She doubted, once upon a time, JOHN HAY. Because it took away her sight, She looked and said, "There is no light!" It was thine eyes, poor Italy! That knew not dark apart from bright. This flame which burnt for Italy, It would not let her haters sleep. They blew at it with angry breath, And only fed its upward leap, And only made it hot and deep. Its burning showed us Italy, And all the hopes she had to keep. This light is out in Italy, Her eyes shall seek for it in vain! For her sweet sake it spent itself, Too early flickering to its wane, Too long blown over by her pain. Bow down and weep, O Italy, Thou canst not kindle it again! UNAWARES. THE wind was whispering to the vines Till from a slow-consenting cloud And sudden something in me stirred, Ah! glad was I as any bird I had a carven missal once, 20 Though merely in a childish wise I used to search for it betimes. 305 It showed the face of God in man How often in the bitter night Then have I said: "Ah! Christ the Lord! Now, in the moon's transfiguring light, "I loved, — and, blind with passionate ELIZABETH STUART PHELPS. love, I fell. Love brought me down to death, and death to Hell. For God is just, and death for sin is well. "I do not rage against his high decree, Nor for myself do ask that grace shall be; But for my love on earth who mourns for me. [U. s. A.] ON THE BRIDGE OF SIGHS. O prison with the hollow eyes! O blessed prison-walls! how true All the rivers run into the sea. She sobbed, “I found him by the sum- Strong stream, go patient, brave and mer sea Reclined, his head upon a maiden's knee, hasting never, I sit beside the sea. She curled his hair and kissed him. Woe All the rivers run into the sea. Here, too, a little child Stood by the drift, now blackened and defiled; And with his rosy hands, in earnest play, Scraped the dark crust away. Checking my hurried pace, To watch the busy hands and earnest face, I heard him laugh aloud in pure delight, That underneath, 't was white. Then, through a broken pane, The unclean words she used. And as I lingered near, His baby accents fell upon my ear: "See, I can make the snow again for you, All clean and white and new!" Ah! surely God knows best. Our sight is short; faith trusts to him the rest. Sometimes, we know, he gives to human hands To work out his commands. Perhaps he holds apart, By baby fingers, in that mother's heart, WILLIAM C. GANNETT. [U. s. A.] LISTENING FOR GOD. I HEAR it often in the dark, O, may it be that far within Those voices of surprise? O God within, so close to me That every thought is plain, Be judge, be friend, be Father still, And in thy heaven reign! Thy heaven is mine,—my very soul! Thy words are sweet and strong; They fill my inward silences With music and with song. They send me challenges to right, MARY G. BRAINERD. [U. s. A.] GOD KNOWETH. I KNOW not what shall befall me, I see not a step before me, For perhaps the dreaded future Has less bitter than I think; He will stand beside its brink. It may be he keeps waiting Till the coming of my feet Some gift of such rare blessedness, Some joy so strangely sweet, That my lips shall only tremble With the thanks they cannot speak. O restful, blissful ignorance! 'Tis blessed not to know, On the bosom which loves me so! So I go on not knowing; I would not if I might; As tired of sin as any child When just for very weariness And looking upward to thy face, I pray thee turn me not away, And yet the spirit in my heart Says, Wherefore should I pray That thou shouldst seek me with thy love, Since thou dost seek alway; And dost not even wait until I urge my steps to thee; But in the darkness of my life Art coming still to me? I would rather walk in the dark with I pray not, then, because I would; God, I pray because I must; There is no meaning in my prayer But thankfulness and trust. I would not have thee otherwise Be still thyself, and then I know But still thy love will beckon me, And bring me to my home. And thou wilt hear the thought I mean, As if thou wert not always good, For, if I ever doubted thee, |