Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress and Other Poems Read online

  Or in this world, or in the world to come:

  Sing, voice of Spring,

  Till I too blossom and rejoice and sing.

  THE CONVENT THRESHOLD

  THERE'S blood between us, love, my love,

  There's father's blood, there's brother's blood;

  And blood's a bar I cannot pass:

  I choose the stairs that mount above,

  Stair after golden skyward stair,

  To city and to sea of glass.

  My lily feet are soiled with mud,

  With scarlet mud which tells a tale

  Of hope that was, of guilt that was,

  Of love that shall not yet avail;

  Alas, my heart, if I could bare

  My heart, this selfsame stain is there:

  I seek the sea of glass and fire

  To wash the spot, to burn the snare;

  Lo, stairs are meant to lift us higher:

  Mount with me, mount the kindled stair.

  Your eyes look earthward, mine look up.

  I see the far-off city grand,

  Beyond the hills a watered land,

  Beyond the gulf a gleaming strand

  Of mansions where the righteous sup;

  Who sleep at ease among their trees,

  Or wake to sing a cadenced hymn

  With Cherubim and Seraphim;

  They bore the Cross, they drained the cup,

  Racked, roasted, crushed, wrenched limb from limb,

  They the offscouring of the world:

  The heaven of starry heavens unfurled,

  The sun before their face is dim.

  You looking earthward what see you?

  Milk-white wine-flushed among the vines,

  Up and down leaping, to and fro,

  Most glad, most full, made strong with wines,

  Blooming as peaches pearled with dew,

  Their golden windy hair afloat,

  Love-music warbling in their throat,

  Young men and women come and go.

  You linger, yet the time is short:

  Flee for your life, gird up your strength

  To flee; the shadows stretched at length

  Show that day wanes, that night draws nigh;

  Flee to the mountain, tarry not.

  Is this a time for smile and sigh,

  For songs among the secret trees

  Where sudden blue birds nest and sport?

  The time is short and yet you stay:

  Today while it is called today

  Kneel, wrestle, knock, do violence, pray;

  Today is short, tomorrow nigh:

  Why will you die? why will you die?

  You sinned with me a pleasant sin:

  Repent with me, for I repent.

  Woe's me the lore I must unlearn!

  Woe's me that easy way we went,

  So rugged when I would return!

  How long until my sleep begin,

  How long shall stretch these nights and days?

  Surely, clean Angels cry, she prays;

  She laves her soul with tedious tears:

  How long must stretch these years and years?

  I turn from you my cheeks and eyes,

  My hair which you shall see no more—

  Alas for joy that went before,

  For joy that dies, for love that dies.

  Only my lips still turn to you,

  My livid lips that cry, Repent.

  Oh weary life, oh weary Lent,

  Oh weary time whose stars are few.

  How should I rest in Paradise,

  Or sit on steps of heaven alone?

  If Saints and Angels spoke of love

  Should I not answer from my throne:

  Have pity upon me, ye my friends,

  For I have heard the sound thereof:

  Should I not turn with yearning eyes,

  Turn earthwards with a pitiful pang?

  Oh save me from a pang in heaven.

  By all the gifts we took and gave,

  Repent, repent, and be forgiven:

  This life is long, but yet it ends;

  Repent and purge your soul and save:

  No gladder song the morning stars

  Upon their birthday morning sang

  Than Angels sing when one repents.

  I tell you what I dreamed last night:

  A spirit with transfigured face

  Fire-footed clomb an infinite space.

  I heard his hundred pinions clang,

  Heaven-bells rejoicing rang and rang,

  Heaven-air was thrilled with subtle scents,

  Worlds spun upon their rushing cars:

  He mounted shrieking: 'Give me light.'

  Still light was poured on him, more light;

  Angels, Archangels he outstripped

  Exultant in exceeding might,

  And trod the skirts of Cherubim.

  Still 'Give me light,' he shrieked; and dipped

  His thirsty face, and drank a sea,

  Athirst with thirst it could not slake.

  I saw him, drunk with knowledge, take

  From aching brows the aureole crown—

  His locks writhed like a cloven snake—

  He left his throne to grovel down

  And lick the dust of Seraphs' feet:

  For what is knowledge duly weighed?

  Knowledge is strong, but love is sweet;

  Yea all the progress he had made

  Was but to learn that all is small

  Save love, for love is all in all.

  I tell you what I dreamed last night:

  It was not dark, it was not light,

  Cold dews had drenched my plenteous hair

  Through clay; you came to seek me there.

  And 'Do you dream of me?' you said.

  My heart was dust that used to leap

  To you; I answered half asleep:

  'My pillow is damp, my sheets are red,

  There's a leaden tester to my bed:

  Find you a warmer playfellow,

  A warmer pillow for your head,

  A kinder love to love than mine.'

  You wrung your hands; while I like lead

  Crushed downwards through the sodden earth:

  You smote your hands but not in mirth,

  And reeled but were not drunk with wine.

  For all night long I dreamed of you:

  I woke and prayed against my will,

  Then slept to dream of you again.

  At length I rose and knelt and prayed:

  I cannot write the words I said,

  My words were slow, my tears were few;

  But through the dark my silence spoke

  Like thunder. When this morning broke,

  My face was pinched, my hair was grey,

  And frozen blood was on the sill

  Where stifling in my struggle I lay.

  If now you saw me you would say:

  Where is the face I used to love?

  And I would answer: Gone before;

  It tarries veiled in paradise.

  When once the morning star shall rise,

  When earth with shadow flees away

  And we stand safe within the door,

  Then you shall lift the veil thereof.

  Look up, rise up: for far above

  Our palms are grown, our place is set;

  There we shall meet as once we met

  And love with old familiar love.

  UP-HILL

  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.

  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 labour you shall find the sum.

  Will there be beds for me and all who seek?

  Yea, beds for all who come.

  DEVOTIONAL PIECES

  'THE LOVE OF CHRIST WHICH PASSETH KNOWLEDGE'

  I BORE with thee long weary days and nights,

  Through many pangs of heart, through many tears;

  I bore with thee, thy hardness, coldness, slights,

  For three and thirty years.

  Who else had dared for thee what I have dared?

  I plunged the depth most deep from bliss above;

  I not My flesh, I not My spirit spared:

  Give thou Me love for love.

  For thee I thirsted in the daily drouth,

  For thee I trembled in the nightly frost:

  Much sweeter thou than honey to My mouth:

  Why wilt thou still be lost?

  I bore thee on My shoulders and rejoiced:

  Men only marked upon My shoulders borne

  The branding cross; and shouted hungry-voiced,

  Or wagged their heads in scorn.

  Thee did nails grave upon My hands, thy name

  Did thorns for frontlets stamp between Mine eyes:

  I, Holy One, put on thy guilt and shame;

  I, God, Priest, Sacrifice.

  A thief upon My right hand and My left;

  Six hours alone, athirst, in misery:

  At length in death one smote My heart and cleft

  A hiding-place for thee.

  Nailed to the racking cross, than bed of down

  More dear, whereon to stretch Myself and sleep:

  So did I win a kingdom,—share My crown;

  A harvest,—come and reap.

  'A BRUISED REED SHALL HE NOT BREAK'

  I WILL accept thy will to do and be,

  Thy hatred and intolerance of sin,

  Thy will at least to love, that burns within

  And thirsteth after Me:

  So will I render fruitful, blessing still,

  The germs and small beginnings in thy heart,

  Because thy will cleaves to the better part.—

  Alas, I cannot will.

  Dost not thou will, poor soul? Yet I receive

  The inner unseen longings of the soul,

  I guide them turning towards Me; I control

  And charm hearts till they grieve:

  If thou desire, it yet shall come to pass,

  Though thou but wish indeed to choose My love;

  For I have power in earth and heaven above.—

  I cannot wish, alas!

  What, neither choose nor wish to choose? and yet

  I still must strive to win thee and constrain:

  For thee I hung upon the cross in pain,

  How then can I forget?

  If thou as yet dost neither love, nor hate,

  Nor choose, nor wish,—resign thyself, be still

  Till I infuse love, hatred, longing, will.—

  I do not deprecate.

  A BETTER RESURRECTION

  I HAVE no wit, no words, no tears;

  My heart within me like a stone

  Is numbed too much for hopes or fears;

  Look right, look left, I dwell alone;

  I lift mine eyes, but dimmed with grief

  No everlasting hills I see;

  My life is in the falling leaf:

  O Jesus, quicken me.

  My life is like a faded leaf,

  My harvest dwindled to a husk;

  Truly my life is void and brief

  And tedious in the barren dusk;

  My life is like a frozen thing,

  No bud nor greenness can I see:

  Yet rise it shall—the sap of Spring;

  O Jesus, rise in me.

  My life is like a broken bowl,

  A broken bowl that cannot hold

  One drop of water for my soul

  Or cordial in the searching cold

  Cast in the fire the perished thing,

  Melt and remould it, till it be

  A royal cup for Him my King:

  O Jesus, drink of me.

  ADVENT

  THIS Advent moon shines cold and clear,

  These Advent nights are long;

  Our lamps have burned year after year

  And still their flame is strong.

  'Watchman, what of the night?' we cry,

  Heart-sick with hope deferred:

  'No speaking signs are in the sky,'

  Is still the watchman's word.

  The Porter watches at the gate,

  The servants watch within;

  The watch is long betimes and late,

  The prize is slow to win.

  'Watchman, what of the night?' But still

  His answer sounds the same:

  'No daybreak tops the utmost hill,

  Nor pale our lamps of flame.'

  One to another hear them speak

  The patient virgins wise:

  'Surely He is not far to seek'—

  'All night we watch and rise.'

  'The days are evil looking back,

  The coming days are dim;

  Yet count we not His promise slack,

  But watch and wait for Him.'

  One with another, soul with soul,

  They kindle fire from fire:

  'Friends watch us who have touched the goal.'

  'They urge us, come up higher.'

  'With them shall rest our waysore feet,

  With them is built our home,

  With Christ.'—'They sweet, but He most sweet,

  Sweeter than honeycomb.'

  There no more parting, no more pain,

  The distant ones brought near,

  The lost so long are found again,

  Long lost but longer dear:

  Eye hath not seen, ear hath not heard,

  Nor heart conceived that rest,

  With them our good things long deferred,

  With Jesus Christ our Best.

  We weep because the night is long,

  We laugh for day shall rise,

  We sing a slow contented song

  And knock at Paradise.

  Weeping we hold Him fast, Who wept

  For us, we hold Him fast;

  And will not let Him go except

  He bless us first or last.

  Weeping we hold Him fast tonight;

  We will not let Him go

  Till daybreak smite our wearied sight

  And summer smite the snow:

  Then figs shall bud, and dove with dove

  Shall coo the livelong day;

  Then He shall say, 'Arise, My love,

  My fair one, come away.'

  THE THREE ENEMIES

  THE FLESH

  'Sweet, thou art pale.'

  'More pale to see,

  Christ hung upon the cruel tree

  And bore His Father's wrath for me.'

  'Sweet, thou art sad.'

  'Beneath a rod

  More heavy, Christ for my sake trod

  The winepress of the wrath of God.'

  'Sweet, thou art weary.'

  'Not so Christ:

  Whose mighty love of me sufficed

  For Strength, Salvation, Eucharist.'

  'Sweet, thou art footsore.'

  'If I bleed,

  His feet have bled: yea, in my need

  His Heart once bled for mine indeed.'

  THE WORLD

  'Sweet, thou art young.'

  'So He was young

  Who for my sake in silence hung

  Upon the Cross with Passion wrung.'

  'Look, thou art fair.'

  'He was more fair

  Than men, Who deigned for me to wear

  A visage marred beyond compare.'

  'And thou hast riches.'

  'Daily bread:

&nb
sp; All else is His; Who living, dead,

  For me lacked where to lay His Head.'