XII.

VERSE cannot say how beautiful thou art,
How glorious the calmness of thine eyes,
Full of unconquerable energies,

Telling that thou hast acted well thy part.
No doubt or fear thy steady faith can start,
No thought of evil dare come nigh to thee,
Who hast the courage meek of purity,
The self-stayed greatness of a loving heart,
Strong with serene, enduring fortitude;
Where'er thou art, that seems thy fitting place,
For not of forms, but Nature, art thou child;
And lowest things put on a noble grace

When touched by ye, O patient, Ruth-like, mild
And spotless hands of earnest womanhood.

XIII.

THE Soul would fain its lovingkindness tell,
But custom hangs like lead upon the tongue;
The heart is brimful, hollow crowds among,
When it finds one whose life and thought are well;
Up to the eyes its gushing love doth swell,

The angel cometh and the waters move,

Yet is it fearful still to say

"i love,"

And words come grating as a jangled bell.
O might we only speak but what we feel,
Might the tongue pay but what the heart doth owe,
Not Heaven's great thunder, when, deep peal on peal,
It shakes the earth, could rouse our spirits so,
Or to the soul such majesty reveal,

As two short words half-spoken faint and low!

XIV.

I SAW a gate: a harsh voice spake and said,
"This is the gate of Life;" above was writ,
"Leave hope behind, all ye who enter it ;"
Then shrank my heart within itself for dread;
But, softer than the summer rain is shed,
Words dropt upon my soul, and they did say,
"Fear nothing, Faith shall save thee, watch and
So, without fear I lifted up my head,
And lo! that writing was not, one fair word
"Love."

Was carven in its stead, and it was

pray!

Then rained once more those sweet tones from above

With healing on their wings: I humbly heard,

“I am the Life, ask and it shall be given!

I am the way, by me ye enter HEAVEN!

XV.

I WOULD not have this perfect love of ours
Grow from a single root, a single stem,
Bearing no goodly fruit, but only flowers
That idly hide Life's iron diadem:

It should grow alway like that Eastern tree
Whose limbs take root and spread forth constantly;
That love for one, from which there doth not spring
Wide Love for all, is but a worthless thing.
Not in another world, as poets prate,

Dwell we apart, above the tide of things,

High floating o'er earth's clouds on faery wings;

But our pure love doth ever elevate

Into a holy bond of brotherhood

All earthly things, making them pure and good.

XVI.

To the dark, narrow house when loved ones go,
Whence no steps outward turn, whose silent door
None but the sexton knocks at any more,

Are they not sometimes with us yet below?
The longings of the soul would tell us so ;
Although, so pure and fine their being's essence,
Our bodily eyes are witless of their presence,
Yet not within the tomb their spirits glow,
Like wizard lamps pent up, but whensoever
With great thoughts worthy of their high behests
Our souls are filled, those bright ones with us be,
As, in the patriarch's tent, his angel guests;-
O let us live so worthily, that never

We may be far from that blest company!