Beyond these chilling winds and gloomy skies,
Beyond death’s cloudy portal,
There is a land where beauty never dies,
Where love becomes immortal;
A land whose life is never dimmed by shade,
Whose fields are ever vernal;
Where nothing beautiful can ever fade,
But blooms for aye eternal.
We may know how sweet its balmy...
TELL me, ye wingèd winds,
That round my pathway roar,
Do ye not know some spot
Where mortals weep no more?
Some lone and pleasant dell,
Some valley in the west,
Where, free from toil and pain,
The weary soul may rest?
The loud wind dwindled to a whisper low,
And sighed for pity as it answered,—“No...
There is a land of pure delight,
Where saints immortal reign;
Infinite day excludes the night,
And pleasures banish pain.
There everlasting spring abides,
And never-withering flowers;
Death, like a narrow sea, divides
This heavenly land from ours.
Sweet fields beyond the swelling flood
Stand dressed in living...
My soul, there is a country
Afar beyond the stars,
Where stands a wingèd sentry,
All skilful in the wars.
There, above noise and danger,
Sweet peace sits crowned with smiles,
And One born in a manger
Commands the beauteous files.
He is thy gracious friend,
And (O my soul awake!)
Did in pure love...
From “Stars”
MORE and more stars! behold yon hazy arch
Spanning the vault on high,
By planets traversed in majestic march,
Seeming to earth’s dull eye
A breath of gleaming air: but take thou wing
Of Faith and upward spring:—
Into a thousand stars the misty light
Will part; each star a world with its own day and night....
From “The Faërie Queene,” Book II. Canto 8.
AND is there care in heaven? And is there love
In heavenly spirits to these creatures base,
That may compassion of their evils move?
There is:—else much more wretched were the case
Of men than beasts: but O the exceeding grace
Of Highest God! that loves his creatures so,
And all his...
Deep on the convent-roof the snows
Are sparkling to the moon:
My breath to heaven like vapor goes:
May my soul follow soon!
The shadows of the convent-towers
Slant down the snowy sward,
Still creeping with the creeping hours
That lead me to my Lord:
Make Thou my spirit pure and clear
As are the frosty skies,...
From the Latin by John Mason Neale
[The poem De Contemptu Mundi was written by Bernard de Morlaix, Monk of Cluni. The translation following is of a portion of the poem distinguished by the sub-title “Laus Patriæ Cœlestis.”]
THE WORLD is very evil,
The times are waxing late;
Be sober and keep vigil,
The Judge is at the gate,—
The Judge that...
Or, the Soul’s Breathing after the Heavenly Country
“Since Christ’s fair truth needs no man’s art,
Take this rude song in better part.”
O MOTHER dear, Jerusalem,
When shall I come to thee?
When shall my sorrows have an end—
Thy joys when shall I see?
O happy harbor of God’s saints!
O sweet and pleasant soil!
In thee...
O Paradise, O Paradise,
Who doth not crave for rest,
Who would not seek the happy land
Where they that loved are blest?
Where loyal hearts and true
Stand ever in the light,
All rapture through and through,
In God’s most holy sight.
O Paradise, O Paradise,
The world is growing old;
Who...
