The Land of Song Volume Ii Part 25

THE KINGDOM OF G.o.d.

I say to thee, do thou repeat To the first man thou mayest meet In lane, highway, or open street--

That he and we and all men move Under a canopy of love, As broad as the blue sky above;

That doubt and trouble, fear and pain And anguish, all are shadows vain, That death itself shall not remain;

That weary deserts we may tread, A dreary labyrinth may thread, Through dark ways underground be led;

Yet, if we will one Guide obey, The dreariest path, the darkest way, Shall issue out in heavenly day;

And we, on divers sh.o.r.es now cast, Shall meet, our perilous voyage past, All in our Father's house at last.

RICHARD C. TRENCH.

THE n.o.bLE NATURE.

It is not growing like a tree In bulk, doth make man better be; Or standing long an oak three hundred year, To fall a log at last, dry, bald, and sere; A lily of a day Is fairer far in May, Although it fall and die that night-- It was the plant and flower of Light.

In small proportions we just beauty see; And in short measures life may perfect be.

BEN JONSON.

WINSTANLEY.

Winstanley's deed, you kindly folk, With it I fill my lay, And a n.o.bler man ne'er walked the world, Let his name be what it may.

The good ship Snowdrop tarried long; Up at the vane looked he; "Belike," he said, for the wind had dropped, "She lieth becalmed at sea."

The lovely ladies flocked within, And still would each one say, "Good mercer, be the ships come up?"-- But still he answered, "Nay."

Then stepped two mariners down the street, With looks of grief and fear: "Now, if Winstanley be your name, We bring you evil cheer!

"For the good ship Snowdrop struck,--she struck On the rock,--the Eddystone, And down she went with threescore men, We two being left alone.

"Down in the deep with freight and crew, Past any help she lies, And never a bale has come to sh.o.r.e Of all thy merchandise."

"For cloth o' gold and comely frieze,"

Winstanley said and sighed, "For velvet coif, or costly coat, They fathoms deep may bide.

"O thou brave skipper, blithe and kind, O mariners, bold and true, Sorry at heart, right sorry am I, A-thinking of yours and you.

"Many long days Winstanley's breast Shall feel a weight within, For a waft of wind he shall be 'feared, And trading count but sin.

"To him no more it shall be joy To pace the cheerful town, And see the lovely ladies gay Step on in velvet gown."

The Snowdrop sank at Lammas tide, All under the yeasty spray; On Christmas Eve the brig Content Was also cast away.

He little thought o' New Year's night, So jolly as he sat then, While drank the toast and praised the roast The round-faced Aldermen,--

He little thought on Plymouth Hoe, With every rising tide, How the wave washed in his sailor lads, And laid them by his side.

There stepped a stranger to the board: "Now, stranger, who be ye?"

He looked to the right, he looked to the left, And "Rest you merry," quoth he;

"For you did not see the brig go down, Or ever a storm had blown; For you did not see the white wave rear At the rock,--the Eddystone.

"She drave at the rock with stern sails set; Crash went the masts in twain; She staggered back with her mortal blow, Then leaped at it again.

"There rose a great cry, bitter and strong; The misty moon looked out!

And the water swarmed with seamen's heads, And the wreck was strewed about.

"I saw her mainsail lash the sea, As I clung to the rock alone; Then she heeled over, and down she went, And sank like any stone.

"She was a fair ship, but all's one!

For naught could bide the shock."-- "I will take horse," Winstanley said, "And see this deadly rock.

"For never again shall bark o' mine Sail o'er the windy sea, Unless, by the blessing of G.o.d, for this Be found a remedy."

Winstanley rode to Plymouth town All in the sleet and the snow; And he looked around on sh.o.r.e and sound, As he stood on Plymouth Hoe.

Till a pillar of spray rose far away, And shot up its stately head, Reared, and fell over, and reared again: "'Tis the rock! the rock!" he said.

Straight to the Mayor he took his way: "Good Master Mayor," quoth he, "I am a mercer of London town, And owner of vessels three.

"But for your rock of dark renown, I had five to track the main."-- "You are one of many," the old Mayor said, "That of the rock complain.

"An ill rock, mercer! your words ring right, Well with my thoughts they chime, For my two sons to the world to come It sent before their time."

"Lend me a lighter, good Master Mayor, And a score of shipwrights free; For I think to raise a lantern tower On this rock o' destiny."

The old Mayor laughed, but sighed also: "Ah, youth," quoth he, "is rash; Sooner, young man, thou'lt root it out From the sea that doth it lash.

"Who sails too near its jagged teeth, He shall have evil lot; For the calmest seas that tumble there Froth like a boiling pot.

"And the heavier seas few look on nigh, But straight they lay him dead; A seventy-gun-ship, sir!--they'll shoot Higher than her masthead.

"Oh, beacons sighted in the dark, They are right welcome things, And pitch pots flaming on the sh.o.r.e Show fair as angel wings.