not, but preach’d; and conscience did the rest.
XCVII
St. Paul
I dream’d that, with a passionate complaint,
I wish’d me born amid God’s deeds of might;
And envied those who had the presence bright
Of gifted Prophet and strong-hearted Saint,
Whom my heart loves, and Fancy strives to paint.
I turn’d, when straight a stranger met my sight,
Came as my guest, and did awhile unite
His lot with mine, and lived without restraint.
Courteous he was, and grave—so meek in mien,
It seem’d untrue, or told a purpose weak;
Yet, in the mood, he could with aptness speak,
Or with stern force, or show of feelings keen,
Marking deep craft, methought, or hidden pride:—
Then came a voice—“St. Paul is at thy side.”
XCVIII
Flowers Without Fruit
Prune thou thy words, the thoughts control
That o’er thee swell and throng;
They will condense within thy soul,
And change to purpose strong.
But he who lets his feelings run
In soft luxurious flow,
Shrinks when hard service must be done,
And faints at every woe.
Faith’s meanest deed more favour bears,
Where hearts and wills are weigh’d,
Than brightest transports, choicest prayers,
Which bloom their hour and fade.
XCIX
Zeal and Meekness
Christ bade His followers take the sword;
And yet He chid the deed,
When Peter seized upon His word,
And made a foe to bleed.
The gospel Creed, a sword of strife,
Meek hands alone may rear;
And ever Zeal begins its life
In silent thought and fear.
Ye, who would weed the Vineyard’s soil,
Treasure the lesson given;
Lest in the judgment-books ye toil
For Satan, not for heaven.
C
Vexations
Each trial has its weight; which, whoso bears
Knows his own woe, and need of succouring grace;
The martyr’s hope half wipes away the trace
Of flowing blood; the while life’s humblest cares
Smart more, because they hold in Holy Writ no place.
This be my comfort, in these days of grief,
Which is not Christ’s, nor forms heroic tale.
Apart from Him, if not a sparrow fail,
May not He pitying view, and send relief
When foes or friends perplex, and peevish thoughts prevail?
Then keep good heart, nor take the niggard course
Of Thomas, who must see ere he would trust.
Faith will fill up God’s word, not poorly just
To the bare letter, heedless of its force,
But walking by its light amid earth’s sun and dust.
CI
The Church in Prayer
Why loiterest within Simon’s walls,
Hard by the barren sea,
Thou Saint! when many a sinner calls
To preach and set him free?
Can this be he, who erst confess’d
For Christ affection keen,
Now truant in untimely rest,
The mood of an Essene?
Yet he who at the sixth hour sought
The lone house-top to pray,
There gain’d a sight beyond his thought,
The dawn of Gentile day.
Then reckon not, when perils lour,
The time of prayer mis-spent;
Nor meanest chance, nor place, nor hour,
Without its heavenward bent.
When first God stirr’d me, and the Church’s word
Came as a theme of reverent search and fear,
It little cost to own the lustre clear
Of truths she taught, and rite and rule she stored;
For conscience craved, and reason did accord.
Yet one there was that wore a mien austere,
And I did doubt, and, startled, ask’d to hear
Whose mouth had force to edge so sharp a sword.
My mother oped her trust, the holy Book;
And heal’d my pang. She pointed, and I found
Christ on Himself, considerate Master, took
The utterance of that doctrine’s fearful sound.
The Fount of Love His servants sends to tell
Love’s deeds; Himself reveals the sinner’s hell.
How didst thou start, Thou Holy Baptist, bid
To pour repentance on the Sinless Brow!
Then all thy meekness, from thy hearers hid,
Beneath the Ascetic’s port, and Preacher’s fire,
Flow’d forth, and with a pang thou didst desire
He might be chief, not thou.
And so on us at whiles it falls, to claim
Powers that we dread, or dare some forward part;
Nor must we shrink as cravens from the blame
Of pride, in common eyes, or purpose deep;
But with pure thoughts look up to God, and keep
Our secret in our heart.
CIV
James and John
Two brothers freely cast their lot
With David’s royal Son;
The cost of conquest counting not,
They deem the battle won.
Brothers in heart, they hope to gain
An undivided joy;
That man may one with man remain,
As boy was one with boy.
Christ heard; and will’d that James should fall,
First prey of Satan’s rage;
John linger out his fellows all,
And die in bloodless age.
Now they join hands once more above,
Before the Conqueror’s throne;
Thus God grants prayer, but in His love
Makes times and ways His own.
CV
Hora Novissima
Whene’er goes forth Thy dread command,
And my last hour is nigh,
Lord, grant me in a Christian land,
As I was born, to die.
I pray not, Lord, that friends may be,
Or kindred, standing by—
Choice blessing! which I leave to Thee
To grant me or deny.
But let my failing limbs beneath
My Mother’s smile recline;
And prayers sustain my labouring breath
From out her sacred shrine.
And let the Cross beside my bed
In its dread Presence rest:
And let the absolving words be said,
To ease a laden breast.
Thou, Lord, where’er we lie, canst aid;
But He, who taught His own
To live as one, will not upbraid
The dread to die alone.
CVI
Progress of Unbelief
Now is the Autumn
