II

So long, so far, Jehovah guides His people's path attending, By pastures green and water-sides Toward His hill ascending; Whence they beneath the stars Shall view their ancient wars, Their perils, far removed.

O might of mercy proved!

O love past comprehending!

III

He was that G.o.d, for man which spake From Sinai forth in thunder; He was that Love, for man which brake The dreadful grave asunder.

Lord over every lord, His consecrating word An earthly prince awaits; Lift then your heads, ye gates!

Your King comes riding under.

IV

Be ye lift up, ye deathless doors; Let wave your banners o'er Him!

Exult, ye streets; be strewn, ye floors, With palm, with bay, before Him!

With transport fetch Him in, Ye ransom'd folk from sin-- Your Lord, return'd to bless!

O kneeling king, confess-- O subject men, adore Him!

THREE MEN OF TRURO

I

E. W. B.

_Archbishop of Canterbury: sometime the First Bishop of Truro. October_ 1896

The Church's outpost on a neck of land-- By ebb of faith the foremost left the last-- Dull, starved of hope, we watched the driven sand Blown through the hour-gla.s.s, covering our past, Counting no hours to our relief--no hail Across the hills, and on the sea no sail!

Sick of monotonous days we lost account, In fitful dreams remembering days of old And nights--th' erect Archangel on the Mount With sword that drank the dawn; the Vase of Gold The moving Grail athwart the starry fields Where all the heavenly spearmen clashed their shields.

In dereliction by the deafening sh.o.r.e We sought no more aloft, but sunk our eyes, Probing the sea for food, the earth for ore.

Ah, yet had one good soldier of the skies Burst through the wrack reporting news of them, How had we run and kissed his garment's hem!

Nay, but he came! Nay, but he stood and cried, Panting with joy and the fierce fervent race, "Arm, arm! for Christ returns!"--and all our pride, Our ancient pride, answered that eager face: "Repair His battlements!--Your Christ is near!"

And, half in dream, we raised the soldiers' cheer.

Far, as we flung that challenge, fled the ghosts-- Back, as we built, the obscene foe withdrew-- High to the song of hammers sang the hosts Of Heaven--and lo! the daystar, and a new Dawn with its chalice and its wind as wine; And youth was hope, and life once more divine!

Day, and hot noon, and now the evening glow, And 'neath our scaffolding the city spread Twilit, with rain-wash'd roofs, and--hark!--below, One late bell tolling. "Dead? Our Captain dead?"

Nay, here with us he fronts the westering sun With shaded eyes and counts the wide fields won.

Aloft with us! And while another stone Swings to its socket, haste with trowel and hod!

Win the old smile a moment ere, alone, Soars the great soul to bear report to G.o.d.

Night falls; but thou, dear Captain, from thy star Look down, behold how bravely goes the war!

II

A. B. D.

_Canon Residentiary and Precentor of Truro December_ 1903

Many had builded, and, the building done, Through our adorned gates with din Came Prince and Priest, with pipe and clarion Leading the right G.o.d in.

Yet, had the perfect temple quickened then And whispered us between our song, _"Give G.o.d the praise. To whom of living men Shall next our thanks belong?"_

Then had the few, the very few, that wist His Atlantean labour, swerved Their eyes to seek, and in the triumph missed, The man that most deserved.

He only of us was incorporate In all that fabric; stone by stone Had built his life in her, had made his fate And her perfection one;

Given all he had; and now--when all was given-- Far spent, within a private shade, Heard the loud organ pealing praise to Heaven, And learned why man is made.--

To break his strength, yet always to be brave; To preach, and act, the Crucified ...

Sweep by, O Prince and Prelate, up the nave, And fill it with your pride!

Better than ye what made th' old temples great, Because he loved, he understood; Indignant that his darling, less in state, Should lack a martyr's blood.

She hath it now. O mason, strip away Her scaffolding, the flower disclose!

Lay by the tools with his o'er-wearied clay-- But She shall bloom unto its Judgment Day, His ever-living Rose!

III

C. W. S.

_The Fourth Bishop of Truro May_ 1912

Prince of courtesy defeated, Heir of hope untimely cheated, Throned awhile he sat, and, seated,

Saw his Cornish round him gather; "Teach us how to live, good Father!"

How to die he taught us rather:

Heard the startling trumpet sound him, Smiled upon the feast around him, Rose, and wrapp'd his coat, and bound him

When beyond the awful surges, Bathed in dawn on Syrian verges, G.o.d! thy star, thy Cross emerges.

_And so sing we all to it--_

Crux, in coelo lux superna, Sis in carnis hac taberna Mihi pedibus lucerna:

Quo vexillum dux cohortis Sistet, super flumen Mortis, Te, flammantibus in portis!