PREFACE

THIS little volume has its origin in a conversation I heard many years ago between my father and a celebrated man of the time, who spoke of his habit of daily learning by heart a few lines of poetry before leaving his dressing-room in the morning. And, he observed, it was astonishing what a useful stock of verses he had in that way collected. Perhaps this book may suggest some such habit to those who take it up; and it may also lead them to read authors who, in these busy days of ours, get crowded out.

I have to acknowledge the kindness and courtesy of almost too many authors and publishers to enumerate-especially Messrs. Macmillan and Messrs. Blackwood, Cardinal Newman, Archbishop Trench, Lord Houghton, Mrs. C. Kingsley, Mrs. A. H. Clough, Miss C. Rossetti, Miss Jean Ingelow, Messrs. R. Browning, M. Arnold, F. Myers,

J. A. Symonds, etc. etc., as well as the authors of several hitherto unpublished poems, which they have kindly allowed to appear in this little book. To these and all others I offer hearty thanks.

H. L. SIDNEY LEAR.

THE CLOSE, SALISBURY,

WHITSUNTIDE, 1882.

DAILY READINGS

January 1.

THE CIRCUMCISION.

YE flaming Powers, and wingèd Warriors bright,
That erst with music and triumphant song,
First heard by happy watchful shepherds' ear,
So sweetly sung your joy the clouds along,
Thro' the soft silence of the list'ning night,
Now mourn, and if sad share with us to bear
Your fiery essence can distil no tear,
Burn in your sighs, and borrow

Seas wept from our deep sorrow:

He who with all Heav'n's heraldry whilere
Enter'd the world, now bleeds to give us ease.
Alas! how soon our sin

Sore doth begin,

His infancy to seize !

O more exceeding love, or law more just !
Just law, indeed, but more exceeding love!
For we by rightful doom remediless,
Were lost in death, till He, that dwelt above
High-thron'd in secret bliss, for us frail dust
Emptied His glory, ev'n to nakedness;

B

And that great covenant which we still transgress Entirely satisfied,

And the full wrath beside

Of vengefull justice bore for our excess,

And seals obedience first with wounding smart This day, but O! ere long

Huge pangs and strong

Will pierce more near His Heart.

MILTON.

January 2.

TO MUSIQUE, TO BECALME HIS FEVER.

CHARME me asleep, and melt me so
With thy delicious numbers,

That being ravisht, hence I go
Away in easie slumbers.
Ease my sick head,
And make my bed,

Thou power that canst sever

From me this ill,

And quickly still,

Tho' thou but kill

My fever.

Thou sweetly canst convert the same
From a consuming fire
Into a gentle-licking flame,
And make it thus expire.
Then make me weep
My paines asleep,

And give me such reposes,
That I, poore I,

May think, thereby,
I live and die

'Mongst roses.