Eyes of Youth

Childhood

 
A stranger come I to the festival
Thou holdest in the regions of romance,
Where dragons lurk and elfin spirits dance,
And pearls lie hid within each rose petal.
What magic changes in life's crystal ball
Shall thus transform earth's dullness at thy glance!
Ride then the wind, a feather for thy lance,
A pool thy sea, thy heaven a waterfall.
So shall thy soul to fairy worlds belong,
Where dust is gold and dew-drops turn to wine;
Remember still the visions that are thine
When sorrow shall disperse that phantom throng;
And dream once more that thou hast found divine
Love in a flower, and kingdoms in a song.
 

Love in Idleness

 
To look at thee, and see the sunlight move
The shadow of the leaves upon thy face,
Lighting the glory of thy youth and grace
With golden rays wind-stirred from trees above;
To listen to the rustling of the grove,
The warblers in the reeds which interlace
The waters of the pool, and dream a space,
Forgetful of the hours … this then is love!
Thy passion and thy strength, thy gentleness,
All these are mine. Who then shall dispossess
My soul of paradise? In truth I learn
More than the world can teach. Oblivion waits,
And distance parts, and Death annihilates:
But now thy love is all my love's concern.
 

Love's Counterfeit

 
By what false spell of what enchanter's wand
Should thy gross fibre be with love allied?
Unhappy youth, thou callest to thy side
An unknown shade from some far spirit land;
Thou canst not guess, nor shalt thou understand,
The waters that thy soul from his divide.
In place of Love, what alien spirits glide
About thy sleep to answer thy command?
What blasphemy is this? Thou hast no spell
To call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,
Or move the stars. What cometh in his place?
This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,
Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep?
Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst see
his face.
 

OLIVIA MEYNELL

A Grief without Christ

 
I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found
In every colour, and in every sound.
 
 
I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,
A living God, breathing the living air.
 
 
I sought Him in my soul—oh, passionate loss!
All that I found was a forsaken Cross.
 

The Crowning

 
Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,
My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.
 
 
Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were—
 
 
Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.
 
 
Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.
 
 
Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.
 

MAURICE HEALY

In Memoriam

 
"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.
 
 
"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side
To make your own the soul I wear
And mould it purer into prayer.
 
 
And since your love first lit the way
I find that I have learned to pray;
For, that my soul may benefit,
I pray that you may pray for it.
 

A Ballad of Friendship

for two most dear Children

 
Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
I gave the best of a slender ability,
Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.
You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
Over the tips of the western towers;
Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours!"
 
 
Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy—
Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
What is the score of my slavery's wrong?
Surely where pleasures so freely throng
Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours"?
 
 
When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
Lovingly stealing the sorrows I had,
Wisdom came with you; the old sad history
Glowed; and I knew in my heart why the sad
And outcast Lord grew suddenly glad
As the children thronged to crown Him with flowers,
When their cry was voiced by some tiny lad,
"This is no Stranger: we name Him ours!"
 

L'ENVOI

 
So do I thank you; and if some day
You in your gained Paradisal bowers
Hear me knocking, be bold to pray,
"This is no stranger: we claim him ours!"
 

In the Midst of Them

 
"Gentle Jesus, meek and mild,
Look on me, a little child.
Pity my simplicity
And suffer me to come to Thee."
 

 
Now prevails a creed which tells
Us to seek no miracles.
Reason by discovered lore
Reigns where Faith was found before.
God, Who set our world aspin,
Now is weary of its din;
He, Who for our fathers' sake
Conjured lightning and earthquake,
Vanquished sorrow, sickness, death,
Deems we are not worth the Breath
That blessed the trusting prophet's rod
When Moses called upon his God.
How dare we expect Him give
Miracles to help us live?
 
 
Yet I build on Him Who saith,
"Move the mountains with your faith"—
Doubt the lips that falter, wan,
"The age of miracles is gone!"
I have learned to read the grim
Testimony unto Him
Printed with starvation's hand
On every hove! through the land;
I have swung the crazy door
To find huddled on a floor
Rat-gnawed and riddled, with never a clout
To keep the eager winter out,
Some six or seven of our kind
Shivering beneath the wind,
Foodless, fireless, hungry-eyed,
Crouched round one who just had died,
Hopeless that the dawn would bring
Friendly aid and comforting.
 
 
And after prayer for the parted soul,
They have thanked the slender dole,
And spoken of hope of days to come,
And have forgotten their martyrdom.
The anguished grief of motherhood
Has firmly whispered "God is good
And can in His Eternity
Repay this present loss"; till I
Have almost turned my head to see
If Christ has not come in with me!
 

 
Gentle Jesus, mild and meek,
These the simple words I speak
Are the faith Thou gavest me;
Suffer me to come to Thee!