If sorrow e'er this calm should break,
May even thy tears pass off so lightly, That like spring flowers, they'll only make The smiles that follow shine more brightly!
May Time, who sheds his blight o'er all,
And daily dooms some joy to death,
O'er thee let years so gently fall,
They shall not crush one flower beneath! As half in shade and half in sun,
This world along its path advances,
May that side the sun's upon
Be all that e'er shall meet thy glances !
ANGELS thy old friends there shall greet thee,
Glad at their own home now to meet thee.
All thy good works which went before,
And waited for thee at the door,
Shall own thee there and all in one
Weave a constellation
Of crowns, with which the King, thy spouse,
Shall build up thy triumphant brows
All thy old woes shall now smile on thee,
And thy pains set bright upon thee:
All thy sorrows here shall shine,
And thy suff'rings be divine.
Tears shall take comfort and turn gems,
And wrongs repent to diadems.
Ev'n thy deaths shall live, and new
Dress the soul, which late they slew.
Thy wounds shall blush to such bright scars,
As keep account of the Lamb's wars.
Those rare works, where thou shalt leave writ
Love's noble history, with wit
Taught thee by none but Him, while here
They feed our souls, shall clothe them there.
Each heavenly word, by whose hid flame
Our hard hearts shall strike fire, the same
Shall flourish on thy brows, and be
Both fire to us, and flame to thee:
Whose light shall live bright, in thy face
By glory, in our hearts by grace.
Thou shalt look round about, and see
Thousands of crown'd souls throng to be
Themselves thy crown, sons of thy vows:
The virgin births with which thy spouse
Made fruitful thy fair soul; go now,
And with them all about thee, bow
To Him, "Put on," He'll say, "put on,
My rosy love, that thy rich zone,
Sparkling with the sacred flames
Of thousand souls whose happy names
Heaven keeps upon thy score; thy bright
Life brought them first to kiss the light
That kindled them to stars." And so
Thou with the Lamb thy Lord shalt go,
And wheresoe'er He sets His white
Steps, walk with Him those ways of light,
Which who in death would live to see,
Must learn in life to die like thee.
RICHARD CRASHAW to S. TERESA.
September 25.
PENITENTIAL SHADOW.
A SPOTLESS child sleeps on the flowering moss-
'Tis well for him; but when a sinful man,
Envying such slumber, may desire to put
His guilt away, shall he return at once
To rest by lying there? Our sires knew well
(Spite of the grave discoveries of their sons)
The fitting course for such; dark cells, dim lamps,
A stone floor one may writhe on like a worm :
No mossy pillow blue with violets!
R. BROWNING, Paracelsus.
O EARTH, lie heavily upon her eyes :
Seal her sweet eyes weary of watching, Earth;
Lie close around her; leave no room for mirth,
With its harsh laughter, nor for sound of sighs.
She hath no questions, she hath no replies,
Hushed in and curtained with a blessed dearth
Of all that irked her from the hour of birth ;
With stillness that is almost Paradise.
Darkness more clear than noonday holdeth her,
Silence more musical than any song;
Even her very heart has ceased to stir :
Until the morning of Eternity
Her rest shall not begin nor end, but be;
And when she wakes she will not think it long.
WHO reade a chapter when they rise,
Shall ne'er be troubled with ill eyes.
Who shuts his hands, hath lost his gold :
Who opens it, hath it twice told.
Who goes to bed, and doth not pray,
Maketh two nights to ev'ry day.
Who by aspersions throw a stone
At th' head of others, hit their own.
Who looks on ground with humble eyes,
Finds himself there, and seeks to rise.
I STAND by the river where both of us stood,
And there is but one shadow to darken the flood;
And the path leading to it, where both used to pass,
Has the step but of one, to take dew from the grass,
One forlorn since that day.
The flowers of the margin are many to see;
None stoops at my bidding to pluck them for me.
The bird in the alder sings, loudly and long—
My low sound of weeping disturbs not his song,
As thy vow did, that day.
I stand by the river, I think of the vow;
Oh, calm as the place is, vow breaker, be thou!
I leave the flower growing, the bird unreproved;
Would I trouble thee rather than them, my beloved,-
And my lover that day?
Go, be sure of my love, by that treason forgiven,
Of my prayers, by the blessings they win thee from
Heaven;
Of my grief (guess the length of the sword by the sheath's),
By the silence of life, more pathetic than death's! Go-be clear of that day.
ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.
S. MICHAEL AND ALL ANGELS.
They led him, high applauded, and present
Before the seat supreme; from whence a voice,
From midst a golden cloud, thus mild was heard:-
"Servant of God, well done! Well hast thou fought
The better fight, who single hast maintained
Against revolted multitudes the cause
Of truth, in word mightier than they in arms,
And for the testimony of truth hast borne
Universal reproach, far worse to bear
Than violence; for this was all thy care-
To stand approv'd in sight of God, though worlds
Judged thee perverse.
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