Yet child-simple, undefiled,
Frank, obedient, waiting still
On the turnings of your will.

Moving light, as all young things,
As young birds, or early wheat
When the wind blows over it.

Only, free from flutterings

Of loud mirth that scorneth measure-
Taking love for her chief pleasure.

Choosing pleasures, for the rest,
Which come softly-just as she,
When she nestles at your knee.

Quiet talk she liketh best,

In a bower of gentle looks,Watering flowers, or reading books.

And her voice, it murmurs lowly,
As a silver stream may run,
Which yet feels, you feel, the sun.

And her smile it seems half holy,
As if drawn from thoughts more far
Than our common jestings are.

And if any poet knew her,

He would sing of her with falls
Used in lovely madrigals.

And if any painter drew her,
He would paint her unaware
With a halo round the hair.

And if reader read the poem,

He would whisper-' You have done a
Consecrated little Una.'

And a dreamer (did you show him That same picture) would exclaim, ''Tis my angel, with a name !'

And a stranger, when he sees her
In the street even, smileth stilly,
Just as you would at a lily.

And all voices that address her,
Soften, sleeken every word,
As if speaking to a bird.

And all fancies yearn to cover

The hard earth whereon she passes,
With the thymy-scented grasses.

And all hearts do pray, 'God love her!' Ay and always, in good sooth,

We may all be sure HE DOTH.

CONFESSIONS.

I.

FACE to face in my chamber, my silent chamber, I saw

her:

God and she and I only, there I sate down to draw

her

Soul through the clefts of confession,-'Speak, I am holding thee fast,

As the angel of resurrection shall do it at the last!' My cup is blood-red

6

With my sin,' she said,

'And I pour it out to the bitter lees,

As if the angels of judgment stood over me strong at the last,

Or as thou wert as these.'

II.

When God smote his hands together, and struck out thy soul as a spark

Into the organized glory of things, from deeps of the dark,—

Say, didst thou shine, didst thou burn, didst thou honour the power in the form,

As the star does at night, or the fire-fly, or even the little ground-worm ?

'I have sinned,' she said,

For my seed-light shed

Has smouldered away from His first decrees. The cypress praiseth the fire-fly, the ground-leaf praiseth the worm;

I am viler than these.'

III.

When God on that sin had pity, and did not trample thee straight

With His wild rains beating and drenching thy light found inadequate ;

When He only sent thee the north-wind, a little searching and chill,

To quicken thy flame-didst thou kindle and flash to the heights of His will?

My fire dropt down, and I wept on my knees: I only said of His winds of the north as I shrank from

their chill,

What delight is in these?'

IV.

When God on that sin had pity, and did not meet it

as such,

But tempered the wind to thy uses, and softened the world to thy touch,

At least thou wast moved in thy soul, though unable to prove it afar,

Thou couldst carry thy light like a jewel, not giving it out like a star?

'I have sinned,' she said,

'And not merited

The gift He gives, by the grace He sees! The mine-cave praiseth the jewel, the hill-side praiseth the star;

I am viler than these.'

V.

Then I cried aloud in my passion,-Unthankful and impotent creature,

To throw up thy scorn unto God through the rents in thy beggarly nature !

If He, the all-giving and loving, is served so unduly, what then

Hast thou done to the weak and the false and the changing, thy fellows of men?

'I have loved,' she said,

(Words bowing her head

As the wind the wet acacia-trees)

'I saw God sitting above me, but I.. I sate among

men,

And I have loved these.'