Ring, swing, bells in the steeple! Ring the Star and ring the Cross, for Star and Cross are one! Ring, swing, bells, to tell the people God is pleased with manly men, and deeds that they have done! SONNETS THE IMMORTAL WORD One soiled and shamed and foiled in this world’s fight, Deserter from the host of God, that here Still darkly struggles,--waked from death in fear, And strove to screen his forehead from the white And blinding glory of the awful Light, The revelation and reproach austere. Then with strong hand outstretched a Shape drew near, Bright-browed, majestic, armoured like a knight. “Great Angel, servant of the Highest, why Stoop’st thou to me?” although his lips were mute, His eyes inquired. The Shining One replied: “Thy Book, thy birth, life of thy life am I, Son of thy soul, thy youth’s forgotten fruit. We two go up to judgment side by side.” THE TORCH-RACE Brave racer, who hast sped the living light With throat outstretched and every nerve astrain, Now on thy left hand labours gray-faced Pain, And Death hangs close behind thee on the right. Soon flag the flying feet, soon fails the sight, With every pulse the gaunt pursuers gain; And all thy splendour of strong life must wane And set into the mystery of night. Yet fear not, though in falling, blindness hide Whose hand shall snatch, before it sears the sod, The light thy lessening grasp no more controls: Truth’s rescuer, Truth shall instantly provide: This is the torch-race game, that noblest souls Play on through time beneath the eyes of God. RETROSPECT “Backward,” he said, “dear heart, I like to look To those half-spring, half-winter days, when first We drew together, ere the leaf-buds burst. Sunbeams were silver yet, keen gusts yet shook The boughs. Have you remembered that kind book That for our sake Galeotto’s part rehearsed, (The friend of lovers,--this time blessed, not cursed!) And that best hour, when reading we forsook?” She, listening, wore the smile a mother wears At childish fancies needless to control; Yet felt a fine, hid pain with pleasure blend. Better it seemed to think that love of theirs, Native as breath, eternal as the soul, Knew no beginning, could not have an end. THE CONTRAST He loved her; having felt his love begin With that first look,--as lover oft avers. He made pale flowers his pleading ministers, Impressed sweet music, drew the springtime in To serve his suit; but when he could not win, Forgot her face and those gray eyes of hers; And at her name his pulse no longer stirs, And life goes on as though she had not been.