O BLESSED ARE THE DEAD HOW blest are ye whose toils are ended! Who, through death, have unto God ascended! Ye have arisen From the cares which keep us still in prison. We are still as in a dungeon living, Still oppressed with sorrow and misgiving; Are but toils and troubles and heart-breakings. Ye meanwhile are in your chambers sleeping, Hinders your enjoyment with denial. Christ has wiped away your tears for ever; Songs which yet no mortal ear have haunted. Ah! who would not then depart with gladness, Who here would languish Longer in bewailing and in anguish ? Come, O Christ, and loose the chains which bind us! Lead us forth, and cast this world behind us! With Thee, the Anointed, Finds the soul its rest and joy appointed. LONGFELLOW From the German THE PRODIGAL LOVE bade me enter: but my soul drew back But quick-eyed Love, observing me grow slack Drew nearer to me, sweetly questioning "A guest," I answered, "worthy to be here." "I, the unkind, the ungrateful? Ah my dear, I cannot look on Thee." Love took my hand, and smiling did reply, "Who made the eyes but I?" "Truth, Lord; but I have marred them: let my shame Go where it doth deserve." And know you not," said Love, "who bore the blame?" "My dear, then I will serve." "You must sit down," said Love, "and taste my STANDING ASIDE SWE WEETER 'tis to hearken Better to look on happiness Than to carry a light heart; Where the floods of sunshine flow. DEAN ALFORD ON CHAPMAN'S HOMER MUCH have I travelled in the realms of gold, That deep-browed Homer ruled as his demesne; KEATS Α ALL thoughts that mould the Age begin Deep down within the primitive Soul; And from the many slowly upward win To One who grasps the Whole. All thought begins in Feeling-wide In the great mass its base is hid, And, narrowing up to thought, stands glorified— A moveless pyramid ! Nor is he far away, who deems That every hope which rises and grows broad In the World's heart, by ordered impulse streams From the great Heart of God. LOWELL |