THE MYSTERY RALPH HODGSON He came and took me by the hand He kept His meaning to Himself, I did not pray Him to lay bare Enough the rose was heaven to smell, GRADATIM JOSIAH GILBERT HOLLAND Heaven is not reached by a single bound; I count this thing to be grandly true: That a noble deed is a step toward God, We rise by the things that are under feet; We hope, we aspire, we resolve, we trust, We hope, we resolve, we aspire, we pray, And we think that we mount the air on wings Beyond the recall of sensual things, While our feet still cling to the heavy clay. Wings for angels but feet for men! We may borrow the wings to find the way— We may hope and resolve, and aspire, and pray; But our feet must rise or we fall again. Only in dreams is a ladder thrown From the weary earth to the sapphire walls; But the dreams depart, and the vision falls, And the sleeper wakes on his pillow of stone Heaven is not reached by a single bound; But we build the ladder by which we rise From the lowly earth to the vaulted skies, And we mount to its summit, round by round. VIA, VERITAS, ET VITA ALICE MEYNELL "You never attained to Him." "If to attain "Endless the way, followed with how much pain.” BEFORE DAY SIEGFRIED SASSOON Come in the hour to set my spirit free When earth is no more mine though night goes out And stretching forth these arms I cannot be Lord of winged sunrise and dim Arcady: When fieldward boys far off with clack and shout When the first lark goes up to look for day, Wide misty lands to bring me on my way: THE SEEKERS CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY The gates are open on the road Perhaps the gates are not so fair, And led him to a better land. For lo! the unclean walk therein, And those that have been soiled with sin. The publican and harlot pass Along they do not stain its grass. In it the needy has his share, In it the foolish do not err. Yes, spurned and fool and sinner stray And what if all its ways are trod For still they travel slowly by Afflicted, destitute and weak: Nor find the beauty that they seek, From MARLBOROUGH CHARLES HAMILTON SORLEY So, there, when sunset made the downs look new Half into sight, new-visioned was my eye. I, who have lived, and trod her lovely earth, Raced with her winds and listened to her birds, Have cared but little for their worldy worth Nor sought to put my passion into words. But now it's different; and I have no rest Because my hand must search, dissect and spell The beauty that is better not expressed, The thing that all can feel, but none can tell. EPIGRAM WILLIAM WATSON When whelmed are altar, priest and creed; Perhaps from darkening incense freed, |