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SHIPS AT SEA.

I have waited on the piers,

Gazing for them down the bay,
Days and nights for many years,
Till I turned heart-sick away.
But, the pilots, when they land,
Stop and take me by the hand,
Saying, "You will live to see
Your proud vessels come from sea,
One and all, one and all."

So I never quite despair,

Nor let hope or courage fail;
And some day, when skies are fair,
Up the bay my ships will sail.

I shall buy then all I need,-
Prints to look at, books to read,
Horses, wines, and works of art,—
Everything except a heart,

That is lost, that is lost.

Once, when I was pure and young,
Richer, too, than I am now,

Ere a cloud was o'er me flung,

Or a wrinkle creased my brow,

There was one whose heart was mine;
But she's something now divine,

And though come my ships from sea,

They can bring no heart to me

Evermore, evermore.

BARRY GRAY.

395

O'

The Teacher Taught.

'ER wayward children wouldst thou hold firm rule, And sun thee in the light of happy faces: Love, Hope, and Patience,-these must be the graces, And in thy own heart let them first keep school! For, as old Atlas on his broad neck places Heaven's starry globe, and there sustains it, so Do these upbear the little world below Of education-Patience, Hope, and Love! Methinks I see them grouped in seemly show,— The straitened arms upraised,-the palms aslope,And robes that touching, as adown they flow, Distinctly blend, like snow embossed in snow. O part them never! If Hope prostrate lie,

Love, too, will sink and die.

But Love is subtle; and will proof derive,
From her own life, that Hope is yet alive,
And bending o'er, with soul-transfusing eyes,

And the soft murmurs of the mother dove,

Woos back the fleeting spirit, and half supplies.

Thus Love repays to Hope what Hope first gave to Love! Yet haply there will come a weary day,

When, overtasked, at length,

Both Love and Hope beneath the load give way,
Then, with a statue's smile, a statue's strength,
Stands the mute sister, Patience,-nothing loath;
And, both supporting, does the work of both.

SAMUEL T. COLERIDGE.

ENTICED.

397

W

Enticed.

I.

ITH what clear guile of gracious love enticed,

I follow forward, as from room to room, Through doors that open into light from gloom, To find and lose, and find again the Christ!

He stands and knocks, and bids me ope the door;
Without he stands, and asks to enter in :

Why should he seek a shelter sad with sin?
Will he but knock and ask, and nothing more?

He knows what ways I take to shut my heart,
And if he will he can himself undo

My foolish fastenings, or by force break through,
Nor wait till I fulfill my needless part.

But nay, he will not choose to enter so,

He will not be my guest without consent,

Nor, though I say “Come in,” is he content; I must arise and ope, or he will go.

with me,

He shall not go; I do arise and ope,—
"Come in, dear Lord, come in and sup
Oh, blessed guest, and let me sup with thee,"-
Where is the door? for in this dark I grope,

And cannot find it soon enough; my hand,
Shut hard, holds fast the one sure key I need,
And trembles, shaken with its eager heed;
No other key will answer my demand.

The door between is some command undone;
Obedience is the key that slides the bar,
And lets him in, who stands so near, so far;
The doors are many, but the key is one.

Which door, dear Lord? knock, speak, that I may know;

Hark, heart, he answers with his hand and voice

Oh, still small sign, I tremble and rejoice,

Nor longer doubt which way my feet must go.

Full lief and soon this door would open too,
If once my key might find the narrow slit
Which, being so narrow, is so hard to hit-
But lo! one little ray that glimmers through,

Not spreading light, but lighting to the light-
Now steady, hand, for good speed's sake be slow,
One straight right aim, a pulse of pressure, so,—
How small, how great, the change from dark to bright!

II.

Now he is here I seem no longer here!

This place of light is not my chamber dim,

It is not he with me, but I with him,

And host, not guest, he breaks the bread of cheer.

I was borne onward at his greeting,-he

Earthward had come, but heavenward I had gone;
Drawing him hither, I was thither drawn,
Scarce welcoming him to hear him welcome me!

I lie upon the bosom of my Lord,

And feel his heart, and time my heart thereby ;
The tune so sweet, I have no need to try,
But rest and trust, and beat the perfect chord.

A little while I lie upon his heart,

Feasting on love, and loving there to feast,

And then, once more, the shadows are increased Around me, and I feel my Lord depart.

THE ROSE.

Again alone, but in a farther place

I sit with darkness, waiting for a sign;

Again I hear the same sweet plea divine, And suit, outside, of hospitable grace.

This is his guile, he makes me act the host
To shelter him, and lo! he shelters me;
Asking for alms, he summons me to be
A guest at banquets of the Holy Ghost.

So, on and on, through many an opening door
That gladly opens to the key I bring,

From brightening court to court of Christ, my King,
Hope-led, love-fed, I journey evermore.

At last I trust these changing scenes will cease ;
There is a court I hear where he abides;

No door beyond, that further glory hides.-
My host at home, all change is changed to peace.

WILLIAM C. WILKINSON.

The Rose.

O, lovely Rose !

Go

Tell her that wastes her time and me,

That now she knows,

When I resemble her to thee,

How sweet and fair she seems to be.

Tell her that's young,

And shuns to have her graces spied,
That hadst thou sprung

In deserts where no men abide,

Thou must have uncommended died.

399

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