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Those of my own life, who by turns had flung
A shadow across me. Straightway I was 'ware,
So weeping, how a mystic Shape did move
Behind me, and drew me backward by the hair;
And a voice said in mastery, while I strove,—
"Guess now who holds thee?" "Death," I said.
But, there,

The silver answer rang,-" Not Death, but Love."

VI.

Go from me. Yet I feel that I shall stand
Henceforward in thy shadow. Nevermore
Alone upon the threshold of my door
Of individual life, I shall command
The uses of my soul, nor lift my hand
Serenely in the sunshine as before,

Without the sense of that which I forbore-
The widest land

Thy touch upon the palm.

Doom takes to part us, leaves thy heart in mine
With pulses that beat double. What I do
And what I dream include thee, as the wine
Must taste of its own grapes. And when I sue
God for myself, He hears that name of thine,
And sees within my eyes the tears of two.

XXXV.

If I leave all for thee, wilt thou exchange
And be all to me? Shall I never miss
Home-talk and blessing and the common kiss
That comes to each in turn, nor count it strange,
When I look up, to drop on a new range
Of walls and floors, another home than this?
Nay, wilt thou fill that place by me which is
Filled by dead eyes too tender to know change?
That's hardest. If to conquer love, has tried,
To conquer grief, tries more, as all things prove;

For grief indeed is love and grief beside.
Alas, I have grieved so I am hard to love.
Yet love me-wilt thou? Open thine heart wide,
And fold within the wet wings of thy dove.

XLIII.

How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.
I love thee to the depth and breadth and height
My soul can reach, when feeling out of sight
For the ends of Being, and ideal Grace.
I love thee to the level of everyday's
Most quiet need, by sun and candlelight.
I love thee freely, as men strive for Right;
I love thee purely, as they turn from Praise.
I love thee with the passion put to use

In my old griefs, and with my childhood's faith.
I love thee with a love I seemed to lose

With my lost saints,—I love thee with the breath, Smiles, tears, of all my life!—and, if God choose, I shall but love thee better after death.

Richard Chevenir Trench

1807-1886

I.

Some murmur when their sky is clear,
And wholly bright to view,

If one small speck of dark appear

In their great heaven of blue.
And some with thankful love are filled,
If but one streak of light,

One ray of God's good mercy, gild

The darkness of their night.

II.

In palaces are hearts that ask,
In discontent and pride,
Why life is such a dreary task,
And all good things denied.
And hearts in poorest huts admire
How love has in their aid
(Love that not ever seems to tire)
Such rich provision made.

Francis William Bourdillon

1852

THE NIGHT HAS A THOUSAND EYES

The night has a thousand eyes,

And the day but one;

Yet the light of the bright world dies
With the dying sun.

The mind has a thousand eyes,

And the heart but one;
Yet the light of a whole life dies
When love is done.

Ebenezer Elliott

1781-1849

A POET'S EPITAPH

Stop, Mortal! Here thy brother lies,

The Poet of the Poor.

His books were rivers, woods, and skies, The meadow, and the moor;

His teachers were the torn hearts wail,

The tyrant and the slave,
The street, the factory, the jail,
The palace and the grave!
Sin met thy brother everywhere!
And is thy brother blamed?
From passion, danger, doubt, and care,
He no exemption claim'd.

The meanest thing, earth's feeblest worm,
He fear'd to scorn or hate;

But, honouring in a peasant's form

The equal of the great,

He bless'd the Steward, whose wealth makes The poor man's little more;

Yet loath'd the haughty wretch that takes From plunder'd labour's store.

A hand to do, a head to plan,

A heart to feel and dare

Tell man's worst foes, here lies the man
Who drew them as they are.

PLAINT

Dark, deep, and cold the current flows
Unto the sea where no wind blows,
Seeking the land which no one knows.

O'er its sad gloom still comes and goes
The mingled wail of friends and foes,
Borne to the land which no one knows.

Why shrieks for help yon wretch, who goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Unto the land which no one knows?

Though myriads go with him who goes,
Alone he goes where no wind blows,
Unto the land which no one knows.

For all must go where no wind blows,
And none can go for him who goes;
None, none return whence no one knows.

Yet why should he who shrieking goes
With millions, from a world of woes,
Reunion seek with it, or those?

Alone with God, where no wind blows,
And Death, his shadow-doomed, he goes:
That God is there the shadow shows.

Oh, shoreless Deep, where no wind blows!
And, thou, oh, Land which no one knows!
That God is All, His shadow shows.

Charles Kingsley

1819-1875

THE DAY OF THE LORD

The Day of the Lord is at hand, at hand:
Its storms roll up the sky:

The nations sleep starving on heaps of gold;
All dreamers toss and sigh;

The night is darkest before the morn;
When the pain is sorest the child is born,
And the Day of the Lord at hand.

Gather you, gather you, angels of God-
Freedom, and Mercy, and Truth;

Come! for the Earth is grown coward and old,
Come down, and renew us her youth.

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