A God concerned (veiled in pure light) to bless, With sweet revealing of his love, the soul; _Towards things piteous, full of piteousness; The Cause, the Life, and the continuing Whole.
He is more present to all things He made Than anything unto itself can be; Full-foliaged boughs of Eden could not shade Afford, since God was also 'neath the tree._
Be firm and be faithful; desert not the right; The brave are the bolder, the darker the night; Then up and be doing, though cowards may fail; Thy duty pursuing, dare all, and prevail.
If scorn be thy portion, if hatred and loss, If stripes or a prison, remember the cross! God watches above thee, and He will requite; Stand firm and be faithful, desert not the right.
Our hearts' pure service, Love, be thine, Who clothest all with rights divine, Whose great Soul burns, though ne'er so dim, In all that walk, or fly, or swim.
All Father! who on Mercy's throne Hear'st thy dumb creatures' faintest moan,-- Thy love be ours, and ours shall be Returned in deeds to thine and Thee.
Sweet morn! from countless cups of gold Thou liftest reverently on high More incense fine than earth can hold, To fill the sky.
_The lark by his own carol blest_, From thy green harbors eager springs; And his large heart in little breast Exulting sings.
The fly his jocund round unweaves, _With choral strain the birds salute The voiceful flocks_, and nothing grieves, And naught is mute.
To thousand tasks of fruitful hope, With skill against his toil, man bends And finds his work's determined scope Where'er he wends.
From earth, and earthly toil and strife, To deathless aims his love may rise, Each dawn may wake to better life, With purer eyes.
In holy books we read how God hath spoken To holy men in many different ways; But hath the present worked no sign nor token? Is God quite silent in these latter days?
The word were but a blank, a hollow sound, If He that spake it were not speaking still; If all the light and all the shade around Were aught but issues of Almighty Will.
So, then, _believe that every bird that sings_, And every flower that stars the elastic sod, And every thought the happy summer brings, To the pure spirit is a word of God.
At Atri in Abruzzo, a small town Of ancient Roman date, but scant renown, One of those little places that have run Half up the hill, beneath a blazing sun, And then sat down to rest, as if to say, "I climb no farther upward, come what may,"-- The Re Giovanni, now unknown to fame, So many monarchs since have borne the name, Had a great bell hung in the market-place Beneath a roof, projecting some small space, By way of shelter from the sun and rain. Then rode he through the streets with all his train, And, with the blast of trumpets loud and long, Made proclamation, that whenever wrong Was done to any man, he should but ring The great bell in the square, and he, the King, Would cause the Syndic to decide thereon. Such was the proclamation of King John.