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Sweet sleep, with soft down

Weave thy brows an infant crown.
Sweet sleep, Angel mild,
Hover o'er my happy child.

Sweet smiles, in the night
Hover over my delight;
Sweet smiles, mother's smiles,
All the livelong night beguiles.

Sweet moans, dovelike sighs,
Chase not slumber from thy eyes.
Sweet moans, sweeter smiles,
All the dovelike moans beguiles.

Sleep, sleep, happy child,
All creation slept and smiled;
Sleep, sleep, happy sleep,
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,
When He was an infant small.
Thou His image ever see,
Heavenly face that smiles on thee,

Smiles on thee, on me, on all;
Who became an infant small.
Infant smiles are His own smiles;
Heaven and earth to peace beguiles.

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.

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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
All pray in their distress;
And to these virtues of delight
Return their thankfulness.

For Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is God, our Father dear,
And Mercy, Pity, Peace, and Love
Is man, His child and care.

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,
In heathen, Turk, or Jew;
Where Mercy, Love, and Pity dwell
There God is dwelling too.

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,
And not feel my sorrow's share?
Can a father see his child
Weep, nor be with sorrow filled?

Can a mother sit and hear
An infant groan, an infant fear?
No, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

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,
Pouring pity in their breast;
And not sit the cradle near,
Weeping tear on infant's tear;

And not sit both night and day,
Wiping all our tears away?
O, no! never can it be!
Never, never can it be!

He doth give His joy to all;
He becomes an infant small;
He becomes a man of woe;
He doth feel the sorrow too.

Think not thou canst sigh a sigh,
And thy Maker is not by;
Think not thou canst weep a tear,
And thy Maker is not near.

O! He gives to us His joy
That our grief He may destroy;
Till our grief is fled and gone
He doth sit by us and moan.

THE BOOK OF THEL

Thel's Motto

Does the Eagle know what is in the pit:
Or wilt thou go ask the Mole?

Can Wisdom be put in a silver rod,
Or Love in a golden bowl?

I

The daughters of [the] Seraphim led round their sunny flocks

All but the youngest: she in paleness sought the secret air,
To fade away like morning beauty from her mortal day:
Down by the river of Adona her soft voice is heard,
And thus her gentle lamentation falls like morning dew:-

:

'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, Answered the lovely maid and said: 'I am a wat'ry weed, And I am very small, and love to dwell in lowly vales; So weak, the gilded butterfly scarce perches on my head. Yet I am visited from heaven, and He that smiles on all Walks in the valley, and each morn over me spreads His

hand,

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'ertired;

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.
But Thel is like a faint cloud kindled at the rising sun:
I vanish from my pearly throne, and who shall find my
place?'

'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.

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