With gentleness of bees in laurel-flowers;
So that it gives to Quiet breeding powers,
A future wrought of gold,
When we shall hear what never hath been told,
And fathom sound it takes all heaven to hold.
Oh, softness on the nostrils, where they strained
After their airy lusts till they attained;
Now, by the Cross of balm so softly reined,
They wait to breathe for breath
The vigour of their God, as a shell saith,
Left on the beach, “The brine will wake my death.”
The lips receive no coal of fire
To urge their fervent crying should not tire;
A tender Cross gives check to such desire,
And bids them wait their song,
Till they are far from peril and among
The consonant and ever-praising throng.
The hands, the feet ... O Jesus, all
Marked with Thy Cross, but as a dream may fall
In mercy on a mind great woes appal--
A healing shade,
A priestly grace, so soft the Cross is made,
Embracing, by the nails we are not frayed.
Crosses as flowers on every sense
Fall, rest on them in heavenly suspense;
And then we know the holy, the immense
Delight of what shall be.
When, sanctified and calm for joyance, we
Shall have of God our bodies deathlessly.
AFTER ANOINTING
Joy of the senses, joy of all
And each of them, as fall
The Holy Oils!... O senses, ye would dance,
Would circle what ye cannot see,
Nor hear, nor smell, nor taste, nor touch,
Yet ye receive of your felicity,
Till ye would reel and dance;
The joy apparent from your bliss being such
That, in a fivefold garland knit,
Softly ye would circle it.
Joy ripples through each covered lid;
Nor are the ears forbid
Sounds as of honeycomb, so sweet is Heaven
Afar, such sweet, such haunting sound!
O nostrils, myrtle ye shall love!
The lips taste fully, as if God were found.
Swift, under peace, toward Heaven
The hands, the feet, so still, like still lakes move,
Delighted Powers of Sense, ye dance,
Woven in such a lovely chance!
VIATICUM
O heart, that burns within,
Illuminated, hot!
O feet, that tread the road
As if they trod it not--
So lifted and so winged
By rare companionship!
No matter tho’ the road
Doth unto shadow dip;
The meaning of the night
My ears, attentive, hail.
The mighty silence brings
Music no nightingale
Hath warbled from its fount;
Music of holy things
Made clear as song can make,
With marvellous utterings:
The Past become a joy
Of instant clarity,
As the deep evening fills
With converse brimmingly.
O nightingale, hold back
Your wildest song’s discant;
You cannot make my heart
With such devotion pant
As He who steps along
Beside me in the shade,
Down the steep valley-road,
The enveloping, dark glade!
Hush, O dim nightingale!...
Is it my God whose Feet
Wing mine to travel on;
Whose voice in current sweet
Shows how divine the thought
And purpose is of all
That hath been and shall be,
And shall to me befall?
Stay, nightingale! Behold!
This Wayfarer, with strange,
Wild Voice that rouses gloom
Thy voice could never range,
Hath broken Bread with me!
No resinous, balmed shrine
Glows from its core as I,
When I behold His sign,
And touch His offering Hand.
O holiest journey, sped
With Him who died for me,
Who breaking with me Bread,
Is known to me as Life,
Is felt by me as Fire;
Who is my Way and all
My wayfaring’s Desire!
A GIFT OF SWEETNESS
I thought to lay my hands about Thy Crown,
And gather, bleeding, its sharp spines:
But as I knelt and bowed my forehead down,
Worshipping thy cruel desert-Crown,
Worshipping its thicket of sharp spines--
Through them blew a little wind,
Clearer than the dew in breath
Round Thy Mother’s feet at Nazareth;
In a cloud it left behind
Scent of violets, of such birth
They had never broken earth,
But through meshes of the Crown of Thorn,
In a fertilising cloud, were born;
And, fresh with piety of grace,
Were thrown--oh sweet!--unseen across my face.
That never will a mould-born violet-bed
Smell like the violets from the Sacred Head.
IN CHRISTO
As shade doth on a dial slide,
Those dark and parting eyes abide
Toward me from the tall vessel’s side:
Eyes lovelier than the stones of grace
That build for God His dwelling-place;
Beyond all jewels in device,
Yea, beyond amethyst in price,
The hyacinth-stone in loveliness.
Delectable, dear eyes that bless;
A saviour’s eyes, bent down on me,
As New Jerusalem might be
Come down, adorned with Charity....
Let the tall vessel sweep to sea!
SIGHTS FOR GOD
A woman, heavenly as dew
Of the fresh morning, in a little room
Is kneeling down, and through
The door of it an Angel’s bloom
Of light, how lonely, hath advanced,
And on the walls his lovely light hath danced,
As he hath told God’s utter Will
Unto that creature heavenly and still--
God the Father’s terrible, high Will.
Motions of fear and wonder
The girl sways under;
Her eyes distraught, as wings
A hawk’s suspension brings
To panic, when two doves
Tremble mid their sweet loves.
She sees beyond sight’s rim
God and the Power of Him;
His Promise fallen on her
As grace He would confer--
Men and the fear their speech
Must startle should it reach
A virgin’s secrecy....
How can such terrors be?
Then over her, distraught,
Falls a contentment wrought
To courage of a word
By the Archangel heard
With heart’s felicity--
“Be it done unto me
According to His Will.”
The little room thereafter grew more still,
And Mary knelt and shone
With grace, although the Angel’s beam was gone.
This was the fairest sight God yet had looked upon--
Mary, the chosen Mother of His Son,
Obedient to Him
As glowing Seraphim.
A lonely Man, beneath the trees,
That stoop above a sward of garden-ground,
Kneels in the evening breeze,
Felt as flow without a sound.
While He kneels in that cool place,
With the moonlight settled on His face,
He is praying that He may not drink
Of a Cup filled bitter to the brink,
Praying in His anguish not to drink.
And, in strife tremendous
Of woe stupendous,
He strains with power so great--
As a red pomegranate
That splits and bleeds His head
With blood is scarlet-red.
He struggles with the might
Of the world’s sin in sight,
That He must bear if now
He bends ensanguined brow,
And drinks that awful Cup
Before his eyes raised up.
Sin!--us He meets the shock,
Earth reddens to its rock
With blood.... Then peace from storm
Comes to that ruddy Form,
And a brave word of God
Blows over the wet sod--
“If I must drink, not mine,
My will, O Father, thine
Be done! Not mine, Thy Will!”
The garden-shades thereafter grew more still,
Because an angel came,
And the red forehead whitened in his flame.
This was the fairest sight God ever looked upon--
Jesus, His loved, only-begotten Son,
Obedient to Him
As sworded Cherubim.
TRANSIT
_Cloud that streams its breath of unseen flowers,
Cloud with spice of bay,
Of roses, lily-breathings, and the powers
Of small violets, or, aloft, black poplars as they quiver!_
_Cloud that streams its song of birds--no bird
Seen to chant the song:
Yet wide and keen as sun-breath it is heard,
All the air itself a voice of voices chiming golden!_
_Mary hath passed by. All plants sweet-leaved,
Sweet-flowered; birds, sweet-voiced,
Round her passing have their sweetness weaved.
Let us yield our incense up, our anthems and our homage!_
SOME OF THESE POEMS HAVE BEEN PUBLISHED
IN “THE IRISH MONTHLY” AND
IN “THE ROSARY.” ONE WAS PUBLISHED
IN “THE UNIVERSE.”
PRINTED BY
BALLANTYNE & COMPANY LTD
AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS
TAVISTOCK STREET COVENT GARDEN
LONDON