" THE rocks are steep, the river deep and broad,
The way is hard to find, and night is near;
O hear the voice of Him who loves thee dear,
O pilgrim, pilgrim, listen to thy Lord!
There in the darkness, evil shapes abhorred
Crouch in the place of dragons — pilgrim, hear!
And take the gift of Him who loves thee dear;
O pilgrim, take the Lamp and take the Sword! —

" I hear, I take the gifts thaThe has given,
The Lord of all the lanterns of the sky,
And all the swords of all the hosts of heaven;
I take His gift, His servant true am I,

I WEPT , and weeping said my tears between,
" O dead immortal Master, shall I chide
Life? — Thou hast lived it — Death? — and Thou hast died;
Or shall Thy servant hold it vile and mean
To see the things the Master's eye hath seen,
To tread the path the Master's feet have trod
Bright with the footsteps of the Living God;
Love what He loved, and be what He has been?"

And if it is alone that I must go,
And if I have no comrade at my side,
And if I search the vacant heavens and see
No hope or comfort — aye, if it be so,

Soft in the garden blows the breath of Spring,
Sweet to his sweetheart coos the brooding dove,
Soft to the dreamer murmurs dreaming Love,
As soft, as sweet, as swiftly vanishing;
Soft to the dreaming ear Love's red lips sing,
" Now is the hour to dream and now the day:
Swiftly the moments pass away, away" —
And ye are brothers, Love and thou, O Spring!

The father of a million Springs art thou,
And each the father of a million flowers:
And Love and Thou ye reck not of the hours:
Old Time can swear that Love's as lovely now,

Drink deep, drink deep, for Love has filled the bowl,
Drink deep, drink deep, for Love has poured the wine,
And fill thy heart with ecstasy divine,
With strength of fiery passion fill thy soul,
Till round thy head obedient thunders roll,
And lightnings gird that feeble hand of thine;
The hand of Love it is that pours the wine,
The hand of Love it is that fills the bowl.

Drink deep, nor ask what follows. Yes, he comes
The grim Destroyer, he who bides his day,
And breaks the bowl, and spills the wine, and numbs

And was there light before the sun was made?
And was there love ere men and women were?
Vain questioning: — the lord of light is there,
And here, in all her loveliness arrayed,
Thy love is here before thee: — art afraid
To take the little hand that, light as air,
Can open heaven's gates to them that dare?
O coward, coward, wherefore was it stayed?

Thou saw'st the smile upon his cruel face,
Old Time the mocker. Let him mock his fill,
For when the sun has vanished from his place,
And when the loving heart is cold and still,

If life avails not, what avails an hour?
Yet see the painter, how he can combine
His tender touches and his colours fine,
And lo! before you blooms the perfect flower
Of God-like beauty — see the poet's power
In each brief word, in each compacted line,
A living soul to breathe, a face divine,
Man's breath with heaven's spirit to endower.

Of many a momentary airy note
The proud musician builds his world of song,
And on brief sound, as on a tiny boat,
Explores and masters that tremendous sea —
Love truly; Time can do thy love no wrong:

I' LL hang my faery walls with fancies bright;
The air will breathe mysterious harmony,
For I have called a royal company
To meet the lady of my love to-night.
The dreams, my winged servants richly dight,
Are marshalled torch in hand to honour thee;
I wait and hear the moaning of the sea,
And the long thunder roll from height to height.

Who come to meet thee? Time, and Death the King,
And Love, and Love's companions Hope and Fear;
We 'll sit and drink together. Love will sing,
And Time, and Death himself, will weep to hear;

Perchance this is love's autumn? Spring is o'er,
The budding promise of the joy to be,
And summer, bright perfection; yes, but see!
How rich the year, what precious fruit it bore,
How bounteous! Thankfully I count the store,
The golden store of mellow memories
Grown ripe in balmy winds and sunny skies,
The sunny skies that now are bright no more.

And then perchance comes winter at the last,
Tears fall like rain, and, blast on blighting blast,
The storms of gusty fortune beat and blow,
Till after all the turmoil and the stress,

A LAS , I have no tale of love to tell!
No art to weave you words of subtle grace
And limn so lively-true my woeful case
That I be loved because I loved so well;
For, ever as I strove to write there fell
A weight upon my heart, and stayed my hand,
And one sad thought, like touch of magic wand,
Bewitched my fancy with a freezing spell.

O laughing world, laugh on and let me be!
Are you my judge? and shall your mocking eyes
Go peering through my heart, and lightly see
What I have given my very life to hide?

If this indeed be love, when all desire
And every wish and every sense and thought,
And all that eyes have seen or life has taught,
Are fuel all to one consuming fire:
When earthly passion rising from the mire,
And ecstasy come down from heaven on high,
And mortal things, and things that may not die,
Like blended voices in an angel choir
In one concentrate harmony unite:
If this be love, this fiery force which springs
From earth, and rises heavenward pure and bright,
Immortal longing for immortal things;