Which here she scarcely, lightly had begun :

The foul engendered worm Feeds

on the flesh of the life-giving
form

Of our most Holy and Anointed One.
He is not risen, no-

He lies and moulders low;
Christ is not risen!

What if the women, ere the dawn was gray,

Saw one or more great angels, as they say

(Angels, or Him himself)? Yet neither there, nor then,

Nor afterwards, nor elsewhere, nor at all,

Hath He appeared to Peter or the Ten; Nor save in thunderous terror, to blind

Saul;

Save in an after Gospel and late Creed,
He is not risen, indeed,-
Christ is not risen!

Or, what if e'en, as runs a tale, the Ten Saw, heard, and touched, again and yet again?

What if at Emmaüs' inn, and by Capernaum's Lake,

Came One, the bread that brake

Came One that spake as never mortal spake,

And with them ate, and drank, and stood, and walked about?

Ah?" some" did well to “doubt!" Ah! the true Christ, while these things came to pass,

Nor heard, nor spake, nor walked, nor lived, alas!

He was not risen, no

He lay and mouldered low,

Christ was not risen!

As circulates in some great city crowd A rumor changeful, vague, importunate, and loud,

From no determined centre or of fact
Or authorship exact,
Which no man can deny

Nor verify;

So spread the wondrous fame; He all the same

Lay senseless, mouldering, low: He was not risen, no

Christ was not risen !

Ashes to ashes, dust to dust;
As of the unjust, also of the just-
Yea, of that Just One, too!
This is the one sad Gospel that.is true--
Christ is not risen!

Is He not risen, and shall we not rise?
Oh, we unwise!

What did we dream, what wake we to discover?

Ye hills, fall on us, and ye mountains, cover!

In darkness and great gloom Come ere we thought it is our day of doom;

From the cursed world, which is one tomb,

[Him;

Weep not beside the tomb, Ye women, unto whom He was great solace while ye tended Ye who with napkin o'er the head And folds of linen round each wounded limb

Laid out the Sacred Dead; And thou that bar'st Him in thy wondering womb;

Yea, Daughters of Jerusalem, depart, Bind up as best ye may your own sad bleeding heart:

Go to your homes, your living children tend,

Your earthly spouses love;

Set your affections not on things above,

Which moth and rust corrupt, which quickliest come to end :

Or pray, if pray ye must, and pray, if

Which ye would preach, because another heard

Ye worshippers of that ye do not
know,

Take these things hence and go:-
He is not risen!

Here, on our Easter Day

We rise, we come, and lo! we find Him not,

Gardener nor other, on the sacred spot: Where they have laid Him there is none to say;

No sound, nor in, nor out-no word Of where to seek the dead or meet the living Lord.

There is no glistering of an angel's wings,

There is no voice of heavenly clear behest:

Let us go hence, and think upon these things

In silence, which is best.
Is He not risen? No--
But lies and moulders low?
Christ is not risen?

Weep not, it bade, whatever hath been

In the true creed
He is yet risen indeed;
Christ is yet risen.

Weep not beside His Tomb,

Ye women unto whom

He was great comfort and yet greater grief;

Nor ye, ye faithful few that wont with Him to roam,

Seek sadly what for Him ye left, go hopeless to your home;

Nor ye despair, ye sharers yet to be of their belief;

Though He be dead, He is not dead,
Nor gone, though fled,

Not lost, though vanished;
Though He return not, though
He lies and moulders low;

In the true creed

He is yet risen indeed;

Christ is yet risen.

Sit if ye will, sit down upon the ground, Yet not to weep and wail, but calmly

look around.

Whate'er befell,

Earth is not hell;

Now, too, as when it first began,
Life is yet life, and man is man.

For all that breathe beneath the heaven's high cope,

Joy with grief mixes, with despondence hope.

Hope conquers cowardice, joy grief;
Or at least, faith unbelief.

Though dead, not dead;
Not gone, though fled;
Not lost, though vanished.

In the great gospel and true creed,
He is yet risen indeed;

Christ is yet risen. 1849. 1869.

HOPE EVERMORE AND BELIEVE!

HOPE evermore and believe, O man, for e'en as thy thought

So are the things that thou see'st; e'en as thy hope and belief. Cowardly art thou and timid? they rise to provoke thee against them; Hast thou courage? enough, see them exulting to yield.

Yea, the rough rock, the dull earth, the wild sea's furying waters

(Violent say'st thou and hard, mighty thou think'st to destroy),

All with ineffable longing are waiting their Invader,

All, with one varying voice, call to him, Come and subdue ;

Still for their Conqueror call, and, but for the joy of being conquered (Rapture they will not forego), dare to resist and rebel;

Still, when resisting and raging, in soft undervoice say unto him,

Fear not, retire not, O man; hope evermore and believe.

Go from the east to the west, as the sun and the stars direct thee,

Go with the girdle of man, go and encompass the earth.

Not for the gain of the gold; for the getting, the hoarding, the having, But for the joy of the deed; but for the Duty to do.

Go with the spiritual life, the higher volition and action,

With the great girdle of God, go and encompass the earth.

Go; say not in thy heart, And what then were it accomplished,

Were the wild impulse allayed, what were the use or the good!

Go, when the instinct is stilled, and when the deed is accomplished, What thou hast done and shalt do, shall be declared to thee then.

Go with the sun and the stars, and yet evermore in thy spirit

Say to thyself: It is good: yet is there better than it.

This that I see is not all, and this that I do is but little;

Nevertheless it is good, though there is better than it.

QUI LABORAT, ORAT

1862.

Speechless remain, or speechless e'en

depart;

Nor seek to see-for what of earthly kind

Can see Thee as Thou art?—

If well-assured 'tis but profanely bold

In thought's abstractest forms to seem to see,

It dare not dare the dread communion hold

In ways unworthy Thee,

O not unowned, thou shalt unnamed forgive,

In worldly walks the prayerless heart
prepare;

And if in work its life it seem to live,
Shalt make that work be prayer.

Nor times shall lack, when while the work it plies,

Unsummoned powers the blinding film shall part,

And scarce by happy tears made dim, the eyes

In recognition start.

But, as thou willest, give or e'en forbear
The beatific supersensual sight,
So, with Thy blessing blessed, that
humbler prayer

Approach Thee morn and night.

ὕμνος ἄυμνος

O THOU whose image in the shrine Of human spirits dwells divine; Which from that precinct once veyed,

1862.

con

To be to outer day displayed,
Doth vanish, part, and leave behind
Mere blank and void of empty mind,
Which wilful fancy seeks in vain
With casual shapes to fill again !

O Thou that in our bosom's shrine
Dost dwell, unknown because divine!
I thought to speak, I thought to say,
"The light is here," "behold the way."
"The voice was thus," and "thus the
word,"

And thus I saw," and "that I heard."-
But from the lips that half essayed
The imperfect utterance fell unmade.

O Thou, in that mysterious shrine
Enthroned, as I must say, divine!
I will not frame one thought of what
Thou mayest either be or not.

I will not prate of "thus" and "so,"
And be profane with "yes" and "no,"
Enough that in our soul and heart
Thou, whatsoe'er Thou may'st be, art.

Unseen, secure in that high shrine
Acknowledged present and divine,
I will not ask some upper air,
Some future day to place Thee there;
Nor say, nor yet deny, such men
And women saw Thee thus and then :
Thy name was such, and there or here
To him or her Thou didst appear.

Do only Thou in that dim shrine,
Unknown or known, remain, divine ;
There, or if not, at least in eyes
That scan the fact that round them lies
The hand to sway, the judgment guide
In sight and sense Thyself divide:
Be Thou but there,--in soul and heart,
1862.
I will not ask to feel Thou art.

"THROUGH A GLASS DARKLY"

WHAT we, when face to face we see
The Father of our souls, shall be,
John tells us, doth not yet appear;
Ah! did he tell what we are here!

A mind for thoughts to pass into,
A heart for loves to travel through,
Five senses to detect things near,
Is this the whole that we are here?

Rules baffle instincts-instincts rules,
Wise men are bad--and good are fools,
Facts evil-wishes vain appear,
We cannot go, why are we here?

O may we for assurance' sake,
Some arbitrary judgment take,
And wilfully pronounce it clear,
For this or that 'tis we are here?

Or is it right, and will it do,
To pace the sad confusion through.
And say --It doth not yet appear,
What we shall be, what we are here

Ah yet, when all is thought and said,
The heart still overrules the head;
Still what we hope we must believe,
And what is given us receive;

Must still believe, for still we hope
That in a world of larger scope,
What here is faithfully begun
Will be completed, not undone.

AH! YET CONSIDER IT AGAIN!

"OLD things need not be therefore true,"
O brother men, nor yet the new;
Ah! still awhile the old thought retain,
And yet consider it again!

The souls of now two thousand years
Have laid up here their toils and fears,
And all the earnings of their pain,-
Ah, yet consider it again!

We! what do we see? each a space
Of some few yards before his face;
Does that the whole wide plan explain?
Ah, yet consider it again!

Alas! the great world goes its way,
And takes its truth from each new day;
They do not quit, nor can retain,
Far less consider it again. 1851, 1862.

A voice he dares to listen to, say, Come To thy true home.

Come home, come home! and where a home hath he

[sea? Whose ship is driving o'er the driving Through clouds that mutter, and o'er waves that roar, [shore Say, shall we find, or shall we not, a That is, as is not ship or ocean foam, Indeed our home? 1852. 1862.

GREEN fields of England ! wheresoe'er Across this watery waste we fare, Your image at our hearts we bear, Green fields of England, everywhere.

Sweet eyes in England, I must flee
Past where the waves' last confines be,
Ere your loved smile I cease to see,
Sweet eyes in England, dear to me.

Dear home in England, safe and fast
If but in thee my lot lie cast,
The past shall seem a nothing past
To thee, dear home, if won at last :
Dear home in England, won at last.
1852. 1862.