Be Thou my speaker, taintless Pleader! And this is mine eternal plea To Him that made heaven, earth and sea; Set on my souls an everlasting head! Then I am ready, like a palmer fit, MARVEL OF MARVELS CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Marvel of marvels, if I myself shall behold With mine own eyes my King in his City of gold; PARADISE CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Once in a dream I saw the flowers And faint the perfume-bearing rose, I heard the songs of paradise; Each bird sat singing in its place; Soft cooing notes among the trees: I saw the fourfold river flow, And deep it was, with golden sand; For fainting spirits strength and rest: The tree of life stood budding there, Its fruit the hungry world can feed, 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, I hope to see these things again, But not as once in dreams by night; For narrow way that once they trod; UPHILL CHRISTINA ROSSETTI Does the road wind uphill all the way? Will the day's journey take the whole long day? 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? Shall I find comfort, travel, sore and weak? THE CHERUBIC PILGRIM JOHANNES SCHEFFLER, "Silesian Poet" The soul wherein God dwells,— 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 If He's not born in thee, The cross on Golgotha Will never save thy soul, Hold there! where runnest thou? O, would thy heart but be 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 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, Nor can we life at all enjoy, Till this poor life is o'er; Then, O sweet Death! no longer fly Forevermore I weep and sigh, Dying, because I do not die. To him, who deigns in me to live, O my poor earthly life, than thee? While evermore I weep and sigh, Absent from thee, my Saviour dear, But a long dying agony, 'The sharpest I have known; And I myself, myself to see In such a wrack of misery, And ever, ever, weep and sigh, Dying because I do not die. |