Some day, which oft our hearts shall yearn to see, In some far year, though distant yet to be, Shall we indeed,-ye winds and waters, say! Meet yet again upon some future day? WHERE LIES THE LAND Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from ? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. On sunny noons upon the deck's smooth face; Linked arm in arm, how pleasant here to pace; Or, o'er the stern reclining, watch below The foaming wake far widening as we go. On stormy nights when wild north-westers rave, How proud a thing to fight with wind and wave! The dripping sailor on the reeling mast Exults to bear, and scorns to wish it past. Where lies the land to which the ship would go? Far, far ahead, is all her seamen know. And where the land she travels from ? Away, Far, far behind, is all that they can say. SAY NOT THE STRUGGLE NOUGHT AVAILETH Say not the struggle nought availeth, And as things have been they remain. : If hopes were dupes, fears may be liars ; It may be, in yon smoke concealed, Your comrades chase e'en now the fliers, And, but for you, possess the field. For while the tired waves, vainly breaking, And not by eastern windows only, When daylight comes, comes in the light, In front, the sun climbs slow, how slowly, But westward, look, the land is bright. THE HIDDEN LOVE O let me love my love unto myself alone, And know my knowledge to the world, unknown; No witness to my vision call, Beholding, unbeheld of all; And worship Thee, with Thee withdrawn apart, Whoe'er, whate'er Thou art, Within the closest veil of mine own inmost heart. What is it then to me If others are inquisitive to see ? Why should I quit my place to go and ask If other men are working at their task? Leave my own buried roots ts to 80% ! T And see that brother plants grow; And turn away from Thee, O Thou most Holy Light, Around their proper sun, Deserting Thee, and being undone. O let me love my love unto myself alone, And know my knowledge to the world *** unknown; t} .fi And worship Thee, O hid one, O much sought, As but man can or ought, Within the abstracted'st shrine of my least breathed-on thought. Better it were, thou sayest, to consent; Feast while we may, and live ere life be spent ; Close up clear eyes, and call the unstable sure, The unlovely lovely, and the filthy pure; In self-belyings, self-deceivings roll, And lose in Action, Passion, Talk, the soul. Nay, better far to mark off thus much air, And call it Heaven: place bliss and glory there; Fix perfect homes in the unsubstantial sky, And say, what is not, will be by-and-by. J. W. BURGON. 1813-1888 PETRA It seems no work of man's creative hand, By labour wrought as wavering fancy plann'd, But from the rock as if by magic grown, Eternal, silent, beautiful, alone! Not virgin-white like that old Doric shrine Where erst Athena held her rites divine ; Not saintly-grey, like many a Minster fane, That crowns the hill, and consecrates the plain ; But rosy-red as if the blush of dawn That first beheld them were not yet withdrawn. The hues of youth upon a brow of woe, Which man deemed old two thousand years ago, Match me such marvel save in Eastern clime, A rose-red city half as old as Time. REV. CHARLES KINGSLEY. FROM HYPATIA " That last drear mood Of envious sloth, and proud decrepitude; No faith, no art, no king, no priest, no God; While round the freezing founts of life in snarling ring Crouched on the bareworn sod, Babbling about the unreturning spring, And whining for dead gods, who cannot save, The toothless systems shiver to their grave. A FAREWELL My fairest child, I have no song to give you ; No lark could pipe to skies so dull and grey; ₹ [you, Yet, ere we part, one lesson I can leave For every day. |