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The graven flowers that wreath the sword

Make not the blade less strong.

But smiting hands shall learn to heal,

To build as to destroy ;
Nor less my heart for others feel

That I the more enjoy.

All as God wills, who wisely heeds

To give or to withhold,
And knoweth more of all my needs

Than all my prayers have told !

Enough that blessings undeserved

Have marked my erring track-
That whereso'er my feet have swerved,

His chastening turned me back

That more and more a Providence

Of love is understood,
Making the springs of time and sense

Sweet with eternal good

That death seems but a covered way

Which opens into light,
Wherein no blinded child can stray

Beyond the Father's sight

That care and trial seem at last,

Through Memory's sunset air,

Like mountain ranges overpast,

In purple distance fair

That all the jarring notes of life

Seem blending in a psalm, And all the angles of its strife

Slow rounding into calm.

And so the shadows fall apart,

And so the west winds play ; And all the windows of my heart I open to the day.

7. G. Whittier.



STRONG and mailed angel,

With eyes serene and deep Unwearied and unwearying,

His patient watch doth keep.

A strong and mailed angel

In the midnight and the day ; Walking with me at my labor,

Kneeling by me when I pray.

What he says no other heareth ;

None listen save the stars,

That move in armed battalions,

Clad with the strength of Mars.

Low are the words he speaketh —

Young dreamer, God is great ! 'Tis glorious to suffer !

'Tis majesty to wait!”

O, Angel of Endurance !

O, saintly and sublime ! White are the arméd legions

That tread the halls of Time!

Blesséd, and brave, and holy!

The olive on my heart, Baptized with thy baptizing,

Shall never more depart.

O, strong and mailed angel !

Thy trailing robes I see ! Read other souls the lesson

So meekly read to me!

Still chant the same grand anthem

The beautiful and great — “'Tis glorious to suffer, 'Tis majesty to wait!

L. H. F.


HE loppéd tree in time may grow again ;

Most naked plants renew both fruit and flowers ; The sorriest wight may find release from pain ; The driest soil suck in some moistening showers ; Times go by turns, and chances change by course From foul to fair from better hap to worse.

The sea of fortune doth not ever Aow,
She draws her favors to the lowest ebb,
Her tides have equal times to come and go,
Her loom doth weave the fine and coarsest web;
No joy so great, but runneth to an end ;
No hap so hard but may in fine amend.

Not always fall of leaf, nor ever spring ;
No endless night, nor yet eternal day;
The saddest bird a season finds to sing,
The roughest storm a calm may soon allay :
Thus, with succeeding turns, God tempereth all,
That man may hope to rise, yet fear to fall.

A chance may win what by mischance was lost;
That net that holds no great, takes little fish;

In some things all, in all things none are crossd ;
Few all they need, but none have all they wish ;
Unmingled joys here to no man befall ;
Who least, hath some; who most, hath never all.

Robert Southwell. 1562–1594.


O Fhromech realms of "azure light

NE time I was allowed to steer,

Through realms of azure light;
Henceforth, I said, I need not fear

A lower, meaner Aight;
But here shall evermore abide,
In light and splendor glorified.

My heart one time the rivers fed,

Large dews upon it lay;
A freshness it has won, I said,

Which shall not pass away ;
But what it is, it shall remain,
Its freshness to the end retain.

But when I lay upon the shore,

Like some poor, wounded thing,
I deemed I should not evermore

Refit my shattered wing;

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