Sweet sleep, with soft down Weave thy brows an infant crown. Hover o'er my happy child. Sweet smiles, in the night Sweet moans, dovelike sighs, Sleep, sleep, happy child, All creation slept and smiled; While o'er thee thy mother weep. Sweet babe, in thy face Holy image I can trace. Sweet babe, once like thee, Thy Maker lay and wept for me, Wept for me, for thee, for all, Smiles on thee, on me, on all; Who became an infant small. Infant smiles are His own smiles; HOLY THURSDAY 'Twas on a Holy Thursday, their innocent faces clean, The children walking two and two, in red and blue and green, Grey-headed beadles walked before, with wands as white as snow, Till into the high dome of Paul's they like Thames' waters flow. O what a multitude they seemed, these flowers of London town! Seated in companies they sit with radiance all their own. The hum of multitudes was there, but multitudes of lambs, Thousands of little boys and girls raising their innocent hands. Now like a mighty wind they raise to Heaven the voice of song, Or like harmonious thunderings the seats of Heaven among. Beneath them sit the agèd men, wise guardians of the poor; Then cherish pity, lest you drive an angel from your door. THE DIVINE IMAGE To Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love And to these virtues of delight For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love For Mercy has a human heart, Pity a human face, And Love, the human form divine, And Peace, the human dress. Then every man, of every clime, That prays in his distress, Prays to the human form divine, Love, Mercy, Pity, Peace. And all must love the human form, Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell ON ANOTHER'S SORROW Can I see another's woe, And not be in sorrow too? Can I see another's grief, And not seek for kind relief? Can I see a falling tear, Can a mother sit and hear And can He who smiles on all Hear the wren with sorrows small, Hear the small bird's grief and care, Hear the woes that infants bear, And not sit beside the nest, And not sit both night and day, He doth give His joy to all; Think not thou canst sigh a sigh, Think not thou canst weep a tear, And thy Maker is not near. O! He gives to us His joy THE BOOK OF THEL Thel's Motto Does the Eagle know what is in the pit: Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod, I The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air, 'O life of this our spring! why fades the lotus of the water? Why fade these children of the spring, born but to smile and fall? Ah! Thel is like a watery bow, and like a parting cloud; Like a reflection in a glass; like shadows in the water; Like dreams of infants, like a smile upon an infant's face; Like the dove's voice; like transient day; like music in the air. Ah! gentle may I lay me down, and gentle rest my head, And gentle sleep the sleep of death, and gentle hear the voice Of Him that walketh in the garden in the evening time.' The Lily of the Valley, breathing in the humble grass, Saying, "Rejoice, thou humble grass, thou new-born lily flower, Thou gentle maid of silent valleys and of modest brooks; For thou shalt be clothed in light, and fed with morning manna, Till summer's heat melts thee beside the fountains and the springs, To flourish in eternal vales." Then why should Thel complain? Why should the mistress of the vales of Har utter a sigh?' She ceased, and smiled in tears, then sat down in her silver shrine. Thel answered: 'O thou little Virgin of the peaceful valley, Giving to those that cannot crave, the voiceless, the o'er tired; Thy breath doth nourish the innocent lamb, he smells thy milky garments, He crops thy flowers while thou sittest smiling in his face, Wiping his mild and meekin mouth from all contagious taints. Thy wine doth purify the golden honey; thy perfume, Which thou dost scatter on every little blade of grass that springs, Revives the milkèd cow, and tames the fire-breathing steed. 'Queen of the vales,' the Lily answered, 'ask the tender Cloud, And it shall tell thee why it glitters in the morning sky, And why it scatters its bright beauty through the humid air. Descend, O little Cloud, and hover before the eyes of Thel.' The Cloud descended, and the Lily bowèd her modest head, And went to mind her numerous charge among the verdant grass. |