RODS AND KISSES. ALL blessings ask a blessed mood; The garnish here is more than meat; Happy who takes sweet gratitude; Next best, though bitter, is regret. 'Tis well if, on the tempest's gloom, You see the covenant of God; But far, far happier he on whom The kiss works better than the rod. COVENTRY PATMORE. PASSING PLEASURES. THE 'HESE blessed passing pleasures! We need not let them waste, We need not leave their treasures Behind us in our haste. We need not doubt their fitness Where earth's deep shadows fall; God giving, He is witness That we shall want them all. Amid the old sad story Of human shame and sin, And oh, when brought before us A bird, a tree, a flower, A creature just as frail, Will take us in His power To Him within the veil; And leave us safely hidden Perhaps his angels see us Perhaps his watch would free us Who sees our nature through If but for one bright minute Through gathering clouds it break, There is a token in it That He would have us take. And, his least sign obeying, No wealth our hearts shall miss, Even when we hear Him saying 'See greater things than this!' For He, the dull ear gaining, To bear the perfect light. ANNA LETITIA WARING GOD'S WAY. 'For my thoughts are not your thoughts, saith the Lord.' I SAID, 'The darkness shall content my soul;' I said, 'The night shall see me reach my goal;' I bared my head to meet the smiter's stroke; I waited, trembling, but the voice that spoke I looked for evil, stern of face and pale; I leant on God when other joys did fail; SARAH WILLIAMS. MUSIC. THAT music breathes all through my spirit And my soul gives light as it quivers, New passions are wakened within me, And my soul is possessed with yearnings Oh silence that clarion in mercy,— And it whirls my thoughts out beyond me, O exquisite tyranny! silence, My soul slips from under my hand, And as if by instinct is fleeing Is it sound, or fragrance, or vision? I strove, but the sweet sounds have conquered : Within me the Past is awake; The Present is grandly transfigured; The Future is clear as daybreak. Now Past, Present, Future have mingled A new sort of Present to make; And my life is all disembodied, Without time, without space, without break. But my soul seems floating for ever Now sighing, as zephyrs in summer, The concords glide in like a stream, With a sound that is almost a silence, Or the soundless sounds in a dream. Then oft, when the music is faintest, There are sounds, like flakes of snow falling We tremble, they touch us so lightly, Like the feathers from angels' wings. |