1098 RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES, LORD HOUGHTON

650

CROSSING THE Bar

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the
bar,

When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,
Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the
boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of fare

well,

When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time

and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face
When I have crossed the bar.

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RICHARD MONCKTON MILNES,

LORD HOUGHTON

[1809-1885]

SONNET

BECAUSE the Few with signal virtue crowned,
The heights and pinnacles of human mind,
Sadder and wearier than the rest are found,

Wish not thy Soul less wise or less refined.
True that the small delights which every day
Cheer and distract the pilgrim are not theirs;

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True that, though free from passion's lawless sway,
A loftier being brings severer cares.
Yet have they special pleasures, even mirth,

By those undreamt of who have only trod
Life's valley smooth; and if the rolling earth

To their nice ear have many a painful tone,
They know, Man does not live by Joy alone
But by the presence of the power of God.

WILLIAM MAKEPEACE THACKERAY

[1811-1863]

THE END OF THE PLAY

THE play is done; the curtain drops,
Slow falling to the prompter's bell:

A moment yet the actor stops,

And looks around, to say farewell.

It is an irksome word and task;

And, when he 's laughed and said his say,
He shows, as he removes the mask,
A face that 's anything but gay.

One word, ere yet the evening ends,

Let's close it with a parting rhyme,
And pledge a hand to all young friends,
As fits the merry Christmas-time.
On life's wide scene you, too, have parts,
That Fate ere long shall bid you play;
Good night! with honest gentle hearts
A kindly greeting go alway!

Good night! I'd say, the griefs, the joys,
Just hinted in this mimic page,

The triumphs and defeats of boys,
Are but repeated in our age.

I'd say, your woes were not less keen,

Your hopes more vain than those of men;

Your pangs or pleasures of fifteen

At forty-five played o'er again.

535964 A

I'd say, we suffer and we strive,
Not less or more as men than boys;
With grizzled beards at forty-five,
As erst at twelve in corduroys.
And if, in time of sacred youth,

We learned at home to love and pray,
Pray Heaven that early Love and Truth
May never wholly pass away.

And in the world, as in the school,

I'd say, how fate may change and shift; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all,

The kind cast pitilessly down.

Who knows the inscrutable design?
Blessed be He who took and gave!
Why should your mother, Charles, not mine,
Be weeping at her darling's grave?
We bow to Heaven that will'd it so,
That darkly rules the fate of all.
That sends the respite or the blow,
That's free to give, or to recall.

This crowns his feast with wine and wit: Who brought him to that mirth and state? His betters, see, below him sit,

Or hunger hopeless at the gate.

Who bade the mud from Dives' wheel
To spurn the rags of Lazarus?
Come, brother, in that dust we'll kneel,
Confessing Heaven that ruled it thus.

So each shall mourn, in life's advance,
Dear hopes, dear friends, untimely killed;
Shall grieve for many a forfeit chance,
And longing passion unfulfilled.

Amen! whatever fate be sent,

Pray God the heart may kindly glow,
Although the head with cares be bent,

And whitened with the winter snow.

Come wealth or want, come good or ill,
Let young and old accept their part,
And bow before the Awful Will,

And bear it with an honest heart,
Who misses or who wins the prize.
Go, lose or conquer as you can;
But if you fail, or if you rise,

Be each, pray God, a gentleman.

A gentleman, or old or young!

(Bear kindly with my humble lays);
The sacred chorus first was sung
Upon the first of Christmas Days:
The shepherds heard it overhead-
The joyful angels raised it then:
Glory to Heaven on high, it said.

And peace on earth to gentle men.

My song, save this, is little worth;
I lay the weary pen aside,

And wish you health, and love, and mirth,
As fits the solemn Christmas-tide.

As fits the holy Christmas birth,

Be this, good friends, our carol still-
Be peace on earth, be peace on earth,
To men of gentle will.

CHARLES KINGSLEY

[1819-1875]

AIRLY BEACON

AIRLY Beacon, Airly Beacon;

O the pleasant sight to see

Shires and towns from Airly Beacon,

While my love climb'd up to me!

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Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
O the happy hours we lay
Deep in fern on Airly Beacon,
Courting through the summer's day!

Airly Beacon, Airly Beacon;
O the weary haunt for me,
All alone on Airly Beacon,
With his baby on my knee!

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THE SANDS OF DEE

'O MARY, go and call the cattle home,
And call the cattle home,

And call the cattle home

Across the sands of Dee';

The western wind was wild and dank with foam,
And all alone went she.

The western tide crept up along the sand,

And o'er and o'er the sand,

And round and round the sand,

As far as eye could see.

The rolling mist came down and hid the land:
And never home came she.

'Oh! is it weed, or fish, or floating hair,

A tress of golden hair,

A drowned maiden's hair

Above the nets at sea?

Was never salmon yet that shone so fair
Among the stakes of Dee.'

They rowed her in across the rolling foam,

The cruel crawling foam,

The cruel hungry foam,

To her grave beside the sea:

But still the boatmen hear her call the cattle home
Across the sands of Dee.