REX

THE bard and mystic held me for their own,
I filled the dream of sad, poetic maids,
I took the friendly noble by the hand,
I was the trustee of the hand-cart man,

The brother of the fisher, porter, swain,

And these from the crowd's edge well pleased beheld

The service done to me as done to them.'

WITH the key of the secret he marches faster, From strength to strength, and for night brings

day;

While classes or tribes, too weak to master
The flowing conditions of life, give way.

SUUM CUIQUE

WILT thou seal up the avenues of ill?
Pay every debt as if God wrote the bill.

IF curses be the

wage

of love,

Hide in thy skies, thou fruitless Jove,

Not to be named:

It is clear

Why the gods will not appear;
They are ashamed.

WHEN wrath and terror changed Jove's regal port, And the rash-leaping thunderbolt fell short.

SHUN passion, fold the hands of thrift,

Sit still and Truth is near:

Suddenly it will uplift

Your eyelids to the sphere:

Wait a little, you shall see
The portraiture of things to be.

THE rules to men made evident
By Him who built the day,
The columns of the firmament
Not firmer based than they.

ON bravely through the sunshine and the showers! Time hath his work to do and we have ours.

THE BOHEMIAN HYMN

IN

many

forms we try

To utter God's infinity,

But the boundless hath no form,

And the Universal Friend

Doth as far transcend

An angel as a worm.

The great Idea baffles wit,
Language falters under it,

It leaves the learned in the lurch;
Nor art, nor power, nor toil can find
The measure of the eternal Mind,
Nor hymn, nor prayer, nor church.'

GRACE

How much, preventing God, how much I owe To the defences thou hast round me set;

Example, custom, fear, occasion slow,
These scorned bondmen were my parapet.
I dare not peep over this parapet
To gauge with glance the roaring gulf below,
The depths of sin to which I had descended,
Had not these me against myself defended."

INSIGHT

POWER that by obedience grows,
Knowledge which its source not knows,
Wave which severs whom it bears
From the things which he compares,
Adding wings through things to range,
To his own blood harsh and strange.'

PAN

O WHAT are heroes, prophets, men,

But pipes through which the breath of Pan doth blow

A momentary music. Being's tide

Swells hitherward, and myriads of forms
Live, robed with beauty, painted by the sun;
Their dust, pervaded by the nerves of God,
Throbs with an overmastering energy
Knowing and doing. Ebbs the tide, they lie
White hollow shells upon the desert shore,
But not the less the eternal wave rolls on
To animate new millions, and exhale
Races and planets, its enchanted foam.*

MONADNOC FROM AFAR

DARK flower of Cheshire garden,
Red evening duly dyes

Thy sombre head with rosy hues
To fix far-gazing eyes.

Well the Planter knew how strongly
Works thy form on human thought;
I muse what secret purpose had he
To draw all fancies to this spot.'

SEPTEMBER

In the turbulent beauty

Of a gusty Autumn day, Poet on a sunny headland Sighed his soul away.

Farms the sunny landscape dappled,

Swandown clouds dappled the farms, Cattle lowed in mellow distance

Where far oaks outstretched their arms.

Sudden gusts came full of meaning,
All too much to him they said,
Oh, south winds have long memories,
Of that be none afraid.