VIII.

God's sabbath morning sweeps the waves: I would not praise the pageant high, And miss the dedicature:

I, drawn down toward the sunless graves By force of natural things,-should I Exult in only nature?

IX.

I could not bear to sit alone

In nature's fixed benignities,

While my warm pulse was moving. Too dark thou art, O glittering sun, Too strait ye are, capacious seas, To satisfy the loving.

X.

It seems a better lot than so,

To sit with friends beneath the beech,
And call them dear and dearer;

Or follow children as they go

In pretty pairs, with softened speech
As the church-bells ring nearer.

XI.

Love me, sweet friends, this sabbath day.
The sea sings round me while ye roll
Afar the hymn unaltered,

And kneel, where once I knelt, to pray,
And bless me deeper in your soul,
Because your voice has faltered.

G

XII.

And though this sabbath comes to me
Without the stolèd minister,

And chanting congregation,
God's spirit shall give comfort. HE
Who brooded soft on waters drear,
Creator on creation.

XIII.

He shall assist me to look higher,

Where keep the saints, with harp and song,
An endless sabbath morning,

And, on that sea commixed with fire,
Oft drop their eyelids raised too long

To the full Godhead's burning.

THE MASK.

I.

I HAVE a smiling face, she said,
I have a jest for all I meet;

I have a garland for my head,

-

And all its flowers are sweet,And so you call me gay, she said.

II.

Grief taught to me this smile, she said,
And Wrong did teach this jesting bold;
These flowers were plucked from garden-bed
While a death-chime was tolled-
And what now will you say?—she said.

III.

Behind no prison-grate, she said,

Which slurs the sunshine half a mile,

Are captives so uncomforted,

As souls behind a smile.

God's pity let us pray, she said.

IV.

I know my face is bright, she said,—
Such brightness, dying suns diffuse!

If I dared leave this smile, she said.
And take a moan upon my mouth,
And tie a cypress round my head,
And let my tears run smooth,-
It were the happier way, she said.

VI.

And since that must not be, she said,
I fain your bitter world would leave.
How calmly, calmly, smile the Dead,
Who do not, therefore, grieve!
The yea of Heaven is yea, she said.

VII.

But in your bitter world, she said,
Face-joy's a costly mask to wear,
And bought with pangs long nourishèd
And rounded to despair.

Grief's earnest makes life's play, she said.

VIII.

Ye weep for those who weep ?—she said-
Ah fools!-I bid you pass them by;
Go, weep for those whose hearts have bled,
What time their eyes were dry!

Whom sadder can I say?—she said.

CALLS ON THE HEART.

I.

FREE Heart, that singest to-day,

Like a bird on the first green spray;

Wilt thou go forth to the world,
Where the hawk hath his wing unfurled
To follow, perhaps, thy way?

Where the tamer, thine own, will bind,
And, to make thee sing, will blind,—
While the little hip grows for the free behind?
Heart, wilt thou go?

The world, thou hast heard it told,
Has counted its robber-gold,

And the pieces stick to the hand.

The world goes riding it fair and grand,

While the truth is bought and sold! World-voice east, world-voices west, They call thee, Heart, from thine early rest, "Come hither, come hither and be our guest." Heart, wilt thou go?

"No, no!

Good hearts are calmer so."