"Ah, in the church the flowers are surely glorious, And the old pillars look full bright and brave; And the great organ, trembling yet victorious, Keeps quivering on like light upon the wave.

"And better still, the good Priest of Christ's merits Speaks to believing hearts, right glad yet awed, And launches sinful yet forgiven spirits

On that great deep, the promises of God ;-

"Whilst I, far off from church, like one in blindness
Groping, lose sacrament and pastoral tone.
The Lord commandeth not His loving kindness,
I am cast out from His pavilion."

Yet here are flowers, and light, and voices mysticWere never such, since when, as Scripture tells, The High Priest in the Holiest moved majestic With gems oraculous and with golden bells.

And here are pillared pines, like columns soaring,
With branches tall that like triforiums are,

And a soft liturgy of winds adoring,

With echoes from some temple-gate ajar.

And that no consecration may be wanted,

One gently passes through the haunted placeNot like Him on the crucifixes painted,

With white, cold, agèd, agonizing face

Not crown'd with thorns, and ever bleeding, bleeding, Stains on that rigid form more dark than wine

Not dead but living, beautiful exceeding,

Divinely Human, Humanly Divine.

And Onni prays the prayer that knows no measure

By bead, or clock, or count of regular chimeThe prayer which is the fulness of all pleasure, In words unutter'd, and transcending time.

His worship ended, Nature sang no longer,
But grown contemplative was silent too;
And now made gladder, calmer, holier, stronger,
He raised his voice, and bade his soft adieu.

"O, fellow-worshippers with me and Nature,
Who sang God's praises with my soul forlorn,
Wild flower, and forest tree, and wingèd creature,
And all the sunny sanctities of morn,

"River, whom God hath taught to be my pilot, Needles of light that dart through larch and birch, Ripples that were the music of mine islet,

And pines that were the pillars of my church

"Peace, and Farewell." Then happier and faster He glided homeward down the watery way, And with a gentle smile, said, "Thank you, Master, "I was at church, I kept my feast to-day."

MUSIC OR WORDS?

(ON THE SEVEN LAST WOrds.)

AND is it well what one hath said?—
"Ye who shall watch beside my bed,
Get music, not so much to swell
As to be half inaudible,

Around my agony. While ye wait

My passing through the shadowy gate,

Speak me no word articulate.

"Touch for me, touch some tremulous chords—

Touch, I am weary of all words—

Of hearing, be it e'er so sweet,
What hath capacity of deceit.
Let then my spirit on life's brink,
Some undeceiving music drink—
And so it shall be well, I think.

Speak me no words-the poet sings
That all our human words have wings.
Ah! if those wings at times attain
A golden splash on their dark grain
From some blue sky-cleft far away,
They mostly wear the black or grey
That doth beseem the bird of prey.

"Speak then no words-but some soft air
Play; as it scarcely ripples there,

Or, rather say, as its true wing
With silver over-shadowing

Throbs-and no more-my soul beneath
Shall pass without one troubled breath
From sleep to dreams, from dreams to death.

"Wherefore be utter'd words kept far,
Such as may that dim music mar,
-That exquisite vagueness finely brought,
A gentle anodyne to thought—
Speak me not any words, O friend!

At least one moment at life's end
I want to feel, not comprehend."

II.

How many words since speech began
Have issued from the lips of man?
How few with an undying chant,
The gallery of our spirits haunt-
And with immortal meanings twined
More precious welcome ever find
From the deep heart of human-kind?

Words that ring on world without end,
Words that all woe and triumph blend,
--Broken, yet fragments where we scan
Mirror'd the perfect God and man—
Words whereunto we deem that even
All power because all truth is given-
We Christians only know of seven.

Three hours of an unfathom'd pain,
Of drops falling like summer rain,
Earth's sympathy and heaven's eclipse—
Three hours the pale and dying lips
By their mysterious silence teach
Things far more beautiful than speech
In depth or height can ever reach.

O kingly silence of our Lord!
O wordless wonder of the Word!

O hush, that while all heaven is awed,
Makes music in the ear of God!
Silence-yet with a sevenfold stroke
Seven times a wondrous bell there broke
Upon the cross, when Jesus spoke.

One word, one priestly word He saithThe advocacy of the death,

The mediation by the Throne

Wordless beginneth with that tone.
All the long music of the plea
That ever intercedes for me
Is set upon the self-same key.

One saving word-though love prevails
To hold Him faster than the nails,
And though the dying lips are white,
As foam seen through a dusky night :
That hand doth Paradise unbar,
Those white lips tell of a world afar,
Where perfect absolutions are.

One word, one human word-we lift
Our adoration for the gift