Vers. The Church with psalms must shout, Must bear the longest part. Cho. Let all the world in every corner sing, My God and King. Herbert. 206 Matins I CANNOT ope mine eyes, But thou art ready there to catch My morning-soul and sacrifice; Then we must needs for that day make a match. My God, what is a heart? Silver, or gold, or precious stone, Or star, or rainbow, or a part My God, what is a heart, That thou shouldst it so eye, and Woo, As if that thou hadst nothing else to do? Indeed, man's whole estate Amounts (and richly) to serve thee : He did not heaven and earth create, Yet studies them, not Him by whom they be. Teach me thy love to know; That this new light, which now I see, May both the work and workman show : Then by a sunbeam I will climb to thee. Herbert. 207 208 O LIVING Will that shalt endure When all that seems shall suffer shock, Rise in the spiritual rock, Flow thro' our deeds and make them pure, That we may lift from out of dust A voice as unto him that hears, With faith that comes of self-control, The Song of Honour I CLIMB'D a hill as light fell short, Tennyson. And rooks came home in scramble sort, An owl from nowhere with no sound A pair of stars, faint pins of light, To tell how still the valleys lay I heard no more of bird or bell, As wondering men have always done It seem'd, so still the valleys were, So pure and wide that silence was There, sharp and sudden, there I heard- The nightingale and babble-wren The babble-wren and nightingale Yet, true enough, I heard them plain, As sharp and sweet and clear As if the Abyssinian tree Had thrust a bough across the sea, Had thrust a bough across to me I heard them both, and Oh! I heard That sings beneath the sky, And with the song of lark and wren I heard the universal choir, The Sons of Light exalt their Sire Earth's lowliest and loudest notes, Her million times ten million throats And lips and lungs and tongues of Grace I heard the hymn of being sound The song of poets when they write The song of painters when they take The song of men divinely wise The song of all both high and low To some blest vision true, The song of beggars when they throw The crust of pity all men owe To hungry sparrows in the snow, The song of kings of kingdoms when The song of courage, heart and will And gladness in a fight, Of men who face a hopeless hill The bells and bells of song that ring Round banners of a cause or king The song of sailors every one When monstrous tide and tempest run When stately ships are twirl'd and spun And song of fighters stern as they Who sing unconscious of their song, Whose lips are in their lives— And song of some at holy war With spells and ghouls more dread by far Than deadly seas and cities are, Or hordes of quarrelling kings The song of fighters great and small, The song of lovers-who knows how A curve or hue of cheek or brow, |