Till ages brought the hour again, When fell a windless morn, And, child of agonistic pain And bliss, the Word was born. Which grew from all it gazed upon, And spread thro' soil and sphere, And shrunk the whole into the one, And fetched the farthest here. High is the summer's night, but deep The hidden mind unfolds: Within it does an image sleep Of all that it beholds. Alas! when man with busy brow, His conquering names hath set To planet, plant, and worm, who now Will teach us to forget? What poet now, when wisdoms fail, Another theme shall dare-- The Nameless, and remove the veil Which hides it everywhere? _John Eglinton_ THAT What is that beyond thy life, And beyond all life around, Which, when thy quick brain is still, Nods to thee from the stars? Lo, it says, thou hast found Me, the lonely, lonely one. _Charles Weekes_ THINK Think, the ragged turf-boy urges O'er the dusty road his asses; Think, on sea-shore far the lonely Heron wings along the sand; Think, in woodland under oak-boughs Now the streaming sunbeam passes; And bethink thee thou art servant To the same all-moving hand. _Charles Weekes_ TE MARTYRUM CANDIDATUS Ah, see the fair chivalry come, the companions of Christ! White Horsemen, who ride on white horses, the Knights of God! They, for their Lord and their Lover who sacrificed All, save the sweetness of treading, where he first trod! These through the darkness of death, the dominion of night, Swept, and they woke in white places at morning tide: They saw with their eyes, and sang for joy of the sight, They saw with their eyes the Eyes of the Crucified. Now, whithersoever He goeth, with Him they go: White Horsemen, who ride on white horses, oh fair to see! They ride, where the Rivers of Paradise flash and flow, White Horsemen, with Christ their Captain: for ever He! _Lionel Johnson_ THE CHURCH OF A DREAM