And cease from impotence of zeal, Why should I seek and never find That something which I have not had? The world hath sought time out of mind. Hope on through all your life Where joy and promise blend— Long may your vine entwine, Their paradise of shade So my spirit fails As dew leaves not a trace Its goal the river knows, Shall I, lone sorrow past, Sorrow past, Thee at last? FOR THINE OWN SAKE, O MY GOD. WEARIED of sinning, wearied of repentance, I turn to Thee, I plead Thyself with Thee,— Wearied I loathe myself, I loathe my sinning, Me miserable, me sinful, ruined me, - I plead Thyself with Thee Who art my maker, I plead Thyself with Thee Who wast partaker Love made Thee what Thou art, the love of me,I plead Thyself with Thee. “OF HIM THAT WAS READY TO PERISH”. LORD, I am waiting, weeping, watching for Thee: My noon is ended, abolished from life and light, My sun went down in the hours that still were day, How long, O Lord, how long in my desperate pain Shall I weep and watch, shall I weep and long for Thee? Is Thy grace ended, Thy love cut off from me? How long shall I long in vain? O God Who before the beginning hast seen the end, Who hast made me flesh and blood, not frost and not fire, Who hast filled me full of needs and love and desire And a heart that craves a friend, Who hast said "Come to Me and I will give thee rest," Who hast said "Take on thee My yoke and learn of Me," Who calledst a little child to come to Thee, And pillowedst John on Thy breast; Who spak'st to women that followed Thee sorrowing, Bidding them weep for themselves and weep for their own; Who didst welcome the outlaw adoring Thee all alone, And plight Thy word as a King,— By Thy love of these and of all that ever shall be, Beside Thy Cross I hang on my cross in shame, For the glory of Thy Name. SŒUR LOUISE DE LA MISÉRICORDE. [A Pageant etc. 1881.] I HAVE desired, and I have been desired: Longing and love, pangs of a perished pleasure, And memory a bottomless gulf of mire, Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Now from my heart, love's deathbed, trickles, trickles, Drop by drop slowly, drop by drop of fire, The dross of life, of love, of spent desire: Alas my rose of life gone all to prickles! Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Oh vanity of vanities, desire! Stunting my hope which might have strained up higher, Oh death-struck love, oh disenkindled fire, |