He knows His sheep: the wind and showers beat not too sharply the shorn lamb : His wisdom is more wise than ours: He knew my naturewhat I am : He tempers smiles with tears: both good, to bear in time the Christian mood. O yet-in scorn of mean relief, let Sorrow bear her heavenly fruit! Better the wildest hour of grief than the low pastime of the brute ! Better to weep, for He wept too, than laugh as every fool can do! For sure, 'twere best to bear the cross; nor lightly fling the thorns behind; Lest we grow happy by the loss of what was noblest in the mind. -Here-in the ruins of my years-Father, I bless Thee thro' these tears! It was in the far foreign lands this sickness came upon me first Below strange suns, 'mid alien hands this fever of the south was nurst, Until it reach'd some vital part. I die not of a broken heart. O think not that! If I could live ... there's much to live for-worthy life. It is not for what fame could give-tho' that I scorn not— but the strife Were noble for its own sake too. I thought that I had much to do ... But God is wisest! Hark, again!. 'twas yon black bittern, as he rose Against the wild light o'er the fen. How red your little casement glows! The night falls fast. How lonely, dear, this bleak old house will look next year! ah, yes, I know it is not good to And yet such thoughts will come and go unbidden. 'Tis that you should miss, My darling, one familiar tone of this weak voice when I am gone. And, for what's past-I will not say in what she did that all was right, But all's forgiven; and I pray for her heart's welfare, day and night. All things are changed! This cheek would glow even near hers but faintly now! Thou-God! before whose sleepless eye not even in vain the sparrows fall, Receive, sustain me! Sanctify my soul. Thou know'st, Thou lovest all. Too weak to walk alone-I see Thy hand: I falter back to Thee. Saved from the curse of time which throws its baseness on us day by day: Its wretched joys, and worthless woes; till all the heart is worn away. I feel Thee near. of Death. I hold my breath, by the half-open doors And sometimes, glimpses from within of glory (wondrous sight and sound!) Float near me :-faces pure from sin; strange music; saints with splendour crown'd: I seem to feel my native air blow down from some high region there, And fan my spirit pure: I rise above the sense of loss and pain: Faint forms that lured my childhood's eyes, long lost, I seem to find again: I see the end of all: I feel hope, awe, no language can reveal. Forgive me, Lord, if overmuch I loved that form Thou mad'st so fair; I know that Thou didst make her such; and fair but as the flowers were Thy work: her beauty was but thine; the human less than the divine. My life hath been one search for Thee 'mid thorns found red with thy dear blood: In many a dark Gethsemane I seem'd to stand where Thou hadst stood: And, scorn'd in this world's Judgment-Place, at times, thro' tears, to catch Thy face. Thou suffered'st here, and didst not fail: Thy bleeding feet these paths have trod : But Thou wert strong, and I am frail: and I am man, and Thou wert God. Be near me keep me in Thy sight: or lay my soul asleep in light. O to be where the meanest mind is more than Shakspere! where one look Shows more than here the wise can find, tho' toiling slow from book to book! Where life is knowledge: love is sure: and hope's brief promise made secure. O dying voice of human praise! the crude ambitions of my youth! I long to pour immortal lays! great pæans of perennial Truth! A larger work! a loftier aim!... and what are laurelleaves, and fame? And what are words? How little these the silence of the soul express! Mere froth-the foam and flower of seas whose hungering waters heave and press Against the planets and the sides of night-mute, yearning mystic tides! To ease the heart with song is sweet: sweet to be heard if heard by love. And you have heard me. the old songs above When we meet shall we not sing To grander music? Sweet, one kiss. O bless'd it is to die like this! To lapse from being without pain: your hand in mine, on mine your heart: The unshaken faith to meet again that sheathes the pang with which we part: My head upon your bosom, sweet: your hand in mine, on this old seat! So; closer wind that tender arm. . . How the hot tears fall! Do not weep, Beloved, but let your smile stay warm about me. Lord they sleep." "In the You know the words the Scripture saith. . . O light, O glory! is this death? SONG. By THOMAS CAMPBELL. How delicious is the winning Yet, remember, 'midst your wooing, Love he comes, and Love he tarries, Love's a fire that needs renewal Love's wing moults when caged and captured, Can you keep the bee from ranging, LOVE'S FAIRY RING. Another of GERALD MASSEY's delightful songs of home. WHILE Titans war with social Jove, Dear love! Our hallow'd fairy-ring. Our world of empire is not large, Dear love! Our hallow'd fairy-ring. Thou leanest thy true heart on mine, And evermore the circling hours New gifts of glory bring; We live and love like happy flowers, All in our fairy ring, Dear love! Our hallow'd fairy-ring. |