Looking, where duty is desire, Gone be the faithlessness of fear, And let the pitying heaven's sweet rain Wash out the altar's bloody stain; The law of Hatred disappear, The law of Love alone remain. How fall the idols false and grim! The emblems of the Lamb and Dove! Stands a great city in the sky's sad raining, Bareheaded and wet-eyed! Silent for once the restless hive of labor, The good deeds of the dead. For him no minster's chant of the immortals Rose from the lips of sin; Man turns from God, not God from No mitred priest swung back the heav him; And guilt, in suffering, whispers Love! The world sits at the feet of Christ, Unknowing, blind, and unconsoled; enly portals To let the white soul in. But Age and Sickness framed their tear ful faces In the low hovel's door, It yet shall touch his garment's fold, And prayers went up from all the dark Whose blue waves keep with Capri's sil- For never yet, with ritual pomp and ver fountains Perpetual holiday, A king lies dead, his wafer duly eaten, His gold-bought masses given; And Rome's great altar smokes with gums to sweeten Her foulest gift to Heaven. Has England's turf closed o'er. And if there fell from out her grand old steeples No crash of brazen wail, And while all Naples thrills with mute The murmurous woe of kindreds, With a true sorrow God rebukes that Of Indian islands in the sun-smit shad feigning; By lone Edgbaston's side OWS Of Occidental palms ; From the locked roadsteads of the | Still a large faith in human-kind he Bothnian peasants, And harbors of the Finn, Where war's worn victims saw his gentle presence Come sailing, Christ-like, in, cherished, And in God's love for all. And now he rests: his greatness and his sweetness No more shall seem at strife; To seek the lost, to build the old waste And death has moulded into calm complaces, pleteness The statue of his life. Where the dews glisten and the songbirds warble, His dust to dust is laid, Thanks for the good man's beautiful In Nature's keeping, with no pomp of example, Who in the vilest saw Some sacred crypt or altar of a temple Still vocal with God's law; His faith and works, like streams that Ar morn I prayed, "I fain would see That they who judged him by his A presence melted through my mood, strength or weakness Saw but a single side. A warmth, a light, a sense of good, Like sunshine through a winter wood. Men failed, betrayed him, but his zeal I saw that presence, mailed complete seemed nourished By failure and by fall; In her white innocence, pause to greet A fallen sister of the street. Yet still the wilding flowers would Her wild birds sing the same sweet stave, blow, The golden leaves would fall, The seasons come, the seasons go, Above the graves the blackberry hung The beauty Nature loves to share, The gifts she hath for all, The common light, the common air, O'ercrept the graveyard's wall. It knew the glow of eventide, The sunrise and the noon, And glorified and sanctified It slept beneath the moon. With flowers or snow-flakes for its sod, Around the seasons ran, And evermore the love of God Rebuked the fear of man. We dwell with fears on either hand, Within a daily strife, And spectral problems waiting stand Before the gates of life. The doubts we vainly seek to solve, And if we reap as we have sown, And take the dole we deal, The law of pain is love alone, The wounding is to heal. Like the march of soundless music Of the heart than of the ear, O, they listened, dumb and breathless, lock! Louder, nearer, fierce as vengeance, But when the far-off dust-cloud Round the silver domes of Lucknow, The air of Auld Lang Syne. MY PSALM. I MOURN no more my vanished years: An April rain of smiles and tears, The west-winds blow, and, singing low, No longer forward nor behind I plough no more a desert land, |