The still commandress of the silent night

Borrows her beams from her bright brother's eye: His fair aspect fills her sharp horns with light;

If he withdraw, her flames are quench'd and die : E'en so the beams of Thy enlight'ning Sp'rit, Infus'd and shot into my dark desire,

Inflame my thoughts, and fill my soul with fire, That I am ravish'd with a new delight;

But if Thou shroud Thy face, my glory fades, And I remain a nothing, all composed of shades.

Eternal God! O Thou that only art

The sacred fountain of eternal light And blessed loadstone of my better part,

O Thou, my heart's desire, my soul's delight! Reflect upon my soul, and touch my heart,

And then my heart shall prize no good above Thee; And then my trembling thoughts shall never start

From Thy commands, or swerve the least degree, Or once presume to move, but as they move in Thee.

FRANCIS QUARLES.

AUGUST 29.

A SONG OF DIVINE LOVE.

LORD! when the sense of Thy sweet grace
Sends up my soul to seek Thy face,
Thy blessed eyes breed such desire,
I die in love's delicious fire.
O love! I am thy sacrifice;
Be still triumphant, blessed eyes.
Still shine on me, fair sun, that I
Still may behold, though still I die.

Q

Though still I die, I live again,
Still longing so to be still slain,
So gainful is such loss of breath,
I die even in desire of death.
Still live in me this longing strife
Of living death and dying life,
For, while Thou sweetly slayest me,
Dead to myself, I live in Thee.

R. CRASHAW.

AUGUST 30.

THAT THY WAY MAY BE KNOWN
UPON EARTH.

ALAS! long-suffering and most patient God,
Thou needst be surelier God to bear with us
Than even to have made us! Thou aspire, aspire
From henceforth for me! Thou who hast Thyself
Endured this fleshhood, knowing how as a soaked
And sucking vesture it can drag us down
And choke us in the melancholy Deep,

Sustain me, that with Thee I walk these waves,
Resisting!-breathe me upward, Thou in me
Aspiring, who art the way, the truth, the life,-
That no truth henceforth seem indifferent,
No way to truth laborious, and no life,
Not even this life I live, intolerable!

E. BARRETT BROWNING.

AUGUST 31.

TO THE FATHER OF HEAVEN.

O RADIANT luminary of light interminable,
Celestiall Father, potenciall God of might,
Of heaven and earth. O Lord incomperable,
Of al perfections the essenciall most perfighte,
O Maker of Mankind, that formed day and night,
Whose power imperial comprehendeth every place,
Mine hart, my mind, my thought, my whole delighte
Is, after this lyfe, to see Thy glorious face.

Whose magnificence is incomprehensible,
Al arguments of reason which far doth excede
Whose deite doutles is indivisible,

From whom al goodness and vertue doth procede,
Of Thy support al creatures have nede.

Assist me, good Lord, and graunt me of Thy grace
To live to Thy pleasure, in word, thought, and dede;
And after this lyfe to see Thy glorious face.

JOHN SKELTON.

244

SEPTEMBER 1.

THE AUTUMN OF LIFE.

THESE hairs of age are messengers
Which bid me fast repent and pray;
They be of death the harbingers
and dress the way,

That doth

prepare

Wherefore I joy that you may see
Upon my head such hairs to be.

They be the lines that lead the length
How far my race was for to run ;
They say my youth is fled with strength,
And how old age is well begun;
The which I feel and you may see

Such lines upon my head to be.

They be the strings of sober sound,
Whose music is harmonical;

Their tunes declare a time from ground
I came, and how thereto I shall;
Wherefore I love that you may see
Upon my head such hairs to be.

God grant to those that white hairs have,
No worse them take than I have meant,
That after they be laid in grave,

Their souls may joy their lives well spent ;
God grant, likewise, that you may see

Upon my head such hairs to be.

LORD VAUX.

L

SEPTEMBER 2.

THE FOUNTAIN OF TEARS.

IF you go over desert and mountain,
Far into the country of sorrow,
To-day and to-night and to-morrow,
And maybe for months and for years,
You shall come with a heart that is bursting
For trouble and toiling and thirsting,
You shall certainly come to the Fountain
At length, to the Fountain of Tears.

And it flows and it flows with a motion
So gentle and lovely and listless,
And murmurs a tune so resistless
To him who hath suffered and hears,—

You shall surely, without a word spoken, Kneel down there and know your heart broken, And yield to the long-curbed emotion,

That day by the Fountain of Tears.

And the tears shall flow faster and faster,

Of

Brim over and battle resistance,

And roll'd down bleared roads to each distance

past desolation and years;

Till they cover the place of each sorrow, And leave you no Past and no Morrow; For what man is able to master

And stem the great Fountain of Tears?

But the floods of the tears meet and gather,
The sound of them all grows like thunder:
O, into what bosom, I wonder,

Is poured the whole sorrow of years?