Eternally to praise.
The blessings of Christ's chosen friends
Are doubly hers, whose mind,
To charity inclined,
No selfish ends
Have ever for an instant moved:
Who served like Martha
And like Mary loved.

HER INFLUENCE

The tender Earth that smiles when kissed by Spring;
The flowers; the budding woods; the birds that sing
The Summer's song her spirit to me bring.

The meadows cool that breathe their fragrant myrrh;
Deep, placid pools that little breezes blur;
Soft-tinkling springs speak to my heart of her.

Heaven's purple towers upon the horizon's rim;
The dove that mourns upon his lonely limb,
Fill my soul's cup with memories to its brim.

In evening's calm when in the quiet skies,
The lustrous, silent, tender stars uprise,
I feel the holy influence of her eyes.

That deeper hour when Night with Dawn is blent,
And Silence stirs, its languors well-nigh spent,
I hear her gently sigh with sweet content.

I hear young children laughing in the street:
Catch rays of sunshine from them as we meet,
And smile content to know what makes them sweet.

Yea, everywhere, in every righteous strife,
I find her spirit's fragrant influence rife,
Like Mary's precious spikenard sweetening Life.

MATTHEW ARNOLD

He challenged all that came within his ken,
And Error held with steadfast mind aloof.
E'en Truth itself he put upon the proof:
Holding that Light was God's first gift to men.

THE STRANGER

Straying one day amid the leafy bowers,
A Presence passed, masked in a sunny ray,
Tossing behind him carelessly the hours,
As one shakes blossoms from a ravished spray,—
Strewing them far and wide.
Nor glanced to either side.

A-sudden as he strolled he chanced upon
A flower which full within his pathway blew,
White as a lily, modest as a nun,
Sweeter than Lilith's rose in Eden grew—
Her beauty he espied,
Approached and softly sighed.

His breath the blossom stirred and all the air
Grew fragrant with a subtle, rich perfume;
The spicèd alleys glowed, the while a rare
And crystal radiance did illume
All the adjacent space
As 't were an angel's face.

Kneeling, he gently laid his glowing lips,
Like softest music on her lips, when came
A thrill that trembled to her petal-tips,
And on the instant, with a sudden flame,
Leaped forth the shining sun,
And Earth and Heaven were one.

"Who art thou?" queried she, "Tell me thy name,
To whom Godlike this Godlike power is given,
That thus for me, without or fear or shame,
But by thy lips' soft touch Greatest Heaven?"
Whilst to his heart she clove,
He whispered, "I am Love."

LOVE

(AFTER ANACREON)

Astray within a garden bright
I found a tiny wingèd sprite:

He scarce was bigger than a sparrow
And bore a little bow and arrow.

I lifted him up in my arm,
Without a thought of guile or harm;

But merely as it were in play,
With threats to carry him away.

The sport he took in such ill part,
He stuck an arrow in my heart.

And ever since, I have such pain,—
I cannot draw it out again.

And yet, the strangest part is this:
I love the pain as though 't were bliss.

AN OLD REFRAIN

It seems to me as I think of her,
That my youth has come again:
I hear the breath of summer stir
The leaves in the old refrain:
"Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be?
I will seek my Love, with the wings of a dove,
And pray her to love but me."

The flower-kissed meadows all once more
Are green with grass and plume;
The apple-trees again are hoar
With fragrant snow of bloom.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

The meadow-brook slips tinkling by
With silvery, rippling flow,
And blue-birds sing on fences nigh,
To dandelions below.
Oh! my Lady-love, Oh, my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

I hear again the drowsy croon
Of honey-laden bees,
And catch the poppy-mellowed rune
They hum to locust trees.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady-love be? etc.

Far off the home-returning cows
Low that the Eve is late,
And call their calves neath apple-boughs
To meet them at the gate.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

Once more the Knights and ladies pass
In visions Fancy-wove:
I lie full length in summer grass,
To choose my own True-Love.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

I know not how,—I know not where,—
I dream a fairy-spell:
I know she is surpassing fair,—
I know I love her well.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

I know she is as pure as snow:—
As true as God's own Truth:—
I know,—I know I love her so,
She must love me, in sooth!
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

I know the stars dim to her eyes;
The flowers blow in her face:
I know the angels in the skies
Have given her of their grace.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be? etc.

And none but I her heart can move,
Though seraphs may have striven;
And when I find my own True-love,
I know I shall find Heaven.
Oh! my Lady-love! Oh! my Lady-love!
Oh! where can my Lady be!
I will seek my Love with the wings of a dove
And pray her to love but me.

TO CLAUDIA

It is not, Claudia, that thine eyes
Are sweeter far to me,
Than is the light of Summer skies
To captives just set free.

It is not that the setting sun
Is tangled in thy hair,
And recks not of the course to run,
In such a silken snare.

Nor for the music of thy words,