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the writers of spiritual verse. What church would not be proud to number amongst its members such sweet singers as Watts and Cowper, John and Charles Wesley? The supreme beauty of "Lycidas," the noble sadness of Bishop King's Exequy,” are a universal heritage, of which nor faith nor infidelity can deprive us. This, then, has been my aim,—to gather from the verse of three and a half centuries a handful of poems, beautiful in thoughts of spiritual import, which should reflect, as well as might be in a space so limited, all moods, from the self-abasement of utter unworthiness, to the cou

rage born of a firm faith in the divinity of man, which can face, unafraid, the Great Unknown.



'Mallowfield," Mamaroneck, New York

May, 1906


Pilgrim's Staff

Edmund Spenser (1552-1599)



OST glorious Lord of Life! that, on this day,
Didst make Thy triumph over death and sin:
And, having harrow'd hell, didst bring away

Captivity thence captive, us to win:



This joyous day, dear Lord, with joy begin;
that we, for whom Thou diddest die,
Being with Thy dear blood clean wash'd from sin,
May live for ever in felicity!

And that Thy love we weighing worthily,
May likewise love Thee for the same again:
And for Thy sake, that all like dear did'st buy,
With love may one another entertain!

So let us love, dear Love, like as we ought,
- Love is the lesson which the Lord us taught.


Sir Philip Sidney (1554-1586)

Eternal Love

EAVE me, O Love, which reachest but to dust;

And thou, my mind, aspire to higher things;

Grow rich in that which never taketh rust;

Whatever fades, but fading pleasure brings.
Draw in thy beams, and humble all thy might
To that sweet yoke where lasting freedoms be;
Which breaks the clouds, and opens forth the light,
That doth both shine, and give us sight to see.
O take fast hold; let that light be thy guide

In this small course which birth draws out to death,
And think how ill becometh him to slide,

Who seeketh heaven, and comes of heavenly breath. Then farewell, world; thy uttermost I see;

Eternal Love, maintain Thy life in me.


Thomas Nashe (1567-1600)

Adieu; farewell earth's bliss

DIEU; farewell earth's bliss,


This world uncertain is:

Fond are life's lustful joys,
Death proves them all but toys.
None from his darts can fly:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Rich men, trust not in wealth,

Gold cannot buy you


Physic himself must fade;

All things to end are made;
The plague full swift goes by:
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

Beauty is but a flower,

Which wrinkles will devour:
Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye;
I am sick, I must die.

Lord have mercy on us!

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