310.

STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY.

Ring out old shapes of foul disease,
Ring out the narrowing lust of gold;
Ring out the thousand wars of old,
Ring in the thousand years of peace.

Ring in the valiant man and free,

The larger heart, the kindlier hand;
Ring out the darkness of the land-
Ring in the Christ that is to be.

-

STRIVE, WAIT, AND PRAY.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

STRIVE: yet I do not promise

The prize you dream of to-day
Will not fade when you think to grasp it,
And melt in your hand away;
But another and holier treasure,
You would now perchance disdain,
Will come when your toil is over,
And pay you for all your pain.

The hour you long for now

Will not come with its radiance vanished,

And a shadow upon its brow;

Yet, far through the misty future,

With a crown of starry light,

An hour of joy you know not

Is winging her silent flight.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.

Pray: though the gift you ask for
May never comfort your fears—
May never repay your pleading —

Yet pray, and with hopeful tears;
An answer, not that you long for,
But diviner will come one day;
Your eyes are too dim to see it,
Yet strive, and wait, and pray.

BREAK, BREAK, BREAK.

TENNYSON.

BREAK, break, break,

On thy cold gray stones, O sea!
And I would that my tongue could utter
The thoughts that arise in me.

O well for the fisherman's boy

That he shouts with his sister at play! O well for the sailor lad

That he sings in his boat on the bay!

And the stately ships go on

To the haven under the hill;

But O for the touch of a vanished hand,
And the sound of a voice that is still!

Break, break, break,

At the foot of thy crags, O sea!

But the tender grace of a day that is dead
Will never come back to me.

311

312

THE GIFTS OF GOD.

THE GIFTS OF GOD.

HERBERT.

WHEN God at first made man,

Having a glass of blessings standing by,
"Let us," said he, "pour on him all we can;
Let the world's riches, which disperséd lie,
Contract into a span."

So strength first made a way;

Then beauty flowed, then wisdom, honor, pleasure;
When almost all was out, God made a stay;
Perceiving that alone, of all his treasure,
Rest in the bottom lay.

"For if I should," said he, "Bestow this jewel also on my creature, He would adore my gifts instead of me, And rest in Nature, not the God of Nature; So both should losers be.

"Yet let him keep the rest,

But keep them with repining restlessness;
Let him be sick and weary, that at least,
If goodness lead him not, yet weariness
May toss him to my breast."

INCOMPLETENESS.

313

INCOMPLETENESS.

ADELAIDE A. PROCTER.

NOTHING resting in its own completeness,
Can have worth or beauty: but alone
Because it leads and tends to further sweetness,
Fuller, higher, deeper, than its own.

Spring's real glory dwells not in the meaning,
Gracious though it be, of her blue hours;
But is hidden in her tender leaning

Toward the summer's richer wealth of flowers.

Dawn is fair, because her mists fade slowly
Into day which floods the world with light;
Twilight's mystery is so sweet and holy,
Just because it ends in starry night.

Life is only bright when it proceedeth
Toward a truer, deeper Life above:
Human love is sweetest when it leadeth
To a more divine and perfect love.

Childhood's smiles unconscious graces borrow
From strife that in a far-off future lies;
And angel glances veiled now by life's sorrow,
Draw our hearts to some beloved eyes.

Learn the mystery of progression duly :

Do not call each glorious change decay; But know we only hold our treasures truly, When it seems as if they passed away.

314

THE RETURN OF YOUTH.

Nor dare to blame God's gifts for incompleteness;

In that want their beauty lies; they roll

Toward some infinite depth of love and sweetness, Bearing onward man's reluctant soul.

THE RETURN OF YOUTH.

BRYANT.

My friend, thou sorrowest for thy golden prime,
For thy fair youthful years, too swift of flight;
Thou musest with wet eyes upon the time

Of cheerful hopes that filled the world with light, – Years when thy heart was bold, thy hand was strong, And quick the thought that moved thy tongue to

speak,

And willing faith was thine, and scorn of wrong
Summoned the sudden crimson to thy cheek.

Thou lookest forward on the coming days, Shuddering to feel their shadow o'er thee creep: A path, thick-set with changes and decays,

Slopes downward to the place of common sleep; And they who walked with thee in life's first stage, Leave, one by one, thy side; and, waiting near, Thou seest the sad companions of thy age, Dull love of rest, and weariness, and fear.