Star of the pensive! " melancholy star, "
That, from the bosom of the deep ascending,
Shines on the curling waves, like mourner bending
Over the ruins of the joys that were;
Or lone, deserted mother sweetly tending
Her hushed babe in its cradle, often blending
Her plaintive song and sigh repressed, — sweet star!
I love the eye that looks on me so far
From all this want, and wretchedness, and woe,
From out that home of pure serenity
Above the winds and clouds. When tempests blow,
The sailor through the darkness looks to thee; —

What has drawn us thus apart
From the common daily round,
Bringing here a lowly heart,
Standing as on holy ground?

Morning visions high and pure;
Glorious things that are to be;
Faith and hope that shall endure;
Love's abiding unity;

All the things that make for peace
In the daily toil and strife;
All that can our part increase
In the world's diviner life.

Short the time together here;
Then, with earnest heart and hand,
Back to life with freshened cheer,
Every vision God's command!

My holy day, my calm delight;
My meadow in the fields of life;
My silence, in earth's noisy strife,
Where God is clearest to my sight.

My island, in the rushing stream,
Where birds may sing and lilies blow;
My hill-top, where the mornings glow,
While still in night the valleys dream.

My strength, to face the coming week;
My rest, to count the battles fought;
My quiet, where the jarring thought
Of other days grows still and meek.

My day of love; my day of prayer;
My day of pure and perfect peace;

Now this is a rhyme that might well be carried
Gummed in your hat till the end of things:
Say Good-bye when your chum is married;
Say Good-bye while the church-bell rings;
Say Good-bye — if you ask why must you,
'Tis for the sake of old friendship true,
For as sure as death will his wife distrust you
And lead him on to suspect you, too.

Say Good-bye, though he be a brother,
Seek him not when you're married, too —
Things that you never would tell each other
The wives will carry as young wives do.

1

Of old, under Emperor Gui,
In the era of the great Tang,
Heaven's guiderope began to froth and foam,
Causing blight, bringing on disease
Giant breakers spread and sprawled
A myriad miles, without bound;
Long swells rolled and tossed,
Streaming and stretching into the eight marches.

And then Yu
Pared mounds and hills overlooking the banks,
Breached dikes and ponds allowing the water to drain,
Opened Dragon Gate, jaggedly jutting,
Broke open hills and peaks, chiseling and boring through.

Moderate tasks and moderate leisure,
Quiet living, strict-kept measure
Both in suffering and in pleasure —
'Tis for this thy nature yearns.

But so many books thou readest,
But so many schemes thou breedest,
But so many wishes feedest,
That thy poor head almost turns.

And (the world's so madly jangled,
Human things so fast entangled)
Nature's wish must now be strangled
For that best which she discerns.

So it must be! yet, while leading

Momus, I know, at this my worke will wonder ,
And blaming me will belching envy thunder,
By blusterous words, out of his mouth, which he
Shall seconded by Zoilus likewise be .
Tush say they, what! a Woman this worke frame?
Her wit will not attaine an Anagramme;
There many may be false within her Booke.
Tet Monsier Critick, notwithstanding looke
I pray thee on these following Roules, and than
Anagrammes here according to them scan.
E, may most what conclude an English word,
And so a letter at a neede afford.
H, is an aspiration, and no letter;

No church-bell rings them from the Track,
No pulpit lights their blindness —
'Tis hardship, drought and homelessness
That teach those Bushmen kindness:
The mateship born of barren lands,
Of toil and thirst and danger —
The camp-fare for the stranger set,
The first place to the stranger.

They do the best they can to-day —
Take no thought of the morrow;
Their way is not the old-world way —
They live to lend and borrow.
When shearing's done and cheques gone wrong,
They call it " time to slither " —

O bright Ideals, how ye shine
Aloft in realms of air!
Ye pour your streams of light divine
Above our low despair.

Shine on, shine on through darkest night,
Nor let your glories pale!
Some stronger soul may win the height,
Where weaker ones must fail.

And this one thought of hope and trust
Comes with its soothing balm,
As here I lay my brow in dust,
And breathe my lowly psalm, —

That not for heights of victory won,
But those I tried to gain,
Will come my gracious Lord's — Well done, —

TO CRITIAS

" Why, when the world's great mind
Hath finally inclined,
Why," you say, Critias, " be debating still?
Why, with these mournful rhymes
Learn'd in more languid climes,
Blame our activity
Who, with such passionate will,
Are what we mean to be?"

Critias, long since, I know
(For Fate decreed it so),