Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader!
Unblotted Lawyer! true Proceeder!
Thou giv'st salvation, even for alms,
Not with a bribed lawyer's palms.

And this is mine eternal plea

To Him that made heaven, earth and sea;
That, since my flesh must die so soon,
And want a head to dine next noon,-
Just at the stroke, when my veins start
and spread,

Set on my souls an everlasting head!

Then I am ready, like a palmer fit,
To tread those paths; blest which before I
writ.

MARVEL OF MARVELS

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Marvel of marvels, if I myself shall behold

With mine own eyes my King in his City of gold;
Where the least of his lambs is spotless white in the fold,
Where the least and last of saints in spotless white is stoled,
Where the dimmest head beyond a moon is aureoled.
O saints, my beloved, now moldering to mould in the mould,
Shall I see you lift your heads, see your cerements unrolled,
See with these very eyes? who now in darkness and cold
Tremble for the midnight cry, the rapture, the tale untold,—
"The bridegroom cometh, cometh, His Bride to enfold."
Cold it is, my beloved, since your funeral bell was tolled:
Cold it is, O my King, how cold alone on the wold.

PARADISE

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Once in a dream I saw the flowers
That bud and bloom in paradise;
More fair are they than waking eyes
Have seen in all this world of ours.
And faint the lily on its stem

And faint the perfume-bearing rose,
And faint the perfect violet,
Compared with them.

I heard the songs of paradise;

Each bird sat singing in its place;
A tender song so full of grace
It soared like incense to the skies.
Each bird sat singing to its mate

Soft cooing notes among the trees:
The nightingale herself was cold
To such as these.

I saw the fourfold river flow,

And deep it was, with golden sand;
It flowed between a mossy land
With murmured music grave and low.
It hath refreshment for all thirst,

For fainting spirits strength and rest:
Earth holds not such a draught as this
From East to West.

The tree of life stood budding there,
Abundant with its twelvefold fruits;
Eternal sap sustains its roots,
Its shadowing branches fill the air.
Its leaves are healing for the world,

Its fruit the hungry world can feed,
Sweeter than honey to the taste
And balm indeed.

I saw the gate called Beautiful;

And looked, but scarce could ook within;

I saw the golden streets begin,

And outskirts of the glassy pool,

Oh, harps, oh, crowns of plenteous stars,
Oh, green palm-branches, many-leaved-
Eye hath not seen, nor ear hath heard,
Nor heart conceived.

I hope to see these things again,

But not as once in dreams by night;
To see them with my very sight,
And touch and handle and attain:
To have all heaven beneath my feet

For narrow way that once they trod;
To have my part with all the saints
And with my God.

UPHILL

CHRISTINA ROSSETTI

Does the road wind uphill 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 the 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?
Yes, beds for all who come.

THE CHERUBIC PILGRIM

JOHANNES SCHEFFLER, "Silesian Poet"

The soul wherein God dwells,—
What church could holier be?-
Becomes a walking tent

Of heavenly majesty.

How far from here to Heaven?

Not very far, my friend,

A single hearty step

Will all thy journey end.

Though Christ a thousand times
In Bethlehem be born,

If He's not born in thee,
Thy soul is still forlorn.

The cross on Golgotha

Will never save thy soul,
The cross in thine own heart
Alone can make thee whole.

Hold there! where runnest thou?
Know Heaven is in thee.
Seek'st thou for God elsewhere,
His face thou'lt never see.

O, would thy heart but be
A manger for His birth;
God would once more become
A child upon the earth.

Go out, God will go in,

Die thou and let Him live.

Be not-and He will be.

Wait and He'll all things give.

O shame, a silk worm works
And spins till it can fly,
And thou, my soul, wilt still

On thine old earth-clod lie!

THE LIFE ABOVE, THE LIFE ON HIGH

ST. TERESA

Translated by Edward Caswall

The life above, the life on high,
Alone is life in verity;

Nor can we life at all enjoy,

Till this poor life is o'er;

Then, O sweet Death! no longer fly
From me, who e'er my time to die,
Am dying evermore;

Forevermore I weep and sigh,

Dying, because I do not die.

To him, who deigns in me to live,
What better gift have I to give,

O my poor earthly life, than thee?
Too glad of thy decay,
So but I may the sooner see
That face of sweetest majesty,
For which I pine away;

While evermore I weep and sigh,
Dying, because I do not die.

Absent from thee, my Saviour dear,
I call not life this living here,

But a long dying agony,

'The sharpest I have known;

And I myself, myself to see

In such a wrack of misery,
For very pity moan;

And ever, ever, weep and sigh,

Dying because I do not die.