Blest be the dear uniting love,
That will not let us part!
Our bodies may far off remove,
We still are one in heart.

Join'd in one spirit to our Head,
Where he appoints we go;
We still in Jesus' footsteps tread,
And still his praise we show.

Richly we share the Savior's grace,
We're one in mind and heart;
Not joy, nor grief — not time, nor place,
Not life, nor death — can part.

My Muse by thee restored to life,
To thee, Disdain, this altar rears;
Whereon she offers causeless strife,
Self-spending sighs, and bootless tears.

Long suits in vain ,
Hate for good will;
Still-dying pain,
Yet living still;
Self-loving pride,
Looks coyly strange;
Will, Reason's guide,
Desire of change;
And, last of all,
Blind Fancy's fire;

Most beautiful among the helpers thou!
All heaven's fresh air and sunshine at thy voice
Flood with refreshment many a weary brow,
And sad souls thrill with courage and rejoice
To hear God's gospel of pure gladness sound
So sure and clear in this bewildered world,
Till the sick vapors that our sense confound
By cheerful winds are into nothing whirled.
O matchless melody! O perfect art!
O lovely, lofty voice, unfaltering!
O strong and radiant and divine Mozart,
Among earth's benefactors crowned a king!

Now have I learned with much ado at last
By true disdain to kill desire;
This was the mark at which I shot so fast,
Unto this height I did aspire:
Proud Love, now do thy worst and spare not,
For thee and all thy shafts I care not.

What hast thou left wherewith to move my mind,
What life to quicken dead desire?
I count thy words and oaths as light as wind,
I feel no heat in all thy fire:
Go, change thy bow and get a stronger,
Go, break thy shafts and buy thee longer.

In vain thou bait'st thy hook with beauty's blaze,

One Love there is all roseate-flushed and fair —
This is the love that plucks the fruit of life;
One Love there is with cypress round his hair,
The love that fought and fell in bitter strife:
Not that nor this the Shade that comes to-day
With tender hands to soothe my beating heart, —
But the third Love that gains and gives away,
And in renouncing holds the better part;
His eyes are very sweet, and bright with tears,
Like thine own eyes, my Dearest, wet with love;
He knows that I am weak, and torn with fears,

Come, heap the fagots! Ere we go
Again the cheerful hearth shall glow;
We 'll have another blaze, my boys!
When clouds are black and snows are white,
Then Christmas logs lend ruddy light
They stole from summer days, my boys,
They stole from summer days.

And let the Loving-Cup go round,
The Cup with blessed memories crowned,
That flows whene'er we meet, my boys;
No draught will hold a drop of sin
If love is only well stirred in
To keep it sound and sweet, my boys,
To keep it sound and sweet.

Beauty and Love — and are they not the same?
The one is both — and both are but the one —
Pervasive they of all around the sun,
Of one same essence, differing but in name.
Lo! when pure Love lights his immortal flame,
He, and all Earth and Heaven in Beauty shine;
And when true Beauty shows her face divine,
Love permeates the universal frame.
Holy of holies — mystery sublime!
Who truly loves is beautiful to see,
And scatters Beauty wheresoe'er he goes.
They fill all space — they move the wheels of Time;

Love, flooding all the creeks of my dry soul.
From which the warm tide ebbed when I was born,
Following the moon of destiny, doth roll
His slow rich wave along the shore forlorn,
To make the ocean—God—and me, one whole.

So, shuddering in its ecstasy, it lies,
And, freed from mire and tangle of the ebb,
Reflects the waxing and the waning skies,
And bears upon its panting breast the web
Of night and her innumerable eyes.

Nor can conceive at all that it was blind,
But trembling with the sharp approach of love,

Desire and hope have moved my mind
To seek for that I cannot find,
Assured faith in woman-kind;
And love with love rewarded.
Self-love all but himself disdains;
Suspect as chiefest virtue reigns;
Desire of change, unchanged remains:
So light is love regarded.

True friendship is a naked name,
That idle brains in pastime frame;
Extremes are always worthy blame,
Enough is common kindness.
What floods of tears do lovers spend,
What sighs from out their hearts they send,
How many may, and will not mend?

In the distance dark and grey
Fades my former bliss from view,
To one star my glances stray
Basking in its gentle dew —
But a star, alas! whose light
Glitters only in the night.

Didst thou sleep thy final sleep,
Were thine eyes for ever dimmed,
In my heart engraven deep
Still thy memory would be limned.
But, alas! in light enshrined,
To my worship thou art blind.

Can the hope which love instils,
Can it, Emma, transient prove?
What no longer lives and thrills,
Emma, how can that be Love?