Are hands thou never thought'st would fold
The heavenly harp, the fadeless palm,

And faces most divinely calm
Thou never thoughtest to behold.

Forgive, if in thy textual art

I see thee what thou art not now,
With something of a narrow brow
And something of a narrow heart;

If any buds that thou hast strewn

To me look dry for want of showers,
And scentless as Platonic flowers,
Pale white beneath the pale white moon.

For still, I think, in world's above

*

The narrow brow grows bright and broad
With the great purposes of God,

And the heart widens with His love.

And the poor thoughts on earth so pale,
Turn to the sun his warmth to win,
And drink the silent sunbeams in,

And hue and fragrance never fail.

Sure at thy creed, confess'd erewhile,
Now with large heart and lovelit eye
Thou sighest-if the blessèd sigh;
Thou smilest—if the blessed smile.

Thou smilest at the glory given
To those innumerable kings,

And putt'st away thy childish things,

Taught by the manly love of Heaven;

* Platonici flores quosdam etiam lunæ dicunt esse familiares, qui sanè huic sideri canant hymnos. (Scaliger, "De Subtil," Ex. 170.)

For whilst that thou wert here below,
From that thick-thorn'd belief of thine
Thy spirit push'd some flowers divine,
Like furze that flowers in frost and snow.

And as, when finest fancies troop
Across the painter's haunted soul,
He draws the outline first in coal
Before he lets the pencil droop

With colour like the sky above :

So dark the sketch thy heart had drawnBut now it wears the rose-red dawn, Or floats in golden mists of love.

So let me think for evermore,

Yea, let me say beside the sea— "God's love is singing loud to me, And chanting grandly on the shore."

And say, when all the stars are high-
"It is our Father's ancient book.
How many myriad myriads look
On His love-letters of the sky!"

And say, where anguish never sleeps,
Staring upon the city wall,

Where, shaking in her gaudy shawl,
On the door-step the harlot weeps,—

"Father! I know Thee good as just!
O Dove Divine, I hear Thy wings
Come rustling round these faded things,
And dropping dew upon their dust!

"I hear Thee whispering unto sin,
I see Thee in the flowerlike thought
That groweth in such hearts unsought,
For which they neither toil nor spin.

"I see, too, where, with lifted hands,
Amidst all shapes of human woe,
A heavenly shadow on life's snow,
The Christus Consolator stands."

So let me say, and let me feel

That through all sin our Father's eye Looks love on all beneath the sky, That He is willing all should kneel.

And let me hope some trembling souls

May enter Heaven from this cold world, Like poor birds by the snow-wind hurl'd In where the great church organ rolls:

Although they know not where they fly,
Although they open their dim eyes,
All panting with the great surprise,
The grand and awful harmony.

THE PREACHER'S MEDITATION.

I.

LORD of all these thousand spirits,

spirits differing more than faces do;

Knowing all these thousand spirits,

with their thousand histories, through and through; Knowing all these thousand histories

as their own hearts know not-never knew ;

2.

Save me from the mean ambition

vulgar praise of eloquence to win-
From falsetto and self-conscious
pathos-from declamatory din-
From the tricky pulpit business,
and the silky talking that is sin.

3.

Grant me honestly and strongly,

as the strong and honest only can,

To uprear my temple. Ever

when a great cathedral stands for man,

Still, severe, serene, and simple,

depth of thought and science drew the plan.

4.

Save me from false intermixture, faithless patronizing of Thy grace. From the too resplendent colours

that the tender tints of truth efface, From the insolent scorn unholy

of Thy glorious holy commonplace.

5.

Never yet hath earthly chemist

secret of creating gem-stars found;

Still the difficult tint mysterious

lies uncaught-for God takes half the round

Of the ages for creating

the small deathless light call'd diamond.

6.

Never yet hath earthborn message, chemistry, or stroke of chisel faint, Lit and glorified our nature,

made the gem without a flaw or taint :

All God's working, and His only,

makes that diamond divine-a saint.

7.

Never bright point but the gospel's
won all colours hidden in heart deeps,
Show'd in perfected reflection

all that nobly flashes, sweetly weeps. -So they say the sea-tinct sapphire

somewhere in the blood-blush'd ruby sleeps.