Glory of Virtue, to fight, to struggle, to right

the wrong

Nay, but she aim'd not at glory, no lover of glory she:

Give her the glory of going on, and still to be. 5

The wages of sin is death: if the wages of Virtue be dust,

Would she have heart to endure for the life of

the worm and the fly?

She desires no isles of the blest, no quiet seats of the just,

To rest in a golden grove, or to bask in a

summer sky:

Give her the wages of going on, and not to die. 10

1868.

UP-HILL

Lord Tennyson.

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.

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The Pillar of the Cloud

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.

1858. 1862.

Christina Georgina Rossetti.

THE PILLAR OF THE CLOUD

LEAD, Kindly Light, amid the encircling gloom,
Lead Thou me on!

The night is dark, and I am far from home-
Lead Thou me on!

Keep Thou my feet; I do not ask to see
The distant scene,-one step enough for me.

I was not ever thus, nor prayed that Thou
Shouldst lead me on.

I loved to choose and see my path; but now
Lead Thou me on!

I loved the garish day, and, spite of fears,
Pride ruled my will: remember not past years.

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So long Thy power hath blessed me, sure it still

Will lead me on,

O'er moor and fen, o'er crag and torrent, till

The night is gone;

And with the morn those angel faces smile

Which I have loved long since, and lost awhile. 18

1833.

John Henry Newman.

CROSSING THE BAR

SUNSET and evening star,

And one clear call for me!

And may there be no moaning of the bar,
When I put out to sea,

But such a tide as moving seems asleep,

Too full for sound and foam,

When that which drew from out the

boundless deep

Turns again home.

Twilight and evening bell,

And after that the dark!

And may there be no sadness of farewell,
When I embark;

For tho' from out our bourne of Time

and Place

The flood may bear me far,

I hope to see my Pilot face to face

1889.

When I have crossed the bar.

Lord Tennyson.

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