853. Ode in May LET me go forth, and share The overflowing Sun With one wise friend, or one What is so sweet and dear As a prosperous morn in May, And half of the world a bridegroom is, The Song of Mingling flows, As once, from lips that endure, The cosmic descant rose, When the temporal lord of life, Had taken a wondrous maid to wife For of old the Sun, our sire, Came wooing the mother of men, Earth, that was virginal then, Vestal fire to his fire. Silent her bosom and coy, But the strong god sued and press'd; And born of their starry nuptial joy And the triumph of him that begot, As warp and weft in our lot. We are children of splendour and flame, O bright irresistible lord! We are fruit of Earth's womb, each one, Who is older and greater than thou, as thou Thou art but as a word of his speech; Thou art brief as a glitter of sand Or a moment's mood of his soul: Thou art lost in the notes on the lips of his choir 854. от The Great Misgiving 6 NOT ours,' say some, the thought of death to dread: Asking no heaven, we fear no fabled hell: Life is a feast, and we have banqueted Shall not the worms as well? "The after-silence, when the feast is o'er, And void the places where the minstrels stood, Differs in nought from what hath been before, And is nor ill nor good.' Ah, but the Apparition—the dumb sign— And ah, to know not, while with friends I sit, And whether, stepping forth, my soul shall see And there, O death, thy sting. 855. HENRY CHARLES BEECHING Prayers OD who created me GOD Nimble and light of limb, In three elements free, To run, to ride, to swim: Not when the sense is dim, But now from the heart of joy, I would remember Him: Take the thanks of a boy. 1859-1919 Jesu, King and Lord, Whose are my foes to fight, Thee would I serve if I might; And conquer From day-dawn till night, Spirit of Love and Truth, From pain, strife, wrong to be free, Take my spirit to Thee. 856. Going down Hill on a Bicycle A BOY'S SONG WITH lifted feet, hands still, I am poised, and down the hill Dart, with heedful mind; The air goes by in a wind. Swifter and yet more swift, Till the heart with a mighty lift 857. Say, heart, is there aught like this Speed slackens now, I float Till, when the wheels scarce crawl, My feet to the treadles fall. Alas, that the longest hill Must end in a vale; but still, Who climbs with toil, wheresoe❜er, |