Who through all he meets can steer him, Can reject what cannot clear him,

Cling to what can truly cheer him!

Who each day more surely learns

That an impulse, from the distance
Of his deepest, best existence,

To the words, 'Hope, Light, Persistence,'
Strongly sets and truly burns!

PIS-ALLER.

AN is blind because of sin;

'MAN

Revelation makes him sure. Without that, who looks within,

Looks in vain, for all's obscure.'

Nay, look closer into man!
Tell me, can you find indeed

Nothing sure, no moral plan

Clear prescribed, without your creed?

'No, I nothing can perceive! Without that, all's dark for men. That, or nothing, I believe.'-—

For God's sake, believe it then!

IF,

IN UTRUMQUE PARATUS.

in the silent mind of One all-pure

At first imagined lay

The sacred world, and by procession sure

From those still deeps, in form and colour drest,

Seasons alternating and night and day,

The long-mused thought to north, south, east, and west,

Took then its all-seen way;

O waking on a world which thus-wise springs!
Whether it needs thee count

Betwixt thy waking and the birth of things
Ages or hours-O waking on life's stream!
By lonely pureness to the all-pure fount
(Only by this thou canst) the colour'd dream
Of life remount!

Thin, thin the pleasant human noises grow,

And faint the city gleams,

Rare the lone pastoral huts;-marvel not thou! The solemn peaks but to the stars are known, But to the stars, and the cold lunar beams; Alone the sun arises, and alone

Spring the great streams.

But if the wild unfather'd mass no birth
In divine seats hath known;

In the blank, echoing solitude if Earth,
Rocking her obscure body to and fro,
Ceases not from all time to heave and groan,
Unfruitful oft, and, at her happiest throe,
Forms, what she forms, alone;

O seeming sole to awake, thy sun-bathed head Piercing the solemn cloud

Round thy still dreaming brother-world outspread! O man, whom Earth, thy long-vext mother, bare Not without joy, so radiant, so endow'd

(Such happy issue crown'd her painful care)! Be not too proud!

Thy native world stirs at thy feet unknown,

Yet there thy secret lies!

Out of this stuff, these forces, thou art grown, And proud self-severance from them were disease.

O scan thy native world with pious eyes!

High as thy life be risen, 'tis from these;
And these, too, rise.