Lord, what ship goes forth to-day?
I see her setting West.
Shall she have thy winds aright,
Stars to guide her with their light,
Shall she sweep the seas to sight
Of land and harbour-rest?
I see her setting West.
Shall she have thy winds aright,
Stars to guide her with their light,
Shall she sweep the seas to sight
Of land and harbour-rest?
Awful is thy ocean-wrath,
And none can chart thy shoals
When storm unassuaging hath
Blotted sun and planet-path.
Shall she, Lord, escape the scath
And live, with all her souls?
And none can chart thy shoals
When storm unassuaging hath
Blotted sun and planet-path.
Shall she, Lord, escape the scath
And live, with all her souls?
For it is a beauteous thing
That ships should sail the sea.
Splendid is their plunge and swing
Into waves that foam and fling
Maelstroms at their bows to bring
Them down to destiny.
That ships should sail the sea.
Splendid is their plunge and swing
Into waves that foam and fling
Maelstroms at their bows to bring
Them down to destiny.
And she, too, courageous rides
Away into the gloom.
Now her lights are lost in tides
Of the windy spray that glides
Thro the darkness, Lord, abides
Thy Dove with her—or Doom?
Away into the gloom.
Now her lights are lost in tides
Of the windy spray that glides
Thro the darkness, Lord, abides
Thy Dove with her—or Doom?
I shall know perhaps some day,
Or, knowing not, recall
How my heart was fain to pray
For a ship that bravely lay
To her task: O Lord, so may
Each vessel of us all!
Or, knowing not, recall
How my heart was fain to pray
For a ship that bravely lay
To her task: O Lord, so may
Each vessel of us all!
THE CROSS OF THE SEPULCHRE
Within the Holy Sepulchre, breast-high,
There is a cross uncounted lips have kissed,
Millions the world to dust has long dismissed,
Millions that now hope of it but to die.
Pilgrims, I saw, from out far fervid lands
Of superstition, North and West and South,
Bend to it each a trembling, reverent mouth,
Then kneel where Christ was said to loose Death's bands.
And then I wondered if He who believed
In the One God were wounded sore by this,
Whether He shrinks at each ecstatic kiss,
Or knowing how humanity is grieved,
Knows too that it is better to give Hope
Than Truth, if only one is in man's scope.
There is a cross uncounted lips have kissed,
Millions the world to dust has long dismissed,
Millions that now hope of it but to die.
Pilgrims, I saw, from out far fervid lands
Of superstition, North and West and South,
Bend to it each a trembling, reverent mouth,
Then kneel where Christ was said to loose Death's bands.
And then I wondered if He who believed
In the One God were wounded sore by this,
Whether He shrinks at each ecstatic kiss,
Or knowing how humanity is grieved,
Knows too that it is better to give Hope
Than Truth, if only one is in man's scope.
THE NUN
A lone palm leans in the moonlight
Over a convent wall.
The sea below is waking and breaking
With quiet heave and fall.
A young nun sits at the window;
For Heaven she is too fair;
Yet even the Dove of God might nest
In her bosom beating there.
Over a convent wall.
The sea below is waking and breaking
With quiet heave and fall.
A young nun sits at the window;
For Heaven she is too fair;
Yet even the Dove of God might nest
In her bosom beating there.
A lone ship sails from the harbour:
Whom does it bear away?
Her lover who sin-hearted has parted
And left her but to pray?
She has no lover, nor ever
Has heard afar love's sigh.
Only the convent's vesper vow
Has ever dimmed her eye.
Whom does it bear away?
Her lover who sin-hearted has parted
And left her but to pray?
She has no lover, nor ever
Has heard afar love's sigh.
Only the convent's vesper vow
Has ever dimmed her eye.
For naught knows she of her beauty,
More than the palm of its peace;
And who beyond Christ's portal to mortal
Desires would bend her knees?
The ways of the World have flowers,
And any who will pluck those;
But let there ever be a place
Where none may pluck God's rose.
More than the palm of its peace;
And who beyond Christ's portal to mortal
Desires would bend her knees?
The ways of the World have flowers,
And any who will pluck those;
But let there ever be a place
Where none may pluck God's rose.
ALPINE CHANT
I'm tramping thro the mountains,
They are rising white around me,
Snow peaks like patriarchs
That Winter has enthroned.
I'm tramping up the valleys
Where the cataracts sound me
Thunders they have shrilly
From eternity intoned.
They are rising white around me,
Snow peaks like patriarchs
That Winter has enthroned.
I'm tramping up the valleys
Where the cataracts sound me
Thunders they have shrilly
From eternity intoned.
I'm tramping thro the mountains,
With the clouds for my companions,
Soft clouds that float and cling
From crag to cloven crag.
I'm passing by the chalets
That o'erhang the high cañons,
Passing where the shepherds
And the flocks they pipe to lag.
With the clouds for my companions,
Soft clouds that float and cling
From crag to cloven crag.
I'm passing by the chalets
That o'erhang the high cañons,
Passing where the shepherds
And the flocks they pipe to lag.
I'm tramping thro the mountains
Where the pines in proud procession
Climb like a hardy host
To halo-heights of sun.
I'm listening for the sallies
Of the avalanche's Hessian
Hurl of ice and granite
Into gulfs Avernian.
Where the pines in proud procession
Climb like a hardy host
To halo-heights of sun.
I'm listening for the sallies
Of the avalanche's Hessian
Hurl of ice and granite
Into gulfs Avernian.
I'm tramping thro the mountains
And the wind is yodling to me
Yearnings of the glaciers
To flow to summer lands.
I'm treading up the valleys
With no wanting to undo me—
For to-day I'm goalless
And the great God understands!
And the wind is yodling to me
Yearnings of the glaciers
To flow to summer lands.
I'm treading up the valleys
With no wanting to undo me—
For to-day I'm goalless
And the great God understands!
THE MAN OF MIGHT
No moment drooped between his thought and action,
No morrow died between his dream and deed.
Within his soul there was no fatal faction
That could betray him in his hour of need.
No morrow died between his dream and deed.
Within his soul there was no fatal faction
That could betray him in his hour of need.
IN TIME OF AWE
The fierce sea-sunset over the world
Springs like a wounded spirit,
The waves all day have hissed and hurled
Their fangs and the spray has swept and swirled,
And ships in the gray gale's lair have furled
Their sails—well may they fear it!
Springs like a wounded spirit,
The waves all day have hissed and hurled
Their fangs and the spray has swept and swirled,
And ships in the gray gale's lair have furled
Their sails—well may they fear it!
The night will be but a monstrous seethe
Of terrors elemental.
The clouds will wrap in a ghastly wreath
Of gloom the winds that in them breathe,
And all that lives in the sea beneath
By fear shall be made gentle;
Of terrors elemental.
The clouds will wrap in a ghastly wreath
Of gloom the winds that in them breathe,
And all that lives in the sea beneath
By fear shall be made gentle;
And sink down, down to the nether deeps,
Below the foam and fretting.
Down where the sullen water sleeps
Alway and the slow sand coldly creeps
Over the lone wreck, which Death keeps
To guard him 'gainst forgetting.
Below the foam and fretting.
Down where the sullen water sleeps
Alway and the slow sand coldly creeps
Over the lone wreck, which Death keeps
To guard him 'gainst forgetting.
And there in the ominous vast calm
They'll harbour, like enchanted
Chill shapes he has strangely conjured from
The silence of his masterdom;
There float till again they feel the qualm
Of hunger thro them panted.
They'll harbour, like enchanted
Chill shapes he has strangely conjured from
The silence of his masterdom;
There float till again they feel the qualm
Of hunger thro them panted.
And then once more far up will they spring,
To drift and sport and plunder,
Shark, eel and whale and devil-thing,
With tooth to rend and tail to sting.
To the sea, O God, does horror cling
And haunting past all wonder.
To drift and sport and plunder,
Shark, eel and whale and devil-thing,
With tooth to rend and tail to sting.
To the sea, O God, does horror cling
And haunting past all wonder.
SUNRISE IN UTAH
The dun sand-cliffs that break the desert's sea
Rose suddenly upon my sight at dawn,
And terrible in an eternity
Of death took silently the sunrise on.
Purple funereal from rifted skies
Swept down across their proud sterility,
Only to die as here all glory dies,
On barrenness I did not dream could be.
O God, for a bird-song! or opening lips
Of but one flower upon the fatal air,
For but the voice of water as it drips,
Or stir of leaves the day-wind makes aware!
O God, for these, for life! or from the face
Of the world wipe so irreparable a place!
Rose suddenly upon my sight at dawn,
And terrible in an eternity
Of death took silently the sunrise on.
Purple funereal from rifted skies
Swept down across their proud sterility,
Only to die as here all glory dies,
On barrenness I did not dream could be.
O God, for a bird-song! or opening lips
Of but one flower upon the fatal air,
For but the voice of water as it drips,
Or stir of leaves the day-wind makes aware!
O God, for these, for life! or from the face
Of the world wipe so irreparable a place!
CONSOLATION
I
Come to me, shadows, down the hill,
Lie softly at my feet.
The sun has worked his will
And the day is done.
Come to me softly and distil
Your dews and dreams, that heat
And hours of heartless glare have overrun.
Lie softly at my feet.
The sun has worked his will
And the day is done.
Come to me softly and distil
Your dews and dreams, that heat
And hours of heartless glare have overrun.
II
Come to me, shadows, down the hill
And bring with you the night,
Fire-flies and the whippoorwill
And ah, the moon—
Whose soft interpretings can still
The tangled tongues of right
And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon.
And bring with you the night,
Fire-flies and the whippoorwill
And ah, the moon—
Whose soft interpretings can still
The tangled tongues of right
And wrong, and hope and fear, that haunt the noon.
III
Come to me, shadows, down the hill—
And let there follow Sleep,
Which is God's tidal Will
That overflows
The world—obliterating ill,
And in its soothing sweep
Murmuring more of mercy than man knows.
And let there follow Sleep,
Which is God's tidal Will
That overflows
The world—obliterating ill,
And in its soothing sweep
Murmuring more of mercy than man knows.
WAVES
The evening sails come home
With twilight in their wings.
The harbour-light across the gloam
Springs;
The wind sings.
With twilight in their wings.
The harbour-light across the gloam
Springs;
The wind sings.
The waves begin to tell
The sea's night-sorrow o'er,
Weaving within their ancient spell
More
Than earth's lore.
The sea's night-sorrow o'er,
Weaving within their ancient spell
More
Than earth's lore.
VIS ULTIMA
There is no day but leads me to
A peak impossible to scale,
A task at which my hands must fail,
A sea I cannot swim or sail.
There is no night I suffer thro
But Destiny rules stern and pale:
And yet what I am meant to do
I will do, ere Death drop his veil.
A peak impossible to scale,
A task at which my hands must fail,
A sea I cannot swim or sail.
There is no night I suffer thro
But Destiny rules stern and pale:
And yet what I am meant to do
I will do, ere Death drop his veil.
MEREDITH
What am I reading? He is dead?
He the great interpreter
And seer—England's noblest head?
What am I reading? It is hushed?
The deepest voice that life had found
To read a century profound
With all time's seethe and stir?
He the great interpreter
And seer—England's noblest head?
What am I reading? It is hushed?
The deepest voice that life had found
To read a century profound
With all time's seethe and stir?
Why, it is but a scanty score
Of days, since, at his side,
Clasping his hand with more than pride,
I felt that the immortal tide
Of his great mind would long break o'er
The cold command of Death.
Still in my ear is echoing
The surf of his strong words, and still
Against the wild trees on the Hill
His cottage sheltered under,
I see the toss of his gray locks,
Like Lear's—for he had felt the sting
Of all too greatly giving
The kingdom of his mind to those
Who for it held him mad.
Of days, since, at his side,
Clasping his hand with more than pride,
I felt that the immortal tide
Of his great mind would long break o'er
The cold command of Death.
Still in my ear is echoing
The surf of his strong words, and still
Against the wild trees on the Hill
His cottage sheltered under,
I see the toss of his gray locks,
Like Lear's—for he had felt the sting
Of all too greatly giving
The kingdom of his mind to those
Who for it held him mad.
O England, guard thy living
Like him from a like fate!
For not the mighty thunder
Of thy proud name from all the rocks
Of all the world can compensate
A nation whom no Song makes glad,
And whom no Seer makes great.
Like him from a like fate!
For not the mighty thunder
Of thy proud name from all the rocks
Of all the world can compensate
A nation whom no Song makes glad,
And whom no Seer makes great.