To the heart of a Rose I told it;
And the perfume, sweet and rare,
Growing faint on the blue bright ether,
'Was lost in the balmy air.
I laid it upon a Censer,
And I saw the incense rise;
But its clouds of rolling silver
Could not reach the far blue skies.
I cried, in my passionate longing:-
"Has the earth no Angel-friend
Who will carry my love the message
That my heart desires to send ?"
Then I heard a strain of music,
So mighty, so pure, so clear,
That my very sorrow was silent,
And my
heart stood still to hear.
And I felt, in my soul's deep yearning,
At last the sure answer stir :
"The music will go up to heaven,
And carry my thought to her."
It rose in harmonious rushing
Of mingled voices and strings,
And I tenderly laid my message
On the Music's outspread wings.
I heard it float farther and farther,
In sound more perfect than speech;
Farther than sight can follow,
Farther than thought can reach.
And I know that at last my message
Has passed through the golden gate:
my heart is no longer restless,
And I am content to wait.
To God, ye choir above, begin
A hymn so loud and strong
That all the universe may hear
And join the grateful song.
Praise Him, thou sun, who dwells unseen
Amidst transcendent light,
Where thy refulgent orb would seem
A spot, as dark as night.
Thou silver moon, ye host of stars,
The universal song
Through the serene and silent night
To listening worlds prolong,
Sing Him, ye distant worlds and suns,
From whence no travelling ray
Hath yet to us, through ages past,
Had time to make its way.
Assist, ye raging storms, and bear
On rapid wings his praise,
From north to south, from east to west,
Through heaven, and earth, and seas.
Exert your voice, ye furious fires
That rend the watery cloud,
And thunder to this nether world
Your Maker's words aloud.
Ye works of God, that dwell unknown
Beneath the rolling main;
Ye birds, that sing among the groves,
And sweep the azure plain;
Ye stately hills, that rear your heads,
And towering pierce the sky;
Ye clouds, that with an awful pace
Majestic roll on high;
Ye insects small, to which one leaf
Within its narrow sides
A vast extended world displays,
And spacious realms provides;
Ye race, still less than these, with which
The stagnant water teems,
To which one drop, however small,
A boundless ocean seems;
Whate'er ye are, where'er ye dwell,
Ye creatures great or small,
Adore the wisdom, praise the power,
That made and governs all.
THE LEGEND OF THE CHRIST OF
KATHERINE TYNAN.
IN ages long ago in Germany
There lived a knight, a sinful man was he.
In wicked revelry by day and night
His life was spent a man of wealth and might:
Far in the purple distances around
His stately castle, miles of fruitful ground
And many flocks and herds were his alone;
Full many a vassal 'neath his yoke did groan,
Calling him Master. The wild years passed by;
With age came ruth. One day with bitter sigh,
Looking from his high tower o'er hill and dell,
All the fair smiling land he loved so well,
He knew his wickedness, his evil ways—
He wept as back his thoughts went to old days,
When 'neath the burning skies of Palestine
He had seen the fiery spear of Paynim shine,
And foremost in the fray his snowy crest
Gleamed ever with the Red Cross on his breast,
THE LEGEND OF THE CHRIST OF UNTERNACH. 305
Fighting to save the tomb of Christ his Lord,
From the dark bondage of the Paynim horde.
Then thought he of the years that lay between,
The wild and wicked years of deadly sin,
And most of one dark sin that soiled his soul.
Then said he: "The Lord's love can make me whole.
I will arise, and this fair heritage
Will offer unto Him, and mine old age
Will pass in poverty and nothingness.
The Christ who died upon the cross to bless
And pardon sinners will my life forgive,
Out of his mercy, and will let me live
Till I have made atonement for my sin,
And, that complete, my pardon will I win,
And by the bishop's holy words be shriven,
And then with joy, mine evilness forgiven,
Will walk with naked feet to Palestine
To lay me down beside my Saviour's shrine."
First did he set his many vassals free,
And all his bounteous wealth allotted he
To feed the poor; an abbey fair to raise
Where monks from morn to eve would chant the praise
Of the high God; a stately hospital
Builded he for the sick; his name through all
The land was blessed: a generous hostelry
For wayfarers he raised. The time went by;
Some years had passed when, all his task complete,
Poor and unknown, he sought the bishop's feet.
The bishop, a dark, haughty man was he,
Of stainless life, but cold austerity
To those less perfect showed he, hardly meet
A servant for the Lord, whose holy feet
Wet with a sinner's tears of sorrow were,
And dried with the gold masses of her hair.
He knew not that the pilgrim poor and old,
With palmer's gown of gray, whose heavy fold
Of hood concealed his face, was the same knight
Reputed holiest, crowned with the light
Of the poor's love that wins the love of heaven,
Praying with broken sobs to be forgiven
For evil of old days. The bishop heard,
With ice-cold face and lips that spake no word,
The knight's confession; then his wrath awoke
In bitter words that the soft silence broke:
"Listen! When this my staff shall bloom and break
In lily-buds, thy pardon will I speak-
Of sinners thou the vilest !" Then he turned,
But ere he could depart, with words that burned,
And passionate wild sobs down at his feet
Fell the sad knight, forgiveness to entreat.
"For Christ's dear love, forgiveness!" cried he there
With deepest anguish. All unheard his prayer.
Coldly the bishop spurned him from his sight;
Then with bent form and eyes that saw no light,
Passed out the knight-a woful man was he-
Far in the open land unwittingly
His way he wended. It was winter time;
The snow was on the world, the bitter rime
Whitened the knight's gray robe, and in his face
A wild wind blew, the snow came down apace.
At last he reached where a great abbey's rood
Rose fair and pale against the neighbouring wood,
And knew it not for that himself did raise;
But, as he passed, low voices chanting praise
Broke on his ear. Weary, as one distraught,
"Here will I rest without the doors," he thought.
"I know that Mary's Son, who bides within,
Is mild and merciful, and though my sin
Be red as scarlet He will whiten me
Even as snow." And then full wearily,
He laid him down. It was the time of Mass.
He saw the acolytes in white robes pass
About the altar that shone bright and fair
With lights, and wondrous waxen blooms were there,
Shedding rich perfume. One deep voice heard be
Break on the glorified silence solemnly
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