Yet sets she not her soul so steadily

Above, that she forgets her ties to earth,

But her whole thought would almost seem to be
How to make glad one lowly human hearth;
For with a gentle courage she doth strive
In thought and word and feeling so to live

As to make earth next Heaven; and her heart
Herein doth show its most exceeding worth,
That, bearing in our frailty her just part,
She hath not shrunk from evils of this life,
But hath gone calmly forth into the strife,
And all its sins and sorrows hath withstood
With lofty strength of patient womanhood :
For this I love her great soul more than all,
That, being bound, like us, with earthly thrall,
She walks so bright and Heaven-wise therein,
Too wise, too meek, too womanly to sin.

Exceeding pleasant to mine eyes is she:

Like a lone star through riven storm-clouds seen

By sailors, tempest-tost upon the sea,
Telling of rest and peaceful heavens nigh,
Unto my soul her star-like soul hath been,
Her sight as full of hope and calm to me;
For she unto herself hath builded high
A home serene, wherein to lay her head,
Earth's noblest thing, a Woman perfected.

THE LOST CHILD.

I.

I WANDERED down a sunny glade

And ever mused, my love, of thee; My thoughts, like little children, played, As gaily and as guilelessly.

II.

If any chanced to go astray,

Moaning in fear of coming harms,

Hope brought the wanderer back alway, Safe-nestled in her snowy arms.

III.

From that soft nest the happy one

Looked up at me and calmly smiled;

Its hair shone golden in the sun,

And made it seem a heavenly child.

IV.

Dear Hope's blue eyes smiled mildly down, And blest it with a love so deep,

That, like a nursling of her own,

It clasped her neck and fell asleep.

THE CHURCH.

I.

I LOVE the rites of England's church,

I love to hear and see

The priest and people reading slow

The solemn Litany;

I love to hear the glorious swell
Of chanted psalm and prayer,

And the deep organ's bursting heart
Throb through the shivering air.

II.

Chants, that a thousand years have heard,

I love to hear again,

For visions of the olden time

Are wakened by the strain;