ONE BY THE CLOCK. Thus lurk a hundred subtle stings An apple cankered on its stalk, 169 ONE BY THE CLOCK. AFTER midnight, in the dark The clock strikes one, New day has begun. Look up and hark! With singing heart forestall the carolling lark. After midday, in the light The clock strikes one, Day fall has begun. Cast up, set right The day's account against the on-coming night. After noon and night, one day For ever one Ends not, once begun. Whither away, O brothers, and O sisters? Pause and pray. GRIEF is not grievous to a soul that knows Christ comes, and listens for that hour to strike. IN THE WILLOW SHADE. I SAT beneath a willow tree, Where water falls and calls; While fancies upon fancies solaced me, Some true, and some were false. Who set their heart upon a hope That never comes to pass, Droop in the end like fading heliotrope, Who set their will upon a whim Clung to through good and ill, Are wrecked alike whether they sink or swim, Or hit or miss their will. All things are vain that wax and wane, A singing lark rose toward the sky, He sang, a speck scarce visible sky-high, A second like a sunlit spark Flashed singing up his track; But never overtook that foremost lark, IN THE WILLOW SHADE. 171 A hovering melody of birds Haunted the air above; They clearly sang contentment without words, And youth and joy and love. O silvery weeping-willow tree With all leaves shivering, Have you no purpose but to shadow me On this first fleeting day of Spring, For Winter is gone by, And every bird on every quivering wing On this first Summer-like soft day, Have you no purpose in the world But thus to shadow me With all your tender drooping twigs unfurled, With all your tremulous leaves outspread Betwixt me and the sun, While here I loiter on a mossy bed With half my work undone ; My work undone, that should be done For after the long day and lingering sun This day is lapsing on its way, And after all the chances of the day The weeping-willow shook its head And stretched its shadow long; The west grew crimson, the sun smouldered red, Slow wind sighed through the willow leaves, The ripple made a moan, The world drooped murmuring like a thing that grieves; And then I felt alone. I rose to go, and felt the chill, And shivered as I went; Yet shivering wondered, and I wonder still, What more that willow meant; That silvery weeping-willow tree With all leaves shivering, Which spent one long day overshadowing me, WHAT'S IN A NAME? 173 GOLDEN SILENCES. THERE is silence that saith, "Ah me!" One the silence of death; One is, and the other shall be. One we know and have known for long, There is silence, despite a song. Sowing day is a silent day, Resting night is a silent night; But who reaps the ripened corn While silences vanish away. WHAT'S IN A NAME? WHY HY has Spring one syllable less |