R. F. Murray [26]
O God, is this new birth, Birth of the spirit dying to the flesh? Are these the living waters which refresh The thirsty spirit, that it thirst no more? Still all my life is thirsting to the core. Thou canst not satisfy, if this be Thou. And yet I dream, or I remember how, Before I came here, while I tarried yet Among the friends they tell me to forget, I never seemed to seek Thee, but I found Thou wert in all the loveliness around, And most of all in hearts that loved me well.
`And then I came to seek Thee in this cell, To crucify my worldliness and pride, To lay my heart's affections all aside, As carnal hindrances which held my soul From hasting unencumbered to her goal. And all this have I done, or else have striven To do, obeying the behest of Heaven, And my reward is bitterness. I seem To wander always in a feverish dream On plains where there is only sun and sand, No rock or tree in all the weary land, My thirst unquenchable, my heart burnt dry. And still in my parched throat I faintly cry, Deliver me, O Lord: bow down Thine ear!
`He will not answer me. He does not hear. I am alone within the universe. Oh for a strength of will to rise and curse God, and defy Him here to strike me dead! But my heart fails me, and I bow my head, And cry to Him for mercy, still in vain. Oh for some sudden agony of pain, To make such insurrection in my soul That I might burst all bondage of control, Be for one moment as the beasts that die, And pour my life in one blaspheming cry!'
The morning came, and all the convent towers Were gilt with glory by the golden hours. But where was Ursula? The sisters came With quiet footsteps, calling her by name, But there was none that answered. In her cell, The glad, illuminating sunshine fell On form and face, and showed that she was dead. `May Christ receive her soul!' the sisters said, And spoke in whispers of her holy life, And how God's mercy spared her pain and strife, And gave this quiet death. The face was still, Like a tired child's, that lies and sleeps its fill.
UNDESIRED REVENGE
Sorrow and sin have worked their will For years upon your sovereign face, And yet it keeps a faded trace Of its unequalled beauty still, As ruined sanctuaries hold A crumbled trace of perfect mould In shrines which saints no longer fill.
I knew you in your splendid morn, Oh, how imperiously sweet! I bowed and worshipped at your feet, And you received my love with scorn. Now I scorn you. It is a change, When I consider it, how strange That you, not I, should be forlorn.
Do you suppose I have no pain To see you play this sorry part, With faded face and broken heart, And life lived utterly in vain? Oh would to God that you once more Might scorn me as you did of yore, And I might worship you again!
POETS
Children of earth are we, Lovers of land and sea, Of hill, of brook, of tree, Of all things fair; Of all things dark or bright, Born of the day and night, Red rose and lily white And dusky hair.
Yet not alone from earth Do we derive our birth. What were our singing worth Were this the whole? Somewhere from heaven afar Hath dropped a fiery star, Which makes us what we are, Which is our soul.
A PRESENTIMENT
It seems a little word to say - FAREWELL--but may it not, when said, Be like the kiss we give the dead, Before they pass the doors for aye?
Who knows if, on some after day, Your lips shall utter in its stead A welcome, and the broken thread Be joined again, the selfsame way?
The word is said, I turn to go, But on the threshold seem to hear A sound as of a passing bell, Tolling monotonous and slow, Which strikes despair upon my ear, And says it is a last farewell.
A BIRTHDAY GIFT
No gift I bring but worship, and the love Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure,
Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure; Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above;
To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure, Less fearful of its ending, being sure That they watch over us, where'er we
`And then I came to seek Thee in this cell, To crucify my worldliness and pride, To lay my heart's affections all aside, As carnal hindrances which held my soul From hasting unencumbered to her goal. And all this have I done, or else have striven To do, obeying the behest of Heaven, And my reward is bitterness. I seem To wander always in a feverish dream On plains where there is only sun and sand, No rock or tree in all the weary land, My thirst unquenchable, my heart burnt dry. And still in my parched throat I faintly cry, Deliver me, O Lord: bow down Thine ear!
`He will not answer me. He does not hear. I am alone within the universe. Oh for a strength of will to rise and curse God, and defy Him here to strike me dead! But my heart fails me, and I bow my head, And cry to Him for mercy, still in vain. Oh for some sudden agony of pain, To make such insurrection in my soul That I might burst all bondage of control, Be for one moment as the beasts that die, And pour my life in one blaspheming cry!'
The morning came, and all the convent towers Were gilt with glory by the golden hours. But where was Ursula? The sisters came With quiet footsteps, calling her by name, But there was none that answered. In her cell, The glad, illuminating sunshine fell On form and face, and showed that she was dead. `May Christ receive her soul!' the sisters said, And spoke in whispers of her holy life, And how God's mercy spared her pain and strife, And gave this quiet death. The face was still, Like a tired child's, that lies and sleeps its fill.
UNDESIRED REVENGE
Sorrow and sin have worked their will For years upon your sovereign face, And yet it keeps a faded trace Of its unequalled beauty still, As ruined sanctuaries hold A crumbled trace of perfect mould In shrines which saints no longer fill.
I knew you in your splendid morn, Oh, how imperiously sweet! I bowed and worshipped at your feet, And you received my love with scorn. Now I scorn you. It is a change, When I consider it, how strange That you, not I, should be forlorn.
Do you suppose I have no pain To see you play this sorry part, With faded face and broken heart, And life lived utterly in vain? Oh would to God that you once more Might scorn me as you did of yore, And I might worship you again!
POETS
Children of earth are we, Lovers of land and sea, Of hill, of brook, of tree, Of all things fair; Of all things dark or bright, Born of the day and night, Red rose and lily white And dusky hair.
Yet not alone from earth Do we derive our birth. What were our singing worth Were this the whole? Somewhere from heaven afar Hath dropped a fiery star, Which makes us what we are, Which is our soul.
A PRESENTIMENT
It seems a little word to say - FAREWELL--but may it not, when said, Be like the kiss we give the dead, Before they pass the doors for aye?
Who knows if, on some after day, Your lips shall utter in its stead A welcome, and the broken thread Be joined again, the selfsame way?
The word is said, I turn to go, But on the threshold seem to hear A sound as of a passing bell, Tolling monotonous and slow, Which strikes despair upon my ear, And says it is a last farewell.
A BIRTHDAY GIFT
No gift I bring but worship, and the love Which all must bear to lovely souls and pure,
Those lights, that, when all else is dark, endure; Stars in the night, to lift our eyes above;
To lift our eyes and hearts, and make us move Less doubtful, though our journey be obscure, Less fearful of its ending, being sure That they watch over us, where'er we