Thy black sheep's faithful shepherd Who knew not how to flee, Is torn by the desert leopard, And comes wounded home to thee!

Home he is coming the faster That the way he could not miss: In thy arms, oh take him, Master, And heal him with a kiss!

Then give him a thousand cities To rule till their evils cease, And their wailing minor ditties Die in a psalm of peace.

_FAILURE_.

Farewell, O Arm of the Lord!

Man who hated the sword, Yet struck and spared not the thing abhorred!

Farewell, O word of the Word!

Man who knew no failure But the failure of the Lord!

_TO E. G., DEDICATING A BOOK_.

A broken tale of endless things, Take, lady: thou art not of those Who in what vale a fountain springs Would have its journey close.

Countless beginnings, fair first parts, Leap to the light, and shining flow; All broken things, or toys or hearts, Are mended where they go.

Then down thy stream, with hope-filled sail, Float faithful fearless on, loved friend; 'Tis G.o.d that has begun the tale And does not mean to end.

_TO G. M. T_.

The sun is sinking in the west, Long grow the shadows dim; Have patience, sister, to be blest, Wait patiently for Him.

Thou knowest love, much love hast had, Great things of love mayst tell, Ought'st never to be very sad For thou too hast lov'd well.

His house thou know'st, who on the brink Of death loved more than thou, Loved more than thy great heart can think, And just as then loves now--

In that great house is one who waits For thy slow-coming foot; Glad is he with his angel-mates Yet often listens mute,

For he of all men loves thee best: He haunts the heavenly clock; Ah, he has long been up and drest To open to thy knock!

Fear not, doubt not because of those On whom earth's keen winds blow; G.o.d's love shames all our pitying woes, Be ready thou to go.

Forsaken dream not hearts which here Bask in no sunny shine; Each shall one coming day be dear To love as good as thine.

_IN MEMORIUM_

_LADY CAROLINE CHARTERIS_.

The mountain-stream may humbly boast For her the loud waves call; The hamlet feeds the nation's host, The home-farm feeds the hall;

And unto earth heaven's Lord doth lend The right, of high import, The gladsome privilege to send New courtiers to Love's court.

Not strange to thee, O lady dear, Life in that palace fair, For thou while waiting with us here Didst just as they do there!

Thy heart still open to receive, Open thy hand to give, G.o.d had thee graced with more than leave In heavenly state to live!

And though thou art gone up so high Thou art not gone so far But that thy love to us comes nigh, As starlight from a star.

And ours must reach where'er thou art, In far or near abode, For G.o.d is of all love the heart, And we are all in G.o.d.

END OF VOL. I.