“ He might have won the highest guerdon that heaven to earth can give,
For whoso falleth for justice—dying, he yet shall live.
He might have left us his memory to flame as a beacon light,
When clouds of the false world’s raising shut the stars of heaven from sight.
He might have left us his name to ring in our triumph song
When we stand, as we’ll stand at to-morrow’s dawn, by the grave of a world-old wrong.
For he gave thee, O mother of valiant sons, thou fair, and sore oppressed,
The love of his youth and his manhood’s choice—first-fruits of his life, and best. ”

“ I never hear the West wind sob softly in the trees [Pg 136]
But that there comes her broken call far o’er the distant seas;
And never shine the dim stars but that my heart would go
Away and back to olden lands and dreams of long ago.
A rover of the wide world, when yet my heart was young
The sea came whispering to me in well-beloved tongue,
And oh! the promises she held of golden lands a-gleam
That clung about my boy-heart and filled mine eyes with dream,
And Wanderlust came luring me till ’neath the stars I swore
That I would be a wanderer for ever, ever more. ”

“ They are there at the well from the dawn till the sea birds go home;
And the trees bending down with broad leaves offer spots that are shady,
Where the heart is at rest, sighing prayers till the shadows are come.
The brown beads and the crucifix pass in procession through fingers
That are pale as the snow or are hardened from labor and pain.
In each Ave they whisper the deep Celtic tenderness lingers,
Like a sweet phrase in song that is echoed and echoed again.
Marching down the white road with the sun in the noon of his splendor
Are the children, with joy in the blue of their innocent eyes ”

“ I dream all the songs that I sing;
And the music floats down the dim Valley,
Till each finds a word for a wing,
That to men, like the Dove of the Deluge,
A message of Peace they may bring.
But far on the deep there are billows
That never shall break on the beach;
And I have heard songs in the Silence
That never shall float into speech;
And I have had dreams in the Valley
Too lofty for language to reach.
And I have seen Thoughts in the Valley—
Ah, me! how my spirit was stirred!
And they wear holy veils on their faces,
Their footsteps can scarcely be heard ”

“ To Thee at evening.
Spring came, white-browed and young,
I, too, was young with Spring.
There was a blue, blue heaven
Above a skylark’s wing.
Youth is the time for joy,
I cried, it is not meet
To mount the heights of toil
With child-soft feet.
When Summer walked the land
In Passion’s red arrayed,
Under green sweeping boughs
My couch I made.
The noon-tide heat was sore,
I slept the Summer through;
An angel waked me—“Thou
Hast work to do.”
I rose and saw the sheaves
Upstanding in a row ”

“ For the man I made and breathed on, filled with my breath of breath,
Hath sown the seas with hatred, his skies are dark with death.
The babe is slain at the bosom, the babe who beholds my face;
A welter of woe he leaves it,—the dream of my love and grace.
“Love was the dower I gave him, love the light of his days,
Love the core of his being, love, and the upward gaze.
Hate is the meat he feeds on, hate is his daily bread:
His drink is the blood of his brother, whom Cain hath stricken dead. ”

“ Sadly I rose at dawn, undid the latch of my shutters,
Thinking to let in light, but I only let in love.
Birds in the boughs were awake; I listen’d to their chaunting;
Each one sang to his love; only I was alone.
This, I said in my heart, is the hour of life and pleasure.
Now each creature on earth has his joy, and lives in the sun,
Each in another’s eyes finds light, the light of compassion,
This is the moment of pity, this is the moment of love. ”

“ O trust not crafty fort nor rock renown’d
Earn’d upon hostile ground;
Wielding Trade’s master-keys, at thy proud will
To lock or loose its waters, England! trust not still.
Dread thine own power! Since haughty Babel’s prime,
High towers have been man’s crime.
Since her hoar age, when the huge moat lay bare,
Strongholds have been man’s snare.
Thy nest is in the crags; ah, refuge frail!
Mad counsels in its hour, or traitors, will prevail.
He who scann’d Sodom for His righteous men
Still spares thee for thy ten;
But, should vain tongues the Bride of Heaven defy,
He will not pass thee by ”

“ Kindler of Heaven’s true light within the soul!
From the lorn land our sainted fathers trod,
Ascends to Thee our cry of hope and dole.
Thee, Thee we praise;
To Thee we raise
Our choral hymn in these awakening days:
O send us down anew that fire
Which of old lived in David’s and Isaiah’s lyre.
Centuries had rolled, and earth lay tombed in sleep,
The nightmare-sleep of nations beneath kings;
And far abroad o’er liberty’s great deep
Death’s angel waved his black and stilling wings.
Then struck Thine hour! ”

“ And you shall hear of Fairyland, of Kings and Queens of Fairyland,
Of men and maids of Fairyland, and Love shall be the theme,
And straight before your brimming eyes, a golden glint of Paradise
Shall steal, My Dear, to still your sighs, and give you back your dream.
And you will taste of happiness, a tiny bit of happiness,
A wistful bit of happiness, upon a summer’s day;
And just a little smile from you, a sunny little smile from you,
A trembly little smile from you shall be a poet’s pay! ”

“ His horse, the horse of Heaven, goes forth,
Bearing him off to South and North,
Neighing far off, as one that sees
The battle over distances.
His fiery sword is never at rest,
His foot is in the stirrup prest;
Through all the world where wrong is done
Michael the Soldier rideth on.
Michael, Commander! Angels are
That sound the trumpet and that bear
The banners by the Throne, where is
The King one nameth on his knees.
Angels there are of peace and prayers,
And they that go with wayfarers,
And they that watch the house of birth,
And they that bring the dead from earth. ”

“ Dream-like they hovered, day by day.
At last they turned, and bore to me
Green signs of peace thro’ nightfall gray,
No shore forlorn, no loveliest land
Their gentle eye had left unscanned,
’Mid hues of twilight-heliotrope
Or daybreak fires by heaven-breath fanned
Quick visions of celestial grace,—
Hither they waft, from earth’s broad space,
Kind thoughts for all humanity,
They shine with radiance from God’s face.
Ah, since my heart they choose for home,
Why loose them,—forth again to roam?
Yet look; they rise with loftier scope
They wheel in flight toward Heaven’s pure dome. ”

“ To glorify my song;
[Pg 227]
And Dante’s voice and Petrarch’s strain
And Milton’s matchless line
Would lend to my poor minstrel note
A harmony divine.
Lady, I choose to be thy son;
For Mother thee I choose;
O, for thy sweet and holy Child,
Do not my claim refuse!
Alone and motherless am I:
Tho’ strong, I long for rest—
The thunder of the world’s applause
Is not a mother’s breast.
Ave Maria! Shield us all.
Thy sons we choose to be.
Mother of grace, we raise our hearts,
Our hearts, our love to thee! ”

“ I kneel on Holy Thursday with the faithful worshipping
Where Christ is throned in splendor as the sacramental King.
I ever will remember it, that wondrous full-blown rose
Among the burning tapers on the altar of repose.
O blessed among roses all, to bloom in beauty there,
To give your heart unto your God and in His glory share.
In quiet fields beyond the town, near where the river flows
There is a humble garden where a gentle rose-tree grows.
To-night Our Lord remembers on the altar of repose
This rose-tree in the fields afar, the mother of the rose. ”

“ Outshine the glow of heaven’s serenest star.
THE PILGRIM
By Eleanor Downing
Behind me lies the mistress of the East,
Golden in evening, fairy dome on dome
Poised and irised like the far-flung foam
Lashed on the ribs of some forsaken coast.
Wicked and lovely temptress, fruitless boast
Of all that man may build and little be,
Mart of the world’s base passions, where thy feast
Of shame was spread, thy sin encompassed me,
Where all desires and all dreams were rife
With lust of flesh and eye and pride of life,
Lo! I have reft thy carnal mastery—
I have gone forth and shut the gates of thee. ”

“ Joy may be yours, and blessed wealth;
Through vigils of the painful night,
Our spirits with your tempters fight:
For you, for you, we live alone,
Where no joy comes, where cold winds moan:
Nor friends have we, nor have we foes;
Our Queen is of the lonely Snows.
Ah! and sometimes, our prayers between,
Come sudden thoughts of what hath been:
Dreams! And from dreams, once more we fall
To prayer: God save, Christ keep, them all.
And thou, who knowest not these things,
Hearken, what news our message brings!
Our toils, thy joy of life forgot:
Our lives of prayer forget thee not. ”

“ My clayey best with sullen servile breath,
Made then your happy freedman by testating death.
My song I do but hold for you in trust,
I ask you but to blossom from my dust.
When you have compassed all weak I began,
Diviner poet, and ah! diviner man—
The man at feud with the perduring child
In you before song’s altar nobly reconciled—
From the wise heavens I half shall smile to see
How little a world, which owned you, needed me. ”

“ I see you rise at the dawn and light
The fire and blow till the flame is bright.
I see you take the pitcher and carry
The deep well-water for Jesus and Mary.
You knead the corn for the bread so fine,
Gather them grapes from the hanging vine.
There are little feet that are soft and slow,
Follow you whithersoever you go.
There’s a little face at your workshop door,
A little one sits down on your floor:
Holds His hands for the shavings curled,
The soft little hands that have made the world.
Mary calls you: the meal is ready:
You swing the Child to your shoulder steady. ”

“ Spirit of Twilight, you are like a song
That sleeps, and waits a singer,—like a hymn
That God finds lovely and keeps near Him long,
Till it is choired by aureoled cherubim.
Spirit of Twilight, in the golden gloom
Of dreamland dim I sought you, and I found
A woman sitting in a silent room
Full of white flowers that moved and made no sound.
These white flowers were the thoughts you bring to all,
And the room’s name is Mystery where you sit,
Woman whom we call Twilight, when night’s pall
You lift across our Earth to cover it.
TO A THRUSH
By T. A. Daly
Sing clear, O! ”

“ The eyes, that were so often cast
On vanity, are touched and healed.
From troublous sights and sounds set free
In such a twilight hour of breath,
Shall one retrace his life, or see,
Through shadows, the true face of death?
Vials of mercy! Sacring oils!
I know not where nor when I come,
Nor through what wanderings and toils,
To crave of you Viaticum.
Yet, when the walls of flesh grow weak,
In such an hour, it well may be,
Through mist and darkness, light will break,
And each anointed sense will see.
[Pg 58]
BENEDICTIO DOMINI
By Ernest Dowson
Without, the sullen noises of the street! ”

“ And didst thou die, dear Mother of our Life?
Sin had no part in thee; then how should death?
Methinks, if aught the great tradition saith
Could wake in loving hearts a moment’s strife
(I said—my own with her new image rife) ,
’Twere this. And yet ’tis certain, next to faith
Thou didst lie down to render up thy breath:
Though after the seventh sword, no meaner knife
Could pierce that bosom. ”

“ Sing courage to the mother,
Sing strength into the man,
For they, who in another May
Trod Hope’s scant wine from grapes of pain,
Have tasted in thy song to-day
The bitter-sweet red lees again.
To them in whose sad May-time thou
Sang’st comfort from thy maple bough, [Pg 37]
To tinge the presaged dole with sweet,
O! prophet then, be prophet now
And paraclete!
That fateful May! The pregnant vernal night
Was throbbing with the first faint pangs of day,
The while with ordered urge toward life and light,
Earth-atoms countless groped their destined way ”

“ Terrors of night and delay of light—prison and rack and sword.
[Pg 29]
For thee he bade death defiance—till the heavens opened wide,
And his face grew bright with reflex of light from the face of the Crucified.
And his crown was in sight and his palm in reach and his glory all but won,
And then—he failed—God help us! with the worst of dying done.
Only to die on the treacherous down by the hands of the tempters spread—
Nay, nay—make way for the strangers! we have no right in the dead. ”

“ That lies ’twixt “mine and thine”?
Hath he not said, “’Twere better for thee
If thine henceforth be mine”?
And so doth the Empire Builder,
From out of the ends of the earth,
Thro’ travail of war and of carnage
Bring strange, new realms to birth—
Realms builded on broken hearthstones,
The triumph of Rapine’s hour—
That one may boast in the halls of Fame
And sit in the seats of Power! II
This is the song of the Empire Builder,
Who built not of wasted lands,
But who builded a kingdom of golden deeds
And of things not made by hands! ”

“ Through the red rains rising beholds with startled vision
Sight such as man’s eye shall not see again.
For one there is dying, of his foes at last outnumbered,
One whose soul a sword was, shaped by God’s own hand,
One who guarded Ulaidh when all her knighthood slumbered,
Prone beneath the curse laid of old upon the land.
And dying so, alone, of all mortal aid forsaken,
Dead his peerless war steeds, dead his charioteer,
Yet the high splendor of his spirit all unshaken,
Shines morning-bright through the Death-mists drawing near. ”

“ I find nothing like thee for glory and power:
I can hardly believe that thou grewest on earth,
In the green fields of Juda, a scarce-noticed flower.
And is it not really eternal, divine?
Is it human, created, a glorified heart,
So like God, and not God? Ah, Maker of men,
We bless thee for being the God that thou art.
O Mary, what ravishing pageants I see,
What wonders and works centre round thee in heaven,
What creations of grace fall like light from thy hands,
What creator-like powers to thy prudence are given. ”

“ THE GRANDEURS OF MARY
By Frederick William Faber, D.D.
What is this grandeur I see up in heaven,
A splendour that looks like a splendour divine?
What creature so near the Creator is throned?
O Mary, those marvellous glories are thine.
But who would have thought that a creature could live
With the fires of the Godhead so awfully nigh?
Oh, who could have dreamed, mighty Mother of God,
That ever God’s power could have raised thee so high? ”

“ Of Eden’s prime when Heaven was linked with earth;
Unstained by Adam’s guilty forfeiture,
In her your long corrupted flesh made pure;
For of her, flesh of flesh and bone of bone,
Eternal Love builds up His stainless throne! VII
Rejoice and be glad this day!
In jubilation lay
Your tribute at her feet,
Spotless and most meet,
The mystic rose of Jesse’s root,
To bear the heavenly fruit;
Wisdom’s seat and Heaven’s gate,
Our surest advocate,
Mother of God immaculate! ”

“ The cup that drugs, the sword that slays,
The purchased kiss of courtesan,
The lying tongue of blame of praise,
The cobra’s fang, the tiger’s tongue,
The python’s murderous embrace—
The wrath of any living thing
A man may fear but bravely face.
But thou, cold Mother, knowest naught
Of love, of hate, or joy, or woe;
Thy bounties come to man unsought,
Thy curses fall on friend and foe.
Thou bearest balm upon thy breath,
Or sowest poison in the air;
And if man reapeth life or death,
Thou dost not know, thou dost not care. ”