O

BLESSED ARE THE DEAD

HOW blest are ye whose toils are ended! Who, through death, have unto God ascended!

Ye have arisen

From the cares which keep us still in prison.

We are still as in a dungeon living,

Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving;
Our undertakings

Are but toils and troubles and heart-breakings.

Ye meanwhile are in your chambers sleeping,
Quiet, and set free from all our weeping;
No cross nor trial

Hinders your enjoyment with denial.

Christ has wiped away your tears for ever;
Ye have that for which we still endeavour.
To you are chanted

Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted.

Ah! who would not then depart with gladness,
To inherit heaven for earthly sadness?

Who here would languish

Longer in bewailing and in anguish ?

Come, O Christ, and loose the chains which bind us! Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us!

With Thee, the Anointed,

Finds the soul its rest and joy appointed.

LONGFELLOW

From the German

THE PRODIGAL

LOVE bade me enter: but my soul drew back
Weary with dust and sin;

But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack
From my first entrance in,

Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning
If I lacked anything.

"A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here."
Love said, "You shall be he."

"I, the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on Thee."

Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?"

"Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame

Go where it doth deserve."

And know you not," said Love, "who bore the blame?"

"My dear, then I will serve."

"You must sit down," said Love, "and taste my

STANDING ASIDE

SWE

WEETER 'tis to hearken
Than to bear a part.

Better to look on happiness

Than to carry a light heart;
Sweeter to walk on cloudy heights
With a sunny plain below
Than to weary of the brightness

Where the floods of sunshine flow.

DEAN ALFORD

ON CHAPMAN'S HOMER

MUCH have I travelled in the realms of gold,
And many goodly states and kingdoms seen;
Round many western islands have I been
Which bards in fealty to Apollo hold.
Oft of one wide expanse had I been told

That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne;
Yet never did I breathe its pure serene
Till I heard Chapman speak out loud and bold:
Then felt I like some watcher of the skies
When a new planet swims into his ken;
Or like stout Cortez when with eagle eyes
He stared at the Pacific-and all his men
Looked at each other with a wild surmise-
Silent, upon a peak in Darien.

KEATS

Α

ALL thoughts that mould the Age begin Deep down within the primitive Soul;

And from the many slowly upward win

To One who grasps the Whole.

All thought begins in Feeling-wide

In the great mass its base is hid,

And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified— A moveless pyramid !

Nor is he far away, who deems

That every hope which rises and grows broad In the World's heart, by ordered impulse streams From the great Heart of God.

LOWELL