December 14.

QUICKENING.

I STOOD by a tree in December,
I stood and I mocked it sore;
I said, "Thou old leafless cumberer
Of earth, thy day is o'er ;

I will send for the axe of the forester,
That thou vex my sight no more."

I looked on a life all leafless,

And dry as a wintry tree,

And I said, "Thou art old and useless,
The world hath no need of thee;

Thou art joyless, and shadeless, and sapless ;-
O God! why should such lives be?"

But the sun beamed out in the summer,
And I looked on my slighted tree,
And 'neath its umbrageous cover,
Green grass and sweet flowers be,
And through its green boughs hover
Insect, and bird, and bee.

And I said to myself in wonder,
Lo! I thought 'twas a lifeless tree,
But the living sap flowed under
The bark so hard to see,

It needed but quickening summer
To set its own life free.

I looked on the life I had slighted,
And lo! it bloomed rich and rare,
And kindly grace unblighted
Shone round it everywhere ;
In its warm glow delighted,
All living things had share.

And I said, what quickening summer
Hath come to this life-worn tree,
Hath burst its bands asunder,
And set its froze sap free?
Wouldst know the life-giving mother?
God's Love is that mystery.

MRS. CAMPBELL of Ballochyle.

December 15.

DISCONTENT.

LIGHT human nature is too lightly lost
And ruffled without cause, complaining on,
Restless with rest, until, being overthrown,
It learneth to lie quiet. Let a frost

Or a small wasp have crept to the innermost
Of our ripe peach, or let the wilful sun

Shine westward of our window,-straight we run
A furlong's sigh as if the world were lost.

But what time through the heart and through the brain

God hath transfixed us,- -we so moved before,
Attain to a calm. Ay, shouldering weights of pain,
We anchor in deep waters, safe from shore,
And hear submissive o'er the stormy main
God's chartered judgments walk for evermore.

ELIZABETH BARRETT BROWNING.

December 16.

A KINGDOM.

My minde to me a kingdom is;
Such perfecte joy therein I find
As farre exceeds all earthly blisse,
That God or nature hath assignde:
Tho' much I want, that most would have,
Yet still my mind forbids to crave.

Content I live, this is my stay;

I seek no more than may suffice; I presse to beare no haughtie sway; Look what I lacke my minde supplies. Loe! thus I triumph like a king, Content with that my mind doth bring. I see how plentie surfeits oft,

And hastie clymbers soonest fall: I see that such as sit aloft

Mishap doth threaten most of all: These get with toil, and keepe with feare: Such cares my mind could never beare.

No princely pompe, nor welthie store,
No force to winne the victorie,
No wylie wit to salve a sore,

No shape to winne a lover's eye;
To none of these I yield as thrall;
For why? my mind despiseth all.

Some have too much, yet still they crave,
I little have, yet seek no more;
They are but poore, tho' much they have;
And I am rich with little store:

They poor, I rich; they beg, I give ;

They lacke, I lend; they pine, I live.

I laugh not at another's losse,

I grudge not at another's gaine; No worldly wave my mind can tosse, I brooke that is another's bane: I fear no foe, nor fawne on friend, I lothe not life, nor dread mine end.

I joy not in no earthly blisse;

I weigh not Cresus' welth a straw; For ease, I care not what it is;

I feare not fortune's fatall law : My mind is such as may not move For beautie bright or force of love.

I wish but what I have at will;
I wander not to seek for more;
I like the plaine, I clime no hill;
In greatest storms I sitte on shore,
And laugh at them that toile in vaine
To get what must be lost againe.

I kisse not where I wish to kill;

I feigne not love where most I hate ; I breake no sleep to winne my will ; I wayte not at the mighties gate; I scorne no poore, I feare no rich; I feel no want, nor have too much.

The court, ne cast, I like, ne loath;

Extreames are counted worst of all; The golden meane betwixt them both Doth surest sit, and fears no fall; This is my choyce; for why? I finde No welth is like a quiet minde.

My welth is health, and perfect ease;
My conscience clere my chief defence:
I never seeke by brybes to please,
Nor by desert to give offence:
Thus do I live, thus will I die;
Would all did so as well as I !

Quoted by BEN JONSON in
Every Man out of his Humour, 1509.

December 17.

THE GOLDEN PRISON.

WEEP not for me, when I am gone,
Nor spend thy faithful breath
In grieving o'er the spot or hour
Of all-enshrouding death:

Nor waste in idle praise thy love
On deeds of head or hand,
Which live within the living Book,
Or else are writ in sand;

But let it be thy best of prayers,
That I may find the grace
To reach the holy house of toil,
The frontier penance-place,—

To reach that golden palace bright,
Where souls elect abide,

Waiting their certain call to Heaven,
With angels at their side;

Where hate nor pride nor fear torments
The transitory guest,

But in the willing agony

He plunges, and is blest.