But spring is floating up the southern skies,
And darkling the pale snowdrop waits below.
Let me persuade: in dull December’s day
We scarce believe there is a month of June;
But up the stairs of April and of May
The hot sun climbeth to the summer’s noon.
Yet hear me: I love God, and half I rest.
O better! God loves thee, so all rest thou.
He is our summer, our dim-visioned Best;-
And in his heart thy prayer is resting now.
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Merry, merry we well may be,
Long before, at the top of the stair,He set our angels a waiting there,Waiting hither and thither to fly,Tending the children of the sky,Lest they dash little feet against big stones,And tumble down and break little bones;For the path is rough, and we must not roam;We have learned to walk, and must follow him home!
All sights and sounds of day and year,
Are thine, O God, nor will I fearTo talk to thee of them.Too great thy heart is to despise,Whose day girds centuries about;From things which we name small, thine eyesSee great things looking out.Therefore the prayerful song I singMay come to thee in ordered words:Though lowly born, it needs not clingIn terror to its chords.I…
Why came in dreams the low-born man
In vain thy whispered message ran,Though justice was its quest!Did some young ignorant angel dare-Not knowing what must be,Or blind with agony of care-To fly for help to thee?I know not. Rather I believe,Thou, nobler than thy spouse,His rumoured grandeur didst receive,And sit with pondering brows,Until thy maidens’ gathered taleWith possible marvel teems:Thou sleepest, and…
Would-be prophets tell us
Them that walked our fellowsIn the ways below!Smoking, smouldering TophetsSteaming hopeless plaints!Dreary, mole-eyed prophets!Mean, skin-pledging saints!Knowing not the FatherWhat their prophecies!Grapes of such none gather,Only thorns and lies.Loving thus the brother,How the Father tell?Go without each otherTo your heavenly hell!
There may be seeming calm above, but no!-
A subterranean working, fiery hot,Deep in the million-hearted bosom, thoughEarthquakes unlock not the prodigious showOf elemental conflict; and this spotNurses most quiet bones which lie and rot,And here the humblest weeds take root and grow.There is a calm upon the mighty sea,Yet are its depths alive and full of being,Enormous bulks that move unwieldily;Yet, pore…
I.
Upon the passage-floor,Radiant and rich, profound and gayAs ever diamond bore.Small, flitting hands a handkerchiefSpread like a cunning trap:Prone lay the gorgeous jewel-sheafIn the glory-gleaner’s lap!Deftly she folded up the prize,With lovely avarice;Like one whom having had made wise,She bore it off in bliss.But ah, when for her prisoned gemsShe peeped, to prove them there,No…