We the while, of meaner birth, But should thankless silence seal Noblest things find vilest using,) In vile things noble breath infusing; Then waken into sound divine The very pavement of Thy shrine, Till we, like Heaven's star-sprinkled floor, And untunable the parts, Thou wilt own the minstrelsy If it flow from childlike hearts. WORK. Mrs. Browning. What are we set on earth for? say, to toil – Take patience, labor, to their heart and hands, And God's grace fructify through thee to all. Blaspheme not thou thy sacred life, nor turn Effeminate soul and base, weakly to mourn. For e'en that tract that barrenest doth seem, and thou shalt hear the angels sing above. S. T. Coleridge. O Lady! we receive but what we give, Ah! from the soul itself must issue forth And from the soul itself must there be sent O pure of heart! thou need'st not ask of me This light, this glory, this fair luminous mist, Joy, virtuous Lady! Joy that ne'er was given, Life, and Life's effluence, cloud at once and shower, A new Earth and new Heaven, Undreamt of by the sensual and the proud, — Joy is the sweet voice, Joy the luminous cloud We in ourselves rejoice! And thence flows all that charms our car or sight, All melodies the echoes of that voice, All colors a suffusion from that light. SLOW MOVEMENT. SONNET ON HIS BLINDNESS. When I consider how my light is spent Ere half my days, in this dark world and wide, And that one talent which is death to hide, Lodged with me useless, though my soul more bent My true account, lest he returning, chide; And post o'er land and ocean without rest; LIFE TAPESTRY. Milton. Dora Greenwell. Too long have I, methought, with tearful eye Now will I think on what in years gone by I heard of them that weave rare tapestry And gaze and gaze till on my spirit grows LOVE AND DEATH. What time the mighty moon was gathering light, Love paced the thymy plots of Paradise, Tennyson. And talking to himself, first met his sight: "You must begone," said Death; "these walks are mine." Love wept and spread his sheeny vans for flight; Yet ere he parted said, "This hour is thine; Thou art the shadow of life, and as the tree Life eminent creates the shade of death; The shadow passeth when the tree shall fall, Thank God, bless God, all ye who suffer not Since Adam forfeited the primal lot. Tears! what are tears? The babe weeps in its cot, The bride weeps: and before the oracle Of high-faned hills, the poet hath forgot That moisture on his cheeks. Thank God for grace, Ye grope tear-blinded, in a desert place, Those tears will run Soon, in long rivers, down the lifted face, EXTRACT FROM "THE TWO VOICES." That type of Perfect in his mind He seems to hear a Heavenly Friend, And through thick veils to apprehend A labor working to an end. The end and the beginning vex His reason: many things perplex, With motions, checks, and counter-checks. Terryson. He knows a baseness in his blood At such strange war with something good, Heaven opens inward, chasms yawn, Ah! sure within him and without, A second voice was at mine ear, A little whisper silver-clear, As from some blissful neighbourhood, A notice faintly understood, "I see the end, and know the good." 66 A little hint to solace woe, A hint, a whisper breathing low, "I may not speak of what I know." Like an Æolian harp that wakes Such seemed the whisper at my side: "What is it thou knowest, sweet voice?" I cried, "A hidden hope," the voice replied: So heavenly-toned, that in that hour To feel, although no tongue can prove, And veileth love, itself is love. And forth into the fields I went, I wondered at the bounteous hours, |