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This eBook from the Gutenberg Project consists of approximately 139 pages of information about Goblin Market, The Prince's Progress, and Other Poems.


(Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.)

Once I thought to sit so high
In the Palace of the sky;
Now, I thank God for His Grace,
If I may fill the lowest place.

Once I thought to scale so soon
Heights above the changing moon;
Now, I thank God for delay—­
To-day, it yet is called to-day.

While I stumble, halt and blind,
Lo!  He waiteth to be kind; 10
Bless me soon, or bless me slow,
Except He bless, I let not go.

Once for earth I laid my plan,
Once I leaned on strength of man,
When my hope was swept aside,
I stayed my broken heart on pride: 

Broken reed hath pierced my hand;
Fell my house I built on sand;
Roofless, wounded, maimed by sin,
Fightings without and fears within:  20

Yet, a tree, He feeds my root;
Yet, a branch, He prunes for fruit;
Yet, a sheep, these eves and morns,
He seeks for me among the thorns.

With Thine Image stamped of old,
Find Thy coin more choice than gold;
Known to Thee by name, recall
To Thee Thy home-sick prodigal.

Sacrifice and Offering
None there is that I can bring, 30
None, save what is Thine alone: 
I bring Thee, Lord, but of Thine Own—­

Broken Body, Blood Outpoured,
These I bring, my God, my Lord;
Wine of Life, and Living Bread,
With these for me Thy Board is spread.


(Lyra Eucharistica, 1863.)

I am pale with sick desire,
  For my heart is far away
From this world’s fitful fire
  And this world’s waning day;
In a dream it overleaps
  A world of tedious ills
To where the sunshine sleeps
  On th’ everlasting hills. 
  Say the Saints—­There Angels ease us
    Glorified and white. 10
  They say—­We rest in Jesus,
    Where is not day nor night.

My Soul saith—­I have sought
  For a home that is not gained,
I have spent yet nothing bought,
  Have laboured but not attained;
My pride strove to rise and grow,
  And hath but dwindled down;
My love sought love, and lo! 
  Hath not attained its crown. 20
  Say the Saints—­Fresh Souls increase us,
    None languish nor recede. 
  They say—­We love our Jesus,
    And He loves us indeed.

I cannot rise above,
  I cannot rest beneath,
I cannot find out Love,
  Nor escape from Death;
Dear hopes and joys gone by
  Still mock me with a name; 30
My best beloved die
  And I cannot die with them. 
  Say the Saints—­No deaths decrease us,
    Where our rest is glorious. 
  They say—­We live in Jesus,
    Who once died for us.

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