For still this sea of life, with endless wailing, Dashes above our heads its blinding spray, And vanquished hearts, sick with remorse and failing, Moan like the waves at set of autumn day. And ever round us swells the insatiate ocean save. And deep and dark the fearful gloom unlighted On whose bleak shore arriving — lone benighted, We fall and lose ourselves at last in Thee. Yea! in Thy life our little lives are ended, Into Thy depths our trembling spirits fall; In Thee enfolded, gathered, comprehended, ELIZA SCUDder. DESIRE. HOU, who dost dwell alone THO Thou, who dost know thine own— Thou to whom all are known From the cradle to the grave, From the world's temptations, From that fierce anguish Wherein we languish ; From that torpor deep Wherein we lie asleep, Heavy as death, cold as the grave, — Save, oh, save! When the Soul, growing clearer, Sees God no nearer : When the Soul, mounting higher, To God comes no nigher : Foiling her high emprize, And, when she fain would soar, Makes idols to adore; To a skin-deep sense Of her own eloquence; Strong to deceive, strong to enslave Save, oh, save! From the ingrained fashion Of this earthly nature That mars thy creature ; From grief, that is but passion; From wild and weak complaining; From doubt, where all is double : Where faiths are built on dust: Hungry, and barren, and sharp as the sea; O let the false dream fly O where thy voice doth come Let all words be mild: All strifes be reconciled: All pains beguiled. Light bring no blindness; Love no unkindness; Knowledge no ruin; Fear no undoing. From the cradle to the grave, Save, oh, save! MATTHEW ARNOLD. DENIAL. HE two best gifts in all the perfect world THE Lie in two close-shut hands; The hands rest even on the outstretched knees Like those stone forms the wildered traveller sees In dreamy Eastern lands. I reach to grasp: but lo! that hand withdraws, The silent gesture says: "This is for thee, I take Thou canst not say I took it not! I take and use, and come again to crave, So many times! ah me! so many times! And must I, till the evening shadows grow, To see the other lift? I ask for bread; Thou givest me a stone; Thou knowest, Thou, the spirit's bitter need, Ah fool! Is he not greater than thy heart? And seeing all, He surely knoweth best; Perchance - He knows - canst thou not trust His love? For no expectant eyes Of something other, full of wild desire CALL ON US. WHEN the enemy is near thee, Call on us! In our hands we will upbear thee, Call on us! Call when all good friends have left thee, Help, O help! Call, and following close behind thee There shall haste, and there shall find thee, S T. |