa die!
Quærens me, sedisti lassus,
Redemisti, crucem passus:
Tantus labor non sit cassus,
Juste Judex ultionis,
Donum fac remissionis,
Ante diem rationis.
Ingemisco tanquam reus,
Culpa rubet vultus meus;
Supplicanti parce, Deus!


## p. 16909 (#609) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16909
Qui Miriam absolvisti,
Et latronem exaudisti,
Mihi quoque spem dedisti.
Preces meæ non sunt dignæ,
Sed Tu bonus fac benigne
Ne perenni cremer igne!
Inter oves locum præsta,
Et ab hædis me sequestra,
Statuens in parte dextra.
Confutatis maledictis,
Flammis accribus addictis,
Voca me cum benedictis!
Oro supplex et acclinis,
Cor contritum quasi cinis,
Gere curam mei finis.
Lacrymosa dies illa!
Qua resurget ex favilla
Judicandus homo reus:
Huic ergo parce, Deus!
THOMAS DI CELANO.
DIES IRÆ
D^
AY of wrath! of days that Day!
Earth in flames shall pass away,
Heathen seers with prophets say.
What swift terrors then shall fall,
When descends the Judge of all,
Every action to recall.
Hark! the trump, with wondrous tone,
Wakes the graves of nations gone,
Forcing all before the Throne.
Death shall die — fair nature too,
When the creature, risen anew,
Answers to his God's review.
He the fatal scroll shall spread,
Writ with all things done or said,
Thence to judge th' awakened dead.


## p. 16910 (#610) ##########################################

16910
SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
Lo! he takes his seat of light:
All that's dark shall leap to sight,
Guilt, the sword of vengeance smite.
What shall I, then, wretched plead ?
Who will mediate in my need,
When the just shall scarce succeed ?
King majestic! Sovereign dread!
Saving all for whom He bled,
Save thou me, Salvation's head!
Holy Jesus! priceless stay!
Think! for me thy bleeding way!
Lose me not, upon that day.
Faint and weary, thou hast sought.
By the cross, my crown hast bought:
Can such anguish be for naught?
Oh! avenging Judge severe,
Grant remission, full and clear,
Ere th' accounting day appear.
Like a guilty thing I moan;
Flushed my cheek, my sins I own:
Hear, O God, thy suppliant's groan.
Magdalen found grace with thee,
So the thief 11pon the tree;
Hope too thou hast breathed in me.
Worthless are my vows, I know,
Yet, dear Lord, thy mercy show,
Lest I sink in endless woe.
From the goats my lot divide;
With thy lambs a place provide,
On thy right and near thy side.
When th' accursed sink in shame,
Given to tormenting flame,
With thy blessed write my name.
Bowed to earth, I strive in prayer;
Heart like cinders, see, I bear,-
Its last throbbing be thy care!


## p. 16911 (#611) ##########################################

SONGS HYMNS AND LYRICS
16911
Ah, that day of burning tears!
When from ashes reappears
Man all guilt, his doom to bear -
Spare him, God! in mercy spare!
Translation of Edward Slosson.
TO THE LORD OF THE YEARS
T"
his rolling sea of stars
Is dust before thy breath,
Whose pleasure makes or mars
The halls of life and death.
Thy least desire is heard
Beyond the vasts of space,
And being's core is stirred
At turning of thy face.
The cycles of earth's years
Are phases in thy dream,
Unblurred by drift of tears,
Untouched of shade and gleam.
Yet of thy will we are
And children of thy word,
With every sun and star,
With every flower and bird.
Then grant we may not fail
From out thy vision vast,
When life's strong warders quail
Before death's icy blast;
But may we still aspire
To things unknown, unguessed,
More near the heart's desire
Than this poor body's quest.
WILLIAM CARMAN ROBERTS.