4.

But all things shall be ours! Up, heart, and sing.

All things were made for us--we are G.o.d's heirs-- Moon, sun, and wildest comets that do trail A crowd of small worlds for a swiftness-tail!

Up from Thy depths in me, my child-heart bring-- The child alone inherits anything: G.o.d's little children-G.o.ds--all things are theirs!

5.

Thy great deliverance is a greater thing Than purest imagination can foregrasp; A thing beyond all conscious hungering, Beyond all hope that makes the poet sing.

It takes the clinging world, undoes its clasp, Floats it afar upon a mighty sea, And leaves us quiet with love and liberty and thee.

6.

Through all the fog, through all earth's wintery sighs, I scent Thy spring, I feel the eternal air, Warm, soft, and dewy, filled with flowery eyes, And gentle, murmuring motions everywhere-- Of life in heart, and tree, and brook, and moss; Thy breath wakes beauty, love, and bliss, and prayer, And strength to hang with nails upon thy cross.

7.

If thou hadst closed my life in seed and husk, And cast me into soft, warm, damp, dark mould, All unaware of light come through the dusk, I yet should feel the split of each sh.e.l.ly fold, Should feel the growing of my prisoned heart, And dully dream of being slow unrolled, And in some other vagueness taking part.

8.

And little as the world I should foreknow Up into which I was about to rise-- Its rains, its radiance, airs, and warmth, and skies, How it would greet me, how its wind would blow-- As little, it may be, I do know the good Which I for years half darkling have pursued-- The second birth for which my nature cries.

9.

The life that knows not, patient waits, nor longs:-- I know, and would be patient, yet would long.

I can be patient for all coming songs, But let me sing my one monotonous song.

To me the time is slow my mould among; To quicker life I fain would spur and start The aching growth at my dull-swelling heart.

10.

Christ is the pledge that I shall one day see; That one day, still with him, I shall awake, And know my G.o.d, at one with him and free.

O lordly essence, come to life in me; The will-throb let me feel that doth me make; Now have I many a mighty hope in thee, Then shall I rest although the universe should quake.

11.

Haste to me, Lord, when this fool-heart of mine Begins to gnaw itself with selfish craving; Or, like a foul thing scarcely worth the saving, Swoln up with wrath, desireth vengeance fine.

Haste, Lord, to help, when reason favours wrong; Haste when thy soul, the high-born thing divine, Is torn by pa.s.sion's raving, maniac throng.

12.

Fair freshness of the G.o.d-breathed spirit air, Pa.s.s through my soul, and make it strong to love; Wither with gracious cold what demons dare Shoot from my h.e.l.l into my world above; Let them drop down, like leaves the sun doth sear, And flutter far into the inane and bare, Leaving my middle-earth calm, wise, and clear.

13.

Even thou canst give me neither thought nor thing, Were it the priceless pearl hid in the land, Which, if I fix thereon a greedy gaze, Becomes not poison that doth burn and cling; Their own bad look my foolish eyes doth daze, They see the gift, see not the giving hand-- From the living root the apple dead I wring.

14.

This versing, even the reading of the tale That brings my heart its joy unspeakable, Sometimes will softly, unsuspectedly hale That heart from thee, and all its pulses quell.

Discovery's pride, joy's bliss, take aback my sail, And sweep me from thy presence and my grace, Because my eyes dropped from the master's face.

15.

Afresh I seek thee. Lead me--once more I pray-- Even should it be against my will, thy way.

Let me not feel thee foreign any hour, Or shrink from thee as an estranged power.

Through doubt, through faith, through bliss, through stark dismay, Through sunshine, wind, or snow, or fog, or shower, Draw me to thee who art my only day.

16.

I would go near thee--but I cannot press Into thy presence--it helps not to presume.

Thy doors are deeds; the handles are their doing.

He whose day-life is obedient righteousness, Who, after failure, or a poor success, Rises up, stronger effort yet renewing-- He finds thee, Lord, at length, in his own common room.

17.

Lord, thou hast carried me through this evening's duty; I am released, weary, and well content.

O soul, put on the evening dress of beauty, Thy sunset-flush, of gold and purple blent!-- Alas, the moment I turn to my heart, Feeling runs out of doors, or stands apart!

But such as I am, Lord, take me as thou art.

18.

The word he then did speak, fits now as then, For the same kind of men doth mock at it.

G.o.d-fools, G.o.d-drunkards these do call the men Who think the poverty of their all not fit, Borne humbly by their art, their voice, their pen, Save for its allness, at thy feet to fling, For whom all is unfit that is not everything.

19.

O Christ, my life, possess me utterly.

Take me and make a little Christ of me.

If I am anything but thy father's son, 'Tis something not yet from the darkness won.

Oh, give me light to live with open eyes.

Oh, give me life to hope above all skies.

Give me thy spirit to haunt the Father with my cries.

20.

'Tis hard for man to rouse his spirit up-- It is the human creative agony, Though but to hold the heart an empty cup, Or tighten on the team the rigid rein.

Many will rather lie among the slain Than creep through narrow ways the light to gain-- Than wake the will, and be born bitterly.

21.

But he who would be born again indeed, Must wake his soul unnumbered times a day, And urge himself to life with holy greed; Now ope his bosom to the Wind's free play; And now, with patience forceful, hard, lie still, Submiss and ready to the making will, Athirst and empty, for G.o.d's breath to fill.

22.

All times are thine whose will is our remede.

Man turns to thee, thou hast not turned away; The look he casts, thy labour that did breed-- It is thy work, thy business all the day: That look, not foregone fitness, thou dost heed.

For duty absolute how be fitter than now?

Or learn by shunning?--Lord, I come; help thou.