blasphemy is this? Thou hast no spell
To call that heaven-born spirit from the deep,
Or move the stars. What cometh in his place?
This monstrous fraud which thou hast raised from hell,
Whose arms about thee in the darkness creep?
Light not thy torch, lest thou shouldst see
his face.

* * * * *

OLIVIA MEYNELL

_A GRIEF WITHOUT CHRIST_

I sought Him in the trees, and Him I found
In every colour, and in every sound.

I sought Him in the sky, and He was there,
A living God, breathing the living air.

I sought Him in my soul--oh, passionate loss!
All that I found was a forsaken Cross.

_THE CROWNING_

Whenas we wandered in the summer hours,
My kind love crowned me with a crown of flowers.

Softly they touched my forehead and my hair;
Gay, sunny, yellow, and sweet-breathed they were--

Soft flowers and tender hands, gay sun, soft skies;
And sweeter, tenderer yet, his loving eyes.

Ah! but it should have been with thorns he crowned me,
Who follow Christ, while cold skies blackened round me.

Dear love, I will accept from you cold frown,
Sharp words, hard touch, as symbols of His crown.

* * * * *

MAURICE HEALY

_IN MEMORIAM_

"Lord, teach us how to pray," they said;
And Jesus raised His weary head,
Bowed by the sorrows of the way,
And taught His children how to pray.

"Lord, teach me how to pray," I cried;
And Jesus sent you to my side
To make your own the soul I wear
And mould it purer into prayer.

And since your love first lit the way
I find that I have learned to pray;
For, that my soul may benefit,
I pray that you may pray for it.

_A BALLAD OF FRIENDSHIP_

_for two most dear Children_

Soured and dimmed and chilled with senility
Hobbled the year to its uttermost day;
I gave the best of a slender ability,
Seeking to make a short afternoon gay.
You were both claimed ere the sky was grey
Over the tips of the western towers;
Yet, as you went, you had time to say,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours!"

Slaves and serfs have woes in abundancy--
Clashing of manacle, whistling of thong,
Tales of terror and tears to redundancy;
What is the score of my slavery's wrong?
Surely where pleasures so freely throng
Some sad fiend of unhappiness lowers;
Or is the refrain of Good Fortune's song,
"This is no stranger: we name him ours"?

When you enfranchised me into your mystery,
Lovingly stea