WHEN I consider how my light is spent,

Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide,
And that one talent which is death to hide
Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent
To serve therewith my Maker, and present
My true account, lest he returning chide,
Doth God exact day-labour, light denied?
I fondly ask; but Patience, to prevent
That murmur, soon replies, God doth not need
Either man's work or his own gifts: who best
Bear his mild yoke, they serve him best; his state
Is kingly. Thousands at his bidding speed

And post o'er land and ocean without rest:
They also serve who only stand and wait.

J. MILTON.

32

LEE-HAMILTON

SUNKEN GOLD

IN dim green depths rot ingot-laden ships; And gold doubloons, that from the drowned hand fell,

Lie nestled in the ocean-flower's bell

With love's old gifts, once kissed by long-drowned lips;

And round some wrought gold cup the sea-grass whips,

And hides lost pearls, near pearls still in their shell, Where sea-weed forests fill each ocean dell

And seek dim sunlight with their restless tips.

So lie the wasted gifts, the long-lost hopes

Beneath the now hushed surface of myself,
In lonelier depths than where the diver gropes;

They lie deep, deep; but I at times behold
In doubtful glimpses, on some reefy shelf,
The gleam of irrecoverable gold.

E. LEE-HAMILTON.

THE dark and serious angel, who so long
Vexed his immortal strength in charge of me,
Hath smiled for joy and fled in liberty
To take his pastime with the peerless throng.
Oft had I done his noble keeping wrong,
Wounding his heart to wonder what might be
God's purpose in a soul of such degree;
And there he had left me but for mandate strong.

But seeing thee with me now, his task at close He knoweth, and wherefore he was bid to stay, And work confusion of so many foes: The thanks that he doth look for, here I pay, Yet fear some heavenly envy, as he goes Unto what great reward I cannot say.

O.G. SONNETS

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R. BRIDGES.

A WRETCHED thing it were, to have our heart
Like a broad highway or a populous street,
Where every idle thought has leave to meet,
Pause, or pass on, as in an open mart;
Or like some road-side pool, which no nice art
Has guarded that the cattle may not beat
And foul it with a multitude of feet,

Till of the heavens it can give back no part.
But keep thou thine a holy solitude,

For He, who would walk there, would walk alone;
He who would drink there, must be first endued
With single right to call that stream his own;
Keep thou thine heart close-fastened, unrevealed,
A fenced garden and a fountain sealed.

R. C. TRENCH.

TENNYSON TURNER

35

THE LATTICE AT SUNRISE

As on my bed at dawn I mused and prayed,
I saw my lattice prankt upon the wall,
The flaunting leaves and flitting birds withal-
A sunny phantom interlaced with shade;

Thanks be to heaven!' in happy mood I said, 'What sweeter aid my matins could befall Than this fair glory from the East hath made? What holy sleights hath God, the Lord of all, To bid us feel and see! we are not free

To say we see not, for the glory comes Nightly and daily, like the flowing sea; His lustre pierceth through the midnight glooms; And, at prime hour, behold! He follows me With golden shadows to my secret rooms!'

C. TENNYSON TURNER.