A little child's wreath

XXXIV.

The lowliest timid creature that had life,
Had from the prophet tenderest look and word;
He saved the lambs from torture and the knife,
And bare them in his bosom like his Lord.

While furious men through blood to greatness won,
And women’s eyes with weeping still were wet,
He taught his “sister birds” their antiphon,
Or fondled “little brother leveret.”

Now in his native heaven serene he moves,
With comrades wise, benignant, courteous, kind,
With whatsoever succours, yearns and loves,
With men of godlike and of childlike mind;

And near him walks, familiar and at ease,

My angel-love, for he too was of these.

XXXV.

With him too gracious Pity made her home,
And furled her sad soiled wings in sweet content,
Forgetful that it is her lot to roam
From age to age in woeful banishment.

His small heart seemed to her no narrow space,
But, like God’s many mansions, wide and fair;
And so she chose it for a resting-place,
And hospitably she was harboured there.

And grateful for the boon, she taught him lore
Of heaven, and how the tender angels know
The merciful are blest for evermore,
Although the wise and prudent say not so;

And how God holds him least among the least

Who is not pitiful to bird and beast.

XXXVI.

Superbly still they vaunt their ancient pride,
Those lofty eyries of old Italy
That ruled the land when Francis lived and died,
Glorious in might, erect, and fair to see.

Perugia’s portals and Siena’s towers,
And dear Assisi’s walls that shine afar,
What seem they to this distant age of ours?—
Lairs of fierce men that took delight in war.

Yet, while we deprecate, our Europe groans
Beneath her armaments the livelong day;
Her peoples cry for bread—we give them stones,
And crush and curse with mailèd peace alway;

And still to Moloch babes are sacrificed

By men that call upon the name of Christ.

XXXVII.

Yea, lonely still and evermore without,
Shamed and forgotten by the weed-grown door,
Standeth the Christ, while rings the battle-shout,
While statesmen wrangle and while madmen roar.

Spurned is the lord of peace, his message spurned
As when his people thorns for solace gave;
As when Servetus or when Cranmer burned,
Or England dared to side against the slave.

Hark! from the savage wilds they go to tame
Hark, what discordant sounds affront the ear!
His very priests, contending in his name,
Make it a thing of hate and scorn and fear.

Only the child his loving liegeman is,

And lays a timid hand, consoled, in his.

XXXVIII.

Blest are the trusting eyes that close in sleep
Or e’er the soilure of the world they see;
And blest art thou—I feel it while I weep—
Yea, well is thee and happy shalt thou be.

Blest is the guileless heart that never guessed
How faith is tainted and how love defiled,
But only knew them fresh from God and dressed
In whiteness in the fancy of a child.

Blest is the voice that never strove nor cried,
Nor swerved from truth, nor raged in vain desire;
Blest is the hour in which our darling died,
Saved from the evil, rescued from the fire.

Bow we the head; cease we the piteous knell;

God is the judge, and doeth all things well.

XXXIX.

I do thee wrong to mourn thee; I blaspheme
The Power that gave thee joy, that gives thee rest,
And while I chafe and fret, and sigh and dream,
Lulls thee in slumber on its sheltering breast.

This earth was not for thee, oh, not for thee
The turmoil and the wearying storm and stress,
The hungering hope deferred for good to be,
The mocking shows, the maddening lovelessness.

Thou spirit-child, for soothing formed, not strife!
Thou gracious tender joy an instant given!
Thou didst but beautify and bless our life
A little while to perfect us for heaven;

And see, for us hath life become a prayer

That we may merit grace to meet thee there.

XL.

Rest, little love! rest well, my heart’s desire!
Sleep while the storm-winds blow, the furious rage;
Sleep till the foes of God and goodness tire;
Sleep till the earth fulfils her pilgrimage.

Sleep where the slender snowdrop bells in peace
Kiss the small crystals off the hoary grass;
Sleep where all angry things and hurtful cease,
Where calms brood ever and where tempests pass.

Hushed by the gracious hand of pitying death,
I hush thee too with my low song of praise;
Thou gentlest thing that ever yet drew breath,
My thanks for this thy rest to heaven I raise!

Content I leave with God what once I missed,

And keep upon thy grave my Eucharist.

Flowers of Parnassus

A Series of Famous Poems Illustrated

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LIST OF VOLUMES

Vol. I.: GRAY’S ELEGY AND ODE ON DISTANT PROSPECT OF ETON COLLEGE. With Twelve Illustrations by J. T. Friedenson.
Vol. II.: THE STATUE AND THE BUST. By Robert Browning. With Nine Illustrations by Philip Connard.
Vol III.: MARPESSA. By Stephen Phillips. With Seven Illustrations by Philip Connard.
Vol. IV.: THE BLESSED DAMOZEL. By D. G. Rossetti. With Eight Illustrations by Percy Bulcock.
Vol. V.: THE NUT-BROWN MAID. A New Version by F. B. Money-Coutts. With Nine Illustrations by Herbert Cole.
Vol. VI.: A DREAM OF FAIR WOMEN. By Alfred Tennyson. With Nine Illustrations by Percy Bulcock.
Vol. VII.: A DAY DREAM. By Alfred Tennyson. With Eight Illustrations by Amelia Bauerle.
Vol. VIII.: A BALLAD ON A WEDDING. By Sir John Suckling. With Nine Illustrations by Herbert Cole.
Vol. IX.: RUBÁIYÁT OF OMAR KHAYYÁM. Rendered into English Verse by Edward Fitzgerald. With Nine Illustrations by Herbert Cole.
Vol. X.: THE RAPE OF THE LOCK. By Alexander Pope. With Nine Illustrations by Aubrey Beardsley.
Vol. XI.: CHRISTMAS AT THE MERMAID. By Theodore Watts-Dunton. With Nine Illustrations by Herbert Cole.
Vol. XII.: SONGS OF INNOCENCE. By William Blake. With Nine Illustrations by Geraldine Morris.
Vol. XIII.: THE SENSITIVE PLANT. By Percy Bysshe Shelley. With Eight Illustrations by F. L. Griggs.
Vol. XIV.: ISABELLA; or, THE POT OF BASIL. By John Keats. With Illustrations.
Vol. XV.: WORDSWORTH’S GRAVE. By William Watson. With Illustrations by Donald Maxwell.
Vol. XVII.: LYCIDAS. By John Milton. With Eight Illustrations by Gertrude Brodie.
Vol. XVIII.: LINES COMPOSED A FEW MILES ABOVE TINTERN ABBEY. By William Wordsworth. With Eight Illustrations by Donald Maxwell.
Vol. XIX.: THE BUILDING OF THE SHIP. By Henry Longfellow. With Eight Illustrations by Donald Maxwell.
Vol. XX.: THE TOMB OF BURNS. By William Watson. With Nine Illustrations by D. Y. Cameron.
Vol. XXI.: A LITTLE CHILD’S WREATH. By Elizabeth Rachel Chapman. With an Introduction by Mrs. Meynell, and Illustrations by W. Graham Robertson.
Vol. XXII.: THE DEFENCE OF GUENEVERE. By William Morris. With Eight Illustrations by Jessie M. King.
Vol. XXIII.: KILMENY. By James Hogg. With Eight Illustrations by Mary Corbett.
Vol. XXIV.: ODE ON THE MORNING OF CHRIST’S NATIVITY. By John Milton. With Eight Illustrations by J. Collier James.
Vol. XXV.: THE BALLAD OF A NUN. By John Davidson. With Eight Illustrations by Paul Henry.
Vol. XXVI.: RESOLUTION AND INDEPENDENCE. By William Wordsworth. With Eight Illustrations by Donald Maxwell.

JOHN LANE, London & New York

TRANSCRIBER’S NOTES

Typos fixed; non-standard spelling and dialect retained.
Used numbers for footnotes.