R. F. Murray [23]
filling With plenty sweet, My life so nourished, Had grown and flourished, Had God been willing That we should meet.
How vain to fashion From dreams and passion The rich existence Which might have been! Can God's own power Recall the hour, Or bridge the distance That lies between?
Before the morning, From pain and scorning I sail death's river To sleep or hell. To you is given The life of heaven. Farewell for ever, Farewell, farewell!
YET A LITTLE SLEEP
Beside the drowsy streams that creep Within this island of repose, Oh, let us rest from cares and woes, Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep!
Is it ignoble, then, to keep Awhile from where the rough wind blows, And all is strife, and no man knows What end awaits him on the deep?
The voyager may rest awhile, When rest invites, and yet may be Neither a sluggard nor a craven. With strength renewed he quits the isle, And putting out again to sea, Makes sail for his desired haven.
LOST LIBERTY
Of our own will we are not free, When freedom lies within our power. We wait for some decisive hour, To rise and take our liberty.
Still we delay, content to be Imprisoned in our own high tower. What is it but a strong-built bower? Ours are the warders, ours the key.
But we through indolence grow weak. Our warders, fed with power so long, Become at last our lords indeed. We vainly threaten, vainly seek To move their ruth. The bars are strong. We dash against them till we bleed.
AN AFTERTHOUGHT
You found my life, a poor lame bird That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing.
Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour, I think, if you had known How much my life was in your power, It might have sung and flown.
TO J. R.
Last Sunday night I read the saddening story Of the unanswered love of fair Elaine, The `faith unfaithful' and the joyless glory Of Lancelot, `groaning in remorseful pain.'
I thought of all those nights in wintry weather, Those Sunday nights that seem not long ago, When we two read our Poet's words together, Till summer warmth within our hearts did glow.
Ah, when shall we renew that bygone pleasure, Sit down together at our Merlin's feet, Drink from one cup the overflowing measure, And find, in sharing it, the draught more sweet?
That time perchance is far, beyond divining. Till then we drain the `magic cup' apart; Yet not apart, for hope and memory twining Smile upon each, uniting heart to heart.
THE TEMPTED SOUL
Weak soul, by sense still led astray, Why wilt thou parley with the foe? He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point the way.
Hast thou forgotten many a day, When thou exulting forth didst go, And ere the noon wert lying low, A broken and defenceless prey?
If thou wouldst live, avoid his face; Dwell in the wilderness apart, And gather force for vanquishing, Ere thou returnest to his place. Then arm, and with undaunted heart Give battle, till he own thee king.
YOUTH RENEWED
When one who has wandered out of the way Which leads to the hills of joy, Whose heart has grown both cold and grey, Though it be but the heart of a boy - When such a one turns back his feet From the valley of shadow and pain, Is not the sunshine passing sweet, When a man grows young again?
How gladly he mounts up the steep hillside, With strength that is born anew, And in his veins, like a full springtide, The blood streams through and through. And far above is the summit clear, And his heart to be there is fain, And all too slowly it comes more near When a man grows young again.
He breathes the pure sweet mountain breath, And it widens all his heart, And life seems no more kin to death, Nor death the better part. And in tones that are strong and rich and deep He sings a grand refrain, For the soul has awakened from mortal sleep, When a man grows young again.
VANITY OF VANITIES
Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pass away. Ye shall pass and be forgot, And your place shall know you not.
Other generations
How vain to fashion From dreams and passion The rich existence Which might have been! Can God's own power Recall the hour, Or bridge the distance That lies between?
Before the morning, From pain and scorning I sail death's river To sleep or hell. To you is given The life of heaven. Farewell for ever, Farewell, farewell!
YET A LITTLE SLEEP
Beside the drowsy streams that creep Within this island of repose, Oh, let us rest from cares and woes, Oh, let us fold our hands to sleep!
Is it ignoble, then, to keep Awhile from where the rough wind blows, And all is strife, and no man knows What end awaits him on the deep?
The voyager may rest awhile, When rest invites, and yet may be Neither a sluggard nor a craven. With strength renewed he quits the isle, And putting out again to sea, Makes sail for his desired haven.
LOST LIBERTY
Of our own will we are not free, When freedom lies within our power. We wait for some decisive hour, To rise and take our liberty.
Still we delay, content to be Imprisoned in our own high tower. What is it but a strong-built bower? Ours are the warders, ours the key.
But we through indolence grow weak. Our warders, fed with power so long, Become at last our lords indeed. We vainly threaten, vainly seek To move their ruth. The bars are strong. We dash against them till we bleed.
AN AFTERTHOUGHT
You found my life, a poor lame bird That had no heart to sing, You would not speak the magic word To give it voice and wing.
Yet sometimes, dreaming of that hour, I think, if you had known How much my life was in your power, It might have sung and flown.
TO J. R.
Last Sunday night I read the saddening story Of the unanswered love of fair Elaine, The `faith unfaithful' and the joyless glory Of Lancelot, `groaning in remorseful pain.'
I thought of all those nights in wintry weather, Those Sunday nights that seem not long ago, When we two read our Poet's words together, Till summer warmth within our hearts did glow.
Ah, when shall we renew that bygone pleasure, Sit down together at our Merlin's feet, Drink from one cup the overflowing measure, And find, in sharing it, the draught more sweet?
That time perchance is far, beyond divining. Till then we drain the `magic cup' apart; Yet not apart, for hope and memory twining Smile upon each, uniting heart to heart.
THE TEMPTED SOUL
Weak soul, by sense still led astray, Why wilt thou parley with the foe? He seeks to work thine overthrow, And thou, poor fool! dost point the way.
Hast thou forgotten many a day, When thou exulting forth didst go, And ere the noon wert lying low, A broken and defenceless prey?
If thou wouldst live, avoid his face; Dwell in the wilderness apart, And gather force for vanquishing, Ere thou returnest to his place. Then arm, and with undaunted heart Give battle, till he own thee king.
YOUTH RENEWED
When one who has wandered out of the way Which leads to the hills of joy, Whose heart has grown both cold and grey, Though it be but the heart of a boy - When such a one turns back his feet From the valley of shadow and pain, Is not the sunshine passing sweet, When a man grows young again?
How gladly he mounts up the steep hillside, With strength that is born anew, And in his veins, like a full springtide, The blood streams through and through. And far above is the summit clear, And his heart to be there is fain, And all too slowly it comes more near When a man grows young again.
He breathes the pure sweet mountain breath, And it widens all his heart, And life seems no more kin to death, Nor death the better part. And in tones that are strong and rich and deep He sings a grand refrain, For the soul has awakened from mortal sleep, When a man grows young again.
VANITY OF VANITIES
Be ye happy, if ye may, In the years that pass away. Ye shall pass and be forgot, And your place shall know you not.
Other generations