The den they enter grows a shrine, The grimy sash an oriel burns, About their brows to me appears An aureole traced in tenderest light, JAMES RUSSELL Lowell. GOOD LIFE, LONG LIFE. T is not growing like a tree, IT In bulk, doth make men better be ; Or standing long, an oak, three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere. A lily of a day Is fairer far in May; Although it fall and die that night, BEN JONSON. I WILL ARISE. WHO, toiling on the weary round of life, But feels sometimes,-when all the way is dark, And mists of sense and clouds of weariness And all the future like a barren road Through the long waste of years,—lo, suddenly Height after height, peak after peak revealed; And, somewhere in the space 'twixt them and heaven, Sway on the trembling bridge which spans the foam, Where men have trodden and lived. Then his whole soul, Stirred to the deeps of passionate utterance, Cries loud, 'I will arise, I will arise ;' And, while the sun shines, climbs. Happy are they What glimpse they had of heaven. Some men there be And die, poor souls! i' the plain. Others there be Left far beneath; God shining overhead; And round them all the changeless calm of Heaven. SONGS OF Two WORLDS. FLOWERS WITHOUT FRUIT. RUNE thou thy words, the thoughts control PRUNE That o'er thee swell and throng; They will condense within thy soul, Ant change to purpose strong. But he who lets his feelings run In soft luxurious flow, Shrinks when hard service must be done, Faith's meanest deed more favour bears, JOHN HENRY NEWMAN. WORK AND CONTEMPLATION. THE HE woman singeth at her spinning-wheel A pleasant chant, ballad or barcarole; She thinketh of her song, upon the whole, Far more than of her flax; and yet the reel Is full, and artfully her fingers feel With quick adjustment, provident control, The lines, too subtly twisted to unroll, Out to a perfect thread. I hence appeal To the dear Christian Church-that we may do Our Father's business in these temples mirk, Thus swift and steadfast, thus intent and strong; While thus, apart from toil, our souls pursue Some high, calm, spheric tune, and prove our work The better for the sweetness of our song. ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING. G A CHRISTMAS CAROL. T chanced upon the merry merry Christmas eve, IT I went sighing past the church across the moor land dreary 'Oh! never sin and want and woe this earth will leave, And the bells but mock the wailing round, they sing so cheery. How long, O Lord! how long before Thou come again? Still in cellar, and in garret, and on moorland dreary The orphans moan, and widows weep, and poor men toil in vain, Till earth is sick of hope deferred, though Christ mas bells be cheery.' Then arose a joyous clamour from the wild-fowl on the mere, Beneath the stars, across the snow, like clear bells ringing, And a voice within cried- Listen! Christmas carols even here! Though thou be dumb, yet o'er their work the stars and snows are singing. Blind! I live, I love, I reign; and all the nations through With the thunder of my judgments even now are ringing; Do thou fulfil thy work but as yon wild-fowl do, Thou wilt heed no less the wailing, yet hear thro' it angels singing.' CHARLES KINGSLEY. |