Or that the past will always win XXV I KNOW that this was Life,-the track But this it was that made me move Nor could I weary, heart or limb, When mighty Love would cleave in twain And part it, giving half to him. XXVI STILL onward winds the dreary way; No lapse of moons can canker Love, And if that eye which watches guilt And goodness, and hath power to see Within the green the moulder'd tree, And towers fall'n as soon as built Oh, if indeed that eye foresee Or see (in Him is no before) And Love the indifference to be, So might I find, ere yet the morn That Shadow waiting with the keys, XXVII I ENVY not in any moods The captive void of noble rage, The linnet born within the cage, That never knew the summer woods: I envy not the beast that takes His license in the field of time, Nor, what may count itself as blest, I hold it true, whate'er befall; I feel it, when I sorrow most; 'Tis better to have loved and lost Than never to have loved at all. XXVIII THE time draws near the birth of Christ : Answer each other in the mist. Four voices of four hamlets round, From far and near, on mead and moor, Were shut between me and the sound Each voice four changes on the wind, : That now dilate, and now decrease, Peace and goodwill, to all mankind. This year I slept and woke with pain, And that my hold on life would break Before I heard those bells again : But they my troubled spirit rule, For they controll'd me when a boy; The merry merry bells of Yule. XXIX WITH Such compelling cause to grieve Which brings no more a welcome guest Yet go, and while the holly boughs Make one wreath more for Use and Wont, That guard the portals of the house; Old sisters of a day gone by, Gray nurses, loving nothing new; Why should they miss their yearly due Before their time? XXX WITH trembling fingers did we weave And sadly fell our Christmas-eve. At our old pastimes in the hall We gambol'd, making vain pretence Of one mute Shadow watching all. We paused: the winds were in the beech: Sat silent, looking each at each. Then echo-like our voices rang; We ceased: a gentler feeling crept "They rest," we said, "their sleep is sweet," And silence follow'd, and we wept. Our voices took a higher range; Once more we sang: "They do not die Nor lose their mortal sympathy, Nor change to us, although they change; Rapt from the fickle and the frail Rise, happy morn, rise, holy morn, Draw forth the cheerful day from night: O Father, touch the east, and light The light that shone when Hope was born. XXXI WHEN Lazarus left his charnel-cave, "Where wert thou, brother, those four days?" Had surely added praise to praise. From every house the neighbours met, The streets were fill'd with joyful sound, The purple brows of Olivet. Behold a man raised up by Christ! XXXII HER eyes are homes of silent prayer, Then one deep love doth supersede And rests upon the Life indeed. All subtle thought, all curious fears, Borne down by gladness so complete, She bows, she bathes the Saviour's feet With costly spikenard and with tears. Thrice blest whose lives are faithful prayers, Whose loves in higher love endure; What souls possess themselves so pure, Or is there blessedness like theirs? XXXIII O THOU that after toil and storm Nor cares to fix itself to form, Leave thou thy sister when she prays, A life that leads melodious days. Her hands are quicker unto good: See thou, that countest reason ripe XXXIV My own dim life should teach me this, Else earth is darkness at the core, And dust and ashes all that is; This round of green, this orb of flame, What then were God to such as I? 'Twere hardly worth my while to choose Of things all mortal, or to use A little patience ere I die; "Twere best at once to sink to peace, Like birds the charming serpent draws, Of vacant darkness and to cease. |