My lily feet are soiled with mud, With scarlet mud which tells a tale Of hope that was, of guilt that was, Of love that shall not yet avail; Alas, my heart, if I could bare My heart, this self-same stain is there: I seek the sea of gla.s.s and fire To wash the spot, to burn the snare; Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher: Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.

Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.

I see the far-off city grand, Beyond the hills a watered land, Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand Of mansions where the righteous sup; Who sleep at ease among their trees, Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn With Cherubim and Seraphim; They bore the Cross, they drained the cup, Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb, They the offscouring of the world: The heaven of starry heavens unfurled, The sun before their face is dim.

You looking earthward, what see you?

Milk-white, wine-flushed among the vines, Up and down leaping, to and fro, Most glad, most full, made strong with wines, Blooming as peaches pearled with dew, Their golden windy hair afloat, Love-music warbling in their throat, Young men and women come and go.

You linger, yet the time is short: Flee for your life, gird up your strength To flee: the shadows stretched at length Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh; Flee to the mountain, tarry not.

Is this a time for smile and sigh, For songs among the secret trees Where sudden bluebirds nest and sport?

The time is short and yet you stay: To-day, while it is called to-day, Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray; To-day is short, to-morrow nigh: Why will you die? why will you die?

You sinned with me a pleasant sin: Repent with me, for I repent.

Woe's me the lore I must unlearn!

Woe's me that easy way we went, So rugged when I would return!

How long until my sleep begin, How long shall stretch these nights and days?

Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays; She laves her soul with tedious tears: How long must stretch these years and years?

I turn from you my cheeks and eyes, My hair which you shall see no more,-- Alas for joy that went before, For joy that dies, for love that dies.

Only my lips still turn to you, My livid lips that cry, Repent!

O weary life, O weary Lent, O weary time whose stars are few!

How should I rest in Paradise, Or sit on steps of Heaven alone?

If Saints and Angels spoke of love Should I not answer from my throne?

Have pity upon me, ye my friends, For I have heard the sound thereof: Should I not turn with yearning eyes, Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang?

O save me from a pang in Heaven!

By all the gifts we took and gave, Repent, repent, and be forgiven: This life is long, but yet it ends; Repent and purge your soul and save: No gladder song the morning stars Upon their birthday morning sang Than Angels sing when one repents.

I tell you what I dreamed last night: A spirit with transfigured face Fire-footed clomb an infinite s.p.a.ce.

I heard his hundred pinions clang, Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang, Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents, Worlds spun upon their rushing cars: He mounted shrieking: "Give me light!"

Still light was poured on him, more light; Angels, Archangels he outstripped, Exultant in exceeding might, And trod the skirts of Cherubim.

Still "Give me light," he shrieked; and dipped

His thirsty face, and drank a sea, Athirst with thirst it could not slake.

I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take From aching brows the aureole crown,-- His locks writhed like a cloven snake,-- He left his throne to grovel down And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet: For what is knowledge duly weighed?

Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet; Yea, all the progress he had made Was but to learn that all is small Save love, for love is all in all.

I tell you what I dreamed last night: It was not dark, it was not light, Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair Through clay; you came to seek me there.

And "Do you dream of me?" you said.

My heart was dust that used to leap To you; I answered half asleep: "My pillow is damp, my sheets are red, There's a leaden tester to my bed: Find you a warmer playfellow, A warmer pillow for your head, A kinder love to love than mine."

You wrung your hands; while I like lead Crushed downwards through the sodden earth: You smote your hands but not in mirth, And reeled but were not drunk with wine.

For all night long I dreamed of you: I woke and prayed against my will, Then slept to dream of you again.

At length I rose and knelt and prayed: I cannot write the words I said, My words were slow, my tears were few; But through the dark my silence spoke Like thunder. When this morning broke, My face was pinched, my hair was gray, And frozen blood was on the sill Where stifling in my struggle I lay.

If now you saw me you would say: Where is the face I used to love?

And I would answer: Gone before; It tarries veiled in Paradise.

When once the morning star shall rise, When earth with shadow flees away And we stand safe within the door, Then you shall lift the veil thereof.

Look up, rise up: for far above Our palms are grown, our place is set; There we shall meet as once we met, And love with old familiar love.

UP-HILL.

Does the road wind up-hill all the way?

Yes, to the very end.

Will the day's journey take the whole long day?

From morn to night, my friend.

But is there for the night a resting-place?

A roof for when the slow dark hours begin.

May not the darkness hide it from my face?

You cannot miss that inn.

Shall I meet other wayfarers at night?

Those who have gone before.

Then must I knock, or call when just in sight?

They will not keep you standing at that door.

Shall I find comfort, travel-sore and weak?

Of labor you shall find the sum.

Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

Yea, beds for all who come.

DEVOTIONAL PIECES.

"THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH Pa.s.sETH KNOWLEDGE."

I bore with thee long weary days and nights, Through many pangs of heart, through many tears; I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights, For three and thirty years.

Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?

I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above; I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared: Give thou Me love for love.

For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth, For thee I trembled in the nightly frost: Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth: Why wilt thou still be lost?

I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced: Men only marked upon My shoulders borne The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced, Or wagged their heads in scorn.

Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes: I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame; I, G.o.d, Priest, Sacrifice.

A thief upon My right hand and My left; Six hours alone, athirst, in misery: At length in death one smote My heart and cleft A hiding-place for thee.

Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep: So did I win a kingdom,--share My crown; A harvest,--come and reap.