Long ago was I weary of places Where I met but the human- and sin. I walked in the world with the worldly; That shines like a star on life's wave, And still did I pine for the Perfect, And still found the False with the True; I sought 'mid the Human for Heaven, But caught a mere glimpse of its Blue; And I wept when the clouds of the Mortal Veiled even that glimpse from my view. And I toiled on, heart-tired of the Human; And I moaned 'mid the mazes of men ; Till I knelt, long ago, at an altar And I heard a voice call me since then I walk down the Valley of Silence That lies far beyond mortal ken. Do you ask what I found in the Valley? 'Tis my Trysting Place with the Divine And I fell at the feet of the Holy, "Be mine. " And above me a voice said: Do you ask how I live in the Valley? And my prayer like a perfume from Censers, In the hush of the Valley of Silence That to hearts, like the Dove of the Deluge, But far on the deep there are billows And I have seen thoughts in the Valley— Do you ask me the place of the Valley, And God and His angels are there; O may I join the Choir Invisible FATHER RYAN. Of those immortal dead who live again In minds made better by their presence. Feed pure love, beget the smiles that have no cruelty, Be the sweet presence of a good diffused. So shall I join the Choir Invisible Whose music is the gladness of the world. Eliot. THE CHAMBERED NAUTILUS. This is the ship of pearl, which, poets feign, The venturous bark that flings On the sweet summer wind its purpled wings Where the cold sea-maids rise to sun their streaming hair. Tts web of living gauze no more unfurl: And every chambered cell, Where its dim dreaming life was wont to dwell, Its irised ceiling rent, its sunless crypt unsealed! He left the past year's dwelling for the new, Stretched in his last-found home, and knew the old no more. Thanks for the heavenly message brought by thee, Child of the wandering sea, Cast from her lap, forlorn! From thy dead lips a clearer note is born While on mine ear it rings, Through the deep cayes of thought I hear a voice that sings: Build thee more stately mansions, O my soul, As the swift seasons roll! Leave thy low-vaulted past! Let each new temple, nobler than the last, Leaving thine outgrown shell by life's unresting A CRY FROM THE WILDERNESS. O God, thou art my God; early will I seek thee: my soul thirsteth for thee, my flesh longeth for thee in a dry and thirsty land, where no water is; to see thy power and thy glory, so as I have seen thee in the sanctuary. Because thy lovingkindness is better than life, my lips shall praise thee. Thus will I bless thee while I live: I will lift up my hands in thy name. My soul shall be satisfied as with marrow and fatness; and my mouth shall praise thee with joyful lips: when I remember thee upon my bed, and meditate on thee in the night watches. Because thou hast been my help, therefore in the shadow of thy wings will I rejoice. My soul followeth hard after thee: thy right hand upholdeth me. But those that seek my soul, to destroy it, shall go into the lower parts of the earth. They shall fall by the sword: they shall be a portion for foxes. But the king shall rejoice in God; every one that sweareth by him shall glory: but the mouth of them that speak lies shall be stopped. PSALMS LXIII. THE LOST CHORD. Seated one day at the organ, I was weary and ill at ease, I know not what I was playing, It flooded the crimson twilight, It quieted pain and sorrow, Like love overcoming strife; It linked all perplexed meanings As though it were loath to cease. I have sought, but I seek it vainly That came from the soul of the organ It may be that Death's bright angel It may be that only in Heaven ADELAIDE A. PROCTER, |