A LITTLE chamber, shadowed, still
As cave within a marble hill—
O Virgin Mother, thou dost fill
The little space, bent down in prayer!
Sudden, through tears, thou art aware
How One is standing at thy door,
As stood, some thirty years before,
The Angel when thy fear was sore.
As cave within a marble hill—
O Virgin Mother, thou dost fill
The little space, bent down in prayer!
Sudden, through tears, thou art aware
How One is standing at thy door,
As stood, some thirty years before,
The Angel when thy fear was sore.
O Virgin—Virgin-Mother now,
No creature half so still as thou,
With the black wimple round thy brow,
For He hath entered: very white
His body, lovely as first light.
Thou tremblest ... Mother, thou dost hear
An Ave stealing through thy fear,
As He who entered draweth near!
No creature half so still as thou,
With the black wimple round thy brow,
For He hath entered: very white
His body, lovely as first light.
Thou tremblest ... Mother, thou dost hear
An Ave stealing through thy fear,
As He who entered draweth near!
RECOGNITION
BREATH from the water, breath down from the moon,
A trembling influence between, so mild,
The water-hen makes tempest if she croon,
And fishers from the ship look forth beguiled:
They look on, careless of the reeds aswim,
And know not why they watch the shoreway dim;
A trembling influence between, so mild,
The water-hen makes tempest if she croon,
And fishers from the ship look forth beguiled:
They look on, careless of the reeds aswim,
And know not why they watch the shoreway dim;
Why watch the single form that moves along,
So dark in nobleness of solitude,
By the lake-side, and gathers from among
The rushes fallen rush as fuel rude.
One from the ship bows forwards in the night....
What makes that fisher’s face so gaily white?
So dark in nobleness of solitude,
By the lake-side, and gathers from among
The rushes fallen rush as fuel rude.
One from the ship bows forwards in the night....
What makes that fisher’s face so gaily white?
A voice comes to them: “Children, have ye caught
All the night nothing?” And the voice entreats:
“Stretch forth your nets!”—Behold, the nets are fraught,
Once dipped, with fish, a silver dance, that beats
Against the trellis.... And John’s face shines now
As Lucifer, the Dawn-star, from the prow.
All the night nothing?” And the voice entreats:
“Stretch forth your nets!”—Behold, the nets are fraught,
Once dipped, with fish, a silver dance, that beats
Against the trellis.... And John’s face shines now
As Lucifer, the Dawn-star, from the prow.
VENIT JESUS
(In the Confessional)
“Peace be to you!”—The door is closed.
“Peace be to you!”—Only His Wounds lie wide,
His Wounds in hands, and side.
And feet, His Wounds exposed.
And I rejoice
At His still hands and at the voice
Of the Wounds calling through twilight;
For here the day is almost night,
In its severe and curtained dark....
But I rejoice to hark
What on His priest He whispers low,
Breathing the breath of power through day’s eclipse,
A sigh on all the place
As of creation on the waters’ face:
“Receive the Holy Spirit! All the sins
You shall remit, remitted are,
And those you shall retain, they are retained.”
Listen! The empery this chamber wins!
A Law moves here as peaceful as a star
Moves on the circle of its sway ordained.
Here let me kneel, and every struggle cease!
Here the dark Wounds bleed over me in peace:
Here God hath come to bless me at nightfall,
With words of consolation that appal,
For I had left Him, as the gathered few
Of His disciples He passed, darkling, through:
And yet He came to them as comes a dew....
O bounty of such stillness!—“Peace to you!”
“Peace be to you!”—Only His Wounds lie wide,
His Wounds in hands, and side.
And feet, His Wounds exposed.
And I rejoice
At His still hands and at the voice
Of the Wounds calling through twilight;
For here the day is almost night,
In its severe and curtained dark....
But I rejoice to hark
What on His priest He whispers low,
Breathing the breath of power through day’s eclipse,
A sigh on all the place
As of creation on the waters’ face:
“Receive the Holy Spirit! All the sins
You shall remit, remitted are,
And those you shall retain, they are retained.”
Listen! The empery this chamber wins!
A Law moves here as peaceful as a star
Moves on the circle of its sway ordained.
Here let me kneel, and every struggle cease!
Here the dark Wounds bleed over me in peace:
Here God hath come to bless me at nightfall,
With words of consolation that appal,
For I had left Him, as the gathered few
Of His disciples He passed, darkling, through:
And yet He came to them as comes a dew....
O bounty of such stillness!—“Peace to you!”
ASCENSION
FINE, jealous, in suspicion as a child,
In jealousy more infinitely wild,
Forth to us from Thy Father Thou didst come:
Now to Thy Father in His home
Ascend—to the Beginning and the Dawn!
Pass to the East,
New-born our priest—
The East,
And where the rose is born!
In jealousy more infinitely wild,
Forth to us from Thy Father Thou didst come:
Now to Thy Father in His home
Ascend—to the Beginning and the Dawn!
Pass to the East,
New-born our priest—
The East,
And where the rose is born!
CONFLUENCE
Genitori genitoque
Laus et jubilatio.
Laus et jubilatio.
ONE—from the limits of the sky, whence rain
And sun and dew come down,
Moveth, a sheet of fire, and in His train,
Where the flames ripple brown,
Are spirits to be born
Into the Earth, dim creatures slender,
Girt in the train of Him whose brows are tender,
Compulsive, sweet as in the strength of morn.
And sun and dew come down,
Moveth, a sheet of fire, and in His train,
Where the flames ripple brown,
Are spirits to be born
Into the Earth, dim creatures slender,
Girt in the train of Him whose brows are tender,
Compulsive, sweet as in the strength of morn.
IMPLE SUPERNA GRATIA
WE may enter far into a rose,
Parting it, hut the bee deeper still:
With our eyes we may even penetrate
To a ruby and our vision fill;
Though a beam of sunlight deeper knows
How the ruby’s heart-rays congregate.
Parting it, hut the bee deeper still:
With our eyes we may even penetrate
To a ruby and our vision fill;
Though a beam of sunlight deeper knows
How the ruby’s heart-rays congregate.
WORDS OF THE BRIDEGROOM
YE who would follow Me with song,
My heavenly bodyguard, My throng
Of happy throats, with voices free
As birds in deep-wood secrecy;
Ye who would be the core of Heaven round Me,
And therefore songsters of felicity
Beyond all ranges of the singing
That myriad voices of the Blessed are flinging
In skylark madness to Me distantly;
My Virgins, My delight and neighbourhood,
The white flowers of My Precious Blood,
Through whom it rises up and yields
Fragrance to Me of lily-fields;
How shall ye keep the whiteness of your vow?
My Virgins, My white Brides, I whisper how:
Of Virgin flesh, a Virgin God,
Incarnate among men I trod;
And when as Bread they feed on Me
Needs must that Bread be of Virginity.
Feed at My altar, My white Doves,
Feed on the Bread My Mother loves!
My heavenly bodyguard, My throng
Of happy throats, with voices free
As birds in deep-wood secrecy;
Ye who would be the core of Heaven round Me,
And therefore songsters of felicity
Beyond all ranges of the singing
That myriad voices of the Blessed are flinging
In skylark madness to Me distantly;
My Virgins, My delight and neighbourhood,
The white flowers of My Precious Blood,
Through whom it rises up and yields
Fragrance to Me of lily-fields;
How shall ye keep the whiteness of your vow?
My Virgins, My white Brides, I whisper how:
Of Virgin flesh, a Virgin God,
Incarnate among men I trod;
And when as Bread they feed on Me
Needs must that Bread be of Virginity.
Feed at My altar, My white Doves,
Feed on the Bread My Mother loves!
A MAGIC MIRROR
THOU art in the early youth
Of Thy mission, Thou the Truth:
Thy young eyes behold the glory
Of the lilies’ burnished story
That the lovely dress they don
Vaunts it over Solomon.
Fields of lilies and of corn
Thou dost tarry through at dawn,
Seeing in their life a spell,
Drawing it as grace to dwell
In Thy first disciples’ eyes.
We of far-off centuries
See Thee on the cornfields’ sod,
Mid the lily-heads, a God
Young and dumb as yet of grief.
Lo, although the time is brief,
All the heavenly things, Thou must
Suffer, because Love is just
To a perfect building’s measure,
Thou hast buried under pleasure
Of Thy heart incarnate mid
Youths Thou call’st and forces hid
With fresh flowers and stems of gold.
Yet Thy vision, waxing bold
Through the Truth, amid the light
Of this world’s green, gold and white,
Sees a desert stretch away,
Stretched on its upheavals gray,
Round a serpent lifted high
In untarnishable sky.
Thou dost see that serpent high
In untarnishable sky:
And with ruddy lips dost say
How the Son of Man one day
Must be lifted for Love’s sake.
Thy bright eyes, so clear awake,
See Thy Body lifted high
As a serpent’s in the sky.
Day by day Thou see’st Thy Cross—
Yet the cornfields are not dross;
Nor the lilies, kinglike clad,
Grave-clothes of a weaving sad.
Life for lily-flowers too fair—
No sustaining corn may share—
Thou dost hail for those who gaze
On the serpent’s lifted maze.
Feeder among Lilies, Bread
To Thy multitudes outspread,
Let me love Thy pasture, all
Bliss that round my life may fall,
Though my eyes and voice, as Thine,
Witness the raised serpent’s twine.
Of Thy mission, Thou the Truth:
Thy young eyes behold the glory
Of the lilies’ burnished story
That the lovely dress they don
Vaunts it over Solomon.
Fields of lilies and of corn
Thou dost tarry through at dawn,
Seeing in their life a spell,
Drawing it as grace to dwell
In Thy first disciples’ eyes.
We of far-off centuries
See Thee on the cornfields’ sod,
Mid the lily-heads, a God
Young and dumb as yet of grief.
Lo, although the time is brief,
All the heavenly things, Thou must
Suffer, because Love is just
To a perfect building’s measure,
Thou hast buried under pleasure
Of Thy heart incarnate mid
Youths Thou call’st and forces hid
With fresh flowers and stems of gold.
Yet Thy vision, waxing bold
Through the Truth, amid the light
Of this world’s green, gold and white,
Sees a desert stretch away,
Stretched on its upheavals gray,
Round a serpent lifted high
In untarnishable sky.
Thou dost see that serpent high
In untarnishable sky:
And with ruddy lips dost say
How the Son of Man one day
Must be lifted for Love’s sake.
Thy bright eyes, so clear awake,
See Thy Body lifted high
As a serpent’s in the sky.
Day by day Thou see’st Thy Cross—
Yet the cornfields are not dross;
Nor the lilies, kinglike clad,
Grave-clothes of a weaving sad.
Life for lily-flowers too fair—
No sustaining corn may share—
Thou dost hail for those who gaze
On the serpent’s lifted maze.
Feeder among Lilies, Bread
To Thy multitudes outspread,
Let me love Thy pasture, all
Bliss that round my life may fall,
Though my eyes and voice, as Thine,
Witness the raised serpent’s twine.
DESCENT FROM THE CROSS
COME down from the Cross, my soul, and save thyself—come down!
Thou wilt be free as wind. None meeting thee will know
How thou wert hanging stark, my soul, outside the town.
Thou wilt fare to and fro;
Thy feet in grass will smell of faithful thyme; thy head ...
Think of the thorns, my soul—how thou wilt cast them off,
With shudder at the bleeding clench they hold!
But on their wounds thou wilt a balsam spread,
And over that a verdurous circle rolled
With gathered violets, sweet bright violets, sweet
As incense of the thyme on thy free feet;
A wreath thou wilt not give away, nor wilt thou doff.
Thou wilt be free as wind. None meeting thee will know
How thou wert hanging stark, my soul, outside the town.
Thou wilt fare to and fro;
Thy feet in grass will smell of faithful thyme; thy head ...
Think of the thorns, my soul—how thou wilt cast them off,
With shudder at the bleeding clench they hold!
But on their wounds thou wilt a balsam spread,
And over that a verdurous circle rolled
With gathered violets, sweet bright violets, sweet
As incense of the thyme on thy free feet;
A wreath thou wilt not give away, nor wilt thou doff.
Come down from the Cross, my soul, and save thyself; yea, move
As scudding swans pass lithely on a seaward stream!
Thou wilt have everything thou wert made great to love;
Thou wilt have ease for every dream;
No nails with fang will hold thy purpose to one aim;
There will be arbours round about thee, not one trunk
Against thy shoulders pressed and burning them with hate,
Yea, burning with intolerable flame.
O lips, such noxious vinegar have drunk,
There are through valley-woods and mountain-glades
Rivers where thirst in naked prowess wades;
And there are wells in solitude whose chill no hour abates!
As scudding swans pass lithely on a seaward stream!
Thou wilt have everything thou wert made great to love;
Thou wilt have ease for every dream;
No nails with fang will hold thy purpose to one aim;
There will be arbours round about thee, not one trunk
Against thy shoulders pressed and burning them with hate,
Yea, burning with intolerable flame.
O lips, such noxious vinegar have drunk,
There are through valley-woods and mountain-glades
Rivers where thirst in naked prowess wades;
And there are wells in solitude whose chill no hour abates!
Come down from the Cross, my soul, and save thyself! A sign
Thou wilt become to many, as a shooting star.
They will believe thou art æthereal, divine,
When thou art where they are;
They will believe in thee and give thee feasts and praise.
They will believe thy power when thou hast loosed thy nails;
For power to them is fetterless and grand:
For destiny to them, along their ways,
Is one whose Earthly Kingdom never fails.
Thou wilt be as a prophet or a king
In thy tremendous term of flourishing—
And thy hot royalty with acclamations fanned.
Thou wilt become to many, as a shooting star.
They will believe thou art æthereal, divine,
When thou art where they are;
They will believe in thee and give thee feasts and praise.
They will believe thy power when thou hast loosed thy nails;
For power to them is fetterless and grand:
For destiny to them, along their ways,
Is one whose Earthly Kingdom never fails.
Thou wilt be as a prophet or a king
In thy tremendous term of flourishing—
And thy hot royalty with acclamations fanned.
Come down from the Cross, my soul, and save thyself!... Beware!
Art thou not crucified with God, who is thy breath?
Wilt thou not hang as He while mockers laugh and stare?
Wilt thou not die His death?
Wilt thou not stay as He with nails and thorns and thirst?
Wilt thou not choose to conquer faith in His lone style?
Wilt thou not be with Him and hold thee still?
Voices have cried to Him, Come down! Accursed
And vain those voices, striving to beguile!
How heedless, solemn-gray in powerful mass,
Christ droops among the echoes as they pass!
O soul, remain with Him, with Him thy doom fulfil!
Art thou not crucified with God, who is thy breath?
Wilt thou not hang as He while mockers laugh and stare?
Wilt thou not die His death?
Wilt thou not stay as He with nails and thorns and thirst?
Wilt thou not choose to conquer faith in His lone style?
Wilt thou not be with Him and hold thee still?
Voices have cried to Him, Come down! Accursed
And vain those voices, striving to beguile!
How heedless, solemn-gray in powerful mass,
Christ droops among the echoes as they pass!
O soul, remain with Him, with Him thy doom fulfil!
UNSURPASSED
LORD Jesus, Thou didst come to us, to man,
From Godhead’s open golden Halls,
From Godhead’s hidden Throne
Of glory, no imagination can
Achieve, and it must glow alone,
Behind a cloud that falls
Over the Triune Perfectness its voice
Of thunder, making Cherubim rejoice,
And Seraphim as doves in rapture moan.
From Godhead’s open golden Halls,
From Godhead’s hidden Throne
Of glory, no imagination can
Achieve, and it must glow alone,
Behind a cloud that falls
Over the Triune Perfectness its voice
Of thunder, making Cherubim rejoice,
And Seraphim as doves in rapture moan.
Yet Thou didst come to us a wailing child,
Homeless, tied up in swaddling-clothes,
To live in poverty
And by the road: then, with detractions piled,
And infamies of misery
From scourge and thorns and blows,
To die a felon fastened into wood
By nails that in their jeering harshness could
Clamp vermin of the forests to a tree.
Homeless, tied up in swaddling-clothes,
To live in poverty
And by the road: then, with detractions piled,
And infamies of misery
From scourge and thorns and blows,
To die a felon fastened into wood
By nails that in their jeering harshness could
Clamp vermin of the forests to a tree.
And Thou dost come to us from Heaven each day,
Obeying words that call Thee down
On mortal lips; and Thou,
Jesus, dost suffer mortal power to slay
Its God in sacrifice: dost bow
Thy bright Supremacy to lose its Crown,
Closed in a prison, yet through Godhead free
To every insult, gibe and contumely—
Come from Forever to be with us Now.
Obeying words that call Thee down
On mortal lips; and Thou,
Jesus, dost suffer mortal power to slay
Its God in sacrifice: dost bow
Thy bright Supremacy to lose its Crown,
Closed in a prison, yet through Godhead free
To every insult, gibe and contumely—
Come from Forever to be with us Now.
So Thou dost come to us. But when at last
Thou callest us to come to Thee,
We only have to die,
Only from weary bones our flesh to cast,
Only to give a bitter cry;
Yea, but a little while to see
Our beauty falling from us, in its fall
Destined to lose its suasions that enthral,
Destined to be as any gem put by.
Thou callest us to come to Thee,
We only have to die,
Only from weary bones our flesh to cast,
Only to give a bitter cry;
Yea, but a little while to see
Our beauty falling from us, in its fall
Destined to lose its suasions that enthral,
Destined to be as any gem put by.
We but fulfil our stricken Nature’s law
To fail and to consume and end;
While Thou dost come and break,
Coming to us, Thy Nature with a flaw
Of death and for our mortal sake
Thou dost Thy awful wholeness rend.
Oh, let me run to Thee, as runs a wind,
That leaves the withered trees, it moved, behind,
And triumphs forward, careless of its wake!
To fail and to consume and end;
While Thou dost come and break,
Coming to us, Thy Nature with a flaw
Of death and for our mortal sake
Thou dost Thy awful wholeness rend.
Oh, let me run to Thee, as runs a wind,
That leaves the withered trees, it moved, behind,
And triumphs forward, careless of its wake!
WASTING
I NEED Thee, O my Food,
O Christ, for whom I pine fourteen long days—
And, as the time delays,
More sad my mood,
More faint my powers;
Like that poor Beast of fairy-tale,
Who by the fountain cowers,
Reft of his Beauty, his poor love’s avail,
By whom he lives, and, missing, dies
By inches, at the fountain, with wan eyes!
O Christ, for whom I pine fourteen long days—
And, as the time delays,
More sad my mood,
More faint my powers;
Like that poor Beast of fairy-tale,
Who by the fountain cowers,
Reft of his Beauty, his poor love’s avail,
By whom he lives, and, missing, dies
By inches, at the fountain, with wan eyes!
THE HOUR OF NEED
O MOTHER of my Lord,
Beautiful Mary, aid!
He, whom thy will adored,
When thy body was afraid,
Is coming in my flesh to dwell—
Pray for me, Mary ... and white Gabriel!
Beautiful Mary, aid!
He, whom thy will adored,
When thy body was afraid,
Is coming in my flesh to dwell—
Pray for me, Mary ... and white Gabriel!
To thee He came a child,
To me He comes as wheat:
And He descended mild
To His Mother, as was meet.
To me He comes where sin hath been ...
Gabriel, sweep thy lily-stem between!
To me He comes as wheat:
And He descended mild
To His Mother, as was meet.
To me He comes where sin hath been ...
Gabriel, sweep thy lily-stem between!
He came, O Mary, down
To bless thy virgin womb:
From me He sweeps God’s frown,
And He lifts me from a tomb.
Thou wert afraid.... Have grace toward me!
Help me, O Mary! Gabriel, hearten me!
To bless thy virgin womb:
From me He sweeps God’s frown,
And He lifts me from a tomb.
Thou wert afraid.... Have grace toward me!
Help me, O Mary! Gabriel, hearten me!
EXTREME UNCTION
SOFT fall the Holy Oils, their drip
Peaceful as Jesus sleeping on the ship.
Our eyes, so restless and so full of grip,
Reflecting as the sea,
Give up their range and their possession, free
As if to sleep—the sleep of Deity.
Peaceful as Jesus sleeping on the ship.
Our eyes, so restless and so full of grip,
Reflecting as the sea,
Give up their range and their possession, free
As if to sleep—the sleep of Deity.
Upon the ears a lull that dowers
With gentleness of bees in laurel-flowers;
So that it gives to Quiet breeding powers,
A future wrought of gold,
When we shall hear what never hath been told,
And fathom sound it takes all heaven to hold.
With gentleness of bees in laurel-flowers;
So that it gives to Quiet breeding powers,
A future wrought of gold,
When we shall hear what never hath been told,
And fathom sound it takes all heaven to hold.
Oh, softness on the nostrils, where they strained
After their airy lusts till they attained;
Now, by the Cross of balm so softly reined,
They wait to breathe for breath
The vigour of their God, as a shell saith,
Left on the beach, “The brine will wake my death.”
After their airy lusts till they attained;
Now, by the Cross of balm so softly reined,
They wait to breathe for breath
The vigour of their God, as a shell saith,
Left on the beach, “The brine will wake my death.”
The lips receive no coal of fire
To urge their fervent crying should not tire;
A tender Cross gives check to such desire,
And bids them wait their song,
Till they are far from peril and among
The consonant and ever-praising throng.
To urge their fervent crying should not tire;
A tender Cross gives check to such desire,
And bids them wait their song,
Till they are far from peril and among
The consonant and ever-praising throng.
The hands, the feet ... O Jesus, all
Marked with Thy Cross, but as a dream may fall
In mercy on a mind great woes appal—
A healing shade,
A priestly grace, so soft the Cross is made,
Embracing, by the nails we are not frayed.
Marked with Thy Cross, but as a dream may fall
In mercy on a mind great woes appal—
A healing shade,
A priestly grace, so soft the Cross is made,
Embracing, by the nails we are not frayed.
AFTER ANOINTING
JOY of the senses, joy of all
And each of them, as fall
The Holy Oils!... O senses, ye would dance,
Would circle what ye cannot see,
Nor hear, nor smell, nor taste, nor touch,
Yet ye receive of your felicity,
Till ye would reel and dance;
The joy apparent from your bliss being such
That, in a fivefold garland knit,
Softly ye would circle it.
And each of them, as fall
The Holy Oils!... O senses, ye would dance,
Would circle what ye cannot see,
Nor hear, nor smell, nor taste, nor touch,
Yet ye receive of your felicity,
Till ye would reel and dance;
The joy apparent from your bliss being such
That, in a fivefold garland knit,
Softly ye would circle it.
Joy ripples through each covered lid;
Nor are the ears forbid
Sounds as of honeycomb, so sweet is Heaven
Afar, such sweet, such haunting sound!
O nostrils, myrtle ye shall love!
The lips taste fully, as if God were found.
Swift, under peace, toward Heaven
The hands, the feet, so still, like still lakes move,
Delighted Powers of Sense, ye dance,
Woven in such a lovely chance!
Nor are the ears forbid
Sounds as of honeycomb, so sweet is Heaven
Afar, such sweet, such haunting sound!
O nostrils, myrtle ye shall love!
The lips taste fully, as if God were found.
Swift, under peace, toward Heaven
The hands, the feet, so still, like still lakes move,
Delighted Powers of Sense, ye dance,
Woven in such a lovely chance!
VIATICUM
O HEART, that burns within,
Illuminated, hot!
O feet, that tread the road
As if they trod it not—
So lifted and so winged
By rare companionship!
No matter tho’ the road
Doth unto shadow dip;
The meaning of the night
My ears, attentive, hail.
The mighty silence brings
Music no nightingale
Hath warbled from its fount;
Music of holy things
Made clear as song can make,
With marvellous utterings:
The Past become a joy
Of instant clarity,
As the deep evening fills
With converse brimmingly.
O nightingale, hold back
Your wildest song’s discant;
You cannot make my heart
With such devotion pant
As He who steps along
Beside me in the shade,
Down the steep valley-road,
The enveloping, dark glade!
Hush, O dim nightingale!...
Is it my God whose Feet
Wing mine to travel on;
Whose voice in current sweet
Shows how divine the thought
And purpose is of all
That hath been and shall be,
And shall to me befall?
Stay, nightingale! Behold!
This Wayfarer, with strange,
Wild Voice that rouses gloom
Thy voice could never range,
Hath broken Bread with me!
No resinous, balmed shrine
Glows from its core as I,
When I behold His sign,
And touch His offering Hand.
O holiest journey, sped
With Him who died for me,
Who breaking with me Bread,
Is known to me as Life,
Is felt by me as Fire;
Who is my Way and all
My wayfaring’s Desire!
Illuminated, hot!
O feet, that tread the road
As if they trod it not—
So lifted and so winged
By rare companionship!
No matter tho’ the road
Doth unto shadow dip;
The meaning of the night
My ears, attentive, hail.
The mighty silence brings
Music no nightingale
Hath warbled from its fount;
Music of holy things
Made clear as song can make,
With marvellous utterings:
The Past become a joy
Of instant clarity,
As the deep evening fills
With converse brimmingly.
O nightingale, hold back
Your wildest song’s discant;
You cannot make my heart
With such devotion pant
As He who steps along
Beside me in the shade,
Down the steep valley-road,
The enveloping, dark glade!
Hush, O dim nightingale!...
Is it my God whose Feet
Wing mine to travel on;
Whose voice in current sweet
Shows how divine the thought
And purpose is of all
That hath been and shall be,
And shall to me befall?
Stay, nightingale! Behold!
This Wayfarer, with strange,
Wild Voice that rouses gloom
Thy voice could never range,
Hath broken Bread with me!
No resinous, balmed shrine
Glows from its core as I,
When I behold His sign,
And touch His offering Hand.
O holiest journey, sped
With Him who died for me,
Who breaking with me Bread,
Is known to me as Life,
Is felt by me as Fire;
Who is my Way and all
My wayfaring’s Desire!
A GIFT OF SWEETNESS
I THOUGHT to lay my hands about Thy Crown,
And gather, bleeding, its sharp spines:
But as I knelt and bowed my forehead down,
Worshipping thy cruel desert-Crown,
Worshipping its thicket of sharp spines—
Through them blew a little wind,
Clearer than the dew in breath
Round Thy Mother’s feet at Nazareth;
In a cloud it left behind
Scent of violets, of such birth
They had never broken earth,
But through meshes of the Crown of Thorn,
In a fertilising cloud, were born;
And, fresh with piety of grace,
Were thrown—oh sweet!—unseen across my face.
That never will a mould-born violet-bed
Smell like the violets from the Sacred Head.
And gather, bleeding, its sharp spines:
But as I knelt and bowed my forehead down,
Worshipping thy cruel desert-Crown,
Worshipping its thicket of sharp spines—
Through them blew a little wind,
Clearer than the dew in breath
Round Thy Mother’s feet at Nazareth;
In a cloud it left behind
Scent of violets, of such birth
They had never broken earth,
But through meshes of the Crown of Thorn,
In a fertilising cloud, were born;
And, fresh with piety of grace,
Were thrown—oh sweet!—unseen across my face.
That never will a mould-born violet-bed
Smell like the violets from the Sacred Head.
IN CHRISTO
AS shade doth on a dial slide,
Those dark and parting eyes abide
Toward me from the tall vessel’s side:
Eyes lovelier than the stones of grace
That build for God His dwelling-place;
Beyond all jewels in device,
Yea, beyond amethyst in price,
The hyacinth-stone in loveliness.
Delectable, dear eyes that bless;
A saviour’s eyes, bent down on me,
As New Jerusalem might be
Come down, adorned with Charity....
Let the tall vessel sweep to sea!
Those dark and parting eyes abide
Toward me from the tall vessel’s side:
Eyes lovelier than the stones of grace
That build for God His dwelling-place;
Beyond all jewels in device,
Yea, beyond amethyst in price,
The hyacinth-stone in loveliness.
Delectable, dear eyes that bless;
A saviour’s eyes, bent down on me,
As New Jerusalem might be
Come down, adorned with Charity....
Let the tall vessel sweep to sea!
SIGHTS FOR GOD
A WOMAN, heavenly as dew
Of the fresh morning, in a little room
Is kneeling down, and through
The door of it an Angel’s bloom
Of light, how lonely, hath advanced,
And on the walls his lovely light hath danced,
As he hath told God’s utter Will
Unto that creature heavenly and still—
God the Father’s terrible, high Will.
Motions of fear and wonder
The girl sways under;
Her eyes distraught, as wings
A hawk’s suspension brings
To panic, when two doves
Tremble mid their sweet loves.
She sees beyond sight’s rim
God and the Power of Him;
His Promise fallen on her
As grace He would confer—
Men and the fear their speech
Must startle should it reach
A virgin’s secrecy....
How can such terrors be?
Then over her, distraught,
Falls a contentment wrought
To courage of a word
By the Archangel heard
With heart’s felicity—
“Be it done unto me
According to His Will.”
The little room thereafter grew more still,
And Mary knelt and shone
With grace, although the Angel’s beam was gone.
This was the fairest sight God yet had looked upon—
Mary, the chosen Mother of His Son,
Obedient to Him
As glowing Seraphim.
Of the fresh morning, in a little room
Is kneeling down, and through
The door of it an Angel’s bloom
Of light, how lonely, hath advanced,
And on the walls his lovely light hath danced,
As he hath told God’s utter Will
Unto that creature heavenly and still—
God the Father’s terrible, high Will.
Motions of fear and wonder
The girl sways under;
Her eyes distraught, as wings
A hawk’s suspension brings
To panic, when two doves
Tremble mid their sweet loves.
She sees beyond sight’s rim
God and the Power of Him;
His Promise fallen on her
As grace He would confer—
Men and the fear their speech
Must startle should it reach
A virgin’s secrecy....
How can such terrors be?
Then over her, distraught,
Falls a contentment wrought
To courage of a word
By the Archangel heard
With heart’s felicity—
“Be it done unto me
According to His Will.”
The little room thereafter grew more still,
And Mary knelt and shone
With grace, although the Angel’s beam was gone.
This was the fairest sight God yet had looked upon—
Mary, the chosen Mother of His Son,
Obedient to Him
As glowing Seraphim.
A lonely Man, beneath the trees,
That stoop above a sward of garden-ground,
Kneels in the evening breeze,
Felt as flow without a sound.
While He kneels in that cool place,
With the moonlight settled on His face,
He is praying that He may not drink
Of a Cup filled bitter to the brink,
Praying in His anguish not to drink.
And, in strife tremendous
Of woe stupendous,
He strains with power so great—
As a red pomegranate
That splits and bleeds His head
With blood is scarlet-red.
He struggles with the might
Of the world’s sin in sight,
That He must bear if now
He bends ensanguined brow,
And drinks that awful Cup
Before his eyes raised up.
Sin!—us He meets the shock,
Earth reddens to its rock
With blood.... Then peace from storm
Comes to that ruddy Form,
And a brave word of God
Blows over the wet sod—
“If I must drink, not mine,
My will, O Father, thine
Be done! Not mine, Thy Will!”
The garden-shades thereafter grew more still,
Because an angel came,
And the red forehead whitened in his flame.
This was the fairest sight God ever looked upon—
Jesus, His loved, only-begotten Son,
Obedient to Him
As sworded Cherubim.
That stoop above a sward of garden-ground,
Kneels in the evening breeze,
Felt as flow without a sound.
While He kneels in that cool place,
With the moonlight settled on His face,
He is praying that He may not drink
Of a Cup filled bitter to the brink,
Praying in His anguish not to drink.
And, in strife tremendous
Of woe stupendous,
He strains with power so great—
As a red pomegranate
That splits and bleeds His head
With blood is scarlet-red.
He struggles with the might
Of the world’s sin in sight,
That He must bear if now
He bends ensanguined brow,
And drinks that awful Cup
Before his eyes raised up.
Sin!—us He meets the shock,
Earth reddens to its rock
With blood.... Then peace from storm
Comes to that ruddy Form,
And a brave word of God
Blows over the wet sod—
“If I must drink, not mine,
My will, O Father, thine
Be done! Not mine, Thy Will!”
The garden-shades thereafter grew more still,
Because an angel came,
And the red forehead whitened in his flame.
This was the fairest sight God ever looked upon—
Jesus, His loved, only-begotten Son,
Obedient to Him
As sworded Cherubim.
TRANSIT
Cloud that streams its breath of unseen flowers,
Cloud with spice of bay,
Of roses, lily-breathings, and the powers
Of small violets, or, aloft, black poplars as they quiver!
Cloud with spice of bay,
Of roses, lily-breathings, and the powers
Of small violets, or, aloft, black poplars as they quiver!
Cloud that streams its song of birds—no bird
Seen to chant the song:
Yet wide and keen as sun-breath it is heard,
All the air itself a voice of voices chiming golden!
Seen to chant the song:
Yet wide and keen as sun-breath it is heard,
All the air itself a voice of voices chiming golden!
SOME OF THESE POEMS HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED
IN “THE IRISH MONTHLY” AND
IN “THE ROSARY.” ONE WAS PUBLISHED
IN “THE UNIVERSE.”
IN “THE IRISH MONTHLY” AND
IN “THE ROSARY.” ONE WAS PUBLISHED
IN “THE UNIVERSE.”
Printed by
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
Tavistock Street Covent Garden
London