VERSE:  THE DARK SIDE

Thou hast done well, perhaps,
To lift the bright disguise,
And lay the bitter truth
Before our shrinking eyes;
When evil crawls below
What seems so pure and fair,
Thine eyes are keen and true
To find the serpent there: 
And yet—­I turn away;
Thy task is not divine—­
The evil angels look
On earth with eyes like thine.

Thou hast done well, perhaps,
To show how closely wound
Dark threads of sin and self
With our best deeds are found. 
How great and noble hearts,
Striving for lofty aims,
Have still some earthly cord
A meaner spirit claims;
And yet—­although thy task
Is well and fairly done,
Methinks for such as thou
There is a holier one.

Shadows there are, who dwell
Among us, yet apart,
Deaf to the claim of God,
Or kindly human heart;
Voices of earth and heaven
Call, but they turn away,
And Love, through such black night,
Can see no hope of day;
And yet—­our eyes are dim,
And thine are keener far—­
Then gaze till thou canst see
The glimmer of some star.

The black stream flows along,
Whose waters we despise—­
Show us reflected there
Some fragment of the skies;
’Neath tangled thorns and briars,
(The task is fit for thee,)
Seek for the hidden flowers,
We are too blind to see;
Then will I thy great gift
A crown and blessing call;
Angels look thus on men,
And God sees good in all!

VERSE:  A FIRST SORROW

Arise! this day shall shine,
For evermore,
To thee a star divine,
On Time’s dark shore.

Till now thy soul has been
All glad and gay: 
Bid it awake, and look
At grief to-day!

No shade has come between
Thee and the sun;
Like some long childish dream
Thy life has run: 

But now the stream has reached
A dark, deep sea,
And Sorrow, dim and crowned,
Is waiting thee.

Each of God’s soldiers bears
A sword divine: 
Stretch out thy trembling hands
To-day for thine!

To each anointed Priest
God’s summons came: 
Oh, Soul, he speaks to-day
And calls thy name.

Then, with slow reverent step,
And beating heart,
From out thy joyous days,
Thou must depart.

And, leaving all behind,
Come forth, alone,
To join the chosen band
Around the throne.

Raise up thine eyes—­be strong,
Nor cast away
The crown, that God has given
Thy soul to-day!

VERSE:  MURMURS

Why wilt thou make bright music
Give forth a sound of pain? 
Why wilt thou weave fair flowers
Into a weary chain?

Why turn each cool grey shadow
Into a world of fears? 
Why say the winds are wailing? 
Why call the dewdrops tears?